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diff --git a/44919-8.txt b/44919-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 1b7ca54..0000000 --- a/44919-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2735 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Discourses in America, by Matthew Arnold - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Discourses in America - -Author: Matthew Arnold - -Release Date: February 15, 2014 [EBook #44919] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DISCOURSES IN AMERICA *** - - - - -Produced by Sean (scribe_for_hire@yahoo.com), based on -page images generously made available by the Internet -Archive -(https://archive.org/details/discoursesinamer00arnouoft). - - - - - - - [Italics are marked with _underscores_. - - Transliterations of Greek appear in square brackets.] - - - - - DISCOURSES IN AMERICA - - - BY - MATTHEW ARNOLD - - - London - MACMILLAN AND CO. - 1885 - - - - - _Printed by R. & R. Clark, Edinburgh._ - - - - - PREFACE. - - -Of the three discourses in this volume, the second was originally given -as the Rede Lecture at Cambridge, was recast for delivery in America, -and is reprinted here as so recast. The first discourse, that on -'Numbers,' was originally given in New York. It was afterwards published -in the _Nineteenth Century_, and I have to thank Mr. Knowles for kindly -permitting me to reprint it now. The third discourse, that on 'Emerson,' -was originally given in Emerson's 'own delightful town,' Boston. - -I am glad of every opportunity of thanking my American audiences for the -unfailing attention and kindness with which they listened to a speaker -who did not flatter them, who would have flattered them ill, but who yet -felt, and in fact expressed, more esteem and admiration than his words -were sometimes, at a hasty first hearing, supposed to convey. I cannot -think that what I have said of Emerson will finally be accounted scant -praise, although praise universal and unmixed it certainly is not. What -high esteem I feel for the suitableness and easy play of American -institutions I have had occasion, since my return home, to say publicly -and emphatically. But nothing in the discourse on 'Numbers' was at -variance with this high esteem, although a caution, certainly, was -suggested. But then some caution or other, to be drawn from the -inexhaustibly fruitful truth that moral causes govern the standing and -the falling of States, who is there that can be said not to need? - -All need it, we in this country need it, as indeed in the discourse on -'Numbers' I have by an express instance shown. Yet as regards us in this -country at the present moment, I am tempted, I confess, to resort to the -great truth in question, not for caution so much as for consolation. Our -politics are 'battles of the kites and the crows,' of the Barbarians and -the Philistines; each combatant striving to affirm himself still, while -all the vital needs and instincts of our national growth demand, not -that either of the combatants should be enabled to affirm himself, but -that each should be transformed. Our aristocratical class, the -Barbarians, have no perception of the real wants of the community at -home. Our middle classes, the great Philistine power, have no perception -of our real relations to the world abroad, no clue, apparently, for -guidance, where-ever that attractive and ever-victorious rhetorician, -who is the Minister of their choice, may take them, except the formula -of that submissive animal which carried the prophet Balaam. Our affairs -are in the condition which, from such parties to our politics, might be -expected. Yet amid all the difficulties and mortifications which beset -us, with the Barbarians impossible, with the Philistines determining our -present course, with our rising politicians seeking only that the mind -of the Populace, when the Populace arrives at power, may be found in -harmony with the mind of Mr. Carvell Williams, which they flatter -themselves they have fathomed; with the House of Lords a danger, and the -House of Commons a scandal, and the general direction of affairs -infelicitous as we see it,--one consolation remains to us, and that no -slight or unworthy one. Infelicitous the general direction of our -affairs may be; but the individual Englishman, whenever and wherever -called upon to do his duty, does it almost invariably with the old -energy, courage, virtue. And this is what we gain by having had, as a -people, in the ground of our being, a firm faith in conduct; by having -believed, more steadfastly and fervently than most, this great law that -moral causes govern the standing and the falling of men and nations. The -law gradually widens, indeed, so as to include light as well as honesty -and energy; to make light, also, a moral cause. Unless we are -transformed we cannot finally stand, and without more light we cannot be -transformed. But in the trying hours through which before our -transformation we have to pass, it may well console us to rest our -thoughts upon our life's law even as we have hitherto known it, and upon -all which even in our present imperfect acception of it it has done for -us. - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - - Numbers; or, The Majority and the Remnant 1 - - Literature and Science 72 - - Emerson 138 - - - - - NUMBERS; - OR, - THE MAJORITY AND THE REMNANT. - - -There is a characteristic saying of Dr. Johnson: 'Patriotism is the last -refuge of a scoundrel.' The saying is cynical, many will even call it -brutal; yet it has in it something of plain, robust sense and truth. We -do often see men passing themselves off as patriots who are in truth -scoundrels; we meet with talk and proceedings laying claim to -patriotism, which are these gentlemen's last refuge. We may all of us -agree in praying to be delivered from patriots and patriotism of this -sort. Short of such, there is undoubtedly, sheltering itself under the -fine name of patriotism, a good deal of self-flattery and self-delusion -which is mischievous. 'Things are what they are, and the consequences of -them will be what they will be; why, then, should we desire to be -deceived?' In that uncompromising sentence of Bishop Butler's is surely -the right and salutary maxim for both individuals and nations. - -Yet there is an honourable patriotism which we should satisfy if we can, -and should seek to have on our side. At home I have said so much of the -characters of our society and the prospects of our civilisation, that I -can hardly escape the like topic elsewhere. Speaking in America, I -cannot well avoid saying something about the prospects of society in the -United States. It is a topic where one is apt to touch people's -patriotic feelings. No one will accuse me of having flattered the -patriotism of that great country of English people on the other side of -the Atlantic, amongst whom I was born. Here, so many miles from home, I -begin to reflect with tender contrition, that perhaps I have not,--I -will not say flattered the patriotism of my own countrymen enough, but -regarded it enough. Perhaps that is one reason why I have produced so -very little effect upon them. It was a fault of youth and inexperience. -But it would be unpardonable to come in advanced life and repeat the -same error here. You will not expect impossibilities of me. You will not -expect me to say that things are not what, in my judgment, they are, and -that the consequences of them will not be what they will be. I should -make nothing of it; I should be a too palpable failure. But I confess -that I should be glad if in what I say here I could engage American -patriotism on my side, instead of rousing it against me. And it so -happens that the paramount thoughts which your great country raises in -my mind are really and truly of a kind to please, I think, any true -American patriot, rather than to offend him. - -The vast scale of things here, the extent of your country, your numbers, -the rapidity of your increase, strike the imagination, and are a common -topic for admiring remark. Our great orator, Mr. Bright, is never weary -of telling us how many acres of land you have at your disposal, how many -bushels of grain you produce, how many millions you are, how many more -millions you will be presently, and what a capital thing this is for -you. Now, though I do not always agree with Mr. Bright, I find myself -agreeing with him here. I think your numbers afford a very real and -important ground for satisfaction. - -Not that your great numbers, or indeed great numbers of men anywhere, -are likely to be all good, or even to have the majority good. 'The -majority are bad,' said one of the wise men of Greece; but he was a -pagan. Much to the same effect, however, is the famous sentence of the -New Testament: 'Many are called, few chosen,' This appears a hard -saying; frequent are the endeavours to elude it, to attenuate its -severity. But turn it how you will, manipulate it as you will, the few, -as Cardinal Newman well says, can never mean the many. Perhaps you will -say that the majority _is_, sometimes, good; that its impulses are good -generally, and its action is good occasionally. Yes, but it lacks -principle, it lacks persistence; if to-day its good impulses prevail, -they succumb to-morrow; sometimes it goes right, but it is very apt to -go wrong. Even a popular orator, or a popular journalist, will hardly -say that the multitude may be trusted to have its judgment generally -just, and its action generally virtuous. It may be better, it is better, -that the body of the people, with all its faults, should act for itself, -and control its own affairs, than that it should be set aside as -ignorant and incapable, and have its affairs managed for it by a -so-called superior class, possessing property and intelligence. Property -and intelligence cannot be trusted to show a sound majority themselves; -the exercise of power by the people tends to educate the people. But -still, the world being what it is, we must surely expect the aims and -doings of the majority of men to be at present very faulty, and this in -a numerous community no less than in a small one. So much we must -certainly, I think, concede to the sages and to the saints. - -Sages and saints are apt to be severe, it is true; apt to take a gloomy -view of the society in which they live, and to prognosticate evil to it. -But then it must be added that their prognostications are very apt to -turn out right. Plato's account of the most gifted and brilliant -community of the ancient world, of that Athens of his to which we all -owe so much, is despondent enough. 'There is but a very small remnant,' -he says, 'of honest followers of wisdom, and they who are of these few, -and who have tasted how sweet and blessed a possession is wisdom, and -who can fully see, moreover, the madness of the multitude, and that -there is no one, we may say, whose action in public matters is sound, -and no ally for whosoever would help the just, what,' asks Plato, 'are -they to do? They may be compared,' says Plato, 'to a man who has fallen -among wild beasts; he will not be one of them, but he is too unaided to -make head against them; and before he can do any good to society or his -friends, he will be overwhelmed and perish uselessly. When he considers -this, he will resolve to keep still, and to mind his own business; as it -were standing aside under a wall in a storm of dust and hurricane of -driving wind; and he will endure to behold the rest filled with -iniquity, if only he himself may live his life clear of injustice and of -impiety, and depart, when his time comes, in mild and gracious mood, -with fair hope.' - -Plato's picture here of democratic Athens is certainly gloomy enough. We -may be sure the mass of his contemporaries would have pronounced it to -be monstrously overcharged. We ourselves, if we had been living then, -should most of us have by no means seen things as Plato saw them. No, if -we had seen Athens even nearer its end than when Plato wrote the strong -words which I have been quoting, Athens in the very last days of Plato's -life, we should most of us probably have considered that things were not -going badly with Athens. There is a long sixteen years' -administration,--the administration of Eubulus,--which fills the last -years of Plato's life, and the middle years of the fourth century before -Christ. A temperate German historian thus describes Athens during this -ministry of Eubulus: 'The grandeur and loftiness of Attic democracy had -vanished, while all the pernicious germs contained in it were fully -developed. A life of comfort and a craving for amusement were encouraged -in every way, and the interest of the citizens was withdrawn from -serious things. Conversation became more and more superficial and -frivolous. Famous courtesans formed the chief topic of talk; the new -inventions of Thearion, the leading pastry-cook in Athens, were hailed -with loud applause; and the witty sayings which had been uttered in gay -circles were repeated about town as matters of prime importance.' - -No doubt, if we had been living then to witness this, we should from -time to time have shaken our heads gravely, and said how sad it all was. -But most of us would not, I think, have been very seriously disquieted -by it. On the other hand, we should have found many things in the Athens -of Eubulus to gratify us. 'The democrats,' says the same historian whom -I have just quoted, 'saw in Eubulus one of their own set at the head of -affairs;' and I suppose no good democrat would see that without -pleasure. Moreover, Eubulus was of popular character. In one respect he -seems to have resembled your own 'heathen Chinee;' he had 'guileless -ways,' says our historian, 'in which the citizens took pleasure.' He was -also a good speaker, a thorough man of business; and, above all, he was -very skilful in matters of finance. His administration was both popular -and prosperous. We should certainly have said, most of us, if we had -encountered somebody announcing his resolve to stand aside under a wall -during such an administration, that he was a goose for his pains; and if -he had called it 'a falling among wild beasts' to have to live with his -fellow-citizens who had confidence in Eubulus, their country, and -themselves, we should have esteemed him very impertinent. - -Yes;--and yet at the close of that administration of Eubulus came the -collapse, and the end of Athens as an independent State. And it was to -the fault of Athens herself that the collapse was owing. Plato was right -after all; the majority were bad, and the remnant were impotent. - -So fared it with that famous Athenian State, with the brilliant people -of art and intellect. Now let us turn to the people of religion. We have -heard Plato speaking of the very small remnant which honestly sought -wisdom. _The remnant!_--it is the word of the Hebrew prophets also, and -especially is it the word of the greatest of them all, Isaiah. Not used -with the despondency of Plato, used with far other power informing it, -and with a far other future awaiting it, filled with fire, filled with -hope, filled with faith, filled with joy, this term itself, _the -remnant_, is yet Isaiah's term as well as Plato's. The texts are -familiar to all Christendom. 'Though thy people Israel be as the sand of -the sea, only a remnant of them shall return.' Even this remnant, a -tenth of the whole, if so it may be, shall have to come back into the -purging fire, and be again cleared and further reduced there. But -nevertheless, 'as a terebinth tree, and as an oak, whose substance is in -them, though they be cut down, so the stock of that burned tenth shall -be a holy seed.' - -Yes, the small remnant should be a holy seed; but the great majority, as -in democratic Athens, so in the kingdoms of the Hebrew nation, were -unsound, and their State was doomed. This was Isaiah's point. The actual -commonwealth of the 'drunkards' and the 'blind,' as he calls them, in -Israel and Judah, of the dissolute grandees and gross and foolish common -people, of the great majority, must perish; its perishing was the -necessary stage towards a happier future. And Isaiah was right, as Plato -was right. No doubt to most of us, if we had been there to see it, the -kingdom of Ephraim or of Judah, the society of Samaria and Jerusalem, -would have seemed to contain a great deal else besides dissolute -grandees and foolish common people. No doubt we should have thought -parts of their policy serious, and some of their alliances promising. No -doubt, when we read the Hebrew prophets now, with the larger and more -patient temper of a different race and an augmented experience, we often -feel the blame and invective to be too absolute. Nevertheless, as to his -grand point, Isaiah, I say, was right. The majority in the Jewish State, -whatever they might think or say, whatever their guides and flatterers -might think or say, the majority were unsound, and their unsoundness -must be their ruin. - -Isaiah, however, does not make his remnant confine itself, like Plato's, -to standing aside under a wall during this life and then departing in -mild temper and good hope when the time for departure comes; Isaiah's -remnant saves the State. Undoubtedly he means to represent it as doing -so. Undoubtedly he imagines his Prince of the house of David who is to -be born within a year's time, his royal and victorious Immanuel, he -imagines him witnessing as a child the chastisement of Ephraim and the -extirpation of the bad majority there; then witnessing as a youth the -chastisement of Judah and the extirpation of the bad majority there -also; but finally, in mature life, reigning over a State renewed, -preserved, and enlarged, a greater and happier kingdom of the chosen -people. - -Undoubtedly Isaiah conceives his remnant in this wise; undoubtedly he -imagined for it a part which, in strict truth, it did not play, and -could not play. So manifest was the non-fulfilment of his prophecy, -taken strictly, that ardent souls feeding upon his words had to wrest -them from their natural meaning, and to say that Isaiah directly meant -something which he did not directly mean. Isaiah, like Plato, with -inspired insight foresaw that the world before his eyes, the world of -actual life, the State and city of the unsound majority, could not -stand. Unlike Plato, Isaiah announced with faith and joy a leader and a -remnant certain to supersede them. But he put the leader's coming, and -he put the success of the leader's and the remnant's work, far, far too -soon; and his conception, in this respect, is fantastic. Plato betook -himself for the bringing in of righteousness to a visionary republic in -the clouds; Isaiah,--and it is the immortal glory of him and of his race -to have done so,--brought it in upon earth. But Immanuel and his reign, -for the eighth century before Christ, were fantastic. For the kingdom of -Judah they were fantastic. Immanuel and the remnant could not come to -reign under the conditions there and then offered to them; the thing was -impossible. - -The reason of the impossibility is quite simple. The scale of things, in -petty States like Judah and Athens, is too small; the numbers are too -scanty. Admit that for the world, as we hitherto know it, what the -philosophers and prophets say is true: that the majority are unsound. -Even in communities with exceptional gifts, even in the Jewish State, -the Athenian State, the majority are unsound. But there is 'the -remnant.' Now the important thing, as regards States such as Judah and -Athens, is not that the remnant bears but a small proportion to the -majority; the remnant always bears a small proportion to the majority. -The grave things for States like Judah and Athens is, that the remnant -must in positive bulk be so small, and therefore so powerless for -reform. To be a voice outside the State, speaking to mankind or to the -future, perhaps shaking the actual State to pieces in doing so, one man -will suffice. But to reform the State in order to save it, to preserve -it by changing it, a body of workers is needed as well as a leader;--a -considerable body of workers, placed at many points, and operating in -many directions. This considerable body of workers for good is what is -wanting in petty States such as were Athens and Judah. It is said that -the Athenian State had in all but 350,000 inhabitants. It is calculated -that the population of the kingdom of Judah did not exceed a million and -a quarter. The scale of things, I say, is here too small, the numbers -are too scanty, to give us a remnant capable of saving and perpetuating -the community. The remnant, in these cases, may influence the world and -the future, may transcend the State and survive it; but it cannot -possibly transform the State and perpetuate the State: for such a work -it is numerically too feeble. - -Plato saw the impossibility. Isaiah refused to accept it, but facts were -too strong for him. The Jewish State could not be renewed and saved, and -he was wrong in thinking that it could. And therefore I call his grand -point this other, where he was altogether right: that the actual world -of the unsound majority, though it fancied itself solid, and though most -men might call it solid, could not stand. Let us read him again and -again, until we fix in our minds this true conviction of his, to edify -us whenever we see such a world existing: his indestructible conviction -that such a world, with its prosperities, idolatries, oppression, -luxury, pleasures, drunkards, careless women, governing classes, systems -of policy, strong alliances, shall come to nought and pass away; that -nothing can save it. Let us do homage, also, to his indestructible -conviction that States are saved by their righteous remnant, however -clearly we may at the same time recognise that his own building on this -conviction was premature. - -That, however, matters to us little. For how different is the scale of -things in the modern States to which we belong, how far greater are the -numbers! It is impossible to overrate the importance of the new element -introduced into our calculations by increasing the size of the remnant. -And in our great modern States, where the scale of things is so large, -it does seem as if the remnant might be so increased as to become an -actual power, even though the majority be unsound. Then the lover of -wisdom may come out from under his wall, the lover of goodness will not -be alone among the wild beasts. To enable the remnant to succeed, a -large strengthening of its numbers is everything. - -Here is good hope for us, not only, as for Plato's recluse, in departing -this life, but while we live and work in it. Only, before we dwell too -much on this hope, it is advisable to make sure that we have earned the -right to entertain it. We have earned the right to entertain it, only -when we are at one with the philosophers and prophets in their -conviction respecting the world which now is, the world of the unsound -majority; when we feel what they mean, and when we go thoroughly along -with them in it. Most of us, as I have said already, would by no means -have been with them when they were here in life, and most of us are not -really with them now. What is saving? Our institutions, says an -American; the British Constitution, says an Englishman; the civilising -mission of France, says a Frenchman. But Plato and the sages, when they -are asked what is saving, answer: 'To love righteousness, and to be -convinced of the unprofitableness of iniquity.' And Isaiah and the -prophets, when they are asked the same question, answer to just the same -effect: that what is saving is to 'order one's conversation right'; to -'cease to do evil'; to 'delight in the law of the Eternal'; and to 'make -one's study in it all day long.' - -The worst of it is, that this loving of righteousness and this -delighting in the law of the Eternal sound rather vague to us. Not that -they are vague really; indeed, they are less vague than American -institutions, or the British Constitution, or the civilising mission of -France. But the phrases sound vague because of the quantity of matters -they cover. The thing is to have a brief but adequate enumeration of -these matters. The New Testament tells us how righteousness is composed. -In England and America we have been brought up in familiarity with the -New Testament. And so, before Mr. Bradlaugh on our side of the water, -and the Congress of American Freethinkers on yours, banish it from our -education and memory, let us take from the New Testament a text showing -what it is that both Plato and the prophets mean when they tell us that -we ought to love righteousness and to make our study in the law of the -Eternal, but that the unsound majority do nothing of the kind. A score -of texts offer themselves in a moment. Here is one which will serve very -well: 'Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are elevated, -whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever -things are amiable, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be -any virtue, and if there be any praise; have these in your mind, let -your thoughts run upon these.'[1] That is what both Plato and the -prophets mean by loving righteousness, and making one's study in the law -of the Eternal. - -Now the matters just enumerated do not come much into the heads of most -of us, I suppose, when we are thinking of politics. But the philosophers -and prophets maintain that these matters, and not those of which the -heads of politicians are full, do really govern politics and save or -destroy States. They save or destroy them by a silent, inexorable -fatality; while the politicians are making believe, plausibly and -noisily, with their American institutions, British Constitution, and -civilising mission of France. And because these matters are what do -really govern politics and save or destroy States, Socrates maintained -that in his time he and a few philosophers, who alone kept insisting on -the good of righteousness and the unprofitableness of iniquity, were the -only real politicians then living. - -I say, if we are to derive comfort from the doctrine of _the remnant_ -(and there is great comfort to be derived from it), we must also hold -fast to the austere but true doctrine as to what really governs -politics, overrides with an inexorable fatality the combinations of the -so-called politicians, and saves or destroys States. Having in mind -things true, things elevated, things just, things pure, things amiable, -things of good report; having these in mind, studying and loving these, -is what saves States. - -There is nothing like positive instances to illustrate general -propositions of this kind, and to make them believed. I hesitate to take -an instance from America. Possibly there are some people who think that -already, on a former occasion, I have said enough about America without -duly seeing and knowing it. So I will take my instances from England, -and from England's neighbour and old co-mate in history, France. The -instance from England I will take first. I will take it from the grave -topic of England's relations with Ireland. I am not going to reproach -either England or Ireland. To reproach Ireland here would probably be -indiscreet. As to England, anything I may have to say against my own -countrymen I prefer to say at home; America is the last place where I -should care to say it. However, I have no wish or intention now to -reproach either the English or the Irish. But I want to show you from -England's relations with Ireland how right the philosophers and prophets -are. Every one knows that there has been conquest and confiscation in -Ireland. So there has elsewhere. Every one knows that the conquest and -the confiscation have been attended with cupidity, oppression, and -ill-usage. So they have elsewhere. 'Whatsoever things are just' are not -exactly the study, so far as I know, of conquerors and confiscators -anywhere; certainly they were not the study of the English conquerors of -Ireland. A failure in justice is a source of danger to States. But it -may be made up for and got over; it has been made up for and got over in -many communities. England's confiscations in Ireland are a thing of the -past; the penal laws against Catholics are a thing of the past; much has -been done to make up for the old failure in justice; Englishmen -generally think that it has been pretty well made up for, and that -Irishmen ought to think so too. And politicians invent Land Acts for -curing the last results of the old failure in justice, for insuring the -contentment of the Irish with us, and for consolidating the Union: and -are surprised and plaintive if it is not consolidated. But now see how -much more serious people are the philosophers and prophets than the -politicians. _Whatsoever things are amiable!_--the failure in -amiability, too, is a source of danger and insecurity to States, as well -as the failure in justice. And we English are not amiable, or at any -rate, what in this case comes to the same thing, do not appear so. The -politicians never thought of that! Quite outside their combinations lies -this hindrance, tending to make their most elaborate combinations -ineffectual. Thus the joint operation of two moral causes together,--the -sort of causes which politicians do not seriously regard,--tells against -the designs of the politicians with what seems to be an almost -inexorable fatality. If there were not the failure in amiability, -perhaps the original failure in justice might by this time have been got -over; if there had not been the failure in justice, perhaps the failure -in amiability might not have mattered much. The two failures together -create a difficulty almost insurmountable. Public men in England keep -saying that it will be got over. I hope that it will be got over, and -that the union between England and Ireland may become as solid as that -between England and Scotland. But it will not become solid by means of -the contrivances of the mere politician, or without the intervention of -moral causes of concord to heal the mischief wrought by moral causes of -division. Everything, in this case, depends upon the 'remnant,' its -numbers, and its powers of action. - -My second instance is even more important. It is so important, and its -reach is so wide, that I must go into it with some little fulness. The -instance is taken from France. To France I have always felt myself -powerfully drawn. People in England often accuse me of liking France and -things French far too well. At all events I have paid special regard to -them, and am always glad to confess how much I owe to them. M. -Sainte-Beuve wrote to me in the last years of his life: 'You have passed -through our life and literature by a deep inner line, which confers -initiation, and which you will never lose.' _Vous avez traversé notre -vie et notre littérature par une ligne intérieure, profonde, qui fait -les initiés, et que vous ne perdrez jamais._ I wish I could think that -this friendly testimony of that accomplished and charming man, one of my -chief benefactors, were fully deserved. But I have pride and pleasure in -quoting it; and I quote it to bear me out in saying, that whatever -opinion I may express about France, I have at least been a not -inattentive observer of that great country, and anything but a hostile -one. - -The question was once asked by the town clerk of Ephesus: 'What man is -there that knoweth not how that the city of the Ephesians is a -worshipper of the great goddess Diana?' Now really, when one looks at -the popular literature of the French at this moment,--their popular -novels, popular stage-plays, popular newspapers,--and at the life of -which this literature of theirs is the index, one is tempted to make a -goddess out of a word of their own, and then, like the town clerk of -Ephesus, to ask: 'What man is there that knoweth not how that the city -of the French is a worshipper of the great goddess Lubricity?' Or -rather, as Greek is the classic and euphonious language for names of -gods and goddesses, let us take her name from the Greek Testament, and -call her the goddess Aselgeia. That goddess has always been a sufficient -power amongst mankind, and her worship was generally supposed to need -restraining rather than encouraging. But here is now a whole popular -literature, nay, and art too, in France at her service! stimulations and -suggestions by her and to her meet one in it at every turn. She is -becoming the great recognised power there; never was anything like it. -M. Renan himself seems half inclined to apologise for not having paid -her more attention. 'Nature cares nothing for chastity,' says he; _Les -frivoles ont peut-être raison;_ 'The gay people are perhaps in the -right,' Men even of this force salute her; but the allegiance now paid -to her, in France, by the popular novel, the popular newspaper, the -popular play, is, one may say, boundless. - -I have no wish at all to preach to the French; no intention whatever, in -what I now say, to upbraid or wound them. I simply lay my finger on a -fact in their present condition; a fact insufficiently noticed, as it -seems to me, and yet extremely potent for mischief. It is well worth -while to trace the manner of its growth and action. - -The French have always had a leaning to the goddess of whom we speak, -and have been willing enough to let the world know of their leaning, to -pride themselves on their Gaulish salt, their gallantry, and so on. But -things have come to their present head gradually. Catholicism was an -obstacle; the serious element in the nation was another obstacle. But -now just see the course which things have taken, and how they all, one -may say, have worked together, for this goddess. First, there was the -original Gaul, the basis of the French nation; the Gaul, gay, sociable, -quick of sentiment, quick of perception; apt, however, very apt, to be -presumptuous and puffed up. Then came the Roman conquest, and from this -we get a new personage, the Gallo-Latin; with the Gaulish qualities for -a basis, but with Latin order, reason, lucidity, added, and also Latin -sensuality. Finally, we have the Frankish conquest and the Frenchman. -The Frenchman proper is the Gallo-Latin, with Frankish or Germanic -qualities added and infused. No mixture could be better. The Germans -have plenty of faults, but in this combination they seem not to have -taken hold; the Germans seem to have given of their seriousness and -honesty to the conquered Gallo-Latin, and not of their brutality. And -mediæval France, which exhibits the combination and balance, under the -influence then exercised by Catholicism, of Gaulish quickness and gaiety -with Latin rationality and German seriousness, offers to our view the -soundest and the most attractive stage, perhaps, in all French history. - -But the balance could not be maintained; at any rate, it was not -maintained. Mediæval Catholicism lost its virtue. The serious Germanic -races made the Reformation, feeling that without it there was no safety -and continuance for those moral ideas which they loved and which were -the ground of their being. France did not go with the Reformation; the -Germanic qualities in her were not strong enough to make her go with it. -'France did not want a reformation which was a moral one,' is Michelet's -account of the matter: _La France ne voulait pas de réforme morale._ Let -us put the case more favourably for her, and say that perhaps, with her -quick perception, France caught sense, from the very outset, of that -intellectual unsoundness and incompleteness in the Reformation, which is -now so visible. But, at any rate, the Reformation did not carry France -with it; and the Germanic side in the Frenchman, his Germanic qualities, -thus received a check. They subsisted, however, in good force still; the -new knowledge and new ideas, brought by the revival of letters, gave an -animating stimulus; and in the seventeenth century the Gaulish gaiety -and quickness of France, the Latin rationality, and the still subsisting -German seriousness, all combining under the puissant breath of the -Renascence, produced a literature, the strongest, the most substantial -and the most serious which the French have ever succeeded in producing, -and which has, indeed, consummate and splendid excellences. - -Still, the Germanic side in the Frenchman had received a check, and in -the next century this side became quite attenuated. The Germanic -steadiness and seriousness gave way more and more; the Gaulish salt, the -Gaulish gaiety, quickness, sentiment, and sociability, the Latin -rationality, prevailed more and more, and had the field nearly to -themselves. They produced a brilliant and most efficacious -literature,--the French literature of the eighteenth century. The -goddess Aselgeia had her part in it; it was a literature to be praised -with reserves; it was, above all, a revolutionary literature. But -European institutions were then in such a superannuated condition, -straightforward and just perception, free thought and rationality, were -at such a discount, that the brilliant French literature in which these -qualities predominated, and which by their predominance was made -revolutionary, had in the eighteenth century a great mission to fulfil, -and fulfilled it victoriously. - -The mission is fulfilled, but meanwhile the Germanic quality in the -Frenchman seems pretty nearly to have died out, and the Gallo-Latin in -him has quite got the upper hand. Of course there are individuals and -groups who are to be excepted; I will allow any number of exceptions you -please; and in the mass of the French people, which works and is silent, -there may be treasures of resource. But taking the Frenchman who is -commonly in view--the usual type of speaking, doing, vocal, visible -Frenchman--we may say, and he will probably be not at all displeased at -our saying, that the German in him has nearly died out, and the -Gallo-Latin has quite got the upper hand. For us, however, this means -that the chief source of seriousness and of moral ideas is failing and -drying up in him, and that what remains are the sources of Gaulish salt, -and quickness, and sentiment, and sociability, and sensuality, and -rationality. And, of course, the play and working of these qualities is -altered by their being no longer in combination with a dose of German -seriousness, but left to work by themselves. Left to work by themselves, -they give us what we call the _homme sensuel moyen_, the average sensual -man. The highest art, the art which by its height, depth, and gravity -possesses religiousness,--such as the Greeks had, the art of Pindar and -Phidias; such as the Italians had, the art of Dante and Michael -Angelo,--this art, with the training which it gives and the standard -which it sets up, the French have never had. On the other hand, they had -a dose of German seriousness, a Germanic bent for ideas of moral duty, -which neither the Greeks had, nor the Italians. But if this dies out, -what is left is the _homme sensuel moyen_. This average sensual man has -his very advantageous qualities. He has his gaiety, quickness, -sentiment, sociability, rationality. He has his horror of sour -strictness, false restraint, hypocrisy, obscurantism, cretinism, and the -rest of it. And this is very well; but on the serious, moral side he is -almost ludicrously insufficient. Fine sentiments about his dignity and -his honour and his heart, about the dignity and the honour and the heart -of France, and his adoration of her, do duty for him here; grandiose -phrases about the spectacle offered in France and in the French Republic -of the ideal for our race, of the _épanouissement de l'élite de -l'humanité_, 'the coming into blow of the choice flower of humanity.' In -M. Victor Hugo we have (his worshippers must forgive me for saying so) -the average sensual man impassioned and grandiloquent; in M. Zola we -have the average sensual man going near the ground. 'Happy the son,' -cries M. Victor Hugo, 'of whom, one can say, "He has consoled his -mother!" Happy the poet of whom one can say, "He has consoled his -country!"' The French themselves, even when they are severest, call this -kind of thing by only the mild name of emphasis, '_emphase_,'--other -people call it fustian. And a surly Johnson will growl out in answer, at -one time, that 'Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel'; at -another time, that fine sentiments about _ma mère_ are the last refuge -of a scoundrel. But what they really are is the creed which in France -the average sensual man rehearses, to do duty for serious moral ideas. -And, as the result, we have a popular literature and a popular art -serving, as has been already said, the goddess Aselgeia. - -Such an art and literature easily make their way everywhere. In England -and America the French literature of the seventeenth century is -peculiarly fitted to do great good, and nothing but good; it can hardly -be too much studied by us. And it is studied by us very little. The -French literature of the eighteenth century, also, has qualities to do -us much good, and we are not likely to take harm from its other -qualities; we may study it to our great profit and advantage. And it is -studied by us very little. The higher French literature of the present -day has more knowledge and a wider range than its great predecessors, -but less soundness and perfection, and it exerts much less influence -than they did. Action and influence are now with the lower literature of -France, with the popular literature in the service of the goddess -Aselgeia. And this popular modern French literature, and the art which -corresponds to it, bid fair to make their way in England and America far -better than their predecessors. They appeal to instincts so universal -and accessible; they appeal, people are beginning boldly to say, to -Nature herself. Few things have lately struck me more than M. Renan's -dictum, which I have already quoted, about what used to be called the -virtue of chastity. The dictum occurs in his very interesting -autobiography, published but the other day. M. Renan, whose genius I -unfeignedly admire, is, I need hardly say, a man of the most perfect -propriety of life; he has told us so himself. He was brought up for a -priest, and he thinks it would not have been in good taste for him to -become a free liver. But this abstinence is a mere matter of personal -delicacy, a display of good and correct taste on his own part in his own -very special circumstances. 'Nature,' he cries, 'cares nothing about -chastity.' What a slap in the face to the sticklers for 'Whatsoever -things are pure'! - -I have had to take a long sweep to arrive at the point which I wished to -reach. If we are to enjoy the benefit, I said, of the comfortable -doctrine of the remnant, we must be capable of receiving also, and of -holding fast, the hard doctrine of the unsoundness of the majority, and -of the certainty that the unsoundness of the majority, if it is not -withstood and remedied, must be their ruin. And therefore, even though a -gifted man like M. Renan may be so carried away by the tide of opinion -in France where he lives, as to say that Nature cares nothing about -chastity, and to see with amused indulgence the worship of the great -goddess Lubricity, let us stand fast, and say that her worship is -against nature, human nature, and that it is ruin. For this is the test -of its being against human nature, that for human societies it is ruin. -And the test is one from which there is no escape, as from the old tests -in such matters there may be. For if you allege that it is the will of -God that we should be pure, the sceptical Gallo-Latins will tell you -that they do not know any such person. And in like manner, if it is said -that those who serve the goddess Aselgeia shall not inherit the kingdom -of God, the Gallo-Latin may tell you that he does not believe in any -such place. But that the sure tendency and upshot of things establishes -that the service of the goddess Aselgeia is ruin, that her followers are -marred and stunted by it and disqualified for the ideal society of the -future, is an infallible test to employ. - -The saints admonish us to let our thoughts run upon whatsoever things -are pure, if we would inherit the kingdom of God; and the divine Plato -tells us that we have within us a many-headed beast and a man, and that -by dissoluteness we feed and strengthen the beast in us, and starve the -man; and finally, following the divine Plato among the sages at a humble -distance, comes the prosaic and unfashionable Paley, and says in his -precise way that 'this vice has a tendency, which other species of vice -have not so directly, to unsettle and weaken the powers of the -understanding; as well as, I think, in a greater degree than other -vices, to render the heart thoroughly corrupt.' True; and once admitted -and fostered, it eats like a canker, and with difficulty can ever be -brought to let go its hold again, but for ever tightens it. Hardness and -insolence come in its train; an insolence which grows until it ends by -exasperating and alienating everybody; a hardness which grows until the -man can at last scarcely take pleasure in anything, outside the service -of his goddess, except cupidity and greed, and cannot be touched with -emotion by any language except fustian. Such are the fruits of the -worship of the great goddess Aselgeia. - -So, instead of saying that Nature cares nothing about chastity, let us -say that human nature, _our_ nature, cares about it a great deal. Let us -say that, by her present popular literature, France gives proof that she -is suffering from a dangerous and perhaps fatal disease; and that it is -not clericalism which is the real enemy to the French so much as their -goddess; and if they can none of them see this themselves, it is only a -sign of how far the disease has gone, and the case is so much the worse. -The case is so much the worse; and for men in such case to be so -vehemently busy about clerical and dynastic intrigues at home, and about -alliances and colonial acquisitions and purifications of the flag -abroad, might well make one borrow of the prophets and exclaim, 'Surely -ye are perverse'! perverse to neglect your really pressing matters for -those secondary ones. And when the ingenious and inexhaustible M. -Blowitz, of our great London _Times_, who sees everybody and knows -everything, when he expounds the springs of politics and the causes of -the fall and success of ministries, and the combinations which have not -been tried but should be, and takes upon him the mystery of things in -the way with which we are so familiar,--to this wise man himself one is -often tempted, again, to say with the prophets: 'Yet the Eternal also is -wise, and will not call back his words.' M. Blowitz is not the only wise -one; the Eternal has his wisdom also, and somehow or other it is always -the Eternal's wisdom which at last carries the day. The Eternal has -attached to certain moral causes the safety or the ruin of States, and -the present popular literature of France is a sign that she has a most -dangerous moral disease. - -Now if the disease goes on and increases, then, whatever sagacious -advice M. Blowitz may give, and whatever political combinations may be -tried, and whether France gets colonies or not, and whether she allies -herself with this nation or with that, things will only go from bad to -worse with her; she will more and more lose her powers of soul and -spirit, her intellectual productiveness, her skill in counsel, her might -for war, her formidableness as a foe, her value as an ally, and the life -of that famous State will be more and more impaired, until it perish. -And this is that hard but true doctrine of the sages and prophets, of -the inexorable fatality of operation, in moral failure of the unsound -majority, to impair and destroy States. But we will not talk or think of -destruction for a State with such gifts and graces as France, and which -has had such a place in history, and to which we, many of us, owe so -much delight and so much good. And yet if France had no greater numbers -than the Athens of Plato or the Judah of Isaiah, I do not see how she -could well escape out of the throttling arms of her goddess and recover. -She must recover through a powerful and profound renewal, a great inward -change, brought about by 'the remnant' amongst her people; and, for -this, a remnant small in numbers would not suffice. But in a France of -thirty-five millions, who shall set bounds to the numbers of the -remnant, or to its effectualness and power of victory? - -In these United States (for I come round to the United States at last) -you are fifty millions and more. I suppose that, as in England, as in -France, as everywhere, so likewise here, the majority of people doubt -very much whether the majority is unsound; or, rather, they have no -doubt at all about the matter, they are sure that it is not unsound. But -let us consent to-night to remain to the end in the ideas of the sages -and prophets whom we have been following all along; and let us suppose -that in the present actual stage of the world, as in all the stages -through which the world has passed hitherto, the majority is and must be -in general unsound everywhere,--even in the United States, even here in -New York itself. Where is the failure? I have already, in the past, -speculated in the abstract about you, perhaps, too much. But I suppose -that in a democratic community like this, with its newness, its -magnitude, its strength, its life of business, its sheer freedom and -equality, the danger is in the absence of the discipline of respect; in -hardness and materialism, exaggeration and boastfulness; in a false -smartness, a false audacity, a want of soul and delicacy. 'Whatsoever -things are _elevated_,'--whatsoever things are nobly serious, have true -elevation,[2]--that perhaps, in our catalogue of maxims which are to -possess the mind, is the maxim which points to where the failure of the -unsound majority, in a great democracy like yours, will probably lie. At -any rate let us for the moment agree to suppose so. And the philosophers -and the prophets, whom I at any rate am disposed to believe, and who say -that moral causes govern the standing and the falling of States, will -tell us that the failure to mind whatsoever things are elevated must -impair with an inexorable fatality the life of a nation, just as the -failure to mind whatsoever things are just, or whatsoever things are -amiable, or whatsoever things are pure, will impair it; and that if the -failure to mind whatsoever things are elevated should be real in your -American democracy, and should grow into a disease, and take firm hold -on you, then the life of even these great United States must inevitably -suffer and be impaired more and more, until it perish. - -Then from this hard doctrine we will betake ourselves to the more -comfortable doctrine of _the remnant_. 'The remnant shall return;' shall -'convert and be healed' itself first, and shall then recover the unsound -majority. And you are fifty millions and growing apace. What a remnant -yours may be, surely! A remnant of how great numbers, how mighty -strength, how irresistible efficacy! Yet we must not go too fast, -either, nor make too sure of our efficacious remnant. Mere multitude -will not give us a saving remnant with certainty. The Assyrian Empire -had multitude, the Roman Empire had multitude; yet neither the one nor -the other could produce a sufficing remnant any more than Athens or -Judah could produce it, and both Assyria and Rome perished like Athens -and Judah. - -But you are something more than a people of fifty millions. You are -fifty millions mainly sprung, as we in England are mainly sprung, from -that German stock which has faults indeed,--faults which have diminished -the extent of its influence, diminished its power of attraction and the -interest of its history, and which seems moreover just now, from all I -can see and hear, to be passing through a not very happy moment, -morally, in Germany proper. Yet of the German stock it is, I think, -true, as my father said more than fifty years ago, that it has been a -stock 'of the most moral races of men that the world has yet seen, with -the soundest laws, the least violent passions, the fairest domestic and -civil virtues.' You come, therefore, of about the best parentage which a -modern nation can have. Then you have had, as we in England have also -had, but more entirely than we and more exclusively, the Puritan -discipline. Certainly I am not blind to the faults of that discipline. -Certainly I do not wish it to remain in possession of the field for -ever, or too long. But as a stage and a discipline, and as means for -enabling that poor inattentive and immoral creature, man, to love and -appropriate and make part of his being divine ideas, on which he could -not otherwise have laid or kept hold, the discipline of Puritanism has -been invaluable; and the more I read history, the more I see of mankind, -the more I recognise its value. Well, then, you are not merely a -multitude of fifty millions; you are fifty millions sprung from this -excellent Germanic stock, having passed through this excellent Puritan -discipline, and set in this enviable and unbounded country. Even -supposing, therefore, that by the necessity of things your majority must -in the present stage of the world probably be unsound, what a remnant, I -say,--what an incomparable, all-transforming remnant,--you may fairly -hope with your numbers, if things go happily, to have! - - - - - LITERATURE AND SCIENCE. - - -Practical people talk with a smile of Plato and of his absolute ideas; -and it is impossible to deny that Plato's ideas do often seem -unpractical and impracticable, and especially when one views them in -connexion with the life of a great work-a-day world like the United -States. The necessary staple of the life of such a world Plato regards -with disdain; handicraft and trade and the working professions he -regards with disdain; but what becomes of the life of an industrial -modern community if you take handicraft and trade and the working -professions out of it? The base mechanic arts and handicrafts, says -Plato, bring about a natural weakness in the principle of excellence in -a man, so that he cannot govern the ignoble growths in him, but nurses -them, and cannot understand fostering any other. Those who exercise such -arts and trades, as they have their bodies, he says, marred by their -vulgar businesses, so they have their souls, too, bowed and broken by -them. And if one of these uncomely people has a mind to seek -self-culture and philosophy, Plato compares him to a bald little tinker, -who has scraped together money, and has got his release from service, -and has had a bath, and bought a new coat, and is rigged out like a -bridegroom about to marry the daughter of his master who has fallen into -poor and helpless estate. - -Nor do the working professions fare any better than trade at the hands -of Plato. He draws for us an inimitable picture of the working lawyer, -and of his life of bondage; he shows how this bondage from his youth up -has stunted and warped him, and made him small and crooked of soul, -encompassing him with difficulties which he is not man enough to rely on -justice and truth as means to encounter, but has recourse, for help out -of them, to falsehood and wrong. And so, says Plato, this poor creature -is bent and broken, and grows up from boy to man without a particle of -soundness in him, although exceedingly smart and clever in his own -esteem. - -One cannot refuse to admire the artist who draws these pictures. But we -say to ourselves that his ideas show the influence of a primitive and -obsolete order of things, when the warrior caste and the priestly caste -were alone in honour, and the humble work of the world was done by -slaves. We have now changed all that; the modern majority consists in -work, as Emerson declares; and in work, we may add, principally of such -plain and dusty kind as the work of cultivators of the ground, -handicraftsmen, men of trade and business, men of the working -professions. Above all is this true in a great industrious community -such as that of the United States. - -Now education, many people go on to say, is still mainly governed by the -ideas of men like Plato, who lived when the warrior caste and the -priestly or philosophical class were alone in honour, and the really -useful part of the community were slaves. It is an education fitted for -persons of leisure in such a community. This education passed from -Greece and Rome to the feudal communities of Europe, where also the -warrior caste and the priestly caste were alone held in honour, and -where the really useful and working part of the community, though not -nominally slaves as in the pagan world, were practically not much better -off than slaves, and not more seriously regarded. And how absurd it is, -people end by saying, to inflict this education upon an industrious -modern community, where very few indeed are persons of leisure, and the -mass to be considered has not leisure, but is bound, for its own great -good, and for the great good of the world at large, to plain labour and -to industrial pursuits, and the education in question tends necessarily -to make men dissatisfied with these pursuits and unfitted for them! - -That is what is said. So far I must defend Plato, as to plead that his -view of education and studies is in the general, as it seems to me, -sound enough, and fitted for all sorts and conditions of men, whatever -their pursuits may be. 'An intelligent man,' says Plato, 'will prize -those studies which result in his soul getting soberness, righteousness, -and wisdom, and will less value the others.' I cannot consider _that_ a -bad description of the aim of education, and of the motives which should -govern us in the choice of studies, whether we are preparing ourselves -for a hereditary seat in the English House of Lords or for the pork -trade in Chicago. - -Still I admit that Plato's world was not ours, that his scorn of trade -and handicraft is fantastic, that he had no conception of a great -industrial community such as that of the United States, and that such a -community must and will shape its education to suit its own needs. If -the usual education handed down to it from the past does not suit it, it -will certainly before long drop this and try another. The usual -education in the past has been mainly literary. The question is whether -the studies which were long supposed to be the best for all of us are -practically the best now; whether others are not better. The tyranny of -the past, many think, weighs on us injuriously in the predominance given -to letters in education. The question is raised whether, to meet the -needs of our modern life, the predominance ought not now to pass from -letters to science; and naturally the question is nowhere raised with -more energy than here in the United States. The design of abasing what -is called 'mere literary instruction and education,' and of exalting -what is called 'sound, extensive, and practical scientific knowledge,' -is, in this intensely modern world of the United States, even more -perhaps than in Europe, a very popular design, and makes great and rapid -progress. - -I am going to ask whether the present movement for ousting letters from -their old predominance in education, and for transferring the -predominance in education to the natural sciences, whether this brisk -and flourishing movement ought to prevail, and whether it is likely that -in the end it really will prevail. An objection may be raised which I -will anticipate. My own studies have been almost wholly in letters, and -my visits to the field of the natural sciences have been very slight and -inadequate, although those sciences have always strongly moved my -curiosity. A man of letters, it will perhaps be said, is not competent -to discuss the comparative merits of letters and natural science as -means of education. To this objection I reply, first of all, that his -incompetence, if he attempts the discussion but is really incompetent -for it, will be abundantly visible; nobody will be taken in; he will -have plenty of sharp observers and critics to save mankind from that -danger. But the line I am going to follow is, as you will soon discover, -so extremely simple, that perhaps it may be followed without failure -even by one who for a more ambitious line of discussion would be quite -incompetent. - -Some of you may possibly remember a phrase of mine which has been the -object of a good deal of comment; an observation to the effect that in -our culture, the aim being _to know ourselves and the world_, we have, -as the means to this end, _to know the best which has been thought and -said in the world_. A man of science, who is also an excellent writer -and the very prince of debaters, Professor Huxley, in a discourse at the -opening of Sir Josiah Mason's college at Birmingham, laying hold of this -phrase, expanded it by quoting some more words of mine, which are these: -'The civilised world is to be regarded as now being, for intellectual -and spiritual purposes, one great confederation, bound to a joint action -and working to a common result; and whose members have for their proper -outfit a knowledge of Greek, Roman, and Eastern antiquity, and of one -another. Special local and temporary advantages being put out of -account, that modern nation will in the intellectual and spiritual -sphere make most progress, which most thoroughly carries out this -programme.' - -Now on my phrase, thus enlarged, Professor Huxley remarks that when I -speak of the above-mentioned knowledge as enabling us to know ourselves -and the world, I assert _literature_ to contain the materials which -suffice for thus making us know ourselves and the world. But it is not -by any means clear, says he, that after having learnt all which ancient -and modern literatures have to tell us, we have laid a sufficiently -broad and deep foundation for that criticism of life, that knowledge of -ourselves and the world, which constitutes culture. On the contrary, -Professor Huxley declares that he finds himself 'wholly unable to admit -that either nations or individuals will really advance, if their outfit -draws nothing from the stores of physical science. An army without -weapons of precision, and with no particular base of operations, might -more hopefully enter upon a campaign on the Rhine, than a man, devoid of -a knowledge of what physical science has done in the last century, upon -a criticism of life.' - -This shows how needful it is for those who are to discuss any matter -together, to have a common understanding as to the sense of the terms -they employ,--how needful, and how difficult. What Professor Huxley -says, implies just the reproach which is so often brought against the -study of _belles lettres_, as they are called: that the study is an -elegant one, but slight and ineffectual; a smattering of Greek and Latin -and other ornamental things, of little use for any one whose object is -to get at truth, and to be a practical man. So, too, M. Renan talks of -the 'superficial humanism' of a school-course which treats us as if we -were all going to be poets, writers, preachers, orators, and he opposes -this humanism to positive science, or the critical search after truth. -And there is always a tendency in those who are remonstrating against -the predominance of letters in education, to understand by letters -_belles lettres_, and by _belles lettres_ a superficial humanism, the -opposite of science or true knowledge. - -But when we talk of knowing Greek and Roman antiquity, for instance, -which is the knowledge people have called the humanities, I for my part -mean a knowledge which is something more than a superficial humanism, -mainly decorative. 'I call all teaching _scientific_,' says Wolf, the -critic of Homer, 'which is systematically laid out and followed up to -its original sources. For example: a knowledge of classical antiquity is -scientific when the remains of classical antiquity are correctly studied -in the original languages.' There can be no doubt that Wolf is perfectly -right; that all learning is scientific which is systematically laid out -and followed up to its original sources, and that a genuine humanism is -scientific. - -When I speak of knowing Greek and Roman antiquity, therefore, as a help -to knowing ourselves and the world, I mean more than a knowledge of so -much vocabulary, so much grammar, so many portions of authors in the -Greek and Latin languages. I mean knowing the Greeks and Romans, and -their life and genius, and what they were and did in the world; what we -get from them, and what is its value. That, at least, is the ideal; and -when we talk of endeavouring to know Greek and Roman antiquity, as a -help to knowing ourselves and the world, we mean endeavouring so to know -them as to satisfy this ideal, however much we may still fall short of -it. - -The same also as to knowing our own and other modern nations, with the -like aim of getting to understand ourselves and the world. To know the -best that has been thought and said by the modern nations, is to know, -says Professor Huxley, 'only what modern _literatures_ have to tell us; -it is the criticism of life contained in modern literature.' And yet -'the distinctive character of our times,' he urges, 'lies in the vast -and constantly increasing part which is played by natural knowledge.' -And how, therefore, can a man, devoid of knowledge of what physical -science has done in the last century, enter hopefully upon a criticism -of modern life? - -Let us, I say, be agreed about the meaning of the terms we are using. I -talk of knowing the best which has been thought and uttered in the -world; Professor Huxley says this means knowing _literature_. Literature -is a large word; it may mean everything written with letters or printed -in a book. Euclid's _Elements_ and Newton's _Principia_ are thus -literature. All knowledge that reaches us through books is literature. -But by literature Professor Huxley means _belles lettres_. He means to -make me say, that knowing the best which has been thought and said by -the modern nations is knowing their _belles lettres_ and no more. And -this is no sufficient equipment, he argues, for a criticism of modern -life. But as I do not mean, by knowing ancient Rome, knowing merely more -or less of Latin _belles lettres_, and taking no account of Rome's -military, and political, and legal, and administrative work in the -world; and as, by knowing ancient Greece, I understand knowing her as -the giver of Greek art, and the guide to a free and right use of reason -and to scientific method, and the founder of our mathematics and physics -and astronomy and biology,--I understand knowing her as all this, and -not merely knowing certain Greek poems, and histories, and treatises, -and speeches,--so as to the knowledge of modern nations also. By knowing -modern nations, I mean not merely knowing their _belles lettres_, but -knowing also what has been done by such men as Copernicus, Galileo, -Newton, Darwin. 'Our ancestors learned,' says Professor Huxley, 'that -the earth is the centre of the visible universe, and that man is the -cynosure of things terrestrial; and more especially was it inculcated -that the course of nature had no fixed order, but that it could be, and -constantly was, altered.' But for us now, continues Professor Huxley, -'the notions of the beginning and the end of the world entertained by -our forefathers are no longer credible. It is very certain that the -earth is not the chief body in the material universe, and that the world -is not subordinated to man's use. It is even more certain that nature is -the expression of a definite order, with which nothing interferes.' 'And -yet,' he cries, 'the purely classical education advocated by the -representatives of the humanists in our day gives no inkling of all -this!' - -In due place and time I will just touch upon that vexed question of -classical education; but at present the question is as to what is meant -by knowing the best which modern nations have thought and said. It is -not knowing their _belles lettres_ merely which is meant. To know -Italian _belles lettres_ is not to know Italy, and to know English -_belles lettres_ is not to know England. Into knowing Italy and England -there comes a great deal more, Galileo and Newton, amongst it. The -reproach of being a superficial humanism, a tincture of _belles -lettres_, may attach rightly enough to some other disciplines; but to -the particular discipline recommended when I proposed knowing the best -that has been thought and said in the world, it does not apply. In that -best I certainly include what in modern times has been thought and said -by the great observers and knowers of nature. - -There is, therefore, really no question between Professor Huxley and me -as to whether knowing the great results of the modern scientific study -of nature is not required as a part of our culture, as well as knowing -the products of literature and art. But to follow the processes by which -those results are reached, ought, say the friends of physical science, -to be made the staple of education for the bulk of mankind. And here -there does arise a question between those whom Professor Huxley calls -with playful sarcasm 'the Levites of culture,' and those whom the poor -humanist is sometimes apt to regard as its Nebuchadnezzars. - -The great results of the scientific investigation of nature we are -agreed upon knowing, but how much of our study are we bound to give to -the processes by which those results are reached? The results have their -visible bearing on human life. But all the processes, too, all the items -of fact, by which those results are reached and established, are -interesting. All knowledge is interesting to a wise man, and the -knowledge of nature is interesting to all men. It is very interesting to -know, that, from the albuminous white of the egg, the chick in the egg -gets the materials for its flesh, bones, blood, and feathers; while, -from the fatty yolk of the egg, it gets the heat and energy which enable -it at length to break its shell and begin the world. It is less -interesting, perhaps, but still it is interesting, to know that when a -taper burns, the wax is converted into carbonic acid and water. -Moreover, it is quite true that the habit of dealing with facts, which -is given by the study of nature, is, as the friends of physical science -praise it for being, an excellent discipline. The appeal, in the study -of nature, is constantly to observation and experiment; not only is it -said that the thing is so, but we can be made to see that it is so. Not -only does a man tell us that when a taper burns the wax is converted -into carbonic acid and water, as a man may tell us, if he likes, that -Charon is punting his ferry-boat on the river Styx, or that Victor Hugo -is a sublime poet, or Mr. Gladstone the most admirable of statesmen; but -we are made to see that the conversion into carbonic acid and water does -actually happen. This reality of natural knowledge it is, which makes -the friends of physical science contrast it, as a knowledge of things, -with the humanist's knowledge, which is, say they, a knowledge of words. -And hence Professor Huxley is moved to lay it down that, 'for the -purpose of attaining real culture, an exclusively scientific education -is at least as effectual as an exclusively literary education.' And a -certain President of the Section for Mechanical Science in the British -Association is, in Scripture phrase, 'very bold,' and declares that if a -man, in his mental training, 'has substituted literature and history for -natural science, he has chosen the less useful alternative.' But whether -we go these lengths or not, we must all admit that in natural science -the habit gained of dealing with facts is a most valuable discipline, -and that every one should have some experience of it. - -More than this, however, is demanded by the reformers. It is proposed to -make the training in natural science the main part of education, for the -great majority of mankind at any rate. And here, I confess, I part -company with the friends of physical science, with whom up to this point -I have been agreeing. In differing from them, however, I wish to proceed -with the utmost caution and diffidence. The smallness of my own -acquaintance with the disciplines of natural science is ever before my -mind, and I am fearful of doing these disciplines an injustice. The -ability and pugnacity of the partisans of natural science makes them -formidable persons to contradict. The tone of tentative inquiry, which -befits a being of dim faculties and bounded knowledge, is the tone I -would wish to take and not to depart from. At present it seems to me, -that those who are for giving to natural knowledge, as they call it, the -chief place in the education of the majority of mankind, leave one -important thing out of their account: the constitution of human nature. -But I put this forward on the strength of some facts not at all -recondite, very far from it; facts capable of being stated in the -simplest possible fashion, and to which, if I so state them, the man of -science will, I am sure, be willing to allow their due weight. - -Deny the facts altogether, I think, he hardly can. He can hardly deny, -that when we set ourselves to enumerate the powers which go to the -building up of human life, and say that they are the power of conduct, -the power of intellect and knowledge, the power of beauty, and the power -of social life and manners,--he can hardly deny that this scheme, though -drawn in rough and plain lines enough, and not pretending to scientific -exactness, does yet give a fairly true representation of the matter. -Human nature is built up by these powers; we have the need for them all. -When we have rightly met and adjusted the claims of them all, we shall -then be in a fair way for getting soberness and righteousness, with -wisdom. This is evident enough, and the friends of physical science -would admit it. - -But perhaps they may not have sufficiently observed another thing: -namely, that the several powers just mentioned are not isolated, but -there is, in the generality of mankind, a perpetual tendency to relate -them one to another in divers ways. With one such way of relating them I -am particularly concerned now. Following our instinct for intellect and -knowledge, we acquire pieces of knowledge; and presently, in the -generality of men, there arises the desire to relate these pieces of -knowledge to our sense for conduct, to our sense for beauty,--and there -is weariness and dissatisfaction if the desire is baulked. Now in this -desire lies, I think, the strength of that hold which letters have upon -us. - -All knowledge is, as I said just now, interesting; and even items of -knowledge which from the nature of the case cannot well be related, but -must stand isolated in our thoughts, have their interest. Even lists of -exceptions have their interest. If we are studying Greek accents, it is -interesting to know that _pais_ and _pas_, and some other monosyllables -of the same form of declension, do not take the circumflex upon the last -syllable of the genitive plural, but vary, in this respect, from the -common rule. If we are studying physiology, it is interesting to know -that the pulmonary artery carries dark blood and the pulmonary vein -carries bright blood, departing in this respect from the common rule for -the division of labour between the veins and the arteries. But every one -knows how we seek naturally to combine the pieces of our knowledge -together, to bring them under general rules, to relate them to -principles; and how unsatisfactory and tiresome it would be to go on for -ever learning lists of exceptions, or accumulating items of fact which -must stand isolated. - -Well, that same need of relating our knowledge, which operates here -within the sphere of our knowledge itself, we shall find operating, -also, outside that sphere. We experience, as we go on learning and -knowing,--the vast majority of us experience,--the need of relating what -we have learnt and known to the sense which we have in us for conduct, -to the sense which we have in us for beauty. - -A certain Greek prophetess of Mantineia in Arcadia, Diotima by name, -once explained to the philosopher Socrates that love, and impulse, and -bent of all kinds, is, in fact, nothing else but the desire in men that -good should for ever be present to them. This desire for good, Diotima -assured Socrates, is our fundamental desire, of which fundamental desire -every impulse in us is only some one particular form. And therefore this -fundamental desire it is, I suppose,--this desire in men that good -should be for ever present to them,--which acts in us when we feel the -impulse for relating our knowledge to our sense for conduct and to our -sense for beauty. At any rate, with men in general the instinct exists. -Such is human nature. And the instinct, it will be admitted, is -innocent, and human nature is preserved by our following the lead of its -innocent instincts. Therefore, in seeking to gratify this instinct in -question, we are following the instinct of self-preservation in -humanity. - -But, no doubt, some kinds of knowledge cannot be made to directly serve -the instinct in question, cannot be directly related to the sense for -beauty, to the sense for conduct. These are instrument-knowledges; they -lead on to other knowledges, which can. A man who passes his life in -instrument-knowledges is a specialist. They may be invaluable as -instruments to something beyond, for those who have the gift thus to -employ them; and they may be disciplines in themselves wherein it is -useful for every one to have some schooling. But it is inconceivable -that the generality of men should pass all their mental life with Greek -accents or with formal logic. My friend Professor Sylvester, who is one -of the first mathematicians in the world, holds transcendental doctrines -as to the virtue of mathematics, but those doctrines are not for common -men. In the very Senate House and heart of our English Cambridge I once -ventured, though not without an apology for my profaneness, to hazard -the opinion that for the majority of mankind a little of mathematics, -even, goes a long way. Of course this is quite consistent with their -being of immense importance as an instrument to something else; but it -is the few who have the aptitude for thus using them, not the bulk of -mankind. - -The natural sciences do not, however, stand on the same footing with -these instrument-knowledges. Experience shows us that the generality of -men will find more interest in learning that, when a taper burns, the -wax is converted into carbonic acid and water, or in learning the -explanation of the phenomenon of dew, or in learning how the circulation -of the blood is carried on, than they find in learning that the genitive -plural of _pais_ and _pas_ does not take the circumflex on the -termination. And one piece of natural knowledge is added to another, and -others are added to that, and at last we come to propositions so -interesting as Mr. Darwin's famous proposition that 'our ancestor was a -hairy quadruped furnished with a tail and pointed ears, probably -arboreal in his habits.' Or we come to propositions of such reach and -magnitude as those which Professor Huxley delivers, when he says that -the notions of our forefathers about the beginning and the end of the -world were all wrong, and that nature is the expression of a definite -order with which nothing interferes. - -Interesting, indeed, these results of science are, important they are, -and we should all of us be acquainted with them. But what I now wish you -to mark is, that we are still, when they are propounded to us and we -receive them, we are still in the sphere of intellect and knowledge. And -for the generality of men there will be found, I say, to arise, when -they have duly taken in the proposition that their ancestor was 'a hairy -quadruped furnished with a tail and pointed ears, probably arboreal in -his habits,' there will be found to arise an invincible desire to relate -this proposition to the sense in us for conduct, and to the sense in us -for beauty. But this the men of science will not do for us, and will -hardly even profess to do. They will give us other pieces of knowledge, -other facts, about other animals and their ancestors, or about plants, -or about stones, or about stars; and they may finally bring us to those -great 'general conceptions of the universe, which are forced upon us -all,' says Professor Huxley, 'by the progress of physical science.' But -still it will be _knowledge_ only which they give us; knowledge not put -for us into relation with our sense for conduct, our sense for beauty, -and touched with emotion by being so put; not thus put for us, and -therefore, to the majority of mankind, after a certain while, -unsatisfying, wearying. - -Not to the born naturalist, I admit. But what do we mean by a born -naturalist? We mean a man in whom the zeal for observing nature is so -uncommonly strong and eminent, that it marks him off from the bulk of -mankind. Such a man will pass his life happily in collecting natural -knowledge and reasoning upon it, and will ask for nothing, or hardly -anything, more. I have heard it said that the sagacious and admirable -naturalist whom we lost not very long ago, Mr. Darwin, once owned to a -friend that for his part he did not experience the necessity for two -things which most men find so necessary to them,--religion and poetry; -science and the domestic affections, he thought, were enough. To a born -naturalist, I can well understand that this should seem so. So absorbing -is his occupation with nature, so strong his love for his occupation, -that he goes on acquiring natural knowledge and reasoning upon it, and -has little time or inclination for thinking about getting it related to -the desire in man for conduct, the desire in man for beauty. He relates -it to them for himself as he goes along, so far as he feels the need; -and he draws from the domestic affections all the additional solace -necessary. But then Darwins are extremely rare. Another great and -admirable master of natural knowledge, Faraday, was a Sandemanian. That -is to say, he related his knowledge to his instinct for conduct and to -his instinct for beauty, by the aid of that respectable Scottish -sectary, Robert Sandeman. And so strong, in general, is the demand of -religion and poetry to have their share in a man, to associate -themselves with his knowing, and to relieve and rejoice it, that, -probably, for one man amongst us with the disposition to do as Darwin -did in this respect, there are at least fifty with the disposition to do -as Faraday. - -Education lays hold upon us, in fact, by satisfying this demand. -Professor Huxley holds up to scorn mediæval education, with its neglect -of the knowledge of nature, its poverty even of literary studies, its -formal logic devoted to 'showing how and why that which the Church said -was true must be true.' But the great mediæval Universities were not -brought into being, we may be sure, by the zeal for giving a jejune and -contemptible education. Kings have been their nursing fathers, and -queens have been their nursing mothers, but not for this. The mediæval -Universities came into being, because the supposed knowledge, delivered -by Scripture and the Church, so deeply engaged men's hearts, by so -simply, easily, and powerfully relating itself to their desire for -conduct, their desire for beauty. All other knowledge was dominated by -this supposed knowledge and was subordinated to it, because of the -surpassing strength of the hold which it gained upon the affections of -men, by allying itself profoundly with their sense for conduct, their -sense for beauty. - -But now, says Professor Huxley, conceptions of the universe fatal to the -notions held by our forefathers have been forced upon us by physical -science. Grant to him that they are thus fatal, that the new conceptions -must and will soon become current everywhere, and that every one will -finally perceive them to be fatal to the beliefs of our forefathers. The -need of humane letters, as they are truly called, because they serve the -paramount desire in men that good should be for ever present to -them,--the need of humane letters, to establish a relation between the -new conceptions, and our instinct for beauty, our instinct for conduct, -is only the more visible. The Middle Age could do without humane -letters, as it could do without the study of nature, because its -supposed knowledge was made to engage its emotions so powerfully. Grant -that the supposed knowledge disappears, its power of being made to -engage the emotions will of course disappear along with it,--but the -emotions themselves, and their claim to be engaged and satisfied, will -remain. Now if we find by experience that humane letters have an -undeniable power of engaging the emotions, the importance of humane -letters in a man's training becomes not less, but greater, in proportion -to the success of modern science in extirpating what it calls 'mediæval -thinking.' - -Have humane letters, then, have poetry and eloquence, the power here -attributed to them of engaging the emotions, and do they exercise it? -And if they have it and exercise it, _how_ do they exercise it, so as to -exert an influence upon man's sense for conduct, his sense for beauty? -Finally, even if they both can and do exert an influence upon the senses -in question, how are they to relate to them the results,--the modern -results,--of natural science? All these questions may be asked. First, -have poetry and eloquence the power of calling out the emotions? The -appeal is to experience. Experience shows that for the vast majority of -men, for mankind in general, they have the power. Next do they exercise -it? They do. But then, _how_ do they exercise it so as to affect man's -sense for conduct, his sense for beauty? And this is perhaps a case for -applying the Preacher's words: 'Though a man labour to seek it out, yet -he shall not find it; yea, farther, though a wise man think to know it, -yet shall he not be able to find it.'[3] Why should it be one thing, in -its effect upon the emotions, to say, 'Patience is a virtue,' and quite -another thing, in its effect upon the emotions, to say with Homer, - - [Greek: tlêton gar Moirai thumon thesan anthrôpoisin]--[4] - -'for an enduring heart have the destinies appointed to the children of -men?' Why should it be one thing, in its effect upon the emotions, to -say with the philosopher Spinoza, _Felicitas in eo consistit quod homo -suum esse conservare potest_--'Man's happiness consists in his being -able to preserve his own essence,' and quite another thing, in its -effect upon the emotions, to say with the Gospel, 'What is a man -advantaged, if he gain the whole world, and lose himself, forfeit -himself?' How does this difference of effect arise? I cannot tell, and I -am not much concerned to know; the important thing is that it does -arise, and that we can profit by it. But how, finally, are poetry and -eloquence to exercise the power of relating the modern results of -natural science to man's instinct for conduct, his instinct for beauty? -And here again I answer that I do not know how they will exercise it, -but that they can and will exercise it I am sure. I do not mean that -modern philosophical poets and modern philosophical moralists are to -come and relate for us, in express terms, the results of modern -scientific research to our instinct for conduct, our instinct for -beauty. But I mean that we shall find, as a matter of experience, if we -know the best that has been thought and uttered in the world, we shall -find that the art and poetry and eloquence of men who lived, perhaps, -long ago, who had the most limited natural knowledge, who had the most -erroneous conceptions about many important matters, we shall find that -this art, and poetry, and eloquence, have in fact not only the power of -refreshing and delighting us, they have also the power,--such is the -strength and worth, in essentials, of their authors' criticism of -life,--they have a fortifying, and elevating, and quickening, and -suggestive power, capable of wonderfully helping us to relate the -results of modern science to our need for conduct, our need for beauty. -Homer's conceptions of the physical universe were, I imagine, grotesque; -but really, under the shock of hearing from modern science that 'the -world is not subordinated to man's use, and that man is not the cynosure -of things terrestrial,' I could, for my own part, desire no better -comfort than Homer's line which I quoted just now, - - [Greek: tlêton gar Moirai thumon thesan anthrôpoisin]-- - -'for an enduring heart have the destinies appointed to the children of -men!' - -And the more that men's minds are cleared, the more that the results of -science are frankly accepted, the more that poetry and eloquence come to -be received and studied as what in truth they really are,--the criticism -of life by gifted men, alive and active with extraordinary power at an -unusual number of points;--so much the more will the value of humane -letters, and of art also, which is an utterance having a like kind of -power with theirs, be felt and acknowledged, and their place in -education be secured. - -Let us therefore, all of us, avoid indeed as much as possible any -invidious comparison between the merits of humane letters, as means of -education, and the merits of the natural sciences. But when some -President of a Section for Mechanical Science insists on making the -comparison, and tells us that 'he who in his training has substituted -literature and history for natural science has chosen the less useful -alternative,' let us make answer to him that the student of humane -letters only, will, at least, know also the great general conceptions -brought in by modern physical science; for science, as Professor Huxley -says, forces them upon us all. But the student of the natural sciences -only, will, by our very hypothesis, know nothing of humane letters; not -to mention that in setting himself to be perpetually accumulating -natural knowledge, he sets himself to do what only specialists have in -general the gift for doing genially. And so he will probably be -unsatisfied, or at any rate incomplete, and even more incomplete than -the student of humane letters only. - -I once mentioned in a school-report, how a young man in one of our -English training colleges having to paraphrase the passage in _Macbeth_ -beginning, - - 'Can'st thou not minister to a mind diseased?' - -turned this line into, 'Can you not wait upon the lunatic?' And I -remarked what a curious state of things it would be, if every pupil of -our national schools knew, let us say, that the moon is two thousand one -hundred and sixty miles in diameter, and thought at the same time that a -good paraphrase for - - 'Can'st thou not minister to a mind diseased?' - -was, 'Can you not wait upon the lunatic?' If one is driven to choose, I -think I would rather have a young person ignorant about the moon's -diameter, but aware that 'Can you not wait upon the lunatic?' is bad, -than a young person whose education had been such as to manage things -the other way. - -Or to go higher than the pupils of our national schools. I have in my -mind's eye a member of our British Parliament who comes to travel here -in America, who afterwards relates his travels, and who shows a really -masterly knowledge of the geology of this great country and of its -mining capabilities, but who ends by gravely suggesting that the United -States should borrow a prince from our Royal Family, and should make him -their king, and should create a House of Lords of great landed -proprietors after the pattern of ours; and then America, he thinks, -would have her future happily and perfectly secured. Surely, in this -case, the President of the Section for Mechanical Science would himself -hardly say that our member of Parliament, by concentrating himself upon -geology and mineralogy, and so on, and not attending to literature and -history, had 'chosen the more useful alternative.' - -If then there is to be separation and option between humane letters on -the one hand, and the natural sciences on the other, the great majority -of mankind, all who have not exceptional and overpowering aptitudes for -the study of nature, would do well, I cannot but think, to choose to be -educated in humane letters rather than in the natural sciences. Letters -will call out their being at more points, will make them live more. - -I said that before I ended I would just touch on the question of -classical education, and I will keep my word. Even if literature is to -retain a large place in our education, yet Latin and Greek, say the -friends of progress, will certainly have to go. Greek is the grand -offender in the eyes of these gentlemen. The attackers of the -established course of study think that against Greek, at any rate, they -have irresistible arguments. Literature may perhaps be needed in -education, they say; but why on earth should it be Greek literature? Why -not French or German? Nay, 'has not an Englishman models in his own -literature of every kind of excellence?' As before, it is not on any -weak pleadings of my own that I rely for convincing the gainsayers; it -is on the constitution of human nature itself, and on the instinct of -self-preservation in humanity. The instinct for beauty is set in human -nature, as surely as the instinct for knowledge is set there, or the -instinct for conduct. If the instinct for beauty is served by Greek -literature and art as it is served by no other literature and art, we -may trust to the instinct of self-preservation in humanity for keeping -Greek as part of our culture. We may trust to it for even making the -study of Greek more prevalent than it is now. Greek will come, I hope, -some day to be studied more rationally than at present; but it will be -increasingly studied as men increasingly feel the need in them for -beauty, and how powerfully Greek art and Greek literature can serve this -need. Women will again study Greek, as Lady Jane Grey did; I believe -that in that chain of forts, with which the fair host of the Amazons are -now engirdling our English universities, I find that here in America, in -colleges like Smith College in Massachusetts, and Vassar College in the -State of New York, and in the happy families of the mixed universities -out West, they are studying it already. - -_Defuit una mihi symmetria prisca_,--'The antique symmetry was the one -thing wanting to me,' said Leonardo da Vinci; and he was an Italian. I -will not presume to speak for the Americans, but I am sure that, in the -Englishman, the want of this admirable symmetry of the Greeks is a -thousand times more great and crying than in any Italian. The results of -the want show themselves most glaringly, perhaps, in our architecture, -but they show themselves, also, in all our art. _Fit details strictly -combined, in view of a large general result nobly conceived;_ that is -just the beautiful _symmetria prisca_ of the Greeks, and it is just -where we English fail, where all our art fails. Striking ideas we have, -and well-executed details we have; but that high symmetry which, with -satisfying and delightful effect, combines them, we seldom or never -have. The glorious beauty of the Acropolis at Athens did not come from -single fine things stuck about on that hill, a statue here, a gateway -there;--no, it arose from all things being perfectly combined for a -supreme total effect. What must not an Englishman feel about our -deficiencies in this respect, as the sense for beauty, whereof this -symmetry is an essential element, awakens and strengthens within him! -what will not one day be his respect and desire for Greece and its -_symmetria prisca_, when the scales drop from his eyes as he walks the -London streets, and he sees such a lesson in meanness as the Strand, for -instance, in its true deformity! But here we are coming to our friend -Mr. Ruskin's province, and I will not intrude upon it, for he is its -very sufficient guardian. - -And so we at last find, it seems, we find flowing in favour of the -humanities the natural and necessary stream of things, which seemed -against them when we started. The 'hairy quadruped furnished with a tail -and pointed ears, probably arboreal in his habits,' this good fellow -carried hidden in his nature, apparently, something destined to develop -into a necessity for humane letters. Nay, more; we seem finally to be -even led to the further conclusion that our hairy ancestor carried in -his nature, also, a necessity for Greek. - -And therefore, to say the truth, I cannot really think that humane -letters are in much actual danger of being thrust out from their leading -place in education, in spite of the array of authorities against them at -this moment. So long as human nature is what it is, their attractions -will remain irresistible. As with Greek, so with letters generally: they -will some day come, we may hope, to be studied more rationally, but they -will not lose their place. What will happen will rather be that there -will be crowded into education other matters besides, far too many; -there will be, perhaps, a period of unsettlement and confusion and false -tendency; but letters will not in the end lose their leading place. If -they lose it for a time, they will get it back again. We shall be -brought back to them by our wants and aspirations. And a poor humanist -may possess his soul in patience, neither strive nor cry, admit the -energy and brilliancy of the partisans of physical science, and their -present favour with the public, to be far greater than his own, and -still have a happy faith that the nature of things works silently on -behalf of the studies which he loves, and that, while we shall all have -to acquaint ourselves with the great results reached by modern science, -and to give ourselves as much training in its disciplines as we can -conveniently carry, yet the majority of men will always require humane -letters; and so much the more, as they have the more and the greater -results of science to relate to the need in man for conduct, and to the -need in him for beauty. - - - - - EMERSON. - - -Forty years ago, when I was an undergraduate at Oxford, voices were in -the air there which haunt my memory still. Happy the man who in that -susceptible season of youth hears such voices! they are a possession to -him for ever. No such voices as those which we heard in our youth at -Oxford are sounding there now. Oxford has more criticism now, more -knowledge, more light; but such voices as those of our youth it has no -longer. The name of Cardinal Newman is a great name to the imagination -still; his genius and his style are still things of power. But he is -over eighty years old; he is in the Oratory at Birmingham; he has -adopted, for the doubts and difficulties which beset men's minds to-day, -a solution which, to speak frankly, is impossible. Forty years ago he -was in the very prime of life; he was close at hand to us at Oxford; he -was preaching in St. Mary's pulpit every Sunday; he seemed about to -transform and to renew what was for us the most national and natural -institution in the world, the Church of England. Who could resist the -charm of that spiritual apparition, gliding in the dim afternoon light -through the aisles of St. Mary's, rising into the pulpit, and then, in -the most entrancing of voices, breaking the silence with words and -thoughts which were a religious music,--subtle, sweet, mournful? I seem -to hear him still, saying: 'After the fever of life, after wearinesses -and sicknesses, fightings and despondings, languor and fretfulness, -struggling and succeeding; after all the changes and chances of this -troubled, unhealthy state,--at length comes death, at length the white -throne of God, at length the beatific vision.' Or, if we followed him -back to his seclusion at Littlemore, that dreary village by the London -road, and to the house of retreat and the church which he built -there,--a mean house such as Paul might have lived in when he was -tent-making at Ephesus, a church plain and thinly sown with -worshippers,--who could resist him there either, welcoming back to the -severe joys of church-fellowship, and of daily worship and prayer, the -firstlings of a generation which had well-nigh forgotten them? Again I -seem to hear him: 'The season is chill and dark, and the breath of the -morning is damp, and worshippers are few; but all this befits those who -are by their profession penitents and mourners, watchers and pilgrims. -More dear to them that loneliness, more cheerful that severity, and more -bright that gloom, than all those aids and appliances of luxury by which -men nowadays attempt to make prayer less disagreeable to them. True -faith does not covet comforts; they who realise that awful day, when -they shall see Him face to face whose eyes are as a flame of fire, will -as little bargain to pray pleasantly now as they will think of doing so -then.' - -Somewhere or other I have spoken of those 'last enchantments of the -Middle Age' which Oxford sheds around us, and here they were! But there -were other voices sounding in our ear besides Newman's. There was the -puissant voice of Carlyle; so sorely strained, over-used, and mis-used -since, but then fresh, comparatively sound, and reaching our hearts with -true, pathetic eloquence. Who can forget the emotion of receiving in its -first freshness such a sentence as that sentence of Carlyle upon Edward -Irving, then just dead: 'Scotland sent him forth a herculean man; our -mad Babylon wore and wasted him with all her engines,--and it took her -twelve years!' A greater voice still,--the greatest voice of the -century,--came to us in those youthful years through Carlyle: the voice -of Goethe. To this day,--such is the force of youthful associations,--I -read the _Wilhelm Meister_ with more pleasure in Carlyle's translation -than in the original. The large, liberal view of human life in _Wilhelm -Meister_, how novel it was to the Englishman in those days! and it was -salutary, too, and educative for him, doubtless, as well as novel. But -what moved us most in _Wilhelm Meister_ was that which, after all, will -always move the young most,--the poetry, the eloquence. Never, surely, -was Carlyle's prose so beautiful and pure as in his rendering of the -Youths' dirge over Mignon!--'Well is our treasure now laid up, the fair -image of the past. Here sleeps it in the marble, undecaying; in your -hearts, also, it lives, it works. Travel, travel, back into life! Take -along with you this holy earnestness, for earnestness alone makes life -eternity.' Here we had the voice of the great Goethe;--not the stiff, -and hindered, and frigid, and factitious Goethe who speaks to us too -often from those sixty volumes of his, but of the great Goethe, and the -true one. - -And besides those voices, there came to us in that old Oxford time a -voice also from this side of the Atlantic,--a clear and pure voice, -which for my ear, at any rate, brought a strain as new, and moving, and -unforgettable, as the strain of Newman, or Carlyle, or Goethe. Mr. -Lowell has well described the apparition of Emerson to your young -generation here, in that distant time of which I am speaking, and of his -workings upon them. He was your Newman, your man of soul and genius -visible to you in the flesh, speaking to your bodily ears, a present -object for your heart and imagination. That is surely the most potent of -all influences! nothing can come up to it. To us at Oxford Emerson was -but a voice speaking from three thousand miles away. But so well he -spoke, that from that time forth Boston Bay and Concord were names -invested to my ear with a sentiment akin to that which invests for me -the names of Oxford and of Weimar; and snatches of Emerson's strain -fixed themselves in my mind as imperishably as any of the eloquent words -which I have been just now quoting. 'Then dies the man in you; then once -more perish the buds of art, poetry, and science, as they have died -already in a thousand thousand men.' 'What Plato has thought, he may -think; what a saint has felt, he may feel; what at any time has befallen -any man, he can understand.' 'Trust thyself! every heart vibrates to -that iron string. Accept the place the Divine Providence has found for -you, the society of your contemporaries, the connexion of events. Great -men have always done so, and confided themselves childlike to the genius -of their age; betraying their perception that the Eternal was stirring -at their heart, working through their hands, predominating in all their -being. And we are now men, and must accept in the highest spirit the -same transcendent destiny; and not pinched in a corner, not cowards -fleeing before a revolution, but redeemers and benefactors, pious -aspirants to be noble clay plastic under the Almighty effort, let us -advance and advance on chaos and the dark!' These lofty sentences of -Emerson, and a hundred others of like strain, I never have lost out of -my memory; I never _can_ lose them. - -At last I find myself in Emerson's own country, and looking upon Boston -Bay. Naturally I revert to the friend of my youth. It is not always -pleasant to ask oneself questions about the friends of one's youth; they -cannot always well support it. Carlyle, for instance, in my judgment, -cannot well support such a return upon him. Yet we should make the -return; we should part with our illusions, we should know the truth. -When I come to this country, where Emerson now counts for so much, and -where such high claims are made for him, I pull myself together, and ask -myself what the truth about this object of my youthful admiration really -is. Improper elements often come into our estimate of men. We have -lately seen a German critic make Goethe the greatest of all poets, -because Germany is now the greatest of military powers, and wants a poet -to match. Then, too, America is a young country; and young countries, -like young persons, are apt sometimes to evince in their literary -judgments a want of scale and measure. I set myself, therefore, -resolutely to come at a real estimate of Emerson, and with a leaning -even to strictness rather than to indulgence. That is the safer course. -Time has no indulgence; any veils of illusion which we may have left -around an object because we loved it, Time is sure to strip away. - - * * * * * - -I was reading the other day a notice of Emerson by a serious and -interesting American critic. Fifty or sixty passages in Emerson's poems, -says this critic,--who had doubtless himself been nourished on Emerson's -writings, and held them justly dear,--fifty or sixty passages from -Emerson's poems have already entered into English speech as matter of -familiar and universally current quotation. Here is a specimen of that -personal sort of estimate which, for my part, even in speaking of -authors dear to me, I would try to avoid. What is the kind of phrase of -which we may fairly say that it has entered into English speech as -matter of familiar quotation? Such a phrase, surely, as the 'Patience on -a monument' of Shakespeare; as the 'Darkness visible' of Milton; as the -'Where ignorance is bliss' of Gray. Of not one single passage in -Emerson's poetry can it be truly said that it has become a familiar -quotation like phrases of this kind. It is not enough that it should be -familiar to his admirers, familiar in New England, familiar even -throughout the United States; it must be familiar to all readers and -lovers of English poetry. Of not more than one or two passages in -Emerson's poetry can it, I think, be truly said, that they stand -ever-present in the memory of even many lovers of English poetry. A -great number of passages from his poetry are no doubt perfectly familiar -to the mind and lips of the critic whom I have mentioned, and perhaps of -a wide circle of American readers. But this is a very different thing -from being matter of universal quotation, like the phrases of the -legitimate poets. - -And, in truth, one of the legitimate poets, Emerson, in my opinion, is -not. His poetry is interesting, it makes one think; but it is not the -poetry of one of the born poets. I say it of him with reluctance, -although I am sure that he would have said it of himself; but I say it -with reluctance, because I dislike giving pain to his admirers, and -because all my own wish, too, is to say of him what is favourable. But I -regard myself, not as speaking to please Emerson's admirers, not as -speaking to please myself; but rather, I repeat, as communing with Time -and Nature concerning the productions of this beautiful and rare spirit, -and as resigning what of him is by their unalterable decree touched with -caducity, in order the better to mark and secure that in him which is -immortal. - -Milton says that poetry ought to be simple, sensuous, impassioned. Well, -Emerson's poetry is seldom either simple, or sensuous, or impassioned. -In general it lacks directness; it lacks concreteness; it lacks energy. -His grammar is often embarrassed; in particular, the want of -clearly-marked distinction between the subject and the object of his -sentence is a frequent cause of obscurity in him. A poem which shall be -a plain, forcible, inevitable whole he hardly ever produces. Such good -work as the noble lines graven on the Concord Monument is the exception -with him; such ineffective work as the 'Fourth of July Ode' or the -'Boston Hymn' is the rule. Even passages and single lines of thorough -plainness and commanding force are rare in his poetry. They exist, of -course; but when we meet with them they give us a slight shock of -surprise, so little has Emerson accustomed us to them. Let me have the -pleasure of quoting one or two of these exceptional passages:-- - - 'So nigh is grandeur to our dust, - So near is God to man, - When Duty whispers low, _Thou must_, - The youth replies, _I can_.' - -Or again this:-- - - 'Though love repine and reason chafe, - There came a voice without reply: - "'Tis man's perdition to be safe, - When for the truth he ought to die."' - -Excellent! but how seldom do we get from him a strain blown so clearly -and firmly! Take another passage where his strain has not only -clearness, it has also grace and beauty:-- - - 'And ever, when the happy child - In May beholds the blooming wild, - And hears in heaven the bluebird sing, - "Onward," he cries, "your baskets bring! - In the next field is air more mild, - And in yon hazy west is Eden's balmier spring."' - -In the style and cadence here there is a reminiscence, I think, of Gray; -at any rate the pureness, grace, and beauty of these lines are worthy -even of Gray. But Gray holds his high rank as a poet, not merely by the -beauty and grace of passages in his poems; not merely by a diction -generally pure in an age of impure diction: he holds it, above all, by -the power and skill with which the evolution of his poems is conducted. -Here is his grand superiority to Collins, whose diction in his best -poem, the 'Ode to Evening,' is purer than Gray's; but then the 'Ode to -Evening' is like a river which loses itself in the sand, whereas Gray's -best poems have an evolution sure and satisfying. Emerson's 'Mayday,' -from which I just now quoted, has no real evolution at all; it is a -series of observations. And, in general, his poems have no evolution. -Take, for example, his 'Titmouse.' Here he has an excellent subject; and -his observation of Nature, moreover, is always marvellously close and -fine. But compare what he makes of his meeting with his titmouse with -what Cowper or Burns makes of the like kind of incident! One never quite -arrives at learning what the titmouse actually did for him at all, -though one feels a strong interest and desire to learn it; but one is -reduced to guessing, and cannot be quite sure that after all one has -guessed right. He is not plain and concrete enough,--in other words, not -poet enough,--to be able to tell us. And a failure of this kind goes -through almost all his verse, keeps him amid symbolism and allusion and -the fringes of things, and, in spite of his spiritual power, deeply -impairs his poetic value. Through the inestimable virtue of -concreteness, a simple poem like 'The Bridge' of Longfellow, or the -'School Days' of Mr. Whittier, is of more poetic worth, perhaps, than -all the verse of Emerson. - -I do not, then, place Emerson among the great poets. But I go further, -and say that I do not place him among the great writers, the great men -of letters. Who are the great men of letters? They are men like Cicero, -Plato, Bacon, Pascal, Swift, Voltaire,--writers with, in the first -place, a genius and instinct for style; writers whose prose is by a kind -of native necessity true and sound. Now the style of Emerson, like the -style of his transcendentalist friends and of the 'Dial' so -continually,--the style of Emerson is capable of falling into a strain -like this, which I take from the beginning of his 'Essay on Love': -'Every soul is a celestial being to every other soul. The heart has its -sabbaths and jubilees, in which the world appears as a hymeneal feast, -and all natural sounds and the circle of the seasons are erotic odes and -dances.' Emerson altered this sentence in the later editions. Like -Wordsworth, he was in later life fond of altering; and in general his -later alterations, like those of Wordsworth, are not improvements. He -softened the passage in question, however, though without really mending -it. I quote it in its original and strongly-marked form. Arthur Stanley -used to relate that about the year 1840, being in conversation with some -Americans in quarantine at Malta, and thinking to please them, he -declared his warm admiration for Emerson's 'Essays,' then recently -published. However, the Americans shook their heads, and told him that -for home taste Emerson was decidedly too _greeny_. We will hope, for -their sakes, that the sort of thing they had in their heads was such -writing as I have just quoted. Unsound it is, indeed, and in a style -almost impossible to a born man of letters. - -It is a curious thing, that quality of style which marks the great -writer, the born man of letters. It resides in the whole tissue of his -work, and of his work regarded as a composition for literary purposes. -Brilliant and powerful passages in a man's writings do not prove his -possession of it; it lies in their whole tissue. Emerson has passages of -noble and pathetic eloquence, such as those which I quoted at the -beginning; he has passages of shrewd and felicitous wit; he has crisp -epigram; he has passages of exquisitely touched observation of nature. -Yet he is not a great writer; his style has not the requisite wholeness -of good tissue. Even Carlyle is not, in my judgment, a great writer. He -has surpassingly powerful qualities of expression, far more powerful -than Emerson's, and reminding one of the gifts of expression of the -great poets,--of even Shakespeare himself. What Emerson so admirably -says of Carlyle's 'devouring eyes and pourtraying hand,' 'those thirsty -eyes, those portrait-eating, portrait-painting eyes of thine, those -fatal perceptions,' is thoroughly true. What a description is Carlyle's -of the first publisher of _Sartor Resartus_, 'to whom the idea of a new -edition of _Sartor_ is frightful, or rather ludicrous, unimaginable'; of -this poor Fraser, in whose 'wonderful world of Tory pamphleteers, -conservative Younger-brothers, Regent Street loungers, Crockford -gamblers, Irish Jesuits, drunken reporters, and miscellaneous unclean -persons (whom nitre and much soap will not wash clean), not a soul has -expressed the smallest wish that way!' What a portrait, again, of the -well-beloved John Sterling! 'One, and the best, of a small class extant -here, who, nigh drowning in a black wreck of Infidelity (lighted up by -some glare of Radicalism only, now growing _dim_ too), and about to -perish, saved themselves into a Coleridgian Shovel-Hattedness.' What -touches in the invitation of Emerson to London! 'You shall see -blockheads by the million; Pickwick himself shall be visible,--innocent -young Dickens, reserved for a questionable fate. The great Wordsworth -shall talk till you yourself pronounce him to be a bore. Southey's -complexion is still healthy mahogany brown, with a fleece of white hair, -and eyes that seem running at full gallop. Leigh Hunt, man of genius in -the shape of a cockney, is my near neighbour, with good humour and no -common-sense; old Rogers with his pale head, white, bare, and cold as -snow, with those large blue eyes, cruel, sorrowful, and that sardonic -shelf chin.' How inimitable it all is! And finally, for one must not go -on for ever, this version of a London Sunday, with the public-houses -closed during the hours of divine service! 'It is silent Sunday; the -populace not yet admitted to their beer-shops, till the respectabilities -conclude their rubric mummeries,--a much more audacious feat than beer.' -Yet even Carlyle is not, in my judgment, to be called a great writer; -one cannot think of ranking him with men like Cicero and Plato and Swift -and Voltaire. Emerson freely promises to Carlyle immortality for his -histories. They will not have it. Why? Because the materials furnished -to him by that devouring eye of his, and that pourtraying hand, were not -wrought in and subdued by him to what his work, regarded as a -composition for literary purposes, required. Occuring in conversation, -breaking out in familiar correspondence, they are magnificent, -inimitable; nothing more is required of them; thus thrown out anyhow, -they serve their turn and fulfil their function. And, therefore, I -should not wonder if really Carlyle lived, in the long run, by such an -invaluable record as that correspondence between him and Emerson, of -which we owe the publication to Mr. Charles Norton,--by this and not by -his works, as Johnson lives in Boswell, not by his works. For Carlyle's -sallies, as the staple of a literary work, become wearisome; and as time -more and more applies to Carlyle's works its stringent test, this will -be felt more and more. Shakespeare, Molière, Swift,--they, too, had, -like Carlyle, the devouring eye and the pourtraying hand. But they are -great literary masters, they are supreme writers, because they knew how -to work into a literary composition their materials, and to subdue them -to the purposes of literary effect. Carlyle is too wilful for this, too -turbid, too vehement. - -You will think I deal in nothing but negatives. I have been saying that -Emerson is not one of the great poets, the great writers. He has not -their quality of style. He is, however, the propounder of a philosophy. -The Platonic dialogues afford us the example of exquisite literary form -and treatment given to philosophical ideas. Plato is at once a great -literary man and a great philosopher. - -If we speak carefully, we cannot call Aristotle or Spinoza or Kant great -literary men, or their productions great literary works. But their work -is arranged with such constructive power that they build a philosophy, -and are justly called great philosophical writers. Emerson cannot, I -think, be called with justice a great philosophical writer. He cannot -build; his arrangement of philosophical ideas has no progress in it, no -evolution; he does not construct a philosophy. Emerson himself knew the -defects of his method, or rather want of method, very well; indeed, he -and Carlyle criticise themselves and one another in a way which leaves -little for any one else to do in the way of formulating their defects. -Carlyle formulates perfectly the defects of his friend's poetic and -literary production when he says of the 'Dial': 'For me it is too -ethereal, speculative, theoretic; I will have all things condense -themselves, take shape and body, if they are to have my sympathy.' And, -speaking of Emerson's orations, he says: 'I long to see some concrete -Thing, some Event, Man's Life, American Forest, or piece of Creation, -which this Emerson loves and wonders at, well _Emersonised_,--depictured -by Emerson, filled with the life of Emerson, and cast forth from him, -then to live by itself. If these orations balk me of this, how -profitable soever they may be for others, I will not love them.' Emerson -himself formulates perfectly the defect of his own philosophical -productions when he speaks of his 'formidable tendency to the lapidary -style. I build my house of boulders.' 'Here I sit and read and write,' -he says again, 'with very little system, and, as far as regards -composition, with the most fragmentary result; paragraphs -incompressible, each sentence an infinitely repellent particle.' Nothing -can be truer; and the work of a Spinoza or Kant, of the men who stand as -great philosophical writers, does not proceed in this wise. - -Some people will tell you that Emerson's poetry, indeed, is too -abstract, and his philosophy too vague, but that his best work is his -_English Traits_. The _English Traits_ are beyond question very pleasant -reading. It is easy to praise them, easy to commend the author of them. -But I insist on always trying Emerson's work by the highest standards. I -esteem him too much to try his work by any other. Tried by the highest -standards, and compared with the work of the excellent markers and -recorders of the traits of human life,--of writers like Montaigne, La -Bruyère, Addison,--the _English Traits_ will not stand the comparison. -Emerson's observation has not the disinterested quality of the -observation of these masters. It is the observation of a man -systematically benevolent, as Hawthorne's observation in _Our Old Home_ -is the work of a man chagrined. Hawthorne's literary talent is of the -first order. His subjects are generally not to me subjects of the -highest interest; but his literary talent is of the first order, the -finest, I think, which America has yet produced,--finer, by much, than -Emerson's. Yet _Our Old Home_ is not a masterpiece any more than -_English Traits_. In neither of them is the observer disinterested -enough. The author's attitude in each of these cases can easily be -understood and defended. Hawthorne was a sensitive man, so situated in -England that he was perpetually in contact with the British Philistine; -and the British Philistine is a trying personage. Emerson's systematic -benevolence comes from what he himself calls somewhere his 'persistent -optimism'; and his persistent optimism is the root of his greatness and -the source of his charm. But still let us keep our literary conscience -true, and judge every kind of literary work by the laws really proper to -it. The kind of work attempted in the _English Traits_ and in _Our Old -Home_ is work which cannot be done perfectly with a bias such as that -given by Emerson's optimism or by Hawthorne's chagrin. Consequently, -neither _English Traits_ nor _Our Old Home_ is a work of perfection in -its kind. - -Not with the Miltons and Grays, not with the Platos and Spinozas, not -with the Swifts and Voltaires, not with the Montaignes and Addisons, can -we rank Emerson. His work of various kinds, when one compares it with -the work done in a corresponding kind by these masters, fails to stand -the comparison. No man could see this clearer than Emerson himself. It -is hard not to feel despondency when we contemplate our failures and -shortcomings: and Emerson, the least self-flattering and the most modest -of men, saw so plainly what was lacking to him that he had his moments -of despondency. 'Alas, my friend,' he writes in reply to Carlyle, who -had exhorted him to creative work,--'Alas, my friend, I can do no such -gay thing as you say. I do not belong to the poets, but only to a low -department of literature,--the reporters; suburban men.' He deprecated -his friend's praise; praise 'generous to a fault,' he calls it; praise -'generous to the shaming of me,--cold, fastidious, ebbing person that I -am. Already in a former letter you had said too much good of my poor -little arid book, which is as sand to my eyes. I can only say that I -heartily wish the book were better; and I must try and deserve so much -favour from the kind gods by a bolder and truer living in the months to -come,--such as may perchance one day release and invigorate this cramp -hand of mine. When I see how much work is to be done; what room for a -poet, for any spiritualist, in this great, intelligent, sensual, and -avaricious America,--I lament my fumbling fingers and stammering -tongue.' Again, as late as 1870, he writes to Carlyle: 'There is no -example of constancy like yours, and it always stings my stupor into -temporary recovery and wonderful resolution to accept the noble -challenge. But "the strong hours conquer us;" and I am the victim of -miscellany,--miscellany of designs, vast debility, and procrastination.' -The forlorn note belonging to the phrase, 'vast debility,' recalls that -saddest and most discouraged of writers, the author of _Obermann_, -Senancour, with whom Emerson has in truth a certain kinship. He has, in -common with Senancour, his pureness, his passion for nature, his single -eye; and here we find him confessing, like Senancour, a sense in himself -of sterility and impotence. - - * * * * * - -And now I think I have cleared the ground. I have given up to envious -Time as much of Emerson as Time can fairly expect ever to obtain. We -have not in Emerson a great poet, a great writer, a great -philosophy-maker. His relation to us is not that of one of those -personages; yet it is a relation of, I think, even superior importance. -His relation to us is more like that of the Roman Emperor Marcus -Aurelius. Marcus Aurelius is not a great writer, a great -philosophy-maker; he is the friend and aider of those who would live in -the spirit. Emerson is the same. He is the friend and aider of those who -would live in the spirit. All the points in thinking which are necessary -for this purpose he takes; but he does not combine them into a system, -or present them as a regular philosophy. Combined in a system by a man -with the requisite talent for this kind of thing, they would be less -useful than as Emerson gives them to us; and the man with the talent so -to systematise them would be less impressive than Emerson. They do very -well as they now stand;--like 'boulders,' as he says;--in 'paragraphs -incompressible, each sentence an infinitely repellent particle.' In such -sentences his main points recur again and again, and become fixed in the -memory. - -We all know them. First and foremost, character. Character is -everything. 'That which all things tend to educe,--which freedom, -cultivation, intercourse, revolutions, go to form and deliver,--is -character.' Character and self-reliance. 'Trust thyself! every heart -vibrates to that iron string.' And yet we have our being in a _not -ourselves_. 'There is a power above and behind us, and we are the -channels of its communications.' But our lives must be pitched higher. -'Life must be lived on a higher plane; we must go up to a higher -platform, to which we are always invited to ascend; there the whole -scene changes.' The good we need is for ever close to us, though we -attain it not. 'On the brink of the waters of life and truth, we are -miserably dying.' This good is close to us, moreover, in our daily life, -and in the familiar, homely places. 'The unremitting retention of simple -and high sentiments in obscure duties,--that is the maxim for us. Let us -be poised and wise, and our own to-day. Let us treat the men and women -well,--treat them as if they were real; perhaps they are. Men live in -their fancy, like drunkards whose hands are too soft and tremulous for -successful labour. I settle myself ever firmer in the creed, that we -should not postpone and refer and wish, but do broad justice where we -are, by whomsoever we deal with; accepting our actual companions and -circumstances, however humble or odious, as the mystic officials to whom -the universe has delegated its whole pleasure for us. Massachusetts, -Connecticut River, and Boston Bay, you think paltry places, and the ear -loves names of foreign and classic topography. But here we are; and if -we will tarry a little we may come to learn that here is best. See to it -only that thyself is here.' Furthermore, the good is close to us _all_. -'I resist the scepticism of our education and of our educated men. I do -not believe that the differences of opinion and character in men are -organic. I do not recognise, besides the class of the good and the wise, -a permanent class of sceptics, or a class of conservatives, or of -malignants, or of materialists. I do not believe in the classes. Every -man has a call of the power to do something unique.' Exclusiveness is -deadly. 'The exclusive in social life does not see that he excludes -himself from enjoyment in the attempt to appropriate it. The -exclusionist in religion does not see that he shuts the door of heaven -on himself in striving to shut out others. Treat men as pawns and -ninepins, and you shall suffer as well as they. If you leave out their -heart you shall lose your own: The selfish man suffers more from his -selfishness than he from whom that selfishness withholds some important -benefit.' A sound nature will be inclined to refuse ease and -self-indulgence. 'To live with some rigour of temperance, or some -extreme of generosity, seems to be an asceticism which common -good-nature would appoint to those who are at ease and in plenty, in -sign that they feel a brotherhood with the great multitude of suffering -men.' Compensation, finally, is the great law of life; it is everywhere, -it is sure, and there is no escape from it. This is that 'law alive and -beautiful, which works over our heads and under our feet. Pitiless, it -avails itself of our success when we obey it, and of our ruin when we -contravene it. We are all secret believers in it. It rewards actions -after their nature. The reward of a thing well done is to have done it. -The thief steals from himself, the swindler swindles himself. You must -pay at last your own debt.' - -This is tonic indeed! And let no one object that it is too general; that -more practical, positive direction is what we want; that Emerson's -optimism, self-reliance, and indifference to favourable conditions for -our life and growth have in them something of danger. 'Trust thyself;' -'what attracts my attention shall have it;' 'though thou shouldst walk -the world over thou shalt not be able to find a condition inopportune or -ignoble;' 'what we call vulgar society is that society whose poetry is -not yet written, but which you shall presently make as enviable and -renowned as any.' With maxims like these, we surely, it may be said, run -some risk of being made too well satisfied with our own actual self and -state, however crude and imperfect they may be. 'Trust thyself?' It may -be said that the common American or Englishman is more than enough -disposed already to trust himself. I often reply, when our sectarians -are praised for following conscience: Our people are very good in -following their conscience; where they are not so good is in -ascertaining whether their conscience tells them right. 'What attracts -my attention shall have it?' Well, that is our people's plea when they -run after the Salvation Army, and desire Messrs. Moody and Sankey. 'Thou -shalt not be able to find a condition inopportune or ignoble?' But think -of the turn of the good people of our race for producing a life of -hideousness and immense ennui; think of that specimen of your own New -England life which Mr. Howells gives us in one of his charming stories -which I was reading lately; think of the life of that ragged New England -farm in the _Lady of the Aroostook_; think of Deacon Blood, and Aunt -Maria, and the straight-backed chairs with black horse-hair seats, and -Ezra Perkins with perfect self-reliance depositing his travellers in the -snow! I can truly say that in the little which I have seen of the life -of New England, I am more struck with what has been achieved than with -the crudeness and failure. But no doubt there is still a great deal of -crudeness also. Your own novelists say there is, and I suppose they say -true. In the New England, as in the Old, our people have to learn, I -suppose, not that their modes of life are beautiful and excellent -already; they have rather to learn that they must transform them. - -To adopt this line of objection to Emerson's deliverances would, -however, be unjust. In the first place, Emerson's points are in -themselves true, if understood in a certain high sense; they are true -and fruitful. And the right work to be done, at the hour when he -appeared, was to affirm them generally and absolutely. Only thus could -he break through the hard and fast barrier of narrow, fixed ideas, which -he found confronting him, and win an entrance for new ideas. Had he -attempted developments which may now strike us as expedient, he would -have excited fierce antagonism, and probably effected little or nothing. -The time might come for doing other work later, but the work which -Emerson did was the right work to be done then. - -In the second place, strong as was Emerson's optimism, and unconquerable -as was his belief in a good result to emerge from all which he saw going -on around him, no misanthropical satirist ever saw shortcomings and -absurdities more clearly than he did, or exposed them more courageously. -When he sees 'the meanness,' as he calls it, 'of American politics,' he -congratulates Washington on being 'long already happily dead,' on being -'wrapt in his shroud and for ever safe.' With how firm a touch he -delineates the faults of your two great political parties of forty years -ago! The Democrats, he says, 'have not at heart the ends which give to -the name of democracy what hope and virtue are in it. The spirit of our -American radicalism is destructive and aimless; it is not loving; it has -no ulterior and divine ends, but is destructive only out of hatred and -selfishness. On the other side, the conservative party, composed of the -most moderate, able, and cultivated part of the population, is timid, -and merely defensive of property. It vindicates no right, it aspires to -no real good, it brands no crime, it proposes no generous policy. From -neither party, when in power, has the world any benefit to expect in -science, art, or humanity, at all commensurate with the resources of the -nation.' Then with what subtle though kindly irony he follows the -gradual withdrawal in New England, in the last half century, of tender -consciences from the social organisations,--the bent for experiments -such as that of Brook Farm and the like,--follows it in all its -'dissidence of dissent and Protestantism of the Protestant religion!' He -even loves to rally the New Englander on his philanthropical activity, -and to find his beneficence and its institutions a bore! 'Your -miscellaneous popular charities, the education at college of fools, the -building of meeting-houses to the vain end to which many of these now -stand, alms to sots, and the thousand-fold relief societies,--though I -confess with shame that I sometimes succumb and give the dollar, yet it -is a wicked dollar, which by and by I shall have the manhood to -withhold.' 'Our Sunday schools and churches and pauper societies are -yokes to the neck. We pain ourselves to please nobody. There are natural -ways of arriving at the same ends at which these aim, but do not -arrive.' 'Nature does not like our benevolence or our learning much -better than she likes our frauds and wars. When we come out of the -caucus, or the bank, or the Abolition convention, or the Temperance -meeting, or the Transcendental club, into the fields and woods, she says -to us: "So hot, my little sir?"' - -Yes, truly, his insight is admirable; his truth is precious. Yet the -secret of his effect is not even in these; it is in his temper. It is in -the hopeful, serene, beautiful temper wherewith these, in Emerson, are -indissolubly joined; in which they work, and have their being. He says -himself: 'We judge of a man's wisdom by his hope, knowing that the -perception of the inexhaustibleness of nature is an immortal youth.' If -this be so, how wise is Emerson! for never had man such a sense of the -inexhaustibleness of nature, and such hope. It was the ground of his -being; it never failed him. Even when he is sadly avowing the -imperfection of his literary power and resources, lamenting his fumbling -fingers and stammering tongue, he adds: 'Yet, as I tell you, I am very -easy in my mind and never dream of suicide. My whole philosophy, which -is very real, teaches acquiescence and optimism. Sure I am that the -right word will be spoken, though I cut out my tongue.' In his old age, -with friends dying and life failing, his tone of cheerful, -forward-looking hope is still the same. 'A multitude of young men are -growing up here of high promise, and I compare gladly the social poverty -of my youth with the power on which these draw.' His abiding word for -us, the word by which being dead he yet speaks to us, is this: 'That -which befits us, embosomed in beauty and wonder as we are, is -cheerfulness and courage, and the endeavour to realise our aspirations. -Shall not the heart, which has received so much, trust the Power by -which it lives?' - -One can scarcely overrate the importance of thus holding fast to -happiness and hope. It gives to Emerson's work an invaluable virtue. As -Wordsworth's poetry is, in my judgment, the most important work done in -verse, in our language, during the present century, so Emerson's -_Essays_ are, I think, the most important work done in prose. His work -is more important than Carlyle's. Let us be just to Carlyle, provoking -though he often is. Not only has he that genius of his which makes -Emerson say truly of his letters, that 'they savour always of eternity.' -More than this may be said of him. The scope and upshot of his teaching -are true; 'his guiding genius,' to quote Emerson again, is really 'his -moral sense, his perception of the sole importance of truth and -justice.' But consider Carlyle's temper, as we have been considering -Emerson's! take his own account of it! 'Perhaps London is the proper -place for me after all, seeing all places are _im_proper: who knows? -Meanwhile, I lead a most dyspeptic, solitary, self-shrouded life; -consuming, if possible in silence, my considerable daily allotment of -pain; glad when any strength is left in me for writing, which is the -only use I can see in myself,--too rare a case of late. The ground of my -existence is black as death; too black, when all _void_ too; but at -times there paint themselves on it pictures of gold, and rainbow, and -lightning; all the brighter for the black ground, I suppose. Withal, I -am very much of a fool.'--No, not a fool, but turbid and morbid, wilful -and perverse. 'We judge of a man's wisdom by his hope.' - -Carlyle's perverse attitude towards happiness cuts him off from hope. He -fiercely attacks the desire for happiness; his grand point in _Sartor_, -his secret in which the soul may find rest, is that one shall cease to -desire happiness, that one should learn to say to oneself: 'What if thou -wert born and predestined not to be happy, but to be unhappy!' He is -wrong; Saint Augustine is the better philosopher, who says: 'Act we -_must_ in pursuance of what gives us most delight.' Epictetus and -Augustine can be severe moralists enough; but both of them know and -frankly say that the desire for happiness is the root and ground of -man's being. Tell him and show him that he places his happiness wrong, -that he seeks for delight where delight will never be really found; then -you illumine and further him. But you only confuse him by telling him to -cease to desire happiness; and you will not tell him this unless you are -already confused yourself. - -Carlyle preached the dignity of labour, the necessity of righteousness, -the love of veracity, the hatred of shams. He is said by many people to -be a great teacher, a great helper for us, because he does so. But what -is the due and eternal result of labour, righteousness, -veracity?--Happiness. And how are we drawn to them by one who, instead -of making us feel that with them is happiness, tells us that perhaps we -were predestined not to be happy but to be unhappy? - -You will find, in especial, many earnest preachers of our popular -religion to be fervent in their praise and admiration of Carlyle. His -insistence on labour, righteousness, and veracity, pleases them; his -contempt for happiness pleases them too. I read the other day a tract -against smoking, although I do not happen to be a smoker myself. -'Smoking,' said the tract, 'is liked because it gives agreeable -sensations. Now it is a positive objection to a thing that it gives -agreeable sensations. An earnest man will expressly avoid what gives -agreeable sensations.' Shortly afterwards I was inspecting a school, and -I found the children reading a piece of poetry on the common theme that -we are here to-day and gone to-morrow. I shall soon be gone, the speaker -in this poem was made to say,-- - - 'And I shall be glad to go, - For the world at best is a dreary place, - And my life is getting low.' - -How usual a language of popular religion that is, on our side of the -Atlantic at any rate! But then our popular religion, in disparaging -happiness here below, knows very well what it is after. It has its eye -on a happiness in a future life above the clouds, in the New Jerusalem, -to be won by disliking and rejecting happiness here on earth. And so -long as this ideal stands fast, it is very well. But for very many it -now stands fast no longer; for Carlyle, at any rate, it had failed and -vanished. Happiness in labour, righteousness, and veracity,--in the life -of the spirit,--here was a gospel still for Carlyle to preach, and to -help others by preaching. But he baffled them and himself by preferring -the paradox that we are not born for happiness at all. - -Happiness in labour, righteousness, and veracity; in all the life of the -spirit; happiness and eternal hope;--that was Emerson's gospel. I hear -it said that Emerson was too sanguine; that the actual generation in -America is not turning out so well as he expected. Very likely he was -too sanguine as to the near future; in this country it is difficult not -to be too sanguine. Very possibly the present generation may prove -unworthy of his high hopes; even several generations succeeding this may -prove unworthy of them. But by his conviction that in the life of the -spirit is happiness, and by his hope that this life of the spirit will -come more and more to be sanely understood, and to prevail, and to work -for happiness,--by this conviction and hope Emerson was great, and he -will surely prove in the end to have been right in them. In this country -it is difficult, as I said, not to be sanguine. Very many of your -writers are over-sanguine, and on the wrong grounds. But you have two -men who in what they have written show their sanguineness in a line -where courage and hope are just, where they are also infinitely -important, but where they are not easy. The two men are Franklin and -Emerson.[5] These two are, I think, the most distinctively and -honourably American of your writers; they are the most original and the -most valuable. Wise men everywhere know that we must keep up our courage -and hope; they know that hope is, as Wordsworth well says,-- - - 'The paramount _duty_ which Heaven lays, - For its own honour, on man's suffering heart.' - -But the very word _duty_ points to an effort and a struggle to maintain -our hope unbroken. Franklin and Emerson maintained theirs with a -convincing ease, an inspiring joy. Franklin's confidence in the -happiness with which industry, honesty, and economy will crown the life -of this work-day world, is such that he runs over with felicity. With a -like felicity does Emerson run over, when he contemplates the happiness -eternally attached to the true life in the spirit. You cannot prize him -too much, nor heed him too diligently. He has lessons for both the -branches of our race. I figure him to my mind as visible upon earth -still, as still standing here by Boston Bay, or at his own Concord, in -his habit as he lived, but of heightened stature and shining feature, -with one hand stretched out towards the East, to our laden and labouring -England; the other towards the ever-growing West, to his own -dearly-loved America,--'great, intelligent, sensual, avaricious -America.' To us he shows for guidance his lucid freedom, his -cheerfulness and hope; to you his dignity, delicacy, serenity, -elevation. - - - THE END. - - - _Printed by R. & R. Clark, Edinburgh._ - - - - - [Footnotes] - -1. _Philippians_, iv, 8. - -2. [Greek: Hosa semna]. - -3. _Ecclesiastes_, viii. 17. - -4. _Iliad_, xxiv. 49. - -5. I found with pleasure that this conjunction of Emerson's name with -Franklin's had already occurred to an accomplished writer and delightful -man, a friend of Emerson, left almost the sole survivor, alas! of the -famous literary generation of Boston,--Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes. Dr. -Holmes has kindly allowed me to print here the ingenious and interesting -lines, hitherto unpublished, in which he speaks of Emerson thus:-- - - 'Where in the realm of thought, whose air is song, - Does he, the Buddha of the West, belong? - He seems a wingéd Franklin, sweetly wise, - Born to unlock the secret of the skies; - And which the nobler calling--if 'tis fair - Terrestrial with celestial to compare-- - To guide the storm-cloud's elemental flame, - Or walk the chambers whence the lightning came - Amidst the sources of its subtile fire, - And steal their effluence for his lips and lyre?' - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Discourses in America, by Matthew Arnold - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DISCOURSES IN AMERICA *** - -***** This file should be named 44919-8.txt or 44919-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/9/1/44919/ - -Produced by Sean (scribe_for_hire@yahoo.com), based on -page images generously made available by the Internet -Archive -(https://archive.org/details/discoursesinamer00arnouoft). - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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