Appendix V

LITERARY ETHICS

An Oration delivered before the Literary Societies of Dartmouth College, July 24, 1838

by Ralph Waldo Emerson

[Rendered into Modern Everyday American by M. J. Goldberg, PhD.]

GENTLEMEN, The invitation to address you this day, with which you have honored me, [was] so welcome...I [could hardly wait] to obey it[!] A summons to celebrate with scholars a literary festival is so [exciting for] me as to overcome the doubts I might well entertain of my ability to bring you any thought worthy of your attention. I have reached the middle age of man; yet I believe I am [no] less [pleased] at the meeting of scholars than when, [as] a boy, I first saw the graduates of my...College [gathering for a reunion]. Neither years nor books have yet...to [erase] a prejudice then rooted in me that a scholar is the favorite of Heaven and earth, the excellency of his country [and] the happiest of [all] men. His duties lead him directly into the holy ground where other men's aspirations only point. His successes are occasions of the purest joy to all men. Eyes is he to the blind; feet is he to the lame. [Even h]is failures, if [they are undertaken heroically] are [a stairway] to [the highest of our cultural stars]. And because the scholar by every thought he thinks extends his dominion into the...mind[s] of [all] men, he is not one but many. The few scholars in each [land] whose genius I [am familiar with impress] me not [as] individuals, but [whole] societies; and when events occur of great [magnitude] I [number the multitudes their genius will influence] as if I were counting nations. And even if [the] results [of a man's divinely-inspired thoughts are never published or fall on deaf ears or remain only] in his own [head];...the [mere] fact [such a man exists and seeks to justify that sublime fact is] a [blessing for all humanity].

[Nevertheless] I know a very different estimate of the scholar's profession prevails in this country, and the [harshness] with which society presses its claim upon young men, tends to pervert the views of [our] youth in respect to the [cultivation] of [their] intellect. Hence the historical failure [up]on which [Europeans] and [Americans] have so freely commented. This [nation] has not fulfilled what seemed the reasonable expectation of [those who believed that] when all [the] feudal [chains] were [broken]...nature—too long the mother of dwarfs—[might celebrate that historic event] by [producing] a [race] of Titans who [would] laugh and leap in [this brand new] continent and [scale its rugged] mountains...[with nothing but the sheer impertinence of their genius]...But the mark of American merit in painting,...sculpture,...poetry...fiction [and] eloquence seems to be a certain grace without grandeur—and...not new but derivative; a vase of fair outline, but empty—which whoso[ever] sees [it], may fill with what wit and character is in him, but which does not, like the charged cloud, overflow with terrible beauty and emit lightnings on all [its] beholders.

I will not lose myself in [such pointless] questions [as]—what are the limitations and...causes of [that depressing] fact. It suffices me to say in general that the diffidence of mankind in the soul has crept over the American mind; that men here, as elsewhere, are [reluctant] to [innovate] and prefer any antiquity, any usage, any [occupation] productive of ease or profit, to the [impractical] service of thought.

Yet in every sane hour the service of thought appears reasonable, the despotism of the senses insane. The scholar may lose himself in schools [and] words and become a pedant; but when he comprehends his duties, he above all men is a [pragmatist] and [deals] with [the realest kind of reality]. For the scholar is the student of the world, and of what worth the world is, and with what emphasis it accosts the soul of man, such is the worth, such the call[ing] of the scholar.

The [problems] of [our] times, and the [occasion] of this anniversary [combine] to draw attention to the doctrine of Literary Ethics. What I have to say on that [subject falls into the categories of a)] the resources; [b] the subject, and; [c] the discipline of the scholar.

[a)] The resources of the scholar are proportioned to his confidence in the attributes of [human intelligence]. The [scholar's] resources are [comprised of] nature and truth, yet [they] can never [be mastered by him] unless [he approaches them] with [at least] an equal greatness of mind. He cannot know them until he has beheld with awe the [cosmic] impersonality of...intellectual power. When he has seen that it is not his, nor any man's, but...is the soul which made the world, and that it is all accessible to him, he will know that, as its [master], he may rightfully hold all things subordinate...to it. A[s a] divine pilgrim...all things attend his steps. Over him stream the flying constellations; over him streams Time...scarcely divided into months and years. He inhales the year as a vapor: its fragrant midsummer breath, its sparkling January heaven. And so pass into his mind in bright transfiguration the grand events of history to [receive] a new order and scale from him. He is the world; and the epochs and heroes of chronology are [legends] in which his thoughts are told. There is no event [that did not spring] somewhere from the soul of man; and [consequently] there is none [that cannot be interpreted by] the soul of man...Every [inkling] of the mind is [rooted] somewhere in a gigantic fact. What else is Greece, Rome, England, France [or] St. Helena? What else are churches, literatures and empires? The new man must feel that he is new and has not come into the world mortgaged to the opinions and [habits] of Europe and[/or] Asia and[/or] Egypt. The sense of spiritual independence is like the lovely [gloss] of [that] dew, [by which] the old, hard, peaked earth, and its [ancient morphology] are made new every morning, and shin[e] with the last touch of [an] artist's hand. A false humility, a complaisance to reigning schools or to the wisdom of antiquity must not [cheat] me of [my] supreme possession of this hour. If any person have less love of liberty, and less jealousy to guard his integrity, shall he therefore dictate to you and me? Say to such doctors: We are thankful to you, as we are to history, to the pyramids, and the authors; but now our day is come; we have been born out of the eternal silence; and now will we live—live for ourselves—and not as the pallbearers [at] a funeral, but as the upholders and creators of our age; and neither Greece nor Rome, nor the three Unities of Aristotle, nor the three Kings of Cologne, nor the College of the Sorbonne, nor the Edinburgh Review, is to command [us] any longer. Now that we are here, we will put our own interpretation on things, and [decide which things we shall interpret]. Please himself with complaisance who will —for me things must take my scale, not I theirs. I will say [like] the warlike king, 'God gave me this crown, and the whole world shall not take it away.'

The...value of history [and] biography is to increase my self-trust by demonstrating what man can be and [can] do. This is the moral of the Plutarchs, the Cudworths, the Tennemanns, who give us the story of men [and their ideas]. Any history of philosophy fortifies my faith, by showing me ...what high dogmas I had supposed were the rare and late fruit of a cumulative culture and only now [attainable by] some recent Kant or Fichte—were...[improvised by] the earliest [intellectuals]—Parmenides, Heraclitus and Xenophanes. In view of these students the soul seems to whisper, "There is a better way than this [copycat] learning...; don't teach me ...Leibnitz or Schelling! I shall find it all out myself."

Still more do we owe to biography the fortification of our hope. If you would know the power of character, see how much you would impoverish the world, if you [removed from] history the lives of Milton, Shakespeare and Plato—...See you not how much less the power of man would be? I console myself in the poverty of my thoughts;...the [shortage] of great men [and]...the dullness of ...nations by [relying] on these sublime recollections and seeing what the prolific soul [can] beget on actual nature—seeing that Plato,...Shakespeare and Milton [were] three irre[futable] facts. Then I dare; [then] I also will essay to be. The humblest [and] most hopeless [when faced by] these radiant facts may now theorize and hope. In spite of all the rueful abortions that squeak and gibber in the street, in spite of slumber and guilt, in spite of the army, the bar-room and the jail [these] ...glorious manifestations of the mind [have triumphed]; and I will thank my great brothers...for the admonition of their being [in order that I might also]...endeavor...to be just and brave, to aspire and to speak. Plotinus too, and Spinoza, and the immortal bards of philosophy—that which they have written out with patient courage, makes me bold. No more will I dismiss with haste the visions which flash and sparkle across my sky; but observe them, approach them, domesticate them, brood on them, and draw out of the past, genuine life for the present hour.

To feel the full value of these lives, as occasions of hope and [inspiration] you must come to know that each admirable genius is but a successful diver in that sea whose floor of pearls is all your own. The [demoralizing] philosophy of ages has laid stress on the distinctions of the individual ...not on the universal attributes of man. The youth intoxicated with his admiration [for] a hero fails to see that it is only a [reflection] of his own soul...he admires. In solitude, in a remote village, the ardent youth loiters and mourns. With inflamed eye, in this sleeping wilderness, he has read the story of the Emperor Charles the Fifth, until his fancy has brought home to the surrounding woods, the faint roar of cannonades in the Milanese, and marches in Germany. He is curious [about that [great] man's day. What filled it? the crowded orders, the stern decisions, the foreign despatches, the Castilian etiquette? The soul answers—Behold his day here [and now]! In the sighing of these woods, in the quiet of these gray fields, in the cool breeze that sings out of these northern mountains; in the workmen, the boys, the maidens, you meet—in the hopes of the morning, the ennui of noon and sauntering of the afternoon; in the disquieting comparisons; in the regrets [over lack] of vigor; in the great idea and the [flawed] execution [of it]—behold Charles the Fifth's day; another, yet the same; behold Chatham's, Hampden's, Bayard's, Alfred's, Scipio's [and] Pericles' day—[the] day[s] of all that are born of women. The difference of circumstance is merely costume. I am tasting the [identical] life—its sweetness, its greatness [and the] pain which I so admire in other men. Do not foolishly ask of the inscrutable, obliterated past, what it cannot tell—the details of that nature, of that day, called Byron or Burke—but ask it of the enveloping Now; the more [meticulously] you inspect its evanescent beauties, its wonderful details, its spiritual causes, its astounding whole—so much...more [will] you master the biography of this hero and that [hero] and every hero. Be lord of a day through wisdom and justice and you can [forget about reading] your history books.

A [hint] of these [magical powers can be found] in the sense of [outrage all]...men feel [when someone seeks] to limit [the maximizing of] their [potential for greatness]. We resent all criticism, which denies us anything that lies in our line of advance. Say to the man of letters...he cannot paint a Transfiguration or build a steamboat or be a grand-marshal—and he will not seem to himself [injured]. But deny...him any [measure] of literary or metaphysical [talent] and he [sulks]. Concede to him genius...and he is content; but [call him a mediocrity] and he [becomes truculent!] What does this mean? ...[S]imply [this:]...[Our] soul[s are supremely confident about how God-like they are].

In order to understand [what scholarship really means] we must not [rely on mere] words;...we must pay our vows to the highest power and pass, if...possible, by assiduous love and [observation] into the [realm] of absolute truth. The [process by which our intellects expand is (more or less) the same for] all individuals. It is [simply the enlargement of one's capacity to receive knowledge]. [Wise] men in general have [civilized] dispositions and a respect for justice because [they are essentially] a[n organism] wherein...the universal spirit freely flows; so that [their notions] of justice [are] not only vast but infinite. [In] the abstract [all men] are just and good; what hinders them in the particular is the[ir preoccupation with the problems of everyday living rather than those transcendental truths we scholars find so fascinating]. The [result] of our [all having been 'created in the image of a god' leaves the average man feeling he has no further need to improve himself]. [What makes t]he hero...great [is his recognition that one's apotheosis comes only after one has bootstrapped himself to the top of the history-making heap. After which] he has only to open his mouth and [destiny] speaks; he has only to ...act and [the course of human events are forever changed]. All men catch [his] word[s] or embrace [his] deed[s enthusiastically because they intuitively understand that his glory glorifies them (even as they continue clinging to their belief in the blissfulness of ignorance!). And yet nothing is more simple than greatness; indeed, to be simple is to be great [if we define simplicity as that epiphanal state of mine that] comes by renouncing [an overly analytical attitude toward finding truth] and [letting one's imagination loose to roam as it will—and must!...Men with ordinary minds] grind [away] in the mill of a truism, and nothing comes out [that wasn't there in the first place]. But the moment they [abandon their conventional way of thinking] for a spontaneous thought, then poetry, wit, hope, virtue, learning, anecdote, all [rush] to their aid.

Observe the [case] of extempor[aneous] debate. A man of cultivated mind but reserved habits sitting silent[ly], admires the miracle of free, impassioned [and] picturesque speech in the man addressing an assembly—a state of being and power [vastly superior to] his own! Presently his...emotion rises to his lips and overflows in speech. He must also rise and say some[thing]. Once embarked [and] having overcome the novelty of [this] situation he finds it just as easy and natural to speak—to speak with thoughts, with pictures [and] with rhythmical[ly] balance[d]...sentences—[once he] adjusts...to the free spirit which [so easily] utters itself through him; and motion [becomes] as easy as rest.

II. I pass now to consider the [challenge facing] the intell[igentsia] of this country...[So far, gentlemen, we Americans] have not [taken our socio-cultural responsibilities as seriously as we should]. To be as good a scholar as Englishmen are; to have as much learning as our [European] contemporaries; to have written a book that is read[—that is all the average American intellectual wants]. We assume...all [knowledge] is already...in books —all [beauty] in poems; and what we [think] ...only [confirms] this [presumably finite] body of literature. [That, my young friends, is a] very [dubious] assumption. [What we should say is:] all literature [has] yet to be written[!] Poetry has [barely] chanted its first song[!] The perpetual admonition of [the muse] to us is: 'The world is new [and] untried. Do not believe the past. [Gentlemen] I give you the universe [as] a virgin today[!]'

By Latin and English poetry we were born and bred in an oratorio of praises [for] nature—flowers, birds, mountains, sun, and moon—yet the naturalist of this hour finds that he knows nothing, by all their poems, of any of these fine things; that he has conversed with the mere surface and show of them all; and of their essence...knows nothing. Further inquiry will [reveal]...nobody—...not these chanting poets themselves, knew anything [really valid about] these 'handsome natures' they...[praised so highly]; that they contented themselves with the passing chirp of a bird; that they saw one or two mornings, and listlessly looked at [some] sunsets, and idly repeated these few glimpses in their song. But [if you should actually] go into the forest you [will] find [all of its wonders] new and undescribed. The screaming of the wild geese flying by night; the thin note of the companionable titmouse, in the winter day; the fall of swarms of flies, in autumn, from combats high in the air, pattering down on the leaves like rain; the angry hiss of the wood-birds; the pine throwing out its pollen for the benefit of the next century; the turpentine exuding from the tree—and, indeed, any vegetation; any animation; any and all [of them] are alike unattempted. The man who stands on the seashore or who rambles in the woods seems to be the first man [who] ever stood on the shore or entered a grove—his sensations and his world are so novel and strange. Whilst I read the poets I think...nothing new can be said about morning and evening. But when I see the daybreak I am not reminded of these Homeric or Shakespearian or Miltonic or Chaucerian [word] pictures. No;...I feel [instead] the [challenge] of an [untamed] world; a world not yet [conquered] by the [human mind]; or I am [thrilled] by the moist, warm, glittering, budding, melodious hour, that [dismantles] the narrow walls of my soul and extends its life and pulsation to the very horizon. That is morning—...for a bright hour to [cease being] a prisoner [in] this [puny skin] and...become as large as [—or larger—than the universe!].

The noonday darkness of the American forest, the deep, echoing, aboriginal woods where the living columns of the oak and fir tower up from the ruins of the trees of the last millennium; where, from year to year, the eagle and the crow see no intruder; the pines, bearded with savage moss, yet touched with grace by the violets at their feet; the broad, cold lowland, which forms its coat of vapor with the stillness of subterranean crystallization; and where the traveller [among] the [eerie] plants ...native [to] the swamp, thinks with pleasing terror of the distant town; this beauty—haggard and desert beauty, which the sun and the moon, the snow and the rain, repaint and vary has never been recorded by art, yet is not indifferent to any [passerby]. All men are poets at heart. They serve nature for bread, but her loveliness overcomes them sometimes. What mean these journeys to Niagara; these pilgrim[ages] to the White Hills? Men [ordinarily see their world from an economic perspective but] in the mountains they may [begin to take a more poetical point of view]. Undoubtedly the changes of geology have [something to do with] the prosperous sprouting of the corn and peas in my kitchen garden; but not less is there a[n aesthetic] relation[ship]...between my soul and the dim crags of Agiocochook up there in the clouds. Every man...[reacts joyfully when I tell him this] and yet his own conversation with nature is still unsung.

Is it otherwise with civil history? Is it not the lesson of our experience that every man, were life long enough, would write [his own epic tale]? What else do these volumes of extracts and manuscript commentaries that every scholar writes [mean}? Greek history is one thing to me; another to you. Since the birth of Niebuhr and Wolf, Roman and Greek History have been written anew. Since Carlyle wrote French History we see that no history...is safe, but a new classifier shall give it [a novel] and more philosophical arrangement. Thucydides [and] Livy, have only provided [grist for another historian's mill]. The moment a man of genius pronounces the name of the Pelasgi, of Athens, of the Etrurian, of the Roman people, we see their state [in] a [different light]. As [with] poetry and history so [it is] in the other [academic disciplines]. There are few masters or none. Religion is yet to be settled on its fast foundations in the breast of man; [nor] politics [nor] philosophy [nor] letters [nor] art. As yet we have nothing but tendenc[ies] and [hints].

This starting [and] warping of the best literary works from the adamant of nature is especially observable in philosophy. Let it take what tone of pretension it will, to this complexion must it come at last. Take for example the French Eclecticism...Cousin esteems so conclusive[ly]; there is an optical illusion in it. It avows great pretensions. It looks as if they had all truth...and had nothing to do but...sift and wash and strain and the gold and diamonds would remain in the last colander. But Truth is such a flyaway, such a slyboots, so untransportable and unbarrelable a commodity ...it is as [hard] to catch as light. {Close] the shutters never so quick to keep all the light in [and] it is all in vain; it is gone before you can cry, 'Hold!' And so it happens with our philosoph[ies]. Translate, collate [and] distill all the systems [and] it [gains] you nothing; for truth will not be compelled in any mechanical manner. But the first observation you make in the sincere act of your nature, though on the veriest trifle, may open a new view of nature and of man that, like a menstruum, shall dissolve all theories in it; shall take up Greece, Rome, Stoicism, Eclecticism, and what not, as mere [fodder] for analysis, and dispose of your [Alpine weltanschuung] as [if it were] a [hill of beans]. A [revolutionary] thought, anywhere, [applies to] all things: [it] will [move mountains]. The book of philosophy is only a fact and no more inspiring...than [any other fact] and no less; but a wise man will never esteem it anything final and transcending...[T]alk with a man of genius, and the first word he utters sets all your so-called knowledge afloat and at large. Then [the great] Plato, Bacon, Kant and [even] the Eclectic Cousin [turn into nothing more than] men and mere facts.

I by no means aim in [my] remarks to disparage the merit of these or...any [other ideologies]; I only say that [a] particular [theory] does not...exclude or [prevent] a new attempt [which], when [critiqued] by the soul, warps and shrinks away. The inundation of the spirit sweeps away...all our little architecture[s] of wit and memory as straws and straw-huts before [a] torrent. Works of the intellect are great only by comparison with each other; Ivanhoe and Waverley compared with Castle Radcliffe and the Porter novels; but nothing is great—not mighty Homer and Milton—[when compared to] the [I]nfinite Reason. It carries them away as a flood. They are as a sleep.

Thus is justice done to each generation and individual —wisdom teaching man that he shall not hate or fear or mimic his ancestors; that he shall not bewail himself as if the world was old and thought was spent and he was born into the dotage of things; for by virtue of the Deity thought renews itself inexhaustibly every day, and the thing whereon it shines, though it were dust and sand, is a new subject with countless [possibilities].

III. Having thus spoken of the resources and the subject of the scholar, out of the same faith proceeds also the rule of his ambition and life. Let him know that the world is his [oyster], but he must possess it by putting himself into harmony with the constitution of things. He must be a solitary, laborious, modest and charitable soul.

[The intellectual] must embrace solitude as [if it were] a bride. He must [experience] his [joys] and his [sorrows] alone. His own estimate must be measure enough, his own praise reward enough for him. And why must the student be solitary and silent? [So that] he may become acquainted with his thoughts. If he pines in a lonely place hankering for the crowd, for [glory], he is not in the lonely place; his heart is in the market; he does not see; he does not hear; he does not think. But go cherish your soul; expel companions; set your habits to a life of solitude; then will [your] faculties rise fair and full within, like forest trees and field flowers; you will have results which, when you meet your fellow-men, you can communicate and they will gladly receive. Do not go into solitude only [because] you may [eventually become a celebrity]. Such solitude...is [hypocritical, vain] and [not very original]. The [masses know—or think they do—all about 'life in the raw.' What] they [want] the [artist] to [explain are] those private, [inspired and] divine experiences of which they have been [deprived by their ignorance.] It is the noble, man[ly] [and] just thought which is the superiority demanded of you, and not crowds but solitude confers this elevation. Not insulation of place but independence of spirit is essential, and it is only as the garden, the cottage, the forest and the rock are a sort of [stimulus] to this [end] that they are of value. Think alone and all places are friendly and sacred. The poets who have lived in cities have [nevertheless remained] hermits. Inspiration makes solitude anywhere. Pindar, Raphael, Angelo, Dryden [and] De Stael [may] dwell in crowds...but the instant thought comes [to them] the crowd grows dim to their eye; their eye fixes on the horizon—on vacant space; they forget the bystanders; they spurn personal relations; they deal with abstractions, with verities, with ideas. They are alone with the mind.

[Not that] I['m superstitious] about solitude. Let [a young man] study the uses of solitude and of society. Let him use both [but never] serve either. The reason why [a thinking man] shuns society is to [find] society. It repudiates the false out of [its] love [for] the true. You can very soon learn all that society can teach you...Its foolish routine, an [infinite multiplicity] of balls, concerts, [amusements and] theatres, can teach you no more than [just] a few can. Then accept the hint of shame...spiritual emptiness and waste which true nature gives you and retire, and hide; lock the door; shut the shutters; then welcome falls the imprisoning rain—dear hermitage of nature. Re-collect the spirits. Have solitary prayer and praise. Digest and correct [your] past experience; and blend it with the new and divine life.

You will pardon me, Gentlemen, if I say ...we have need of a more rigorous scholastic rule; such an asceticism I mean, as only the [phlegm] of the scholar himself can enforce. We live in the sun and on the surface—a thin, plausible, superficial existence and talk of muse and prophet ...art and creation. But out of our shallow and frivolous way of life, how can greatness ever grow? Come now, let us go and be dumb. Let us sit with our hands on our mouths, a long, austere, Pythagorean lustrum. Let us live in corners and do chores and suffer and weep and drudge, with eyes and hearts that love the Lord. Silence, seclusion, austerity, may pierce deep into the grandeur and secret of our being, and so diving, bring up out of secular darkness, the sublimities of the moral constitution. How [sordid it is] to go blazing [like] a...butterfly in fashionable or political [circles], the fool of society, the fool of notoriety, a topic for newspapers, a piece of the street, and forfeiting the real prerogative of the russet coat, [precious] privacy and the tru[ly]...warm heart of the citizen[-scholar]!

Fatal to the man of letters[—]fatal to [any] man[!—] is the lust [for] display, the [phoniness which] unmakes our [manhood]. A mistake of the [principal] end to[ward] which they labor is [typical of] literary men, who, dealing with the organ of language—the subtlest, strongest, and longest-lived of man's creations and only [properly] used as the weapon of thought and...justice—learn to enjoy the pride of playing with this splendid [toy] but rob it of its [omnipotence] by failing to work with it. Extricating themselves from the tasks of the world, the world revenges itself by exposing at every turn the folly of these incomplete, pedantic, useless [and] ghostly creatures. The scholar will feel...the richest romance—the noblest fiction...ever woven—the heart and soul of beauty—lies enclosed in human life. Itself of surpassing value, it is also the richest material for his creations. How shall he know its secrets of tenderness, of terror, of will and of fate? How can he catch and keep the strain of [ethereal] music that peals from it? Its laws are concealed [beneath] the details of daily action. All action is an experiment upon them. He must bear his share of the common load. He must work with men in houses and not with their names in books. His needs, appetites, talents, affections [and] accomplishments are keys that open to him the beautiful museum of human life. Why should he read it as an Arabian tale and not know in his own beating bosom, its [pleasures] and [pains]? Out of love and hatred, out of earnings and borrowings and lendings and losses; out of sickness and [torment]; out of wooing and worshipping; out of travelling and voting and watching and caring; out of disgrace and contempt comes our tuition in the serene and beautiful laws. Let him not slur his lesson; let him learn it by heart. Let him [struggle expertly], bravely and cheerfully to solve the problem of that life which is set before him. And [to do it with a proactive game plan]...not by promises or [pipe] dreams...

This lesson is taught with emphasis in the life of the great[est] actor of this age, and affords the explanation of his success. [Napoleon] Bonaparte represents...a [truly] great recent revolution which we in this country, please God, shall carry to its farthest consummation. Not the least instructive passage in modern history, seems to me a trait of Napoleon exhibited to the English [as] he became their prisoner. [When] coming on board the Bellerophon, a file of English soldiers drawn up on deck gave him a military salute. [He] observed...their manner of handling...arms differed from the French [custom] and, putting aside the [rifles] of those nearest him, walked up to a soldier, took his [weapon], and himself went through the motion in the French mode. The English officers and men looked on with astonishment and inquired if such familiarity was usual with the Emperor.

In this instance as always [and] with whatever defects or vices, [Napoleon's actions] represented [a triumph of] performance [over] pretension. Feudalism and Orientalism had long enough thought it majestic to do nothing; the modern majesty consists in work. [Bonaparte represented] a class, fast growing in the world, who think, that what a man can do is his greatest ornament and that [his dignity is enhanced thereby]. He was not a believer in luck; he [put his faith] in the [rational] application of means to ends. Means to ends, is the motto of all his behavior. He believed...the great captains of antiquity performed their exploits only by [carefully calculating the risk/reward ratios for every move they made]. The [ignorant] call 'good fortune' that which is really produced by the calculations of genius. But Napoleon, thus faithful to facts, also had this crowning merit; that whilst he believed in number and weight and omitted no part of prudence, he [also put his trust] in the freedom and [immeasurable willpower] of [his] soul. A man of infinite caution, he never neglected the least particular of preparation [and/or circumstantial flexibility]; yet nevertheless he had a sublime confidence...in the sallies of [that impulsive] courage [emanating from the unshakable] faith [he had] in his [manifest] destiny which, at the right moment, repaired all losses and demolished cavalry, infantry, king and kaisar ...with irresistible thunderbolts. As they say the bough of the tree has the character of the leaf and the whole tree of the bough, so it is [worth observing how] Bonaparte's army [shared] this double strength of [its Commander-in-Chief]; for whilst strictly supplied in all its appointments and everything expected from the valor and discipline of every platoon in flank and centre, yet [there] always remained his total trust in the [military 'miracles' his his...Imperial Guard were capable of working, if, in all [other respects], the day was lost. Here he was sublime. He no longer calculated the chance of the cannon-ball. He was faithful to tactics to the uttermost—and when all tactics had come to an end [he wisely relied on] the mighty saltations of the most formidable [fighting machine in the history of warfare].

Let the scholar appreciate this combination of gifts which, [when it is applied to [a] better purpose, make [for] true wisdom. [If h]e is a revealer of things...[l]et him first learn the things. Let him not, too eager to grasp some badge of reward, omit the work [that needs to] be done. Let him know that [al]though the success of the market[place] is in the reward, true success is [in] the doing; that in the private obedience to his mind; in the sedulous inquiry, day after day [and] year after year, to know how [things really stand]; in the use of all means, and [particularly] in the reverence [for] the humble commerce and humble needs of life—to hearken what they say, and so by mutual reaction of thought and life...make thought solid, and life wise; and in a contempt for the gabble of today's opinions, the secret of the world is to be [erudite]...Or rather, is it not that by this [self] discipline the [seduction] of the senses is overcome and the lower faculties of man are subdued to docility; through which, [like] an unobstructed channel, [one's] soul...flows easily and gladly?

The good scholar will not refuse to bear the yoke in his youth; to know, if he can, the uttermost secret of toil and endurance; to make his own hands acquainted with the soil by which he is fed, and the sweat that goes before comfort and luxury. Let him pay his tithe and serve the world as a true and noble man; never forgetting to worship [those] immortal divinities who whisper to the poet and make him the utterer of melodies that pierce the ear of eternal time. If he [has] this twofold goodness—the [discipline] and the inspiration—then he has health; then he is a whole and not a fragment; and the perfection of his endowment will appear in his compositions. Indeed, this [double virtue] characterizes [all] the productions of [the] great masters. The man of genius should occupy the...space between [his divinity]...and the multitude of uneducated men. He must draw from the infinite Reason on one side and...penetrate into the heart and [mind] of the crowd on the other. From [the former] he must draw his strength; to the [latter] he [devote his purpose]. The one yokes him to the real; the other to the apparent. At one pole is Reason; at the other, Common Sense. If he be defective at either extreme of the scale his philosophy will seem low and utilitarian; or [on the other hand] appear [so] vague and indefinite [as to be of no practical value].

The student, as we [keep telling him!], is great only by [acquiescing] to the superincumbent spirit. Let this faith, then, [govern] all his action[s]. Snares and bribes abound to mislead him; let him be true nevertheless. His success[es have their] perils too...[Those] who [find]...his thoughts...entertain[ing] or [clever flatter]...him before...they have learned [what it takes to be a cardcarrying egghead]. They seek him [so] he [might] turn his lamp on the dark riddles whose solution they think is inscribed on the walls of their being. [Instead t]hey find...he is [only] a poor, ignorant man in a [threadbare] coat like themselves [who doesn't emit] a continuous stream of [laserlike truth] but now and then [ejaculates] a jet of lumino[sity]—followed by total darkness; moreover, that he cannot make of his infrequent illumination a [candle] to carry whither he would and explain now this dark riddle [and] now that [one]. Sorrow ensues.The scholar regrets [having to repeatedly frustrate] the hope[s] of [bright] boys; and [they have] lost a star [from their] flaming firmament. Hence the temptation [of] the [teacher] to mystify; to hear the question; to sit upon it [and]...make an answer of words [which make him appear to be an oracle]. N[everthe]less let him be cold and true and wait in patience, knowing that truth can make even silence eloquent and memorable. Truth shall be [his guiding star]. Let him open his [mind] to all honest inquiry and be an artist [who rises above the] trick[ery] of art. [Don't be ashamed to reveal the tools of your trade]. Welcome all comers to the freest use of the[m]. And out of this [candor] and [love] you shall learn higher secrets of your [own] nature, which [the] gods will [help you to communicate.

If, with a high trust, he can thus submit himself, he will find that ample returns are poured into his bosom, out of what seemed hours[—if not years!—]of obstruction and [futility]. Let him not grieve too much on account of unfit associates. When he sees how much thought he owes to the disagreeable antagonism of various persons who pass and cross him he can easily think that in a society of perfect sympathy no word [or] act [or] record [need ever] be [produced]. He will learn...it [doesn't matter very much] what he reads [or]...does. [Just b]e a scholar and he shall have the scholar's part of every thing. As, in the counting-room, the merchant cares little [if his] cargo [is] hides or [turnips]; ...his [profits are more or less the same]; so you [should] get your [profits from] reading even a dull book, or [doing a day's honest work] which your [needs] or [those] of [society demand from we who spend most of our time trying to prove brains are superior to brawn].

Gentlemen, I have...offer[ed] you [my advice] ...on the scholar's place [in the sociocultural scheme of things]...because...standing as...you now do on the threshold of...assum[ing] tasks, [both] public and private [for building a better America...you would[n't object to a gentle reminder] of those primary intellectual duties...you will seldom hear [coming] from the lips of your [peers]. You

will hear every day the maxims of a low prudence. You will hear that [your principal objective] is to [attain fame and fortune]. 'What is this Truth you seek? what is this Beauty?' men will ask [sarcastically]. If, [however], God [has] called any of you to explore truth and beauty, be bold,...firm and [above all] true. When you shall say, 'As others do, so will I: [No matter how regretfully, I renounce...my [youthful] visions; I must eat [my fill] and let learning and romantic expectations go until a more convenient season;'—then dies the man in you; then once more [wither] the buds of art and poetry and science, as they have died already in a thousand thousand men. The [moment you make that choice your fate is decided]...

Forewarned that the vice of [our] times and...country is an excessive pretension, let us seek the shade, and find wisdom in neglect. Be content with a little light, [as long as it is} your own. Explore, and explore [again]. Be neither chided nor flattered out of your...perpetual [quest for truth]. Neither dogmatize nor accept another's dogmatism. Why should you renounce your right to traverse the star-lit deserts of truth, for the premature comforts of an acre, [a] house and [a] barn? Truth also has its roof and bed and board. Make yourself necessary to the world and mankind will give you bread, and if not store of it, yet such as shall not take away your property in all men's possessions, in all men's affections, in art, in nature, and in hope.

[Do] not fear that I am [asking you to put on a hair shirt]. Ask not, 'Of what use is a scholarship that systematically retreats?' or, 'Who is the [wiser when] the philosopher ...hides his thoughts from the waiting world? Hides his thoughts! Hide the sun and moon. Thought is all light, and publishes itself to the universe. It will speak, though you [are] dumb, by its own miraculous organ. It will flow out of your actions, your manners, and your face. It will bring you friendships. It will impledge you to truth by the love and expectation of generous minds. By virtue of the laws of that Nature, which is one and perfect, it shall yield every sincere good that is in the soul, to the scholar beloved of earth and heaven.