"Lo, here a little volume, but great book,Fear it not, sweet,It is no hypocrite,Much larger in itself, than in its look."It is, in one rich handful, heaven and allHeaven's royal hosts encamp'd, thus small,To prove that true schools used to tellA thousand angels in one point can dwell."'Tis Love's great artilleryWhich here contracts itself and comes to lieClose couched in your white bosom, and from thenceAs from a snowy fortress of defenceAgainst the ghostly foe to take your part,And fortify the hold of your chaste heart."It is the armory of light,Let constant use but keep it bright,You'll find it yieldsTo holy hands and humble hearts,More swords and shieldsThan sin hath snares, or hell hath darts.Only be sureThe hands be pureThat hold these weapons, and the eyesThose of turtles, chaste and true,Wakeful and wise."Here is a friend shall fight for you;Hold this book before your heart,Let prayer alone to play his part."But O! the heartThat studies this high art,Must be a sure housekeeper,And yet no sleeper."Dear soul, be strong,Mercy will come ere long,And bring her bosom full of blessings;Flowers of never-fading gracesTo make immortal dressingsFor worthy souls, whose wise embracesStore up themselves for him, who is aloneThe spouse of virgins, and the Virgin's Son."But if the noble bridegroom when he comeShall find the wandering heart from home,Leaving her chaste abodeTo gad abroadAmongst the gay mates of the god of flies,To take her pleasures, and to playAnd keep the devil's holiday;To dance in the sunshine of some smilingBut beguilingSpear of sweet and sugared lies;Some slippery pairOf false, perhaps as fair,Flattering, but forswearing eyes,Doubtless some other heartWill get the start,And stepping in before,Will take possession of the sacred storeOf hidden sweets and holy joys,Words which are not heard with ears(Those tumultuous shops of noise),Effectual whispers, whose still voiceThe soul itself more feels than hears;Amorous languishments, luminous trances,Sights which are not seen with eyes;Spiritual and soul-piercing glances,Whose pure and subtle lightning fliesHome to the heart and sets the house on fire,And melts it down in sweet desire,Yet doth not stayTo ask the window's leave to pass that way.An hundred thousand loves and graces,And many a mystic thingWhich the divine embraces,Of the dear spouse of spirits with them will bring,For which it is no shameThat dull mortality must not know a name.Of all this hidden storeOf blessings, and ten thousand more,If when he comeHe find the heart from home,Doubtless he will unloadHimself some otherwhere,And pour abroadHis precious sweetsOn the fair soul whom first he meets."
"Lo, here a little volume, but great book,Fear it not, sweet,It is no hypocrite,Much larger in itself, than in its look."It is, in one rich handful, heaven and allHeaven's royal hosts encamp'd, thus small,To prove that true schools used to tellA thousand angels in one point can dwell."'Tis Love's great artilleryWhich here contracts itself and comes to lieClose couched in your white bosom, and from thenceAs from a snowy fortress of defenceAgainst the ghostly foe to take your part,And fortify the hold of your chaste heart."It is the armory of light,Let constant use but keep it bright,You'll find it yieldsTo holy hands and humble hearts,More swords and shieldsThan sin hath snares, or hell hath darts.Only be sureThe hands be pureThat hold these weapons, and the eyesThose of turtles, chaste and true,Wakeful and wise."Here is a friend shall fight for you;Hold this book before your heart,Let prayer alone to play his part."But O! the heartThat studies this high art,Must be a sure housekeeper,And yet no sleeper."Dear soul, be strong,Mercy will come ere long,And bring her bosom full of blessings;Flowers of never-fading gracesTo make immortal dressingsFor worthy souls, whose wise embracesStore up themselves for him, who is aloneThe spouse of virgins, and the Virgin's Son."But if the noble bridegroom when he comeShall find the wandering heart from home,Leaving her chaste abodeTo gad abroadAmongst the gay mates of the god of flies,To take her pleasures, and to playAnd keep the devil's holiday;To dance in the sunshine of some smilingBut beguilingSpear of sweet and sugared lies;Some slippery pairOf false, perhaps as fair,Flattering, but forswearing eyes,Doubtless some other heartWill get the start,And stepping in before,Will take possession of the sacred storeOf hidden sweets and holy joys,Words which are not heard with ears(Those tumultuous shops of noise),Effectual whispers, whose still voiceThe soul itself more feels than hears;Amorous languishments, luminous trances,Sights which are not seen with eyes;Spiritual and soul-piercing glances,Whose pure and subtle lightning fliesHome to the heart and sets the house on fire,And melts it down in sweet desire,Yet doth not stayTo ask the window's leave to pass that way.An hundred thousand loves and graces,And many a mystic thingWhich the divine embraces,Of the dear spouse of spirits with them will bring,For which it is no shameThat dull mortality must not know a name.Of all this hidden storeOf blessings, and ten thousand more,If when he comeHe find the heart from home,Doubtless he will unloadHimself some otherwhere,And pour abroadHis precious sweetsOn the fair soul whom first he meets."
"Lo, here a little volume, but great book,Fear it not, sweet,It is no hypocrite,Much larger in itself, than in its look.
"Lo, here a little volume, but great book,
Fear it not, sweet,
It is no hypocrite,
Much larger in itself, than in its look.
"It is, in one rich handful, heaven and allHeaven's royal hosts encamp'd, thus small,To prove that true schools used to tellA thousand angels in one point can dwell.
"It is, in one rich handful, heaven and all
Heaven's royal hosts encamp'd, thus small,
To prove that true schools used to tell
A thousand angels in one point can dwell.
"'Tis Love's great artilleryWhich here contracts itself and comes to lieClose couched in your white bosom, and from thenceAs from a snowy fortress of defenceAgainst the ghostly foe to take your part,And fortify the hold of your chaste heart.
"'Tis Love's great artillery
Which here contracts itself and comes to lie
Close couched in your white bosom, and from thence
As from a snowy fortress of defence
Against the ghostly foe to take your part,
And fortify the hold of your chaste heart.
"It is the armory of light,Let constant use but keep it bright,You'll find it yieldsTo holy hands and humble hearts,More swords and shieldsThan sin hath snares, or hell hath darts.Only be sureThe hands be pureThat hold these weapons, and the eyesThose of turtles, chaste and true,Wakeful and wise.
"It is the armory of light,
Let constant use but keep it bright,
You'll find it yields
To holy hands and humble hearts,
More swords and shields
Than sin hath snares, or hell hath darts.
Only be sure
The hands be pure
That hold these weapons, and the eyes
Those of turtles, chaste and true,
Wakeful and wise.
"Here is a friend shall fight for you;Hold this book before your heart,Let prayer alone to play his part.
"Here is a friend shall fight for you;
Hold this book before your heart,
Let prayer alone to play his part.
"But O! the heartThat studies this high art,Must be a sure housekeeper,And yet no sleeper.
"But O! the heart
That studies this high art,
Must be a sure housekeeper,
And yet no sleeper.
"Dear soul, be strong,Mercy will come ere long,And bring her bosom full of blessings;Flowers of never-fading gracesTo make immortal dressingsFor worthy souls, whose wise embracesStore up themselves for him, who is aloneThe spouse of virgins, and the Virgin's Son.
"Dear soul, be strong,
Mercy will come ere long,
And bring her bosom full of blessings;
Flowers of never-fading graces
To make immortal dressings
For worthy souls, whose wise embraces
Store up themselves for him, who is alone
The spouse of virgins, and the Virgin's Son.
"But if the noble bridegroom when he comeShall find the wandering heart from home,Leaving her chaste abodeTo gad abroadAmongst the gay mates of the god of flies,To take her pleasures, and to playAnd keep the devil's holiday;To dance in the sunshine of some smilingBut beguilingSpear of sweet and sugared lies;Some slippery pairOf false, perhaps as fair,Flattering, but forswearing eyes,Doubtless some other heartWill get the start,And stepping in before,Will take possession of the sacred storeOf hidden sweets and holy joys,Words which are not heard with ears(Those tumultuous shops of noise),Effectual whispers, whose still voiceThe soul itself more feels than hears;Amorous languishments, luminous trances,Sights which are not seen with eyes;Spiritual and soul-piercing glances,Whose pure and subtle lightning fliesHome to the heart and sets the house on fire,And melts it down in sweet desire,Yet doth not stayTo ask the window's leave to pass that way.An hundred thousand loves and graces,And many a mystic thingWhich the divine embraces,Of the dear spouse of spirits with them will bring,For which it is no shameThat dull mortality must not know a name.
"But if the noble bridegroom when he come
Shall find the wandering heart from home,
Leaving her chaste abode
To gad abroad
Amongst the gay mates of the god of flies,
To take her pleasures, and to play
And keep the devil's holiday;
To dance in the sunshine of some smiling
But beguiling
Spear of sweet and sugared lies;
Some slippery pair
Of false, perhaps as fair,
Flattering, but forswearing eyes,
Doubtless some other heart
Will get the start,
And stepping in before,
Will take possession of the sacred store
Of hidden sweets and holy joys,
Words which are not heard with ears
(Those tumultuous shops of noise),
Effectual whispers, whose still voice
The soul itself more feels than hears;
Amorous languishments, luminous trances,
Sights which are not seen with eyes;
Spiritual and soul-piercing glances,
Whose pure and subtle lightning flies
Home to the heart and sets the house on fire,
And melts it down in sweet desire,
Yet doth not stay
To ask the window's leave to pass that way.
An hundred thousand loves and graces,
And many a mystic thing
Which the divine embraces,
Of the dear spouse of spirits with them will bring,
For which it is no shame
That dull mortality must not know a name.
Of all this hidden storeOf blessings, and ten thousand more,If when he comeHe find the heart from home,Doubtless he will unloadHimself some otherwhere,And pour abroadHis precious sweetsOn the fair soul whom first he meets."
Of all this hidden store
Of blessings, and ten thousand more,
If when he come
He find the heart from home,
Doubtless he will unload
Himself some otherwhere,
And pour abroad
His precious sweets
On the fair soul whom first he meets."
Thursday, 10.
The first number of Volume III. of the "Journal of Speculative Philosophy" comes to hand, printed in fair type, with promise of attracting attention from thinkers at home and abroad. And it is a significant fact that the most appreciative notice yet taken of this Journal comes from Germany, and is written by the President of the Berlin Philosophical Society. Nor less remarkable that this first attempt to popularize Philosophy, so far as practicable, should date from the West, and show an ability in dealing with speculative questions that may well challenge the attainments of thinkers everywhere,—the translations showing a ripe scholarship, and covering almost the whole range of historic thinking.8
England, too, has at last found a metaphysician that Coleridge would have accepted and prized. And the more that he follows himself in introducing philosophy from Germany into Britain. James Hutchison Stirling's fervor and strength in advocating Hegel's ideas command the highest respect. Having had Schelling's expositor in Coleridge, we now have Hegel's in Stirling; and, in a spirit of catholicity shown to foreign thought unexpected in an Englishman, promising not a little in the way of qualifying favorably the metaphysics of Britain. Nothing profound nor absolute can be expected from minds of the type of Mill, Herbert Spencer, and the rest,—if not hostile, at leastindifferent to and incapable of idealism; naturalists rather than metaphysicians. It will be a most hopeful indication if Stirling's book, the "Secret of Hegel," find students among his countrymen. Cavilling there will be, of course, misapprehension, much nonsense uttered concerning Hegel's Prime Postulates. But what was thought out fairly in Germany, must find its way and prompt comprehension in England; if not there, then here in New England, out of whose heart a fresh philosophy should spring forth, to which the German Hegel shall give impulse and furtherance. The work has already begun, with Harris's publishing the thoughts of the world's thinkers, himself familiar with the best of all thinking. I look for a more flowing, inspiring type of thought, Teutonic as Greek, of a mystic coloring transcending Boehme, Swedenborg, and freed from the biblicisms of the schools of our time. Hegel's secret is that of pure thought akin with that of Parmenides, Plato, Aristotle, the ancient masters in philosophy. The One is One out of whose womb the Not One is born to perish perpetually at its birth. Whoso pronouncesPersonapprehensively, speaks the secret of all things, and holds the key to all mysteries in nature and spirit.
For further encouragement, moreover, we are promised a translation of the complete works of Plotinus, by a learned contributor to the "Journal," who has qualifications for that service unsurpassed, perhaps, by any on this side of the Atlantic.
He writes from St. Louis:—
"I have tried my hand on Plotinus, and find it easy to render the text into modern philosophical phraseology. Until lately I have been unable to procure a good critical edition of the Greek philosopher. And now, if my energies are spared, a translation of his entire works is not very far in the future."9
It were a good test of one's aptitude for metaphysical studies, his appreciation of Plotinus. Profound as any predecessor of the Platonic school of idealism, he had the remarkable merit of treating ideas in a style at once transparent and subtle, dealing with these as if they were palpable things, such was his grasp of thought and felicity in handling. His themes are of universal concernment at all times. Promoting a catholic and manly method, his books were good correctives of any exclusiveness still adhering in our schools of science and divinity, while the tendencies of his time, as in ours, were towards comparative studies.
A like tendency appeared, also, in England in the studies of the British Platonists, or Latitudinarians,—Dr. Henry More, Dr. Cudworth, Dr. Rust, Norris, Glanvil, John Smith, whose writings deserve a place in theological libraries, and the study of divines especially.
Norris thus praises his friend Dr. More, whose works had high repute and were much studied in his day:—
"Others in learning's chorus bear their part,And the great work distinctly share;Thou, our great catholic professor art,All science is annexed to thy unerring chair;Some lesser synods of the wiseThe Muses kept in universities;But never yet till in thy soulHad they a council œcumenical:An abstract they'd a mind to seeOf all their scattered gifts, and summed them up in thee.Thou hast the arts whole Zodiac run,And fathom'st all that here is known;Strange restless curiosity,Adam himself came short of thee,—He tasted of the fruit, thou bearest away the tree."
"Others in learning's chorus bear their part,And the great work distinctly share;Thou, our great catholic professor art,All science is annexed to thy unerring chair;Some lesser synods of the wiseThe Muses kept in universities;But never yet till in thy soulHad they a council œcumenical:An abstract they'd a mind to seeOf all their scattered gifts, and summed them up in thee.Thou hast the arts whole Zodiac run,And fathom'st all that here is known;Strange restless curiosity,Adam himself came short of thee,—He tasted of the fruit, thou bearest away the tree."
"Others in learning's chorus bear their part,
And the great work distinctly share;
Thou, our great catholic professor art,
All science is annexed to thy unerring chair;
Some lesser synods of the wise
The Muses kept in universities;
But never yet till in thy soul
Had they a council œcumenical:
An abstract they'd a mind to see
Of all their scattered gifts, and summed them up in thee.
Thou hast the arts whole Zodiac run,
And fathom'st all that here is known;
Strange restless curiosity,
Adam himself came short of thee,—
He tasted of the fruit, thou bearest away the tree."
And More writes of Plotinus:—
"Who such things did see,Even in the tumult that few can arriveOf all are named from philosophy,To that high pitch or to such secrets dive."10
"Who such things did see,Even in the tumult that few can arriveOf all are named from philosophy,To that high pitch or to such secrets dive."10
"Who such things did see,
Even in the tumult that few can arrive
Of all are named from philosophy,
To that high pitch or to such secrets dive."10
Plotinus was by birth an Egyptian, a native of Sycopolis. He died at the conclusion of the second year of the reign of M. Aurelius Flavius Claudius, at the age of sixty-six. On his friend Eustochius coming from a distance and approaching him when dying, he said: "As yet I have expected you, and now I endeavor that my divine part may return to that divine nature which flourishes throughout the universe."
Taylor says of him, "He was a philosopher pre-eminently distinguished for the strength and profundity of his intellect, and the purity and elevation of his life. He was wise without the usual mixture of human darkness, and great without the general combination of human weakness and imperfection. He seems to have left the orb of light solely for the benefit of mankind, that he might teach them how to repair the ruin contracted by their exile from good, and how to return to their true country and legitimate kindred allies. I do not mean that he descended into mortality for unfolding the sublimest truths to the multitude, for this wouldhave been a vain and ridiculous attempt, since their eyes, as Plato justly observes, are not strong enough to look at truth. But he came as a guide to the few who are born with a divine destiny, and are struggling to gain the lost region of light, but know not how to break the fetters by which they are detained; who are impatient to leave the obscure cavern of sense, where all is delusion and shadow, and to ascend to the realms of intellect, where all is substance and reality."
His biographers speak of him with the truest admiration. He was foreign from all sophistical ostentation and pride, and conducted himself in the company of disputants with the same freedom and ease as in his familiar discourses; for true wisdom, when it is deeply possessed, gives affability and modesty to the manners, illumines the countenance with a divine serenity, and diffuses over the whole external form an air of dignity and ease. Nor did he hastily disclose to every one the logical necessities latent in his conversation. He was strenuous in discourse, and powerful in discovering what was appropriate. While he was speaking, there was every indication of the predominance of intellect in his conceptions. The light of it diffused itself over his countenance, which was indeed, at all times, lovely, but was then particularly beautiful; a certain attenuated and dewy moisture appeared on his face, and a pleasing mildness shone forth. Then, also, he exhibited a gentleness in receiving questions, and demonstrated a vigor uncommonly robust in their solution.He was rapidly filled with what he read, and having in a few words given the meaning of a profound theory, he arose. He borrowed nothing from others, his conceptions being entirely his own, and his theories original. He could by no means endure to read twice what he had written. Such, indeed, was the power of his intellect, that when he had once conceived the whole disposition of his thoughts from the beginning to the end, and had afterwards committed them to writing, his composition was so connected, that he appeared to be merely transcribing a book. Hence he would discuss his domestic affairs without departing from the actual intention of his mind, and at one and the same time transact the necessary negotiations of friendship, and preserve an uninterrupted survey of the things he had proposed to consider. In consequence of this uncommon power of intellection, when he returned to writing, after the departure of the person with whom he had been conversing, he did not review what he had written; and yet he so connected the preceding with the subsequent conceptions, as if his composition had not been interrupted. Hence, he was at the same time present with others and with himself; so that the self-converted energy of his intellect was never remitted, except in sleep, which his admirable temperance in meats and drinks, and his constant conversion to intellect, contributed in no small measure to expel. Though he was attentive to his pupils and the necessary concerns of life, the intellectual energy of his soul while he wasawake never suffered any interruption from externals, nor any remission of vigor. He was likewise extremely mild in his manners, and easy of access to all his friends and adherents. Hence, so great was his philosophic urbanity, that though he resided at Rome six and twenty years, and had been the arbitrator in many litigious causes which he amicably dissolved, yet he had scarcely an enemy throughout that vast and illustrious city. Indeed, he was so highly esteemed, not only by the senate and people of Rome, that the Emperor Galienus and his wife Salonica honored his person and reverenced his doctrine; and relying on his benevolence, requested that a city in Campania, which had been formerly destroyed, might be restored, and rendered a fit habitation for philosophers, and besides this, that it might be governed by the laws of Plato, and called Platonopolis.
8."Nothing is more interesting in the history of the human mind than the tendency of enlightened souls in all ages to gather in clusters, as in the material world crystallization goes on by the gathering of individual atoms about one axis of formation. Thus the schools of Greek Philosophy, the Pythagorean, the Eleatic, the Peripatetic, the Alexandrian, were human crystallizations about a central idea, and generally in a given locality,—as Samos, Athens, or the Lucanian city of Elea, where Zeno learned lessons of Parmenides, and whence they both journeyed to Athens in the youth of Socrates, and held their "Radical Club" at the house of Pythodorus in the Ceramicus. The Schoolmen and the Mystics of the middle ages clustered together in the same way about Abelard. Thomas Aquinas, Occam, Gerson, Giardano Bruno, the early Italian poets, rally in groups in the same way; so do the Elizabethan Dramatists, the Puritan Politicians, the English Platonists. Coming nearer our own time, there are the Lake Poets of England, the Weimar circle of genius, in Germany, the Transcendental Idealists in Concord and Boston, and finally, the German American Philosophers of St. Louis, concerning whom we now speak. In all these Schools and Fellowships of the human soul, a common impulse, aided by accident of locality and other circumstances, trivial only in appearance, has led to the formation of that strictest bond, the friendship of united aspirations. New England has so long been considered the special home of ideas, that it may surprise one to learn that St. Louis, on the Mississippi, has become the focus of a metaphysicalrenaissance; yet such it has become. A few Germans, New Englanders, and Western men gathered there, having found each other out, began to meet, expatiate, and confer about Kant and Hegel, Fichte, and Sir William Hamilton. Soon they formed a Philosophical Society, and by and by, having accumulated many manuscripts, they began to publish a Magazine of "Speculative Philosophy." At first, this publication came out semi-occasionally, but finally settled down into a regular Quarterly, with contributors on both sides of the Atlantic, and from various schools of metaphysical thought. The January number is, indeed, a remarkable production. Every article is good, and most of them profound; no such collection of striking varieties of philosophic thought has been made public for a long time as this. The Journal is edited by William T. Harris,ll.d., Superintendent of the Public Schools of St. Louis."F. B. Sanborn,in "Springfield Republican," March, 1869.9.His works are comprised in fifty-four books, which his disciple Porphyry divided into six Enneads, assigning, agreeably to the meaning of the word, nine books to every Ennead. Thomas Taylor translated parts of these only.10."It would make a most delightful and instructive essay," says Coleridge, "to draw up a critical, and, where possible, biographical account of the Latitudinarian party at Cambridge, from the reign of James I to the latter half of Charles II. The greater number were Platonists, so called, at least, and such they believed themselves to be, but more truly Plotinists. Thus Cudworth, Dr. Jackson (chaplain of Charles I and Vicar of Newcastle upon Tyne), Henry More, John Smith, and some others (Norris, Glanvil). Jeremy Taylor was a Gassendist, and, as far as I know, he is the only exception. They were alike admirers of Grotius, which, in Taylor, was consistent with the tone of all his philosophy. The whole party, however, and a more amiable never existed, were scared and disgusted into this by the catachrestic language and the skeleton half truths of the systematic divines of the synod of Dort on the one hand, and by the sickly broodings of the Pietists and Solomon's Song preachers on the other. What they all wanted was a pre-inquisition into the mind, as part organ, part constituent, of all knowledge,—an examination of the scales and weights and measures themselves abstracted from the objects to be weighed or measured by them; in short, a transcendental æsthetic, logic, and noetic. Lord Herbert was at the entrance of, nay, already some paces within, the shaft and adit of the mine; but he turned abruptly back, and the honor of establishing a completeπροπαιδεία(Organon) of philosophy was reserved for Immanuel Kant, a century or more afterwards."—Lit. Remains, iii. 416.
8."Nothing is more interesting in the history of the human mind than the tendency of enlightened souls in all ages to gather in clusters, as in the material world crystallization goes on by the gathering of individual atoms about one axis of formation. Thus the schools of Greek Philosophy, the Pythagorean, the Eleatic, the Peripatetic, the Alexandrian, were human crystallizations about a central idea, and generally in a given locality,—as Samos, Athens, or the Lucanian city of Elea, where Zeno learned lessons of Parmenides, and whence they both journeyed to Athens in the youth of Socrates, and held their "Radical Club" at the house of Pythodorus in the Ceramicus. The Schoolmen and the Mystics of the middle ages clustered together in the same way about Abelard. Thomas Aquinas, Occam, Gerson, Giardano Bruno, the early Italian poets, rally in groups in the same way; so do the Elizabethan Dramatists, the Puritan Politicians, the English Platonists. Coming nearer our own time, there are the Lake Poets of England, the Weimar circle of genius, in Germany, the Transcendental Idealists in Concord and Boston, and finally, the German American Philosophers of St. Louis, concerning whom we now speak. In all these Schools and Fellowships of the human soul, a common impulse, aided by accident of locality and other circumstances, trivial only in appearance, has led to the formation of that strictest bond, the friendship of united aspirations. New England has so long been considered the special home of ideas, that it may surprise one to learn that St. Louis, on the Mississippi, has become the focus of a metaphysicalrenaissance; yet such it has become. A few Germans, New Englanders, and Western men gathered there, having found each other out, began to meet, expatiate, and confer about Kant and Hegel, Fichte, and Sir William Hamilton. Soon they formed a Philosophical Society, and by and by, having accumulated many manuscripts, they began to publish a Magazine of "Speculative Philosophy." At first, this publication came out semi-occasionally, but finally settled down into a regular Quarterly, with contributors on both sides of the Atlantic, and from various schools of metaphysical thought. The January number is, indeed, a remarkable production. Every article is good, and most of them profound; no such collection of striking varieties of philosophic thought has been made public for a long time as this. The Journal is edited by William T. Harris,ll.d., Superintendent of the Public Schools of St. Louis."
F. B. Sanborn,
in "Springfield Republican," March, 1869.
9.His works are comprised in fifty-four books, which his disciple Porphyry divided into six Enneads, assigning, agreeably to the meaning of the word, nine books to every Ennead. Thomas Taylor translated parts of these only.
10."It would make a most delightful and instructive essay," says Coleridge, "to draw up a critical, and, where possible, biographical account of the Latitudinarian party at Cambridge, from the reign of James I to the latter half of Charles II. The greater number were Platonists, so called, at least, and such they believed themselves to be, but more truly Plotinists. Thus Cudworth, Dr. Jackson (chaplain of Charles I and Vicar of Newcastle upon Tyne), Henry More, John Smith, and some others (Norris, Glanvil). Jeremy Taylor was a Gassendist, and, as far as I know, he is the only exception. They were alike admirers of Grotius, which, in Taylor, was consistent with the tone of all his philosophy. The whole party, however, and a more amiable never existed, were scared and disgusted into this by the catachrestic language and the skeleton half truths of the systematic divines of the synod of Dort on the one hand, and by the sickly broodings of the Pietists and Solomon's Song preachers on the other. What they all wanted was a pre-inquisition into the mind, as part organ, part constituent, of all knowledge,—an examination of the scales and weights and measures themselves abstracted from the objects to be weighed or measured by them; in short, a transcendental æsthetic, logic, and noetic. Lord Herbert was at the entrance of, nay, already some paces within, the shaft and adit of the mine; but he turned abruptly back, and the honor of establishing a completeπροπαιδεία(Organon) of philosophy was reserved for Immanuel Kant, a century or more afterwards."—Lit. Remains, iii. 416.
Thursday, 17.
The new courses of lectures at Harvard University are advertised by the new President. They are a novelty in our college culture. A marked peculiarity is the announcement of a course to be given by Emerson, on the Natural History of Intellect; by Dr. Hedge, on Theism, Atheism, and Pantheism; and by J. Eliot Cabot, on Kant. The course, or any part of it, is open "to graduates, teachers, and other competent persons, men or women."
It is hoped, also, that Hutchison Stirling may be added to the list of lecturers,—an acquisition certainly that Harvard should be proud to secure, both for its own and the credit of metaphysical studies on this side of the Atlantic.
The English mind seems to have held aloof from pure metaphysics,—from German Idealism, especially. Berkeley, its finest thinker since Bacon, was for a long time misapprehended, if, indeed, he is fairly appreciated as yet. Boehme, Kant, Schelling, were unknown till Coleridge introduced their ideas to the notice of his contemporaries—Carlyle those of Goethe, and the great scholars of Germany.
"Great, indeed," says Coleridge, "are the obstacles which an English metaphysician has to encounter. Amongst his most respectable and intelligent judges, there will be many who have devoted their attention exclusively to the concerns and interests of human life, and who bring with them to the perusal of philosophical systems, an habitual aversion to all speculations, the utility and application of which are not evident and immediate.
"There are others whose prejudices are still more formidable, inasmuch as they are grounded in their moral feelings and religious principles, which had been alarmed and shocked by the injurious and pernicious tenets defended by Hume, Priestley, and the French Fatalists, or Necessitarians, some of whom had perverted metaphysical reasonings to the denial of the mysteries,and, indeed, of all the peculiar doctrines of Christianity; and others, to the subversion of all distinctions between right and wrong.
"A third class profess themselves friendly to metaphysics, and believe that they are themselves metaphysicians. They have no objection to system and terminology provided it be the method and nomenclature to which they have been familiarized in the writings of Locke, Hume, Hartley, Condillac, or, perhaps, Dr. Reid and Professor Stewart.
"But the worst and widest impediment remains. It is the predominance of a popular philosophy, at once the counterfeit and mortal enemy of all true and manly metaphysical research. It is that corruption introduced by certain immethodical aphorisming Eclectics, who, dismissing, not only all system, but all logical consequence, pick and choose whatever is most plausible and showy; who select whatever words can have semblance of sense attached to them, without the least expenditure of thought; in short, whatever may enable men to talk of what they do not understand, with a careful avoidance of everything that might awaken them to a moment's suspicion of their ignorance."
Fifty years and more have passed since this criticism was written; and, with slight change of names for similar things, it still holds for the popular estimate put upon metaphysics by too many scholars of our time. If Coleridge, Schelling, Hegel, and the rest, are stillheld in disregard by persons in chairs of philosophy, we may infer the kind of culture which the universities favor. What he also said of intellectual culture in his country and time, holds scarcely less true as regards ours; and this in a republic, too, which in theory educates all its citizens.
"I am greatly deceived if one preliminary to an efficient popular education be not the recurrence to a more manly discipline of the intellect on the part of the learned themselves; in short, a thorough recasting of the moulds in which the minds of our gentry, the characters of our future landowners, magistrates, and senators, are to receive their shape and fashion. What treasures of practical wisdom would be once more brought to open day by the solution of the problem. Suffice it for the present to hint the master thought.
"The first man on whom the light of an Idea dawned, did in that same moment receive the spirit and credentials of a lawgiver. And as long as man shall exist, so long will the possession of that antecedent—the maker and master of all profitable experience, which exists in the power of an idea—be the one lawful qualification for all dominion in the world of the senses. Without this, experience itself is but a Cyclops walking backwards under the fascinations of the past; and we are indebted to a lucky coincidence of outward circumstances and contingencies, least of all to be calculated on in a time like the present, if this one-eyed experiencedoes not seduce its worshippers into practical anachronisms. But, alas! the halls of the old philosophers have been so long deserted, that we circle them at shy distance, as the haunt of phantoms and chimeras. The sacred grave of Academus is held in like regard with the unfruitful trees in the shadowy world of Maro, that had a dream attached to every leaf. The very terms of ancient wisdom are worn out; or, far worse, stamped as baser metal; and whoever should have the hardihood to re-proclaim its solemn truths, must commence with a glossary."
The Dialectic, or Method of the Mind, constitutes the basis of all culture. Without a thorough discipline in this, our schools and universities give but a showy and superficial training. The knowledge of mind is the beginning of all knowledge; without this a theology is baseless, the knowledge of God impossible. Modern education has not dealt with these deeper questions of life and being. It has the future in which to prove its power of conducting a Cultus, answering to the discipline of the Greek thinkers, Pythagoras, Plato, Aristotle.
As yet we deal with mind with far less certainty than with matter; the realm of intellect having been less explored than the world of the senses, and both are treated conjecturally rather than absolutely. When we come to perceive that Intuition is the primary postulate of all intelligence, most questions now perplexing andobscure will become transparent; the lower imperfect methods then take rank where they belong and are available. The soul leads the senses; the reason the understanding; imagination the memory; instinct and intuition include and prompt the Personality entire.
The categories of imagination are the poet's tools; those of the reason, the implements of the naturalist. The dialectic philosopher is master of both. The tools to those only who can handle them skilfully. All others but gash themselves and their subject, at best. Ask not a man of understanding to solve a problem in metaphysics. He has neither wit, weights, nor scales for the task. But a man of reason or of imagination solves readily the problems of understanding the moment these are fairly stated. Ideas are solvents of all mysteries, whether in matter or mind.
'Tis clearMind's sphereIs not here;The Ideal guestIn ceaseless questPursues the Best:The very BetterThe while her fetter,Her desireHigher, still higher;Ever is fleeingPast Seeming to Being;Nor doth the sight content itself with seeing,As forms emerge they fast from sense are fleeing,Things but appear to vanish into Being.
'Tis clearMind's sphereIs not here;The Ideal guestIn ceaseless questPursues the Best:The very BetterThe while her fetter,Her desireHigher, still higher;Ever is fleeingPast Seeming to Being;Nor doth the sight content itself with seeing,As forms emerge they fast from sense are fleeing,Things but appear to vanish into Being.
'Tis clear
Mind's sphere
Is not here;
The Ideal guest
In ceaseless quest
Pursues the Best:
The very Better
The while her fetter,
Her desire
Higher, still higher;
Ever is fleeing
Past Seeming to Being;
Nor doth the sight content itself with seeing,
As forms emerge they fast from sense are fleeing,
Things but appear to vanish into Being.
So the Greeks represented thought in their winged god, Hermes, as the father of speech and messenger of intelligence; they conceiving the visible world as a globe of forms, whereby objects of thought were pictured to sense, and held forth to fancy,—a geometry of ideas, a rhetoric of images.
Sallying forth into nature, the mind clothes its ideas in fitting images, and thus reflects itself upon the understanding. Things are symbols of thoughts, and nature the mind's dictionary.
Mind omnipresent is,All round about us lies,To fashion forth itselfIn thought and ecstacy,In fancy and surprise,Things with ideas fraught,And nature our dissolving thought.
Mind omnipresent is,All round about us lies,To fashion forth itselfIn thought and ecstacy,In fancy and surprise,Things with ideas fraught,And nature our dissolving thought.
Mind omnipresent is,
All round about us lies,
To fashion forth itself
In thought and ecstacy,
In fancy and surprise,
Things with ideas fraught,
And nature our dissolving thought.
Wednesday, 23.
"As goodNot write as not be understood."
"As goodNot write as not be understood."
"As good
Not write as not be understood."
Yet the deepest truths are best read between the lines, and, for the most part, refuse to be written. Who tells all tells falsely. There are untold subtleties in things seen as unseen. Only the idealist touches the core of their secret tenderly, and extracts the mystery; Nature, like the coy Isis, disclosing theseto none else. Most edifying is the author who suggests, and leaves to his reader the pleasure and profit of following his thought into its various relations with the whole of things, thus stimulating him to explore matters to their issues. The great masters have observed this fine law, and of modern scholars especially Goethe.
For whether considered as poet or naturalist, he is our finest example of the reverent faith in nature and tenderness of treatment that becomes her student and devotees. And hence the rich spoils and prime suggestions with which he charms and rewards in his books. Wooed in this spirit, nature vouchsafed him the privilege of reading her secrets. An eye-witness of the facts, he had the magic pen to portray them as they rose midway between matter and mind, there caught them lovingly and held them forth in intertwisted myths and gay marriages to the sense and sentiment of his reader. Writing faithfully to the form of things, he yet had a finer moral than these could deliver; the vein of quiet mysticism in which he delighted, giving a graceful charm to the writing. How finely his senses symbolized his thought, and his eye how Olympian! What subtle perception of the contraries in character! He has treated the strife of the Worst for the Best, the problem of evil, more cunningly than any; than Moses; than the author of Job of Uz; than Milton, the Puritan, fitted as he was alike by birth and culture to deal with this world fable,—hisfaith in nature being so entire, his rare gifts at instant command for rendering perfect copies of what he saw, and loved to represent in its truthfulness to sense and soul alike. A seer of Spirit, the draughtsman of guile; to him sat the demons gladly, and he sketched their likenesses,—portraits of the dualities he knew so well; the same with which most are too familiar; the drama of the temptation being coeval with man, the catastrophe thus far repeated disastrously, the striving of the Many against the One, the world-spirit bribing the will, proffering the present delights for the future pains. Ah! could he but have found himself in the One, whom, with such surpassing skill he individualized, but failed to impersonate. His aloofness from life, his residence in the Many, his inability to identify himself with the whole of things,—this duplicity of genius denied him free admittance to unity. Cunning he was, not wise in the simplicity of wisdom. As the Fates conceived, so they slew him, yet by subtleties so siren, as to persuade him of an immortality not theirs to bestow. All he was, his Faust celebrates—admitted to heaven, as Goethe to glory, without the fee that opens honestly its gates.
Oh, artist of beauty! Couldst thou but have been equal to portray the Spirit of spirits as cunningly as of Matter! But it was the temper of that age of transition, and thou wast its priest and poet.
But whatever his deficiencies, he has been one of the world's teachers, and is to be for some time to come. The spirit and movement of an age are embodied in hisbooks, and one reads with a growing reverence at every perusal of the mind that saw and has portrayed the world-spirit so well. If not the man complete that in our admiration of his genius we could desire, he yet was faithful to the law of his pen, and therewith justifies his existence to mankind. Nor do I find any of his contemporaries who made as much of this human life during his century. "Light, more light!" With this request he passed behind the clouds into the fullest radiance.
The ancients accepted in good faith the sway of Fate, or Temperament, in their doctrine of Destinies, hereby signifying that duplicity or polarity of forces operative in man's Will by which his personal freedom is abridged, if not overridden. Nor does it appear that they conceived deliverance possible from this dread Nemesis of existence; it was wrought into the substance of their tragedies, binding matter and mind alike in chains. If the modern thought professes to be freed from this Old Fatalism, it practically admits it, nevertheless; man's will being still bound in fetters by inexorable powers, which his Choice can neither propitiate nor overcome. If Goethe treats the matter more forcibly, sharply, his dealing differs but in form from the Pagan; man is the spoil of the demons still. Satan is suppressed for the moment to be victorious in the end.Carlyle only renders it the more inexorable and dismaying by all his wealth of thought, force of illustration, his formidable historical figures, dramatic genius. It is force pitted against force that he celebrates throughout his embattled pages; a victim himself with his heroes, yet like them never the victor; all irritants, but not quellers of the demon; fixed forces in transition times.
Only seen from this, his habitual standpoint and outlook, is he justified as the consistent realist, holding fast his faith in the actual facts of the world, their rigorous following to the remotest issues,—the most heroic of thinkers. What if, with these dread convictions and insights of his, he paint out of all keeping with the actual facts; he is following logically his persuasions of the destinies that sway human concerns, abating not an iota of the letter of the text of the dread decalogue, whether for the wicked or the weak; defending his view of the right at all costs whatsoever. Justice first, mercy afterwards. His books opened anywhere show him berating the wrong he sees, but seldom the means of removing. There is ever the same melancholy advocacy of work to be done under the dread master: force of strokes, the right to rule and be ruled, the dismal burden. He rides his Leviathan as fiercely as did his countryman, Hobbes; can be as truculent and abusive. Were he not thus fatally in earnest, we should take him for the harlequin he often seems, not seeing the sorrowing sadness thusplaying off its load in this grotesque mirth, this scornful irony of his; he painting in spite of himself his portraits in the warmth of admiration, the blaze of wrath, giving us mythology for history mostly.
Yet with what breadth of perspective he paints these! strength of outline, the realism appalling, the egotism enormous,—all history showing in the background of his one figure, Carlyle,—Burns, Goethe, Richter, Mirabeau, Luther, Cromwell, Frederick,—all dashed from his flashing pen,—heads of himself alike in their unlikeness, prodigiously individual, wilful, some of them monstrous; all Englishmen, too, with their egregious prejudices, prides; no patience, no repose in any. He brandishes his truncheon through his pages with an adroitness that renders it unsafe for any, save the few wielding weapons of celestial temper, to do battle against Abaddon.
Nor will he be silenced; talking terribly against all talking but his own; agreeing, disagreeing, all the same, he the Jove permitting none, none, to mount Olympus till the god deign silence and invite. Curious to see him monologizing, his chin aloft, the pent thunders rolling, lightnings darting from under his bold brows, words that tell of the wail within, accents not meant for music, yet made lyrical in the cadences of his Caledonian refrain, his mirth mad as Lear's, his humor wilful as the winds. Not himself then is approachable by himself even.
A lovable man, nevertheless, with a great heart in hisbreast, sympathies the kindliest, deepest, nor indifferent to the ills the flesh is heir to. Why, oh ye powers, this wretchedness amidst the means superabounding for relieving and preventing it? Why this taking up reform forever from the beggar and felon side, as if these were sole credentials to sympathy, essential elements of the social state? Rather let force, persistent yet beneficent, be brought to bear upon mankind, giving alike to prince and people the dutiful drill that alone equips for the tasks of life,—this were the State's duty, the province of rulers; a thing to set about at once with the vigor of righteousness that justice demands for the rule of the world.
The way of Imperialism this, and playing Providence harshly. He mistakes in commending absolutism to republicans, especially in times like ours. England, even, imperial as she is, is too intelligent and free to accept it. America certainly cannot. If he would but believe in the people, divide his faith in hero-worship with masses, also. But it is not easy for a Briton to comprehend properly republican institutions like ours. Nothing short of success against large odds can convince him of the feasibility, the safety of a popular government.
"Success, success; to thee, to thee,As to a god, he bends the knee."
"Success, success; to thee, to thee,As to a god, he bends the knee."
"Success, success; to thee, to thee,
As to a god, he bends the knee."
Not one of his heroes would serve our turn. Frederick were perhaps a fit captain to dominate over a brute multitude; Cromwell might serve in a state ofrevolution, but must fail altogether at reconstruction. Even Milton, the republican, would hardly avail with republicans freed from the old British love of sway.
It is not safe for any to dwell long on Sinai, leaving the multitudes meanwhile to their idolatries below. In rigors thus austere the humanities perish. Justice and mercy must alike conspire in the fulfilment of the decalogue, lest vengeance break the tables and shatter the divine image also.
"When heaven would save a man, it encircles him with compassion."
"O tenderly the haughty dayFills his blue urn with fire;One morn is in the mighty heaven,And one in our desire."—Emerson.
"O tenderly the haughty dayFills his blue urn with fire;One morn is in the mighty heaven,And one in our desire."—Emerson.
"O tenderly the haughty day
Fills his blue urn with fire;
One morn is in the mighty heaven,
And one in our desire."
—Emerson.
Sunday, 4.
And the republic now begins to look sweet and beautiful again, as if men and patriotic citizens might walk upright without shame or apologies of any sort. Having managed for a century or more to keep the black man under foot, provoked a war to this end, and, in our straits, availed of his life to spare ours, let us cherish the faith that we are bent honestly now on securing him the rights which his courage and loyalty have won for him and his while the republic stands. Was this slaughter of men and expenditure of treasure, with the possible woes to come, necessary to make us just? And shall we not be careful hereafter that political parties play not false as before the war; the cry for union and reconstruction but a specious phrase for reinstating the old issues under new names? Admitted into the Union, the once rebellious States may break out into new atrocities for recovering their fallen fortunes. It behooves the friends of freedom and human rights to know their friends, and trust those, and onlythose, who have proved themselves faithful in the dire struggle,—
"Who faithful in insane sedition keep,With silver and with ruddy gold may vie."
"Who faithful in insane sedition keep,With silver and with ruddy gold may vie."
"Who faithful in insane sedition keep,
With silver and with ruddy gold may vie."
In democratic times like ours, when Power is stealing the world over from the few to the many, and with an impetus unprecedented in the world's history, the rightful depositories of Power, the People, should make sure that their representatives are fitted alike and disposed to administer affairs honorably; the rule being that of the Best by the Best,—an aristocracy in essence as in name; since no calamity can befall a people like the want of good heads to give it stability and self-respect in its own, or consideration in the eyes of foreign beholders. Ideas are the royal Presidents; States and peoples intelligent and prosperous as they are loyal to these Potentates. Liberty is the highest of trusts committed to man by his Creator, and in the enjoyment of which man becomes himself a creator,—a trust at once the most sacred and most difficult to hold inviolate. "Power is a fillet that presses so hard the temples that few can take it up safely." Right is the royal ruler alone, and he who rules with least restraint comes nearest to empire.
And one of the most hopeful aspects of our national affairs is the coming into importance and power of plain, sensible men, like Grant and Boutwell,—men owing their places to their honesty and useful services,—theone in the field, the other in the state. Our village, also, is honored by the elevation of one of its distinguished citizens for his eminent legal attainments and personal integrity. This change for the better in our politics, it seems, came in with President Lincoln, himself the plainest of the plain, one of the most American of American men; is (after his successor's lamentable career) now reinstated in our present chief magistrate, whose popularity is scarcely secondary to any of his predecessors in the Presidential Chair. Our national politics have obviously improved in these respects upon later administrations, and we may reasonably hope for the prevalence of peace and prosperity, such as the country has not enjoyed since the times of Washington and Franklin. The reign of principle appears to have returned into the administration of affairs, honorable men taking the lead, softening, in large measure, the asperities and feuds of parties. Great questions affecting the welfare of the community, and for the solution of which the ablest heads are requisite, are coming into discussion, and are to be settled for the benefit, we trust, of all concerned. Reform in capital and labor, temperance, woman's social and political condition, popular education, powers of corporations, international communication,—these and the new issues which their settlement will effect, must interest and occupy the active forces of the country to plant the republic, upon stable foundations.
"An early, good education," says Gray, in his notes on Plato's Republic, "is the best means of turning the eyes of the mind from the darkness and uncertainty of popular opinion, to the clear light of truth. It is the interest of the public neither to suffer unlettered and unphilosophical minds to meddle with government, nor to allow men of knowledge to give themselves up for the whole of life to contemplation; as the first will lack principle to guide them, and others want practice and inclination to business." One might also commend to senators and representatives this sentence from Tacitus: "I speak," he says, "of popular eloquence, the genuine offspring of that licentiousness to which fools and designing men have given the name of liberty. I speak of that bold and turbulent oratory, that inflamer of the people, and constant companion of sedition, that fierce incendiary that knows no compliance, and scorns to temporize,—busy, rash, and arrogant, but, in quiet and well-regulated governments, utterly unknown." Yet I cannot say that I should have written, with my present notion of political or religious obligation, what follows: "Upon the whole, since no man can enjoy a state of calm tranquillity, and, at the same time, raise a great and splendid reputation; to be content with the benefits of the age in which we live, without detracting from our ancestors, is the virtue that best becomes us." The sentiment has a patriotic sound, but conceals the cardinal truth, dear to a patriot, certainly in our times and republic, that a calm tranquillity is hardly compatiblewith a life of heroic action, and that true progress, so far from detracting from the glory of our ancestors, carries forward that for which they battled and bled, to clothe them and their descendants with a fresher and more enduring fame. Not in imitation of such inflamers of the people, but in the spirit of liberty and loyalty, have Sumner and Phillips won great and splendid reputations, if not silenced the fools and designing men whose bold and turbulent oratory, the genuine offspring of licentiousness, once sounded in our national halls, and came near the separation of our Union.