Nonfiction > Ralph Waldo Emerson > The Complete Works
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CONTENTS · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD
Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882).  The Complete Works.  1904.
Vol. VI. The Conduct of Life
 
IX. Illusions
 
  FLOW, flow the waves hated,
Accursed, adored,
The waves of mutation:
No anchorage is.
Sleep is not, death is not;
Who seem to die live.
House you were born in,
Friends of your spring-time,
Old man and young maid,
Day’s toil and its guerdon,
They are all vanishing,
Fleeing to fables,
Cannot be moored.
See the stars through them,
Through treacherous marbles.
Know, the stars yonder,
The stars everlasting,
Are fugitive also,
And emulate, vaulted,
The lambent heat-lightning,
And fire-fly’s flight.
  
  When thou dost return
On the wave’s circulation,
Beholding the shimmer,
The wild dissipation,
And, out of endeavor
To change and to flow,
The gas become solid,
And phantoms and nothings
Return to be things,
And endless imbroglio
Is law and the world,—
Then first shalt thou know,
That in the wild turmoil,
Horsed on the Proteus,
Thou ridest to power,
And to endurance.

SOME 1 years ago, in company with an agreeable party, I spent a long summer day in exploring the Mammoth Cave in Kentucky. We traversed, through spacious galleries affording a solid masonry foundation for the town and county overhead, the six or eight black miles from the mouth of the cavern to the innermost recess which tourists visit,—a niche or grotto made of one seamless stalactite, and called, I believe, Serena’s Bower. I lost the light of one day. I saw high domes and bottomless pits; heard the voice of unseen waterfalls; paddled three quarters of a mile in the deep Echo River, whose waters are peopled with the blind fish; crossed the streams “Lethe” and “Styx;” plied with music and guns the echoes in these alarming galleries; saw every form of stalagmite and stalactite in the sculptured and fretted chambers;—icicle, orange-flower, acanthus, grapes and snowball. We shot Bengal lights into the vaults and groins of the sparry cathedrals and examined all the masterpieces which the four combined engineers, water, limestone, gravitation and time, could make in the dark.
  1
  The mysteries and scenery of the cave had the same dignity that belongs to all natural objects, and which shames the fine things to which we foppishly compare them. I remarked especially the mimetic habit with which nature, on new instruments, hums her old tunes, making night to mimic day, and chemistry to ape vegetation. But I then took notice and still chiefly remember that the best thing which the cave had to offer was an illusion. 2 On arriving at what is called the “Star-Chamber,” our lamps were taken from us by the guide and extinguished or put aside, and, on looking upwards, I saw or seemed to see the night heaven thick with stars glimmering more or less brightly over our heads, and even what seemed a comet flaming among them. All the party were touched with astonishment and pleasure. Our musical friends sung with much feeling a pretty song, “The stars are in the quiet sky,” etc., and I sat down on the rocky floor to enjoy the serene picture. Some crystal specks in the black ceiling high overhead, reflecting the light of a half-hid lamp, yielded this magnificent effect.  2
  I own I did not like the cave so well for eking out its sublimities with this theatrical trick. But I have had many experiences like it, before and since; and we must be content to be pleased without too curiously analyzing the occasions. Our conversation with nature is not just what it seems. The cloud-rack, the sunrise and sunset glories, rainbows and Northern Lights are not quite so spheral as our childhood thought them, and the part our organization plays in them is too large. The senses interfere everywhere and mix their own structure with all they report of. Once we fancied the earth a plane, and stationary. In admiring the sunset we do not yet deduct the rounding, coördinating, pictorial powers of the eye. 3  3
  The same interference from our organization creates the most of our pleasure and pain. Our first mistake is the belief that the circumstance gives the joy which we give to the circumstance. Life is an ecstasy. Life is sweet as nitrous oxide; and the fisherman dripping all day over a cold pond, the switchman at the railway intersection, the farmer in the field, the negro in the rice-swamp, the fop in the street, the hunter in the woods, the barrister with the jury, the belle at the ball, all ascribe a certain pleasure to their employment, which they themselves give it. Health and appetite impart the sweetness to sugar, bread and meat. We fancy that our civilization has got on far, but we still come back to our primers.  4
  We live by our imaginations, by our admirations, by our sentiments. The child walks amid heaps of illusions, which he does not like to have disturbed. 4 The boy, how sweet to him is his fancy! how dear the story of barons and battles! What a hero he is, whilst he feeds on his heroes! What a debt is his to imaginative books! He has no better friend or influence than Scott, Shakspeare, Plutarch and Homer. 5 The man lives to other objects, but who dare affirm that they are more real? Even the prose of the streets is full of refractions. In the life of the dreariest alderman, fancy enters into all details and colors them with rosy hue. He imitates the air and actions of people whom he admires, and is raised in his own eyes. He pays a debt quicker to a rich man than to a poor man. He wishes the bow and compliment of some leader in the state or in society; weighs what he says; perhaps he never comes nearer to him for that, but dies at last better contented for this amusement of his eyes and his fancy.  5
  The world rolls, the din of life is never hushed. In London, in Paris, in Boston, in San Francisco, the carnival, the masquerade is at its height. Nobody drops his domino. The unities, the fictions of the piece it would be an impertinence to break. The chapter of fascinations is very long. Great is paint; nay, God is the painter; and we rightly accuse the critic who destroys too many illusions. Society does not love its unmaskers. It was wittily if somewhat bitterly said by D’ Alembert, 6 “qu’un état de vapeur était un état très fâcheux, parcequ’il nous faisait voir les choses comme elles sont.” I find men victims of illusion in all parts of life. Children, youths, adults and old men, all are led by one bawble or another. Yoganidra, the goddess of illusion, Proteus, or Momus, or Gylfi’s Mocking, 7—for the Power has many names,—is stronger than the Titans, stronger than Apollo. Few have overheard the gods or surprised their secret. Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood. All is riddle, and the key to a riddle is another riddle. 8 There are as many pillows of illusion as flakes in a snow-storm. We wake from one dream into another dream. The toys to be sure are various, and are graduated in refinement to the quality of the dupe. The intellectual man requires a fine bait; the sots are easily amused. But everybody is drugged with his own frenzy, and the pageant marches at all hours, with music and banner and badge.  6
  Amid the joyous troop who give in to the charivari, comes now and then a sad-eyed boy whose eyes lack the requisite refractions to clothe the show in due glory, and who is afflicted with a tendency to trace home the glittering miscellany of fruits and flowers to one root. 9 Science is a search after identity, and the scientific whim is lurking in all corners. At the State Fair a friend of mine complained that all the varieties of fancy pears in our orchards seem to have been selected by somebody who had a whim for a particular kind of pear, and only cultivated such as had that perfume; they were all alike. And I remember the quarrel of another youth with the confectioners, that when he racked his wit to choose the best comfits in the shops, in all the endless varieties of sweetmeat he could find only three flavors, or two. 10 What then? Pears and cakes are good for something; and because you unluckily have an eye or nose too keen, why need you spoil the comfort which the rest of us find in them? I knew a humorist who in a good deal of rattle had a grain or two of sense. He shocked the company by maintaining that the attributes of God were two,—power and risibility, and that it was the duty of every pious man to keep up the comedy. And I have known gentlemen of great stake in the community, but whose sympathies were cold,—presidents of colleges and governors and senators,—who held themselves bound to sign every temperance pledge, and act with Bible societies and missions and peace-makers, and cry Hist-a-boy! to every good dog. We must not carry comity too far, but we all have kind impulses in this direction. 11 When the boys come into my yard for leave to gather horse-chestnuts, I own I enter into nature’s game, and affect to grant the permission reluctantly, fearing that any moment they will find out the imposture of that showy chaff. 12 But this tenderness is quite unnecessary; the enchantments are laid on very thick. Their young life is thatched with them. Bare and grim to tears is the lot of the children in the hovel I saw yesterday; yet not the less they hung it round with frippery romance, like the children of the happiest fortune, and talked of “the dear cottage where so many joyful hours had flown.” Well, this thatching of hovels is the custom of the country. Women, more than all, are the element and kingdom of illusion. Being fascinated, they fascinate. 13 They see through Claude-Lorraines. And how dare any one, if he could, pluck away the coulisses, stage effects and ceremonies, by which they live? Too pathetic, too pitiable, is the region of affection, and its atmosphere always liable to mirage.  7
  We are not very much to blame for our bad marriages. We live amid hallucinations; and this especial trap is laid to trip up our feet with, and all are tripped up first or last. But the mighty Mother who had been so sly with us, as if she felt that she owed us some indemnity, insinuates into the Pandora-box of marriage some deep and serious benefits and some great joys. We find a delight in the beauty and happiness of children that makes the heart too big for the body. In the worst-assorted connections there is ever some mixture of true marriage. Teague and his jade get some just relations of mutual respect, kindly observation, and fostering of each other; learn something, and would carry themselves wiselier if they were now to begin.  8
  ’T is fine for us to point at one or another fine madman, as if there were any exempts. The scholar in his library is none. I, who have all my life heard any number of orations and debates, read poems and miscellaneous books, conversed with many geniuses, am still the victim of any new page; and if Marmaduke, or Hugh, or Moosehead, or any other, invent a new style or mythology, I fancy that the world will be all brave and right if dressed in these colors, which I had not thought of. Then at once I will daub with this new paint; but it will not stick. ’T is like the cement which the peddler sells at the door; he makes broken crockery hold with it, but you can never buy of him a bit of the cement which will make it hold when he is gone.  9
  Men who make themselves felt in the world avail themselves of a certain fate in their constitution which they know how to use. But they never deeply interest us unless they lift a corner of the curtain, or betray, never so slightly, their penetration of what is behind it. ’T is the charm of practical men that outside of their practicality are a certain poetry and play, as if they led the good horse Power by the bridle, and preferred to walk, though they can ride so fiercely. Bonaparte is intellectual, as well as Cæsar; and the best soldiers, sea-captains and railway men have a gentleness when off duty, a good-natured admission that there are illusions, and who shall say that he is not their sport? 14 We stigmatize the cast-iron fellows who cannot so detach themselves, as “dragon-ridden,” “thunder-stricken,” and fools of fate, with whatever powers endowed.  10
  Since our tuition is through emblems and indirections, it is well to know that there is method in it, a fixed scale and rank above rank in the phantasms. 15 We begin low with coarse masks and rise to the most subtle and beautiful. The red men told Columbus “they had an herb which took away fatigue;” but he found the illusion of “arriving from the east at the Indies” more composing to his lofty spirit than any tobacco. Is not our faith in the impenetrability of matter more sedative than narcotics? You play with jackstraws, balls, bowls, horse and gun, estates and politics; but there are finer games before you. Is not time a pretty toy? Life will show you masks that are worth all your carnivals. Yonder mountain must migrate into your mind. The fine star-dust and nebulous blur in Orion, “the portentous year of Mizar and Alcor,” must come down and be dealt with in your household thought. 16 What if you shall come to discern that the play and playground of all this pompous history are radiations from yourself, and that the sun borrows his beams? What terrible questions we are learning to ask! The former men believed in magic, by which temples, cities and men were swallowed up, and all trace of them gone. We are coming on the secret of a magic which sweeps out of men’s minds all vestige of theism and beliefs which they and their fathers held and were framed upon.  11
  There are deceptions of the senses, deceptions of the passions, and the structural, beneficent illusions of sentiment and of the intellect. There is the illusion of love, which attributes to the beloved person all which that person shares with his or her family, sex, age or condition, nay, with the human mind itself. ’T is these which the lover loves, and Anna Matilda gets the credit of them. 17 As if one shut up always in a tower, with one window through which the face of heaven and earth could be seen, should fancy that all the marvels he beheld belonged to that window. There is the illusion of time, which is very deep; who has disposed of it?—or come to the conviction that what seems the succession of thought is only the distribution of wholes into causal series? 18 The intellect sees that every atom carries the whole of nature; that the mind opens to omnipotence; that, in the endless striving and ascents, the metamorphosis is entire, so that the soul doth not know itself in its own act when that act is perfected. There is illusion that shall deceive even the elect. There is illusion that shall deceive even the performer of the miracle. Though he make his body, he denies that he makes it. Though the world exist from thought, thought is daunted in presence of the world. 19 One after the other we accept the mental laws, still resisting those which follow, which however must be accepted. But all our concessions only compel us to new profusion. And what avails it that science has come to treat space and time as simply forms of thought, and the material world as hypothetical, and withal our pretension of property and even of self-hood are fading with the rest, 20 if, at last, even our thoughts are not finalities, but the incessant flowing and ascension reach these also, and each thought which yesterday was a finality, to-day is yielding to a larger generalization?  12
  With such volatile elements to work in, ’t is no wonder if our estimates are loose and floating. We must work and affirm, but we have no guess of the value of what we say or do. The cloud is now as big as your hand, and now it covers a county. That story of Thor, who was set to drain the drinking-horn in Asgard and to wrestle with the old woman and to run with the runner Lok, and presently found that he had been drinking up the sea, and wrestling with Time, and racing with Thought,—describes us, who are contending, amid these seeming trifles, with the supreme energies of nature. We fancy we have fallen into bad company and squalid condition, low debts, shoe-bills, broken glass to pay for, pots to buy, butcher’s meat, sugar, milk and coal. ‘Set me some great task, ye gods! and I will show my spirit.’ ‘Not so,’ says the good Heaven; ‘plod and plough, vamp your old coats and hats, weave a shoestring; great affairs and the best wine by and by.’ Well, ’t is all phantasm; and if we weave a yard of tape in all humility and as well as we can, long here-after we shall see it was no cotton tape at all but some galaxy which we braided, and that the threads were Time and Nature.  13
  We cannot write the order of the variable winds. How can we penetrate the law of our shifting moods and susceptibility? Yet they differ as all and nothing. Instead of the firmament of yesterday, which our eyes require, it is to-day an egg-shell which coops us in; we cannot even see what or where our stars of destiny are. From day to day the capital facts of human life are hidden from our eyes. Suddenly the mist rolls up and reveals them, and we think how much good time is gone that might have been saved had any hint of these things been shown. A sudden rise in the road shows us the system of mountains, and all the summits, which have been just as near us all the year, but quite out of mind. 21 But these alternations are not without their order, and we are parties to our various fortune. If life seem a succession of dreams, yet poetic justice is done in dreams also. The visions of good men are good; it is the undisciplined will that is whipped with bad thoughts and bad fortunes. 22 When we break the laws, we lose our hold on the central reality. Like sick men in hospitals, we change only from bed to bed, from one folly to another; and it cannot signify much what becomes of such castaways, wailing, stupid, comatose creatures, lifted from bed to bed, from the nothing of life to the nothing of death.  14
  In this kingdom of illusions we grope eagerly for stays and foundations. There is none but a strict and faithful dealing at home and a severe barring out of all duplicity or illusion there. Whatever games are played with us, we must play no games with ourselves, but deal in our privacy with the last honesty and truth. 23 I look upon the simple and childish virtues of veracity and honesty as the root of all that is sublime in character. Speak as you think, be what you are, pay your debts of all kinds. I prefer to be owned as sound and solvent, and my word as good as my bond, and to be what cannot be skipped, or dissipated, or undermined, to all the éclat in the universe. This reality is the foundation of friendship, religion, poetry and art. At the top or at the bottom of all illusions, I set the cheat which still leads us to work and live for appearances; in spite of our conviction, in all sane hours, that it is what we really are that avails with friends, with strangers, and with fate or fortune.  15
  One would think from the talk of men that riches and poverty were a great matter; and our civilization mainly respects it. But the Indians say that they do not think the white man, with his brow of care, always toiling, afraid of heat and cold, and keeping within doors, has any advantage of them. The permanent interest of every man is never to be in a false position, but to have the weight of nature to back him in all that he does. Riches and poverty are a thick or thin costume; and our life—the life of all of us—identical. For we transcend the circumstance continually and taste the real quality of existence; as in our employments, which only differ in the manifestations but express the same laws; or in our thoughts, which wear no silks and taste no ice-creams. We see God face to face every hour, and know the savor of nature.  16
  The early Greek philosophers Heraclitus and Xenophanes measured their force on this problem of identity. Diogenes of Apollonia said that unless the atoms were made of one stuff, they could never blend and act with one another. 24 But the Hindoos, in their sacred writings, express the liveliest feeling, both of the essential identity and of that illusion which they conceive variety to be. “The notions, ‘I am,’ and ‘This is mine,’ which influence mankind, are but delusions of the mother of the world. Dispel, O Lord of all creatures! the conceit of knowledge which proceeds from ignorance.” 25 And the beatitude of man they hold to lie in being freed from fascination.  17
  The intellect is stimulated by the statement of truth in a trope, and the will by clothing the laws of life in illusions. But the unities of Truth and of Right are not broken by the disguise. There need never be any confusion in these. In a crowded life of many parts and performers, on a stage of nations, or in the obscurest hamlet in Maine or California, the same elements offer the same choices to each new comer, and, according to his election, he fixes his fortune in absolute Nature. 26 It would be hard to put more mental and moral philosophy than the Persians have thrown into a sentence,—
  “Fooled thou must be, though wisest of the wise:
Then be the fool of virtue, not of vice.”
  18
  There is no chance and no anarchy in the universe. All is system and gradation. Every god is there sitting in his sphere. The young mortal enters the hall of the firmament; there is he alone with them alone, they pouring on him benedictions and gifts, and beckoning him up to their thrones. On the instant, and incessantly, fall snow-storms of illusions. He fancies himself in a vast crowd which sways this way and that and whose movement and doings he must obey: he fancies himself poor, orphaned, insignificant. The mad crowd drives hither and thither, now furiously commanding this thing to be done, now that. What is he that he should resist their will, and think or act for himself? Every moment new changes and new showers of deceptions to baffle and distract him. And when, by and by, for an instant, the air clears and the cloud lifts a little, there are the gods still sitting around him on their thrones,—they alone with him alone. 27  19
 
Note 1. The essay that stands before that on Illusion ends by pointing to the snowy summits of Beauty above its blossoming plains as “the first stair on the scale to the temple of the Mind.”
  In the last essay in the volume there is a certain austerity for which its name hardly prepares the reader. It is not the charm of the Illusions, nor yet their office as teachers of the advancing soul, but the necessity of recognizing them and seeing through them that is urged.
  The hero is not fed on sweets,
Daily his own heart he eats.
  Hence in the motto, in which the doctrine of the Flowing, coming from the ancient East, appears, the waves of the river through which the mortal must pass are hated and accursed as well as adored.
  As a boy in college, Emerson probably owed to Plato his first notion of the shadowy and deceptive character of events and experiences, especially to the image of the Cave in the Republic. The thoughts of Plato led him in later years to their remote source in the Hindoo Scriptures, whose influence threw new light for him upon the Bible of his youth, widening its significance.
  Under whatever name,—Brahma or Jove or Jehovah or God,—the Eternal Spirit living and creating and informing Man and Nature was what he taught in the doctrine of the Over-Soul.
  In Mr. Emerson’s note-book called Orientalist he wrote:—
  “In the history of intellect no more important fact than the Hindoo theology, teaching that the beatitudes or Supreme Good is to be obtained through science; namely, by perception of the real and unreal, setting aside matter, and qualities and affections, or emotions and persons and actions as Maias or illusions, and thus arriving at the contemplation of the one Eternal Life and Cause and a perpetual approach and assimilation to Him; thus escaping new births or transmigration.
  “The highest object of their religion was to restore that bond by which their own self (atman) was linked to the Eternal Self (paramatman); to recover that unity which had been clouded and obscured by the magical illusions of reality, by the so-called Maia of Creation.”
  All through the Poems this doctrine of the Illusions may be traced in many forms. The
  Illusions like the tints of pearl,
  Or changing colors of the sky,
Or ribbons of a dancing-girl
  That mend her beauty to the eye,
are more often spoken of for their charm than as dangerous beguilers, but this essay is in the sterner vein of the seeker for truth, and one sees a more serious mood of the author in “the sad-eyed boy whose eyes lack the requisite refractions to clothe the show in due glory, and who is afflicted with a tendency to trace home the glittering miscellany of fruits and flowers to one root.”
  But in the end of the essay the due ascension comes, though with less joy than usual. The Law is seen as permanent, the “substance that survives,” though “all the forms are fugitive,” and the Law is Truth, which is Goodness and Beauty. The last part of the motto to the chapter says that when this is seen, not only power, but immortality (endurance) is won. [back]
Note 2. Here was an instance of “finding what we look for—what we carry with us.” As is shown in the opening sentence of the next paragraph, the element of his Puritan ancestry in Emerson’s composition entered its protest at the false starlight, yet it is quite evident from what follows that to find in the black bowels of the earth a hint and echo of the starry heaven really pleased him, for he carried away the image and it became the motive or introduction to this essay. [back]
Note 3. Journal, 1860. “’T is trite enough, but now and then it is seen with explaining light, that nature is a mere mirror, and shows to each man only his own quality.
  “Illusions, color is illusion, you say; but how know I that the rock and mountain are more real than its hue and gleam?” [back]
Note 4. In the paper in the Dial, “Europe and European Books,” Mr. Emerson said, “Children delight in fairy tales. Nature is described in them as the servant of man, which they feel ought to be true.” [back]
Note 5.
  Scott, the delight of generous boys.
“The Harp,” Poems.    
  In the chapter on “Books,” in Society and Solitude, our debt, from childhood to age, to imaginative books is dwelt upon. [back]
Note 6. D’Alembert (1717–83), the mathematician and physicist, held, with Diderot and other philosophical precursors of the Evolutionists, the view of the ceaseless interchange of substance and perpetual circulation of life. [back]
Note 7. Yoganidra is in the Hindoo Mythology the personification of illusion, also called Maya or Mahamaya.
  The allusion to the Greek fable of Proteus changing from one alarming, disconcerting or slippery form to another, to escape the mortal who would learn the truth from his wisdom, is more readily understood than that to Momus, the God of Folly and Laughter. But Momus mocked at all the Gods save Venus, and was sometimes represented with malign features, yet holding the mask of a beautiful youth. In the Younger Edda of Snorri Sturleson is the story, better rendered the Delusion of Gylfi than “the Mocking.” He was a wise king of Sweden, who, wondering what was the wisdom of the Æsir (gods), whereby all that they did was well, went to Asgard to find out, disguised as an ancient man. But the Æsir knew of his journey ere he came, and received him with illusions. A stranger received him courteously and showed him into a vast and wondrous hall, opening into other halls, where were people variously employed, and many things which seemed to him incredible. Here also were three gods in the likeness of great chieftains sitting on their thrones. Gylfi asked his guide if there were among them a sagacious man, and was told that if, in talk with them, he did not hold his own, it would be the worse for him. The questions and answers form a theme of the Younger Edda. [back]
Note 8. Journal, 1856. “Men had rather be deceived than not; witness the secure road to riches of Barnum and the quacks.
  “All is riddle, and the key to a riddle is another riddle. Intellect is a Thaumaturgist impatient of your pet finalities. He sees that every atom carries the whole of Nature, that every fact is bipolar.”
  Alway it asketh, asketh;
And each answer is a lie.
“The Sphinx,” Poems.    
 [back]
Note 9. Compare the poem “Xenophanes,” and, in “Threnody,”—
  Blood is blood which circulates,
Life is life which generates,
And many-seeming life is one.
 [back]
Note 10. This was a saying of Mr. Emerson’s friend William Ellery Channing, that, whatever you asked for at a confectioner’s, they brought you only one thing, but there were two kinds of it. [back]
Note 11. In “Self-Reliance” Mr. Emerson confesses, “with shame,” to the same fault: “Though I sometimes succumb and give the dollar, it is a wicked dollar which by and by I shall have the manhood to withhold.” [back]
Note 12. Exactly opposite Mr. Emerson’s house, and but fifty paces from his study, was the “East Primary Schoolhouse.” Before and after the morning and afternoon sessions and at the two recesses, for forty years, the throng of treble- but strong-voiced boys and girls played in the road before his gate, and, sometimes unasked, came for horse-chestnuts and apples in their seasons. On the whole, very good terms were kept with the little neighbors, whom Mrs. Emerson occasionally invited to her garden, giving flowers and plants. On New Year’s Day she invited the school to visit her, and she gave each scholar a little present and some candy and apples, and urged them to be kind to animals and birds. Then the children wished her A Happy New Year and sang their little songs. [back]
Note 13. Journal, 1866. “The maiden has no guess what the youth sees in her. It is not in her, but in his eyes, which rain on her the tints and forms and grace of Eden; as the Sun, deluging the landscape with his beams, makes the world he smiles upon.” [back]
Note 14. In the chapter on Napoleon in Representative Men, this other aspect of the Conqueror, and the question to his skeptical and materialistic officers about the stars, recommend him to the author. [back]
Note 15. Mr. Emerson, when consulted by young people of serious mind, himself followed the example of the oracles, the prophets and of Nature, and answered only indirectly and by suggestion. “The Gods speak by indirection,” he wrote: “the aid we can give each other is only incidental and indirect.” [back]
Note 16. See the passage in “The Poet” (Poems, Appendix), beginning,—
  Beside his hut and shading oak,
Thus to himself the poet spoke.
 [back]
Note 17. Journal, 1863. “The youth longs for a friend: when he forms a friendship, he fills up the unknown parts of his friend’s character with all virtues of man. The lover idealizes the maid, in like manner. The virtues and graces which they thus attribute, but fail to find in their chosen companions, belong to man and woman, and are therefore legitimately required, but are only really ripened, here one and there the other, distributed in scattered individuals in a wide population. But this illusion is constant, a siren song in the ears of every susceptible youth.
*        *        *        *        *
  “The capital illusion of love is to make the cosmical beauty, or moral, or material, or even sexual excellence to be so suggested by one person, as to give him or her the benefit of all. ‘Puella minima pars sui.’” [back]
Note 18. In the Poems the Sphinx says to man,
  “So take thy quest through nature,
  It through thousand natures ply:
Ask on, thou clothed eternity;
  Time is the false reply.”
 [back]
Note 19.
  And what if Trade sow cities
  Like shells along the shore,
And thatch with towns the prairie broad
  With railways ironed o’er?
They are but sailing foam-bells
  Along Thought’s causing stream,
And take their shape and sun-color
  From him that sends the dream.
“The World-Soul,” Poems.    
 [back]
Note 20. In the poem “Hamatreya,” a paraphrase of a passage in the Vishnu Purana, the Earth sings:—
  Mine and yours;
Mine, not yours.
*        *        *        *        *
They called me theirs
Who so controlled me;
*        *        *        *        *
How am I theirs,
If they cannot hold me,
But I hold them?
 [back]
Note 21.
  From blue mount and headland dim
Friendly hands stretch forth to him,
Him they beckon, him advise
Of heavenlier prosperities …
Than the wine-fed feasters know.
“Fragments on The Poet,” Poems, Appendix.    
 [back]
Note 22. Something is said of Dreams in the essay on Demonology, in Lectures and Biographical Sketches. [back]
Note 23. “The illusion of a firm earth is more useful and more composing than any narcotic.” [back]
Note 24. Heracleitus, in the end of the sixth century B. C., taught in his work on Nature that all bodies were transformations of one and the same element, which he held to be fire in alternations of kindling and extinguishing. Rest was a delusion. All things flow, [Greek].
  Xenophanes of Colophon settled in Elea. He taught that there was one God, all eye, all ear, all-knowing, who bears us in his bosom.
  Diogenes of Apollonia, a disciple of Anaximenes, taught that the one original element, air, was the source of life and the essence of bodies. Intelligence was an attribute of air. He wrote, “It is obvious that the principle we assume is both great and mighty and elemental and undying and of great knowledge.” [back]
Note 25. The whole passage from the Vishnu Purana is interesting: “Thou art all bodies. This thy illusion beguiles all who are ignorant of the true nature, the fools who imagine soul to be in that which is not spirit. The notions that ‘I am—this is mine,’ which influence mankind, are but delusions of the mother of the world, originating in thy active agency. Those men who, attentive to their spiritual duties, worship thee, traverse all this illusion and obtain spiritual freedom…. It is the sport of thy fascinations that induces men to glorify thee to obtain the continuance of their race or the annihilation of their enemies instead of eternal liberation. Dispel, O Lord of all creatures, the conceit of knowledge which proceeds from ignorance.” [back]
Note 26. It has been said of Mr. Emerson that, however high he held his head among the clouds, his feet never left firm ground. That was the moral law, the law that his fathers had taught, the sovereignty of ethics,—
  The rules to men made evident
  By Him who built the Day,
The columns of the firmament
  Not firmer based than they.
 [back]
Note 27. There is in portions of the last paragraph some suggestion of a passage in the Phædo of Plato:—
  “And were we not saying long ago that the soul, when using the body as an instrument of perception, that is to say, when using the sense of sight, or hearing, or some other sense (for the meaning of perceiving through the body is perceiving through the senses),—were we not saying that the soul too is then dragged by the body into the region of the changeable, and wanders and is confused; the world spins round her, and she is like a drunkard when under their influence…. But when returning into herself she reflects; then she passes into the realm of purity, and eternity, and immortality, and unchangeableness, which are her kindred, and with them she ever lives, when she is by herself and is not let or hindered; then she ceases from her erring ways, and, being in communion with the unchanging, is unchanging. And this state of the soul is called wisdom.” [back]
 
 
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