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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:39:38 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:39:38 -0700 |
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diff --git a/12329-h/12329-h.htm b/12329-h/12329-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..91cb50c --- /dev/null +++ b/12329-h/12329-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5943 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta name="generator" content= +"HTML Tidy for Windows (vers 1st March 2004), see www.w3.org"> +<meta http-equiv="content-Type" content= +"text/html; charset=UTF-8"> +<meta content="pg2html (binary version 0.12a)" name="generator"> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Heart of Man By, George +Edward Woodberry</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + <!-- + P { text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: .75em; + font-size: 1em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; } + HR { width: 33%; } + PRE { font-family: Courier, monospaced;} + .toc { margin-left: 15%; font-size: .9em; margin-bottom: 0em;} + CENTER { padding: 10px;} + // --> +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12329 ***</div> + +<h1>HEART OF MAN</h1> +<p> </p> +<h2>GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY</h2> +<center>COPYRIGHT 1899,</center> +<center>BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.</center> +<center>1899</center> +<center>"Deep in the general heart of man"</center> +<center>—WORDSWORTH</center> +<a name="A2H_4_1" id="A2H_4_1"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<center> +<h2>To the Memory of</h2> +</center> +<center><strong>EUGENE MONTGOMERY</strong></center> +<center>DEAR WAS HIS PRAISE, AND PLEASANT 'TWERE TO ME,<br> + ON WHOSE FAR GRAVE TO-NIGHT THE DEEP SNOWS DRIFT;<br> +IT NEEDS NOT NOW; TOGETHER WE SHALL SEE<br> + HOW HIGH CHRIST'S LILIES O'ER MAN'S LAURELS +LIFT</center> +<center>MY FRIEND</center> +<center>February 18, 1899.</center> +<a name="A2HPRE2" id="A2HPRE2"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2>PREFACE</h2> +<p> </p> +<p>Of the papers contained in this volume "Taormina" was published +in the <i>Century Magazine</i>; the others are new. The intention +of the author was to illustrate how poetry, politics, and religion +are the flowering of the same human spirit, and have their feeding +roots in a common soil, "deep in the general heart of men."</p> +<p> </p> +<p>COLUMBIA COLLEGE,<br> +February 22, 1809.</p> +<hr> +<a name="A2H_TOC" id="A2H_TOC"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<p class="toc"><a href="#A2H_4_3">TAORMINA</a></p> +<p class="toc"><a href="#A2H_4_9">A NEW DEFENCE OF POETRY</a></p> +<p class="toc"><a href="#A2H_4_10">DEMOCRACY</a></p> +<p class="toc"><a href="#A2H_4_11">THE RIDE</a></p> +<p><a name="A2H_4_3" id="A2H_4_3"><!-- H2 anchor --></a></p> +<p> </p> +<hr> +<h2>TAORMINA</h2> +<center> +<h3>I</h3> +</center> +<p>What should there be in the glimmering lights of a poor +fishing-village to fascinate me? Far below, a mile perhaps, I +behold them in the darkness and the storm like some phosphorescence +of the beach; I see the pale tossing of the surf beside them; I +hear the continuous roar borne up and softened about these heights; +and this is night at Taormina. There is a weirdness in the +scene—the feeling without the reality of mystery; and at +evening, I know not why, I cannot sleep without stepping upon the +terrace or peering through the panes to see those lights. At +morning the charm has flown from the shore to the further heights +above me. I glance at the vast banks of southward-lying cloud that +envelop Etna, like deep fog upon the ocean; and then, inevitably, +my eyes seek the double summit of the Taorminian mountain, rising +nigh at hand a thousand feet, almost sheer, less than half a mile +westward. The nearer height, precipice-faced, towers full in front +with its crowning ruined citadel, and discloses, just below the +peak, on an arm of rock toward its right, a hermitage church among +the heavily hanging mists. The other horn of the massive hill, +somewhat more remote, behind and to the old castle's left, exposes +on its slightly loftier crest the edge of a hamlet. It, too, is +cloud-wreathed—the lonely crag of Mola. Over these hilltops, +I know, mists will drift and touch all day; and often they darken +threateningly, and creep softly down the slopes, and fill the +next-lying valley, and roll, and lift again, and reveal the flank +of Monte d'Oro northward on the far-reaching range. As I was +walking the other day, with one of these floating showers gently +blowing in my face down this defile, I noticed, where the mists +hung in fragments from the cloud out over the gulf, how like +air-shattered arches they groined the profound ravine; and thinking +how much of the romantic charm which delights lovers of the +mountains and the sea springs from such Gothic moods of nature, I +felt for a moment something of the pleasure of recognition in +meeting with this northern and familiar element in the Sicilian +landscape.</p> +<p>One who has grown to be at home with nature cannot be quite a +stranger anywhere on earth. In new lands I find the poet's old +domain. It is not only from the land-side that these intimations of +old acquaintance come. When my eyes leave, as they will, the near +girdle of rainy mountain tops, and range home at last upon the sea, +something familiar is there too,—that which I have always +known,—but marvellously transformed and heightened in beauty +and power. Such sudden glints of sunshine in the offing through +unseen rents of heaven, as brilliant as in mid-ocean, I have beheld +a thousand times, but here they remind me rather of cloud-lights on +far western plains; and where have I seen those still tracts of +changeful colour, iridescent under the silvery vapours of noon; or, +when the weather freshens darkens, those whirlpools of pure emerald +in the gray expanse of storm? They seem like memories of what has +been, made fairer. One recurring scene has the same fascination for +my eyes as the fishers' lights. It is a simple picture: only an arm +of mist thrusting out from yonder lowland by the little cape, and +making a near horizon, where, for half an hour, the waves break +with great dashes of purple and green, deep and angry, against the +insubstantial mole. All day I gaze on these sights of beauty until +it seems that nature herself has taken on nobler forms forever +more. When the mountain storm beats the pane at midnight, or the +distant lightnings awake me in the hour before dawn, I can forget +in what climate I am; but the oblivion is conscious, and half a +memory of childhood nights: in an instant comes the recollection, +"I am on the coasts, and these are the couriers, of Etna."</p> +<p>The very rain is strange: it is charged with obscure +personality; it is the habitation of a new presence, a storm-genius +that I have never known; it in born of Etna, whence all things here +have being and draw nourishment. It is not rain, but the +rain-cloud, spread out over the valleys, the precipices, the +sounding beaches, the ocean plain; it is not a storm, but a season. +It does not rise with the moist Hyades, or ride with cloudy Orion +in the Mediterranean night; it does not pass like Atlantic tempests +on great world-currents: it remains. Its home is upon Etna; thence +it comes and thither it returns; it gathers and disperses, lightens +and darkens, blows and is silent, and though it suffer the clear +north wind, or the west, to divide its veils with heaven, again it +draws the folds together about its abode. It obeys only Etna, who +sends it forth; then with clouds and thick darkness the mountain +hides its face: it is the Sicilian winter.</p> +<a name="A2H_4_4" id="A2H_4_4"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<h3>II</h3> +<p>But Etna does not withdraw continuously from its children even +in this season. On the third day, at farthest, I was told it would +bring back the sun; and I was not deceived. Two days it was closely +wrapped in impenetrable gray; but the third morning, as I threw +open my casement and stepped out upon the terrace, I saw it, like +my native winter, expanding its broad flanks under the double +radiance of dazzling clouds spreading from its extreme summit far +out and upward, and of the snow-fields whose long fair drifts shone +far down the sides. Villages and groves were visible, clothing all +the lower zone, and between lay the plain. It seemed near in that +air, but it is twelve miles away. From the sea-dipping base to the +white cone the slope measures more than twenty miles, and as many +more conduct the eye downward to the western fringe—a vast +bulk; yet one does not think of its size as he gazes; so large a +tract the eye takes in, but no more realizes than it does the +distance of the stars. High up, forests peer through the ribbed +snows, and extinct craters stud the frozen scene with round hollow +mounds innumerable. A thousand features, but it remains one mighty +mountain. How natural it seems for it to be sublime! It is the peer +of the sea and of the sky. All day it flashed and darkened under +the rack, and I rejoiced in the sight, and knew why Pindar called +it the pillar of heaven; and at night it hooded itself once more +with the winter cloud.</p> +<a name="A2H_4_5" id="A2H_4_5"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<h3>III</h3> +<p>Would you see this land as I see it? Come then, since Etna gives +a fair, pure morning, up over the shelving bank to the great +eastern spur of Taormina, where stood the hollow theatre, now in +ruins, and above it the small temple with which the Greeks +surmounted the highest point. It is such a spot as they often chose +for their temples; but none ever commanded a more noble prospect. +The far-shining sea, four or five hundred feet below, washes the +narrow, precipitous descent, and on each hand is disclosed the +whole of that side of Sicily which faces the rising sun. To the +left and northward are the level straits, with the Calabrian +mountains opposite, thinly sown with light snow, as far as the Cape +of Spartivento, distinctly seen, though forty miles away; in front +expands the open sea; straight to the south runs the indented +coast, bay and beach, point after point, to where, sixty miles +distant, the great blue promontory of Syracuse makes far out. On +the land-side Etna fills the south with its lifted snow-fields, now +smoke-plumed at the languid cone; and thence, though lingeringly, +the eye ranges nearer over the intervening plain to the well-wooded +ridge of Castiglione, and, next, to the round solitary top of Monte +Maestra, with its long shoreward descent, and comes to rest on the +height of Taormina overhead, with its hermitage of Santa Maria +della Rocca, its castle, and Mola. Yet further off, at the hand of +the defile, looms the barren summit of Monte Venere, with Monte +d'Oro and other hills in the foreground, and northward, peak after +peak, travels the close Messina range.</p> +<p>A landscape of sky, sea, plain, and mountains, great masses +majestically grouped, grand in contour! Yet to call it sublime does +not render the impression it makes upon the soul. Sublime, indeed, +it is at times, and dull were he whose heart from hour to hour awe +does not visit here; but constantly the scene is beautiful, and +yields that delight which dwells unwearied with the soul. One may +be seldom touched to the exaltation which sublimity implies, but to +take pleasure in loveliness is the habit of one who lives as heaven +made him; and what characterizes this landscape and sets it apart +is the permanence of its beauty, its perpetual and perfect charm +through every change of light and weather, and in every quarter of +its heaven and earth, felt equally whether the eye sweeps the great +circuit with its vision, or pauses on the nearer features, for +they, too, are wonderfully composed. This hill of my station falls +down for half a mile with broken declivities, and then becomes the +Cape of Taormina, and takes its steep plunge into the sea. Yonder +picturesque peninsula to its left, diminished by distance and +strongly relieved on the purple waves, is the Cape of Sant' Andrea, +and beside it a cluster of small islands lies nearer inshore. On +the other side, to the right of our own cape, shines our port, with +Giardini, the village of my fishers' lights, the beach with its +boats, and the white main road winding in the narrow level between +the bluffs and the sands. The port is guarded on the south by the +peninsula of Schiso, where ancient Naxos stood; and just beyond, +the river Alcantara cuts the plain and flows to the sea. At the +other extremity, northward of Sant' Andrea, is the cove of +Letojanni, with its village, and then, perhaps eight miles away, +the bold headland of Sant' Alessio closes the shore view with a +mass of rock that in former times completely shut off the land +approach hither, there being no passage over it, and none around it +except by the strip of sand when the sea was quiet. All this +ground, with in several villages, from Sant' Alessio to the +Alcantara, and beyond into the plain, was anciently the territory +of Taormina.</p> +<p>The little city itself lies on its hill, between the bright +shore and the gray old castle, on a crescent-like terrace whose two +horns jut out into the air like capes. The northern one of these is +my station, the site of the old temple and the amphitheatre; the +southern one opposite shows the facade of the Dominican convent; +and the town circles between, possibly a mile from spur to spur. +Here and there long broken lines of the ancient wall, black with +age, stride the hillside. A round Gothic tower, built as if for +warfare, a square belfry, a ruined gateway, stand out among the +humble roofs. Gardens of orange and lemon trees gleam like oblong +parks, principally on the upper edge toward the great rock. If you +will climb, as I have done, the craggy plateau close by, which +overhangs the theatre and obstructs the view of the extreme end of +the town at this point, you will see from its level face, rough +with the plants of the prickly-pear, a cross on an eminence just +below, and the gate toward Messina.</p> +<p>The face of the country is bare. Here beneath, where the main +ravine of Taormina cuts into the earth between the two spurs of the +city, are terraces of fruit trees and vegetables, and, wherever the +naked rock permits, similar terraces are seen on the castle hill +and every less steep slope, looking as if they would slide off. +Almond and olive trees cling and climb all over the hillsides, but +their boughs do not clothe the country. It is gray to look at, +because of the masses of natural rock everywhere cropping out, and +also from the substructure of the terraces, which, seen from below, +present banks of the same gray stone. The only colour is given by +the fan-like plants of the prickly-pear, whose flat, thick-lipped, +pear-shaped leaves, stuck with thorns, and often extruding their +reddish fruit from the edge, lend a dull green to the scene. This +plant grows everywhere, like wild bush, to a man's height, covering +the otherwise infertile soil, and the goats crop it. A closer view +shows patches of wild candytuft and marigolds, like those at my +feet, and humble purple and blue blossoms hang from crannies or run +over the stony turf; but these are not strong enough to be felt in +the prevalent tones. The blue of ocean, the white of Etna, the gray +of Taormina—this is the scene.</p> +<p>Three ways connect the town with the lower world. The modern +carriage road runs from the Messina gate, and, quickly dropping +behind the northern spur, winds in great serpentine loops between +the Campo Santo below and old wayside tombs, Roman and Arabic, +above, until it slowly opens on the southern outlook, and, after +two miles of tortuous courses above the lovely coves, comes out on +the main road along the coast. The second way starts from the other +end of the town, the gate toward Etna, and goes down more +precipitously along the outer flank of the southern spur, with Mola +(here shifted to the other side of the castle hill) closing the +deep ravine behind; and at last it empties into the torrent of +Selina, in whose bed it goes on to Giardini. The third, or short +way, leaps down the great hollow of the spurs, and yet keeps to a +ridge between the folds of the ravine which it discloses on each +side, with here and there a contadino cutting rock on the steep +hillsides, or a sportsman wandering with his dog; or often at +twilight, from some coign of vantage, you may see the goats +trooping home across the distant sands by the sea. It debouches +through great limestone quarries on the main road. There, seen from +below, Taormina comes out—a cape, a town, and a hill. It is, +in fact, a long, steep, broken ridge, shaped like a wedge; one end +of the broad lace dips into the sea, the other, high on land, +exposes swelling bluffs; its back bears the town, its point lifts +the castle.</p> +<p>This is the Taorminian land. What a quietude hangs over it! How +poor, how mean, how decayed the little town now looks amid all this +silent beauty of enduring nature! It could not have been always so. +This theatre at my feet, hewn in the living rock, flanked at each +end by great piers of massive Roman masonry, and showing broken +columns thick strewn in the midst of the broad orchestra, tells of +ancient splendour and populousness. The narrow stage still stands, +with nine columns in position in two groups; part are shattered +half-way up, part are yet whole, and in the gap between the groups +shines the lovely sea with the long southern coast, set in the +beauty of these ruins as in a frame. Here Attic tragedies were once +played, and Roman gladiators fought. The enclosure is large, much +over a hundred yards in diameter. It held many thousands. Whence +came the people to fill it? I noticed by the roadside, as I came +up, Saracenic tombs. I saw in the first square I entered those +small Norman windows, with the lovely pillars and the round arch. +On the ancient church I have observed the ornamentation and +mouldings of Byzantine art. The Virgin with her crown, over the +fountain, was paltry enough, but I saw that this was originally a +mermaid's statue. A water-clock here, a bath there; in all quarters +I come on some slight, poor relics of other ages; and always in the +faces of the people, where every race seems to have set its seal, I +see the ruins of time. These echoes are not all of far-off things. +That lookout below was a station of English cannon, I am told; and +the bluff over Giardini, beyond the torrent, takes its name from +the French tents pitched there long ago. The old walls can be +traced for five miles, but now the circuit is barely two. I wonder, +as I go down to my room in the Casa Timeo, what was the past of +this silent town, now so shrunken from its ancient limits; and who, +I ask myself, Timeo?</p> +<h3>IV</h3> +<p>I thought when I first saw the inaccessibility of this +mountain-keep that I should have no walks except upon the carriage +road; but I find there are paths innumerable. Leap the low walls +where I will, I come on unsuspected ways broad enough for man and +beast. They ran down the hillsides in all directions, and are ever +dividing as they descend, like the branching streams of a +waterfall. Some are rudely paved, and hemmed by low walls; others +are mere footways on the natural rock and earth, often edging +precipices, and opening short cross-cuts in the most unexpected +places, not without a suggestion of peril, to make eye and foot +alert, and to infuse a certain wild pleasure into the exercise. The +multiplicity of these paths is a great boon to the lover of beauty, +for here one charm of Italian landscape exists in perfection. Every +few moments the scene rearranges itself in new combinations, as on +the Riviera or at Amalfi, and makes an endless succession of lovely +pictures. The infinite variety of these views is not to be imagined +unless it has been witnessed; and besides the magic wrought by mere +change of position, there is also a constant transformation of tone +and colour from hour to hour, as the lights and shadows vary, and +from day to day, with the unsettled weather.</p> +<p>Yet who could convey to black-and-white speech the sense of +beauty which is the better part of my rambles? It is only to say +that here I went up and down on the open hillsides, and there I +followed the ridges or kept the cliff-line above the fair coves; +that now I dropped down into the vales, under the shade of olive +and lemon branches, and wound by the gushing streams through the +orchards. In every excursion I make some discovery, and bring home +some golden store for memory. Yesterday I found the olive slopes +over Letojanni—beautiful old gnarled trees, such as I have +never seen except where the nightingales sing by the eastern shore +of Spezzia. I did not doubt when I was told that those orchards +yield the sweetest oil in the world. It was the lemon harvest, and +everywhere were piles of the pale yellow fruit heaped like apples +under the slender trees, with a gatherer here and there; for this +is always a landscape of solitary figures. To-day I found the +little beach of San Nicolo, not far from the same place. I kept +inland, going down the hollow by the Campo Santo, where there is a +cool, gravelly stream in a dell that is like a nook in the +Berkshire hills, and then along the upland on the skirts of Monte +d'Oro, till by a sharp turn seaward I came out through a marble +quarry where men were working with what seemed slow implements on +the gray or party-coloured stone. I passed through the rather +silent group, who stopped to look at me, and a short distance +beyond I crossed the main road, and went down by a stream to the +shore. I found it strewn with seaside rock, as a hundred other +beaches are, but none with rocks like these. They were marble, red +or green, or shot with variegated hues, with many a soft gray, +mottled or wavy-lined; and the sea had polished them. Very lovely +they were, and shone where the low wave gleamed over them. I had +wondered at the profusion of marbles in the Italian churches, but I +had not thought to find them wild on a lonely Sicilian beach. Once +or twice already I had seen a block rosy in the torrent-beds, and +it had seemed a rare sight; but here the whole shore was piled and +inlaid with the beautiful stone.</p> +<p>I have learned now that Taormina is famous for these marbles. +Over thirty varieties were sent to the Vienna Exhibition, and they +won the prize. I got this information from the keeper of the +Communal Library, with whom I have made friends. He recalls to my +memory the ship that Hieron of Syracuse gave to Ptolemy, wonderful +for its size. It had twenty banks of rowers, three decks, and space +to hold a library, a gymnasium, gardens with trees in them, +stables, and baths, and towers for assault, and it was provided by +Archimedes with many ingenious mechanical devices. The wood of +sixty ordinary galleys was required for its construction. I +describe it because its architect, Filea, was a Taorminian by +birth, and esteemed in his day second only to Archimedes in his +skill in mechanics; and in lining the baths of this huge galley he +used these beautiful Taorminian marbles. My friend the librarian +told me also, with his Sicilian burr, of the wine of Taormina, the +Eugenaean, which was praised by Pliny, and used at the sacred +feasts of Rome; but now, he said sadly, the grape had lost its +flavour.</p> +<p>The sugar-cane, which nourished in later times, is also gone. +But the mullet that is celebrated in Juvenal's verse, and the +lampreys that once went to better Alexandrian luxury, are still the +spoil of the fishers, the shrimps are delicate to the palate, and +the marbles will endure as long as this rock itself. The rock +lasts, and the sea. The most ancient memory here is of them, for +this is the shore of Charybdis. It is stated in Sallust and other +Latin authors, as well as by writers throughout the Middle Ages, +that all which was swallowed up in the whirlpool of the straits, +after being carried beneath the sea for miles, was finally cast up +on the beach beneath the hill of Taormina.</p> +<p>The rock and the sea were finely blended in one of my first +discoveries in the land, and in consequence they have seemed, to my +imagination, more closely united here than is common. On a stormy +afternoon I had strolled down the main road, and was walking toward +Letojanni. I came, after a little, to a great cliff that overhung +the sea, with room for the road to pass beneath; and as I drew near +I heard a strange sound, a low roaring, a deep-toned reverberation, +that seemed not to come from the breaking waves, loud on the beach: +it was a more solemn, a more piercing and continuous sound. It was +from the rock itself. The grand music of the rolling sea beneath +was taken up by the hollowed cliff, and reechoed with a mighty +volume of sound from invisible sources. It seemed the voice of the +rock, as if by long sympathy and neighbourhood in that lonely place +the cliff were interpenetrated with the sea-music, and had become +resonant of itself with those living harmonies heard only in the +Psalmist's song. It seemed a lyre for the centuries; and I thought +over how many a conqueror, how many a race, that requiem had been +lifted upon it as they passed to their death on this shore. I came +back slowly in the twilight, and was roused from my reverie by the +cold wind breathing on me as I reached the top of the hill, pure +and keen and frosted like the bright December breezes of my own +land. It was the kiss of Etna on my cheek.</p> +<center> +<h3>V</h3> +</center> +<p>Will you hear the legend of Taormina?—for in these days I +dare not call it history. Noble and romantic it is, and age-long. I +had not hoped to recover it; but my friend the librarian has +brought me books in which patriotic Taorminians have written the +story celebrating their dear city. I was touched by the simplicity +with which he informed me that the town authorities had been +unwilling to waste on a passing stranger these little paper-bound +memorials of their city. "But," he said, "I told them I had given +you my word." So I possess these books with a pleasant association +of Sicilian honour, and I have read them with real interest. As I +turned the pages I was reminded once more how impossible it is to +know the past. The past survives in human institutions, in the +temperament of races, and in the creations of ideal art; but only +in the last is it immortal. Custom and law are for an age: race +after race is pushed to the sea, and dies; only epic and saga and +psalm have one date with man, one destiny with the breath of his +lips, one silence at the last with them. Least of all does the past +survive in the living memories of men. Here and there the earth +cherishes a coin or a statue, the desert embalms some solitary +city, a few leagues of rainless air preserve on rock and column the +lost speech of Nile; so the mind of man holds in dark places, or +lifts to living fame, no more than ruins and fragments of the life +that was. I have been a diligent reader of books in my time; and +here in an obscure corner of the Old-World I find a narrative +studded with noble names, not undistinguished by stirring deeds, +and, save for the great movements of history and a few shadowy +figures, it is all fresh to my mind. I have looked on three +thousand years of human life upon this hill; something of what they +have yielded, if you will have patience with such a tract of time, +I will set down.</p> +<p>My author is Monsignore Giovanni di Giovanni, a Taorminian, who +flourished in the last century. He was a man of vast erudition, and +there is in his pages the Old-World learning which delights me. He +was born before the days of historic doubt. He tells a true story. +To allege an authority is with him to prove a fact, and to cite all +writers who repeat the original source is to render truth +impregnable. Rarely does he show any symptom of the modern malady +of incredulity. <i>Scripta littera</i> is reason enough, unless the +fair fame of his city chances to be at stake. He was really +learned, and I do wrong to seem to diminish his authority. He was a +patient investigator of manuscripts, and did important service to +Sicilian history. The simplicity I have alluded to affects mainly +the ecclesiastical part of his narrative. A few statements also in +regard to the prehistoric period might disturb the modern mind, but +I own to finding in them the charm of lost things. In my mental +provinces I welcome the cave-man, the flint-maker, the +lake-dweller, and all their primitive tribes to the abode of +science; but I feel them to be intruders in my antiquity. I was +brought up on quite other chronologies, and I still like a history +that begins with the flood. I will not, however, ask any one of +more serious mind to go back with Monsignore and myself to the era +of autochthonous Sicily, when the children of the Cyclops inhabited +the land, and Demeter in her search for Proserpina wept on this +hill, and Charybdis lay stretched out under these bluffs watching +the sea. It is precise enough to say that Taormina began eighty +years before the Trojan War. Very dimly, it must be acknowledged, +the ancient Sicani are seen arriving and driven, like all doomed +races, south and west out of the land, and in their place the +Siculi flourish, and a Samnite colony voyages over the straits from +Italy and joins them. Here for three centuries these sparse +communities lived along these heights in fear of the sea pirates, +and warred confusedly from their mainhold on Mount Taurus, or the +Bull, so called because the two summits of the mountain from a +distance resemble a bull's horns; and they left no other memory of +themselves.</p> +<p>Authentic history begins toward the end of the eighth century +before our era. It is a bright burst; for then, down by yonder +green-foaming rock, the young Greek mariners leaped on the strand. +This was their first land-fall in Sicily; that rock, their +Plymouth; and here, doubtless, the alarmed mountaineers stood in +their fastness and watched the bearers of the world's torch, and +knew them not, bringing daybreak to the dark island for evermore, +but fought, as barbarism will, against the light, and were at last +made friends with it—a chance that does not always befall. +Then quickly rose the lowland city of Naxos, and by the river +sprang up the temple to Guiding Apollo, the earliest shrine of the +Sicilian Greeks, where they came ever afterward to pray for a +prosperous voyage when they would go across the sea, homeward. They +were from the first a fighting race; and decade by decade the cloud +of war grew heavier on each horizon, southward from Syracuse and +northward from Messina, and swords beat fiercer and stronger with +the rivalries of growing states—battles dimly discerned now. +A single glimpse flashes out on the page of Thucydides. He relates +that when once the Messenians threatened Naxos with overthrow, the +mountaineers rushed down from the heights in great numbers to the +relief of their Greek neighbours, and routed the enemy and slew +many. This is the first bloodstain, clear and bright, on our +Taorminian land. Shall I add, from the few relics of that age, that +Pythagoras, on the journey he undertook to establish the +governments of the Sicilian cities, wrought miracles here, curing a +mad lover of his frenzy by music, and being present on this hill +and at Metaponto the same day—a thing not to be done without +magic? But at last we see plainly Alcibiades coasting along below, +and the ill-fated Athenians wintering in the port, and horsemen +going out from Naxos toward Etna on the side of Athens in the +death-struggle of her glory. And then, suddenly, after the second +three hundred years, all is over, the Greek city betrayed, sacked, +destroyed, Naxos trodden out under the foot of Dionysius the +tyrant.</p> +<p>Other fortune awaited him a few years later when he came again, +and our city (which, one knows not when, had been walled and +fortified) stood its first historic siege. Dionysius arrived in the +dead of winter. Snow and ice—I can hardly credit +it—whitened and roughened these ravines, a new ally to the +besieged; but the tyrant thought to betray them by a false security +in such a season. On a bitter night, when clouds hooded the +hilltop, and mists rolled low about its flanks, he climbed +unobserved, with his forces, up these precipices, and gained two +outer forts which gave footways to the walls; but the town roused +at the sound of arms and the cries of the guards, and came down to +the fray, and fought until six hundred of the foe fell dead, others +with wounds surrendered, and the rest fled headlong, with Dionysius +among them, hard pressed, and staining the snow with his blood as +he went. This was the city's first triumph.</p> +<p>Not only with brave deeds did Taormina begin, but, as a city +should, with a great man. He was really great, this Andromachus. Do +you not remember him out of Plutarch, and the noble words that have +been his immortal memory among men? "This man was incomparably the +best of all those that bore sway in Sicily at that time, governing +his citizens according to law and justice, and openly professing an +aversion and enmity to all tyrants." Was the defeat of Dionysius +the first of his youthful exploits, as some say? I cannot +determine; but it is certain that he gathered the surviving exiles +of Naxos, and gave them this plateau to dwell upon, and it was no +longer called Mount Taurus, as had been the wont, but Tauromenium, +or the Abiding-place of the Bull. A few years later Andromachus +performed the signal action of his life by befriending Timoleon, as +great a character, in my eyes, as Plutarch records the glory of. +Timoleon had set out from Corinth, at the summons of his Greek +countrymen, to restore the liberty of Syracuse, then tyrannized +over by the second Dionysius; and because Andromachus, in his +stronghold of Taormina, hated tyranny, Plutarch says, he "gave +Timoleon leave to muster up his troops there and to make that city +the seat of war, persuading the inhabitants to join their arms with +the Corinthian forces and to assist them in the design of +delivering Sicily." It was on our beach that Timoleon disembarked, +and from our city he went forth to the conquest foretold, by the +wreath that fell upon his head as he prayed at Delphi, and by the +prophetic fire that piloted his ship over the sea. The +Carthaginians came quickly after him from Reggio, where he had +eluded them, for they were in alliance with the tyrant; and from +their vessels they parleyed with Andromachus in the port. With an +insolent gesture, the envoy, raising his hand, palm up, and turning +it lightly over, said that even so, and with such ease, would he +overturn the little city; and Andromachus, mocking his hand-play, +answered that if he did not leave the harbour, even so would he +upset his galley. The Carthaginians sailed away. The city remained +firm-perched. Timoleon prospered, brought back liberty to Syracuse, +ruled wisely and nobly, and gave to Sicily those twenty years of +peace which were the flower of her Greek annals. Then, we must +believe, rose the little temple on our headland, the Greek theatre +where the tongue of Athens lived, the gymnasium where the youths +grew fair and strong. Then Taormina struck her coins: Apollo with +the laurel, with the lyre, with the grape; Dionysus with the ivy, +and Zeus with the olive; for the gods and temples of the Naxians +had become ours, and were religiously cherished; and with the rest +was struck a coin with the Minotaur, our symbol. But of +Andromachus, the founder of the well-built and fairly adorned Greek +city that then rose, we hear no more—a hero, I think, one of +the true breed of the founders of states. But alas for liberty! A +new tyrant, Agathocles, was soon on the Syracusan throne, and he +won this city by friendly professions, only to empty it by +treachery and murder; and he drove into exile Timaeus, the son of +Andromachus. Timaeus? He, evidently, of my Casa Timeo. I know him +now, the once famed historian whom Cicero praises as the most +erudite in history of all writers up to his time, most copious in +facts and various in comment, not unpolished in style, eloquent, +and distinguished by terse and charming expression. Ninety years he +lived in the Greek world, devoted himself to history, and produced +many works, now lost. The ancient writers read him, and from their +criticism it is clear that he was marked by a talent for invective, +was given to sharp censure, and loved the bitter part of truth. He +introduced precision and detail into his art, and is credited with +being the first to realize the importance of chronology and to seek +exactness in it. He never saw again his lovely birthplace, and I +easily forgive to the exile and the son of Andromachus the vigour +with which he depicted the crimes of Agathocles and others of the +tyrants. In our city, meanwhile, the Greek genius waning to its +extinction, Tyndarion ruled; and in his time Pyrrhus came hither to +repulse the ever invading power of Carthage. But he was little more +than a shedder of blood; he accomplished nothing, and I name him +only as one of the figures of our beach.</p> +<p>The day of Greece was gone; but those two clouds of war still +hung on the horizon, north and south, with ever darker tempest. +Instead of Syracuse and Messina, Carthage and the new name of Rome +now sent them forth, and over this island they encountered. Our +city, true to its ancient tradition, became Rome's ever faithful +ally, as you may read in the poem of Silius Italicus, and was +dignified by treaty with the title of a confederate city; and of +this fact Cicero reminded the judges when in that famous trial he +thundered against Verres, the spoiler of our Sicilian province, and +with the other cities defended this of ours, whose people had +signalized their hatred of the Roman praetor by overthrowing his +statue in the market-place and sparing the pedestal, as they said, +to be an eternal memorial of his infamy. From the Roman age, +however, I take but two episodes, for I find that to write this +town's history were to write the history of half the Mediterranean +world. When the slaves rose in the Servile War, they intrenched +themselves on this hill, and in their hands the city bore its siege +by the Roman consul as hardily as was ever its custom. Cruel they +were, no doubt, and vindictive. With horror Monsignore relates that +they were so resolved not to yield that, starving, they ate their +children, their wives, and one another; and he rejoices when they +were at last betrayed and massacred, and this disgrace was wiped +away. I hesitate. I cannot feel regret when those whom man has made +brutal answer brutally to their oppressors. I have enough of the +old Taorminian spirit to remember that the slaves, too, fought for +liberty. I am sorry for those penned and dying men; their famine +and slaughter in these walls were least horrible for their part in +the catastrophe, if one looks through what they did to what they +were, and remembers that the civilization they violated had +stripped them of humanity. After the slave, I make room—for +whom else than imperial Augustus? Off this shore he defeated Sextus +Pompey, and he thought easily to subdue the town above when he +summoned it. But Taormina was always a loyal little place, and it +would not yield without a siege. Then Augustus, sitting down before +it, prayed in our temple of Guiding Apollo that he might have the +victory; and as he walked by the beach afterward a fish threw +itself out of the water before him—an omen, said the +diviners, that even so the Pompeians, who held the seas, after many +turns of varied fortune, should be brought to his feet. Pompey +returned with a fleet, and in these waters again the battle was +fought and Augustus lost it, and the siege was raised. But when a +third time the trial of naval strength was essayed, and the cause +of the Pompeians ruined, Augustus remembered the city that had +defied him, sent its inhabitants into exile, and planted a Roman +colony in its place. Latin was now the language here. The massive +grandeur of Roman architecture replaced the old Greek structures. +The amphitheatre was enlarged and renewed in its present form, +villas of luxury bordered the coasts as in Campania, and coins were +struck in the Augustan name.</p> +<p>The Roman domination in its turn slowly moved to its fall; and +where should the new age begin more fitly than in this city of +beginnings? As of old the Greek torch first gleamed here, here +first on Sicilian soil was the Cross planted. The gods of Olympus +had many temples about the hill slopes, shrines of venerable +antiquity even in those days; but if the monkish chronicles be +credited, the new faith signalized its victory rather over three +strange idolatries,—the worship of Falcone, of Lissone, and +of Scamandro, a goddess. I refuse to believe that the citizens were +accustomed to sacrifice three youths annually to Falcone; and as +for the other two deities, little is known of them except that +their destruction marked the advent of the young religion. +Pancrazio was the name of him who was destined to be our patron +saint through the coming centuries. He was born in Antioch, and +when a child of three years, going with his father into Judea, he +had seen the living Christ; now, grown into manhood, he was sent by +St. Peter to spread the gospel in the isles of the sea. He +disembarked on our beach, and forthwith threw Lissone's image into +the waves, and with it a holy dragon which was coiled about it like +a garment and was fed with sacrifices; and he shattered with his +cross the great idol Scamandro: and so Taormina became Christian, +welcomed St. Peter on his way to Rome, and entered on the long new +age. It was here, as elsewhere, the age of martyrs—Pancrazio +first, and after him Geminiano, guided hither with his mother by an +angel; and then San Nicone, who suffered with his one hundred and +ninety-nine brother monks, and Sepero and Corneliano with their +sixty; the age of monks—Luca, who fled from his bridal to +live on Etna, with fasts, visions, and prophecies; and, later, +simple-minded Daniele, the follower of St. Elia, of whom there is +more to be recorded; the age of bishops, heard in Roman councils +and the palace of Byzantium, of whom two only are of singular +interest—Zaccaria, who was deprived, evidently the ablest in +mind and policy of all the succession, once a great figure in the +disputes of East and West; and Procopio, whom the Saracens slew, +for the Crescent now followed the Cross.</p> +<p>The ancient war-cloud had again gathered out of Africa. The +Saracens were in the land, and every city had fallen except +Syracuse and Taormina. For sixty years the former held out, and our +city for yet another thirty, the sole refuge of the Christians. +Signs of the impending destruction were first seen by that St. Elia +already mentioned, who wandered hither, and was displeased by the +manners and morals of the citizens. I am sorry to record that +Monsignore believed his report, for only here is there mention of +such a matter. "The citizens," says my author, "lived in luxury and +pleasure not becoming to a state of war. They saw on all sides the +fields devastated, houses burnt, wealth plundered, cities given to +the flames, friends and companions killed or reduced to slavery, +yet was there no vice, no sin, that did not rule unpunished among +them." Therefore the saint preached the woe to come, and, turning +to the governor, Constantine Patrizio, in his place in the +cathedral, he appealed to him to restrain his people. "Let the +philosophy of the Gentiles," he exclaimed, "be your shame. +Epaminondas, that illustrious <i>condottiere</i>, strictly +restrained himself from intemperance, from every lust, every +allurement of pleasure. So, also, Scipio, the Roman leader, was +valorous through the same continence as Epaminondas; and therefore +they brought back signal victory, one over the Spartans, the other +over the Carthaginians, and both erected immortal trophies." He +promised them mercy with repentance, but ended threateningly: "So +far as in me lies I have clearly foretold to you all that has been +divinely revealed to me. If you believe my words, like the +penitents of Nineveh, you shall find mercy; if you despise my +admonitions, bound and captive you shall be reduced to the worst +slavery." He prophesied yet more in private. He went to the house +of a noble citizen, Crisione, who esteemed him as a father, and, +lying in bed, he said to him: "Do you see, Crisione, the bed in +which I now lie? In this same bed shall Ibrahim sleep, hungry for +human blood, and the walls of the rooms shall see many of the most +distinguished persons of this city all together put to the edge of +the sword." Then he left the house and went to the square in the +centre of the city, and, standing there, he lifted his garments +above the knee. Whereupon simple Daniele, who always followed him +about, marvelling asked, "What does this thing mean, father?" The +old man had his answer ready, "Now I see rivers of blood running, +and these proud and magnificent buildings which you see exalted +shall be destroyed even to the foundations by the Saracens." And +the monk fled from the doomed city, like a true prophet, and went +overseas.</p> +<p>The danger was near, but perhaps not more felt than it must +always have been where the prayer for defence against the Saracens +had gone up for a hundred years in the cathedral. The governor, +however, had taken pains to add to the strength of the city by +strong fortifications upon Mola. Ahulabras came under the walls, +but gave over the ever unsuccessful attempt to take the place, and +went on to ruin Reggio beyond the straits. When it was told to his +father Ibrahim that Tabermina, as the Saracens called it, had again +been passed by, he cried out upon his son, "He is degenerate, +degenerate! He took his nature from his mother and not from his +father; for, had he been born from me, surely his sword would not +have spared the Christians!" Therefore he recalled him to the home +government, and came himself and sat down before the city. The +garrison was small and insufficient, but, says my author, following +old chronicles, "youths, old men, and children, without distinction +of age, sex, or condition, fearing outrage and all that slavery +would expose them to, all spontaneously offered themselves to fight +in this holy war even to death: with such courage did love of +country and religious zeal inspire the citizens." Ibrahim had other +weapons than the sword. He first corrupted the captains of the +Greek fleet, who were afterward condemned for the treason at +Byzantium. Then, all being ready, he promised some Ethiopians of +his army, who are described as of a ferocious nature and harsh +aspect, that he would give them the city for booty, besides other +gifts, if they would devote themselves to the bold undertaking. The +catastrophe deserves to be told in Monsignore's own words:</p> +<p>"This people, accustomed to rapine, allured by the riches of the +Taorminians and the promises of the king, with the aid of the +traitors entered unexpectedly into the city, and with bloody swords +and mighty cries and clamour assailed the citizens. Meanwhile King +Ibrahim, having entered with all his army by a secret gate under +the fortress of Mola, thence called the gate of the Saracens, raged +against the citizens with such unexpected and cruel slaughter that +not only neither the weakness of sex, nor tender years, nor +reverence for hoary age, but not even the abundance of blood that +like torrents flowed down the ways, touched to pity that ferocious +heart. The soldiers, masters of the beautiful and wealthy city, +divided among them the riches and goods of the citizens according +as to each one the lot fell; they levelled to the ground the +magnificent buildings, public or private, sacred or profane, all +that were proudest for amplitude, construction, and ornament; and +that not even the ruins of ancient splendour should remain, all +that had survived they gave to the flames."</p> +<p>This city, which the Saracens destroyed, is the one the +Taorminians cherish as the culmination of their past. In the Greek, +the Roman, and the early Christian ages it had flourished, as both +its ruins and its history attest, and much must have yet survived +from those times; while its station as the only Christian +stronghold in the island would naturally have attracted wealth +hither for safety. In this first sack of the Saracens, the ancient +city must have perished, but the destruction could hardly have been +so thorough as is represented, since some of the churches +themselves, in their present state, show Byzantine workmanship.</p> +<p>There remains one bloody and characteristic episode to Ibrahim's +victory. The king, says the Arab chronicler, was pious and +naturally compassionate, but on this occasion he forgot his usual +mildness. In the midst of fire and blood he ordered the soldiers to +search the caverns of the hills, and they dragged forth many +prisoners, among whom was the Bishop Procopio. The king spoke to +him gently and nobly, "Because you are wise and old, O Bishop, I +exhort you with soft words to obey my advice, and to have foresight +for your own safety and that of your companions; otherwise you +shall suffer what your fellow-citizens have suffered from me. If +you will embrace my laws, and deny the Christian religion, you +shall have the second place after me, and shall be more dear to me +than all the Agarenes." The prelate only smiled. Then, full of +wrath, the king said: "Do you smile while you are my prisoner? Know +you not in whose presence you are?" "I smile truly," came the +answer, "because I see you are inspired by a demon who puts these +words into your mouth." Furious, the king called to his attendants, +"Quick, break open his breast, tear out his heart, that we may see +and understand the secrets of his mind." While the command was +being executed, Procopio reproved the king and comforted his +companions. "The tyrant, swollen with rage, and grinding his +teeth," says the narrative, "barbarously offered him the torn-out +heart that he might eat it." Then he bade them strike off the +bishop's head (who, we are told, was already half dead), and also +the heads of his companions, and to burn the bodies all together. +And as St. Pancrazio of old had thrown the holy dragon into the +sea, so now were his own ashes scattered to the winds of heaven; +and Ibrahim, having accomplished his work, departed.</p> +<p>Some of the citizens, however, had survived, and among them +Crisione, the host of St. Elia. He went to bear the tidings to the +saint; and being now assured of the gift of prophecy possessed by +the holy man, asked him to foretell his future. He met the +customary fate of the curious in such things. "I foresee," said the +discomfortable saint, "that within a few days you will die." And to +make an end of St. Elia with Crisione, let me record here the +simple Daniele's last act of piety to his master. It is little that +in such company he fought with devils, or that after he had written +with much labour a beautiful Psalter, the old monk bade him fling +it and worldly pride together over the cliff into a lake. Such +episodes belonged to the times; and, after all, by making a circuit +of six miles he found the Psalter miraculously unwet, and only his +worldly pride remained at the lake's bottom. But it was a mind +singularly inventive of penance that led the dying saint to charge +poor Daniele to bear the corpse on his back a long way over the +mountains, merely because, he said, it would be a difficult thing +to do. Other survivors of the sack of Taormina, more fortunate than +Crisione, watched their opportunity, and, at a moment when the +garrison was weak, entered, seized the place, fortified it anew, +and offered it to the Greek emperor once more. He could not +maintain war with the Saracens, but by a treaty made with them he +secured his faithful Taorminians in the possession of the city. +After forty years of peace under this treaty it was again besieged +for several months, and fell on Christmas night. Seventeen hundred +and fifty of its citizens were sent by the victors into slavery in +Africa. Greek troops, however, soon retook the city in a campaign +that opened brilliantly in Sicily only to close in swift disaster; +but for five years longer Taormina sustained continual siege, and +when it fell at last, with the usual carnage of its citizens and +the now thrice-repeated fire and ruin of Saracenic victory, we may +well believe that, though it remained the seat of a governor, +little of the city was left except its memory. Its name even was +changed to Moezzia.</p> +<p>The Crescent ruled undisturbed for a hundred years, until the +landing of Count Roger, the Norman, the great hero of mediaeval +Sicily, who recovered the island to the Christian faith. Taormina, +true to its tradition, was long in falling; but after eighteen +years of desultory warfare Count Roger sat down before it with +determination. He surrounded it with a circumvallation of +twenty-two fortresses connected by ramparts and bridges, and cut +off all access by land or sea. Each day he inspected the lines; and +the enemy, having noticed this habit, laid an ambush for him in +some young myrtles where the path he followed had a very narrow +passage over the precipices. They rushed out on him, and, as he was +unarmed and alone, would have killed him, had not their cries +attracted one Evandro, a Breton, who, coming, and seeing his +chief's peril, threw himself between, and died in his place. Count +Roger was not forgetful of this noble action. He recovered the +body, held great funeral services, and gave gifts to the soldiers +and the church. The story appealed so to the old chronicler +Malaterra, that he told it in both prose and verse. After seven +months the city surrendered, and the iron cross was again set up on +the rocky eminence by the gate. It is a sign of the ruin which had +befallen that the city now lost its bishopric and was +ecclesiastically annexed to another see.</p> +<p>Taormina, compared with what it had been, was now a place of the +desert; but not the less for that did the tide of war rage round it +for five hundred years to come. It was like a rock of the sea over +which conflicting billows break eternally. I will not narrate the +feudal story of internecine violence, nor how amidst it all every +religious order set up monasteries upon the beautiful hillsides, of +whose life little is now left but the piles of books in old +bindings over which my friend the librarian keeps guard, mourning +the neglect in which they are left. Among both the nobles and the +fathers were some examples of heroism, sacrifice, and learning, but +their deeds and virtues may sleep unwaked by me. The kings and +queens who took refuge here, and fled again, Messenian foray and +Chiaramontane faction, shall go unrecorded. I must not, however, in +the long roll of the famous figures of our beach forget that our +English Richard the Lion-hearted was entertained here by Tancred in +crusading days; and of notable sieges let me name at least that +which the city suffered for its loyalty to the brave and generous +Manfred when the Messenians surprised and wasted it, and that which +with less destruction the enemies of the second Frederick inflicted +on it, and that of the French under Charles II, who, contrary to +his word, gave up the surrendered city to the soldiery for eight +whole days—a terrible sack, of which Monsignore has heard old +men tell. What part the citizens took in the Sicilian Vespers, and +how the Parliament that vainly sought a king for all Sicily was +held here, and in later times the marches of the Germans, +Spaniards, and English—these were too long a tale. With one +more signal memory I close this world-history, as it began, with a +noble name. It was from our beach yonder that Garibaldi set out for +Italy in the campaign of Aspromonte; hither he was brought back, +wounded, to the friendly people, still faithful to that love of +liberty which flowed in the old Taorminian blood.</p> +<p>I shut my books; but to my eyes the rock is scriptured now. What +a leaf it is from the world-history of man upon the planet! Every +race has splashed it with blood; every faith has cried from it to +heaven. It is only a hill-station in the realm of empire; but in +the records of such a city, lying somewhat aside and out of common +vision, the course of human fate may be more simply impressive than +in the story of world-cities. Athens, Rome, Constantinople, London, +Paris, are great centres of history; but in them the mind is +confused by the multiplicity and awed by the majesty of events. +Here on this bare rock there is no thronging of illustrious names, +and little of that glory that conceals imperial crime, the massacre +of armies, and the people's woe. Again I use the figure: it is like +a rock of the sea, set here in the midst of the Mediterranean +world, washed by all the tides of history, beat on by every +pitiless storm of the passion of man for blood. The torch of +Greece, the light of the Cross, the streaming portent of the +Crescent, have shone from it, each in its time; all governments, +from Greek democracy to Bourbon tyranny, have ruled it in turn; +Roman law and feudal custom had it in charge, each a long age: yet +civilization in all its historic forms has never here done more, +seemingly, than alleviate at moments the hard human lot. And what +has been the end? Go down into the streets; go out into the +villages; go into the country-side. The men will hardly look up +from their burdens, the women will seldom stop to ask alms, but you +will see a degradation of the human form that speaks not of the +want of individuals, of one generation, or of an age, but of the +destitution of centuries stamped physically into the race. There +is, as always, a prosperous class, men well to do, the more +fortunate and better-born; but the common people lead toilsome +lives, and among them suffering is widespread. Three thousand years +of human life, and this the result! Yet I see many indications of a +brave patriotism in the community, an effort to improve general +conditions, to arouse, to stimulate, to encourage—the spirit +of free and united Italy awakening here, too, with faith in the new +age of liberty and hope of its promised blessings. And for a sign +there stands in the centre of the poor fishing-village yonder a +statue of Garibaldi.</p> +<a name="A2H_4_6" id="A2H_4_6"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<h3>VI</h3> +<p>The rain-cloud is gone. The days are bright, warm, and clear, +and every hour tempts me forth to wander about the hills. It is not +spring, but the hesitancy that holds before the season changes; yet +each day there are new flowers—not our delicate wood flowers, +but larger and coarser of fibre, and it adds a charm to them that I +do not know their names. The trees are budding, and here and there, +like a wave breaking into foam on a windless sea, an almond has +burst into blossom, white and solitary on the gray slopes, and over +all the orchards there is the faint suggestion of pale pink, felt +more than seen, so vague is it—but it is there. I go +wandering by cliff or sea-shore, by rocky beds of running water, +under dark-browed caverns, and on high crags; now on our cape, +among the majestic rocks, I watch the swaying of the smooth +deep-violet waters below, changing into indigo as they lap the +rough clefts, or I loiter on the beach to see the fishers about +their boats, weather-worn mariners, and youths in the fair strength +of manly beauty, like athletes of the old world: and always I bring +back something for memory, something unforeseen.</p> +<p>I have ever found this uncertainty a rare pleasure of travel. It +is blessed not to know what the gods will give. I remember once in +other days I left the beach of Amalfi to row away to the isles of +the Sirens, farther down the coast. It was a beautiful, blowing, +wave-wild morning, and I strained my sight, as every headland of +the high cliff-coast was rounded, to catch the first glimpse of the +low isles; and there came by a country boat-load of the peasants, +and in the bows, as it neared and passed, I saw a dark, +black-haired boy, bare breast, and dreaming eyes, motionless save +for the dipping prow—a figure out of old Italian pictures, +some young St. John, inexpressibly beautiful. I have forgotten how +the isles of the Sirens looked, but that boy's face I shall never +forget. It is such moments that give the Italy of the imagination +its charm. Here, too, I have similar experiences. A day or two ago, +when the bright weather began, I was threading the rough edge of a +broken path under the hill, and clinging to the rock with my hand. +Suddenly a figure rose just before me, where the land made out a +little farther on a point of the crag, so strange that I was +startled; but straightway I knew the goatherd, the curling locks, +the olive face, the garments of goatskin and leather on his limbs. +It came on me like a flash—<i>eccola</i> the country of +Theocritus!</p> +<p>I have never seen it set down among the advantages of travel +that one learns to understand the poets better. To see courts and +governments, manners and customs, works of architecture, statues +and pictures and ruins—this, since modern travel began, is to +make the grand tour; but though I have diligently sought such +obvious and common aims, and had my reward, I think no gain so +great as that I never thought of, the light which travel sheds upon +the poets; unless, indeed, I should except that stronger hold on +the reality of the ideal creations of the imagination which comes +from familiar life with pictures, and statues, and kindred physical +renderings of art. This latter advantage must necessarily be more +narrowly availed of by men, since it implies a certain peculiar +temperament; but poetry, in its less exalted forms, is open and +common to all who are not immersed in the materialism of their own +lives, and whatever helps to unlock the poetic treasures of other +lands for our possession may be an important part of life. I think +none can fully taste the sweetness, or behold the beauty, of +English song even, until he has wandered in the lanes and fields of +the mother-country; and in the case of foreign, and especially of +the ancient, poets, so much of whose accepted and assumed world of +fact has perished, the loss is very great. I had trodden many an +Italian hillside before I noticed how subtly Dante's landscape had +become realized in my mind as a part of nature. I own to believing +that Virgil's storms never blew on the sea until once, near +Salerno, as I rode back from Paestum, there came a storm over the +wide gulf that held my eyes enchanted—such masses of ragged, +full clouds, such darkness in their broad bosoms broken with rapid +flame, and a change beneath so swift, such anger on the sea, such +an indescribable and awful gleaming hue, not purple, nor green, nor +red, but a commingling of all these—a revelation of the wrath +of colour! The waves were wild with the fallen tempest; quick and +heavy the surf came thundering on the sands; the light went out as +if it were extinguished, and the dark rain came down; and I said, +"'Tis one of Virgil's storms." Such a one you will find also in +Theocritus, where he hymns the children of Leda, succourers of the +ships that, "defying the stars that set and rise in heaven, have +encountered the perilous breath of storms. The winds raise huge +billows about their stern, yea, or from the prow, or even as each +wind wills, and cast them into the hold of the ship, and shatter +both bulwarks, while with the sail limits nil the gear confused and +broken, and the wide sea rings, being lashed by the gusts and by +showers of iron hail."</p> +<p>I must leave these older memories, to tell, so far as it is +possible in words, of that land of the idyl which of all enchanted +retreats of the imagination is the hardest for him without the +secret to enter. Yet here I find it all about me in the places +where the poets first unveiled it. Once before I had a sight of it, +as all over Italy it glimpses at times from the hills and the +campagna. Descending under the high peak of Capri, I heard a flute, +and turned and saw on the neighbouring slopes the shepherd-boy +leading his flock, the music at his lips. Then the centuries rolled +together like a scroll, and I heard the world's morning notes. That +was a single moment; but here, day-long is the idyl world. I read +the old verses over, and in my walks the song keeps breaking in. +The idyls are full of streams and fountains, just such as I meet +with wherever I turn, and the water counts in the landscape as in +the poems. It is always tumbling over rocks in cascades, brawling +with rounded forms among the stones of the shallow brooks, bubbling +in fountains, or dripping from the cliff, or shining like silver in +the plain. The run that comes down from Mola, the torrent under the +olive and lemon branches toward Letojanni, the more open course in +the ravine of the mill down by Giardini, the cimeter of the +far-seen Alcantara lying on the campagna in the meadows, and that +further <i>fiume freddo</i>, the cold stream,—"chill water +that for me deep-wooded Etna sends down from the white snow, a +draught divine,"—each of these seems inhabited by a genius of +its own, so that it does not resemble its neighbours. But all alike +murmur of ancient song, and bring it near, and make it real.</p> +<p>On the beach one feels most keenly the actuality of much of the +idyls, and finds the continuousness of the human life that enters +into them. No idyl appeals so directly to modern feeling, I +suspect, as does that of the two fishermen and the dream of the +golden fish. Go down to the shore; you will find the old men still +at their toil, the same implements, the same poverty, the same +sentiment for the heart. Often as I look at them I recall the old +words, while the goats hang their heads over the scant herbage, and +the blue sea breaks lazily and heavily on the sands.</p> +<p>"Two fishers, on a time, two old men, together lay and slept; +they had strewn the dry sea-moss for a bed in their wattled cabin, +and there lay against the leafy wall. Beside them wore strewn the +instruments of their toilsome bands, the fishing-creels, the rods +of reed, the hooks, the sails bedraggled with sea-spoil, the lines, +the weels, the lobster-pots woven of rushes, the seines, two oars, +and an old cobble upon props. Beneath their heads was a scanty +matting, their clothes, their sailors' caps. Here was all their +toil, here all their wealth. The threshold had never a door nor a +watch-dog. All things, all, to them seemed superfluity, for Poverty +was their sentinel; they had no neighbour by them, but ever against +their narrow cabin gently floated up the sea."</p> +<p>This is what the eye beholds; and I dare not say that the idyl +is touched more with the melancholy of human fate for us than for +the poet. Poverty such as this, so absolute, I see everywhere at +every hour. It is a terrible sight. It is the physical hunger of +the soul in wan limbs and hand, and the fixed gaze of the unhoping +eyes—despair made flesh. How long has it suffered here? and +was it so when Theocritus saw his fishers and gave them a place in +the country of his idyls? He spreads before us the hills and +fountains, and fills the scene-with shepherds, and maidens, and +laughing loves, and among the rest are these two poor old men. The +shadow of the world's poverty falls on this paradise now as then. +With the rock and sea it, too, endures.</p> +<p>A few traces of the old myths also survive on the landscape. Not +far from here, down the coast, the rocks that the Cyclops threw +after the fleeing mariners are still to be seen near the shore +above which he piped to Galatea. Some day I mean to take a boat and +see them. But now I let the Cyclops idyls go, and with them Adonis +of Egypt, and Ptolemy, and the prattling women, and the praises of +Hiero, and the deeds of Herakles; these all belong to the cities of +the pastoral, to its civilization and art in more conscious forms; +but my heart stays in the campagna, where are the song-contests, +the amorous praise of maidens, the boyish boasting, the young, +sweet, graceful loves. Fain would I recover the breath of that +springtime; but while from my foot "every stone upon the way spins +singing," make what speed I can, I come not to the harvest-feast. +Bees go booming among the blossoms, and the flocks crop their +pasture, and night falls with Hesperus; but fruitless on my lips, +as at some shrine whence the god is gone, is Bion's prayer: +"Hesperus, golden lamp of the lovely daughter of the +foam—dear Hesperus, sacred jewel of the deep blue night, +dimmer as much than the moon as thou art among the stars +preeminent, hail, friend!" Dead now is that ritual. Now more silent +than ever is the country-side, missing Daphnis, the flower of all +those who sing when the heart is young. Sweet was his flute's first +triumph over Menaleas: "Then was the boy glad, and leaped high, and +clapped his hands over his victory, as a young fawn leaps about his +mother"; but sweeter was the unwon victory when he strove with +Damoetas: "Then Damoetas kissed Daphnis, as he ended his song, and +he gave Daphnis a pipe, and Daphnis gave him a beautiful flute. +Damoetas fluted, and Daphnis piped; the herdsmen, and anon the +calves, were dancing in the soft green grass. Neither won the +victory, but both were invincible." And him, too, I miss who loved +his friend, and wished that they twain might "become a song in the +ears of all men unborn," even for their love's sake; and prayed, +"Would, O Father Cronides, and would, ye ageless immortals, that +this might be, and that when two generations have sped, one might +bring these tidings to me by Acheron, the irremeable stream: the +loving-kindness that was between thee and thy gracious friend is +even now in all men's mouths, and chiefly on the lips of the +young." Hill and fountain and pine, the gray sea and Mother Etna, +are here; but no children gather in the land, as once about the +tomb of Diocles at the coming in of the spring, contending for the +prize of the kisses—"Whoso most sweetly touches lip to lip, +laden with garlands he returneth to his mother. Happy is he who +judges those kisses of the children." Lost over the bright furrows +of the sea is Europa riding on the back of the divine bull as +Moschus beheld her—"With one hand she clasped the beast's +great horn, and with the other caught up the purple fold of her +garment, lest it might trail and be wet in the hoar sea's infinite +spray"; and from the border-land of mythic story, that was then +this world's horizon, yet more faintly the fading voice of Hylas +answers the deep-throated shout of Herakles. Faint now as his voice +are the voices of the shepherds who are gone, youth and maiden and +children; dimly I see them, vaguely I hear them; at last there +remains only "the hoar sea's infinite spray." And will you say it +was in truth all a dream? Were the poor fisherman in their toil +alone real, and the rest airy nothings to whom Sicily gave a local +habitation and a name? It was Virgil's dream and Spenser's; and +some secret there was—something still in our +breasts—that made it immortal, so that to name the Sicilian +Muses is to stir an infinite, longing tenderness in every young and +noble heart that the gods have softened with sweet thoughts.</p> +<p>And here I shut in my pages the one laurel leaf that Taormina +bore. She, too, in her centuries has had her poet. Perhaps none who +will see these words ever gave a thought to the name and fame of +Cornelius Severus. Few of his works remain, and little is known of +his life. He is said to have been the friend of Pollio, and to have +been present in the Sicilian war between Augustus and Sextus +Pompey. He wrote the first book of an epic poem on that subject, so +excellent that it has been thought that, had the entire work been +continued at the same level, he would have held the second place +among the Latin epic poets. He wrote also heroic songs, of which +fragments survive, one of which is an elegy upon Cicero, which +Seneca quotes, saying of him, "No one out of so many talented men +deplored the death of Cicero better than Cornelius Severus." Some +dialogues in verse also seem to have been written by him. These +fragments may not he easily obtained. But take down your Virgil; +and, if it be like this of mine which I brought from Rome, you will +find at the very end, last of the shorter pieces ascribed to the +poet, one of the length of a book of the "Georgics," called "Etna." +This is the work of Cornelius Severus. An early death took from him +the perfection of his genius and the hope of fame; but happy was +the fortune of him who wrote so well that for centuries his lines +were thought not unworthy of Virgil, whose name still shields this +Taorminian verse from oblivion.</p> +<a name="A2H_4_7" id="A2H_4_7"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<h3>VII</h3> +<p>It is my last day at Taormina. I have seen the sunrise from my +old station by the Greek temple, and watched the throng of cattle +and men gathered on the distant beach of Letojanni and darkening +the broad bed of the dry torrent that there makes down to the sea, +and I wished I were among them, for it is their annual fair; and +still I dwell on every feature of the landscape that familiarity +has made more beautiful. The afternoon I have dedicated to a walk +to Mola. It is a pleasant, easy climb, with the black ancient wall +of the city on the left, where it goes up the face of the +castle-rock, and on the right the deep ravine, closed by Monte +Venere in the west. All is very quiet; a silent, silent country! +There are few birds or none, and indeed I have heard no bird-song +since I have been here. Opposite, on the other side of the wall of +the ravine, are some cows hanging in strange fashion to the cliff, +where it seems goats could hardly cling; but the unwieldy, awkward +creatures move with sure feet, and seem wholly at home, pasturing +on the bare precipice. I cannot hear the torrent, now a narrow +stream, deep below me, but I see the women of Mola washing by the +old fountain which is its source. There is no other sign of human +life. The fresh spring flowers, large and coarse, but +bright-coloured, are all I have of company, and the sky is blue and +the air like crystal. So I go up, ever up, and at last am by the +gate of Mola, and enter the stony-hearted town. A place more +dreary, desolate to the eye, is seldom seen. There are only low, +mean houses of gray stone, and the paved ways. If you can fancy a +prison turned inside out like a glove, with all its interior stone +exposed to the sunlight, which yet seems sunlight in a prison, and +silence over all—that is Mola. The ruins of the fortress are +near the gate on the highest point of the crag. Within is a barren +spot—a cistern, old foundations, and some broken walls. Look +over the battlement westward, and you will see a precipice that one +thinks only birds could assail; and, observing how isolated is the +crag on all sides, you will understand what an inaccessible +fastness this was, and cannot be surprised at its record of +defence.</p> +<p>Perhaps here was the oldest dwelling-place of man upon the hill, +and it was the securest retreat. Monsignore, indeed, believes that +Ham, the son of Noah, who drove Japhet out of Sicily, was the first +builder; but I do not doubt its antiquity was very great, and it +seems likely that this was the original Siculian stronghold before +the coming of the Greeks, and the building of the lower city of +Taormina. The ruins that exist are part of the fortress made by +that governor who lost the city to the Saracens, to defend it +against them on this side; and here it stood for nigh a thousand +years, like the citadel itself, an impregnable hold of war. It +seldom yielded, and always by treachery or mutiny; for more than +once, when Taormina was sacked, its citadel and Mola remained +untaken and unconquerable on their extreme heights. I shall not +tell its story; but one brave man once commanded here, and his name +shall be its fame now, and my last tale of the Taorminian past.</p> +<p>He was Count Matteo, a nobleman of the days when the Messenians +revolted against the chancellor of Queen Margaret. He was placed +over this castle; and when a certain Count Riccardo was discovered +in a conspiracy to murder the chancellor, and was taken captive, he +was given into Matteo's charge, and imprisoned here. The Messenians +came and surprised the lower city of Taormina, but they could not +gain Mola nor persuade Matteo to yield Riccardo up to them. So they +thought to overcome his fidelity cruelly. They took his wife and +children, who were at Messina, threw them into a dungeon, and +condemned them to death. Then they sent Matteo's brother-in-law to +treat with him. But when the count knew the reason of the visit he +said: "It seems to me that you little value the zeal of an honest +man who, loyal to his office, does not wish, neither knows how, to +break his sworn faith. My wife and children would look on me with +scornful eyes should I be renegade; for shame is not the reward +that sweetens life, but burdens it. If the Messenians stain +themselves with innocent blood, I shall weep for the death of my +wife and sons, but the heart of an honest citizen will have no +remorse." Then he was silent. But treachery could do what such +threats failed to accomplish. One Gavaretto was found, who unlocked +the prison, and Riccardo was already escaping when Matteo, roused +at a slight noise, came, sword in hand, and would have slain him; +but the traitor behind, "to save his wages," struck Matteo in the +body, and the faithful count fell dead in his blood. I thought of +this story, standing there, and nothing else in the castle's filled +with bloom; then the infinite beauty, slowly fading, withdrew the +scene, and sweetly it parted from my eyes.</p> +<a name="A2H_4_8" id="A2H_4_8"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<h3>VIII</h3> +<p>Yet once more I step out upon the terrace into the night. I hear +the long roar of the breakers; I see the flickering fishers' +lights, and Etna pale under the stars. The place is full of ghosts. +In the darkness I seem to hear vaguely arising, half sense, half +thought, the murmur of many tongues that have perished here, +Sicanian and Siculian and the lost Oscan, Greek and Latin and the +hoarse jargon of barbaric slaves, Byzantine and Arabic confused +with strange African dialects, Norman and Sicilian, French and +Spanish, mingling, blending, changing, the sharp battle-cry of a +thousand assaults rising from the low ravines, the death-cry of +twenty bloody massacres within these walls, ringing on the hard +rock and falling to silence only to rise more full with fiercer +pain—century after century of the battle-wrath and the +battle-woe. My fancy shapes the air till I see over the darkly +lifted, castle-rock the triple crossing swords of Greek, +Carthaginian, and Roman in the age-long duel, and as these fade, +the springing brands of Byzantine, Arab, and Norman, and yet again +the heavy blades of France, Spain, and Sicily; and ever, like rain +or snow, falls the bloody dew on this lone hill-wide. "Oh, +wherefore?" I whisper; and all is silent save the surge still +lifting round the coast the far voices of the old Ionian sea. I +have wondered that the children of Etna should dwell in its lovely +paradise, as I thought how often, how terribly, the lava has poured +forth upon it, the shower of ashes fallen, the black horror of +volcanic eruption overwhelmed the land. Yet, sum it all, pang by +pang, all that Etna ever wrought of woe to the sons of men, the +agonies of her burnings, the terrors of her living entombments, all +her manifold deaths at once, and what were it in comparison with +the blood that has flowed on this hillside, the slaughter, the +murder, the infinite pain here suffered at the hands of man. O +Etna, it is not thou that man should fear! He should fear his +brother-man.</p> +<h3>IX</h3> +<p>The stars were paling over Etna, white and ghostly, as I came +out to depart. In the dark street I met a woman with a young boy +clinging to her side. Her black hair fell down over her shoulders, +and her bosom was scantily clothed by the poor garment that fell to +her ankles and her feet. She was still young, and from her dark, +sad face her eyes met mine with that fixed look of the hopeless +poor, now grown familiar; the child, half naked, gazed up at me as +he held his mother's hand. What brought her there at that hour, +alone with her child? She seemed the epitome of the human life I +was leaving behind, come forth to bid farewell; and she passed on +under the shadows of the dawn. The last star faded as I went down +the hollow between the spurs. Etna gleamed white and vast over the +shoulder of the ravine, and, as I dipped down, was gone.</p> +<a name="A2H_4_9" id="A2H_4_9"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2>A NEW DEFENCE OF POETRY</h2> +<p>There was an old cry, Return to Nature! Let us rather return +unto the soul. Nature is great, and her science marvellous; but it +is man who knows it. In what he knows it is partial and subsidiary. +Know thyself, was the first command of reason; and wisdom was an +ancient thing when the sweet influences of the Pleiades and the +path of Arcturus with his sons were young in human thought. These +late conquests of the mind in the material infinities of the +universe, its exploring of stellar space, its exhuming of secular +time, its harnessing of invisible forces, this new mortal +knowledge, its sudden burst, its brilliancy and amplitude of +achievement, thought winnowing the world as with a fan; the vivid +spectacle of vast and beneficent changes wrought by this means in +human welfare, the sense of the increase of man's power springing +from unsuspected and illimitable resources,—all this has made +us forgetful of truth that is the oldest heirloom of the race. In +the balances of thought the soul of man outweighs the mass that +gravitation measures. Man only is of prime interest to men; and man +as a spirit, a creature but made in the likeness of something +divine. The lapse of aeons touches us as little as the reach of +space; even the building of our planet, and man's infancy, have the +faint and distant reality of cradle records. Science may +reconstruct the inchoate body of animal man, the clay of our mould, +and piece together the primitive skeleton of the physical being we +now wear; but the mind steadily refuses to recognize a human past +without some discipline in the arts, some exercise in rude virtue, +and some proverbial lore handed down from sire to son. The tree of +knowledge is of equal date with the tree of life; nor were even the +tamer of horses, the worker in metals, or the sower, elder than +those twin guardians of the soul,—the poet and the priest. +Conscience and imagination were the pioneers who made earth +habitable for the human spirit; they are still its lawgivers and +where they have lodged their treasures, there is wisdom. I desire +to renew the long discussion of the nature and method of idealism +by engaging in a new defence of poetry, or the imaginative art in +any of its kinds, as the means by which this wisdom, which is the +soul's knowledge of itself, is stored up for the race in its most +manifest, enduring, and vital forms. It is, by literary tradition +and association, a proud task. May I not take counsel of Spenser +and be bold at the first door? Sidney and Shelley pleaded this +cause. Because they spoke, must we be dumb? or shall not a noble +example be put to its best use in trying what truth can now do on +younger lips? The old hunt is up in the Muses' bower; and I would +fain speak for that learning which has to me been light. I use this +preface not unwillingly in open loyalty to studies on which my +youth was nourished, and the masters I then loved whom the natural +thoughts of youth made eloquent; my hope is to continue their finer +breath, as they before drank from old fountains; but chiefly I name +them as a reminder that the main argument is age-long; it does not +harden into accepted dogma; and it is thus ceaselessly tossed +because it belongs in that sphere of our warring nature where +conflict is perpetual. It goes on in the lives as well as on the +lips of men. It is a question how to live as well as how to express +life. Each race uses its own tongue, each age its dialect; but, +change the language as man may, he ever remains the questioner of +his few great thoughts.</p> +<p>The defenders of the soul inherit an old cause that links them +together in a long descent; but the battle is always to a present +age. Continually something is becoming superfluous, inapplicable, +or wanting in the work of the past. Victory itself makes arms +useless, and consigns them to dark closets. New times, new weapons, +is the history of all warfare. The doubt of the validity of the +ideal, never absent from any intellectual period, is active on all +sides, and in more than one quarter passes into denial. Literature +and the other arts of expression suffer throughout the world. To +that point is it come that those of the old stock who believe that +the imagination exercises man's faculty at its highest pitch, and +that the method of idealism is its law, are bid step down, while +others more newly grounded in what belongs to literature possess +the city; but seeing the shrines interdicted, the obliteration of +ancient names, the heroes' statues thrown down, shall we learn what +our predecessors never knew—to abdicate and abandon? I hear +in the temples the footsteps of the departing gods—</p> +<center>Di quibus imperium hoc steterat;</center> +<p>but no; for our opponents are worse off than those of whom it +was said that though one rose from the dead they would not +believe,—Plato, being dead, yet speaks, Shakspere treads our +boards, and (why should I hesitate?) Tennyson yet breathes among us +though already immortal. That which convinced the master minds of +antiquity and many in later ages is still convincing, if it be +attended to; the old tradition is yet unbroken; therefore, because +I was bred in this faith, I will try to set forth anew in the +phrases of our time the eternal ground of reason on which idealism +rests.</p> +<p>The specific question concerns literature and its method, but +its import is not mainly literary. Life is the matter of +literature; and thence it comes that all leading inquiries to which +literature gives rise probe for their premises to the roots of our +being and expand in their issues to the unknown limits of human +fate. It is an error to think of idealism as a thing remote, +fantastic, and unsubstantial. It enters intimately into the lives +of all men, however humble and unlearned, if they live at all +except in their bodies. What is here proposed is neither +speculative, technical, nor abstruse; it is practical in matter, +universal in interest, and touches upon those things which men most +should heed. I fear rather to incur the reproach of uttering +truisms than paradoxes. But he does ill who is scornful of the +trite. To be learned in commonplaces is no mean education. They +make up the great body of the people's knowledge. They are the +living words upon the lips of men from generation to generation; +the real winged words; the matter of the unceasing reiteration of +families, schools, pulpits, libraries; the tradition of mankind. +Proverb, text, homily,—happy the youth whose purse is stored +with these broad pieces, current, in every country and for every +good, like fairy gifts of which the occasion only when it arises +shows the use. It is with truth as with beauty,—familiarity +endears and makes it more precious. What is common is for that very +reason in danger of neglect, and from it often flashes that divine +surprise which most enkindles the soul. Why must Prometheus bring +fire from heaven to savage man? Did it not sleep in the flint at +his feet? How often, at the master stroke of life, has some text of +Holy Scripture, which lay in the mind from childhood almost like +the debris of memory, illuminated the remorseful darkness of the +mind, or interpreted the sweetness of God's sunshine in the happy +heart! Common as light is love, sang Shelley; and equally common +with beauty and truth and love is all that is most vital to the +soul, all that feeds it and gives it power; if aught be lacking, it +is the eye to see and the heart to understand. Grain, fruit and +vegetable, wool, silk and cotton, gold, silver and iron, steam and +electricity,—were not all, like the spark, within arm's reach +of savage man? The slow material progress of mankind through ages +is paralleled by the slow growth of the individual soul in laying +hold of and putting to use the resources of spiritual strength that +are nigh unto it. The service of man to man in the ways of the +spirit is, in truth, an act as simple as the giving of a cup of +cold water to him who is athirst.</p> +<p>Can there be any surprise when I say that the method of idealism +is that of all thought? that in its intellectual process the art of +the poet, so far from being a sort of incantation, is the same as +belongs to the logician, the chemist, the statesman? It is no more +than to say that in creating literature the mind acts; the action +of the mind is thought; and there are no more two ways of thinking +than there are two kinds of gravitation. Experience is the matter +of all knowledge. It is given to the mind as a complex of +particular facts, a series, ever continuing, of impressions outward +and inward. It is stored in the memory, and were memory the only +mental faculty, no other knowledge than this of particular facts in +their temporal sequence could be acquired; the sole method of +obtaining knowledge would be by observation. All literature would +then be merely annals of the contents of successive moments in +their order. Reason, however, intervenes. Its process is well +known. In every object of perception, as it exists in the physical +world and is given by sensation to our consciousness, there is both +in itself and in its relations a likeness to other objects and +relations, and this likeness the mind takes notice of; it thus +analyzes the complex of experience, discerns the common element, +and by this means classifies particular facts, thereby condensing +them into mental conceptions,—abstract ideas, formulas, laws. +The mind arrives at these in the course of its normal operation. As +soon as we think at all, we speak of white and black, of bird and +beast, of distance and size,—of uniformities in the behaviour +of nature, or laws; by such classification of qualities, objects, +and various relations, not merely in the sensuous but in every +sphere of our consciousness, the mind simplifies its experience, +compacts its knowledge, and economizes its energies. To this work +it brings, also, the method of experiment. It then interferes +arbitrarily with the natural occurrence of facts, and brings that +to pass which otherwise would not have been; and this method it +uses to investigate, to illustrate what was previously known, and +to confirm what was surmised. Its end, whether through observation +or experiment, is to reach general truth as opposed to +matter-of-fact, universals more or less embracing as opposed to +particulars, the units of thought as opposed to the units of +phenomena. The body of these constitutes rational knowledge.</p> +<p>Nature then becomes known, not as a series of impressions on the +retina of sense merely, but as a system seized by the eye of +reason; for the senses show man the aspect worn by the world as it +is at the moment, but reason opens to him the order obtaining in +the world as it must be at every moment; and the instrument by +which man rises from the phenomenal plane of experience to the +necessary sphere of truth is the generalizing faculty whose +operation has just been described. The office of the reason in the +exercise of this faculty is to find organic form in that experience +which memory preserves in the mass,—to penetrate, that is, to +that mould of necessity in the world which phenomena, when they +arise, must put on. The species once perceived, the mind no longer +cares for the individual; the law once known, the mind no longer +cares for the facts; for in these universals all particular +instances, past, present, and to come, are contained in their +significance. All sciences are advanced in proportion as they have +thus organized their appropriate matter in abstract conceptions and +laws, and are backward in proportion as there remains much in their +provinces not yet so coordinated and systematized; and in their +hierarchy, from astronomical physics downward, each takes rank +according to the nature of the universals it deals with, as these +are more or less embracing.</p> +<p>The matter of literature—that part of total experience +which it deals with—is life; and, to confine attention to +imaginative literature where alone the question of idealism arises, +the matter with which imaginative literature deals is the inward +and spiritual order in man's breast as distinguished from the +outward and physical order with which science deals. The reason as +here exercised organizes man's experience in this great tract of +emotion, will, and meditation, and so possesses man of true +knowledge of himself, just as in the realm of science it possesses +him of true knowledge of the physical world, or, in psychology and +metaphysics, of the constitution and processes of the mind itself. +Such knowledge is, without need of argument, of the highest +consequence to mankind. It exceeds, indeed, in dignity and value +all other knowledge; for to penetrate this inward or spiritual +order, to grasp it with the mind and conform to it with the will, +is not, as is the case with every other sort of knowledge, the +special and partial effort of selected minds, but the daily +business of all men in their lives. The method of the mind here is +and must be the same with that by which it accomplishes its work +elsewhere, its only method. Here, too, its concern is with the +universal; its end is to know life—the life with which +literature deals—not empirically in its facts, but +scientifically in its necessary order, not phenomenally in the +senses but rationally in the mind, not without relation in its mere +procession but organically in its laws; and its instrument here, as +through the whole gamut of the physical sciences and of philosophy +itself, is the generalizing faculty.</p> +<p>One difference there is between scientific and imaginative +truth,—a difference in the mode of statement. Science and +also philosophy formulate truth and end in the formula; literature, +as the saying is, clothes truth in a tale. Imagination is brought +in, and by its aid the mind projects a world of its own, whose +principle of being is that it reembodies general or abstract truth +and presents it concretely to the eye of the mind, and in some arts +gives it physical form. So, to draw an example from science itself, +when Leverrier projected in imagination the planet Uranus, he +incarnated in matter a whole group of universal qualities and +relations, all that go to make up a world, and in so doing he +created as the poet creates; there was as much of truth, too, in +his imagined world before he found the actual planet as there was +of reality in the planet itself after it swam into his ken. This +creation of the concrete world of art is the joint act of the +imagination and the reason working in unison; and hence the faculty +to which this act is ascribed is sometimes called the creative +reason, or shaping power of the mind, in distinction from the +scientific intellect which merely knows. The term is intended to +convey at once the double phase, under one aspect of which the +reason controls imagination, and under the other aspect the +imagination formulates the reason; it is meant to free the idea, on +the one hand, from that suggestion of abstraction implied by the +reason, and to disembarrass it, on the other, of any connection +with the irrational fancy; for the world of art so conceived is +necessarily both concrete, correspondent to the realities of +experience, and truthful, subject to the laws of the universe; it +cannot contain the impossible, it cannot amalgamate the actual with +the unreal, it cannot in any way lie and retain its own nature. The +use of this rational imagination is not confined to the world of +art. It is only by its aid that we build up the horizons of our +earthly life and fill them with objects and events beyond the reach +of our senses. To it we are indebted for our knowledge of the +greater part of others' lives, for our idea of the earth's surface +and the doings of foreign nations, of all past history and its +scene, and the events of primaeval nature which were even before +man was. So far as we realize the world at all beyond the limit of +our private experience of it, we do so by the power of the +imagination acting on the lines of reason. It fills space and time +for us through all their compass. Nor is it less operative in the +practical pursuits of men. The scientist lights his way with it; +the statesman forecasts reform by it, building in thought the state +which he afterward realizes in fact; the entire future lives to +us—and it is the most important part of life—only by +its incantation. The poet acts no otherwise in employing it than +the inventor and the speculator even, save that he uses it for the +ends of reason instead of for his private interest. In some parts +of this field there is, or was once, or will be, a physical +parallel, an actuality, containing the verification of the imagined +state of things; but so, for the poet, there is a parallel, a +conception of the reason just as normal, which is not the less real +because it is a tissue of abstract thought. In art this governance +of the imagination by the reason is fundamental, and gives to the +office of the latter a seeming primacy; and therefore emphasis is +rightly placed on the universal element, the truth, as the +substance of the artistic form. But in the light of this +preliminary description of the mental processes involved, let us +take a nearer view of their particular employment in +literature.</p> +<p>Human life, as represented in literature, consists of two main +branches, character and action. Of these, character, which is the +realm of personality, is generalized by means of type, which is +ideal character; action, which is the realm of experience, by plot, +which is ideal action. It is convenient to examine the nature of +these separately. A type, the example of a class, contains the +characteristic qualities which make an individual one of that +class; it does not differ in this elementary form from the bare +idea of the species. The traits of a tree, for instance, exist in +every actual tree, however stunted or imperfect; and in the type +which condenses into itself what is common in all specimens of the +class, these traits only exist; they constitute the type. Comic +types, in literature, are often simple abstractions of some single +human quality, and hence easily afford illustrations. The braggart, +the miser, the hypocrite, contain that one trait which is common to +the class; and in their portrayal this characteristic only is +shown. In proportion as the traits are many in any character, the +type becomes complex. In simple types attention is directed to some +one vice, passion, or virtue, capable of absorbing a human life in +to itself. This is the method of Jonson, and, in tragedy, of +Marlowe. As human energy displays itself more variously in a life, +in complex types, the mind contemplates human nature in a more +catholic way, with a less exclusive identification of character +with specific trait, a more free conception of personality as only +partially exhibited; thus, in becoming complex, types gather +breadth and depth, and share more in the mystery of humanity as +something incompletely known to us at the best. Such are the +characters of Shakspere.</p> +<p>The manner in which types are arrived at and made recognizable +in other arts opens the subject more fully and throws light upon +their nature. The sculptor observes in a group of athletes that +certain physical habits result in certain moulds of the body; and +taking such characteristics as are common to all of one class, and +neglecting such as are peculiar to individuals, he carves a statue. +So permanent are the physical facts he relies upon that, centuries +after, when the statue is dug up, men say without +hesitation—here is the Greek runner, there the wrestler. The +habit of each in life produces a bodily form which if it exists +implies that habit; the reality here results from the operation of +physical laws and can be physically rendered; the type is +constituted of permanent physical fact. There are habits of the +soul which similarly impress an outward stamp upon the face and +form so certainly that expression, attitude, and shape +authentically declare the presence of the soul that so reveals +itself. In the Phidian Zeus was all awe; in the Praxitelean Hermes +all grace, sweetness, tenderness; in the Pallas Athene of her +people who carved or minted her image in statue, bas-relief, or +coin, was all serene and grave wisdom; or, in the glowing and +chastened colours of the later artistic time, the Virgin mother +shines out, in Fra Angelico all adoration, in Bellini all +beatitude, in Raphael all motherhood. The sculptor and the painter +are restricted to the bodily signs of the soul's presence; but the +poet passes into another and wider range of interpretation. He +finds the soul stamped in its characteristic moods, words, actions. +He then creates for the mind's eye Achilles, Aeneas, Arthur; and in +his verse are beheld their spirits rather than their bodies.</p> +<p>These several sorts of types make an ascending series from the +predominantly physical to the predominantly spiritual; but, from +the present point of view, the arts which embody their creations in +a material form should not be opposed to literature which employs +the least interrelation of sensation, as if the former had a +physical and the last a spiritual content. All types have one +common element, they express personality; they have for the mind a +spiritual meaning, what they contain of human character; they +differ here only in fulness of representation. The most purely +physical types imply spiritual qualities, choice, will, +command,—all the life which was a condition precedent to the +bodily perfection that was its flower; and, though the eye rests on +the beautiful form, it may discern through it the human soul of the +athlete as in life; and, moreover, the figure may be represented in +some significant act, or mood even, but this last is rare. The more +plainly spiritual types, physically rendered, are most often shown +in some such mood or act expressive in itself of the soul whose +habit lives in the form it has moulded. It is not that the plastic +and pictorial arts cannot spiritualize the stone and the canvas as +well as humanize it bodily; equally with the poetic art they reveal +character, but within narrower bounds. The limitation of these arts +in embodying personality is one of scope, not of intention; and +though it springs out of their use of material forms, it does so in +a peculiar way. It is not the employment of a physical medium of +communication that differentiates them, for a physical medium of +some sort is the only means of exchange between mind and mind; +neither is it the employment of a physical basis, for all art, +being concrete, rests on a physical basis—the world of +imagination is exhaled from things that are. The physical basis of +a drama, for instance, is manifest when it is enacted on the stage; +but it is substantially the same whether beheld in thought or +ocularly.</p> +<p>The fact is that the limitation of sculpture and painting and +their kindred arts results from their use of the physical basis of +life only partially, and not as a whole as literature uses it. They +set forth their works in the single element of space; they exclude +the changes that take place in time. The types they show are +arrested, each in its moment; or if a story is told by a series of +representations, it is a succession of such moments of arrested +life. The method is that of the camera; what is given is a fixed +state. But literature renders life in movement; it revolves life +through its moments as rapidly as on the retina of sense; its +method is that of the kinetoscope. It holds under its command +change, growth, the entire energy of life in action; it can chase +mood with mood, link act to act. It alone can speak the word, which +is the most powerful instrument of man. Hence the types it shows by +presenting moods, words, and acts with the least obstruction of +matter and the slightest obligation to the active senses, are the +most complete. They have broken the bonds of the flesh, of moment +and place. They exhibit themselves in actions; they speak, and in +dialogue and soliloquy set forth their states of mind lying before, +or accompanying, or following their actions, thus interpreting +these more fully. Action by itself reveals character; speech +illumines it, and casts upon the action also a forward and a +backward light. The lapse of time, binding all together, adds the +continuous life of the soul. This large compass, which is the +greatest reached by any art, rests on the wider command and more +flexible control which literature exercises over that physical +basis which is the common foundation of all the arts. Hence it +abounds in complex types, just as other arts present simple types +with more frequency. All types, however, in so far as they appeal +to the mind and interpret the inward world, under which aspect +alone they are now considered, have their physical nature, +materially or imaginatively, even though it be solely visible +beauty, in order to express personality.</p> +<p>The type, in the usage of literature, must be further +distinguished from the bare idea of the species as it has thus far +been defined. It is more than this. It is not only an example; it +is an example in a high state of development, if not perfect. The +best possible tree, for instance, does not exist in nature, owing +to a confused environment which does not permit its formation. In +literature a type is made a high type either by intensity, if it be +simple, or by richness of nature, if it be complex. Miserliness, +braggadocio, hypocrisy, in their extremes, are the characters of +comedy; a rich nature, such as Hamlet, showing variety of faculty +and depth of experience, is the hero of more profound drama. This +truth, the necessity of high development in the type, underlay the +old canon that the characters of tragedy should be of lofty rank, +great place, and consequence in the world's affairs, preferably +even of historic fame. The canon erred in mistaking one means of +securing credible intensity or richness for the many which are +possible. The end in view is to represent human qualities at their +acme. In other times as a matter of fact persons highly placed were +most likely to exhibit such development; birth, station, and their +opportunities for unrestrained and conspicuous action made them +examples of the compass of human energy, passion, and fate. New +ages brought other conditions. Shakspere recognized the truth of +the matter, and laid the emphasis where it belongs, upon the +humanity of the king, not on the kingly office of the man. Said +Henry V: "I think the king is but a man as I am; the violet smells +to him as it doth to me; the element shows to him as it doth to me; +all his senses have but human conditions; his ceremonies laid by, +in his nakedness he appears but a man; and though his appetites are +higher mounted than ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with +like wing." Such, too, was Lear in the tempest. And from the other +end of the scale hear Shylock: "Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew +hands, organs, dimensions, senses, appetites, passions? fed with +the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same +diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same +winter and summer as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not +bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we +not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?" Rank and race +are accidents; the essential thing is that the type be highly +human, let the means of giving it this intensity and richness be +what they may.</p> +<p>It is true that the type may seem defective in the point that it +is at best but a fragment of humanity, an abstraction or a +combination of abstracted qualities. There was never such an +athlete as our Greek sculptor's, never a pagan god nor Virgin +Mother, nor a hero equal to Homer's thought, so beautiful, brave, +and courteous, so terrible to his foe, so loving to his friend. And +yet is it not thus that life is known to us actually? does not this +typical rendering of character fall in with the natural habit of +life? What man, what friend, is known to us except by fragments of +his spirit? Only one life, our own, is known to us as a continuous +existence. Just as when we see an orange, we supply the further +side and think of it as round, so with men we supply from ourselves +the unseen side that makes the man completely and continuously +human. Moreover, it is a matter of common experience that men, we +ourselves, may live only in one part, and the best, of our nature +at one moment, and yet for the moment be absorbed in that activity +both in consciousness and energy; for that moment we are only +living so; now, if a character were shown to us only in the moments +in which he was living so, at his best and in his characteristic +state as the soldier, the priest, the lover, then the ideal +abstraction of literature would not differ from the actuality of +our experience. In this selfsame way we habitually build for +ourselves ideal characters out of dead and living men, by dwelling +on that part of their career which we most admire or love as +showing their characteristic selves. Napoleon is the conqueror, St. +Francis the priest, Washington the great citizen, only by this +method. They are not thereby de-humanized; neither do the ideal +types of imagination fail of humanization because they are thus +fragmentarily, but consistently, presented.</p> +<p>The type must make this human appeal under all circumstances. +Its whole meaning and virtue lie in what it contains of our common +humanity, in the clearness and brilliancy with which it interprets +the man in us, in the force with which it identifies us with human +nature. If it is separated from us by a too high royalty or a too +base villany, it loses intelligibility, it forfeits sympathy, it +becomes more and more an object of simple curiosity, and removes +into the region of the unknown. Even if the type passes into the +supernatural, into fairyland or the angelic or demoniac world, it +must not leave humanity behind. These spheres are in fact fragments +of humanity itself, projections of its sense of wonder, its +goodness, and its evil, in extreme abstraction though concretely +felt. Fairy, angel, and devil cease to be conceivable except as +they are human in trait, however the conditions of their nature may +be fancied; for we have no other materials to build with save those +of our life on earth, though we may combine them in ways not +justified by reason. In so far as these worlds are in the limits of +rational imagination, they are derived from humanity, partial +interpretations of some of its moods, portions of itself; and the +beings who inhabit them are impaired for the purposes of art in the +degree to which their abstract nature is felt as stripping them of +complete humanity. For this reason in dealing with such simple +types, being natures all of one strain, it has been found best in +practice to import into them individually some quality widely +common to men in addition to that limited quality they possess by +their conception. Some touch of weakness in an angel, some touch of +pity in a devil, some unmerited misfortune in an Ariel, bring them +home to our bosoms; just as the frailty of the hero, however great +he be, humanizes him at a stroke. Thus these abstract fragments +also are reunited with humanity, with the whole of life in +ourselves.</p> +<p>Types, then, whether simple or complex, whether apparently +physical or purely spiritual, whether given fragmentary or as +wholes of personality, express human character in its essential +traits. They may be narrow or broad generalizations; but if to know +ourselves be our aim, those types, which show man his common and +enduring nature, are the most valuable, and rank first in +importance; in proportion as they are specialized, they are less +widely interpretative; in proportion as they escape from time and +place, race, culture, and religion, and present man eternal and +universal in his primary actions, moods, and passions, they appeal +to a greater number and with more permanence; they become immortal +in becoming universal. To preserve this universality is the essence +of the type, and the degree of universality it reaches is its +measure of value to men. It is immaterial whether it be simple as +Ajax or complex as Hamlet, whether it be the work of imagination +solely as in Hercules, or have a historical basis as in Agamemnon; +its exemplary rendering of man in general is its substance and +constitutor its ideality.</p> +<p>Action, the second great branch of life, is generalized by plot. +It lies, as has been said, in the region of experience. Character, +though it may be conceived as latent, can be presented only +energetically as it finds outward expression. It cannot be shown in +a vacuum. It embodies or reveals itself in an act; form and +feature, as expressive of character, are the record of past acts. +This act is the link that binds type to plot. By means of it +character enters the external world, determining the course of +events and being passively affected by them. Plot takes account of +this interplay and sets forth its laws. It is, therefore, more +deeply engaged with the environment, as type is more concerned with +the man in himself. It is, initially, a thing of the outward as +type is a thing of the inward world. How, then, does literature, +through plot, reduce the environment in its human relations to +organic form?</p> +<p>The course of events, taken as a whole, is in part a process of +nature independent of man, in part the product of his will. It is a +continuous stream of phenomena in great multiplicity, and +proceeding in a temporal sequence. Science deals with that portion +of the whole which is independent of man, and may be called natural +events, and by discerning causal relations in them arrives at the +conception of law as a principle of unchanging and necessary order +in nature. Science seeks to reduce the multiplicity and +heterogeneity of facts as they occur to these simple formulas of +law. Science does not begin in reality until facts end; facts, ten +or ten thousand, are indifferent to her after the law which +contains them is found, and are a burden to her until it is found. +Literature, in its turn, deals with human events; and, in the same +way as science, by attending to causal relations, arrives at the +conception of spiritual law as a similarly permanent principle in +the order of the soul. This causal unity is the cardinal idea of +plot which by definition is a series of events causally related and +conceived as a unit, technically called the action. Plot is thus +analogous to an illustrative experiment in science; it is a +concrete example of law,—it is law operating.</p> +<p>The course of events again, so far as they stand in direct +connection with human life, may be thought of as the expression of +the individual's own will, or of that of his environment. The will +of the environment may be divided into three varieties, the will of +nature, the will of other men, and the will of God. In each case it +is will embodied in events. If these ideas be all merged in the +conception of the world as a totality whose course is the unfolding +of one Divine will operant throughout it and called Fate or +Providence, then the individual will, through which, as through +nature also, the Divine will works, is only its servant. Action so +conceived, the march of events under some heavenly power working +through the mass of human will which it overrules in conjunction +with its own more comprehensive purposes, is epic action; in it +characters are subordinate to the main progress of the action, they +are only terms in the action; however free they may be apparently, +considered by themselves, that freedom is within such limits as to +allow entire certainty of result, its mutations are included in the +calculation of the Divine will. The action of the Aeneid is of this +nature: a grand series of destined events worked out through human +agency to fulfil the plan of the ruler of all things in heaven and +earth. On the other hand, if the course of events be more narrowly +attended to within the limits of the individual's own activity, as +the expression primarily and significantly of his personal will, +then the successive acts are subordinate to the character; they are +terms of the character which is thereby exhibited; they externalize +the soul. Action, so conceived, is dramatic action. If in the +course of events there arises a conflict between the will of the +individual and that of his environment, whether nature, man, or +God, then the seed of tragedy, specifically, is present; this +conflict is the essential idea of tragedy. In all these varieties +of action, the scene is the external world; plot lies in that +world, and sets forth the order, the causal principle, obtaining in +it.</p> +<p>It is necessary, however, to refine upon this statement of the +matter. The course of external events, in so far as it affects one +person, whether as proceeding from or reacting upon him, reveals +character, and has meaning as an interpretation of inward life. It +is a series outward indeed, but parallel with the states of will, +intellect, and emotion which make up the consciousness of the +character; and it is interesting humanly only as a mirror of them. +It is not the murderous blow, but the depraved will; not the pale +victim, but the shocked conscience; not the muttered prayer, the +frantic penance, the suicide, but remorse working itself out, that +hold our attention. Plot here manifests the law of character +outwardly; but the human reality lies within, and to be seen +requires the illumination which only our own hearts can give. All +fiction is such a shadowing forth of the soul. The constancy, the +intimacy, the profundity with which Shakspere felt this, from the +earliest syllables of his art, and the frequency with which he +dwells upon it, mark a characteristic of genius. Says Richard +II:—</p> +<center>"'Tis very true, my grief lies all within;<br> +And those external manners of lament<br> +Are merely shadows to the unseen grief<br> +That swells in silence in the tortured soul;<br> +There lies the substance."</center> +<p>So Theseus, of the play of the rude artisans of Athens, excusing +all art: "The best in this kind are but shadows." So Hamlet; so +Prospero.</p> +<p>Action is vital in us, and has a double order of phenomena; so +far as these are physical, their law is one of the physical world, +and interests us no more than other physical laws; so far as they +belong in the inward world of self-consciousness, their law is +spiritual, and has human interest as being operant in a soul like +our own. The external fact is seized by the eye as a part of +nature; the internal fact is of the unseen world, and is beheld +only in the light which is within our own bosoms—it is +spiritually discerned. On the stage plainly this is the case. So +far as the actions are for the eye of sense alone they are merely +spectacular; so far as they express desires and energies, they are +dramatic, and these we do not see but feel according as our +experience permits us so to comprehend them. We contemplate a world +of emotion there in connection with the active energy of the will, +a world of character in operation in man; we feed it from our life, +interpret it therefrom, build it up in ourselves, suffering the +illusion till absorbed in what is arising in our consciousness +under the actor's genius we become ourselves the character. The +greatest actor is he who makes the spectator play the part. So far +is the drama from the scene that it goes on in our own bosoms; +there is the stage without any illusion whatsoever; the play in +vital for the moment in ourselves.</p> +<p>And what is true of the stage is true of life. It is only +through our own hearts that we look into the hearts of others. We +interpret the external signs of sense in terms of personality and +experience known only within us; the life of will, head, and heart +that we ascribe to our nearest and dearest friends is something +imagined, something never seen any more than our own personality. +Thus our knowledge of them is not only fragmentary, as has been +said; it is imaginative even within its limits. It is, in reality +as well as in art, a shadow-world we live in, believing that within +its sensuous films a spirit like unto ourselves abides,—the +human soul, though never seen face to face. To enter this +substantial world behind the phenomena of human life as sensibly +shown in imagination, to know the invisible things of personality +and experience, and to set them forth as a spiritual order, is the +main end of ideal art. Though in plot the outward order is brought +into the fullest prominence, and may seem to occupy the field, yet +it is significantly only the shadow of that order within.</p> +<p>In thus presenting plot as the means by which the history of a +single soul is externalized, one important element has been +excluded from consideration. The causal chain of events, which +constitutes plot, has a double unity, answering to the double order +of phenomena in action as a state of mind and a state of external +fact. Under one aspect, so much of the action as is included in any +single life and is there a linked sequence of mental states, has +its unity in the personality of that individual. Under the other +aspect, the entire action which sets forth the relations of all the +characters involved, of their several courses of experience as +elements in the working out of the joint result, has its unity in +the constitution of the universe,—the impersonal order, that +structure of being itself, which is independent of man's will, +which is imposed upon him as a condition of existence, and which he +must accept without appeal. This necessity, to give it the best +name, to which man is exposed without and subjected within, is in +its broadest conception the power that increases life, and all +things are under its sway. Its sphere is above man's will; he knows +it as immutable law in himself as it is in nature; it is the +highest object of his thoughts. Its workings are submitted to his +observation and experiment as a part of the world of knowledge; he +sees its operation in individuals, social groups, and nations, and +sets it forth in the action of the lyric, the drama, and the epic +as the law of life. In its sphere is the higher unity of plot by +virtue of which it integrates many lives in one main action. Such, +then, is the nature of plot as intermediary between man and his +environment, but deeply engaged in the latter, and not to be freed +from it even by a purely spiritualistic philosophy; for though we +say that, as under one aspect plot shadows forth the unseen world +of the soul's life, so under the other it shadows forth the +invisible will of God, we do not escape from the outward world. +Sense is still the medium by which only man knows his brother man +and God also as through a glass darkly,—</p> +<center>"The painted veil which those who live call life."</center> +<p>It separates all spirits, the beautiful but dense element in +which the pure soul is submerged.</p> +<p>It is necessary only to summarize the characteristics of plot +which are merely parallel to those of type already illustrated. +Plot may be simple or complex; it may be more or less involved in +physical conditions in proportion as it lays stress on its +machinery or its psychology; it must be important, as the type must +be high, but important by virtue of its essential human meaning and +not of its accidents; it is a fragment of destiny only, but in this +falls in with the way life in others is known to us; if it passes +into the superhuman world, it must retain human significance and be +brought back to man's life by devices similar to those used in the +type for the same purpose; it rises in value in proportion to the +universality it contains, and gains depth and permanence as it is +interpretative of common human fate at all times and among all men; +it may be purely imaginary or founded on actual incidents; and its +exemplary interpretation of man's life is its substance, and +constitutes its ideality.</p> +<p>In the discussion of type and plot, the concrete nature of the +world of art, which was originally stated to be the characteristic +work of the creative reason, or imagination acting in conformity +with truth, has been assumed; but no reason has been given for it, +because it seemed best to develop first with some fulness the +nature of that inward order which is thus projected in the forms of +art. It belongs to the frailty of man that he seizes with +difficulty and holds with feebleness the pure ideas of the +intellect, the more in proportion as they are removed from sense; +and he seeks to support himself against this weakness by framing +sensible representations of the abstract in which the mind can +rest. Thus in all lands and among savage tribes, as well as in the +most civilized nations, symbols have been used immemorially. The +flag of a nation has all its meaning because it is taken as a +physical token of national honour, almost of national life itself. +The Moslem crescent, the Christian cross, have only a similar +significance, a bringing near to the eye of what exists in reality +only for the mind and heart. A symbol, however, is an arbitrary +fiction, and stands to the idea as a metaphor does to the thing +itself. In literature the parable of the mustard seed to which the +kingdom of heaven was likened, exemplifies symbolical or +metaphorical method; but the tale of the court of Arthur's knights, +ideal method; between them, and sharing something of both, lies +allegorical method. Idolatry is the religion of symbolism, for the +image is not the god; Christianity is the religion of idealism, for +Christ is God incarnate. Idealism presents the reality itself, the +universal truth made manifest in the concrete type, and there +present and embodied in its characteristics as they are, not merely +arbitrarily by a fiction of thought, symbolically or +allegorically.</p> +<p>The way in which type concretes truth is sufficiently plain; but +it may be useful, with respect to plot, to draw out more in detail +the analogy which has been said to exist between it and an +illustrative scientific experiment. If scientific law is declared +experimentally, the course of nature is modified by intent; certain +conditions are secured, certain others eliminated; a selected train +of phenomena is then set in motion to the end that the law may be +illustrated, and nothing else. In a perfect experiment the law is +in full operation. In plot there is a like selection of persons, +situations, and incidents so arranged as to disclose the working of +that order which obtains in man's life. The law may be simple and +shown by means of few persons and incidents in a brief way, as in +ancient drama, or complex and exhibited with many characters in an +abundance of action over a wide scene as in Shakspere; in either +case equally there is a selection from the whole mass of man's life +of what shall illustrate the causal union in its order and show it +in action. The process in the epic or prose narrative is the same. +The common method of all is to present the universal law in a +particular instance made for the purpose.</p> +<p>In thus clothing itself in concrete form, truth suffers no +transformation; it remains what it was, general truth, the very +essence of type and plot being, as has been said, to preserve this +universality in the particular instance. There is a sense in which +this general truth is more real, as Plato thought, than +particulars; a sense in which the phenomenal world is less real +than the system of nature, for phenomena come and go, but the law +remains; a sense in which the order in man's breast is more real +than he is, in whom it is manifest, for the form of ideas, the +mould of law, are permanent, but their expression in us transitory. +It is this higher realism, as it was anciently called, that the +mind strives for in idealism,—this organic form of life, the +object of all rational knowledge. Types, under their concrete +disguise, are thus only a part of the general notions of the mind +found in every branch of knowledge and necessary to thought; plots, +similarly, are only a part of the general laws of the ordered +world; literature in using them, and specializing them in concrete +form by which alone they differ in appearance from like notions and +laws elsewhere, merely avails itself of that condensing faculty of +the mind which most economizes mental effort and loads conceptions +with knowledge. In the type it is not personal, but human character +that interests the mind; in plot, it is not personal, but human +fate.</p> +<p>While it is true that the object of ideal method is to reach +universals, and reembody them in particular instances, this +reasoning action is often obscurely felt by the imagination in its +creative process. The very fact that its operation is through the +concrete complicates the process. The mind of genius working out +its will does not usually start with a logical attempt consciously; +it does not arrive at truth in the abstract and then reduce it to +concrete illustration in any systemic way; it does not select the +law and then shape the plot. The poet is rather directly interested +in certain characters and events that appeal to him; his sympathies +are aroused, and he proceeds to show forth, to interpret, to +create; and in proportion as the characters he sets in motion and +the circumstances in which they are placed have moulding force, +they will develop traits and express themselves in influences that +he did not foresee. This is a matter of familiar knowledge to +authors, who frequently discover in the trend of the imaginary tale +a will of its own, which has its unforeseen way. The drama or +story, once set in motion, tends to tell itself, just as life tends +to develop in the world. The vitality of the clay it works in, is +one of the curious experiences of genius, and occasions that mood +of mystery in relation to their creatures frequently observed in +great writers. In fact, this mode of working in the concrete, which +is characteristic of the creative imagination, gives to its +activity an inductive and experimental character, not to be +confounded with the demonstrative act of the intellect which states +truth after knowing it, and not in the moment of its discovery. In +literature this moment of discovery is what makes that flash which +is sometimes called intuition, and is one of the great charms of +genius.</p> +<p>The concrete nature of ideal art, to touch conveniently here +upon a related though minor topic, is also the reason that it +expresses more than its creator is aware of. In imaging life he +includes more reality than he attends to; but if his representation +has been made with truth, others may perceive phases of reality +that he neglected. It is the mark of genius, as has hitherto +appeared, to grasp life, not fragmentarily, but in the whole. So, +in a scientific experiment, intended to illustrate one particular +form of energy, a spectator versed in another science may detect +some truth belonging in his own field. This richer significance of +great works is especially found where the union of the general and +the particular is strong; where the fusion is complete, as in +Hamlet. In a sense he is more real than living men, and we can +analyze his nature, have doubts about his motives, judge +differently of his character, and value his temperament more or +less as one might with a friend. The more imaginative a character +is, in the sense that his personality and experience are given in +the whole so that one feels the bottom of reality there, the more +significance it has. Thus in the world of art discoveries beyond +the intention of the writer may be made as in the actual world; so +much of reality does it contain.</p> +<p>Will it be said that, in making primary the universal contents +and spiritual significance of type and plot, I have made literature +didactic, as if the word should stop my mouth? If it is meant by +this that I maintain that literature conveys truth, it may readily +be admitted, since only thus can it interest the mind which has its +whole life in the pursuit and its whole joy in the possession of +truth. But if it be meant that abstract or moral instruction has +been made the business of literature, the charge may be met with a +disclaimer, as should be evident, first, from the emphasis placed +on its concrete dealing with persons and actions. On the contrary, +literature fails in art precisely in proportion as it becomes +expressly such a teacher. Secondly, the life which literature +organizes, the whole of human nature in its relation to the world, +is many-sided; and imaginative genius, the creative reason, grasps +it in its totality. The moral aspect is but one among many that +life wears. If ethics are implicit in the mass of life, so also are +beauty and passion, pathos, humour, and terror; and in literature +any one of these may be the prominent phase at the moment, for +literature gives out not only practical moral wisdom, but all the +reality of life. Literature is didactic in the reproachful sense of +the word only in proportion as type and plot are distinctly +separated from the truth they embody, and ceases to be so in +proportion as these are blended and unified. The fable is one of +the most ancient forms of such didactic literature; in it a story +is told to enforce a lesson, and animals are made the characters, +in consequence of which it has the touch of humour inseparable from +the spectacle of beasts playing at being men; but the very fact +that the moral is of men and the tale is of beasts involves a +separation of the truth from its concrete embodiment, and besides +the moral is stated by itself. In the Oriental apologue an advance +is made. The parables of our Lord, in particular, are admirable +examples of its method. The characters are few, the situations +common, the action simple, and the moral truth or lesson enforced +is so completely clothed in the tale that it needs no explanation; +at the same time, the mind is aware of the teacher. In the higher +forms of literature, however, the fusion of ethics with life may be +complete. Here the poet works so subtly that the mind is not aware +of the illumination of this light which comes without the violence +of the preacher, until after the fact; and, indeed, the effect is +wrought more through the sympathies than the reason. In such a case +literature, though it conveys moral with other kinds of truth, is +not open to the charge of didacticism, which is valid only when +teaching is explicit and abstract. The educative power of +literature, however, is not diminished because in its art it +dispenses with the didactic method, which by its very definiteness +is inelastic and narrow; in fact, the more imaginative a character +is, the more fruitful it may be even in moral truth; it may teach, +as has been said, what the poet never dreamed his work +contained.</p> +<p>If, then, to sum up the argument thus far, the subject-matter of +literature is life in the forms of personality and experience, and +the particular facts with respect to these are generalized by means +of type and plot in concrete form, and so are set forth as phases +of an ordered world for the intelligence, to the end that man may +know himself in the same way as he knows nature in its living +system—if this be so, what standing have those who would +restrict literature to the actual in life? who would replace ideal +types of manhood by the men of the time, and the ordered drama of +the stage by the medley of life? They deny art, which is the +instrument of the creative reason, to literature; for as soon as +art, which is the process of creating a rational world, begins, the +necessity for selection arises, and with it the whole question of +values, facts being no longer equal among themselves on the score +of actuality, nor in fitness for the work in hand. The trivial, the +accidental, the unmeaning, are rejected, and there will be no +stopping short of the end; for art, being the handmaid of truth, +can employ no other than the method of all reason, wherefore +idealism is to it what abstraction is to logic and induction to +natural science,—the breath of its rational being. Those who +hold to realism in its extreme form, as a representation of the +actual only, behave as if one should say to the +philosopher—leave this formulation of general notions and be +content with sensible objects; or to the scientist—experiment +no more, but observe the course of nature as it may chance to +arise, and describe it in its succession. They bid us be all eye, +no mind; all sense, no thought; all chance, all confusion, no +order, no organization, no fabric of the reason. But there are no +such realists; though pure realism has its place, as will hereafter +be shown, it is usually found mixed with ideal method; and as +commonly employed the word designates the preference merely for +types and plots of much detail, of narrow application, of little +meaning, in opposition to the highly generalized and significant +types and plots usually associated with the term idealism. In what +way such realism has its place will also appear at a later stage. +Here it is necessary to say no more than that in proportion as +realism uses the ideal method only at the lowest, it narrows its +appeal, weakens its power, and takes from literature her highest +distinction by virtue of which she grasps the whole of character +and fate in her creation and informs man of the secrets of his +human heart, the course of his mortal destiny, and the end of all +his spiritual effort and aspiration.</p> +<p>I am aware that I have not proceeded so far without starting +objections. To meet that which is most grave, what shall I say when +it is alleged that there is no order such as I have assumed in +life; or, if there be, that it is insufficiently known, too +intangible and complex, too various in different races and ages, to +be made the subject of such an exposition as obtains of natural +order? Were this assertion true, yet there would be good reason to +retain our illusion; for the mind delights in order, and will +invent it. The mind is perplexed and disturbed until it finds this +order; and in the progressive integration of its experience into an +ordered world lies its work. Art gives pleasure to the intellect, +because in its structure whatever is superfluous and extrinsic has +been eliminated, so that the mind contemplates an artistic work as +a unity of relations bound each to each which it fully comprehends. +Such works, we say, have form, which is just this interdependence +of parts wholly understood which appeals to the intellect, and +satisfies it: they would please the mind, though the order they +embody were purely imaginary, just as science would delight it, +were the order of nature itself illusory. Creative art would thus +still have a ground of being under a sceptical philosophy; man +would delight to dream his dream. But it is not necessary to take +this lower line of argument.</p> +<p>It does not appear to me to be open to question that there is in +the soul of man a nature and an order obtaining in it as permanent +and universal as in the material world. The soul of man has a +common being in all. There could be no science of logic, +psychology, or metaphysics on the hypothesis of any uncertainty as +to the identity of mind in all, nor any science of ethics on the +hypothesis of any variation as to the identity of the will in all, +nor any ground of expression even, of communication between man and +man, on the hypothesis of any radical difference in the experience +and faculties to which all expression appeals for its +intelligibility; neither could there be any system of life in +social groups, or plan for education, unless such a common basis is +accepted. The postulate of a common human nature is analogous to +that of the unity of matter in science; it finds its complete +expression in the doctrine of the brotherhood of man, for if race +be fundamentally distinguished from race as was once thought, it is +only as element is distinguished from element in the old chemistry. +So, too, the postulate of an order obtaining in the soul, universal +and necessary, independent of man's volition, analogous in all +respects to the order of nature, is parallel with that of the +constancy of physical law. A rational life expects this order. The +first knowledge of it comes to us, as that of natural law, by +experience; in the social world—the relations of men to one +another—and in the more important region of our own nature we +learn the issue of certain courses of action as well as in the +external world; in our own lives and in our dealings with others we +come to a knowledge of, and a conformity to, the conditions under +which we live, the laws operant in our being, as well as those of +the physical world. Literature assumes this order; in Aeschylus, +Cervantes, or Shakspere, it is this that gives their work interest. +Apart from natural science, the whole authority of the past in its +entire accumulation of wisdom rests upon the permanence of this +order, and its capacity to be known by man; that virtue makes men +noble and vice renders them base, is a statement without meaning +unless this order is continuous through ages; all principles of +action, all schemes of culture, would be uncertain except on this +foundation.</p> +<p>So near is this order to us that it was known long before +science came to any maturity. We have added, in truth, little to +our knowledge of humanity since the Greeks; and if one wonders why +ethics came before science, let him own at least that its priority +shows that it is near and vital in life as science is not. We can +do, it seems, without Kepler's laws, but not without the Decalogue. +The race acquires first what is most needful for life; and man's +heart was always with him, and his fate near. A second reason, it +may be noted, for the later development of science is that our +senses, as used by science, are more mental now, and the object +itself is observable only by the intervention of the mind through +the telescope or microscope or a hundred instruments into which, +though physical, the mind enters. Our methods, too, as well as our +instruments, are things of the mind. It behooves us to remember in +an age which science is commonly thought to have materialized, that +more and more the mind enters into all results, and fills an ever +larger place in life; and this should serve to make materialism +seem more and more what it is—a savage conception. But +recognizing the great place of mind in modern science, and its +growing illumination of our earthly system, I am not disposed to +discredit its earliest results in art and morals. I find in this +penetration of the order of the world within us our most certain +truth; and as our bodies exist only by virtue of sharing in the +general order of nature, so, I believe, our souls have being only +by sharing in this order of the inward, the spiritual world.</p> +<p>What, then, is this order? We do not merely contemplate it: we +are immersed in it, it is vital in us, it is that wherein we live +and move and have our being, ever more and more in proportion as +the soul's life outvalues the body in our experience. It is +necessary to expand our conception of it. Hitherto it has been +presented only as an order of truth appealing to the intellect: but +the intellect is only one function of the soul, and thinkers are +the merest fraction of mankind. We know this order not only as +truth, but as righteousness; we know that certain choices end in +enlarging and invigorating our faculties, and other choices in +their enfeeblement and extinction; and the race adds, acting under +the profound motive of self-preservation, that it is a duty to do +the one thing and avoid the other, and stores up this doctrine in +conscience. We know this order again under the aspect of joy, for +joy attends some choices, and sorrow others; and again under the +aspect of beauty, for certain choices result in beauty and others +in deformity. What I maintain is that this order exists under four +aspects, and may be learned in any of them—as an order of +truth in the reason, as an order of virtue in the will, as an order +of joy in the emotions, as an order of beauty in the senses. It is +the same order, the same body of law, operating in each case; it is +the vital force of our fourfold life,—it has one unity in the +intellect, the will, the emotions, the senses,—is equal to +the whole nature of man, and responds to him and sustains him on +every side. A lover of beauty in whom conscience is feeble cannot +wander if he follow beauty; nor a cold thinker err, though without +a moral sense, if he accept truth; nor a just man, nor a seeker +after pure joy merely, if they act according to knowledge each in +his sphere. The course of action that increases life may be +selected because it is reasonable, or joyful, or beautiful, or +right; and therefore one may say fearlessly, choose the things that +are beautiful, the things that are joyful, the things that are +reasonable, the things that are right, and all else shall be added +unto you. The binding force in this order is what literature, ideal +literature, most brings out and emphasizes in its generalizations, +that causal union which has hitherto been spoken of in the region +of plot only; but it exists in every aspect of this order, and +literature universalizes experience in all these realms, in the +provinces of beauty and passion no less than in those of virtue and +knowledge, and its method is the same in all.</p> +<p>Is not our knowledge of this fourfold order in its principles, +in those relations of its phenomena which constitute its laws, of +the highest importance of anything of human concern? In harmony +with these laws, and only thus, we ourselves, in whom this order +is, become happy, righteous, wise, and beautiful. In ideal +literature this knowledge is found, expressed, and handed down age +after age—the knowledge of necessary and permanent relations +in these great spheres which, taken together, exhaust the +capacities of life. Man's moral sense is strong in proportion as he +apprehends necessity in the sequence of will and act; his intellect +is strong, his emotions, his sense of beauty, are strong in the +same way in proportion as he apprehends necessity in each several +field of experience. And conversely, the weakness of the intellect +lies in a greater or less failure to realise relations of fact in +their logic; and the other faculties, in proportion as they fail to +realize such relations in their own region, have a similar +incapacity. Insanity, in the broad sense, is involuntary error in a +nature incapable of effectual enlightenment, and hence abnormal or +diseased; but the state of error, whether more or less, whether +voluntary or involuntary, whether curable or incurable, in itself +is the same. To take an example from one sphere, in the moral world +the criminal through ignorance of or distrust in or revolt from the +supreme divine law seeks to maintain himself by his own power +solitarily as if he might be a law unto himself; he experiences, +without the intervention of any human judge, the condemnation which +consigns him to enfeeblement and extinction through the decay and +death of his nature, as a moral being, stage by stage; this is +God's justice, visiting sin with death. Similarly, and to most more +obviously, in society itself, the criminal against society, because +he does not understand, or believe, or prefers not to accept +arbitrary social law as the means by which necessarily the general +good, including his own, is worked out, seeks to substitute for it +his own intelligence, his cunning, in his search for prosperity, as +he conceives it, by an adaptation of means to ends on his own +account. This is why the imperfection of human law is sometimes a +just excuse for social crime in those whom society does not +benefit, its slaves and pariahs. But whether in God's world or in +man's, the mind of the criminal, disengaging itself from reliance +on the whole fabric for whatever reason, pulverizes because he +fails to realize the necessary relations of the world in which he +lives in their normal operation, and has no effectual belief in +them as unavoidably operant in his nature or over his fortunes. +This was the truth that lay in the Platonic doctrine that all sin +is ignorance; but Plato did not take account of any possible +depravity in the will. Nor is what has been illustrated above true +of the mind and the will only. In the region of emotion and of +beauty, there may be similar aberration, if these are not grasped +in their vital nature, in organic relation to the whole of +life.</p> +<p>These several parts of our being are not independent of one +another, but are in the closest alliance. They act conjointly and +with one result in the single soul in which they find their unity +as various energies of one personal power. It cannot be that +contradiction should arise among them in their right operation, nor +the error of one continue undetected by the others; that the base +should be joyful or the wicked beautiful in reality, is impossible. +In the narrow view the lust of the eye and the pride of life may +seem beautiful, but in the broad perspective of the inward world +they take on ugliness; in the moment they may seem pleasurable, but +in the backward reach of memory they take on pain; to assert +eternity against the moment, to see life in the whole, to live as +if all of life were concentrated in its instant, is the chief +labour of the mind, the eye, the heart, the enduring will, all +together. To represent a villain as attractive is an error of art, +which thus misrepresents the harmony of our nature. Satan, as +conceived by Milton, may seem to be a majestic figure, but he was +not so to Milton's imagination. "The Infernal Serpent" is the first +name the poet gives him; and though sublime imagery of gloom and +terror is employed to depict his diminished brightness and inflamed +malice, Milton repeatedly takes pains to degrade him to the eye, as +when in Paradise he is surprised at the ear of Eve "squat like a +toad"; and when he springs up in his own form there, as the "grisly +king," he mourns most his beauty lost; neither is his resolute +courage long admirable. To me, at least, so far from having any +heroic quality, he seems always the malign fiend sacrificing +innocence to an impotent revenge. In all great creations of art it +is necessary that this consistency of beauty, virtue, reason, and +joy should he preserved.</p> +<p>It is true that the supremacy of law in this inward world, so +constituted, is less realized than in the physical world; but even +in the latter the wide conviction of its supremacy is a recent +thing, and in some parts of nature it is still lightly felt, +especially in those which touch the brain most nearly, while under +the stress of exceptional calamity or strong desire or traditional +religious beliefs it often breaks down. But if the order of the +material universe seems now a more settled thing than the spiritual +law of the soul, once the case was reversed; God was known and +nature miraculous. It must be remembered, too, in excuse of our +feebleness of faith, that we are born bodily into the physical +world and are forced to live under its law; but life in the +spiritual world is more a matter of choice, at least in respect to +its degree; its phenomena are, in part, contingent upon our +development and growth, on our living habitually and intelligently +in our higher nature, the laws of which as communicated to us by +other minds are in part prophecies of experience not yet actual in +ourselves. It is the touchstone of experience, after all, that +tries all things in both worlds, and experience in the spiritual +world may be long delayed; it is power of mind that makes wide +generalizations in both; and the conception of spiritual law is the +most refined as perhaps it is the most daring of human +thoughts.</p> +<p>The expansion of the conception of ideal literature so as to +embrace these other aspects, in addition to that of rational +knowledge which has thus far been exclusively dwelt upon, requires +us to examine its nature in the regions of beauty, joy, and +conscience, in which, though generalization remains its +intellectual method, it does not make its direct appeal to the +mind. It is not enough to show that the creative reason in its +intellectual process employs that common method which is the parent +of all true knowledge, and by virtue of its high matter, which is +the divine order in the soul, holds the primacy among man's +faculties; the story were then left half told, and the better part +yet to come. To enlighten the mind is a great function; but in the +mass of mankind there are few who are accessible to ideas as such, +especially on the unworldly side of life, or interested in them. +Idealism does not confine its service to the narrow bounds of +intellectuality. It has a second and greater office, which is to +charm the soul. So characteristic of it is this power, so eminent +and shining, that thence only springs the sweet and almost sacred +quality breathing from the word itself. Idealism, indeed, by the +garment of sense does not so much clothe wisdom as reveal her +beauty; so the Greek sculptor discloses the living form by the +plastic folds. Truth made virtue is her work of power, and she +imposes upon man no harder task than the mere beholding of that +sight—</p> +<center>"Virtue in her shape how lovely,"</center> +<p>which since it first abashed the devil in Paradise makes +wrong-doers aware of their deformity, and yet has such subtle and +penetrating might, such fascination for all finer spirits, that +they have ever believed with their master, Plato, that should truth +show her countenance unveiled and dwell on earth, all men would +worship and follow her.</p> +<p>The images of Plato—those images in which alone he could +adequately body forth his intuitions of eternity—present the +twofold attitude of our nature, in mind and heart, toward the ideal +with vivid distinctness; and they illustrate the more intimate +power of beauty, the more fundamental reach of emotion, and the +richness of their mutual life in the soul. Under the aspect of +truth he likens our knowledge of the ideal to that which the +prisoners of the cave had of the shadows on the wall; under the +aspect of beauty he figures our love for it as that of the +passionate lover. As truth, again,—taking up in his earliest +days what seems the primitive impulse and first thought of man +everywhere and at all times,—under the image of the golden +chain let down from the throne of the god, he sets forth the +heavenly origin of the ideal and its descent on earth by divine +inspiration possessing the poet as its passive instrument; and +later, bringing in now the cooperation of man in the act, he again +presents the ideal as known by reminiscence of the soul's eternal +life before birth, which is only a more defined and rationalized +conception of inspiration working normally instead of by the +special act and favour of God. As beauty, again, he shows forth the +enthusiasm evoked by the ideal in the image of the charioteer of +the white and black horses mastering them to the goal of love. In +these various ways the first idealist thought out these +distinctions of truth and beauty as having a real community, though +a divided life in the mind and heart; and, as he +developed,—and this is the significant matter,—the poet +in him controlling his speech told ever more eloquently of the +charm with which beauty draws the soul unto itself, for to the poet +beauty is nearer than truth. It is the persuasion with which he +sets forth this charm, rather than his speculation, which has +fastened upon him the love of later ages. He was the first to +discern in truth and beauty equal powers of one divine being, and +thus to effect the most important reconciliation ever made in human +nature.</p> +<p>So, too, from the other great source of the race's wisdom, we +are told in the Scriptures that though we be fallen men, yet is it +left to us to lift our eyes to the beauty of holiness and be +healed; for every ray of that outward loveliness which strikes upon +the eye penetrates to the heart of man. Then are we moved, indeed, +and incited to seek virtue with true desire. Prophet and psalmist +are here at one with the poet and the philosopher in spiritual +sensitiveness. At the height of Hebrew genius in the personality of +Christ, it is the sweet attractive grace, the noble beauty of the +present life incarnated in his acts and words, the divine reality +on earth and not, as Plato saw it, in a world removed, that has +drawn all eyes to the Judean hill. The years lived under the Syrian +blue were a rending of the veil of spiritual beauty which has since +shone in its purity on men's gaze. It is this loveliness which +needs only to be seen that wins mankind. The emotions are enlisted; +and, however we may slight them in practice, the habit of emotion +more than the habit of mind enters into and fixes inward character. +More men are saved by the heart than by the head; more youths are +drawn to excellence by noble feelings than are coldly reasoned into +virtue on the ground of gain. Some there are among men so +colourless in blood that they embrace the right on the mere +calculation of advantage, but they seem to possess only an earthly +virtue; some, beholding the order of the world, desire to put +themselves in tune with nature and the soul's law, and these are of +a better sort; but most fortunate are they who, though +well-nurtured, find virtue not in profit, nor in the necessity of +conforming to implacable law, but in mere beauty, in the light of +her face as it first comes to them with ripening years in the sweet +and noble nature of those they grow to love and honour among the +living and the dead. For this is Achilles made brave, that he may +stir us to bravery; and surely it were little to see the story of +Pelops' line if the emotions were not awakened, not merely for a +few moments of intense action of their own play, but to form the +soul. The emotional glow of the creative imagination has been once +mentioned in the point that it is often more absorbed in the beauty +and passion than in the intellectual significance of its work; +here, correspondingly, it is by the heart to which it appeals +rather than by the mind it illumines that it takes hold of +youth.</p> +<p>What, then, is the nature of this emotional appeal which +surpasses so much in intimacy, pleasure, and power the appeal to +the intellect? It is the keystone of the inward nature, that which +binds all together in the arch of life. Emotion has some ground, +some incitement which calls it forth; and it responds with most +energy to beauty. In the strictest sense beauty is a unity of +relations of coexistence in coloured space and appeals to the eye; +it is in space what plot is in time. Like plot, it is deeply +engaged in the outward world; it exists in the sensuous order, and +it shadows forth the spiritual order in man only in so far as a +fair soul makes the body beautiful, as Spenser thought,—the +mood, the act, and the habit of heroism, love, and the like +nobilities of man, giving grace to form, feature, and attitude. It +is primarily an outward thing, as emotion, which is a phase of +personality, is an inward thing; what the necessary sequence of +events, the chain of causation, is to plot,—its cardinal +idea,—that the necessary harmony of parts, the chime of line +and colour, is to beauty; thus beauty is as inevitable as fate, as +structurally planted in the form and colour of the universe as fate +is in its temporal movement. And as plot has its characteristic +unity in the impersonal order of God's will, shown in time's event, +so beauty has its characteristic unity in the same order shown in +the visible creation of space. It is true that all phenomena are +perceived by the mind, and are conditioned, as is said, by human +modes of perception; but within the limits of the relativity of all +our knowledge, beauty is initially a sensuous, not a spiritual, +thing, and though the structure of the human eye arranges the +harmonies of line and colour, it is no more than as the form of +human thought arranges cause and effect and other primary relations +in things; beauty does not in becoming humanly known cease to be +known as a thing external, independent of our will, and imposed on +us from without. It is this outward reality, the harmony of sense, +that sculpture and painting add in their types to the +interpretation they otherwise give of personality, and often in +them this physical element is predominant; and in the purely +decorative arts it may be exclusive. In landscape, which is in the +realm of beauty, personality altogether disappears, unless, indeed, +nature be interpreted in the mood of the Psalmist as declaring its +Creator; for the reflection which the presence of man may cast upon +nature as his shadow is not expressive of any true personality +there abiding, but enters into the scene as the face of Narcissus +into the brook. The pleasure which the mind takes in beauty is only +a part of its general delight in order of any sort; and visible +artistic form as abstracted from the world of space is merely a +species of organic form and is included in it.</p> +<p>The eye, however, governs so large a part of the sensuous field, +the idea of beauty as a unity of space-relations giving pleasure is +so simple, and the experience is so usual, that the word has been +carried over to the life of the more limited senses in which +analogous phenomena arise, differing only in the fact that they +exist in another sense. Thus in the dominion of the ear especially, +we speak commonly of the beauty of music; but the life of the minor +senses, touch, taste, and smell, is composed of too simple elements +to allow of such combination as would constitute specific form in +ordinary apprehension, though in the blind and deaf the possibility +of high and intelligible complexity in these senses is proved. +Similarly, the term is carried over to the invisible and inaudible +world of the soul within itself, and we speak of the beauty of +Sidney's act, of Romeo's nature, and, in the abstract, of the +beauty of holiness, and, in a still more remote sphere, of the +beauty of a demonstration or a hypothesis; by this usage we do not +so much describe the thing as convey the charm of the thing. This +charm is more intimate and piercing to those of sensuous nature who +rejoice in visible loveliness or in heard melodies; but to the +spiritually minded it may be as close and penetrating in the +presence of what is to them dearer than life and light, and is +beheld only by the inner eye. It is this charm, whether flowing +from the outward semblance or shining from the unseen light, that +wins the heart, stirs emotion, wakes the desire to be one with this +order manifest in truth and beauty, in the spirit and the body of +things, to go out toward it in love, to identify one's being with +it as the order of life, mortal and immortal; last the will +quickens, and its effort to make this order prevail in us and +possess us is virtue. The act through all its phases is, as has +been said, one act of the soul, which first perceives, then loves, +and finally wills. Emotion is the intermediary between the divine +order and the human will; it responds to the beauty of the one and +directs the choice of the other, and is felt in either function as +love controlling life in the new births of the spirit.</p> +<p>The emotion, to return to the world of art, which is felt in the +presence of imaginary things is actual in us; but the attempt is +made to fix upon it a special character differentiating it from the +emotion felt in the presence of reality. One principle of +difference is sought in the point that in literature, or in +sculpture and painting, emotion entails no action; it has no +outlet, and is without practical consequences; the will is +paralyzed by the fatuity of trying to influence an unreal series of +events, and in the case of the object of beauty in statue or +painting by the impossibility of possession. The world of art is +thus thought of as one of pure contemplation, a place of escape +from the difficulties, the pangs, and the incompleteness that beset +all action. It is true that the imagined world creates special +conditions for emotion, and that the will does not act in respect +to that world; but does this imply any radical difference in the +emotion, or does it draw after it the consequence that the will +does not act at all? Checked emotion, emotion dying in its own +world, is common in life; and so, too, is contemplation as a mode +of approach to beauty, as in landscape, or even in human figures +where there is no thought of any other possession than the presence +of beauty before the eye and soul; escape, too, into a sphere of +impersonality, in the love of nature or the spectacle of life, is a +common refuge. Art does not give us new faculties, generate unknown +habits, or in any way change our nature; it presents to us a new +world only, toward which our mental behaviour is the same as in the +rest of life. Why, then, should emotion, the most powerful element +in life, be regarded as a fruitless thing in that ideal art which +has thus far appeared as a life in purer energy and higher +intensity of being than life itself?</p> +<p>The distinction between emotion depicted and that felt in +response must be kept in mind to avoid confusion, for both sorts +are present at the same time. In literature emotion may be set +forth as a phase of the character or as a term in the plot; it may +be a single moment of high feeling as in a lyric or a prolonged +experience as in a drama; it may be shown in the pure type of some +one passion as in Romeo, or in the various moods of a rich nature +as in Hamlet; but, whether it be predominant or subordinate in any +work, it is there treated in the same way and for the same purpose +as other materials of life. What happens when literature gives us, +for instance, examples of moral experience? It informs the mind of +the normal course of certain lines of action, of the inevitable +issues of life; it breeds habits of right thinking in respect to +these; it is educative, and though we do not act at once upon this +knowledge, when the occasion arises we are prepared to act. So, +when literature presents examples of emotional experience, it +informs us of the nature of emotion, its causes, occasions, and +results, its value in character, its influence on action, the modes +of its expression; it breeds habits of right thinking in respect to +these, and is educative; and, just as in the preceding case, though +we do not act at once upon this knowledge, when the occasion arises +we are prepared to act. Concurrently with emotions thus objectively +presented there arises in us a similar series of emotions in the +beholding; by sympathy we ourselves feel what is before us, the +emotions there are also in us in proportion as we identify +ourselves with the character; or, in proportion as our own +individuality asserts itself by revolt, a contrary series arises of +hatred, indignation, or contempt, of pity for the character or of +terror in the feeling that what has happened to one may happen to +us in our humanity. We are taught in a more intimate and vital way +than through ideas alone; the lesson has entered into our bosoms; +we have lived the life. Literature is thus far more powerfully +educative emotionally than intellectually; and if the poet has +worked with wisdom, he has bred in us habits of right feeling in +respect to life, he has familiarized our hearts with love and +anger, with compassion and fear, with courage, with resolve, has +exercised us in them upon their proper occasions and in their noble +expression, has opened to us the world of emotion as it ought to be +in showing us that world as it is in men with all its possibilities +of baseness, ugliness, and destruction. This is the service which +literature performs in this field. Imagination shows us a scheme of +emotion attending the scheme of events and presents it in its +general connection with life, in simple, powerful, and complete +expression, on the lines of inevitable law in its sphere. We go out +from the sway of this imagined world, more sensitive to life, more +accessible to emotion, more likely and more capable, when the +occasion arises, to feel rightly, and to carry that feeling out +into an act. In all literature the knowledge gained objectively, +whether of action or emotion, is a preparation for life; but this +intimate experience of emotion in connection with an imagined world +is a more vital preparation, and enters more directly, easily, and +effectually into men's bosoms.</p> +<p>Two particular phases of this educative power should be +specifically mentioned. The objective presentation of emotion in +literature, as has been often observed, corrects the perspective of +our own lives, as does also the action which it envelops; and by +showing to us emotion in intense energy, which by this intensity +corresponds to high type and important plot, and in a compass far +greater than is normal in ordinary life, the portrayal leads us +better to bear and more justly to estimate the petty trials, the +vexations, the insignificant experiences of our career; we see our +lives in a truer relation to life in general, and avoid an +overcharged feeling in regard to our private fortune. And, +secondly, the subjective emotion in ourselves is educative in the +point that by this outlet we go out of ourselves in sympathy, lose +our egoism, and become one with man in general. This is an escape; +but not such as has been previously spoken of, for it is not a +retreat. There is no escape for us, except into the lives of +others. In nature it is still our own face we see; and before the +ideal creations of art we are still aware, for all our +contemplation, of the ineffable yearning of the thwarted soul, of +the tender melancholy, the sadness in all beauty, which is the +measure of our separation therefrom, and is fundamental in the +poetic temperament. This is that pain, which Plato speaks +of—the pain of the growing of the wings of the spirit as they +unfold. But in passing into the lives of other men, in sharing +their joys, in taking on ourselves the burden of humanity, we +escape from our self-prison, we leave individuality behind, we +unite with man in common; so we die to ourselves in order to live +in lives not ours. In literature, sympathy and that imagination by +which we enter into and comprehend other lives are most trained and +developed, made habitual, instinctive, and quick. It begins to +appear, I trust, that ideal art is not only one with our nature +intellectually, but in all ways; it is the path of the spirit in +all things. Moreover, emotion is in itself simple; it does not need +generalization, it is the same in all. It is rather a means of +universalizing the refinements of the intellect, the substantive +idealities of imagination, by enveloping them in an elementary, +primitive feeling which they call forth. Poetry, therefore, +especially deals, as Wordsworth pointed out, in the primary +affections, the elementary passions of mankind; and, whatever be +its intellectual contents of nature or human events, calls these +emotions forth as the master-spirit of all our seeing. Emotion is +more fundamental in us than knowledge; it is more powerful in its +working; it underlies more deliberate and conscious life in the +mind, and in most of us it rules, as it influences in all. It is +natural, therefore, to find that its operation in art is of graver +importance than that of the intellectual faculty so far as the +broad power of art over men is concerned.</p> +<p>Another special point arises from the fact that some emotions +are painful, and the question is raised how in literature painful +emotions become a pleasure. Aristotle's doctrine in respect to +certain of these emotions, tragic pity and terror, is well known, +though variously interpreted. He regards such emotions as a +discharge of energy, an exhaustion and a relief, in consequence of +which their disturbing presence is less likely to recur in actual +life; it is as if emotional energy accumulated, as vital force is +stored up and requires to be loosed in bodily exercise; but this, +except in the point that pity and terror, if they do accumulate in +their particular forms latently, are specifically such as it is +wise to be rid of, does not differentiate emotion from the rest of +our powers in all of which there is a similar pleasure in +exercising, an exhaustion and a relief, with less liability of +immediate recurrence; this belongs to all expenditure of life. It +is not credible to me that painful emotion, under the illusions of +art, can become pleasurable in the common sense; what pleasure +there is arises only in the climax and issue of the action, as in +case of the drama when the restoration of the order that is joyful, +beautiful, right, and wise occurs; in other words, in the presence +of the final poetic justice or reconciliation of the disturbed +elements of life. But here we come upon darker and mysterious +aspects of our general subject, now to be slightly touched. Tragedy +dealing with the discords of life must present painful spectacles; +and is saved to art only by its just ending. Comedy, which +similarly deals with discords, is endurable only while these remain +painless. Both imply a defect in order, and neither would have any +place in a perfect world, which would be without pity, fear, or +humour, all of which proceed from incongruities in the scheme. +Tragedy and comedy belong alike to low civilizations, to wicked, +brutal, or ridiculous types of character and disorderly events, to +the confusion, ignorance, and ignominies of mankind; the refinement +of both is a mark of progress in both art and civilization, and +foretells their own extinction, unless indeed the principle of evil +be more deeply implanted in the universe than we fondly hope; +pathos and humour, which are the milder and the kindlier forms of +tragedy and comedy, must also cease, for both are equally near to +tears. But before leaving this subject it is interesting to observe +how in the Aristotelian scheme of tragedy, where it was little +thought of, the appeal is made to man's whole nature as here +outlined—the plot replying to reason, the scene to the sense +of beauty, the katharsis to the emotions, and poetic justice to the +will, which thus finds its model and exemplar in the supremacy of +the moral law in all tragic art.</p> +<p>This, then, being the nature of the ideal world in its whole +range commensurate with our being, and these the methods of its +intellectual and emotional appeal, it remains to examine the world +of art in itself, and especially its genesis out of life. The +method by which it is built up has long been recognized to be that +of imitation of the actual, as has been assumed hitherto in the +statement that all art is concrete. But the concrete which art +creates is not a copy of the concrete of life; it is more than +this. The mind takes the particulars of the world of sense into +itself, generalizes them, and frames therefrom a new particular, +which does not exist in nature; it is, in fact, nature made perfect +in an imagined instance, and so presented to the mind's eye, or to +the eye of sense. The pleasure which imitation gives has been often +and diversely analyzed; it may be that of recognition, or that of +new knowledge satisfying our curiosity as if the original were +present, or that of delight in the skill of the artist, or that of +interest in seeing how his view differs from our own, or that of +the illusion created for us; but all these modes of pleasure exist +when the imitation is an exact copy of the original, and they do +not characterize the artistic imitation in any way to differentiate +its peculiar pleasure. It is that element which artistic imitation +adds to actuality, the difference between its created concrete and +the original out of which that was developed, which gives the +special delight of art to the mind. It is the perfection of the +type, the intensity of the emotion, the inevitability of the +plot,—it is the pure and intelligible form disclosed in the +phases and movement of life, disengaged and set apart for the +contemplation of the mind,—it is the purging of the sensual +eye, enabling it to see through the mind as the mind first saw +through it, which renders the world of art the new vision it is, +the revelation accomplished by the mind for the senses. If the +world of art were only a reduplication of life, it would give only +the pleasures that have been mentioned; but its true pleasure is +that which it yields from its supersensual element, the reason +which has entered into it with ordering power. In the world thus +created there will remain the imperfections which are due to the +limitation of the artist, in knowledge, skill, and choice.</p> +<p>It will be said at once that all these concrete representations +necessarily fail to realize the artist's thought, and are +inadequate, inferior in exactness, to scientific and philosophic +knowledge; in a measure this is true, and would be important if the +method of art were demonstrative, instead of being, as has been +said, experimental and inductive. So, too, all thinkers, using the +actual world in their processes, are at a disadvantage. The figures +of the geometer, the quantities of the chemist, the measurements of +the astronomer, are inexact approximations to their equivalent in +the mind. Art, as an embodiment in mortal images, is subject to the +conditions of mortality. Hence arises its human history, the +narrative of its rise, climax, and decline in successive ages. The +course of art is known; it has been run many times; it is a simple +matter. At first art is archaic, the sensible form being rudely +controlled by the artist's hand; it becomes, in the second stage, +classical, the form being adequate to the thought, a transparent +expression; last, it is decadent, the form being more than the +thought, dwarfing it by usurping attention on its own account. The +peculiar temptation of technique is always to elaboration of +detail; technique is at first a hope, it becomes a power, it ends +in being a caprice; and always as it goes on it loses sight of the +general in its rendering, and dwells with a near eye on the +specific. Nor is this attention to detail confined to the manner; +the hand of the artist draws the mind after it, and it is no longer +the great types of manhood, the important fates of life, the +primary emotions in their normal course, that are in the foreground +of thought, but the individual is more and more, the sensational in +plot, the sentimental in feeling. This tendency to detail, which is +the hallmark of realism, constitutes decline. It arises partly from +the exhaustion of general ideas, from the search for novelty of +subject and sensation, from the special phenomena of a decaying +society; but, however manifold may be the causes, the fact of +decline consists in the lessened scope of the matter and the +increased importance of the form, both resulting in luxuriant +detail. Ideas as they lose generality gain in intensity, but in the +history of art this has not proved a compensation. In Greece the +three stages are clearly marked both in matter and manner, in +Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides; in England less clearly in +Marlowe, Shakspere, and Webster. How monstrous in the latter did +tragedy necessarily become! yet more repulsive in his tenderer +companion-spirit, Ford. In Greek sculpture, passing into convulsed +and muscular forms or forms of relaxed voluptuousness, in Italian +painting, in the romantic poetry of this century with us, the same +stages are manifest. Age parallels age. Tennyson in artistic +technique is Virgilian, we are aware of the style; but both Virgil +and Tennyson remain classic in matter, in universality, and the +elemental in man. Browning in substance is Euripidean, being +individualistic, psychologic, problematic, with special pleading; +classicism had departed from him, and left not even the style +behind. The great opposition lies in the subject of interest. Is it +to know ourselves in others? Then art which is widely +interpretative of the common nature of man results. Is it to know +others as different from ourselves? Then art which is specially +interpretative of abnormal individuals in extraordinary +environments results. This is the opposition between realism and +idealism, while both remain in the limits of art, as these terms +are commonly used. It belongs to realism to tend to the concrete of +narrow application, but with fulness of special trait or detail. It +belongs to idealism to tend to the concrete of broad application, +but without peculiarity. The trivial on the one hand, the criminal +on the other, in the individual, are the extremes of realistic art, +while idealism rises to an almost superhuman emphasis on that +wisdom and virtue, and the beauty clothing them, which are the goal +of a nation's effort. Race-ideas, or generalizations of a compact +and homogeneous people summing up their serious interpretations of +life, their moral choices, their aspiration and hope in the lines +of effort that seem to them highest, are the necessary matter of +idealism; when these are expressed they are the Greek spirit, the +Roman genius, great types of humanity on the impersonal, the +national scale. As these historic generalizations dissolve in +national decay, art breaks up in individual portrayal of less +embracing types; the glorification of the Greek man in Achilles +yields place to the corruptions of the homunculus; and in general +the literature of nationality gives way to the unmeaning and +transitory literature of a society interested in its vices, +superstitions, and sensations. In each age some genius stands at +the centre of its expression, a shining nucleus amid its planetary +stars; such was Dante, such Virgil, such Shakspere. Few indeed are +the races that present the spectacle of a double-sun in their +history, as the Hebrews in Psalm and Gospel, the Greeks in Homer +and in Plato. And yet, all this enormous range of life and death, +this flowering in centuries of the human spirit in its successive +creations, reposes finally on the more or less general nature of +the concretes used in its art, on their broad or narrow truth, on +their human or individualistic significance. The difference between +idealism and realism is not more than a question which to choose. +At the further end and last remove, when all art has been resolved +into a sensation, an effect, lies impressionism, which, by its +nature, is a single phase at a single moment as seen by a single +being; but even then, if the mind be normal, if the phase be +veritable, if the moment be that of universal beauty which Faust +bade be eternal, the artistic work remains ideal; but on the other +hand, it is usually the eccentric mind, the abnormal phase, the +beauty of morbid sensation that are rendered; and impressionism +becomes, as a term, the vanishing-point of realism into the moment +of sense.</p> +<p>The world of art, to reach its last limitation, through all this +wide range is in each creation passed through the mind of the +artist and presented necessarily under all the conditions of his +personality. His nature is a term in the process, and the question +of imperfection or of error, known as the personal equation, +arises. Individual differences of perceptive power in comprehending +what is seen, and of narrative skill, or in the plastic and +pictorial arts of manual dexterity, import this personal element +into all artistic works, the more in proportion to the originality +of the maker and the fulness of his self-expression. In rendering +from the actual such error is unavoidable, and is practically +admitted by all who would rather see for themselves than take the +account of a witness, and prefer the original to any copy of it, +though they thereby only substitute their own error for that of the +artist. This personal error, however, is easily corrected by the +consensus of human nature.</p> +<p>The differences in personality go far deeper than this common +liability of humanity to mere mistakes in sight and in +representation. The isolating force that creates a solitude round +every man lies in his private experience, and results from his +original faculties and the special conditions of his environment, +his acquired habits of attending to some things rather than others +open to him, the choices he has made in the past by which his view +of the world and his interest in it have been determined. Memory, +the mother of the Muses, is supreme here; a man's memory, which is +the treasury of his chosen delights in life, characterizes him, and +differentiates his work from that of others, because he must draw +on that store for his materials. Thus a man's character, or, what +is more profound, his temperament, acting in conjunction with the +memory it has built up for itself, is a controlling force in +artistic work, and modifies it in the sense that it presents the +universal truth only as it exists in his personality, in his +apprehension of it and its meaning.</p> +<p>Genius is this power of personality, and exists in proportion as +the man differs from the average in ways that find significant +expression. This difference may proceed along two lines. It may be +aberration from normal human nature, due to circumstances or to +inherent defect or to a thousand causes, but existing always in the +form of an inward perversion approaching disease of our nature; +such types of genius are pathological and may be neglected. It may, +on the other hand, be development of normal human nature in high +power, and it then exists in the form of inward energy, showing +itself in great sensitiveness to outward things, in mental power of +comprehension, in creative force of recombination and expression. +Of genius of this last sort the leaders of the human spirit are +made. The basis of it is still, human faculty dealing with the +universe—the same faculty, the same universe, that are common +to mankind; but with an extraordinary power, such that it can +reveal to men at large what they of themselves might never have +arrived at, can advance knowledge and show forth goals of human +hope, can in a word guide the race. The isolation of such a nature +is necessarily profound, and intense loneliness has ever been a +characteristic of genius. The solvent of all personality, however, +lies at last in this fact of a common world and a common faculty +for all, resulting in an experience intelligible to all, even if +unshared by them. The humanity of genius constitutes its sanity, +and is the ground of its usefulness; though it lives in isolation, +it does so only as an advanced outpost may; it expects the advent +of the race behind and below it, and shows there its signal and +sounds there its call. Its escape from personality lies in its +identifying itself with the common order in which all souls shall +finally be merged and be at one. The limitations of genius are +consequently not so much limitations as the abrogation of limits in +the ordinary sense; its originality of insight, interpretation, and +expression broadens the human horizons and enriches the fields +within them; it tells us what we may not have known or felt or +guessed, but what we shall at last understand. Thus, as the theory +of art is most fixed in the doctrine of order, so here it is most +flexible in the doctrine of personality, through which that order +is most variously set forth and illustrated. Imitation, so far from +becoming a defective or false method because of personality, is +really made catholic by it, and gains the variety and breadth that +characterizes the artistic world as a whole.</p> +<p>The element of self which thus enters into every artistic work +has different degrees of importance. In objective art, it is clear +that it enters valuably in proportion as the universe is seized by +a mind of right reason, of profound penetration, of truthful +imagination; and if the work be presented enveloped in a subjective +mood, while it remains objective in contents, as in Virgil the mood +pervades the poem so deeply as to be a main part of it, then the +mood must be one of those felt or capable of being felt +universally,—the profound moods of the meditative spirit in +grand works, the common moods of simple joy and sorrow in less +serious works. In proportion as society develops, whether in +historic states singly or in the progress of mankind, the direct +expression of self for its own sake becomes more usual; literature +becomes more personal or purely subjective. If the poet's private +story be one of action, it is plain that it has interest only as if +it were objectively rendered, from its being illustrative of life +in general; so, too, if the felt emotion be given, this will have +value from its being treated as typical; and, in so far as the +intimate nature of the poet is variously given as a whole in his +entire works, it has real importance, has its justification in art, +only in so far as he himself is a high normal type of humanity. The +truth of the matter is, in fact, only a detail of the general +proposition that in art history has no value of its own as such; +for the poet is a part of life that is, and his nature and career, +like that of any character or event in history, have no artistic +value beyond their universal significance. In such self-portraiture +there may be sometimes the depicting of a depraved nature, such as +Villon; but such a type takes its place with other criminal types +of the imagination, and belongs with them in another sphere.</p> +<p>This element of self finds its intense expression in lyrical +love-poetry, one of the most enduring forms of literature because +of its elementariness and universality; but it is also found in +other parts of the emotional field. In seeking concrete material +for lyrical use the poet may take some autobiographical incident, +but commonly the world of inanimate nature yields the most plastic +mould. It is a marvellous victory of the spirit over matter when it +takes the stars of heaven and the flowers of earth and makes them +utter forth its speech, less as it seems in words of human language +than in the pictured hieroglyph and symphonic movement of natural +things; for in such poetry it is not the vision of nature, however +beautiful, that holds attention; it is the colour, form, and music +of things externalizing, visualizing the inward mood, emotion, or +passion of the singer. Nature is emptied of her contents to become +the pure inhabitancy of one human soul. The poet's method is that +of life itself, which is first awakened by the beauty without to +thought and feeling; he expresses the state evoked by that beauty +and absorbing it. He identifies himself with the objects before him +through his joy in them, and entering there makes nature +translucent with his own spirit.</p> +<p>Shelley's Ode to the West Wind is the eminent example of such +magical power. The three vast elements, earth, air, and water, are +first brought into a union through their connection with the west +wind; and, the wind still being the controlling centre of +imagination, the poet, drawing all this limitless and majestic +imagery with him, by gradual and spontaneous approaches identifies +himself at the climax of feeling with the object of his +invocation,—</p> +<center>"Be thou me, impetuous one!"</center> +<p>and thence the poem swiftly falls to its end in a lyric burst of +personality, in which, while the body of nature is retained, there +is only a spiritual meaning. So Burns in some songs, and Keats in +some odes, following the same method, make nature their own +syllables, as of some cosmic language. This is the highest reach of +the artist's power of conveying through the concrete image the soul +in its pure emotional life; and in such poetry one feels that the +whole material world seems lent to man to expand his nature and +escape from the solitude in which he is born to that divine union +to which he is destined. The evolution of this one moment of +passion is lyric form, whose unity lies in personality exclusively, +however it may seem to involve the external world which is its +imagery,—its body lifted from the dust, woven of light and +air, but alive only while the spirit abides there. And here, too, +as elsewhere, to whatever height the poet may rise, it must be one +to which man can follow, to which, indeed, the poet lifts men. Nor +is it only nature which thus suffers spiritualization through the +stress of imagination interpreting life in definite and sensible +forms of beauty, but the imagery of action also may be similarly +taken possession of, though this is rare in merely lyrical +expression.</p> +<p>The ideal world, then, to present in full summary these views, +is thus built up, through personality in all its richness, by a +perfected imitation of life itself, and is set forth in universal +unities of relation, causal or formal, to the intellect in its +inward, to the sense of beauty in its outward, aspects; and thereby +delighting the desire of the mind for lucid and lovely order, it +generates joy, and thence is born the will to conform one's self to +this order. If, then, this order be conceived as known in its +principles and in operation in living souls, as existing in its +completeness on the simplest scale in an entire series of +illustrative instances but without multiplicity,—if it be +conceived, that is, as the model of a world,—that would be to +know it as it exists to the mind of God; that would be to +contemplate the world of ideas as Plato conceived it seen by the +soul before birth. That is the beatific vision. If it be conceived +in its mortal movement as a developing world on earth, that would +be to know "the plot of God," as Poe called the universe. Art +endeavours to bring that vision, that plot, however fragmentary, +upon earth. It is a world of order clothing itself in beauty, with +a charm to the soul, such is our nature,—operative upon the +will to live. It is preeminently a vision of beauty. It is true +that this beauty which thus wins and moves us seems something added +by the mind in its great creations rather than anything actual in +life; for it is, in fact, heightened and refined from the best that +man has seen in himself, and it partakes more of hope than of +memory. Here is that woven robe of illusion which is so hard a +matter to those who live in horizons of the eye and hand. Yet as +idealism was found on its mental side harmonious with reason in all +knowledge, and on its emotional side harmonious with the heart in +its outgoings, so this perfecting temperament that belongs to it +and most characterizes it, falls in with the natural faith of +mankind. Idealism in this sense, too, existed in life before it +passed into literature. The youth idealizes the maiden he loves, +his hero, and the ends of his life; and in age the old man +idealizes his youth. Who does not remember some awakening moment +when he first saw virtue and knew her for what she is? Sweet was it +then to learn of some Jason of the golden fleece, some Lancelot of +the tourney, some dying Sydney of the stricken field. There was a +poignancy in this early knowledge that shall never be felt again; +but who knows not that such enthusiasm which earliest exercised the +young heart in noble feelings is the source of most of good that +abides in us as years go on? In such boyish dreaming the soul +learns to do and dare, hardens and supples itself, and puts on +youthful beauty; for here is its palaestra. Who would blot these +from his memory? who choke these fountain-heads, remembering how +often along life's pathway he has thirsted for them? Such moments, +too, have something singular in their nature, and almost immortal, +that carries them echoing far on into life where they strike upon +us in manhood at chosen moments when least expected; some of them +are the real time in which we live. It was said of old that great +men were creative in their souls, and left their works to be their +race; these ideal heroes have immortal souls for their children, +age after age. Shall we in our youth, then, in generous emulation +idealize the great of old times, and honour them as our fair +example of what we most would be? Shall we, in our hearts, idealize +those we love,—so natural is it to believe in the perfection +of those we love,—and even if the time for forgiveness comes, +and we show them the mercy that our own frailty teaches us to +exercise, shall we still idealize them, since love continues only +in the persuasion of perfection yet to come, and is the tenderer +because it comes with struggle? Whether in our acts or our emotions +shall we give idealism this range, and deny it to literature which +discloses the habits of our daily practice in more perfection and +with greater beauty? There we find the purest types to raise and +sustain us; to direct our choice, and reenforce us with that +emotion, that passion, which most supports the will in its effort. +There history itself is taken up, transformed, and made immortal, +the whole past of human emotion and action contained and shown +forth with convincing power. Nor is it only with the natural habit +of mankind that idealism falls in, but with divine command. Were we +not bid be perfect as our Father in heaven is perfect? And what is +that image of the Christ, what is that world-ideal, the height of +human thought, but the work of the creative reason,—not of +genius, not of the great in mind and fortunate in gifts, but of the +race itself, in proud and humble, in saint and sinner, in the happy +and the wretched, in all the vast range of the millions of the dead +whose thoughts live embodied in that great tradition,—the +supreme and perfected pattern of mankind?</p> +<p>Is it nevertheless true that there is falsehood in all this? +that men were never such as the heart believes them, nor ideal +characters able to breathe mortal air? by indulging our emotions, +do we deceive ourselves, and end at last in cynicism or despair? +Why, then, should we not boldly affirm that the falsehood is rather +in us, in the defects by which we fail of perfection, in our +ignorant error and voluntary wrong? that in the ideal, free as it +is from the accidental and the transitory, inclusive as it is of +the common truth, lies, as Plato thought, the only reality, the +truth which outlasts us all? But this may seem a subtle evasion +rather than a frank answer. Let us rather say that idealism is one +of the necessary modes of man's faith, brings in the future, and +assumes the reality of that which shall be actual; that the reality +it owns is that of the rose in the bud, the oak in the acorn, the +planet in its fiery mist. I believe that ideal character in its +perfection is potentially in every man who is born into the world. +We forecast the future in other parts of life; why should we not +forecast ourselves? Would he not be thought foolish who should +refuse to embark in great enterprises of trade, because he does not +already hold the wealth to be gained? The ideal is our infinite +riches, more than any individual or moment can hold. To refuse it +is as if a man should neglect his estate because he can take but a +handful of it in his grasp. It is the law of our being to grow, and +it is a necessity that we should have examples and patterns in +advance of us, by which we can find our way. There is no falsehood +in such anticipation; there is only a faith in truth instead of a +possession of it. Will you limit us to one moment of time and +place? will you say to the patriot that his country is a +geographical term? and when he replies that rather is it the life +of her sons, will you point him to human nature as it seems at the +period, to corruption, folly, ignorance, strife, and crime, and +tell him that is our actual America? Will he not rather say that +his America is a great past, a future whose beneficence no man can +sum? Is there any falsehood in this ideal country that men have +ever held precious? Did Pericles lie in his great oration, and +Virgil in his noble poem, and Dante in his fervid Italian lines? +And as there are ideals of country, so also of men, of the soldier, +the priest, the king, the lover, the citizen, and beside each of us +does there not go one who mourns over our fall and pities us, +gladdens in our virtue, and shall not leave us till we die; an +ideal self, who is our judgment? and if it be yet answered that +this in truth is so, and might be borne but for the errors of the +idealizing temperament, shall we not reply that the quack does not +discredit the art of medicine, nor the demagogue the art of +politics, and no more does the fool in all his motley the art of +literature.</p> +<p>Must I, however, come back to my answer, and meet those who aver +that however stimulating idealism is to the soul, yet it must be +remembered that in the world at large there is nothing +corresponding to ideal order, to poetic ethics, and that to act +these forth as the supremacy of what ought to be is to misrepresent +life, to raise expectations in youth never to be realized, to +pervert practical standards, and in brief to make a false start +that can be fruitful only in error, in subsequent suffering of +mind, and with material disadvantage? I must be frank: I own that I +can perceive in Nature no moral order, that in her world there is +no knowledge of us or of our ideals, and that in general her order +often breaks upon man's life with mere ruin, irrational and +pitiful; and I acknowledge, also, the prominence of evil in the +social, and its invasion in the individual, life of man. But, +again, were we so situated that there should be no external divine +order apparent to our minds, were justice an accident and mercy the +illusion of wasted prayer, there would still remain in us that +order whose workings are known within our own bosom, that law which +compels us to be just and merciful in order to lead the life that +we recognize to be best, and the whole imperative of our ideal, +which, if we fail to ourselves, condemns us, irrespective of what +future attends us in the world. Ideal order as the mind knows it, +the mind must strive to realize, or stand dishonoured in its own +forum. Within us, at least, it exists in hope and somewhat in +reality, and following it in our effort, though we come merely to a +stoical idea of the just man on whom the heavens fall, we should +yet be nobler than the power that made us souls betrayed. But there +is no such difference between the world as it is and the world as +ideal art presents it.</p> +<p>What, then, is the difference between art and nature? Art is +nature regenerate, made perfect, suffering the new birth into what +ought to be; an ordered and complete world. But this is the vision +of art as the ultimate of good. Idealism has also another world, of +which glimpses have already appeared in the course of this +argument, though in the background. In the intellectual sphere evil +is as subject to general statement as is good, and there is in the +strict sense an idealization of evil, a universal statement of it, +as in Mephistopheles, or in more partial ways in Iago, Macbeth, +Richard III. In the emotional sphere also there is the throb of +evil, felt as diabolic energy and presented as the element in which +these characters have their being. Even in the sphere of the will, +who shall say that man does not knowingly choose evil as his +portion? So, too, as the method of idealism in the world of the +good tends to erect man above himself, the same generalizing method +in the world of the evil tends to degrade human nature below +itself; the extremes of the process are the divine and the +devilish; both transcend life, but are developed out of it. The +difference between these two poles of ideality is that the order of +one is an order of life, that of the other an order of death. +Between these two is the special province of the human will. What +literature, what all art, presents is not the ultimate of good or +the ultimate of evil separately; it is, taking into account the +whole range, the mixed world becoming what it ought to be in its +evolution from what it is, and the laws of that progress. Hence +tragedy on the one hand and comedy, or more broadly humour, on the +other hand, have their great place in literature; for they are +forms of the intermediate world of conflict. I speak of the +spiritual world of man's will. We may conceive of the world +optimistically as a place in which all shall issue in good and +nothing be lost; or as a place in which, by alliance with or revolt +from the forces of life, the will in its voluntary and individual +action may save or lose the soul at its choice. We may think of God +as conserving all, or as permitting hell, which is death. We do not +know. But as shown to us in imagination, idealism, which is the +race's dream of truth, hovers between these two worlds known to us +in tendency if not in conclusion,—the world of salvation on +the one hand, in proportion as the order of life is made vital in +us, the world of damnation on the other hand, in proportion as the +order of death prevails in our will; but the main effort of +idealism is to show us the war between the two, with an emphasis on +the becoming of the reality of beauty, joy, reason, and virtue in +us. Not that prosperity follows righteousness, not that poverty +attends wickedness, in worldly measure, but that life is the gift +of a right will is her message; how we, striving for eternal life, +may best meet the chances and the bitter fates of mortal existence, +is her brooding care; ideal characters, or those ideal in some +trait or phase, in the midst of a hostile environment, are her +fixed study. So far is idealism from ignoring the actual state of +man that it most affirms its pity and evil by setting them in +contrast with what ought to be, by showing virtue militant not only +against external enemies but those inward weaknesses of our +mortality with its passion and ignorance, which are our most +undermining and intimate foes. Here is no false world, but just +that world which is our theatre of action, that confused struggle, +represented in its intelligible elements in art, that world of +evil, implicit in us and the universe, which must be overcome; and +this is revealed to us in the ways most profitable for our +instruction, who are bound to seek to realize the good through all +the strokes of nature and the folly and sin of men. Ideal +literature in its broad compass, between its opposed poles of good +and evil, is just this: a world of order emerging from disorder, of +beauty and wisdom, of virtue and joy, emerging from the chaos of +things that are, in selected and typical examples.</p> +<p>It follows from this that what remains in the world of +observation in personality or experience, whether good or evil, +whether particular or general, not yet coordinated in rational +knowledge as a whole, all for which no solution is found, all that +cannot be or has not been made intelligible, must be the +subject-matter of realism in the exact use of that term. This must +be recorded by literature, or admitted into it, as matter-of-fact +which is to the mind still a problem. Earthly mystery therefore is +the special sphere of realism. The borderland of the unknown or the +irreducible is its realm. This old residuum, this new material, is +not yet capable of art. Hence, too, realism in this sense +characterizes ages of expansion of knowledge such as ours. The new +information which is the fruit of our wide travel, of our research +into the past, has enlarged the problem of man's life by showing us +both primitive and historical humanity in its changeful phases of +progress working out the beast; and this new interest has been +reenforced by the attention paid, under influences of democracy and +philanthropy, to the lower and baser forms of life in the masses +under civilization, which has been a new revelation of persistent +savagery in our midst. Here realism illustrates its service as a +gatherer of knowledge which may hereafter be reduced to orderliness +by idealistic processes, for idealism is the organizer of all +knowledge. But apart from this incoming of facts, or of laws not +yet harmonized in the whole body of law, for which we may have fair +hope that a synthesis will be found, there remains forever that +residuum of which I spoke, which has resisted the intelligence of +man, age after age, from the first throb of feeling, the first ray +of thought; that involuntary evil, that unmerited suffering, that +impotent pain,—the human debris of the social +process,—which is a challenge to the power of God, and a cry +to the heart of man that broods over it in vain, yet cannot choose +but hear. In this region the near affinity of realism to pessimism, +to atheism, is plain enough; its necessary dealing with the base, +the brutal, the unredeemed, the hopeless darkness of the infamies +of heredity, criminal education, and successful malignity, eating +into the being as well as controlling the fortune of their victims, +is manifest; and what answer has ever been found to the +interrogation they make? It is not merely that particular facts are +here irreconcilable; but laws themselves are discernible, types +even not of narrow application, which have not been brought into +any relation with what I have named the divine order. Millions of +men in thousands of years are included in this holocaust of past +time,—eras of savagery, Assyrian civilizations, Christian +butcheries, the Czar yet supreme, the Turk yet alive.</p> +<p>And how is it at the other pole of mystery, where life rises +into a heavenly vision of eternities of love to come? There is no +place for realism here, where observation ceases and our only human +outlook is by inference from principles and laws of the ideal world +as known to us; yet what problems are we aware of? Must,—to +take the special problem of art,—must the sensuous scheme of +life persist, since of it warp and woof are woven all our +possibilities of communication, all our capabilities of knowledge? +it is our language and our memory alike. Must God be still thought +of in the image of man, since only in terms of our humanity can we +conceive even divine things, whether in forms of mortal pleasure as +the Greeks framed their deities, or in shapes of spiritual bliss as +Christians fashion saint, angel, and archangel? These are rather +philosophical problems. But in art, as at the realistic end of the +scale, we admit the portraiture, as a part of life, of the bestial, +the cruel, the unforgiven, and feel it debasing, so must we at the +idealistic end admit the representation of the celestial after +human models, and feel it, even in Milton and in Dante, minimizing. +The mysticism of the borderland at its supreme is a hope; at its +nadir, it is a fear. We do not know. But within the narrow range of +the intelligible and ordered world of art, which has been achieved +by the creative reason of civilized man in his brief centuries and +along the narrow path from Jerusalem and Athens to the western +world, we do know that for the normal man born into its circle of +light the order of life is within our reach, the order of death +within reach of us. Shut within these limits of the victory of our +intellect and the upreaching of our desires and the warfare of our +will, we assert in art our faith that the divine order is +victorious, that the righteous man is not forsaken, that the soul +cannot suffer wrong either from others or from nature or from +God,—that the evil principle cannot prevail. It is faith, +springing from our experience of the working of that order in us; +it transcends knowledge, but it grows with knowledge; and ideal +literature asserts this faith against nature and against man in all +their deformity, as the centre about which life revolves so far as +it has become subject to rational knowledge, to beautiful +embodiment, to joyful being, to the will to live.</p> +<p>Can the faith of which idealism is the holder of the keys, the +faith as nigh to the intellect as to the heart, to the senses as to +the spirit, exceed even this limit, and affirm that if man were +perfect in knowledge and saw the universe as we believe God sees +it, he would behold it as an artistic whole even now? Would it be +that beatific vision, revolving like God's kaleidoscope, +momentarily falling at each new arrangement into the perfect +unities of art? and is our world of art, our brief model of such a +world in single examples of its scheme, only a way of limiting the +field to the compass of human faculties that we may see within our +capacities as God sees, and hence have such faith? Is art after all +a lower creation than nature, a concession to our frail powers? Has +idealism such optimistic reach as that? Or must we see the evil +principle encamped here, confusing truth, deforming beauty, +depraving joy, deflecting the will, with wages of death for its +victims, and the hell of final destruction spreading beneath its +sway? so that the world as it now is cannot be thought of as the +will of God exercised in Omnipotence, but a human opportunity of +union with or separation from the ideal order in conflict with the +order of death. I recall Newman's picture: "To consider the world +in its length and breadth, its various history, the many races of +men, their starts, their fortunes, their mutual alienation, their +conflicts, and then their ways, habits, governments, forms of +worship; their enterprises, their aimless courses, their random +achievements and acquirements, the impotent conclusion of +long-standing facts, the tokens so faint and broken of a +superintending design, the blind evolution of what turn out to be +great powers or truths, the progress of things, as if from +unreasoning elements, not toward final causes, the greatness and +littleness of man, his far-reaching aims, his short duration, the +curtain hung over his futurity, the disappointments of life, the +defeat of good, the success of evil, physical pain, mental anguish, +the prevalence and intensity of sin, the pervading idolatries, the +corruptions, the dreary hopeless irreligion, that condition of the +whole race, so fearfully yet exactly described in the Apostle's +words, 'having no hope and without God in the world,'—all +this is a vision to dizzy and appall; and inflicts upon the mind +the sense of a profound mystery which is absolutely beyond human +solution." In the face of such a world, even when partially made +intelligible in ideal art, dare we assert that fatalistic optimism +which would have it that the universe is in God's eyes a perfect +world? I can find no warrant for it in ideal art, though thence the +ineradicable effort arises in us to win to that world in the +conviction that it is not indifferent in the sight of heaven +whether we live in the order of life or that of death, in the faith +that victory in us is a triumph of that order itself which +increases and prevails in us, is a bringing of Christ's kingdom +upon earth. Art rather becomes in our mind a function of the +world's progress, and were its goal achieved would cease; for life +would then itself be one with art, one with the divine order. So +much of truth there is in Ruskin's statement that art made perfect +denies progress and is its ultimate. But perfection in life, as +ideal art presents it, it is a prophecy which enlists us as +soldiers militant in its fulfilment. Its optimism is that of the +issue, and may be that of the process; but it surely is not that of +the state that now is in the world.</p> +<p>It thus appears more and more that art is educative; it is the +race's foreknowledge of what may be, of the objects of effort and +the methods of their attainment under mortal conditions. The +difficulty of men in respect to it is the lax power they have to +see in it the truth, as contradistinguished from the fact, the +continuous reality of the things of the mind in opposition to the +accidental and partial reality of the things of actuality. They +think of it as an imagined, instead of as the real world, the model +of that which is in the evolution of that which ought to be. In +history the climaxes of art have always outrun human realization; +its crests in Greece, Italy, and England are crests of the +never-attained; but they still make on in their mass to the yet +rising wave, which shall be of mankind universal, if, indeed, in +the cosmopolitan civilization which we hope for, the elements of +the past, yet surviving from the accomplishment of single famous +cities and great empires, shall be blended in a world-ideal, +expressing the spiritual uplifting to God of the reconciled and +unified nations of the earth.</p> +<p>There remains but one last resort; for it will yet be urged that +the impossibility of any scientific knowledge of the spiritual +order is proved by the transience of the ideals of the past; one is +displaced by another, there is no permanence in them. It is true +that the concrete world, which must be employed by art, is one of +sense, and necessarily imports into the form of art its own +mortality; it is, even in art, a thing that passes away. It is also +true that the world of knowledge, which is the subject-matter of +art, is in process of being known, and necessarily imports into the +contents of art its errors, its hypotheses, its imperfections of +every kind; it is a thing that grows more and more, and in growing +sheds its outworn shells, its past body. Let us consider the form +and the contents separately. The element of mortality in the form +is included in the transience of imagery. The poet uses the world +as he knows it, and reflects in successive ages of literature the +changing phases of civilization. The shepherd, the tiller of the +soil, the warrior, the trader yield to him their language of the +earth, the battle, and the sea; from the common altar he learns the +speech of the gods; the elemental aspects of nature, the pursuits +of men, and what is believed of the supernatural are the great +storehouses of imagery. The fact that it is at first a living act +or habit that the poet deals with, gives to his work that original +vivacity, that direct sense of actuality, of contemporaneousness, +which characterizes early literatures, as in Homer or the Song of +Roland: even the marvellous has in them the reality of being +believed. This imagery, however, grows remote with the course of +time; it becomes capable of holding an inward meaning without +resistance from too high a feeling of actuality; it becomes +spiritualized. The process is the same already illustrated in lyric +form as an expression of personality; but here man universal enters +into the image and possesses it impersonally on the broad human +scale. The pastoral life, for example, then yields the forms of art +which hold either the simple innocence of happy earthly love, as in +Daphnis and Chloe, or the natural grief of elegy made beautiful, as +in Bion's dirge, or the shepherding of Christ in his church on +earth, as in many an English poet; the imagery has unclothed itself +of actuality and shows a purely spiritual body.</p> +<p>This growing inwardness of art is a main feature of literary +history. It is illustrated on the grand scale by the imagery of +war. In the beginning war for its own sake, mere fighting, is the +subject; then war for a cause, which ennobles it beyond the power +of personal prowess and justifies it as an element in national +life; next, war for love, which refines it and builds the paradox +of the deeds of hate serving the will of courtesy; last, war for +the soul's salvation, which is unseen battle within the breast. +Achilles, Aeneas, Lancelot, the Red Cross Knight are the terms in +this series; they mark the transformation of the most savage act of +man into the symbol of his highest spiritual effort. Nature herself +is subject to this inwardness of art; at first merely objective as +a condition, and usually a hostile, or at least dangerous, +condition of human life, she becomes the witness to omnipotent +power in illimitable beauty and majesty, its infinite +unknowableness, and its tender care for all creatures, as in the +Scriptures; and at last the words of our Lord concentrate, in some +simple flower, the profoundest of moral truths,—that the +beauty of the soul is the gift of God, out of whose eternal law it +blossoms and has therein its ever living roots, its air and light, +its inherent grace and sweetness: "Consider the lilies of the +field, how they grow: they toil not, neither do they spin: and yet +I say unto you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed +like one of these. Shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of +little faith?" Such is the normal development of all imagery; its +actuality limits it, and in becoming remote it grows flexible. It +is only by virtue of this that man can retain the vast treasures of +race-imagination, and continue to use them, such as the worlds of +mythology, of chivalry, and romance. The imagery is, in truth, a +background, whose foreground is the ideal meaning. Thus even +fairyland, and the worlds of heaven and hell, have their place in +art. The actuality of the imagery is in fact irrelevant, just as +history is in the idealization of human events. Its transience, +then, cannot matter, except in so far as it loses intelligibility +through changes of time, place, and custom, and becomes a dead +language. It follows that that imagery which keeps close to +universal phases of nature, to pursuits always necessary in human +life, and to ineradicable beliefs in respect to the supernatural, +is most permanent as a language; and here art in its most immortal +creations returns again to its omnipresent character as a thing of +the common lot.</p> +<p>The transience of the contents of art may be of two kinds. There +is a passing away of error, as there is in all knowledge, but such +a loss need not detain attention. What is really in issue is the +passing away of the authority of precept and example fitted to one +age but not to another, as in the case of the substitution of the +ideal of humility for that of valour, owing to a changed emphasis +in the scale of virtues. The contents of art, its general ideals, +reproduce the successive periods of our earth-history as a race, by +generalizing each in its own age. A parallel exists in the +subject-matter of the sciences; astronomy, geology, paleontology +are similar statements of past phases of the evolution of the +earth, its aspects in successive stages. Or, to take a kindred +example, just as the planets in their order set forth now the +history of our system from nascent life to complete death as +earths, so these ideals exhibit man's stages from savagery to such +culture as has been attained. They have more than a descriptive and +historical significance; they retain practical vitality because the +unchangeable element in the universe and in man's nature is in the +main their subject-matter. It is not merely that the child repeats +in his education, in some measure at least, the history of the +race, and hence must still learn the value of bravery and humility +in their order; nor that in the mass of men many remain ethically +and emotionally in the characteristic stages of past culture; but +these various ideals of what is admirable have themselves identical +elements, and in those points in which they differ respond to +native varieties of human capacity and temperament. The living +principles of Hebrew, Greek, Roman, and Christian thought and +feeling are at work in the world, still formative; it is only by +such vitality that their results in art truly survive.</p> +<p>There has been an expansion of the field, and some rearrangement +within it; but the evolution of human ideals has been, in our +civilization, the growth of one spirit out of its dead selves +carrying on into each reincarnation the true life that was in the +form it leaves, and which is immortal. The substance in each ideal, +its embodiment of what is cardinal in all humanity, remains +integral. The alloy of mortality in a work of art lies in so much +of it as was limited in truth to time, place, country, race, +religion, its specific and contemporary part; so great is this in +detail that a strong power of historical imagination, the power to +rebuild past conditions, is a main necessity of culture, like the +study of a dead language; an interpretative faculty, the power to +translate into terms of our knowledge what was stated in terms of +different beliefs, must go with this; and also a corrective power, +if the work is to be truly useful and enter into our lives with +effect. Such an alloy there is in nearly all great works even; much +in Homer, something in Virgil, a considerable part of Dante, and an +increasing portion in Milton have this mixture of death in them; +but if by keeping to the primary, the permanent, the universal, +they have escaped the natural body of their age, the substance of +the work is still living; they have achieved such immortality as +art allows. They have done so, not so much by the personal power of +their authors as by their representative character. These ideal +works of the highest range, which embody in themselves whole +generations of effort and rise as the successive incarnations of +human imagination, are products of race and state, of world +experience and social personality; they differ, race from race, +civilization from civilization, Hebrew or Greek, Pagan or +Christian, just as on the individual scale persons differ; and they +are solved, as personality in its individual form is solved, in the +element of the common reason, the common nature in the world and +man, which they contain,—in man,</p> +<center>"Equal, unclassed, tribeless, and nationless";</center> +<p>in the unity of the truth of his spirit they are freed from +mortality, they are mutually intelligible and interchangeable, they +survive,—racial and secular states and documents of a +spiritual evolution yet going on in all its stages in the human +mass, still barbarous, still pagan, still Christian, but an +evolution which at its highest point wastes nothing of the past, +holds all its truth, its beauty, its vital energy, in a forward +reach.</p> +<p>The nature of the changes which time brings may best be +illustrated from the epic, and thus the opposition of the transient +and permanent elements in art be, perhaps, more clearly shown. Epic +action has been defined as the working out of the Divine will in +society; hence it requires a crisis of humanity as its subject, it +involves the conflict of a higher with a lower civilization, and it +is conducted by means of a double plot, one in heaven, the other on +earth. These are the characteristic epic traits. In dealing with +ideas of such importance, the poets in successive eras of +civilization naturally found much adaptation to new conditions +necessary, and met with ever fresh difficulties; the result is a +many-sided epic development. The idea of the Divine will, the +theory of its operation, and the conception of society itself were +all subject to change. Epics at first are historical; but, sharing +with the tendency of all art toward inwardness of meaning, they +become purely spiritual. The one thing that remains common to all +is the notion of a struggle between a higher and a lower, overruled +by Providence. They have two subjects of interest, one the cause, +the other the hero through whom the cause works; and between these +two interests the epic hovers, seldom if ever identifying them and +yet preserving their dual reality.</p> +<p>The Iliad has all the traits that have been mentioned, but +society is still loose enough in its bonds to give the characters +free play; it is, in the main, a hero-epic. The Aeneid, on the +contrary, exhibits the enormous development of the social idea; its +subject is Roman dominion, which is the will of Zeus, localized in +the struggle with Carthage and with Turnus, but felt in the poem +pervasively as the general destiny of Rome in its victory over the +world; and this interest is so overpowering as to make Aeneas the +slave of Jove and almost to extinguish the other characters; it is +a state-epic. So long as the Divine will was conceived as finding +its operation through deities similar to man, the double plot +presented little difficulty; but in the coming of Christian +thought, even with its hierarchies of angels and legions of devils, +the interpretation became arduous. In the Jerusalem Delivered the +social conflict between Crusader and infidel is clear, the +historical crisis in the wars of Palestine is rightly chosen, but +the machinery of the heavenly plot is weakened by the presence of +magic, and is by itself ineffectual in inspiring a true belief. So +in the Lusiads, while the conflict and the crisis, as shown in the +national energy of colonization in the East, are clear, the +machinery of the heavenly plot frankly reverts to mythologic and +pagan forms and loses all credibility.</p> +<p>In the Paradise Lost arises the spiritual epic, but still +historically conceived; the crisis chosen, which is the fall of man +in Adam, is the most important conceivable by man; the powers +engaged are the superior beings of heaven and hell in direct +antagonism; but here, too, the machinery of the heavenly plot is +handled with much strain, and, however strongly supported by the +Scriptures, has little convincing power. The truth is that the +Divine will was coming to be conceived as implicit in society, +being Providence there, and operating in secret but normal ways in +the guidance of events, not by special and interfering acts; and +also as equally implicit in the individual soul, the influence of +the Spirit, and working in the ways of spiritual law. One change, +too, of vast importance was announced by the words "The Kingdom of +Heaven is within you." This transferred the very scene of conflict, +the theatre of spiritual warfare, from an external to an internal +world, and the social significance of such individual battle lay in +its being typical of all men's lives. The Faerie Queene, the most +spiritual poem in all ways in English, is an epic in essence, +though its action is developed by a revolution of the phases of the +soul in succession to the eye, and not by the progress of one main +course of events. The conflict of the higher and the lower under +Divine guidance in the implicit sense is there shown; the +significance is for mankind, though not for a society in its +worldly fortunes; but there is little attempt to externalize the +heavenly power in specific action in superhuman forms, though in +mortal ways the good knights, and especially Arthur, shadow it +forth. The celestial plot is humanized, and the poem becomes a +hero-epic in almost an exclusive way; though the knight's +achievement is also an achievement of God's will, the interest lies +in the Divine power conceived as man's moral victory. In the Idyls +of the King there are several traits of the epic. There is the +central idea of the conflict between the higher and lower, both on +the social and the individual side; the victory of the Round Table +would have meant not only pure knights but a regenerate state. +Here, however, the externalization of the Divine will in the Holy +Grail, and, as in the Christian epic generally, its confusion on +the marvellous side with a world of enchantment passing here into +the sensuous sphere of Merlin, are felt to be inadequate. The war +of "soul with sense" was the subject-matter, as was Spenser's; the +method of revolution of its phases was also Spenser's; but the two +poems differ in the point that Spenser's knight wins, but +Tennyson's king loses, so far as earth is concerned; nor can it be +fairly pleaded that as in Milton Adam loses, yet the final triumph +of the cause is known and felt as a divine issue of the action +though outside the poem, so Arthur is saved to the ideal by virtue +of the faith he announces in the New Order coming on, for it is not +so felt. The touch of pessimism invades the poem in many details, +but here at its heart; for Arthur alone of all the heroes of epic +in his own defeat drags down his cause. He is the hero of a lost +cause, whose lance will never be raised again in mortal conflict to +bring the kingdom of Christ on earth, nor its victory be declared +except as the echo of a hope of some miraculous and merciful +retrieval from beyond the barriers of the world to come. But in +showing the different conditions of the modern epic, its +spirituality, its difficulties of interpreting in sensuous imagery +the working of the Divine will, its relaxed hold on the social +movement for which it substitutes man's universal nature, and the +mist that settles round it in its latest example, sufficient +illustration has been given of the changes of time to which +idealism is subject, and also of the essential truth surviving in +the works of the past, which in the epics is the vision of how the +ends of God have been accomplished in the world and in the soul by +the union of divine grace with heroic will,—the +interpretation and glorification, of history and of man's single +conflict in himself ago after age, asserting through all their +range the supremacy of the ideal order over its foes in the entire +race-life of man.</p> +<p>Out of these changes of time, in response to the varying moods +of men in respect to the world they inhabit, arise those phases of +art which are described as classical and romantic, words of much +confusion. It has been attempted to distinguish the latter as +having an element of remoteness, of surprise, of curiosity; but to +me, at least, classical art has the same remoteness, the same +surprise, and answers the same curiosity as romantic art. If I were +to endeavour to oppose them I should say that classical art is +clear, it is perfectly grasped in form, it satisfies the intellect, +it awakes an emotion absorbed by itself, it definitely guides the +will; romantic art is touched with mystery, it has richness and +intricacy of form not fully comprehended, it suggests more than it +satisfies, it stirs an unconfined and wandering emotion, it +invigorates an adventurous will; classicism is whole in itself and +lives in the central region, the white light, of that star of +ideality which is the light of our knowledge; romanticism borders +on something else,—the rosy corona round about our star, +carrying on its dawning power into those unknown infinities which +embosom the spark of life. The two have always existed in +conjunction, the romantic element in ancient literature being +large. But owing to the disclosure of the world to us in later +times, to the deeper sense of its mysteries which are our bounding +horizons round about, and especially to the impulse given to +emotion by the opening of the doors of immortality by Christianity +to thought, revery, and dream, to hope and effort, the romantic +element has been more marked in modern art, has in fact +characterized it, being fed moreover by the ever increasing +inwardness of human life, the greater value and opportunity of +personality in a free and high civilization, and by the +uncertainty, confusion, and complexity of such masses of human +experience as our observation now controls. The romantic temper is +inevitable in men whose lives are themselves thought of as, in +form, but fragments of the life to come, which shall find their +completion an eternal task. It is the natural ally of faith which +it alone can render with an infinite outlook; and it is the +complement of that mystery which is required to supplement it, and +which is an abiding presence in the habit of the sensitive and +serious mind. Yet in classical art the definite may still be +rendered, the known, the conquered. Idealism has its finished world +therein; in romanticism it has rather its prophetic work.</p> +<p>Such, then, as best I can state it in brief and rapid strokes, +is the world of art, its methods, its appeals, its significance to +mankind. Idealism, so presented, is in a sense a glorification of +the commonplace. Its realm lies in the common lot of men; its +distinction is to embrace truth for all, and truth in its universal +forms of experience and personality, the primary, elementary, +equally shared fates, passions, beliefs of the race. Shakspere, our +great example, as Coleridge wisely said, "kept in the highway of +life." That is the royal road of genius, the path of immortality, +the way ever trodden by the great who lead. I have ventured to +speak at times of religious truth. What is the secret of Christ's +undying power? Is it not that he stated universal truth in concrete +forms of common experience so that it comes home to all men's +bosoms? Genius is supreme in proportion as it does that, and +becomes the interpreter of every man who is born into the world, +makes him know his brotherhood with all, and the incorporation of +his fate in the scheme of law, and ideal achievement under it, +which is the common ground of humanity. Ideal literature is the +treasury of such genius in the past; here, as I said in the +beginning, the wisdom of the soul is stored; and art, in all its +forms, is immortal only in so far as it has done its share in this +same labour of illumination, persuasion, and command, forecasting +the spirit to be, companioning the spirit that is, sustaining us +all in the effort to make ideal order actual in ourselves.</p> +<p>What, then, since I said that it is a question how to live as +well as how to express life,—what, then, is the ideal life? +It is to make one's life a poem, as Milton dreamed of the true +poet; for as art works through matter and takes on concrete and +sensible shape with its mortal conditions, so the soul dips in +life, is in material action, and, suffering a similar fate, sinks +into limitations and externals of this world and this flesh, +through which it must live. In such a life, mortal in all ways, to +bring down to earth the vision that floats in the soul's eyes, the +ideal order as it is revealed to the poet's gaze, incorporating it +in deed and being, and to make it prevail, so far as our lives have +power, in the world of our life, is the task set for us. To +disengage reason from the confusion of things, and behold the +eternal forms of the mind; to unveil beauty in the transitory +sights of our eyes, and behold the eternal forms of sense; so to +act that the will within us shall take on this form of reason and +our manifest life wear this form of beauty; and, more closely, to +live in the primary affections, the noble passions, the sweet +emotions,—</p> +<center>"Founded in reason, loyal, just, and pure,<br> +Relations dear, and all the charities<br> +Of father, son, and brother,—"</center> +<p>and also in the general sorrows of mankind, thereby, in joy and +grief, entering sympathetically into the hearts of common men; to +keep in the highway of life, not turning aside to the eccentric, +the sensational, the abnormal, the brutal, the base, but seeing +them, if they must come within our vision, in their place only by +the edges of true life; and, if, being men, we are caught in the +tragic coil, to seek the restoration of broken order, learning also +in such bitterness better to understand the dark conflict forever +waging in the general heart, the terror of the heavy clouds hanging +on the slopes of our battle, the pathos that looks down even from +blue skies that have kept watch o'er man's mortality,—so, +even through failure, to draw nearer to our race; this, as I +conceive it, is to lead the ideal life. It is a message blended of +many voices of the poets whom Shelley called, whatever might be +their calamity on earth, the most fortunate of men; it rises from +all lands, all ages, all religions; it is the battle-cry of that +one great idea whose slow and hesitating growth is the unfolding of +our long civilization, seeking to realize in democracy the earthly, +and in Christianity the heavenly, hope of man,—the idea of +the community of the soul, the sameness of it in all men. To lead +this life is to be one with man through love, one with the universe +through knowledge, one with God through the will; that is its goal, +toward that we strive, in that we believe.</p> +<p>And Thou, O Youth, for whom these lines are written, fear not; +idealize your friend, for it is better to love and be deceived than +not to love at all; idealize your masters, and take Shelley and +Sidney to your bosom, so shall they serve you more nobly and you +love them more sweetly than if the touch and sight of their +mortality had been yours indeed; idealize your country, remembering +that Brutus in the dagger-stroke and Cato in his death-darkness +knew not the greater Rome, the proclaimer of the unity of our race, +the codifier of justice, the establisher of our church, and died +not knowing,—but do you believe in the purpose of God, so +shall you best serve the times to be; and in your own life, fear +not to act as your ideal shall command, in the constant presence of +that other self who goes with you, as I have said, so shall you +blend with him at the end. Fear not either to believe that the soul +is as eternal as the order that obtains in it, wherefore you shall +forever pursue that divine beauty which has here so touched and +inflamed you,—for this is the faith of man, your race, and +those who were fairest in its records. And have recourse always to +the fountains of this life in literature, which are the wells of +truth. How to live is the one matter; the wisest man in his ripe +age is yet to seek in it; but Thou, begin now and seek wisdom in +the beauty of virtue and live in its light, rejoicing in it; so in +this world shall you live in the foregleam of the world to +come.</p> +<a name="A2H_4_10" id="A2H_4_10"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2>DEMOCRACY</h2> +<p>Democracy is a prophecy, and looks to the future; it is for this +reason that it has its great career. Its faith is the substance of +things hoped for and the evidence of things unseen, whose +realization will be the labour of a long age. The life of historic +nations has been a pursuit toward a goal under the impulse of ideas +often obscurely comprehended,—world-ideas as we call +them,—which they have embodied in accomplished facts and in +the institutions and beliefs of mankind, lasting through ages; and +as each nation has slowly grown aware of the idea which animated +it, it has become self-conscious and conscious of greatness. That +men are born equal is still a doctrine openly derided; that they +are born free is not accepted without much nullifying limitation; +that they are born in brotherhood is less readily denied. These +three, the revolutionary words, liberty, equality, fraternity, are +the substance of democracy, if the matter be well considered, and +all else is but consequence.</p> +<p>It might seem singular that man should ever have found out this +creed, as that physical life could invent the brain, since the +struggle for existence in primitive and early times was so adverse +to it, and rested on a selfish and aggrandizing principle, in +states as well as between races. In most parts of the world the +first true governments were tyrannies, patriarchal or despotic; and +where liberty was indigenous, it was confined to the race-blood. +Aristotle speaks of slavery without repugnance save in Greeks, and +serfdom was incorporated in the northern tribes as soon as they +began to be socially organized. Some have alleged that religious +equality was an Oriental idea, and borrowed from the relation of +subjects to an Asiatic despot, which paved the way for it; some +attribute civil equality to the Roman law; some find the germ of +both in Stoical morals. But so great an idea as the equality of man +reaches down into the past by a thousand roots. The state of nature +of the savage in the woods, which our fathers once thought a +pattern, bore some outward resemblance to a freeman's life; but +such a condition is rather one of private independence than of the +grounded social right that democracy contemplates. How the ideas +involved came into historical existence is a minor matter. +Democracy has its great career, for the first time, in our national +being, and exhibits here most purely its formative powers, and +unfolds destiny on the grand scale. Nothing is more incumbent on us +than to study it, to turn it this way and that, to handle it as +often and in as many phases as possible with lively curiosity, and +not to betray ourselves by an easy assumption that so elementary a +thing is comprehended because it seems simple. Fundamental ideas +are precisely those with which we should be most familiar.</p> +<p>Democracy is not merely a political experiment; and its +governmental theory, though so characteristic of it as not to be +dissociated from it, is a result of underlying principles. There is +always an ideality of the human spirit in all its works, if one +will search them, which is the main thing. The State, as a social +aggregate with a joint life which constitutes it a nation, is +dynamically an embodiment of human conviction, desire, and +tendency, with a common basis of wisdom and energy of action, +seeking to realize life in accordance with its ideal, whether +traditional or novel, of what life should be; and government is no +more than the mode of administration under which it achieves its +results both in national life and in the lives of its citizens. All +society is a means of escape from personality, and its limitations +of power and wisdom, into this larger communal life; the +individual, in so far, loses his particularity, and at the same +time intensifies and strengthens that portion of his life which is +thus made one with the general life of men,—that universal +and typical life which they have in common and which moulds them +with similar characteristics. It is by this fusion of the +individual with the mass, this identification of himself with +mankind in a joint activity, this reenforcement of himself by what +is himself in others, that a man becomes a social being. The +process is the same, whether in clubs, societies of all kinds, +sects, political parties, or the all-embracing body of the State. +It is by making himself one with human nature in America, its +faith, its methods, and the controlling purposes in our life among +nations, and not by birth merely, that a man becomes an +American.</p> +<p>The life of society, however, includes various affairs, and man +deals with them by different means; thus property is a mode of +dealing with things. Democracy is a mode of dealing with souls. Men +commonly speak as if the soul were something they expect to possess +in another world; men are souls, and this is a fundamental +conception of democracy. This spiritual element is the substance of +democracy, in the large sense; and the special governmental theory +which it has developed and organized, and in which its ideas are +partially included, is, like other such systems, a mode of +administration under which it seeks to realize its ideal of what +life ought to be, with most speed and certainty, and on the largest +scale. What characterizes that ideal is that it takes the soul into +account in a way hitherto unknown; not that other governments have +not had regard to the soul, but, in democracy, it is spirituality +that gives the law and rules the issue. Hence, a great preparation +was needed before democracy could come into effective control of +society. Christianity mainly afforded this, in respect to the ideas +of equality and fraternity, which were clarified and illustrated in +the life of the Church for ages, before they entered practically +into politics and the general secular arrangements of state +organization; the nations of progress, of which freedom is a +condition, developed more definitely the idea of liberty, and made +it familiar to the thoughts of men. Democracy belongs to a +comparatively late age of the world, and to advanced nations, +because such ideas could come into action only after the crude +material necessities of human progress—illustrated in the +warfare of nations, in military organizations for the extension of +a common rule and culture among mankind, and in despotic +impositions of order, justice, and the general ideas of +civilization—had relaxed, and a free course, by comparison at +least, was opened for the higher nature of man in both private and +public action. A conception of the soul and its destiny, not +previously applicable in society, underlies democracy; this is why +it is the most spiritual government known to man, and therefore the +highest reach of man's evolution; it is, in fact, the spiritual +element in society expressing itself now in politics with an +unsuspected and incalculable force.</p> +<p>Democracy is contained in the triple statement that men are born +free, equal, and in brotherhood; and in this formula it is the +middle term that is cardinal, and the root of all. Yet it is the +doctrine of the equality of man, by virtue of the human nature with +which he is clothed entire at birth, that is most attacked, as an +obvious absurdity, and provocative more of laughter than of +argument. What, then, is this equality which democracy affirms as +the true state of all men among themselves? It is our common human +nature, that identity of the soul in all men, which was first +inculcated by the preaching of Christ's death for all equally, +whence it followed that every human soul was of equal value in the +eyes of God, its Creator, and had the same title to the rites of +the Christian Church, and the same blessedness of an infinite +immortality in the world to come; thence we derived it from the +very fountain of our faith, and the first true democracy was that +which levelled king and peasant, barbarian and Roman, in the +communion of our Lord. Yet nature laughs at us, and ordains such +inequalities at birth itself as make our peremptory charter of the +value of men's souls seem a play of fancy. There are men of almost +divine intelligence, men of almost devilish instincts, men of more +or less clouded mind; and they are such at birth, so deeply has +nature stamped into them heredity, circumstance, and the physical +conditions of sanity, morality and wholesomeness, in the body which +is her work. Such differences do exist, and conditions vary the +world over, whence nature, which accumulates inequalities in the +struggle for life, "with ravin shrieks against our creed." But we +have not now to learn for the first time that nature, though not +the enemy of the human spirit, is indifferent to all the soul has +erected in man's own realm, peculiar to humanity. What has nature +contributed to the doctrine of freedom or of fraternity? Man's life +to her is all one, tyrant or slave, friend or foe, wise or foolish, +virtuous or vicious, holy or profane, so long as her imperative +physical conditions of life, the mortal thing, are conformed to; +society itself is not her care, nor civilization, nor anything that +belongs to man above the brute. Her word, consequently, need not +disturb us; she is not our oracle. It rather belongs to us to win +further victory over her, if it may be, by our intelligence, and +control her vital, as we are now coming to control her material, +powers and their operation.</p> +<p>This equality which democracy affirms—the identity of the +soul, the sameness of its capacities of energy, knowledge, and +enjoyment—draws after it as a consequence the soul's right to +opportunity for self-development by virtue of which it may possess +itself of what shall be its own fulness of life. In the inscrutable +mystery of this world, the soul at birth enters on an unequal +struggle, made such both by inherent conditions and by external +limitations, in individuals, classes, and races; but the +determination of democracy is that, so far as may be, it will +secure equality of opportunity to every soul born within its +dominion, in the expectation that much in human conditions which +has hitherto fed and heightened inequality, in both heredity and +circumstance, may be lessened if not eradicated; and life after +birth is subject to great control. This is the meaning of the first +axiom of democracy, that all have a right to the pursuit of +happiness, and its early cries—"an open career," and "the +tools to him who can use them." In this effort society seems almost +as recalcitrant as nature; for in human history the accumulation of +the selfish advantage of inequality has told with as much effect as +ever it did in the original struggle of reptile and beast; and in +our present complex and extended civilization a slight gain over +the mass entails a telling mortgage of the future to him who makes +it and to his heirs, while efficiency is of such high value in such +a society that it must needs be favoured to the utmost; on the +other hand a complex civilization encourages a vast variety of +talent, and finds a special place for that individuation of +capacity which goes along with social evolution. The end, too, +which democracy seeks is not a sameness of specific results, but +rather an equivalence; and its duty is satisfied if the child of +its rule finds such development as was possible to him, has a free +course, and cannot charge his deficiency to social interference and +the restriction of established law.</p> +<p>The great hold that the doctrine of equality has upon the masses +is not merely because it furnishes the justification of the whole +scheme, which is a logic they may be dimly conscious of, but that +it establishes their title to such good in human life as they can +obtain, on the broadest scale and in the fullest measure. What +other claim, so rational and noble in itself, can they put forth in +the face of what they find established in the world they are born +into? The results of past civilization are still monopolized by +small minorities of mankind, who receive by inheritance, under +natural and civil law, the greater individual share of material +comfort, of large intelligence, of fortunate careers. It does not +matter that the things which belong to life as such, the greater +blessings essential to human existence, cannot be monopolized; all +that man can take and appropriate they find preoccupied so far as +human discovery and energy have been able to reach, understand, and +utilize it; and what proposition can they assert as against this +sequestering of social results and material and intellectual +opportunity, except to say, "we, too, are men," and with the word +to claim a share in such parts of social good as are not +irretrievably pledged to men better born, better educated, better +supplied with the means of subsistence and the accumulated hoard of +the past, which has come into their hands by an award of fortune? +It is not a fanciful idea. It is founded in the unity of human +nature, which is as certain as any philosophic truth, and has been +proclaimed by every master-spirit of our race time out of mind. It +is supported by the universal faith, in which we are bred, that we +are children of a common Father, and saved by one Redeemer and +destined to one immortality, and cannot be balked of the fulness of +life which was our gift under divine providence. I emphasize the +religious basis, because I believe it is the rock of the foundation +in respect to this principle, which cannot be successfully +impeached by any one who accepts Christian truth; while in the +lower sphere, on worldly grounds alone, it is plain that the +immense advantage of the doctrine of equality to the masses of men, +justifies the advancement of it as an assumption which they call on +the issue in time to approve.</p> +<p>It is in this portion of the field that democracy relies most +upon its prophetic power. Within the limits of nature and mortal +life the hope of any equal development of the soul seems folly; +yet, so far as my judgment extends, in men of the same race and +community it appears to me that the sameness in essentials is so +great as to leave the differences inessential, so far as power to +take hold of life and possess it in thought, will, or feeling is in +question. I do not see, if I may continue to speak personally, that +in the great affairs of life, in duty, love, self-control, the +willingness to serve, the sense of joy, the power to endure, there +is any great difference among those of the same community; and this +is reasonable, for the permanent relations of life, in families, in +social ties, in public service, and in all that the belief in +heaven and the attachments to home bring into men's lives, are the +same; and though, in the choicer parts of fortunate lives, +aesthetic and intellectual goods may be more important than among +the common people, these are less penetrating and go not to the +core, which remains life as all know it—a thing of affection, +of resolve, of service, of use to those to whom it may be of human +use. Is it not reasonable, then, on the ground of what makes up the +substance of life within our observation, to accept this principle +of equality, fortified as it is by any conception of heaven's +justice to its creatures? and to assume, if the word must be used, +the principle primary in democracy, that all men are equally +endowed with destiny? and thus to allow its prophetic claim, till +disproved, that equal opportunity, linked with the service of the +higher to the lower, will justify its hope? At all events, in this +lies the possibility of greater achievement than would otherwise be +attained within our national limits; and what is found to be true +of us may be extended to less developed communities and races in +their degree.</p> +<p>The doctrine of the equality of mankind by virtue of their birth +as men, with its consequent right to equality of opportunity for +self-development as a part of social justice, establishes a common +basis of conviction, in respect to man, and a definite end as one +main object of the State; and these elements are primary in the +democratic scheme. Liberty is the next step, and is the means by +which that end is secured. It is so cardinal in democracy as to +seem hardly secondary to equality in importance. Every State, every +social organization whatever, implies a principle of authority +commanding obedience; it may be of the absolute type of military +and ecclesiastical use, or limited, as in constitutional +monarchies; but some obedience and some authority are necessary in +order that the will of the State may be realized. The problem of +democracy is to find that principle of authority which is most +consistent with the liberty it would establish, and which acts with +the greatest furtherance and the least interference in the +accomplishment of the chief end in view. It composes authority, +therefore, of personal liberty itself, and derives it from the +consent of the governed, and not merely from their consent but from +their active decree. The social will is impersonal, generic, the +will of man, not of men; particular wills enter into it, and make +it, so constituted, themselves in a larger and external form. The +citizen has parted with no portion of his freedom of will; the will +of the State is still his own will, projected in unison with other +wills, all jointly making up one sum,—the authority of the +nation. This is social self-government,—not the anarchy of +individuals each having his own way for himself, but government +through a delegated self, if one may use the phrase, organically +combined with others in the single power of control belonging to a +State. This fusion is accomplished in the secondary stage, for the +continuous action of the State, by representation, technically; +but, in its primary stage and original validity, by universal +suffrage; for the characteristic trait of democracy is that in +constituting this authority, which is social as opposed to personal +freedom,—personal freedom existing in its social +form,—it includes every unit of will, and gives to each +equivalence. Democracy thus establishes the will of society in its +most universal form, lying between the opposite extremes of +particularism in despotism and anarchy; it owns the most catholic +organ of authority, and enters into it with the entire original +force of the community.</p> +<p>This universal will of democracy is distinguished from the more +limited forms of states partially embodying democratic principles +by the fact that nothing enters into it except man as such. The +rival powers which seek to encroach upon this scheme, and are +foreign elements in a pure democracy, are education, property, and +ancestry, which last has its claim as the custodian of education +and property and the advantages flowing from their long possession; +the trained mind, the accumulated capital, and the fixed historic +tradition of the nation in its most intense and efficient personal +form are summed up in these, and would appropriate to themselves in +the structure of government a representation not based on +individual manhood but on other grounds. If it be still allowed +that all men should have a share in a self-government, it is yet +maintained that a share should be granted, in addition, to educated +men and owners of property, and to descendants of such men who have +founded permanent families with an inherited capacity, a tradition, +and a material stake. Yet these three things, education, property, +and ancestry, are in the front rank of those inequalities in human +conditions which democracy would minimize. They embody past custom +and present results which are a deposit of the past; they plead +that they found men wards and were their guardians, and that under +their own domination progress was made, and all that now is came +into being; but they must show farther some reason in present +conditions under democracy now why such potent inequalities and +breeders of inequality should be clothed with governing power.</p> +<p>Universal suffrage is the centre of the discussion, and the +argument against it is twofold. It is said that, though much in the +theory of democracy may be granted and its methods partially +adopted, men at large lack the wisdom to govern themselves for good +in society, and also that they control by their votes much more +than is rightfully their own. The operation of the social will is +in large concerns of men requiring knowledge and skill, and it has +no limits. In state affairs education should have authority +reserved to it, and certain established interests, especially the +rights of property, should be exempted from popular control; and +the effectual means of securing these ends is to magnify the +representatives of education and property to such a degree that +they will retain deciding power. But is this so? or if there be +some truth in the premises, may it not be contained in the +democratic scheme and reconciled with it? And, to begin with, is +education, in the special sense, so important in the fundamental +decisions which the suffrage makes? I speak, of course, of literary +education. It may well be the case that the judgment of men at +large is sufficiently informed and sound to be safe, and is the +safest, for the reason that the good of society is for all in +common, and being, from the political point of view, in the main, a +material good, comes home to their business and bosoms in the most +direct and universal way, in their comfort or deprivation, in +prosperity and hard times, in war and famine, and those +wide-extended results of national policies which are the evidence +and the facts. Politics is very largely, and one might almost say +normally, a conflict of material interests; ideas dissociated from +action are not its sphere; the way in which policies are found +immediately to affect human life is their political significance. +On the broad scale, who is a better judge of their own material +condition and the modifications of it from time to time, of what +they receive and what they need from political agencies, than the +individual men who gain or suffer by what is done, on so great a +scale that, combined, these men make the masses? Experience is +their touchstone, and it is an experience universally diffused. +Education, too, is a word that will bear interpretation. It is not +synonymous with intelligence, for intelligence is native in men, +and, though increased by education, not conditioned upon it. +Intelligence, in the limited sphere in which the unlearned man +applies it, in the things he knows, may be more powerful, more +penetrating, comprehensive, and quick, in him, than in the +technically educated man; for he is educated by things, and +especially in those matters which touch his own interests, widely +shared. The school of life embodies a compulsory education that no +man escapes. If politics, then, be in the main a conflict of +material interests broadly affecting masses of men, the people, +both individually and as a body, may well be more competent to deal +with the matter in hand intelligently than those who, though highly +educated, are usually somewhat removed from the pressure of things, +and feel results and also conditions, even widely prevalent, at a +less early stage and with less hardship, and at best in very mild +forms. Besides, to put it grossly, it is often not brains that are +required to diagnose a political situation so much as stomachs. The +sphere of ideas, of reason and argument, in politics, is really +limited; in the main, politics is, as has been said, the selfish +struggle of material interests in a vast and diversified State.</p> +<p>Common experience furnishes a basis of political fact, well +known to the people in their state of life, and also a test of any +general policy once put into operation. The capacity of the people +to judge the event in the long run must be allowed. But does broad +human experience, however close and pressing, contain that forecast +of the future, that right choice of the means of betterment, or +even knowledge of the remedy itself, which belong in the proper +sphere of enlightened intelligence? I am not well assured that it +is not so. The masses have been long in existence, and what affects +them is seldom novel; they are of the breed that through</p> +<center> "old +experience do attain<br> +To something like prophetic strain."</center> +<p>The sense of the people, learning from their fathers and their +mothers, sums up a vast amount of wisdom in common life, and more +surely than in others the half-conscious tendencies of the times; +for in them these are vital rather than reflective, and go on by +the force of universal conditions, hopes, and energies. In them, +too, intelligence works in precisely the same way as in other men, +and in politics precisely as in other parts of life. They listen to +those they trust who, by neighbourhood, by sympathetic knowledge of +their own state, or actual share in it, by superior powers of mind +and a larger fund of information, are qualified to be their leaders +in forming opinion and their instruments in the policy they adopt. +These leaders may be called demagogues. They may be thought to +employ only resources of trickery upon dupes for selfish ends; but +such a view, generally, is a shallow one, and not justified by +facts. It is right in the masses to make men like themselves and +nigh to them, especially those born and bred in their own condition +of life, their leaders, in preference to men, however educated, +benevolent, and upright, who are not embodiments of the social +conditions, needs, and aspirations of the people in their cruder +life, if it in fact substantially be so, and to allow these men, so +chosen, to find a leader among themselves. Such a man is a true +chief of a party, who is not an individual holding great interests +in trust and managing them with benevolent despotism by virtue of +his own superior brain; he is the incarnation, as a party chief, of +other brains and wills, a representative exceeding by far in wisdom +and power himself, a man in whom the units of society, millions of +them, have their governmental life. No doubt he has great qualities +of sympathy, comprehension, understanding, tact, efficient power, +in order to become a chief; but he leads by following, he relies on +his sense of public support, he rises by virtue of the common will, +the common sense, which store themselves in him. Such the leaders +of the people have always been.</p> +<p>If this process—and it is to be observed that as the scale +of power rises the more limited elements of social influence enter +into the result with more determining force—be apparently +crude in its early stages, and imperfect at the best, is it +different from the process of social expansion in other parts of +life? Wherever masses of men are entering upon a rising and larger +life, do not the same phenomena occur? in religion, for example, +was there not a similar popular crudity, as it is termed by some, a +vulgarity as others name it, in the Methodist movement, in the +Presbyterian movement, in the Protestant movement, world-wide? Was +English Puritanism free from the same sort of characteristics, the +things that are unrefined as belong to democratic politics in +another sphere? The method, the phenomena, are those that belong to +life universal, if life be free and efficient in moving masses of +men upward into more noble ranges. Men of the people lead, because +the people are the stake. On the other hand, educated leaders, +however well-intentioned, may be handicapped if they are not rooted +deeply in the popular soil. Literary education, it must never be +forgotten, is not specially a preparation for political good +judgment. It is predominantly concerned, in its high branches, with +matters not of immediate political consequence—with books +generally, science, history, language, technical processes and +trades, professional outfits, and the manifold activity of life not +primarily practical, or if practical not necessarily political. Men +of education, scholars especially, even in the field of political +system, are not by the mere fact of their scholarship highly or +peculiarly fitted to take part in the active leadership of +politics, unless they have other qualifications not necessarily +springing from their pursuits in learning; they are naturally more +engaged with ideas in a free state, theoretical ideas, than with +ideas which are in reality as much a part of life as of thought; +and the method of dealing with these vitalized and, as it were, +adulterated ideas has a specialty of its own.</p> +<p>It must be acknowledged, too, that in the past, the educated +class as a whole has commonly been found to entertain a narrow +view; it has been on the side of the past, not of the future; +previous to the revolutionary era the class was not—though it +is now coming to be—a germinating element in reform, except +in isolated cases of high genius which foresees the times to come +and develops principles by which they come; it has been, even +during our era, normally in alliance with property and ancestry, to +which it is commonly an appurtenance, and like them is deeply +engaged in the established order, under which it is comfortable, +enjoying the places there made for its functions, and is +conservative of the past, doubtful of the changing order, a +hindrance, a brake, often a note of despair. I do not forget the +great exceptions; but revolutions have come from below, from the +masses and their native leaders, however they may occasionally find +some preparation in thinkers, and some welcome in aristocrats. The +power of intellectual education as an element in life is always +overvalued; and, within its sphere, which is less than is +represented, it is subject to error, prejudice, and arrogance of +its own; and, being without any necessary connection with love or +conscience, it has often been a reactionary, disturbing, or selfish +force in politics and events, even when well acquainted with the +field of politics, as ever were any of the forms of demagogy in the +popular life. Intelligence, in the form of high education, can make +no authoritative claim, as such, either by its nature, its history, +or, as a rule, its successful examples in character. The suffrage, +except as by natural modes it embodies the people's practical and +general intelligence, in direct decisions and in the +representatives of themselves whom it elects to serve the State, +need not look to high education as it has been in the privileged +past, for light and leading in matters of fundamental concern; +education remains useful, as expert knowledge is always useful in +matters presently to be acted on; but in so far as it is separable +from the business of the State, and stands by itself in a class not +servants of the State and mainly critical and traditionary, it is +deserving of no special political trust because of any superiority +of judgment it may allege. In fact, education has entered with +beneficent effect into political life with the more power, in +proportion as it has become a common and not a special endowment, +and the enfranchisement of education, if I may use the term, is +rather a democratic than an aristocratic trait. Education, high +education even, is more respected and counts for more in a +democracy than under the older systems. But in a democracy it +remains true, that so far as education deserves weight, it will +secure it by its own resources, and enter into political results, +as property does, with a power of its own. There, least of all, +does it need privilege. Education is one inequality which democracy +seems already dissolving.</p> +<p>What suffrage records, in opposition it may be to educated +opinion, as such, is the mental state of the people, and their +choices of the men they trust with the accomplishment of what is to +be done. If the suffrage is exposed to defect in wisdom by reason +of its dulness and ignorance, which I by no means admit, the remedy +lies not in a guardianship of the people by the educated class, but +in popular education itself, in lower forms, and the diffusion of +that general information which, in conjunction with sound morals, +is all that is required for the comprehension of the great +questions decided by suffrage, and the choice of fit leaders who +shall carry the decisions into effect. The vast increase of this +kind of intelligence, bred of such schools and such means for the +spread of political information as have grown up here, has been a +measureless gain to man in many other than political ways. No force +has been so great, except the discussion of religious dogma and +practice under the Reformation in northern nations, in establishing +a mental habit throughout the community. The suffrage also has this +invaluable advantage, that it brings about a substitution of the +principle of persuasion for that of force, as the normal mode of +dealing with important differences of view in State affairs; it is, +in this respect, the corollary of free speech and the preservative +of that great element of liberty, and progress under liberty, which +is not otherwise well safe-guarded. It is also a continuous thing, +and deals with necessities and disagreements as they arise and by +gradual means, and thus, by preventing too great an accumulation of +discontent, it avoids revolution, containing in itself the right of +revolution in a peaceable form under law. It is, moreover, a school +into which the citizen is slowly received; and it is capable of +receiving great masses of men and accustoming them to political +thought, free and efficient action in political affairs, and a +civic life in the State, breeding in them responsibility for their +own condition and that of the State. It is the voice of the people +always speaking; nor is it to be forgotten, especially by those who +fear it, that the questions which come before the suffrage for +settlement are, in view of the whole complex and historic body of +the State, comparatively few; for society and its institutions, as +the fathers handed them down, are accepted at birth and by custom +and with real veneration, as our birthright,—the birthright +of a race, a nation, and a hearth. The suffrage does not undertake +to rebuild from the foundations; the people are slow to remove old +landmarks; but it does mean to modify and strengthen this +inheritance of past ages for the better accomplishment of the ends +for which society exists, and the better distribution among men of +the goods which it secures.</p> +<p>Fraternity, the third constituent of democracy, enforces the +idea of equality through its doctrine of brotherhood, and enlarges +the idea of liberty, which thus becomes more than an instrument for +obtaining private ends, is inspired with a social spirit and has +bounds set to its exercise. Fraternity leads us, in general, to +share our good, and to provide others with the means of sharing in +it. This good is inexhaustible and makes up welfare in the State, +the common weal. It is in the sphere of fraternity, in particular, +that humanitarian ideas, and those expressions of the social +conscience which we call moral issues, generally arise, and enter +more or less completely into political life. In defining politics +as, in the main, a selfish struggle of material interests, this was +reserved, that, from time to time, questions of a higher order do +arise, such as that of slavery in our history, which have in them a +finer element; and, though it be true that government has in charge +a race which is yet so near to the soil that it is never far from +want, and therefore government must concern itself directly and +continuously with arrangements for our material welfare, yet the +higher life has so far developed that matters which concern it more +intimately are within the sphere of political action, and among +these we reckon all those causes which appeal immediately to great +principles, to liberty, justice, and manhood, as things apart from +material gain or loss, and in our consciousness truly spiritual; +and such a cause, preeminently, was the war for the Union, heavy as +it was with the fate of mankind under democracy. In such crises, +which seldom arise, material good is subordinated for the time +being, and life and property, our great permanent interests, are +held cheap in the balance with that which is their great charter of +value, as we conceive our country.</p> +<p>Yet even here material interests are not far distant. Such +issues are commonly found to be involved with material interests in +conflict, or are alloyed with them in the working out; and these +interests are a constituent, though, it may be, not the controlling +matter. It is commonly felt, indeed, that some warrant of material +necessity is required in any great political act, for politics, as +has been said, is an affair of life, not of free ideas; and without +such a plain authorization reform is regarded as an invasion of +personal liberty of thought, expression, or action, which is the +breeding-place of progressive life and therefore carefully guarded +from intrusion. In proportion as the material interests are less +clearly affected injuriously, a cause is removed into the region of +moral suasion, and loses political vigour. Religious issues +constitute the extreme of political action without regard to +material interests, wars of conversion being their ultimate, and +they are more potent with less developed races. For this reason the +humanitarian and moral sphere of fraternity lies generally outside +of politics, in social institutions and habits, which political +action may sometimes favour as in public charities, but which +usually rely on other resources for their support. On occasions of +crisis, however, a great idea may marshal the whole community in +its cause; and, more and more, the cause so championed under +democracy is the spiritual right of man.</p> +<p>But fraternity finds, perhaps, its great seal of sovereignty in +that principle of persuasion which has been spoken of already, and +in that substitution of it for force, in the conduct of human +affairs, which democracy has made, as truly as it has replaced +tyranny with the authority of a delegated and representative +liberty. Persuasion, in its moral form, outside of +politics,—which is so largely resorted to in a community that +does not naturally regard the imposition of virtue, even, with +favour, but believes virtue should be voluntary in the man and +decreed by him out of his own soul,—need not be enlarged upon +here; but in its intellectual form, as a persuasion of the mind and +will necessarily precedent to political action, it may be glanced +at, since law thus becomes the embodied persuasion of the +community, and is itself no longer force in the objectionable +sense; even minorities, to which it is adversely applied, and on +which it thus operates like tyranny, recognize the different +character it bears to arbitrary power as that has historically +been. But outside of this refinement of thought in the analysis, +the fact that the normal attitude of any cause in a democracy is +that men must be persuaded of its justice and expediency, before it +can impose itself as the will of the State on its citizens, marks a +regard for men as a brotherhood of equals and freemen, of the +highest consequence in State affairs, and with a broad overflow of +moral habit upon the rest of life.</p> +<p>That portion of the community which is not reached by +persuasion, and remains in opposition, must obey the law, and +submit, such is the nature of society; but minorities have +acknowledged rights, which are best preserved, perhaps, by the +knowledge that they may be useful to all in turn. Those rights are +more respected under democracy than in any other form of +government. The important question here, however, is not the +conduct of the State toward an opposition in general, which is at +one time composed of one element and at another time of a different +element, and is a shifting, changeable, and temporary thing; but of +its attitude toward the more permanent and inveterate minority +existing in class interests, which are exposed to popular attack. +The capital instance is property, especially in the form of wealth; +and here belongs that objection to the suffrage, which was lightly +passed over, to the effect that, since the social will has no +limits, to constitute it by suffrage is to give the people control +of what is not their own. Property, reenforced by the right of +inheritance, is the great source of inequality in the State and the +continuer of it, and gives rise perpetually to political and social +questions, attended with violent passions; but it is an institution +common to civilization, it is very old, and it is bound up +intimately with the motive energies of individual life, the means +of supplying society on a vast scale with production, distribution, +and communication, and the process of taking possession of the +earth for man's use. Its social service is incalculable. At times, +however, when accumulated so as to congest society, property has +been confiscated in enormous amounts, as in England under Henry +VIII, in France at the Revolution, and in Italy in recent times. +The principle of paramount right over it in society has been +established in men's minds, and is modified only by the social +conviction that this right is one to be exercised with the highest +degree of care and on the plainest dictates of a just necessity. +Taxation, nevertheless, though a power to destroy and confiscate in +its extreme exercise, normally takes nothing from property that is +not due. It is not a levy of contributions, but the collection of a +just debt; for property and its owners are the great gainers by +society, under whose bond alone wealth finds security, enjoyment, +and increase, carrying with them untold private advantages. +Property is deeply indebted to society in a thousand ways; and, +besides, much of its material cannot be said to be earned, but was +given either from the great stores of nature, or by the hand of the +law, conferring privilege, or from the overflowing increments of +social progress. If it is naturally selfish, acquisitive, and +conservative, if it has to be subjected to control, if its duties +have to be thrust upon it oftentimes, it has such powers of +resistance that there need be little fear lest it should suffer +injustice. Like education, it has great reserves of influence, and +is assured of enormous weight in the life of the community. Other +vested interests stand in a similar relation to the State. These +minorities, which are important and lasting elements in society, +receive consideration, and bounds are set to liberty of dealing +adversely with them in practice, under that principle of fraternity +which seeks the good of one in all and the good of all in one.</p> +<p>Fraternity, following lines whose general sense has been +sufficiently indicated, has, in particular, established out of the +common fund public education as a means of diffusing intellectual +gain, which is the great element of growth even in efficient toil, +and also of extending into all parts of the body politic a +comprehension of the governmental scheme and the organized life of +the community, fusing its separate interests in a mutual +understanding and regard. It has established, too, protection in +the law, for the weak as against the strong, the poor as against +the rich, the citizen as against those who would trustee the State +for their own benefit; and, on the broad scale, it provides for the +preservation of the public health, relief of the unfortunate, the +care of all children, and in a thousand humane ways permeates the +law with its salutary justice. It has, again, in another great +field, established toleration, not in religion merely, but of +opinion and practice in general; and thereby largely has built up a +mutual and pervading faith in the community as a body in all its +parts and interests intending democratic results under human +conditions; it has thus bred a habit of reserve at moments of +hardship or grave difficulty,—a respect that awaits social +justice giving time for it to be brought about,—which as a +constituent of national character cannot be too highly prized.</p> +<p>The object of all government, and of every social system is, in +its end and summary, to secure justice among mankind. Justice is +the most sacred word of men; but it is a thing hard to find. Law, +which is its social instrument, deals with external act, general +conditions, and mankind in the mass. It is not, like conscience, a +searcher of men's bosoms; its knowledge extends no farther than to +what shall illuminate the nature of the event it examines; it makes +no true ethical award. It is in the main a method of procedure, +largely inherited and wholly practical in intent, applied to +recurring states of fact; it is a reasonable arrangement for the +peaceful facilitation of human business of all social kinds; and to +a considerable degree it is a convention, an agreement upon what +shall be done in certain sets of circumstances, as an +approximation, it may be, to justice, but, at all events, as an +advantageous solution of difficulties. This is as true of its +criminal as of its civil branches. Its concern is with society +rather than the individual, and it sacrifices the individual to +society without compunction, applying one rule to all alike, with a +view to social, not individual, results, on the broad scale. Those +matters which make individual justice impossible,—especially +the element of personal responsibility in wrong-doing, how the man +came to be what he is and his susceptibility to motives, to reason +and to passion, in their varieties, and all such +considerations,—law ignores in the main question, however it +may admit them in the imperfect form in which only they can be +known, as circumstances in extenuation or aggravation. This large +part of responsibility, it will seem to every reflective moralist, +enters little into the law's survey; and its penalties, at best, +are "the rack of this rude world." Death and imprisonment, as it +inflicts them, are for the protection of society, not for +reformation, though the philanthropic element in the State may use +the period of imprisonment with a view to reformation; nor in the +history of the punishment of crime, of the vengeance as such taken +on men in addition to the social protection sought, has society on +the whole been less brutal in its repulse of its enemies than they +were in their attack, or shown any eminent justice toward its +victims in the sphere of their own lives. It is a terrible and +debasing record, up to this century at least, and uniformly +corrupted those who were its own instruments. It was the +application of force in its most material forms, and dehumanized +those upon whom it was exercised, placing them outside the pale of +manhood as a preliminary to its work. The lesson that the criminal +remains a man, was one taught to the law, not learned from it. On +the civil side, likewise, similar reservations must be made, both +as regards its formulation and operation. The law as an instrument +of justice is a rough way of dealing with the problems of the +individual in society, but it is effective for social ends; and, in +its total body and practical results, it is a priceless monument of +human righteousness, sagacity, and mercy, and though it lags behind +opinion, as it must, and postpones to a new age the moral and +prudential convictions of the present, it is in its treasury that +these at last are stored.</p> +<p>If such be the case within the law, what indifference to justice +does the course of events exhibit in the world at large which comes +under the law's inquisition so imperfectly! How continuous and +inevitable, how terrible and pitiful is this aspect of life, is +shown in successive ages by the unending story of ideal tragedy, in +poem, drama, and tale, in which the noble nature through some +frailty, that was but a part, and by the impulse of some moment of +brief time, comes to its wreck; and, in connection with this +disaster to the best, lies the action of the villain everywhere +overflowing in suffering and injury upon his victims and all that +is theirs. What is here represented as the general lot of mankind, +in ideal works, exists, multiplied world-wide in the lives and +fortunes of mankind, an inestimable amount of injustice always +present. The sacrifice of innocence is in no way lessened by aught +of vengeance that may overtake the wrong-doer; and it is constant. +The murdered man, the wronged woman, can find no reparation. What +shall one say of the sufferings of children and of the old, and of +the great curse that lies in heredity and the circumstances of +early life under depraved, ignorant, or malicious conditions? These +brutalities, like the primeval struggle in the rise of life, seem +in a world that never heard the name of justice. The main seat of +individual justice and its operation is, after all, in the moral +sense of men, governing their own conduct and modifying so far as +possible the mass of injustice continually arising in the process +of life, by such relief as they can give by personal influence and +action both on persons and in the realm of moral opinion.</p> +<p>But, such questions apart, and within the reach of the rude +power of the law over men in the mass, where individuality may be +neglected, there remains that portion of the field in which the +cause of justice may be advanced, as it was in the extinction of +slavery, the confiscation of the French lands, the abolition of the +poor debtor laws, and in similar great measures of class +legislation, if you will. I confess I am one of those who hold that +society is largely responsible even for crime and pauperism, and +especially other less clearly defined conditions in the community +by which there exists an inveterate injustice ingrained in the +structure of society itself. The process of freeing man from the +fetters of the past is still incomplete, and democracy is a faith +still early in its manifestation; social justice is the cry under +which this progress is made, and, being grounded in material +conditions and hot with men's passions under wrong, it is a +dangerous cry, and unheeded it becomes revolutionary; but in what +has democracy been so beneficent to society as in the ways without +number that it has opened for the doing of justice to men in +masses, for the moulding of safe and orderly methods of change, and +for the formation as a part of human character of a habit of +philanthropy to those especially whose misfortunes may be partly +laid to the door of society itself? Charity, great as it is, can +but alleviate, it cannot upon any scale cure poverty and its +attendant ills; nor can mercy, however humanely and wisely exerted, +do more than mollify the misfortune that abides in the criminal. +Social justice asks neither charity nor mercy, but such conditions, +embodied in institutions and laws, as shall diminish, so far as +under nature and human nature is possible, the differences of men +at birth, and in their education, and in their opportunity through +life, to the end that all citizens shall be equal in the power to +begin and conduct their lives in morals, industry, and the hope of +happiness. Social justice, so defined, under temporal conditions, +democracy seeks as the sum and substance of its effort in +governmental ways; some advance has been made; but it requires no +wide survey, nor long examination, to see that what has been +accomplished is a beginning, with the end so far in the future as +to seem a dream, such as the poets have sung almost from the dawn +of hope. What matters it? It is not only poets who dream; justice +is the statesman's dream.</p> +<p>Such in bold outline are the principles of democracy. They have +been working now for a century in a great nation, not wholly +unfettered and on a complete scale even with us, but with wider +acceptance and broader application than elsewhere in the world, and +with most prosperity in those parts of the country where they are +most mastering; and the nation has grown great in their charge. +What, in brief, are the results, so clear, so grand, so vast, that +they stand out like mountain ranges, the configuration of a +national life? The diffusion of material comfort among masses of +men, on a scale and to an amount abolishing peasantry forever; the +dissemination of education, which is the means of life to the mind +as comfort is to the body, in no more narrow bounds, but through +the State universal, abolishing ignorance; the development of human +capacity in intelligence, energy, and character, under the stimulus +of the open career, with a result in enlarging and concentrating +the available talent of the State to a compass and with an +efficiency and diversity by which alone was possible the material +subjugation of the continent which it has made tributary to man's +life; the planting of self-respect in millions of men, and of +respect for others grounded in self-respect, constituting a +national characteristic now first to be found, and to be found in +the bosom of every child of our soil, and, with this, of a respect +for womanhood, making the common ways safe and honourable for her, +unknown before; the moulding of a conservative force, so sure, so +deep, so instinctive, that it has its seat in the very vitals of +the State and there maintains as its blood and bone the principles +which the fathers handed down in institutions containing our +happiness, security, and destiny, yet maintains them as a living +present, not as a dead past; the incorporation into our body +politic of millions of half-alien people, without disturbance, and +with an assimilating power that proves the universal value of +democracy as a mode of dealing with the race, as it now is; an +enthronement of reason as the sole arbiter in a free forum where +every man may plead, and have the judgment of all men upon the +cause; a rooted repugnance to use force; an aversion to war; a +public and private generosity that knows no bounds of sect, race, +or climate; a devotion to public duty that excuses no man and least +of all the best, and has constantly raised the standard of +character; a commiseration for all unfortunate peoples and warm +sympathy with them in their struggles; a love of country as +inexhaustible in sacrifice as it is unparalleled in ardour; and a +will to serve the world for the rise of man into such manhood as we +have achieved, such prosperity as earth has yielded us, and such +justice as, by the grace of heaven, is established within our +borders. Is it not a great work? and all these blessings, +unconfined as the element, belong to all our people. In the course +of these results, the imperfection of human nature and its +institutions has been present; but a just comparison of our history +with that of other nations, ages, and systems, and of our present +with our past, shows that such imperfection in society has been a +diminishing element with us, and that a steady progress has been +made in methods, measures, and men. No great issue, in a whole +century, has been brought to a wrong conclusion. Our public life +has been starred with illustrious names, famous for honesty, +sagacity, and humanity, and, above all, for justice. Our Presidents +in particular have been such men as democracy should breed, and +some of them such men as humanity has seldom bred. We are a proud +nation, and justly; and, looking to the future, beholding these +things multiplied million-fold in the lives of the children of the +land to be, we may well humbly own God's bounty which has earliest +fallen upon us, the first fruits of democracy in the new ages of a +humaner world.</p> +<p>It will be plain to those who have read what has elsewhere been +said of the ideal life, that democracy is for the nation a true +embodiment of that life, and wears its characteristics upon its +sleeve. In it the individual mingles with the mass, and becomes one +with mankind, and mankind itself sums the totality of individual +good in a well-nigh perfect way. In it there is the slow embodiment +of a future nobly conceived and brought into existence on an ideal +basis of the best that is, from age to age, in man's power. It +includes the universal wisdom, the reach of thought and aspiration, +by virtue of which men climb, and here manhood climbs. It knows no +limit; it rejects no man who wears the form Christ wore; it +receives all into its benediction. Through democracy, more readily +and more plainly than through any other system of government or +conception of man's nature and destiny, the best of men may blend +with his race, and store in their common life the energies of his +own soul, looking for as much aid as he may give. Democracy, as +elsewhere has been said, is the earthly hope of men; and they who +stand apart, in fancied superiority to mankind, which is by +creation equal in destiny, and in fact equal in the larger part of +human nature, however obstructed by time and circumstance, are +foolish withdrawers from the ways of life. On the battle-field or +in the senate, or in the humblest cabin of the West, to lead an +American life is to join heart and soul in this cause.</p> +<a name="A2H_4_11" id="A2H_4_11"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2>THE RIDE</h2> +<p>Mystery is the natural habitat of the soul. It is the child's +element, though he sees it not; for, year by year, acquiring the +solid and palpable, the visible and audible, the things of mortal +life, he lives in horizons of the senses, and though grown a youth +he still looks intellectually for things definite and clear. +Education in general through its whole period induces the contempt +of all else, impressing almost universally the positive element in +life, whose realm in early years at least is sensual. So it was +with me: the mind's eye saw all that was or might be in an +atmosphere of scepticism, as my bodily eye beheld the world washed +in colour. Yet the habitual sense of mystery in man's life is a +measure of wisdom in the man; and, at last, if the mind be open and +turn upon the poles of truth, whether in the sage's knowledge or +the poet's emotion or such common experience of the world as all +have, mystery visibly envelops us, equally in the globed sky or the +unlighted spirit,</p> +<p>I well remember the very moment when a poetical experience +precipitated this conviction out of moods long familiar, but +obscurely felt and deeply distrusted. I was born and bred by the +sea; its mystery had passed into my being unawares, and was there +unconscious, or, at least, not to be separated from the moods of my +own spirit. But on my first Italian voyage, day by day we rolled +upon the tremendous billows of a stormy sea, and all was strange +and solemn—the illimitable tossing of a wave-world, darkening +night after night through weird sunsets of a spectral and unknown +beauty, enchantments that were doorways of a new earth and new +heavens; and, on the tenth day, when I came on deck in this +water-world, we had sighted Santa Maria, the southernmost of the +Azores, and gradually we drew near to it. I shall never forget the +strangeness of that sight—that solitary island under the +sunlit showers of early morning; it lay in a beautiful atmosphere +of belted mists and wreaths of rain, and tracts of soft sky, +frequent with many near and distant rainbows that shone and faded +and came again as we steamed through them, and the white wings of +the birds, struck by the sun, were the whitest objects I have ever +seen; slowly we passed by, and I could not have told what it was in +that island scene which had so arrested me. But when, some days +afterward, at the harbor of Gibraltar I looked upon the magnificent +rock, and saw opposite the purple hills of Africa, again I felt +through me that unknown thrill. It was the mystery of the land. It +was altogether a discovery, a direct perception, a new sense of the +natural world. Under the wild heights of Sangue di Christo I had +dreamed that on the further side I should find the "far west" that +had fled before me beyond the river, the prairies, and the plains; +but there was no such mystery in the thought, or in the prospect, +as this that saluted me coming landward for the first time from the +ocean-world. Since that morning in the Straits, every horizon has +been a mystery to me, to the spirit no less than to the eye; and +truths have come to me like that lone island embosomed in eternal +waters, like the capes and mountain barriers of Africa thrusting up +new continents unknown, untravelled, of a land men yet might tread +as common ground.</p> +<p>"A poet's mood"—I know what once I should have said. But +mystery I then accepted as the only complement, the encompassment, +of what we know of our life. In many ways I had drawn near to this +belief before, and I have since many times confirmed it. One +occasion, however, stands out in my memory even more intensely than +those I have made bold to mention,—one experience that +brought me near to my mother earth, as that out of which I was +formed and to which I shall return, and made these things seem as +natural as to draw my breath from the sister element of air. I had +returned to the West; and while there, wandering in various places, +I went to a small town, hardly more than a hamlet, some few hundred +miles beyond the Missouri, where the mighty railroad, putting out a +long feeler for the future, had halted its great steel +branch—sinking like a thunderbolt into the ground for no +imaginable reason, and affecting me vaguely with a sense of utmost +limits. There a younger friend, five years my junior, in his lonely +struggle with life bore to live, in such a camp of pioneer +civilization as made my heart fail at first sight, though not +unused to the meagreness, crudity, and hardness of such a place; +but there I had come to take the warm welcome of his hands and look +once more into his face before time should part us. He flung his +arms about me, with a look of the South in his eyes, full of happy +dancing lights, and the barren scene was like Italy made real for +one instant of golden time.</p> +<p>But if we had wandered momentarily, as if out of some quiet +sunlit gallery of Monte Beni, I soon found it was into the frontier +of our western border. A herd of Texas ponies were to be +immediately on sale, and I went to see them—wild animals, +beautiful in their wildness, who had never known bit or spur; they +were lariated and thrown down, as the buyers picked them out, and +then led and pulled away to man's life. It was a typical scene: the +pen, the hundred ponies bunched together and startled with the new +surroundings, the cowboys whose resolute habit sat on them like +cotillion grace—athletes in the grain—with the gray, +close garb for use, the cigarette like a slow spark under the broad +sombrero, the belted revolver, the lasso hung loose-coiled in the +hand, quiet, careless, confident, with the ease of the master in +his craft, now pulling down a pony without a struggle, and now +showing strength and dexterity against frightened resistance; but +the hour sped on, and our spoil was two of these creatures, so +attractive to me at least that every moment my friend's eye was on +me, and he kept saying, "They're wild, mind!" The next morning in +the dark dawn we had them in harness, and drove out, when the stars +were scarce gone from the sky, due north to the Bad Lands, to give +me a new experience of the vast American land that bore us both, +and made us, despite the thousands of miles that stretched between +ocean and prairie, brothers in blood and brain,—brothers and +friends.</p> +<p>Yet how to tell that ride, now grown a shining leaf of my book +of memory! for my eyes were fascinated with the land, in the high +blowing August wind, full of coolness and upland strength, like new +breath in my nostrils; and forward over the broken country, +fenceless, illimitable, ran the brown road, like a ploughed ribbon +of soil, into the distance, where pioneer and explorer and +prospector had gone before, and now the farmer was thinly +settling,—the new America growing up before my eyes! and him +only by me to make me not a stranger there, with talk of absent +friends and old times, though scarce the long age of a college +course had gone by,—talk lapsing as of old on such rides into +serious strains, problems such as the young talk of together and +keep their secret, learning life,—the troubles of the heart +of youth. And if now I recur to some of the themes we touched on, +and set down these memoranda, fragments of life, thinking they may +be of use to other youths as they were then to us, I trust they +will lose no privacy; for, as I write, I see them in that place, +with that noble prospect, that high sky, and him beside me whose +young listening yet seems to woo them from my breast.</p> +<p>We mounted the five-mile ridge,—and, "Poor Robin," he +said, "what of him?" "Poor Robin sleeps in the Muses' graveyard," I +laughed, "in the soft gray ashes of my blazing hearth. One must +live the life before he tells the tale." "I loved his 'awakening,'" +he replied, "and I have often thought of it by myself. And will +nothing come of him now?" "Who can tell?" I said, looking hard off +over the prairie. "The Muses must care for their own. That +'awakening,'" I went on, after a moment of wondering why the +distant stream of the valley was called "the Looking-glass," and +learning only that such was its name, "was when after the bookish +torpor of his mind—you remember he called books his +opiates—he felt the beauty of the spring and the marvel of +human service come back on him like a flood. It was the growing +consciousness of how little of life is our own. Youth takes life +for granted; the hand that smoothed his pillow the long happy +years, the springs that brought new blossoms to his cheeks, the +common words that martyr and patriot have died to form on childish +lips, and make them native there with life's first breath, are +natural to him as Christmas gifts, and bring no obligation. Our +life from babyhood is only one long lesson in indebtedness; and we +best learn what we have received by what we give. This was dawning +on my hero then. I recall how he ran the new passion. That outburst +you used to like, amid the green bloom of the prairies, like the +misted birches at home, under the heaven-wide warmth of April +breathing with universal mildness through the softened +air—why, you can remember the very day," I said. "It was +one—" "Yes, I can remember more than that," he interrupted; +"I know the words, or some of them; what you just said was the old +voice—tang and colour—Poor Robin's voice;" and he +began, and I listened to the words, which had once been mine, and +now were his.</p> +<p>"By heaven, I never believed it. 'Clotho spins, Lachesis weaves, +and Atropos cuts,' I said, 'and the poor illusion vanishes; the +loud laughter, the fierce wailing, die on pale lips; the foolish +and the wise, the merciful and the pitiless, the workers in the +vineyard and the idlers in the market-place, are huddled into one +grave, and the heart of Mary Mother and of Mary Magdalen are one +dust.' Duly in those years the sun rose to cheer me; the breath of +the free winds was in my nostrils; the grass made my pathways soft +to my feet. Spring with its blossomed fruit trees, and the +ungarnered summer, gladdened me; the flame of autumn was my torch +of memory, and winter lighted my lamp of solitude. Men tilled the +fields to feed me, and worked the loom to clothe me, and so far as +in them was power and in me was need, brought to my doors +sustenance for the body and whatsoever of divine truth was theirs +for my soul. Women ministered to me in blessed charities; and some +among my fellows gave me their souls in keeping. How true is that +which my friend said to the poor boy-murderer condemned to +die,—'I tell you, you cannot escape the mercy of God;' and +tears coursed down the imbruted face, and once more the human soul, +that the ministers of God could not reach, shone in its tabernacle. +Now the butterfly has flown in at the tavern-window, and rebuked +me. I go out, and on the broad earth the warm sun shines; the +spring moves throughout our northern globe as when first man looked +upon it; the seasons keep their word; the birds know their pathways +through the air; the animals feed and multiply; the succession of +day and night has no shadow of turning; the stars keep their order +in the blue depths of infinite space; Sirius has not swerved from +his course, nor Aldebaran flamed beyond his sphere; nature puts +forth her strength in all the vast compass of her domain, and is +manifest in life that continues and is increased in fuller measures +of joy, heightened to fairer beauty, instinct with love in the +heart of man. Wiser were the ascetics whom I used to scorn; they +made themselves ascetics of the body, but I have been an ascetic of +the soul."</p> +<hr> +<p>"<i>Eccola!</i>" I said, "was it like that? But a heady rhetoric +is not inconsistent with sobriety of thought, as many a Victorian +page we have read together testifies. The style tames with the +spirit; and wild blood is not the worst of faults in poets or boys. +But I will change old coin for the new mintage with you, if you +like, and it is not so very different. There is a good stretch +ahead, and the ponies never seem to misbehave both at once." In +fact, these ponies, who seemed to enjoy the broad, open world with +us, had yet to learn the first lesson of civilization, and unite +their private wills in rebellion; for, while one or the other of +them would from time to time fling back his heels and prepare to +resist, the other dragged him into the course with the steady pace, +and, under hand and voice, they kept going in a much less +adventurous way than I had anticipated. And so I read a page or two +from the small blank-book in which I used to write, saying only, by +way of preface, that the April morning my friend so well remembered +marked the time when I began that direct appeal to life of which +these notes were the first-fruits.</p> +<p>The waters of the Looking-glass had been lost behind its bluffs +to the west as we turned inland, though we still rose with the +slope of the valley; and now on higher land we saw the open country +in a broad sweep, but with bolder configuration than was familiar +to me in prairie regions, the rolling of the country being in great +swells; and this slight touch of strangeness, this accentuation of +the motionless lines of height and hollow, and the general lift of +the land, perhaps, was what first gave that life to the soil, that +sense of a presence in the earth itself, which was felt at a later +time. Then I saw only the outspread region, with here and there a +gleam of grain on side-hills and far-curved embrasures of the +folded slopes, or great strands of Indian corn, acres within acres, +and hardly a human dwelling anywhere; the loneliness, the majesty, +the untouched primitiveness of it, were the elements I remember; +and the wind, and the unclouded great expanse of the blue upper +sky, like a separate element lifted in deep color over the gold of +harvest, the green of earth, and the touches of brown road and +soil. So, with pauses for common sights and things, and some word +of comment and fuller statement and personal touches that do not +matter now, I read my brief notes of life in its most sacred +part.</p> +<p>"The gift of life at birth is only a little breath on a baby's +lips; the air asks no consent to fill the lungs, the heart beats, +the senses awaken, the mind begins, and the first handwriting of +life is a child's smile; but as boyhood gathers fuller strength, +and youth hives a more intimate sweetness, and manhood expands in +richer values, life is not less entirely a gift. As well say a +self-born as a self-made man. Nature does not intrust to us her +bodily processes and functions, and the fountains of feeling within +well up, and the forms of thought define, without obligation to +man's wisdom; body and soul alike are above his will—our +garment of sense comes from no human loom, nor were the bones of +the spirit fashioned by any mortal hands; in our progress and +growth, too, bloom of health and charm of soul owe their loveliness +to that law of grace that went forth with the creative word. Slow +as men are to realize the fact and the magnitude of this great +grant, and the supreme value of it as life itself in all its +abundance of blessings, there comes a time to every generous and +open heart when the youth is made aware of the stream of +beneficence flowing in upon him from the forms and forces of nature +with benedictions of beauty and vigour; he knows, too, the +cherishing of human service all about him in familiar love and the +large brothering of man's general toil; he begins to see, shaping +itself in him, the vast tradition of the past,—its mighty +sheltering of mankind in institution and doctrine and accepted +hopes, its fostering agencies, its driving energies. What a +breaking out there is then in him of the emotions that are +fountain-heads of permanent life,—filial love, patriotic +duty, man's passion for humanity! It is then that he becomes a man. +Strange would it be, if, at such tidal moments, the youth should +not, in pure thankfulness, find out the Giver of all good!</p> +<p>"As soon as man thus knows himself a creature, he has +established a direct relation with the Creator, did he but realize +it,—not in mere thought of some temporal creation, some +antecedent fact of a beginning, but in immediate experience of that +continuing act which keeps the universe in being,</p> +<center>'Which wields the world with never wearied love,<br> +Sustains it from beneath and kindles it above,'—</center> +<p>felt and known now in the life which, moment to moment, is his +own. The extreme sense of this may take on the expression of the +pantheistic mood, as here in Shelley's words, without any logical +irreverence: for pantheism is that great mood of the human spirit +which it is, permanent, recurring in every age and race, as natural +to Wordsworth as to Shelley, because of the fundamental character +of these facts and the inevitability of the knowledge of them. The +most arrogant thought of man, since it identifies him with deity, +it springs from that same sense of insignificance which makes +humility the characteristic of religious life in all its forms. A +mind deeply penetrated with the feeling that all we take and all we +are, our joys and the might and grace of life in us, are the mere +lendings of mortality like Lear's rags, may come to think man the +passive receptacle of power, and the instrument scarce +distinguishable from the hand that uses it; the thought is as nigh +to St. Paul as to Plato. This intimate and infinite sense of +obligation finds its highest expression, on the secular side, and +takes on the touch of mystery, in those great men of action who +have believed themselves in a special manner servants of God, and +in great poets who found some consecration in their calling. They, +more than other men, know how small is any personal part in our +labours and our wages alike. But in all men life comes to be felt +to be, in itself and its instruments, this gift, this debt; to +continue to live is to contract a greater debt in proportion to the +greatness of the life; it is greatest in the greatest.</p> +<p>"This spontaneous gratitude is a vital thing. He who is most +sensitive to beauty and prizes it, who is most quick to love, who +is most ardent in the world's service, feels most constantly this +power which enfolds him in its hidden infinity; he is overwhelmed +by it: and how should gratitude for such varied and constant and +exhaustless good fail to become a part of the daily life of his +spirit, deepening with every hour in which the value, the power and +sweetness of life, is made more plain? Yet at the same instant +another and almost contrary mood is twin-born with this +thankfulness,—the feeling of helplessness. Though the secret +and inscrutable power, sustaining and feeding life, be truly +felt,—</p> +<center>'Closer is He than breathing and nearer than<br> +hands and feet,'—</center> +<p>though in moments of life's triumphs it evokes this natural +burst of happy gratitude, yet who can free himself from mortal +fear, or dispense with human hope, however firm and irremovable may +be his confidence in the beneficent order of God? And especially in +the more strenuous trials of later ages for Christian perfection in +a world not Christian, and under the mysterious dispensation of +nature, even the youth has lived little, and that shallowly, who +does not crave companionship, guidance, protection. Dependent as he +feels himself to be for all he is and all he may become, the means +of help—self-help even—and the law of it must be from +that same power, whose efficient working he has recognized with a +thankful heart. Where else shall he look except to that experience +of exaltation during whose continuance he plucked a natural trust +for the future, a reasonable belief in Providence, and a humble +readiness to accept the partial ills of life? In life's valleys, +then, as on its summits, in the darkness as in the light, he may +retain that once confided trust; not that he looks for miracle, or +any specific and particularizing care, it may be, but that in the +normal course of things he believes in the natural alliance of that +arm of infinite power with himself. In depression, in trouble, in +struggle, such as all life exhibits, he will be no more solitary +than in his hours of blessing. Thus, through helplessness also, he +establishes a direct relation with God, which is also a reality of +experience, as vital in the cry for aid as in the offering of +thanks. The gratitude of the soul may be likened to that morning +prayer of the race which was little more than praise with uplifted +hands; the helplessness of man is rather the evening prayer of the +Christian age, which with bowed head implores the grace of God to +shield him through the night. These two, in all times, among all +races, under ten thousand divinities, have been the voices of the +heart.</p> +<p>"There is a third mood of direct experience by which one +approaches the religious life. Surely no man in our civilization +can grow far in years without finding out that, in the effort to +live a life obeying his desires and worthy of his hopes, his will +is made one with Christ's commands; and he knows that the promises +of Christ, so far as they relate to the life that now is, are +fulfilled in himself day by day; he can escape neither the ideal +that Christ was, nor the wisdom of Christ in respect to the working +of that ideal on others and within himself. He perceives the evil +of the world, and desires to share in its redemption; its +sufferings, and would remove them; its injustice, and would abolish +it. He is, by the mere force of his own heart in view of mankind, a +humanitarian. But he is more than this in such a life. If he be +sincere, he has not lived long before he knows in himself such +default of duty that he recognizes it as the soul's betrayal; its +times and occasions, its degrees of responsibility, its character +whether of mere frailty or of an evil will, its greater or less +offence, are indifferent matters; for, as it is the man of perfect +honour who feels a stain as a wound, and a shadow as a stain, so +poignancy of repentance is keenest in the purest souls. It is death +that is dull, it is life that is quick. It may well be, in the +world's history in our time, that the suffering caused in the good +by slight defections from virtue far overbalances the general +remorse felt for definite and habitual crime. Thus none—those +least who are most hearts of conscience—escapes this emotion, +known in the language of religion as conviction of sin. It is the +earliest moral crisis of the soul; it is widely felt,—such is +the nature and such the circumstances of men; and, as a man meets +it in that hour, as he then begins to form the habit of dealing +with his failures sure to come, so runs his life to the end save +for some great change. If then some restoring power enters in, some +saving force, whether it be from the memory and words of Christ, or +from the example of those lives that were lived in the spirit of +that ideal, or from nearer love and more tender affection enforcing +the supremacy of duty and the hope of struggle,—in whatever +way that healing comes, it is well; and, just as the man of honest +mind has recognized the identity of his virtue with Christ's rule, +and has verified in practice the wisdom of its original statement, +so now he knows that this moral recovery, and its method, is what +has been known on the lips of saint and sinner as the life of the +Spirit in man, and even more specially he cannot discriminate it +from what the servants of Christ call the life of Christ in them. +He has become more than a humanitarian through this experience; he +is now himself one of those whom in the mass he pities and would +help; he has entered into that communion with his kind and kin +which is the earthly seal of Christian faith.</p> +<p>"Yet it seems to me a profound error in life to concentrate +attention upon the moral experience here described; it is but +initial; and, though repeated, it remains only a beginning; as the +vast force of nature is put forth through health, and its curative +power is an incident and subordinate, so the spiritual energy of +life is made manifest, in the main, in the joy of the soul in so +far as it has been made whole. A narrow insistence on the fact of +sin distorts life, and saddens it both in one's own conscience and +in his love for others. Sin is but a part of life, and it is far +better to fix our eyes on the measureless good achieved in those +lines of human effort which have either never been deflected from +right aims, or have been brought back to the paths of advance, +which I believe to be the greater part, both in individual lives of +noble intention, and in the Christian nations. Sin loses half its +dismaying power, and evil is stripped of its terrors, if one +recognizes how far ideal motives enter with controlling influence +into personal life, and to what a degree ideal destinies are +already incarnate in the spirit of great nations.</p> +<p>"However this may be, I find on examination of man's common +experience these three things, which establish, it seems to me, a +direct relation between him and God: this spontaneous gratitude, +this trustful dependence, this noble practice, which is, +historically, the Christian life, and is characterized by its +distinctive experiences. They are simple elements: a faith in God's +being which has not cared further to define the modes of that +being; a hope which has not grown to specify even a Resurrection; a +love that has not concentrated itself through limitation upon any +instrumental conversion of the world; but, inchoate as they are, +they remain faith, hope, love—these three. Are they not +sufficient to be the beginnings of the religious life in the young? +To theological learning, traditional creeds, and conventional +worship they may seem primitive, slight in substance, meagre in +apparel; but one who is seeking, not things to believe, but things +to live, desires the elementary. In setting forth first principles, +the elaboration of a more highly organized knowledge may be felt as +an obscuration of truth, an impediment to certainty, a hindrance in +the effort to touch and handle the essential matter; and for this +reason a teacher dispenses with much in his exposition, just as in +talking to a child a grown man abandons nine-tenths of his +vocabulary. In the same way, learning as a child, seeking in the +life of the soul with God what is normal, vital, and universal, the +beginner need not feel poor and balked, because he does not avail +himself as yet of resources that belong to length of life, breadth +of scholarship, intellectual power, the saint's ardour, the seer's +insight.</p> +<p>"The spiritual life here defined, elementary as it is, appears +inevitable, part and parcel of our natural being. Why should this +be surprising? Surely if there be a revelation of the divine at +all, it must be one independent of external things; one that comes +to all by virtue of their human nature; one that is direct, and not +mediately given through others. Faith that is vital is not the +fruit of things told of, but of things experienced. It follows that +religion may be essentially free from any admixture of the past in +its communication to the soul. It cannot depend on events of a +long-past time now disputable, or on books of a far-off and now +alien age. These things are the tradition and history of the +spiritual life, but not the life. To the mass of men religion +derived from such sources would be a belief in other men's +experience, and for most of them would rest on proofs they cannot +scrutinize. It would be a religion of authority, not of personal +and intimate conviction. Just as creation may be felt, not as some +far-off event, but a continuing act, revelation itself is a present +reality. Do not the heavens still declare the glory of God as when +they spoke to the Psalmist? and has the light that lighteth every +man who is born into the world ceased to burn in the spirit since +the first candle was lit on a Christian altar? If the revelation of +glory and mercy be an everlasting thing, and inextinguishable save +in the life itself, then only is that direct relation of man with +God, this vital certainty in living truth,—living in +us,—this personal religion, possible.</p> +<p>"What has reform in religion ever been other than the demolition +of the interfering barriers, the deposit of the past, between man +and God? The theory of the office of the Holy Spirit in the Church +expresses man's need of direct contact with the divine; the +doctrine of transubstantiation symbolizes it; and what is +Puritanism in all ages, affirming the pure spirit, denying all +forms, but the heart of man in his loneliness, seeking God face to +face? what is its iconoclasm of image and altar, of prayer-book and +ritual, of the Councils and the Fathers, but the assertion of the +noble dignity in each individual soul by virtue of which it demands +a freeman's right of audience, a son's right of presence with his +father, and believes that such is God's way with his own? This +immediacy of the religious life, being once accepted as the +substance of vitality in it, relieves man at once of the greater +mass of that burden in which scepticism thrives and labours. The +theories of the past respecting God's government, no longer +possible in a humaner and Christianized age, the impaired +genuineness of the Scriptures and all questions of their text and +accuracy, even the great doctrine of miracles, cease to be of vital +consequence. A man may approach divine truth without them. Simple +and bare as the spiritual life here presented is, it is not open to +such sceptical attack, being the fundamental revelation of God +bound up in the very nature of man which has been recognized at so +many critical times, in so many places and ages, as the inward +light. We may safely leave dogma and historical criticism and +scientific discovery on one side; it is not in them that man finds +this inward wisdom, but in the religious emotions as they naturally +arise under the influence of life.</p> +<p>"This view is supported rather than weakened by such records of +the spiritual life in man as we possess. Man's nature is one; and, +just as it is interpreted and illuminated by the poets from whom we +derive direction in our general conduct, it is set forth and +illustrated by saintly men and holy women in the special sphere of +the soul's life with God. Our nature is one with theirs; but as +there are differences in the aptitudes, sensibilities, and fates of +all men, so is it with spiritual faculties and their growth; and, +from time to time, men have arisen of such intense nature, so +sensitive to religious emotions, so developed in religious +experience, through instinct, circumstance, and power, that they +can aid us by the example and precept of their lives. To them +belongs a respect similar to that paid to poets and thinkers. Yet +it is because they tell us what they have seen and touched, not +what they have heard,—what they have lived and shown forth in +acts that bear testimony to their words, that they have this power. +Such were St. Augustine, St. Francis of Assisi, St. Thomas à +Kempis, and many a humbler name whose life's story has come into +our hands; such were the Apostles, and, preeminently, Christ. It is +the reality of the life in them, personal, direct, fundamental, +that preserves their influence in other lives. They help us by +opening and directing the spiritual powers we have in common; and +beyond our own experience we believe in their counsels as leading +to what we in our turn may somewhat attain to in the life they +followed. It is not what they believed of God, but what God +accomplished in them, that holds our attention; and we interpret it +only by what ourselves have known of his dealing with us. It is +life, and the revelation of God there contained, that in others or +ourselves is the root of the matter—God in us. This is the +corner stone."</p> +<hr> +<p>The sun was high in the heavens when we ceased talking of these +matters and saw in a lowland before us a farmhouse, where we +stopped. It was a humble dwelling—almost the +humblest—partly built of sod, with a barn near by, and +nothing to distinguish it except the sign, "Post Office," which +showed it was the centre of this neighborhood, if "the blank miles +round about" could be so called. We were made welcome, and, the +ponies being fed and cared for, we sat down with the farmer and his +wife and the small brood of young children, sharing their noonday +meal. It was a rude table and a lowly roof; but, when I arose, I +was glad to have been at such a board, taking a stranger's portion, +but not like a stranger. It was to be near the common lot, and the +sense of it was as primitive as the smell of the upturned earth in +spring; it had the wholesomeness of life in it. Going out, I lay +down on the ground and talked with the little boy, some ten years +old, to whom our coming was evidently an event of importance; and I +remember asking him if he ever saw a city. He had been once, he +said, to—the hamlet, as I thought it, which we had just +left—with his father in the farm-wagon. That was his idea of +the magnificence of cities. I could not but look at him curiously. +Here was the creature, just like other boys, who knew less of the +look of man's world than any one I had ever encountered. To him +this overstretching silent sky, this vacant rolling reach of earth, +and home, were all of life. What a waif of existence!—but the +ponies being ready, we said our good-byes and drove on along +fainter tracks, still northward. We talked for a while in that +spacious atmosphere—the cheerful talk, half personal, half +literary, lightly humorous, too, which we always had together; but +tiring of it at last, and the boy still staying in my mind as a +kind of accidental symbol of that isolated being whom my notes had +described, and knowing that I had told but half my story and that +my friend would like the rest, I turned the talk again on the +serious things, saying—and there was nothing surprising in +such a change with us—"After all, you know, we can't live to +ourselves alone or by ourselves. How to enter life and be one with +other men, how to be the child of society, and a peer there, +belongs to our duty; and to escape from the solitude of private +life is the most important thing for men of lonely thought and +feeling, such as meditation breeds. There is more of it, if you +will listen again;" and he, with the sparkle in his eyes, and the +youthful happiness in the new things of life for us, new as if they +had not been lived a thousand years before,—listened like a +child to a story, grave as the matter was, which I read again from +the memoranda I had made, after that April morning, year by +year.</p> +<hr> +<p>"Respect for age is the natural religion of childhood; it +becomes in men a sentiment of the soul. An obscure melancholy, the +pathos of human fate, mingles with this instinctive feeling. The +fascination of the sea, the sublimity of mountains, are indebted to +it, as well as the beautiful and solemn stars, which, like them, +the mind does not distinguish from eternal things, and has ever +invested with sacred awe. It is the sense of our mortality that +thus exalts nature. Yet before her antiquity merely, veneration is +seldom full and perfect; her periods are too impalpable, and, in +contemplating their vastness, amazement dissipates our faculties. +Rather some sign of human occupancy, turning the desert into a +neglected garden, is necessary to give emotional colour and the +substance of thought; some touch of man's hand that knows a writing +beyond nature's can add what centuries could not give, and makes a +rock a monument. The Mediterranean islet is older for the pirate +tower that caps it, and for us the ivied church, with its shadowed +graves, makes England ancestral soil. Nor is it only such landmarks +of time that bring this obscure awe; occupations, especially, awake +it, and customary ceremonies, and all that enters into the external +tradition of life, handed down from generation to generation. On +the Western prairies I have felt rather the permanence of human +toil than the newness of the land.</p> +<p>"The sense of age in man's life, relieved, as it is, on the +seeming agelessness of nature, is a meditation on death, deep-set +far below thought. We behold the sensible conquests of death, and +the sight is so habitual, and remains so mysterious, that it leaves +its imprint less in the conscious and reflective mind than in +temperament, sentiment, imagination, and their hidden stir; the +pyramids then seem fossils of mankind; Stonehenge, Indian mounds, +and desolate cities are like broken anchors caught in the sunken +reef and dull ooze of time's ocean, lost relics of their human +charge long vanished away. Startling it is, when the finger of time +has touched what we thought living, and we find in some solitary +place the face of stone. I learned this lesson on the low marshes +of Ravenna, where, among the rice-fields and the thousands of white +pond lilies, stands a lonely cathedral, from whose ruined sides +Christianity, in the face and figure it wore before it put on the +form and garb of a world-wide religion, looked down on me with the +unknown eyes of an alien and Oriental faith. 'Stranger, why +lingerest thou in this broken tomb,' I seemed to hear from silent +voices in that death of time; and still, when my thoughts seek the +Mother-Church of Christendom, they go, not to St. John Lateran by +the Roman wall, but are pilgrims to the low marshes, the white +water lilies, the lone Byzantine ruin that even the sea has long +abandoned.</p> +<p>"The Mother-Church?—is then this personal religious life +only a state of orphanage? Because true life necessarily begins in +the independent self, must it continue without the sheltering of +the traditional past, the instructed guidance of older wisdom, and +man's joint life in common which by association so enlarges and +fortifies the individual good? Why should one not behave with +respect to religion as he does in other parts of life? It is our +habit elsewhere in all quarters to recognize beyond ourselves an +ampler knowledge, a maturer judgment, a more efficient will +enacting our own choice. To obey by force is a childish or a +slavish act, but intelligently and willingly to accept authority +within just limits is the reasonable and practical act of a free +man in society; the recognition of this by a youth marks his +attainment of intellectual majority. Authority, in all its modes, +is the bond of the commonwealth; until the youth comprehends it he +is a ward; thereafter he is either a rebel or a citizen, as he +lists. For us, born to the largest measure of freedom society has +ever known, there is little fear lest the principle of authority +should prove a dangerous element. The right of private judgment, +which is, I believe, the vital principle of the intellectual life, +is the first to be exercised by our young men who lead that life; +and quite in the spirit of that education which would repeat in the +child the history of the race, we are scarce out of the swaddling +bands of the primer and catechism before we would remove all +questions to the court of our own jurisdiction. The mind is not a +<i>tabula rasa</i> at birth, we learn, but, so soon as may be, we +will remedy that, and erase all records copied there. The treasure +doors of our fathers' inheritance are thrown open to us; but we +will weigh each gold piece with balance and scale. All that +libraries contain, all that institutions embody, all the practice +of life which, in its innocence, mankind has adopted as things of +use and wont, shall be certified by our scrutiny. So in youth we +say, and what results? What do the best become? Incapables, +detached from the sap of life, forced to escape to the intellectual +limbo of a suspension of judgment, extending till it fills heaven +and earth. We no longer discuss opinions even; the most we can +attain to is an attitude of mind. In view of the vast variety of +phases in which even man's great ideas have been held, a sense of +indifference among them, a vacuity in all, grows up. Pilate's +question, 'What is truth?' ends all.</p> +<p>"This is the extreme penalty of the heroic sceptical resolve in +strong and constant minds; commonly those who would measure man's +large scope by the gauge of their own ability and experience fall +into such idiosyncrasy as is the fruitful mother of sects, abortive +social schemes, and all the various brood of dwarfed life; but, for +most men, the pressure of life itself, which compels them, like +Descartes, doubting the world, to live as if it were real, corrects +their original method of independence. They find that to use +authority is the better part of wisdom, much as to employ men +belongs to practical statecraft; and they learn the reasonable +share of the principle of authority in life. They accept, for +example, the testimony of others in matters of fact, and their +mental results in those subjects with which such men are +conversant, on the ground of a just faith in average human capacity +in its own sphere; and, in particular, they accept provisional +opinions, especially such as are alleged to be verifiable in +action, and they put them to the test. This is our habit in all +parts of secular life—in scholarship and in practical +affairs. 'If any man will do His will, he shall know of the +doctrine, whether it be of God,' is only a special instance of this +law of temporary acceptance and experiment in all life. It is a +reasonable command. The confusion of human opinion largely arises +from the fact that the greater part of it is unverifiable, owing to +the deficient culture or opportunity of those who hold it; and the +persistency with which such opinion is argued, clung to, and +cherished, is the cause of many of the permanent differences that +array men in opposition. The event would dispense with the +argument; but in common life, which knows far more of the world +than it has in its own laboratory, much lies beyond the reach of +such real solution. It is the distinction of vital religious truth +that it is not so withdrawn from true proof, but is near at hand in +the daily life open to all.</p> +<p>"Such authority, then, as is commonly granted in science, +politics, or commerce to the past results and expectations of men +bringing human life in these provinces down to our time and +delivering it, not as a new, but as an incomplete thing, into the +hands of our generation, we may yield also in religion. The lives +of the saints and all those who in history have illustrated the +methods and results of piety, their convictions, speculations, and +hopes, their warning and encouragement, compose a great volume of +instruction, illustration, and education of the religious life. It +is folly to ignore this, as it would be to ignore the alphabet of +letters, the Arabic numerals, or the Constitution; for, as these +are the monuments of past achievement and an advantage we have at +our start over savage man, so in religion there are as well +established results of life already lived. Though the religious +life be personal, it is not more so than all life of thought and +emotion; and in it we do not begin at the beginning of time any +more than in other parts of life. We begin with an inheritance of +many experiments hitherto, of many methods, of a whole race-history +of partial error, partial truth; and we take up the matter where +our fathers laid it down, with the respect due to their earnest +toil, their sincere effort and trial, their convictions; and the +youth who does not feel their impressiveness as enforcing his +responsibility has as nascent a life in religion as he would have, +in the similar case, in learning or in citizenship.</p> +<p>"The question of authority in the religious life, however, is +more specific than this, and is not to be met by an admission of +the general respect due to the human past and its choicer spirits, +and our dependence thereon for the fostering of instinctive +impulses, direction, and the confirmation of our experience. It is +organized religion that here makes its claim to fealty, as +organized liberty, organized justice do, in man's communal life. +There is a joint and general consent in the masses of men with +similar experience united into the Church, with respect to the +religious way of life, similar to that of such masses united into a +government with respect to secular things. The history of the +Church with its embodied dogmas—the past of +Christendom—contains that consent; and the Church founds its +claim to veneration on this broad accumulation of experience, so +gathered from all ages and all conditions of men as to have lost +all traces of individuality and become the conviction of mankind to +a degree that no free constitution and no legal code can claim. To +substitute the simple faith of the young heart, however immediate, +in the place of this hoary and commanding tradition is a daring +thing, and may seem both arrogance and folly; to stand apart from +it, though willing to be taught within the free exercise of our own +faculties, abashes us; and it is necessary, for our own +self-respect, to adopt some attitude toward the Church definitely, +not as a part of the common mass of race-tradition in a diffused +state like philosophy, but as an institution like the Throne or the +Parliament.</p> +<p>"But may it not be pleaded that, however slight by comparison +personal life may seem, yet if it be true, the Church must include +this in its own mighty sum; and that what the Church adds to +define, expand, and elevate, to guide and support, belongs to +growth in spiritual things, not to those beginnings which only are +here spoken of? And in defence of a private view and hesitancy, +such as is also felt in the organized social life elsewhere, may it +not be suggested that the past of Christendom, great as it is in +mental force, moral ardour, and spiritual insight, and illustrious +with triumphs over evil in man and in society, and shining always +with the leading of a great light, is yet a human past, an +imperfect stage of progress at every era? Is its historic life, +with all its accumulation of creed and custom, not a process of +Christianization, in which much has been sloughed off at every new +birth of the world? In reading the Fathers we come on states of +mind and forms of emotion due to transitory influences and +surroundings; and in the history of the Church, we come upon +dogmas, ceremonials, methods of work and aims of effort, which were +of contemporary validity only. Such are no longer rational or +possible; they have passed out of life, belonging to that body of +man which is forever dying, not to the spirit that is forever +growing; and, too, as all men and bodies of men share in +imperfection, we come, in the Fathers and in the Church, upon +passions, persecutions, wars, vices, degradation, and failure, +necessarily to be accounted as a portion of the admixture of sin +and wrong, of evil, in the whole of man's historic life. In view of +these obvious facts, and also of the great discrepancies of such +organic bodies as are here spoken of in their total mass as the +Church, and of their emphasis upon such particularities, is not an +attitude of reserve justifiable in a young and conscientious heart? +It may seem to be partial scepticism, especially as the necessity +for rejection of some portion of this embodied past becomes clearer +in the growth of the mind's information and the strengthening of +moral judgment in a rightful independence. But if much must be cast +away, let it not disturb us; it must be the more in proportion as +the nature of man suffers redemption. Let us own, then, and +reverence the great tradition of the Church; but he has feebly +grasped the idea of Christ leavening the world, and has read little +in the records of pious ages even, who does not know that even in +the Church it is needful to sift truth from falsehood, dead from +living truth.</p> +<p>"If, however, a claim be advanced which forbids such a use of +reason as we make in regard to all other human institutions, +viewing them historically with reference to their constant service +to mankind and their particular adaptation to a changing social +state; if, as was the case with the doctrine of the Divine Right of +Kings, the Church proclaims a commission not subject to human +control, by virtue of which it would impose creed and ritual, and +assumes those great offices, reserved in Puritan thought to God +only,—then does it not usurp the function of the soul itself, +suppress the personal revelation of the divine by taking from the +soul the seals of original sovereignty, remove God to the first +year of our era, relying on his mediate revelation in time, and +thus take from common man the evidence of religion and therewith +its certainty, and in general substitute faith in things for the +vital faith? If the voice of the Church is to find only its own +echo in the inner voice of life, if its evidences of religion +involve more than is near and present to every soul by virtue of +its birth, if its rites have any other reality than that of the +heart which expresses itself in them and so gives them life and +significance, then its authority is external wholly and has nothing +in common with that authority which free men erect over themselves +because it is themselves embodied in an outward principle. If +personality has any place in the soul, if the soul has any original +office, then the authority that religion as an organic social form +may take on must lie within limits that reserve to the soul its +privacy with God, to truth an un-borrowed radiance, and to all men +its possession, simple or learned, lay or cleric, through their +common experience and ordinary faculties in the normal course of +life. Otherwise, it seems to me, personal experience cannot be the +beginning of Christian conviction, the true available test of it, +the underlying basis of it as we build the temple of God's presence +within us, and, as I have called it, the vitality of the whole +matter.</p> +<p>"Within these limits, then, imposed by the earlier argument, +what, under such reserves of the great principles of liberty, +democracy, and justice in which we are bred and which are forms of +the cardinal fact of the value of the personal soul in all +men,—what to us is the office of the Church? In theology it +defines a philosophy which, though an interpretation of divine +truth, takes its place in the intellectual scheme of theory like +other human philosophies, and has a similar value, differing only +in the gravity of its subject-matter, which is the most mysterious +known to thought. In its specific rites it dignifies the great +moments of life—birth, marriage, and death—with its +solemn sanctions; and in its general ceremonies it affords +appropriate forms in which religious emotion finds noble and tender +expression; especially it enables masses of men to unite in one +great act of the heart with the impressiveness that belongs to the +act of a community, and to make that act, though emotional in a +multitude of hearts, single and whole in manifestation; and it does +this habitually in the life of its least groups by Sabbath +observances, and in the life of nations by public thanksgivings, +and in the life of entire Christendom by its general feasts of +Christmas and Easter, and, though within narrower limits, by its +seasons of fasting and prayer. In its administration it facilitates +its daily work among men. The Church is thus a mighty organizer of +thought in theology, of the forms of emotion in its ritual, and of +practical action in its executive. Its doctrines, however +conflicting in various divisions of the whole vast body, are the +result of profound, conscientious, and long-continued thought among +its successive synods, which are the custodians of creeds as +senates are of constitutions, and whose affirmations and +interpretations have a like weight in their own speculative sphere +as these possess in the province of political thought age after +age. Its counsels are ripe with a many-centuried knowledge of human +nature. Its joys and consolations are the most precious inheritance +of the heart of man. Its saints open our pathways, and go before, +following in the ways of the spirit. Its doors concentrate within +their shelter the general faith, and give it there a home. Its +table is spread for all men. I do not speak of the Church +Invisible, but mean to embrace with this catholicity of statement +all organizations, howsoever divided, which own Christ as their +Head. Temple, cathedral, and chapel have each their daily use to +those who gather there with Christian hearts; each is a living +fountain to its own fold. The village spire, wherever it rises on +American or English ground, bespeaks an association of families who +find in this bond an inward companionship and outward expression of +it in a public habit continuing from the fathers down, sanctified +by the memories of generations gone, and tender with the hope of +the generation to come; and this is of measureless good within such +families for young and old alike. It bespeaks also an instrument of +charity, unobtrusive, friendly, and searching, and growing more and +more unconfined; it bespeaks a rock of public morality deep-set in +the foundations of the state.</p> +<p>"It is true that in uniting with such a Church, under the +specific conditions natural to both temperament and residence, a +man yields something of private right, and sacrifices in a greater +or less degree his personality; but this is the common condition of +all social cooperation, whether in party action or any union to a +common end. The compromise, involved in any platform of principles, +tolerates essential differences in important matters, but matters +not then important in view of what is to be gained in the main. The +advantages of an organized religious life are too plain to be +ignored; it is reasonable to go to the very verge in order to avail +of them, both for a man's self and for his efficiency in society, +just as it is to unite with a general party in the state, and serve +it in local primaries, for the ends of citizenship; such means of +help and opportunities of accomplishment are not to be lightly +neglected. Happy is he who, christened at the font, naturally +accepts the duties devolved upon him, and stands in his parents' +place; and fortunate I count the youth who, without stress and +trouble, undertakes in his turn his father's part. But some there +are, born of that resolute manliness of the fathers, which is finer +than tempered steel, and of the conscience of the mothers which is +more sensitive than the bare nerve,—the very flower of the +Puritan tradition, and my heart goes out to them. And if there be a +youth in our days who feels hesitancy in such an early surrender +into the bosom of a Church, however broadly inclusive of firm +consciences, strong heads, and free hearts; if primitive Puritanism +is bred in his bone and blood and is there the large reserve of +liberty natural to the American heart; if the spirit is so living +in him that he dispenses with the form, which to those of less +strenuous strain is rather a support; if truth is so precious to +him that he will not subscribe to more or less than he believes, or +tolerate in inclusive statements speculative and uncertain +elements, traditional error, and all that body of rejected doctrine +which, though he himself be free from it, must yet be slowly +uprooted from the general belief; if emotion is so sacred to him +that his native and habitual reticence becomes so sensitive in this +most private part of life as to make it here something between God +and him only; if his heart of charity and hand of friendship find +out his fellow-men with no intervention; if for these reasons, or +any of them, or if from that modesty of nature, which is so much +more common in American youth than is believed, he hesitates, out +of pure awe of the responsibility before God and man which he +incurs, to think himself worthy of such vows, such hopes, such +duties,—if in any way, being of noble nature, he keeps by +himself,—let him not think he thereby withdraws from the life +of Christendom, nor that in the Church itself he may not still take +some portion of its great good. So far as its authority is of the +heart only, so far as it has organized the religious life itself +without regard to other ends and free from intellectual, +historical, and governmental entanglements that are supplementary +at most, he needs no formal act to be one with its spirit; and, +however much he may deny himself by his self-limitation, he remains +a Christian."</p> +<hr> +<p>There was no doubt about it; we were lost. The faint tracks in +the soil had long ago disappeared, and we followed, as was natural, +the draws between the slopes; and now, for the last quarter-hour, +the grass had deepened till it was above the wheels and to the +shoulders of the ponies. They did not mind; they were born to it. +What solitude there was in it, as we pulled up and came to a stand! +What wildness was there! Only the great blue sky, with a westward +dropping sun of lonely splendour, and green horizons, broken and +nigh, of the waving prairie, whispering with the high +wind,—and no life but ours shut in among the group of low, +close hills all about, in that grassy gulf! The earth seemed near, +waiting for us; in such places, just like this, men lost had died +and none knew it; half-unconsciously I found myself thinking of +Childe Roland's Tower,—</p> +<center> "those two hills on the right<br> +Couched,"—</center> +<p>and the reality of crossing the prairie in old days came back on +me. That halt in the cup of the hills was our limit; it was a +moment of life, an arrival, an end.</p> +<p>The sun was too low for further adventuring. We struck due west +on as straight a course as the rugged country permitted, thinking +to reach the Looking-glass creek, along which lay the beaten road +of travel back to mankind. An hour or two passed, and we saw a +house in the distance to which we drove,—a humble house, +sod-built, like that we had made our nooning in. We drove to the +door, and called; it was long before any answer came; but at last a +woman opened the door, her face and figure the very expression of +dulled toil, hard work, bodily despair. Alone on that prairie, one +would have thought she would have welcomed a human countenance; but +she looked on us as if she wished we would be gone, and hardly +answered to our question of the road. She was the type of the +abandonment of human life. I did not speak to her; but I see her +now, as I saw her then, with a kind of surprise that a woman could +come to be, by human life, like that. There was no one else in the +house; and she shut the door upon us after one sullen look and one +scant sentence, as if we, and any other, were naught, and went back +to her silence in that green waste, now gilded by the level sun, +miles on miles. I have often thought of her since, and what life +was to her there, and found some image of other solitudes—and +men and women in them—as expansive, as alienating as the wild +prairie, where life hides itself, grows dehumanized, and dies.</p> +<p>We drove on, with some word of this; and, eating what we had +with us in case of famine, made our supper from biscuit and flask; +and, before darkness fell, we struck the creek road, and turned +southward,—a splendour of late sunset gleaming over the +untravelled western bank, and dying out in red bloom and the purple +of slow star-dawning overhead; and on we drove, with a hard road +under us, having far to go. At the first farmhouse we watered the +willing ponies, who had long succumbed to our control, and who went +as if they could not tire, steadily and evenly, under the same +strong hand and kindly voice they had felt day-long. It was then I +took the reins for an easy stretch, giving my friend a change, and +felt what so unobservably he had been doing all day with wrist and +eye, while he listened. So we drove down, and knew the moon was up +by the changed heavens, though yet unseen behind the bluffs of the +creek upon our left; and far away southward, in the evening light, +lay the long valley like a larger river. We still felt the upland, +however, as a loftier air; and always as, when night comes, nature +exercises some mysterious magic of the dark hour in strange places, +there, as all day long, we seemed to draw closer to earth—not +earth as it is in landscape, a thing of beauty and colour and human +kinship, but earth, the soil, the element, the globe.</p> +<p>This was in both our minds, and I had thought of it before he +spoke after a long pause over the briar pipes that had comraded our +talk since morning. "I can't talk of it now," he said; "it's gone +into me in an hour that you have been years in thinking; but that +is what you are to us." I say the things he said, for I cannot +otherwise give his way, and that trust of love in which these +thoughts were born on my lips; all those years, in many a distant +place, I had thought for him almost as much as for myself. "You +knighted us," he said, "and we fight your cause,"—not knowing +that kingship, however great or humble, is but the lowly knights +made one in him who by God's grace can speak the word. "I have no +doubt it's true, what you say; but it is different. I expected it +would be; but we used to speak of nature more than the soul, and of +nature's being a guide. Poor Robin, I remember, began with that." +"There is a sonnet of Arnold's you know," I answered, "that tells +another tale. But I did not learn it from him. And, besides, what +else he has to say is not cheerful. Nothing is wise," I +interjected, "that is not cheerful."</p> +<p>But without repeating the wandering talk of reality with its +changeful tones,—and however serious the matter might be it +was never far from a touch of lightness shuttling in and out like +sunshine,—I told him, as we drove down the dark valley, my +hand resting now on his shoulder near me, how nature is antipodal +to the soul; or, if not the antipodes, is apart from us, and cares +not for the virtues we have erected, for authority and mercy, for +justice, chastity, and sacrifice, for nothing that is man's except +the life of the body itself, the race-life, as if man were a +chemical element or a wave-motion of ether that are parts of +physics. "I convinced myself," I said, "that the soul is not a term +in the life of nature, but that nature is in it as a physical +vigour and to it an outward spectacle, whereby the soul acquires a +preparation for immortality, whether immortality come or not. And I +have sometimes thought," I continued, "that on the spiritual side +an explanation of the inequalities of human conditions, both past +and present, may be contained in the idea that for all alike, lowly +and lofty, wretched and fortunate, simple and learned, life remains +in all its conditions an opportunity to know God and exercise the +soul in virtue, and is an education of the soul in all its +essential knowledge and faculties, at least within Christian times, +broadly speaking, and in more than one pagan civilization. Material +success, fame, wealth, and power—birth even, with all it +involves of opportunity and fate—are insignificant, if the +soul's life is thus secured. I do not mean that such a thought +clears the mystery of the different lots of mankind; but it +suggests another view of the apparent injustice of the world in its +most rigid forms. This, however, is a wandering thought. The great +reversal of the law of nature in the soul lies in the fact that +whereas she proceeds by the selfish will of the strongest trampling +out the weak, spiritual law requires the best to sacrifice itself +for the least. Scientific ethics, which would chloroform the +feeble, can never succeed until the race makes bold to amend what +it now receives as the mysterious ways of heaven, and identifies a +degenerate body with a dead soul. Such a code is at issue with true +democracy, which requires that every soul, being equal in value in +view of its unknown future, shall receive the benefit of every +doubt in earthly life, and be left as a being in the hands of the +secret power that ordained its existence in the hour when nature +was constituted to be its mode of birth, consciousness, and death. +And if the choice must be made on the broad scale, it is our +practical faith that the service of the best, even to the point of +death, is due to the least in the hope of bettering the lot of man. +Hence, as we are willing that in communities the noblest should die +for a cause, we consent to the death of high civilizations, if they +spread in some Hellenization of a Roman, some Romanizing of a +barbaric world; and to the extinction of aristocracies, if their +virtues thereby are disseminated and the social goods they +monopolized made common in a people; and to the falling of the +flower of man's spirit everywhere, if its seeds be sown on all the +winds of the future for the blessing of the world's fuller and more +populous life. Such has been the history of our civilization, and +still is, and must be till the whole earth's surface be conquered +for mankind, embodied in its highest ideals, personal and social. +This is not nature's way, who raises her trophy over the slain; our +trophy is man's laurel upon our grave. So, everywhere except in the +physical sphere of life, if you would find the soul's commands, +reverse nature's will. This superiority to nature, as it seems to +me, this living in an element plainly antithetical to her sphere, +is a sign of 'an ampler ether, a diviner air.'"</p> +<p>So I spoke, as the words came to me, while we were still driving +down the dark valley, in deeper shadows, under higher bluffs, +looking out on a levelled world westward, stretching off with low, +white, wreathing mists and moonlit distances of plains beyond the +further bunk. We turned a great shoulder of the hills, and the moon +shone out bright and clear, riding in heaven; and the southward +reach unlocked, and gave itself for miles to our eyes. At the +instant, while the ponies came back upon their haunches at the drop +of the long descent ahead, we both cried out, "the Looking-glass!" +There it was, about a mile away before and below us, as plain as a +pikestaff,—a silvery reach, like a long narrow lake, smooth +as the floor of cloud seen from above among mountains, silent, +motionless,—for all the world like an immense, spectral +looking-glass, set there in the half-darkened waste. It was +evidently what gave the name to the creek, and I have since noticed +the same name elsewhere in the Western country, and I suppose the +phenomenon is not uncommon. For an hour or more it remained; we +never seemed to get nearer to it; it was an eerie thing—the +earth-light of the moon on that side,—I saw it all the +time.</p> +<p>"The difference you spoke of," I began, with my eyes upon that +spectral pool, "is only that change which belongs to life, +dissolving like illusion, but not itself illusion. I am not aware +of any break; it is the old life in a higher form with clearer +selfhood. Life, in the soul especially, seems less a state of being +than a thing of transformation, whose successive shapes we wear; +and so far as that change is self-determined," I continued, making +almost an effort to think, so weird was that scene before us, "the +soul proceeds by foreknowledge of itself in the ideal, and wills +the change by ideal living, which is not a conflict with the actual +but a process out of it, conditioned in almost a Darwinian way on +that brain-futuring which entered into the struggle for animal +existence even with such enormous modifying power. In our old days, +under the sway of new scientific knowledge, we instinctively saw +man in the perspective of nature, and then man seemed almost an +after-thought of nature; but having been produced, late in her +material history, and gifted with foresight that distinguished him +from all else in her scheme, his own evolution gathered thereby +that speed which is so perplexing a contrast to the inconceivable +slowness of the orbing of stars and the building of continents. He +has used his powers of prescience for his own ends; but, fanciful +as the thought is, might it happen that through his control of +elemental forces and his acquaintance with infinite space, he +should reach the point of applying prescience in nature's own +material frame, and wield the world for the better accomplishment +of her apparent ends,—that, though unimaginable now, would +constitute the true polarity to her blind and half-chaotic +motions,—chaotic in intelligence, I mean, and to the moral +reason. Unreal as such a thought is, a glimpse of some such feeling +toward nature is discernible in the work of some impressionist +landscape painters, who present colour and atmosphere and space +without human intention, as a kind of artistry of science, having +the same sort of elemental substance and interest that scientific +truth has as an object of knowledge,—a curious form of the +beauty of truth."</p> +<p>We spoke of some illustrations of this, the scene before us +lending atmosphere and suggestion to the talk, and enforcing it +like nature's comment. "But," I continued, "what I had in mind to +say was concerning our dead selves. The old phrase, <i>life is a +continual dying</i>, is true, and, once gone life is death; and +sometimes so much of it has been gathered to the past, such +definite portions of it are laid away, that we can look, if we +will, in the lake of memory on the faces of the dead selves which +once we were." Instinctively we looked on the mystic glamour in the +low valley, as on that Lake of the Dead Souls I spoke of. I went on +after the natural pause,—I could not help it,—"'I was a +different man, then,' we say, with a touch of sadness, perhaps, but +often with better thoughts, and always with a feeling of mystery. +How old is the youth before he is aware of the fading away of +vitality out of early beliefs? and then he feels the quick passing +of the enthusiasms of opening life, as one cause after another, one +hero, one poet, disclosing the great interests of life, in turn +engages his heart. As time goes on, and life comes out in its true +perspective, one thing with another, and he discovers the +incompleteness of single elements of ardour in the whole of life, +and also the defects of wisdom, art, and action in those books and +men that had won his full confidence and what he called perfect +allegiance, there comes often a moment of pause, as if this growth +had in it some thing irrational and derogatory. The thinkers whose +words of light and leading were the precious truth itself, the +poets he idolized, the elders he trusted, fall away, and others +stand in their places, who better appeal to his older mind, his +finer impulses, his sounder judgment; and what true validity can +these last have in the end? After a decade he can almost see his +youth as something dead, his early manhood as something that will +die. The poet, especially, who gives expression to himself, and +puts his life at its period into a book, feels, as each work drops +from his hand, that it is a portion of a self that is dead, though +it was life in the making; and so with the embodiments of life in +action, the man looks back on past greatness, past romance; for all +life, working itself out—desire into achievement—dies +to the man. Vital life lies always before. It is a strange thought +that only by the death of what we now are, can we enter into our +own hopes and victories; that it is by the slaying of the self +which now is that the higher self takes life; that it is through +such self-destruction that we live. The intermediate state seems a +waste, and the knowledge that it is intermediate seems to impair +its value; but this is the way ordained by which we must live, and +such is life's magic that in each stage, from childhood to age, it +is lived with trustfulness in itself. It is needful only, however +much we outlive, to live more and better, and through all to remain +true to the high causes, the faithful loves, the sacred impulses, +that have given our imperfect life of the past whatever of nobility +it may have; so shall death forever open into life. But," I ended, +lifting my moist eyes toward the sweep of the dark slopes, "the +wind blows, and leaves the mystic to inquire whence and whither, +the wild shrub blossoms and only the poet is troubled to excuse its +beauty, and happy is he who can live without too much thought of +life."</p> +<p>The sheen of the river had died out, and the creek was only a +common stream lit with the high moon, and bordered far off to the +west with the low indistinguishable country. We drove in silence +down the valley along that shelf of road under the land. The broken +bluffs on the left rose into immense slopes of rolling prairie, and +magnified by the night atmosphere into majesty, heavy with deep +darkness in their folds, stood massive and vast in the dusk +moonlight, like a sea. Then fell on me and grew with strange +insistence the sense of this everlasting mounded power of the +earth, like the rise and subsidence of ocean in an element of +slower and more awful might. The solid waste began to loom and +lift, almost with the blind internal strength of the whirl of the +planet through space. Deeper into the shadow we plunged with every +echoing tread of the hoofs. The lair of some mysterious presence +was about us,—unshaped, unrealized, as in some place of +antique awe before the time of temples or of gods. It seemed a +corporal thing. If I stretched out my hand I should touch it like +the ground. It came out from all the black rifts, it rolled from +the moonlit distinct heights, it filled the chill air,—it was +an envelopment—it would be an engulfment—horse and man +we were sinking in it. Then it was—most in all my +days—that I felt dense mystery overwhelming me. "O infinite +earth," I thought, "our unknowing mother, our unknowing +grave!"—"What is it?" he said, feeling my wrist straighten +where it lay on his shoulder, and the tremor and the hand seeking +him. Was it a premonition? "Nothing," I answered, and did not tell +him; but he began to cheer me with lighter talk, and win me back to +the levels of life, and under his sensitive and loving ways, the +excitement of the ride died out, and an hour later, after midnight, +we drove into the silent town. We put the ponies up, praising them +with hand and voice; and then he took both my hands in his and +said, "The truest thing you ever said was what you wrote me, 'We +live each others' lives.'" That was his thanks.</p> +<p>O brave and tender heart, now long lapped under the green fold +of that far prairie in his niche of earth! How often I see him as +in our first days,—the boy of seventeen summers, lying on his +elbows over his Thackeray, reading by the pictures, and laughing to +himself hour after hour; and many a prairie adventure, many happy +days and fortunate moments come back, with the strength and bloom +of youth, as I recall the manly figure, the sensitive and eager +face, and all his resolute ways. Who of us knows what he is to +another? He could not know how much his life entered into mine, and +still enters. But he is dead; and I have set down these weak and +stammering words of the life we began together, not for the strong +and sure, but for those who, though true hearts, find it hard to +lay hold of truth, and doubt themselves, in the hope that some +younger comrade of life, though unknown, may make them of avail and +find in them the dark leading of a hand.</p> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12329 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |