THUS is the unspeakable but intelligible and practicable meaning of the world
conveyed to man, the immortal pupil, in every object of sense. To this one end
of Discipline, all parts of nature conspire.
A noble doubt perpetually suggests itself, whether this end be not the Final
Cause of the Universe; and whether nature outwardly exists. It is a sufficient
account of that Appearance we call the World, that God will teach a human mind,
and so makes it the receiver of a certain number of congruent sensations, which
we call sun and moon, man and woman, house and trade. In my utter impotence to
test the authenticity of the report of my senses, to know whether the
impressions they make on me correspond with outlying objects, what difference
does it make, whether Orion is up there in heaven, or some god paints the image
in the firmament of the soul? The relations of parts and the end of the whole
remaining the same, what is the difference, whether land and sea interact, and
worlds revolve and intermingle without number or end,�deep yawning under deep,
and galaxy balancing galaxy, throughout absolute space,�or, whether, without
relations of time and space, the same appearances are inscribed in the constant
faith of man? Whether nature enjoy a substantial existence without, or is only
in the apocalypse of the mind, it is alike useful and alike venerable to me. Be
it what it may, it is ideal to me, so long as I cannot try the accuracy of my
The frivolous make themselves merry with the Ideal theory, if its
consequences were burlesque; as if it affected the stability of nature. It
surely does not. God never jests with us, and will not compromise the end of
nature, by permitting any inconsequence in its procession. Any distrust of the
permanence of laws, would paralyze the faculties of man. Their permanence is
sacredly respected, and his faith therein is perfect. The wheels and springs of
man are all set to the hypothesis of the permanence of nature. We are not built
like a ship to be tossed, but like a house to stand. It is a natural consequence
of this structure, that, so long as the active powers predominate over the
reflective, we resist with indignation any hint that nature is more short-lived
or mutable than spirit. The broker, the wheelwright, the carpenter, the
toll-man, are much displeased at the intimation.
But whilst we acquiesce entirely in the permanence of natural laws, the
question of the absolute existence of nature still remains open. It is the
uniform effect of culture on the human mind, not to shake our faith in the
stability of particular phenomena, as of heat, water, azote; but to lead us to
regard nature as a phenomenon, not a substance; to attribute necessary existence
to spirit; to esteem nature as an accident and an effect.
To the senses and the unrenewed understanding, belongs a sort of instinctive
belief in the absolute existence of nature. In their view, man and nature are
indissolubly joined. Things are ultimates, and they never look beyond their
sphere. The presence of Reason mars this faith. The first effort of thought
tends to relax this despotism of the senses, which binds us to nature as if we
were a part of it, and shows us nature aloof, and, as it were, afloat. Until
this higher agency intervened, the animal eye sees, with wonderful accuracy,
sharp outlines and colored surfaces. When the eye of Reason opens, to outline
and surface are at once added, grace and expression. These proceed from
imagination and affection, and abate somewhat of the angular distinctness of
objects. If the Reason be stimulated to more earnest vision, outlines and
surfaces become transparent, and are no longer seen; causes and spirits are seen
through them. The best moments of life are these delicious awakenings of the
higher powers, and the reverential withdrawing of nature before its God.
Let us proceed to indicate the effects of culture. 1. Our first institution
in the Ideal philosophy is a hint from nature herself.
Nature is made to conspire with spirit to emancipate us. Certain mechanical
changes, a small alteration in our local position apprizes us of a dualism. We
are strangely affected by seeing the shore from a moving ship, from a balloon,
or through the tints of an unusual sky. The least change in our point of view,
gives the whole world a pictorial air. A man who seldom rides, needs only to get
into a coach and traverse his own town, to turn the street into a puppet-show.
The men, the women,�talking, running, bartering, fighting,�the earnest mechanic,
the lounger, the beggar, the boys, the dogs, are unrealized at once, or, at
least, wholly detached from all relation to the observer, and seen as apparent,
not substantial beings. What new thoughts are suggested by seeing a face of
country quite familiar, in the rapid movement of the rail-road car! Nay, the
most wonted objects, (make a very slight change in the point of vision,) please
us most. In a camera obscura, the butcher's cart, and the figure of one of our
own family amuse us. So a portrait of a well-known face gratifies us. Turn the
eyes upside down, by looking at the landscape through your legs, and how
agreeable is the picture, though you have seen it any time these twenty years!
In these cases, by mechanical means, is suggested the difference between the
observer and the spectacle,�between man and nature. Hence arises a pleasure
mixed with awe; I may say, a low degree of the sublime is felt from the fact,
probably, that man is hereby apprized, that, whilst the world is a spectacle,
something in himself is stable.
2. In a higher manner, the poet communicates the same pleasure. By a few
strokes he delineates, as on air, the sun, the mountain, the camp, the city, the
hero, the maiden, not different from what we know them, but only lifted from the
ground and afloat before the eye. He unfixes the land and the sea, makes them
revolve around the axis of his primary thought, and disposes them anew.
Possessed himself by a heroic passion, he uses matter as symbols of it. The
sensual man conforms thoughts to things; the poet conforms things to his
thoughts. The one esteems nature as rooted and fast; the other, as fluid, and
impresses his being thereon. To him, the refractory world is ductile and
flexible; he invests dust and stones with humanity, and makes them the words of
the Reason. The Imagination may be defined to be, the use which the Reason makes
of the material world. Shakspeare possesses the power of subordinating nature
for the purposes of expression, beyond all poets. His imperial muse tosses the
creation like a bauble from hand to hand, and uses it to embody any caprice of
thought that is upper-most in his mind. The remotest spaces of nature are
visited, and the farthest sundered things are brought together, by a subtle
spiritual connection. We are made aware that magnitude of material things is
relative, and all objects shrink and expand to serve the passion of the poet.
Thus, in his sonnets, the lays of birds, the scents and dyes of flowers, he
finds to be the
shadow of his beloved; time, which keeps her from him, is his chest;
the suspicion she has awakened, is her ornament;
The ornament of beauty is Suspect,
A crow which flies in heaven's sweetest air.
His passion is not the fruit of chance; it swells, as he speaks, to a city,
or a state.
No, it was builded far from accident;
It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
Under the brow of thralling discontent;
It fears not policy, that heretic,
That works on leases of short numbered hours,
But all alone stands hugely politic.
In the strength of his constancy, the Pyramids seem to him recent and
transitory. The freshness of youth and love dazzles him with its resemblance to
Take those lips away
Which so sweetly were forsworn;
And those eyes,�the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn.
The wild beauty of this hyperbole, I may say, in passing, it would not be
easy to match in literature.
This transfiguration which all material objects undergo through the passion
of the poet,�this power which he exerts to dwarf the great, to magnify the
small,�might be illustrated by a thousand examples from his Plays. I have before
me the Tempest, and will cite only these few lines.
ARIEL. The strong based promontory
Have I made shake, and by the spurs plucked up
The pine and cedar.
Prospero calls for music to soothe the frantic Alonzo, and his companions;
A solemn air, and the best comforter
To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains
Now useless, boiled within thy skull.
The charm dissolves
And, as the morning steals upon the night,
Melting the darkness, so their rising senses
Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle
Their clearer reason.
Begins to swell: and the approaching tide
Will shortly fill the reasonable shores
That now lie foul and muddy.
The perception of real affinities between events, (that is to say, of
affinities, for those only are real,) enables the poet thus to make free with
the most imposing forms and phenomena of the world, and to assert the
predominance of the soul.
3. Whilst thus the poet animates nature with his own thoughts, he differs
from the philosopher only herein, that the one proposes Beauty as his main end;
the other Truth. But the philosopher, not less than the poet, postpones the
apparent order and relations of things to the empire of thought. "The problem of
philosophy," according to Plato, "is, for all that exists conditionally, to find
a ground unconditioned and absolute." It proceeds on the faith that a law
determines all phenomena, which being known, the phenomena can be predicted.
That law, when in the mind, is an idea. Its beauty is infinite. The true
philosopher and the true poet are one, and a beauty, which is truth, and a
truth, which is beauty, is the aim of both. Is not the charm of one of Plato's
or Aristotle's definitions, strictly like that of the Antigone of Sophocles? It
is, in both cases, that a spiritual life has been imparted to nature; that the
solid seeming block of matter has been pervaded and dissolved by a thought; that
this feeble human being has penetrated the vast masses of nature with an
informing soul, and recognised itself in their harmony, that is, seized their
law. In physics, when this is attained, the memory disburthens itself of its
cumbrous catalogues of particulars, and carries centuries of observation in a
Thus even in physics, the material is degraded before the spiritual. The
astronomer, the geometer, rely on their irrefragable analysis, and disdain the
results of observation. The sublime remark of Euler on his law of arches, "This
will be found contrary to all experience, yet is true;" had already transferred
nature into the mind, and left matter like an outcast corpse.
4. Intellectual science has been observed to beget invariably a doubt of the
existence of matter. Turgot said, "He that has never doubted the existence of
matter, may be assured he has no aptitude for metaphysical inquiries." It
fastens the attention upon immortal necessary uncreated natures, that is, upon
Ideas; and in their presence, we feel that the outward circumstance is a dream
and a shade. Whilst we wait in this Olympus of gods, we think of nature as an
appendix to the soul. We ascend into their region, and know that these are the
thoughts of the Supreme Being. "These are they who were set up from everlasting,
from the beginning, or ever the earth was. When he prepared the heavens, they
were there; when he established the clouds above, when he strengthened the
fountains of the deep. Then they were by him, as one brought up with him. Of
them took he counsel."
Their influence is proportionate. As objects of science, they are accessible
to few men. Yet all men are capable of being raised by piety or by passion, into
their region. And no man touches these divine natures, without becoming, in some
degree, himself divine. Like a new soul, they renew the body. We become
physically nimble and lightsome; we tread on air; life is no longer irksome, and
we think it will never be so. No man fears age or misfortune or death, in their
serene company, for he is transported out of the district of change. Whilst we
behold unveiled the nature of Justice and Truth, we learn the difference between
the absolute and the conditional or relative. We apprehend the absolute. As it
were, for the first time, we exist. We become immortal, for we learn that
time and space are relations of matter; that, with a perception of truth, or a
virtuous will, they have no affinity.
5. Finally, religion and ethics, which may be fitly called,�the practice of
ideas, or the introduction of ideas into life,�have an analogous effect with all
lower culture, in degrading nature and suggesting its dependence on spirit.
Ethics and religion differ herein; that the one is the system of human duties
commencing from man; the other, from God. Religion includes the personality of
God; Ethics does not. They are one to our present design. They both put nature
under foot. The first and last lesson of religion is, "The things that are seen,
are temporal; the things that are unseen, are eternal." It puts an affront upon
nature. It does that for the unschooled, which philosophy does for Berkeley and
Viasa. The uniform language that may be heard in the churches of the most
ignorant sects, is,�"Contemn the unsubstantial shows of the world; they are
vanities, dreams, shadows, unrealities; seek the realities of religion." The
devotee flouts nature. Some theosophists have arrived at a certain hostility and
indignation towards matter, as the Manichean and Plotinus. They distrusted in
themselves any looking back to these flesh-pots of Egypt. Plotinus was ashamed
of his body. In short, they might all say of matter, what Michael Angelo said of
external beauty, "it is the frail and weary weed, in which God dresses the soul,
which he has called into time."
It appears that motion, poetry, physical and intellectual science, and
religion, all tend to affect our convictions of the reality of the external
world. But I own there is something ungrateful in expanding too curiously the
particulars of the general proposition, that all culture tends to imbue us with
idealism. I have no hostility to nature, but a child's love to it. I expand and
live in the warm day like corn and melons. Let us speak her fair. I do not wish
to fling stones at my beautiful mother, nor soil my gentle nest. I only wish to
indicate the true position of nature in regard to man, wherein to establish man,
all right education tends; as the ground which to attain is the object of human
life, that is, of man's connection with nature. Culture inverts the vulgar views
of nature, and brings the mind to call that apparent, which it uses to call
real, and that real, which it uses to call visionary. Children, it is true,
believe in the external world. The belief that it appears only, is an
afterthought, but with culture, this faith will as surely arise on the mind as
did the first.
The advantage of the ideal theory over the popular faith, is this, that it
presents the world in precisely that view which is most desirable to the mind.
It is, in fact, the view which Reason, both speculative and practical, that is,
philosophy and virtue, take. For, seen in the light of thought, the world always
is phenomenal; and virtue subordinates it to the mind. Idealism sees the world
in God. It beholds the whole circle of persons and things, of actions and
events, of country and religion, not as painfully accumulated, atom after atom,
act after act, in an aged creeping Past, but as one vast picture, which God
paints on the instant eternity, for the contemplation of the soul. Therefore the
soul holds itself off from a too trivial and microscopic study of the universal
tablet. It respects the end too much, to immerse itself in the means. It sees
something more important in Christianity, than the scandals of ecclesiastical
history, or the niceties of criticism; and, very incurious concerning persons or
miracles, and not at all disturbed by chasms of historical evidence, it accepts
from God the phenomenon, as it finds it, as the pure and awful form of religion
in the world. It is not hot and passionate at the appearance of what it calls
its own good or bad fortune, at the union or opposition of other persons. No man
is its enemy. It accepts whatsoever befalls, as part of its lesson. It is a
watcher more than a doer, and it is a doer, only that it may the better watch.