1. HISTORY.
There is no great and no small
To the Soul that maketh all:
And where it cometh, all things are
And it cometh everywhere.
I am owner of the sphere,
Of the seven stars and the solar year,
Of Caesar's hand, and Plato's brain,
Of Lord Christ's heart, and Shakspeare's strain.
I. HISTORY.
THERE is one mind common to all individual men. Every man is an inlet to the
same and to all of the same. He that is once admitted to the right of reason is
made a freeman of the whole estate. What Plato has thought, he may think; what a
saint has felt, he may feel; what at any time has befallen any man, he can
understand. Who hath access to this universal mind is a party to all that is or
can be done, for this is the only and sovereign agent.
Of the works of this mind history is the record. Its genius is illustrated by
the entire series of days. Man is explicable by nothing less than all his
history. Without hurry, without rest, the human spirit goes forth from the
beginning to embody every faculty, every thought, every emotion, which belongs
to it, in appropriate events. But the thought is always prior to the fact; all
the facts of history preexist in the mind as laws. Each law in turn is made by
circumstances predominant, and the limits of nature give power to but one at a
time. A man is the whole encyclopaedia of facts. The creation of a thousand
forests is in one acorn, and Egypt, Greece, Rome, Gaul, Britain, America, lie
folded already in the first man. Epoch after epoch, camp, kingdom, empire,
republic, democracy, are merely the application of his manifold spirit to the
manifold world.
This human mind wrote history, and this must read it. The Sphinx must solve her
own riddle. If the whole of history is in one man, it is all to be explained
from individual experience. There is a relation between the hours of our life
and the centuries of time. As the air I breathe is drawn from the great
repositories of nature, as the light on my book is yielded by a star a hundred
millions of miles distant, as the poise of my body depends on the equilibrium of
centrifugal and centripetal forces, so the hours should be instructed by the
ages and the ages explained by the hours. Of the universal mind each individual
man is one more incarnation. All its properties consist in him. Each new fact in
his private experience flashes a light on what great bodies of men have done,
and the crises of his life refer to national crises. Every revolution was first
a thought in one man's mind, and when the same thought occurs to another man, it
is the key to that era. Every reform was once a private opinion, and when it
shall be a private opinion again it will solve the problem of the age. The fact
narrated must correspond to something in me to be credible or intelligible. We,
as we read, must become Greeks, Romans, Turks, priest and king, martyr and
executioner; must fasten these images to some reality in our secret experience,
or we shall learn nothing rightly. What befell Asdrubal or Caesar Borgia is as
much an illustration of the mind's powers and depravations as what has befallen
us. Each new law and political movement has meaning for you. Stand before each
of its tablets and say, 'Under this mask did my Proteus nature hide itself.'
This remedies the defect of our too great nearness to ourselves. This throws our
actions into perspective; and as crabs, goats, scorpions, the balance and the
waterpot lose their meanness when hung as signs in the zodiac, so I can see my
own vices without heat in the distant persons of Solomon, Alcibiades, and
Catiline.
It is the universal nature which gives worth to particular men and things. Human
life, as containing this, is mysterious and inviolable, and we hedge it round
with penalties and laws. All laws derive hence their ultimate reason; all
express more or less distinctly some command of this supreme, illimitable
essence. Property also holds of the soul, covers great spiritual facts, and
instinctively we at first hold to it with swords and laws and wide and complex
combinations. The obscure consciousness of this fact is the light of all our
day, the claim of claims; the plea for education, for justice, for charity; the
foundation of friendship and love and of the heroism and grandeur which belong
to acts of self-reliance. It is remarkable that involuntarily we always read as
superior beings. Universal history, the poets, the romancers, do not in their
stateliest pictures, --in the sacerdotal, the imperial palaces, in the triumphs
of will or of genius,--anywhere lose our ear, anywhere make us feel that we
intrude, that this is for better men; but rather is it true that in their
grandest strokes we feel most at home. All that Shakspeare says of the king,
yonder slip of a boy that reads in the corner feels to be true of himself. We
sympathize in the great moments of history, in the great discoveries, the great
resistances, the great prosperities of men;--because there law was enacted, the
sea was searched, the land was found, or the blow was struck, for us, as we
ourselves in that place would have done or applauded.
We have the same interest in condition and character. We honor the rich because
they have externally the freedom, power, and grace which we feel to be proper to
man, proper to us. So all that is said of the wise man by Stoic or Oriental or
modern essayist, describes to each reader his own idea, describes his unattained
but attainable self. All literature writes the character of the wise man. Books,
monuments, pictures, conversation, are portraits in which he finds the
lineaments he is forming. The silent and the eloquent praise him and accost him,
and he is stimulated wherever he moves, as by personal allusions. A true
aspirant therefore never needs look for allusions personal and laudatory in
discourse. He hears the commendation, not of himself, but, more sweet, of that
character he seeks, in every word that is said concerning character, yea further
in every fact and circumstance, --in the running river and the rustling corn.
Praise is looked, homage tendered, love flows, from mute nature, from the
mountains and the lights of the firmament.
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