So we must not be surprised to find that this author who writes under such liabilities ventures to bring out the pith of his trunk of sciences,—that which sciences have in common,—the doctrine of the nature of things,—what he calls 'prima philosophia,' when his learned sock is on—a little more strongly and fully in that branch of it, with a glance this way, with a distinct intimation that it is common to the two, and applies here as well. There, too, he complains of the ignorance of anatomy, which is just the complaint he has been making here, and that, for want of it, 'they quarrel many times with the humours which are not in fault, the fault being in the very frame and mechanic of the part, which cannot be removed by medicinealterative, but must beaccommodatedand palliated by diet and medicinesfamiliar.' There, too, he reports the lack of medicinal history, and gives directions for supplying it, just such directions as he gives here, but that which makes the astounding difference in the reading of these reports to-day, is, that the one has been accepted, and the other has not; nay, that the one has beenread, and the other has not: for how else can we account for the fact, that men of learning, in our time, come out and tell us deliberately, not merely that this man's place in history, is the place of one who devoted his genius to the promotion of the personal convenience and bodily welfare of men, but, that it is the place of one who gave up the nobler nature, deliberately, on principle, and after examination and reflection, as a thing past help from science, as a thing lying out of the range of philosophy? How else comes it, that the critic to-day tells us, dares to tell us, that this leader's word to the new ages of advancement is, that there is no scientific advancement to be looked forhere?—how else could he tell us, with such vivid detail of illustration, that this innovator and proposer of advancement, never intended his Novum Organum to be applied to thecureof the moral diseases, to the subduing of the WILL and the AFFECTIONS,—but thought, because the old philosophy had failed, there was no use in trying the new;—because the philosophy of words, and preconceptions, had failed, the philosophy of observation and application, the philosophy of ideas as they are in nature, and not as they are in the mind of man merely, the philosophy oflaws, must fail also;—because ARGUMENT had failed, ART was hopeless;—because syllogisms, based on popular, unscientific notions were of no effect,practical axiomsbased on the scientific knowledge of natural causes, and on their specific developments, were going to be of none effect also? If the passages which are now under consideration, had been so much asread, how could a learned man, in our time, tell us that the author of the 'Advancement of Learning' had come with any such despairful word as that to us,—to tell us that the new science he was introducing upon this Globe theatre, the science oflawsin nature, offered toDivinityand Morality no aid,—no ministry, no service in thecure of the mind? And the reason why they have not been read, the reason why this part of the 'Advancement of Learning,' which is the principal part of it in the intention of its author,hasbeen overlooked hitherto is, that the Art of Tradition, which is described, here—the art of the Tradition, and delivery of knowledges which are foreign from opinions received, was in the hand of its inventor, and able to fulfil his pleasure.
After the knowledge of the divers characters of men's natures then, the next article of this inquiry is the DISEASES and INFIRMITIES of the MIND, which are no other than the perturbations and distempers of THE AFFECTIONS. For as the ancient politicians in popular estates were wont to compare the people to the sea, and theoratorsto the winds, because the sea would of itself be calm and quiet, if the winds did not move and trouble it;sothepeople would be peaceableandtractable, if theseditious orators did not set them in working and agitation; so it may be fitly said, that the mind, in the nature thereof, would betemperateandstayed, ifthe affections, as winds, did not put it into tumult and perturbation. Andhere, again, I find,strange as before, thatAristotleshould have written divers volumes ofEthics, and never handled THE AFFECTIONS, which is theprincipal subject thereof; and yet, in hisRhetorics, where they are considered butcollaterally, and in a second degree, as they may be moved by speech, he findeth place for them, and handleth them wellfor the quantity, but where theirtrue placeis, hepermitteththem. (Very much the method of procedure adopted by the philosopher who composes that criticism; who also finds a place for the affections in passing, where they are considered collaterally, and in a second degree, and for the quantity, he handleth them well, and who knows how to bring his Rhetorics to bear on them, as well as the politicians in popular estates did of old, though for a different end; but where their true place is, he, too,permitteththem; and, in his Novum Organum, he keeps so clear of them, andpermitsthem so fully, that the critics tell us he never meant it should touch them.) 'For it is not his disputations about pleasure and pain that can satisfy this inquiry, no more than he that shouldgenerallyhandle the nature of light can be said to handle the nature ofcolours; for pleasure and pain are to the particular affections as light is to the particular colours.' Is not this a man for particulars, then? And when he comes to the practical doctrine,—tothe art—to the knowledge, which ispower,—will he not have particulars here, as well as in those other arts which are based on them? Will he not have particulars here, as well as in chemistry and natural philosophy, and botany and mineralogy; or, when it comes to practice here, will he be content, after all, with the old line of argument, and elegant disquisition, with the old generalities and subtleties of definition, which required no collection of particulars, which were independent of observation, or for which the popular accidental observation sufficed? 'Better travels, I suppose, had the Stoics taken in this argument, as far as I can gather by that which we have at secondhand.But yetit is like it was after their manner, rather in subtlety of definitions, which, in a subject of this nature, arebut curiosities, thaninACTIVEandAMPLE DESCRIPTIONS AND OBSERVATIONS. So, likewise, I find some particular writings ofan elegant nature, touching some of the affections; as of anger, of comfort upon adverse accidents, of tenderness of countenance, and others.' And such writings were not confined to the ancients. Some of us have seen elegant writings of this nature, published under the name of the philosopher who composes this criticism, and suggests the possibility of essays of a more lively andexperimentalkind, and who seems to think that the treatment should beample, as well asactive.
'Butthe POETS and WRITERS of HISTORY are the bestDoctorsofthis knowledge, where we may find, painted forth with greatlife,how affections are kindled and incited, andhow pacifiedandrefrained;'—certainly, that is the kind of learning we want here:—'and how, again, contained fromactandfurther degree'—very useful knowledge, one would say, and it is a pity it should not be 'diffused,' but it is not every poet who can be said to have it;—'howthey disclose themselves—howthey work—how they vary;'—this is the science of them clearly,whoeverhas it;—'how they gather and fortify—how they areenwrapped one within another;'—yes, there is one Poet, one Doctor of this science, in whom we can findthatalso;—'and how they do fight and encounter one with another, and other likeparticularities.' We all know what Poet it is, to whose lively and ample descriptions of the affections and passions—to whoseparticularities—that description best applies, and in what age of the world he lived; but no one, who has not first studied them as scientific exhibitions, can begin to perceive the force—the exclusive force—of the reference. 'Amongst the which, this last is of specialusein MORAL and CIVIL matters:how, I say, toset affection against affection, and to master one by another, even as we used to hunt beast with beast, and fly bird with bird, which otherwise, percase, we could not so easily recover.' The Poet has not only exhibited this with very voluminous and lively details, but he, too, has concluded his precept;—
'One fire burns out another's burning'—'One desperate grief cures with another's languish'—'Take thou some new infection to thine eye,And the rank poison of the old will die.'Romeo and Juliet.
'As fire drives out fire, so pity, pity;And pity to thegeneral wrong of RomeHath, done this deed _on Cæsar.'Julius Cæsar.
for it is thelargerform, which is the worthier, in that new department of mixed mathematics which this philosopher was cultivating.
'One fire drives out one fire, one nail one nail:Rights by rights fouler, strength by strengths do fail.'Coriolanus.
And for history ofcases, see the same author in Hamlet and other plays. [This philosopher's prose not unfrequently contains the key of the poetic paraphrase; and the true reading of the line, which has occasioned so much perplexity to the critics, may, perhaps, be suggested by this connection—'to set affection against affection, and to master one by another, even as we hunt beast with beast, and fly bird with bird.']
Hast thou not learn'd me howTo make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so,That our great king himself doth woo me oftFor my confections? Having thus far proceeded,(Unless thou think'st me devilish,) is't not meetThat I did amplify my judgment inOther conclusions?Cymbeline.
Thus far, it is the science of Man,as he is, that is propounded. It is a scientific history of the Mind and its diseases, built up from particulars, as other scientific histories are; and having disposed, in this general manner, of that which must be dealt with by way ofapplication, those points of nature and fortune, which he puts down as the basis and conditions towhich all ourWORKis limited and tied, we come now to that which IS within our power—to those points which we can deal with by way of ALTERATION, and not ofapplicationmerely; and yet points which are operating perpetually on the human character, changing the will and appetite, and altering the conduct, by laws not less sure than those which operate in the occult processes of nature, and determine differences behind the scene, or out of the range of our volition.
And if after having duly weighed the hints we have already received of the importance of the subject, we do not any longer suffer ourselves to be put off the track, or bewildered by the first rhetorical effect of the sentence in which these agencies are introduced to our attention,—if we look at that rapid series of words, as something else than the points of a period, if we stop long enough to recover from the confusion which a mere string of names, a catalogue or table of contents, crowded into single sentence, will, of necessity, create,—if we stop long enough to see that each one of these words is a point in the table of a new science, we shall perceive at once, that after having made all this large allowance, thisnewallowance for that which iswithoutour power, there is still a very, very large margin of operation, and discovery, and experiment left; that there is still a large scope ofalterationleft—alteration in man as he is. For we shall find that these forces whicharewithin our power, are the very ones which are making, and always have been making, man what he is. Running our eye along this table of forces and supplies, with that understanding of its uses, we shall perceive at once, that we have the most ample material here, if it were but scientifically handled; untried, inexhaustible means and appliances for raising man to the height of his pattern and original, to the stature of a perfect man.
It is not the material of this regimen of growth and advancement, it is not the Materia Medica that is wanting,—it is the science of it. It is the natural history of these forces, with the precepts scientifically concluded on them, that is wanting. The appliances are here; the scientific application of them remains to be made, and until these have been tried, it is too early to pronounce on the case; until these have been tried, just as other precepts of the new science have been, it is too soon to say that that science of nature,—that knowledge of laws—that foreknowledge of effects, which operates so remedially in all other departments of the human life, is without application, is of no efficiency here; until these have been tried it is too soon to say that the science of nature isnotwhat the man who brought it in on this Globe theatredeclared ittobe, the handmaid of Divinity, the intelligent handmaid and minister of religion, to whose discretion in the economy of Providence, much, much has evidently been left.
And it was no assumption in this man to claim, as he did claim, a divine and providential authority for this procedure. And those who intelligently fulfil their parts in this great enterprise for man's relief, and the Creator's glory, have just as clear a right to say, as those of old who fulfilled with such means and lights, and inspirations as their time gave them, their part in the plan of the human advancement, 'it is God who worketh in us.'
'Now come we to those points whicharewithin our command, and haveforceandoperationupon the mind, toaffect the will and appetite, and to alter manners: wherein they ought to have handled CUSTOM, EXERCISE, HABIT, EDUCATION, EXAMPLE, IMITATION, EMULATION, COMPANY, FRIENDS, PRAISE, REPROOF, EXHORTATION, FAME, LAWS, BOOKS, STUDIES: these, as they have determinate use in moralities, from thesethe mindSUFFERETH; and of these are such receipts and regiments compounded and described, as may serve to recover or preserve the health and good estate of the mind, as far as pertaineth to human medicine; of which number we will insist upon some one or two,as an example of the rest, because itwere too longto prosecuteall.' But the careful reader perceives in that which follows, that the treatment of this so vital subject, though all that the author has to say upon ithere, is condensed into these brief paragraphs, is not by any means so miscellaneous, as this introduction and 'thefirstcogitation' on it, might, perhaps, have prepared him to find it.
To be permitted to handle these forces openly, in the form of literary report, and recommendation, would, no doubt, have seemed to this inventor of sciences, in his day no small privilege. But there was another kind of experiment in them which he aspired to. He wished to take these forces in hand more directly, and compound recipes, with them, and other 'regiments' and cures. For by nature and carefullest study he was a Doctor in this degree and kind—and a man thus fitted, inevitably seeks his sphere. Very unlearned in this science of human nature which he has left us,—much wanting in analysis must he be, who can find in the persistent determination of such a man to possess himself of places of trust and authority, only the vulgar desire for courtly distinction, and eagerness for the paraphernalia of office. This man was not wanting in any of the common natural sentiments; the private and particular nature was large in him, and that good to which he gives the preference in his comparison of those exclusive aims and enjoyments, is 'the good which isactive, and not that which ispassive'; both as it tends to secure that individual perpetuity which is the especial craving of men thus specially endowed, and on account of 'that affection for variety andproceeding' which is also common to men, and specially developed in such men,—an affection which the goods of the passive nature are not able to satisfy. 'But inenterprises, pursuits and purposes of life, there is much variety whereof men are sensible with pleasure in their inceptions, progressions, recoils, re-integration, approaches and attainings to their ends.' And he gives us a long insight into his own particular nature and history in that sentence. He is careful to distinguish this kind of good from the good of society, 'though in some cases it hath an incident to it. For that gigantine state of mind which possesseth thetroublersof the world, such as was Lucius Sylla, andinfinite other in smaller model, who would have all men happy or unhappy, as they were their friends or enemies,and would give form to the world according to their own humours, which is the truetheomachy, pretendeth and aspireth toactive goodthough itrecedeth farthestfrom thatgood of society, which we have determined to bethe greater.'
In no troubler or benefactor of the world, on the largest scale, in no theomachist of any age, whether intelligent and benevolent, or demoniacal and evil, had this nature which he here defines so clearly, ever been more largely incorporated, or more effectively armed. But in him this tendency to personal aggrandisement was overlooked, and subordinated by the larger nature,—by the intelligence which includes the whole, and is able to weigh the part with it, and by the sentiments which enforce or anticipate intelligent decision.
Both these facts must be taken into the account, if we would read his history fairly. For he composed for himself a plan of living, in which this naturally intense desire for an individual perpetuity and renown, and this love of action and enterprise for its own sake, was sternly subordinated to the noblest ends of living, to the largest good of his kind, to the divine and eternal law of duty, to the relief of man's estate and the Creator's glory. And without making any claim on his behalf, which it would be unworthy to make for one to whom the truth was dearer than the opinions of men; it may be asserted, that whatever errors of judgment or passion, we may find, or think we find in him, these ends were with him predominant, and shaped his course.
He was not naturally a man ofletters, but a man of action, intensely impelled to action, and it was because he was forbidden to fulfil his enterprise in person, because he had to write letters of direction to those to whom he was compelled to entrust it, because he had to write letters to the future, and leave himself and his will in letters, that letters became, in his hands,practical. He, too, knew what it was to be compelled 'to unpack his heart in words' when deeds should have expressed it.
But even words are forbidden him here. After all the pains he has taken to show us what the deficiency is which he is reporting here, and what the art and science which he is proposing, he can only put down a few paragraphs on the subject, casually, as it were, in passing. Of all these forces which have operation on the mind, and with which scientific appliances for the human mind should be compounded, he can only 'insist upon some one or two as an example of the rest.'
That was all that a writer, who was at the same time a public man, could venture on,—a writer who had once been under violent political suspicion, and was still eagerly watched, and especially by one class of public functionaries, who seemed to feel, that with all his deference to their claims, there was something there not quite friendly to them, this was all that he could undertake to insist upon 'in that place.' But a writer who had the advantage of being already defunct—a writer whose estate on the earth was then already done, and who was in no kind of danger of losing either his head or his place, could of course manage this part of the subject differently.Hewould not find it too long to prosecute all, perhaps. And if he had at the same time the advantage of a foreign name and seignorie, he could come out in England at this very crisis with the freest exhibitions of the points which arehereonlyindicated. He could even put them down openly in his table of contents, every one of them, and make them the titles of his chapters.
There was a work published in England, in that age, in which these forces, of which only thecatalogueis inserted here, these forces whicharein our power, which wecanalter, forces from which the mindsuffereth, which have operation upon the mind to affect the will and appetite, are directly dealt with in the most subtle and artistic manner, in the form of literaryessay; and in the bolder chapters, the author's observations and criticisms are clearly put down; his scientific suggestions of alterations and new compounds, his scientific doctrine ofcareful alterations, his scientific doctrine of surgery, and adaptation of regimen, and cure to different ages, and differing social conditions, are all promiscuously filed in, and the English public swallows it without any difficulty at all, and perceives nothing disagreeable or dangerous in it.
Thiswork contains, also, some of those other parts of the new science which have just been reported as wanting, parts which are said by the inventor of this science, to have a great ministry to policy, as well as morality, and the natural history of the creature, which it is here proposed to reform, is brought out without any regard whatever to considerations which would inevitably affect a moralist, looking at the subject from any less earnest and practical—from any lesselevatedpoint of view.
Of course, it was perfectly competent for a Gascon whose gasconading was understood to be without any motive beyond that of vanity and egotism, and without any incidence to effects, to say, in the way of mere foolery, many things which an English statesman could not then so well endorse. And in case his personality were called in question, there was the mountain to retreat to, and the saint of the mount, in whose behalf the goose is annually sacrificed by the English people, the saint under whose shield and name the great English philosopher sleeps. In fact, this personage is not so limited in his quarters as the proper name might seem to imply. One does not have to go to the south of France to find him. But it is certainly remarkable, that a work in Natural History, composed by the inventors of the science of observation, and the first in the field, containing their observations in that part of the field too, in which the deficiency appeared to them most important, should have been able to pass so long under so thin a disguise, under this merest gauze ofegotism, unchallenged.
Theseessaies, however, have not been without result. They have been operating incessantly, ever since, directly upon the leading minds, and indirectly upon the minds of men in general, (for many who had never read the book, have all their lives felt its influence), and tending gradually to the clearing up of the human intelligence in 'the practice part of life' in general, and to the development of a common sense on the topics here handled, much more creditable to the species than anything that the author could find stirring in his age. When the works which the propounders of the Great Instauration took pains to get composed by way of filling up their plan of it, a little, corn to be collected and bound, this one will have to find its place among them.
But here, at home, in his own historical name and figure, in his own person, instead of conducting his magnificent scientific experiments on that scale which the genius of his activity, and the largeness of his good will, would have prescribed to him, instead of founding his House of Solomon as he would have founded it, (as that proximity to the throne, when it was the throne of an absolute monarch might have enabled him to found it, if the monarch he found there had been, indeed, what he claimed to be, a lover of learning), instead of such large help and countenance as that of the king, to whom this great proposition was addressed, the philosopher of that time could not even venture on a literary essay in this field under that protection; it was as much as he could do, it was as much as his favor with the king was worth, to slip in here, in this conspicuous place, where it would be sure to be found, sooner or later, the index of hisessaies.
'It would be toolong,' he says, 'to inquire here into the operation of all these social forces that are making men, that are doing more to make them what they are, than nature herself is doing,' for, 'know thou,' the Poet of this Philosophy says, 'know thou MEN ARE as the TIME IS.' He has included here, in these points which he would have scientifically handled, that which makestimes, that whichcan be altered, that which Advancements of Learning, however, set on foot at first, are sure in the end toalter. 'We will insist upon some one or two as an example of the rest.' And we find that the points he resumes to speak of here, are, indeed, points of primary consequence; social forces that do indeed need a scientific control, effects reported, and precepts concluded. Custom and Habit, Books and Studies, and then a kind of culture, which he says, 'seemeth to be more accurate and elaborate than the rest,' which we find, upon examination, to be a strictly religious culture, and lastly the method to which he gives the preference, as the most compendious and summary in its formative or reforming influence, 'theelectingand propounding unto a man's selfgood and virtuous ends of his life, such as may be in areasonable sort within his compass to attain.' He says enough under these heads to show the difficulty of writing on a subject where the science has been reported wanting, while the 'Art and Practice' is prescribed.
He lays much stress on CUSTOM and HABIT, and gives some few precepts for its management, 'made out of the pith and heart of sciences,' but he speaks briefly, and chiefly for the purpose of indicating the value he attaches to this point, for he concludes his precepts and observations on it, thus: 'Many other axioms there are, touching the managing of exercise and custom, which beingso conducted,— scientifically conducted—do prove,indeedANOTHER NATURE' ['almost, canchangethe stamp of nature,'—is Hamlet's word onthispoint]; 'but being governed bychance, doth commonly prove but AN APE of nature, and bringeth forth that which islame and counterfeit.' For not less than that is the difference between the scientific administration of these things, from which the mindsuffereth, and the blind, hap-hazard one.
But in proceeding to the next point on which he ventures to offer some suggestions, that of BOOKS and STUDIES, we shall do well to take with us that general doctrine ofcure, founded upon the nature of things, which he produces under the head of the cure of the body, with a distinct allusion to its proper application here. And it is well to observe how exactly the tone of the criticism inthis department, chimes in with that of the criticism already reported here. 'In the consideration of thecures of diseases, I find a deficiency in the receipts ofproprietyrespecting theparticularcures of diseases; for the physicianshave frustrated the fruit of tradition, and experience, by theirmagistralitiesinadding and taking out, and changingquid pro quoin their receiptsat their pleasure, COMMANDING SO OVER THE MEDICINE, as the medicinecannot command over the disease:' that is a piece of criticism which appears to belong to the general subject of cure; and here is one which he himself stops to apply to a different branch of it.
'But, lest I grow more particular thanis agreeable, either to my intention orproportion, I will conclude this part with the note of one deficiency more, which seemeth to me of GREATEST consequence, which is, that theprescriptsin use are too COMPENDIOUS TO ATTAIN THEIR END; for, to my understanding, it is a vain and flattering opinion to think anymedicinecan be so sovereign, or so happy, as that the receipt or use of it can work any great effect upon the body of man: it were a strangespeech, which spoken, or spoken oft, should reclaim a man from a vice to which he wereby nature subject; it isorder, pursuit, sequence, and interchange of applicationWHICH IS MIGHTY IN NATURE,' (and it ispowerwe are inquiring for here) 'which, although it requires more exactknowledgein prescribing, and more preciseobediencein observing, yet it is recompensed with the magnitude of effects.'
Possessed now of his general theory of cure, we shall better understand his particular suggestions in regard to these medicines and alteratives of the mind and manners, which are here under consideration.
'So if we should handle BOOKS and STUDIES,' he continues, having handled custom and habit a little and their powers, in that profoundly suggestive manner, 'so if we should handle books and studies, and what influence and operationtheyhave upon manners, are there not divers precepts ofgreat cautionanddirection?' A question to be asked. And he goes on to make some further enquiries and suggestions which have considerably more in them than meets the ear. They appear to involve the intimation that many of our books on moral philosophy, come to us from the youthful and poetic ages of the world, ages in which sentiment and spontaneous conviction supplied the place of learning; for the accumulations of ages of experiment and conclusion, tend to maturity and sobriety of judgment in the race, as do the corresponding accumulations in the individual experience and memory. 'And the reason why books' (which are adapted to the popular belief in these early and unlearned ages) 'are of so little effect towardshonesty of life, is that they are not read andrevolved—revolved—as they should be, bymen in mature years.' But unlearned people are always beginners. And it is dangerous to put them upon the task, or to leave them to the task of remodelling their beliefs and adapting them to the advancing stages of human development. He, too, thinks it is easier to overthrow the old opinions, than it is to discriminate that which is to be conserved in them. The hints here are of the most profoundly cautious kind—as they have need to be—but they point to the danger which attends the advancement of learning when rashly and unwisely conducted, and the danger of introducing opinions which are in advance of the popular culture; dangers of which the history of former times furnished eminent examples and warnings then; warnings which have since been repeated in modern instances. He proposes that books shall be tried by their effects on manners. If they fail to produce HONESTY OF LIFE, and if certain particular forms of truth which were once effective to that end, in the course of a popular advancement, or change of any kind, have lost that virtue, let them be examined; let the translation of them be scientifically accomplished, so that the main truth be not lost in the process, so that men be not compelled by fearful experience to retrace their steps in search of it, even, perhaps, to the resuming of the old, dead form again, with all its cumbrous inefficacies; for the lack of a leadership which should have been able to discriminate for them, and forestall this empirical procedure.
Speaking of books of Moral science in general, and their adaptation to different ages, he says—'Did not one of thefathers, in great indignation, call POESY "vinum demonum," because it increasethtemptations,perturbations, andvain opinions? Is not the opinion of Aristotle worthy to be regarded, wherein he saith, "Thatyoung menare no fitauditorsof moral philosophy," because they are not settled from the boiling heat of theiraffections, nor attempered withtimeandexperience?' [And our Poet, we may remark in passing, seems to have been struck with that same observation; for by a happy coincidence, he appears to have it in his commonplace book too, and he has not only made a note of it, as this one has, but has taken the trouble to translate it into verse. He does, indeed, go a little out of his wayin time, to introduce it; but he is a poet who is fond of an anachronism, when it happens to serve his purpose—
'Paris and Troilus, you have both said well;And on the cause and question now in handHaveglozed; but, superficially, not muchUnlikeyoung menwhomAristotlethoughtUnfit to hearmoral philosophy.']
The question is, then, as to the adaptations of forms, of moral instruction to differentagesof the human development. For when a decided want of 'honesty of life' shows itself, in any very general manner, under the fullest operation ofanygiven doctrine which is the received one, it is time for men of learning to begin to look about them a little; and it is a time when directions so cautious as these should not by any means be despised by those on whom the responsibility of direction, here, is in any way devolved.
'And doth it not hereof come, that those excellent books and discourses of the ancient writers,wherebythey havepersuaded unto virtue most effectually, by representing her instateandmajesty, and popular opinions against virtue in theirparasites' coats, fit to be scorned and derided, are of so little effect towards honesty of life—
[Polonius.—Honest, my lord?Hamlet.—Ay, honest.]
'—because they are not read andrevolvedby men, in their mature and settled years, but confined almostto boys and beginners? But is it not true, also, thatmuch lessyoung men are fit auditors ofmatters of policytill they have beenthoroughly seasonedinreligion and morality, lest their judgments be corrupted, and made apt to think that there are no true differences of things, but according to utility and fortune.'
By putting in here two or three of those 'elegant sentences' which the author has taken out from their connections in his discourses, and strung together, by way of making more perceptible points and stronger impressions with them, according to that theory of his in regard to aphorisms already quoted, we shall better understand this passage, for the connection in which it is introduced here tends somewhat to involve and obscure the meaning. 'In removing superstitions,' he tells us, then, in this so pointed manner, 'care should be hadthe goodbe not taken away with the bad, which commonly is donewhen the people is the physician.' 'Things will havetheirfirstorsecondagitation.' [Prima Philosophia—pith and heart of sciences: the author of this aphorism is sound and grounded.] 'If they be not tossed on the waves ofcounsel, they will betossed on the waves of fortune.' That last 'tossing' requires a second cogitation. There might have been a more direct way of expressing it; but this author prefers similes in such cases, he tells us. But here is more on the same subject. 'It were good that men in their RENOVATIONS follow the example of time itself, which, indeed, innovateth greatly, but quietly, and by degrees scarce to be perceived;' and 'Discretion in speech is more than eloquence.' These are the sentiments and opinions of that man of science, whose works we are now opening, not caring under what particular name or form we may find them. One or two of these observations do not sound at all like presciencenow; but at the time when they were given out as precepts of direction, it required that acquaintance with the nature of things in general which is derived from a large and studious observation of particulars, to put them into a form so oracular.
But this general suggestion with regard to our books of moral philosophy, and their adaptation to the largest effect on the will and appetite under the given conditions of time—conditions which involve the instruction of masses of men, in whomaffectionpredominates— men in whom judgment is not yet matured—men not attempered with the time and experience of ages, by means of those preservations of it which the traditions of learning make; beside this general suggestion in regard to these so potent instrumentalities in manners, he has another to make, one in which this general proposition to substitute learning for preconception inpractical matters,—at least, as far as may be, comes out again in the form of criticism, and of a most specially significant kind. It is a point which he touches lightly here; but one which he touches again and again in other parts of this work, and one which he resumes at large in his practical ethics.
'Again, is there not a caution likewise to be given of the doctrines of moralities themselves, some kinds of them, lest they make men tooprecise, arrogant, incompatible, as Cicero saith of Cato, inMarco Catone: "Haec bona quae videmus divina et egregia ipsius scitote esse propria: quae nonnunquam requirimus, ea sunt omnia non a natura, sed a magistro?"'
And after glancing at the specific subject of remedial agencies whicharewithin the scope of our revision and renovation, under some other heads, concluding with that which is of all others the most compendious and summary, and again the most noble and effectual to the reducing of the mind unto virtue and good estate, he concludes this whole part, this part in which the points and outlines of the new science—that radical human science which he has dared to report deficient, come out with such masterly grasp and precision,—he concludes thiswhole partin the words which follow,—words which it will take the author's own doctrine of interpretation to open. For this is one of those passages which he commends to the second cogitation of the reader, and he knew if 'the times that were nearer' were not able to read it, 'the times that were farther off' would find it clear enough.
'Therefore I do conclude this part of MoralKnowledgeconcerning the culture and regiment of the Mind; wherein if any man,considering the facts thereof which I have enumerated, do judge thatmy labour isto COLLECT INTO AN ART OR SCIENCE, that which hath beenpretermitted by others, as matters of common sense and experience, he judgeth well.' The practised eye will detect on the surface here, some marks of that style which this author recommends in such cases: especially where such strong pre-occupations exist; already we perceive that this is one of those sentences which is addressed to the skill of the interpreter; in which, by means of a careful selection and collocation of words, two or more meanings are conveyed under one form of expression. And it may not be amiss to remember here, that this is a style, according to the author's own description of it elsewhere, in which the more involved and enigmatical passages sometimes admit ofseveralreadings, each having its own pertinence and value, according to the mental condition of the reader; and that it is a style in which even thedelicate, collateral sounds, that are distinctly included in this art of tradition, must come in sometimes in the more critical places, in aid of the interpretation. 'But what if it be an harangue whereon his life depends?'
l.—If any man considering the parts thereof, which I have enumerated, do judge that MY LABOUR IS tocollect into anART or SCIENCE that which hath been PRETER-MITTED by others,hejudgeth well.
2.—If any man do judge that my labour is to collect into an ART or SCIENCE that which hath been pretermitted by others AS MATTERS OF COMMON SENSE and EXPERIENCE,hejudgeth well.
3.—If any manconsideringthe PARTS THEREOF WHICH I HAVE ENUMERATED, do judge that my labor is to collect into an ART or SCIENCE, that which hath been pretermittedbyOTHERS, as matters of common sense and experience,hejudgeth well.
But if there be any doubt, about the more critical of these meanings, let us read on, and we shall find the criticism of this great and greatest proposition, the proposition to substitute learning for preconception, in the main department of human practice, brought out with all the emphasis and significance which becomes the close of so great a period in sciences, and not without a little flowering of that rhetoric, in which beauty is the incident, and discretion is more than eloquence.
'But as Philocrates sported with Demosthenes you may not marvel, Athenians, thatDemosthenesand I do differ, forhedrinketh water, andIdrink wine. And like as we read of an ancient parable of the two gates of sleep—
Sunt geminae somni portae, quarum altera ferturCornea, qua veris facilis datur exitus umbris:Altera candenti perfecta nitens elephanto,Sed falsa ad coelum mittunt insomnia manes.
'So if we put onsobriety and attentionwe shall find it a sure maxim in knowledge,that the more pleasant liquor of wine is the more vaporous, and the braver gate of ivory sendeth forth the falser dreams.'
It is a basilisk unto mine eyes,—Kills me to lookon't,
This fierce abridgmentHath to it circumstantial branches, whichDistinction should be rich in.
Cymbeline.
This whole subject is introduced here in its natural and inevitable connection with that special form of Delivery and Tradition which it required. For we find that connection indicated here, where the matter of the tradition, and that part of it which specially requires this form is treated, and we find the form itself specified here incidentally, but not less unmistakeably, that it is in that part of the work where the Art of Tradition is the primary subject. In bestowing on 'the parts' of this science, which the propounder of it is here enumerating—that consideration which the concluding paragraph invites to them, we find, not only the fields clearly marked out, in which he is labouring to collect into an art and science, that which has hitherto been conducted without art or science, and left to common sense and experience, the fields in which these goodly observations grow, of which men have hitherto been content to gather a poesy to carry in their hands,—(observations which he will bring home to his confectionery, in such new and amazing prodigality and selection), but we find alsothe very formwhich these new collections, with the new precepts concluded on them, would naturally take, and that it is one in which these new parts of the new science and its art, which he is labouring to constitute, might very well come out, at such a time, without being recognised as philosophy at all,—might even be brought out byothermen without science, as matters of common sense and experience; though the world would have to concede, and the longer the study went on, the more it would be inclined to concede, that the common sense and experience was upon the whole somewhat uncommon, and some who perceived its reaches, without finding that it wasart or science, would even be inclined to call it preternatural.
And when he tells us, that the first step in the New Science isthe dissectionofcharacter, and the production and exhibition of certain scientifically constructed portraits, by means of which this may be effected, portraits which shall represent in their type-form by means of 'illustrious instances,' the several characters and tempers of men'snaturesanddispositions'that thesecret disposition of each particular manmay be laid open, and from a knowledge of the whole, the precepts concerning the cures of the mind may be more rightly concluded,'—surelyhere, to a man of learning,the form,—the form in which these artistically composed diagrams will be found, is not doubtfully indicated.
And when, at the next step, we come to the history of 'the affections,' and are told distinctly thatherephilosophy, the philosophy of practice, must needs descend from the abstraction, and generalities of the ancient morality, for those observations and experiments which it is the legitimate business of the poet to conduct, though the poet, in conducting these observations and experiments, has hitherto been wanting in the rigor which science requires, when we are told that philosophy mustinevitablyenter here, that department of learning, of which the true poet is 'the doctor,'—surely here at least, we know where we are. Certainly it is not the fault of the author of the Great Instauration if we donotknow what department of learning the collections of the new learning which he claims to have made will be found in—if found at all,mustbe found in. It is not his fault if we do not know in what department to look for the applications of the Novum Organum to those 'noblest subjects' on which he preferred to try its powers, he tells us. Here at least—the Index to these missing books—is clear enough.
But in his treatment of Poetry, as one of the three grand departments of Human Learning, for not less noble than that is the place he openly assigns to it, though that open and primary treatment of it, is superficially brief, he contrives to insert in it, his deliberate, scientific preference of it, as a means of effective scientific exhibition, to either of the two graver parts, which he has associated with it—to history on the one hand, as corresponding to the faculty of memory, and to philosophy or mere abstract statement on the other, as corresponding to the faculty of Reason; for it is that great radical department of learning, which is referred to the Imagination, that constitutes in this distribution of learning the third grand division of it. He shows us here, in a few words, under different points and heads, what masterly facilities, what indispensable, incomparable powers it has for that purpose. There is a form of it, 'which is as A VISIBLE HISTORY, and is an image of actions as ifthey were present, as history is, of actions thatare past.' There is a form of it which is applied only to express somespecial purposeorconceit, which was used of old byphilosophersto express any point ofreasonmore sharp and subtle than the vulgar, and, nevertheless,now and at all timestheseallusive parabolicalpoems do retain much life and vigour because—note it,—note that because,—thattwo-fold because, because REASON CANNOT be so SENSIBLE, nor EXAMPLES SO FIT. And he adds, also, 'there remains another use of this poesy, opposite to the one just mentioned, for that use tendeth todemonstrateandillustratethat which is taught or delivered; and this other toretireandobscureit: that is, when the secrets and mysteries ofreligion, policy or philosophyare involved in fables and parables.'
But under the cover of introducing the 'Wisdom of the Ancients,' and the form in which that was conveyed, he explains more at large the conditions which this kind of exhibition best meets; he claims it as a proper form oflearning, and tells us outright, that the New Sciencemust beconveyed in it. He has left us here, all prepared to our hands, precisely the argument which the subject now under consideration requires.
'Upon deliberate consideration, my judgment is, that aconcealed instructionandallegory, was originally intended in many of the ancient fables; observing that some fables discover a great and evident similitude, relation, and connection with the things they signify, as well in thestructure of the fable, as in thepropriety of the nameswherebythe persons or actors are characterised, insomuch that no one could positively deny a sense and meaning to be from the first intended and purposely shadowed out in them'; and he mentions some instances of this kind; and the first is a very explanatory one, tending to throw light upon the proceedings of men whose rebellions, so far as political action is concerned, have been successfully repressed. And he takes occasion to introduce this particular fable repeatedly in similar connections. 'For who can hear thatFame, after the giants were destroyed, sprung up as theirposthumous sister, and not apply it to the clamour ofparties, and the seditious rumours which commonly fly about upon thequelling of insurrections.Orwho, upon hearing that memorable expedition of the gods against the giants, when the braying ofSilenus' assgreatly contributed in putting the giants to flight, does not clearly conceive that this directlypointsto themonstrousenterprises ofrebellious subjects, which are frequently disappointed and frustrated byvain fears and empty rumours. Nor is it wonder if sometimes apiece of historyor other things are introduced by way of ornament, or ifthe timesof the action are confounded,' [the very likeliest thing in the world to happen; things are often 'forced intime' as he has given us to understand in complimenting a king's book where the person was absent but not the occasion], 'or if part of one fable be tacked to another, for all this must necessarily happen, as the fables were the invention of men who lived indifferent ages, and haddifferent views, some of them beingancient, others moremodern, some having an eye tonatural philosophy,otherstomoralityandcivil policy.'
This appears to be just the kind of criticism we happen to be in need of in conducting our present inquiry, and the passage which follows is not less to the purpose.
For, having given some other reasons for this opinion he has expressed in regard to the concealed doctrine of the ancients, he concludes in this manner: 'But if any one shall, notwithstanding this, contend that allegories are always adventitious, and no way native orgenuinelycontained in them, wemight here leave him undisturbed in the gravity of that judgment, though we cannot but think it somewhat dull and phlegmatic, and,if it were worth the trouble, proceed to anotherkindof argument.' And, apparently, the argument he proceeds to, is worth some trouble, since he takes pains to bring it out so cautiously, under so many different heads, with such iteration and fulness, taking care to insert it so many times in his work on the Advancement of Learning, and here producing it again in his Introduction to the Wisdom of the Ancients, accompanied with a distinct assurance that it isnotthe wisdom of theancientshe is concerning himself about, andtheirnecessities and helps and instruments; though if any one persists in thinking that itis, he is not disposed to disturb him in the gravity of that judgment. He honestly thinks that they had indeed such intentions as those that he describes; but that is a question for the curious, and he has other work on hand; he happens to be one, whose views of learning and its uses, do not keep him long on questions of mere curiosity. It is with the Moderns, and not with the Ancients that he has to deal; it is the present and the future, and not the past that he 'breaks his sleeps' for. Whether the Ancients used those fables for purposes of innovation, and gradual encroachment on error or not, here is a Modern, he tells us, who for one, cannot dispense with them inhisteaching.
For having disposed of hisgraverreaders—those of the dull and phlegmatic kind—in the preceding paragraph, and not thinking it worth exactly that kind of trouble it would have cost then to make himself more explicit for the sake of reachingtheirapprehension, he proceeds to the following argument, which is not wanting in clearness for 'those who happen to be of his ear.'
'Men have proposed to answer two different and contrary ends by the use of Parables, for parables serve as well to instruct and illustrate, as to wrap up and envelope:' [and what is more, they serve at once that double purpose] 'so that forthe present we drop the concealed use, and suppose theancient fablesto be vague undeterminate thingsformed for amusement, still the other use must remain, and can never be given up. And every man of any learning must readily allow that THIS METHOD of INSTRUCTION is grave, sober, exceedingly useful, andsometimes necessary in the sciences, as it opens an easy and familiar passage to the human understanding, IN ALL NEW DISCOVERIES that are abstruse andout of the road of vulgar opinion. Hence, in the first ages, when such inventions and conclusions of the human reason as arenowtrite and common, were rare and little known, all things abounded with fables, parables, similes, comparisons, allusions, which were not intended toconceal, but toinform and teach, whilst the minds of men continued rude and unpractised in matters of subtlety and speculation, and even impatient, and in a mannerincapable of receiving such things as did not directly fall under and strike the senses.' [And those ages were not gone by, it seems, for these are the very men of whom Hamlet speaks, 'who for the most part are capable of nothing butinexplicable dumb-showsandnoise.'] 'For as hieroglyphics were in use before writings, so were parables in usebefore argument.And even to this day, if any man would let NEW LIGHT IN upon the human understanding, [who was it that proposed to do that?] andconquer prejudices without raising animosities, OPPOSITION, or DISTURBANCE—[who was it that proposed to do that precisely]—hemust still—[note it]—hemust still go in the same path, and have recourseto the like method.' Where are they then? Search and see. Where are they?—The lost Fables of the New Philosophy? 'To conclude, the knowledge of the earlier ages was either great or happy;great, ifby designthey made use of tropes and figures; happy, if whilstthey had other viewsthey affordedmatterandoccasionto suchnoble contemplations. Let either be the case,ourpains perhaps will not be misemployed,whether we illustrateANTIQUITYor[hear] THINGS THEMSELVES.
But he complains of those who have attempted such interpretations hitherto, that 'beingunskilled in nature, andtheir learningno more than that of common-place, they have applied the sense of the parables to certaingeneralandvulgarmatters, without reaching to their real purport, genuine interpretation and full depth;' certainly it would not bethat kindof criticism, then, which would be able to bring outthesubtleties of thenew learningfrom those popular embodiments, which he tells us it will have to take, in order to make some impression, at least, on the common understanding. 'Settle that question, then, in regard to the old Fables as you will,ourpains will not perhaps be misemployed, whether we illustrate antiquity or things themselves,' and to that he adds, 'formyself, therefore, I expect to appearNEW in THESE COMMON THINGS, because, leaving untouched such as are sufficiently plain and open, Ishall drive only thosethat are either deep or rich.' 'For myself?'—I?—'I expect to appear new in these common things.' But elsewhere, where he lays out the argument of them, by the side of that 'resplendent and lustrous mass of matter,' thoseheroicaldescriptions of virtue, duty, and felicity, thatothershave got glory from, it is somePoetwe are given to understand that is going to be foundnewin them.There, the argument is all—all—poetic, and it is a theme for one who, if he know how to handle it, need not be afraid to put in his modest claim, with those who sung of old, the wrath of heroes, and their arms.
Any one who does not perceive that the passages here quoted were designed to introduce more than 'the wisdom of the ancients', the reader who is disposed to conclude after a careful perusal of these reiterated statements, in regard to the form in which doctrines differing from received opinions must be delivered, taken in connexion, too, with that draught of the new science of thehuman cultureand its parts and points, which has just been produced here,—the reader who concludes thatthisis, after all, a science thatwasable to dispense with this method of appeal to the senses and the imagination; that it wasnotobliged to have recourse to that path;—that the NEW LEARNING, 'the NEW DISCOVERY,' had here no fables, no particular topics, and methods of tradition; that it contented itself with abstractions and generalities, with 'the husks and shells of sciences,'—such an one ought, undoubtedly, to be left undisturbed in that opinion. He belongs precisely to that class of persons which this author himself deliberately proposed to leave to such conclusions. He is one whom this philosopher himself would not take any trouble at all to enlighten on such points. The other reading, with all itsgravity, was designed for him. The time for such an one to adopt the reading here produced, will be, when 'those who are incapable of receiving such things as do not directly fall under and strike the senses,' have, at last, got hold of it; when 'the groundlings, who, for the most part are capable of nothing but dumb show and noise,' have had their ears split with it, it will be time enough for him.
This Wisdom of the Moderns, then, to resume with those to whom the appeal is made, this new learning which the Wise Man and Innovator of the Modern Ages tells us must be clothed in fable, and adorned with verse, this learning that must be made to fall under and strike the senses; this dumb show of science, that is but show to him who cannot yet take the player's own version of what it means; this illustrated tradition, this beautiful tradition of the New Science of Human Nature,—where is it? This historical collection, this gallery that was to contain scientific draughts and portraitures of the human character, that should exhaust its varieties,—where is it? These new Georgics of the mind whoseargument is here,—where are they? This new Virgil who might promise himself such glory,—such new glory in the singing of them,—where is he? Did he make so deep a summer in his verse, that the track of the precept was lost in it? Were the flowers, and the fruit, so thick, there; was the reed so sweet that the argument of that great husbandry could no point,—could leave no furrow in it?
'Where souls do couch, on flowers, we'll hand in hand,And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze:Dido and her Aeneas shall want troops,And all the haunt be ours.'
'The neglect of our times,' says this author, in proposing this great argument, this new argument, of the application of SCIENCE to the Culture and Cure of the Mind, 'the neglect ofour times, whereinfew men do hold any consultationstouching thereformation of their lives, maymakethis partseem superfluous. As Seneca excellently saith, "De partibus vitae quisquae deliberat, de summa nemo."' And is that, after all,—is that the trouble still? Is it, that that characteristic of Elizabeth's time—that same thing which Seneca complained of in Nero's,—is it thatthatis not yet obsolete? Is that the reason, this so magnificent part, this radical part of the new discovery of the Modern Ages, is still held 'superfluous?' 'De partibus vitae quisquae deliberat, de summa nemo.' 'Now that we have spoken, and spoken for so many ages, of this fruit of life, it remaineth to speak of the husbandry thereunto.' That is the scientific proposition which has waited now two hundred and fifty years, for a scientific audience. The health of the soul, the scientific promotion of it, the FRUIT OF LIFE, and the observations of its husbandry. 'And if it be said,' he continues, anticipating the first inconsiderate objection, 'if it be said that the cure of mens' minds belongeth to sacred divinity, it is most true; but yet, moral philosophy may be preferred unto her, as a wise servant and humble handmaid. For as the Psalm saith, that the eyes of the handmaid look perpetually towards themistress, and yet, no doubt, many things are left to thediscretionof the handmaid, todiscern of the mistress' will; so ought moral philosophy to give a constant attention to the doctrines of divinity, and yet so as it may yield of herself, within due limits, many sound and profitable directions.'
For the times that were 'far off' when that proposition was made, it is brought out anew and reopened. Oh, people of the ages of arts and sciences that are called by this man's name, shall we have the fruits of his new doctrine of KNOWLEDGE, brought to our relief in all other fields, and reject it in this, which he himself laid out, and claimed as its only worthy field? Instructed now in the validity of its claims, by its 'magnitude of effects' in every department of the human practice to which it has yet been applied, shall we permit the department of it, on whichhislabour was expended, to escape that application? Shall we suffer that wild barbaric tract of the human life which the will and affections of man create,—that tract which he seized,—which it was his labour to collect into an art or science, to lie unreclaimed still?
Oh, Man of the new ages of science, will you have the new fore-knowledge, the magical command of effects, which the scientific inquiry into causes as they are actual in nature, puts into our hands, in every other practice, in every other culture and cure,—will you have the rule of this knowledge imposed upon your fields, and orchards, and gardens, to assist weak nature in her 'conservations' and 'advancements' in these,—to teach her to bring forth here the latent ideals, towards which she struggles and vainly yearns, and can only point to, and wait for, till science accepts her hints;—will you have the Georgics of this new Virgil to load your table with its magic clusters;—will you take the Novum Organum to pile your plate with its ideal advancements on spontaneous nature and her perfections;—will you have the rule of that Organum applied in its exactest rigors, to all the physical oppositions of your life, to minister to your physical safety, and comfort, and luxury, and never relax your exactions from it, till the last conceivable degree of these has been secured; and in this department of art and science,—this, in which the sum of our good and evil is contained,—in a mere oversight of it, in a disgraceful indifference and carelessness about it, be content to accept, without criticism, the machinery of the past—instrumentalities that the unlearned ages of the world have left to us,—arts whose precepts were concluded ages ere we knew thatknowledgeis power.
Shall we be content to accept as a science any longer, a science that leaves human life and its actualities and particulars, unsearched, uncollected, unreduced to scientific nomenclature and axiom? Shall we be content any longer with a knowledge that ispower,—shall we boast ourselves any longer of a scientificartthat leaveshumannature,—that makes over human nature to the tampering of an unwatched, unchecked empiricism, that leaves our own souls it may be, and the souls in which ours are garnered up, all wild and hidden, and gnarled within with nature's crudities and spontaneities, or choked and bitter with artificial, but unscientific, unartistic repression?
Will you have of that divinely appointed and beautiful 'handmaid,' that was brought in on to this Globe Theatre, with that upward look,—with eyes turned to that celestial sovereignty for her direction, with the sum of good in her intention, with the universal doctrine of practice in her programme, with the relief 'of man's estate and the Creator's glory' put down in her role,—with hernew song—with her song of man's nature and lifeas it is,on her lips—will you have of her, only the minister to your physical luxuries and baser wants? Be it so: but in the name of that truth which is able to survive ages of misunderstanding and detraction, in the name of that honor which is armed with arts of self-delivery and tradition, that will enable it to live again, 'though all the earth o'erwhelm it to men's eyes,' while this Book of the Advancemement of Learning stands, do not charge on this man henceforth, that election.
The times of that ignorance in which it could be thus accredited, are past; for the leader of this Advancement is already unfolding his tradition, and opening his books; and he bids us debase his name no longer, into a name for these sordid fatuities. The Leader of ages that are yet to be,—ages whose nobler advancements, whose rational and scientific advancements to the dignity and perfection of the human form, it was given to him and to his company to plan and initiate,—he declines to be held any longer responsible for the blind, demoniacal, irrational spirit, that would seize on his great instrument of science, and wrest it from its nobler object and intent, and debase it into themeretool of the senses; the tool of a materialism more base and sordid than any that the world has ever known; more sordid, a thousand-fold, than the materialism of ages, when there was yet a god in the wood and the stone, when there was yet a god in the brick and the mortar. This 'broken science' that has no end of ends, this godless science, this railway learning that travels with restless, ever quickening speed, no whither,—these dead, rattling 'branches' and slivers of arts and sciences, thesemodernarts and sciences, hacked and cut away from that tree of sciences, from which they sprang, whereon they grew, arehisno longer. He declines to be held any longer responsible for a materialism that shelters itself under the name of philosophy, and identifies his own name with it. Call it science, if you will, though science be the name for unity and comprehension, and the spirit of life, the spirit of the largest whole; call it philosophy if you will, if you think philosophy is capable of being severed from that common trunk, in which this philosopher found its pith and heart,—call it science,—call it philosophy,—but call it not, he says,—call it not henceforth 'Baconian.'
Forhislabor is to collect into an art or science the doctrine ofhumanlife. He, too, has propounded that problem,—he has translated into the modern speech, that problem, which the inspired Leader of men, of old propounded. 'What is a man profited if he should gain the whole world and lose his own soul; or what can a man give in exchange for his soul?' He, too, has recognized that ideal type of human excellence, which the Great Teacher of old revealed and exemplified; he has found scientifically,—he has found in the universal law,—that divine dogma, which was taught of old by One who spake as having authority—One who also had looked on nature with a loving and observant eye, and found in its source, the Inspirer of his doctrine. In his study of that old book of divinity which he calls the book of God's Power this Modern Innovator has found the scientific version of that inspired command 'Be ye therefore perfect.' This new science of morality, which is 'moral knowledge,' is able to recognise the inspiration and divinity of that received platform and exemplar of good, and pours in on it the light of a universal illustration. And in his new scientific policy, in his scientific doctrine of success, in his doctrine of the particular and private good, when he brings out at last the rule which shall secure it from all the blows of fortune, what is it but that same old 'Primum quærite' which he produces,—clothing it with the authority and severe exaction of a scientific rule in art,—that same 'Primum quærite' which was published of old as a doctrine of faith only. 'But let men rather build,' he says, 'upon that foundation, which is as a corner-stone of divinity andphilosophy, wherein they join close; namely, thatsame 'Primum quærite.' For divinity saith, 'Seek first the kingdom of God, and all other things shall be added to you'; and philosophy saith, 'Primum quærite bona animi cætera aut aderunt, aut non oberunt.'
And who will now undertake to say that it is, indeed, written in the Book of God,—in the Book of the Providential Design, and Creative Law, or that it is written in the Revelation of a divine good will to men; that those who cultivate and cure the soul—who have a divine appointment to the office of its cure—shall thereby be qualified to ignore its actual laws, or that they shall find in the scientific investigation of its actual history, or in this new—so new, this so wondrous and beautiful science, which is here laid out in all its parts and points on the basis of a universal science of practice,—no 'ministry' to their end? Who shall say that the Regimen of the mind, that its Education and healthful culture, as well as its cure, shall be able to accept of no instrumentalities from theadvancementof learning? Who shall say that this department of the human life—thisalone, is going to be held back to the past, with bonds and cramps of iron, while all else is advancing; that this is going to be held forever as a place where the old Aristotelian logic, which we have driven out of every other field, can keep its hold unchallenged still,—as a place for the metaphysics of the school-men, the empty conceits, the old exploded inanities of the Dark Ages, to breed and nestle in undisturbed?
Who shall claim that this department is the only one, which that gift, that is the last gift of Creation and Providence to man is forbidden to enter?
Surely it is the authorised doctrine of a supernatural aid, that it is never brought in to sanction indolence and the neglect of means and instruments already in our power; and in that book of these new ages in which the doctrine of a successful human practice was promulgated, is it not written that in no department of the human want, 'can those noble effects, which God hath set forth to be bought as the price of labour, be obtained as the price of a few easy and slothful observances?'
And who that looks on the world as it is at this hour, with all our boasted aids and instrumentalities,—who that hears that cry of sorrow which goes up from it day and night,—who that looks at these masses of men as they are,—who that dares to look at all this vice and ignorance and suffering which no instrumentality, mighty to relieve, has yet reached, shall think to put back,—as if we had no need of it,—this great gift of light and healing,—this gift ofpower, which the scientific ages are bringing in; this gift which the ages of 'anticipation,' the ages of inspiration and spontaneous affirmation, could only divinely—diviningly—foresee and promise;—this gift which the knowledge of the creative laws, the historic laws, the laws of kind, as they are actual in the human nature and the human life, puts into our hands? Who shall think himself competent to oppose this benefaction? Alas for such an one! let us take up a lamentation for him. He has stayed too long. The constitution of things, the universal laws of being, and the Providence of this world are against him. The track of the advancing ages goes over him. He is at variance with that which was and shall be. The world's wheel goes over him. And whosoever falls on that stone shall be broken, but on whomsoever it falls it shall grind him to powder.
It is by means of the scientific Art of Delivery and Tradition, that this doctrine of the scientific Culture and Cure of the Mind, which is the doctrine of the scientific ages, has been made over to us in the abstract; and it is by means of the rule of interpretation, which this Art of Delivery prescribes, it is by means of the secret of an Illustrated Tradition, or Poetic Tradition of this science, that we are now enabled to unlock at last those magnificent collections in it—those inexhaustible treasures and mines of it—which the Discoverer, in spite of the time, has contrived to leave us, in that form of Fable and Parable in which the advancing truth has always been left,—in that form of Poesy in which the highest truth has, from of old, been uttered. For over all this ground lay extended, then, in watchful strength all safe and unespied, the basilisk of whom the Fable goes, if he sees you first, you die for it,—butif YOU SEE HIM FIRST, HE DIES. And this is the Bishop who fought with amace, because he wouldkillhis enemy and notwoundhim.