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06 - Idealism - Nature - Ralph Waldo Emerson · Logic Library

• Chapter six. Idealism. 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 firmaments 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 senses. 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. 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 debate 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. One 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 apprises 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 a parent not substantial beings. What new thoughts are suggested by seeing a face of country quite familiar in the rapid movement of the railroad car. Nay, the most wanted objects make a very slight change in the point of vision please us most in a kimra 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. Two. In a higher manner, the poet communicates the same pleasure by a few strokes. He 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. Shakespeare 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 uppermost 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 dies 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 seemed to him recent and transitory, the freshness of youth and love dazzles him with its resemblance to morning, 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 Aeriel, the strong bass promontory have I made shake, And by the spurs plucked up the pine and cedar. Prospero calls for music to soothe the frantic. Alonso and his companions, a solemn air and the best comforter to an unsettled fancy cure thy brains, now useless, boiled within thy skull. Again, the charm dissolves apace, 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, their understanding 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 ideal 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. Three. 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 flaws, 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 antigony 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 recognized itself in their harmony, that is, seized their law. In physics, when this is attained, the memory disburthens itself of its cumbrous catalogs of particulars, and carries centuries of observation in a single formula. 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. Four. Intellectual science has been observed to beget invariably a doubt of the existence of matter. Urgo said, he that has never doubted the existence of matter may be assured that 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 as one brought up with him of them to key 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. Five. 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 Theosophus have arrived at a certain hostility and indignation towards matter, as the Venetian 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 it 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. It is a doer only that it may the better watch. End of Chapter six