vocations and professions, that we find in the form of ‘_fable_’ and ‘_allusion_,’–that form which the author himself lays down in his Art of Tradition, as _the_ form of inculcation for new truth,–the precise position, which is the key to this whole method of new sciences, which makes the method and the interpretation, the vital points, in the writing and the reading of them.
‘But, to return, there belongeth farther to the handling of this part, touching the _Duties_ of Professions and Vocations, a relative, or _opposite_, touching the _frauds, impostures and vices of every profession_, which hath been likewise handled. But how? Rather in _a satire_ and _cynically_, than _seriously_ and _wisely_; for men have rather sought by _wit_ to deride and traduce _much of that which is good in_ PROFESSIONS, than _with judgment to discover and sever that which is corrupt_. For, as Solomon saith, he that cometh to seek after knowledge with a mind to scorn and censure, shall be sure to find matter for his humour, but no matter for his instruction. But _the managing of this argument_ with _integrity_ and _truth_, _which I note as deficient_, seemeth to me to be _one of the best fortifications for honesty and virtue that can be planted_. _For_, as the fable goeth of the _basilisk_, that if _he see you first_, you die for it, but if YOU SEE HIM FIRST–HE DIETH; _so_ it is with deceits and _evil arts_, which if they be first ESPIED _lose their life_, but if they _prevent_, endanger.’ [If they see you first, you die for it; and not you only, but your science.
Yet were there but this single plot to lose, This _mould_ of Marcius, they to dust should grind it, And throw it against the wind.]
‘So that we are much beholden’ he continues, ‘to Machiavel _and others_ that write _what men do_, and not what they ought to do, [perhaps he refers here to that writer before quoted, who writes, “others _form_ men,–_I_ report him”]; for it is not possible,’ continues the proposer of the science of special duties of _place_, and _vocation_, and _profession_, ‘the _critic_ of this department, too,–it is not possible to join the serpentine wisdom with the columbine innocency, except men know exactly all the conditions of the serpent,–that is, _all forms_ and _natures of evil_, for without this, _virtue_ lieth open and un-fenced. Nay, an honest man can do no good upon those that are wicked, to reclaim them, without the help of the knowledge of evil: for men of corrupted minds pre-suppose that honesty groweth out of simplicity of manners, and believing of preachers, schoolmasters, and _men’s exterior language_; so as, except you can make them perceive that you know the utmost reaches of their own corrupt opinions, they despise all morality.’ A book composed for the express purpose of meeting the difficulty here alluded to, has been already noticed in the preceding pages, on account of its being one of the most striking samples of that peculiar style of _tradition_, which the advancement of Learning prescribes, and here is another, in which the same invention and discovery appears to be indicated:–‘Why I can teach you’–says a somewhat doubtful claimant to supernatural gifts:
‘Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command The devil.’
‘And I can teach _thee_, coz, to shame the devil; By telling truth;
If thou hast power to raise him, bring him hither, And I’ll be sworn I have power to shame him hence: Oh, while you live, TELL TRUTH.’
But _this_ is the style, in which the one before referred to, falls in with the humour of this Advancer of Learning. ‘As to the rest, I have enjoined _myself_ to dare to _say_, all that I dare _to do_, and even _thoughts_ that are not to be published, displease me. The worst of my actions and qualities do not appear to me so foul, as I find it foul and base not to dare to own them. Every one is wary and discreet in _confession_, but men ought to be so in _action_. I wish that this excessive license of mine, may draw men to freedom _above these timorous and mincing pretended virtues, sprung from our imperfections_, and that at the expense of my immoderation, I may reduce them to reason. A man must see and study his vice to correct it, they who conceal it from others, commonly conceal it from themselves and do not think it covered enough, if they themselves see it…. the diseases of the soul, the greater they are, keep themselves the more obscure; the most sick are the least sensible of them: for these reasons they must often be dragged into light, by an unrelenting and pitiless hand; they must be opened and torn from the caverns and secret recesses of the heart.’ ‘To meet the Huguenots, who condemn our auricular and private confession, I confess myself in public, religiously and purely,–others have published the errors of their _opinions_, I of my _manners_. I am greedy of making myself known, and I care not to how many, provided it be truly; or rather, I hunger for nothing, but I mortally hate to be _mistaken_ by those who happen to come across _my name_. _He that does_ all things for honor and glory [as some great men in that time were supposed to], what can he think to gain by showing himself to the world _in a mask, and by concealing his true being from the people_? Commend a hunchback for his fine shape, he has a right to take it for an affront: if you are a coward, and men commend you for your valor, is it of _you_ that they speak? They take you for another. Archelaus, king of Macedon, walking along the street, somebody threw water on his head; which they who were with him said he ought to punish, “Ay, but,” said the other, “he did not throw the water upon _me_, but upon _him_ whom he took me to be.” Socrates being told that people spoke ill of him, “Not at all,” said he, “there is nothing in me of what they say!” _I am content to be less commended provided I am better known_. I may be reputed a wise man, in such a sort of wisdom as I take to be folly.’ Truly the Advancement of Learning would seem to be not all in the hands of one person in this time. It appears, indeed, to have been in the hands of some persons who were not content with simply propounding it, and noting deficiencies, but who busied themselves with actively carrying out, the precise plan propounded. Here is one who does not content himself with merely criticising ‘_professions_ and _vocations_’ and suggesting improvements, but one who appears to have an inward call himself to the cure of diseases. Whoever he may be, and since he seems to care so very little for his name himself, and looks at it from such a philosophical point of view, we ought not, perhaps, to be too particular about it; whoever he may be, he is unquestionably a Doctor of the New School, the scientific school, and will be able to produce his diploma when properly challenged; whoever he may be, he belongs to ‘the Globe’ for the manager of that theatre is incessantly quoting him, and dramatizing his philosophy, and he says himself, ‘I look on all men as my compatriots, and prefer the _universal and common tie to the national_.’
But in marking out and indicating the plan and method of the new operation, which has for its end to substitute a scientific, in the place of an empirical procedure, in the main pursuits of human life, the philosopher does not limit himself in this survey of the special social duties to the special duties of professions and vocations. ‘Unto this part,’ he says, ‘touching _respective_ duty, doth also appertain the duties between husband and wife, parent and child, master and servant: so likewise the laws of _friendship_ and _gratitude_, the civil bond of _companies, colleges_, and _politic bodies_, of _neighbourhood_, and all other proportionate duties; _not_ as they are parts of a government and society, _but as to the framing of the mind of particular persons_.’
The reader will observe, that that portion of moral philosophy which is here indicated, contains, according to this index, some extremely important points, points which require learned treatment; and in our further pursuit of this inquiry, we shall find, that the new light which the science of nature in general throws upon the doctrine of the special duties and upon these points here emphasized, has been most ably and elaborately exhibited by a contemporary of this philosopher, and in the form which he has so specially recommended,–with all that rhetorical power which he conceives to be the natural and fitting accompaniment of this part of learning. And the same is true also throughout of that which follows.
‘The knowledge concerning good respecting society, doth handle it also not simply alone, but _comparatively_, whereunto belongeth the weighing of duties _between person and person, case and case, particular and public_: as we see in the proceeding of Lucius Brutus against his own sons, which was so much extolled, yet what was said?
Infelix utcunque ferent ea fata minores.
‘So the case was doubtful, and had opinion on both sides. [So the philosopher on the mountain tells us, too, for his common-place book and this author’s happen to be the same.] Again we see when M. Brutus and Cassius _invited to a supper_ certain _whose opinions they meant to feel_, whether they were fit to be made their associates, and cast forth the question touching the killing of a tyrant,–being an usurper,–_they were divided in opinion_;’ [this of itself is a very good specimen of the style in which points are sometimes introduced casually in passing, and by way of illustration merely] some holding that _servitude_ was the _extreme_ of evils, and _others_ that tyranny was _better than a civil war_; and this question also our philosopher of the mountain has considered very carefully from his retreat, weighing all the _pros_ and _cons_ of it. And it is a question which was treated also, as we all happen to know, in that other form of writing for which this author expresses so decided a preference, in which the art of the poet is brought in to enforce and impress the conclusion of the philosopher. Indeed, as we proceed further with the plan of this so radical part of the subject, we shall find, that the ground indicated has everywhere been taken up on the spot by somebody, and to purpose.
CHAPTER IV.
THE SCIENCE OF MORALITY.
Section II.–THE HUSBANDRY THEREUNTO; OR, THE CURE AND CULTURE OF THE MIND.
‘Tis an unweeded garden
That grows to seed–‘
Hamlet.
But we have finished now with what he has to say here of the EXEMPLAR or science of GOOD, and its _kinds_, and _degrees_, and the comparison of them, the good that is proper to the individual, and the good that includes society. He has found much fine work on that platform of virtue, and felicity,–excellent exemplars, the purest doctrine, the loftiest virtue, tried by the scientific standard. And though he has gone behind those popular names of vice and virtue, pain and pleasure, and the like, in which these doctrines _begin_, to the more simple and original forms, which the doctrine of nature in general and its laws supplies, for a platform of moral science, his doctrine is large enough to include all these works, in all their excellence, and give them their true place. A reviewer so discriminating, then, so far from that disposition to scorn and censure, which he reprehends, so careful to conserve that which is good in his scientific constructions and reformations, so pure in judgment in discovering and severing that which is corrupt, a reporter so clearly scientific, who is able to maintain through all this astounding report of the deficiences in human learning, a tone so quiet, so undemonstrative, such a one deserves the more attention when he comes now to ‘the art and practic part’ of this great science, to which all other sciences are subordinate, and declares to us that he finds it, as a part of science, ‘WANTING!’ not defective, but _wanting_.
‘Now, therefore, that we have spoken of this FRUIT of LIFE, it remaineth to speak of the HUSBANDRY that belongeth thereunto, without which part the former seemeth to be no better than a fair image or statue, which is beautiful to contemplate, but is without life and motion.’
But as this author is very far, as he confesses, from wishing to clothe himself with the honors of an Innovator,–such honors as awaited the Innovator in that time,–but prefers always to sustain himself with authority from the past, though at the expense of that lustre of novelty and originality, which goes far, as he acknowledges, in establishing new opinions,–adopting in this precisely the practices, and, generally, to save trouble, the quotations of that other philosopher, so largely quoted here, who frankly gives his reasons for _his_ procedure, confessing that he pinches his authors a little, now and then, to make them speak to the purpose; and that he reads them with his pencil in his hand, for the sake of being able to produce respectable authority, grown gray in trust, with the moss of centuries on it, for the views which he has to set forth; culling bits as he wants them, and putting them together in his mosaics as he finds occasion; so now, when we come to this so important part of the subject, where the want is so clearly reported–where the scientific innovation is so unmistakeably propounded–we find ourselves suddenly involved in a storm of Latin quotations, all tending to prove that the thing was perfectly understood among the ancients, and that it is as much as a man’s scholarship is worth to call it in question. The author marches up to the point under cover of a perfect cannonade of classics, no less than five of the most imposing of the Greek and Latin authors being brought out, for the benefit of the stunned and bewildered reader, in the course of one brief paragraph, the whole concluding with a reference to the Psalms, which nobody, of course, will undertake to call in question; whereas, in cases of ordinary difficulty, a proverb or two from Solomon is thought sufficient.
For this last writer, with his practical inspiration–with his aphorisms, or ‘dispersed directions,’ which the author prefers to a methodical discourse, as they best point to action–with his perpetual application of divinity to matters of common life, and to the special and respective duties, this, of all the sacred writers, is the one which he has most frequent occasion to refer to; and when, in his chapter on Policy, he brings out openly his proposal to invade the every-day practical life of men, in its apparently most unaxiomatical department, with his scientific rule of procedure–a proposal which he might not have been ‘so prosperously delivered of,’ if it had been made in any less considerate manner–he stops to produce whole pages of solid text from this so unquestionably conservative authority, by way of clearing himself from any suspicion of innovation.
First, then, in setting forth this so novel opinion of his, that the doctrine of the FRUIT of LIFE should include not the scientific platform of good, and its degrees and kinds only,–not the doctrine of the ideal excellence and felicity only, but the doctrine–the scientific doctrine–the scientific art of the Husbandry thereunto;–in setting forth the opinion, that that first _part_ of moral science is _but a part of it_, and that as human nature is constituted, it is not enough to have a doctrine of good in its perfection, and the divinest exemplars of it; first of all he produces the subscription of no less a person than Aristotle, whose conservative faculties had proved so effectual in the dark ages, that the opinion of Solomon himself could hardly have been considered more to the purpose. ‘In such full words,’ he says; and seeing that the advancement of Learning has already taken us on to a place where the opinions of Aristotle, at least, are not so binding, we need not trouble ourselves with that long quotation now–‘in such full _words_, and with such _iteration_, doth he inculcate this part, so saith _Cicero_ in great commendation of _Cato_ the second, that he had applied himself to philosophy–“_Non ita disputandi causa, sed ita vivendi_.” And although the neglect of our times, wherein few men do hold any consultations touching _the reformation of their_ LIFE, as _Seneca_ excellently saith, “De partibus vitae, quisque deliberat, de summa nemo,” may make this part seem superfluous, yet I must conclude with that aphorism of _Hippocrates_, “Qui gravi morbo correpti dolores non sentiunt, iis mens aegrotat”; they need medicines not only to assuage the disease, but _to awake the sense_.
‘And if it be said _that the cure of men’s minds belongeth to sacred divinity_, it is most true; but _yet_ Moral Philosophy’–that is, in _his_ meaning of the term, Moral _Science_, the new science of nature–‘may be _preferred unto her, as a wise servant_ and humble handmaid. For, as _the Psalm saith_, that “the eye of the handmaid looketh perpetually towards the mistress,” and yet, _no doubt, many things are left to the discretion of the handmaid_, to discern of the _mistress’s will_; so ought moral philosophy to give _a constant attention to the doctrines of divinity_, and yet so as it may yield of herself, within due limits, many sound and profitable directions.’ _That_ is the doctrine. _That_ is the position of the New Science in relation to divinity, as defined by the one who was best qualified to place it–that is the mission of the New Science, as announced by the new Interpreter of Nature,–the priest of her ignored and violated laws,–on whose work the seal of that testimony which he challenged to it has already been set–on whose work it has already been written, in the large handwriting of that Providence Divine, whose benediction he invoked, ‘accepted’–accepted in the councils from which the effects of life proceed.
‘This part, therefore,’ having thus defined his position, he continues, ‘because of the _excellency thereof_, I cannot but find it EXCEEDING STRANGE that it is not reduced _to written inquiry_; the rather because it consisteth of much matter, wherein _both speech and action is often conversant_, and such wherein the common talk of men, _which is rare_, but yet cometh sometimes to pass, is _wiser than their books_. It is reasonable, therefore, that we propound it with the more particularity, both for the worthiness, and _because we may acquit ourselves for reporting it deficient_’ [with such ‘iteration and fulness,’ with all his _discrimination_, does he contrive to make _this_ point]; ‘which seemeth _almost incredible_, and is otherwise conceived–[note it]–and is otherwise conceived and _presupposed_ by those themselves that have written.’ [They do not see that they have missed it.] ‘We will, therefore, enumerate some HEADS or POINTS _thereof, that it may appear the better what it is_, and __whether it be extant_.’
A momentous question, truly, for the human race. That was a point, indeed, for this reporter to dare to make, and insist on and demonstrate. Doctrines of THE FRUIT of LIFE–doctrines of its perfection, exemplars of it; but no science–no science of the Culture or the Husbandry thereunto–though it is otherwise conceived and presupposed by those who have written! Yes, that is the position; and not taken in the general only, for he will proceed to propound it with more particularity–he will give us the HEADS of it–he will proceed to the articulation of that which is wanting–he will put down, before our eyes, the points and outlines of the new human science, the science of the husbandry thereto, both for the worthiness thereof, and that it may appear the better WHAT IT IS, and whether–WHETHER IT BE EXTANT. For who knows but it may be? Who knows, after all, but the points and outlines here, may prove but the track of that argument which the new Georgics will be able to hide in the play of their illustration, as Periander hid his? Who knows but the Naturalist in this field was then already on the ground, making his collections? Who knows but this new Virgil, who thought little of that resplendent and lustrous mass of matter, that old poets had taken for their glory, who seized the common life of men, and not the ideal life only, for his theme–who made the relief of the human estate, and not glory, his end, but knew that he might promise himself a fame which would make the old heroic poets’ crowns grow dim,–who knows but that _he_–he himself–is extant, contemplating his theme, and composing its Index–claiming as yet its INDEX only? Truly, if the propounder of this argument can in any measure supply the _defects_ which he outlines, and opens here,–if he can point out to us any new and worthy collections in that science for which he claims to break the ground–if he can, in any measure, constitute it, he will deserve that name which he aspired to, and for which he was willing to renounce his own, ‘Benefactor of men,’ and not of an age or nation.
But let us see where this new science, and scientific art of human culture begins,–this science and art which is to differ from those which have preceded it, as the other Baconian arts and sciences which began in the new doctrine of nature, differed from those which preceded them.
‘FIRST, therefore, in this, _as in all things which are practical_, we ought to cast up our account, WHAT is IN OUR POWER, AND WHAT NOT? FOR the one may be dealt with by way of ALTERATION, but the other by way of APPLICATION _only_. The husbandman cannot command either the _nature of the earth or the seasons_ of the weather, no more can the physician _the constitution of the patient_, and the _variety of accidents._ So in the CULTURE and CURE of THE MIND of MAN _two things_ are without our command, POINTS OF NATURE, and POINTS of FORTUNE: for to the basis of the one, and the conditions of the other, our work is limited and tied.’ That is the first step: that is where the NEW begins. There is no science or art till that step is taken.
‘_In these things_, therefore, it is left unto us to proceed by APPLICATION. Vincenda est omnis fortuna ferendo: and so likewise–Vincenda est omnis natura ferendo. But when we speak of suffering, we do not speak of a _dull neglected suffering_, but of _a wise and industrious suffering_, which draweth and contriveth _use and advantage out of that which seemeth adverse and contrary_, which is that properly which we call _accommodating_ or _applying_. [“Sweet are the uses of it,” and “blest” indeed are they who can translate the _stubbornness_ of fortune into so quiet and so sweet a style.]
‘Now the wisdom of APPLICATION resteth _principally_ in the _exact and distinct knowledge of the precedent state or disposition, unto which we do apply_.’–[This is the process which the Novum Organum sets forth with so much care], ‘for we cannot fit a garment, except we first take the measure of the body.’
So then THE FIRST ARTICLE OF THIS KNOWLEDGE is–what?–‘to set down _sound_ and _true distributions_ and _descriptions_ of THE SEVERAL CHARACTERS AND TEMPERS of MEN’S NATURES and DISPOSITIONS, specially having regard to _those differences_ which are most _radical_, in being the fountains and causes of the rest, _or_ most frequent in _concurrence_ or commixture (not _simple_ differences merely, but the most frequent conjunctions), wherein it is not the handling of a few of them, in passage, the better to describe the _mediocrities_ of _virtues_, that can satisfy this intention’; and he proceeds to introduce a few points, casually, as it were, and by way of illustration, but the rule of interpretation for this digest of learning, in this press of method is, that such points are _never_ casual, and usually of primal, and not secondary import; ‘for if it deserve to be considered that there _are_ minds which are proportioned to great matters, and _others_ to small, which Aristotle handleth, or ought to have handled, by the name of _magnanimity_, doth it not deserve as well to be considered, that there are minds proportioned to intend many matters, and _others to few_?’ So that some can _divide themselves_, others can perchance do exactly well, but it must be in few things at once; and so there cometh to be a narrowness of mind, _as well as a_ PUSILLANIMITY. And again, ‘that some minds are proportioned to that which may be despatched at once, or within a _short return of time_; others to that _which begins afar off_, and is to be won with length of pursuit.
Jam tum tenditque fovetque.
‘So that there may be fitly said to be a _longanimity_, which is commonly also ascribed to God as a _magnanimity_.’ Undoubtedly, he considers this one of those differences in the natures and dispositions of men, that it is most important to note, otherwise it would not be inserted here. ‘So farther deserved it to be considered by Aristotle that there is a disposition in conversation, supposing it in things which do in no sort touch or concern a man’s self, _to soothe and please_; and a disposition contrary to contradict and cross; and deserveth it not much better to be considered that there is a disposition, not in conversation, or talk, but _in matter of more serious nature_, and supposing it still in things _merely indifferent_, to take pleasure in the good of another, and a disposition contrariwise to take distaste at the good of another, which is that _properly_ which we call _good-nature_, or _ill-nature_, benignity or malignity.’ Is not this a field for science, then, with such differences as these lying on the surface of it,–does not it begin to open up with a somewhat inviting aspect? This so remarkable product of nature, with such extraordinary ‘differences’ in him as these, is he the only thing that is to go without a scientific history, all wild and unbooked, while our philosophers are weeping because ‘there are no more worlds to conquer,’ because every stone and shell and flower and bird and insect and animal has been dragged into the day and had its portrait taken, and all its history to its secretest points scientifically detected?
‘And therefore,’ says this organizer of the science of nature, who keeps an eye on practice, in _his_ speculations, and recommends to his followers to observe his lead in that respect, at least, until the affairs of the world get a little straighter than they were in his time, and there is leisure for _mere_ speculation,–‘And, therefore,’ he resumes, having noted these remarkable differences in the natural and original dispositions of men,–and certainly there is no more curious thing in science than the points noted, though the careful reader will observe that they are not curious merely, but that they slant in one direction very much, and towards a certain kind of practice. ‘And, therefore,’ he resumes, noticing that fact, ‘I _cannot sufficiently marvel_, that this part of knowledge, touching the _several characters_ of _natures_ and _dispositions_ should be omitted _both_ in MORALITY and POLICY, considering that it is of _so great_ ministry and suppeditation to them BOTH.’ [‘The _several characters_.’ The range of difference is limited. They are comprehensible within a science, as the differences in other species are. No wonder, then, ‘that he cannot sufficiently marvel that this part of knowledge should be omitted.’] But in neither of these two departments, which he here marks out, as the ultimate field of the naturalist, and his arts, in neither of them unfortunately, lies the practice of mankind, as yet so wholly recovered from that ‘lameness,’ which this critical observer remarked in it in his own time, that these observations have ceased to have a practical interest.
And having thus ventured to express his surprise at this deficiency, he proceeds to note what only indications he observes of any work at all in this field, and the very quarters he goes to for these little accidental hints and beginnings of such a science, show how utterly it was wanting in those grandiloquent schools of philosophic theory, and those magisterial chairs of direction, which the author found in possession of this department in his time.
‘A man shall find in the traditions of ASTROLOGY, some pretty and apt _divisions of men’s natures_,’–so in the discussions which occur on this same point in Lear, where this part of philosophy comes under a more particular consideration, and the great ministry which it would yield to morality and policy is suggested in a different form, this same reference to the astrological observations repeatedly occurs. The Poet, indeed, discards the astrological _theory _of these natural differences in the dispositions of men, but is evidently in favour of an observation, and inquiry of some sort, into the second causes of these ‘sequent effects,’ and an anatomy of the living subject is in one case suggested, by a person who is suffering much from the deficiencies of science in this field, as a means of throwing light on it. ‘Then let Regan be anatomised.’ For in the _Play_,–in the poetic impersonation, which has a scientific purpose for its object, the historical extremes of these natural differences are touched, and brought into the most vivid dramatic oppositions; so as to force from the lips of the by-standers the very inquiries and suggestions which are put down here; so as to wring from the broken hearts of men–tortured and broken on the wheel, which ‘blind men’ call fortune,–tortured and broken on the rack of an unlearned and barbaric human society,–or, from hearts that do not break with anything that such a world can do, the imperious direction of the new science.
‘Then let Regan be anatomised, and _see_ what it is that breeds about her heart.’ He has asked already, ‘What is the cause of thunder?’ But ‘_his_ philosopher’ must not stop there. ‘Is there any _cause_–is there any cause _in nature_ that makes these hard hearts?’–
It is _the stars_!
The stars above us govern our conditions, Else one self mate and mate could not beget Such different issues.
‘A man shall find in the traditions of astrology some pretty and apt _divisions of men’s natures_,’ (‘let them be _anatomised_,’ he, too, says,) ‘according to the _predominance_ of the _planets_;’ (this is the ‘_spherical predominance_,’ which _Edmund_ does not believe in)–‘_lovers_ of quiet, _lovers_ of action, _lovers_ of victory, _lovers_ of honour, _lovers_ of pleasure, _lovers_ of arts, _lovers_ of _change_, and so forth.’ And here, also, is another very singular quarter to go to for a science which is so radical in morality; here is a place, where men have empirically hit upon the fact that it has some relation to policy. ‘A man shall find in the wisest sorts of these relations which the _Italians_ make touching conclaves, the natures of the several _Cardinals_, handsomely and livelily painted forth’;–and what he has already said in the general, of this department, he repeats here under this division of it, that the conversation of men in respect to it, is in advance of their books;–‘a man shall meet with, in every day’s conference, the denominations of sensitive, dry, formal, real, humorous, “huomo di prima impressione, huomo di ultima impressione, and the like”: but this is no substitute for science in a matter so radical,’–‘and yet, nevertheless, _this observation, wandereth in words_, but is not _fixed in inquiry_. For the _distinctions_ are found, many of them, but we conclude _no precepts_ upon them’; it is induction then that we want here, after all–_here_ also–here as elsewhere: ‘the distinctions are found, many of them, but we _conclude no precepts_ upon them: wherein our fault is the greater, because both HISTORY, POESY, and DAILY EXPERIENCE, _are as goodly fields where these observations grow_; whereof we make a few poesies to hold in our hands, but no man bringeth them to the confectionery that _receipts_ might be made of them for the use of life.’
How could he say _that_, when there was a man then alive, who was doing in all respects, the very thing which he puts down here, as the thing which is to be done, the thing which is of such radical consequence, which is the beginning of the new philosophy, which is the beginning of the new _reformation_; who is making this very point in that science to which the others are subordinate?–how could he say it, when there was a man then alive, who was ransacking the daily lives of men, and putting all history and poesy under contribution for these very observations, one, too, who was concluding precepts upon them, bringing them to the confectionery, and composing receipts of them for the use of life; a scholar who did not content himself with merely _reporting_ a deficiency so radical as this, in the human life; a man who did not think, apparently, that he had fulfilled _his_ duty to his kind, by composing a paragraph on this subject.
And how comes it–how comes it that he who is the first to discover this so fatal and radical defect in the human science, has himself failed to put upon record any of these so vital observations? How comes it that the one who is at last able to put his finger on the spot where the mischief, where all the boundless mischief, is at work here,–where the cure must begin, should content himself with observations and collections in physical history _only_? How comes it that the man who finds that all the old philosophy has failed to become operative for the lack of this historical basis, who finds it so ‘_exceeding strange_, so _incredible_,’ who ‘cannot sufficiently marvel,’ that these observations should have been omitted in this science, heretofore,–the man who is so sharp upon Aristotle and others, on account of this incomprehensible oversight in their ethics,–_is himself guilty of this very thing_? And how will this defect in _his_ work, compare with that same defect which he is at so much pains to note and describe in the works of others–others who did not know the value of this history? And how can he answer it to his kind, that with the views he has dared to put on record here, of the relation, the _essential_ relation, of this knowledge to human advancement and relief, _he himself has done nothing at all to constitute it, except to write this paragraph_.
And yet, by his own showing, the discoverer of this field was himself the man to make collections in it; for he tells us that accidental observations are not the kind that are wanted here, and that the truth of direction must precede the severity of observation. Is this so? Whose note book is it then, that has come into our hands, with the rules and plummet of the new science running through it, where all the observation takes, spontaneously, the direction of this new doctrine of nature, and brings home all its collections, in all the lustre of their originality, in all their multiplicity, and variety, and comprehension, in all the novelty and scientific rigour of their exactness, into the channels of these _defects_ of learning? And who was he, who thought there were more things in heaven and earth, than were dreamt of in old philosophies, who kept his tables always by him for open questions? and whose tablets–whose many-leaved tablets, are they then, that are tumbled out upon us here, glowing with ‘all saws, all forms, all pressures past, that youth and observation copied there.’ And if aphorisms are made out of the pith and heart of sciences, if ‘no man can write good aphorisms who is not sound and grounded,’ what Wittenberg, what University was he bred in?
Till now there has been no man to claim this new and magnificent collection in natural science: it is a legacy that came to us without a donor;–this new and vast collection in natural history, which is put down here, all along, as _that which is wanting_–as that which is wanting to the science of man, to the science of his advancement to his place in nature, and to the perfection of his form,–as that which is wanting to the science of the larger wholes, and the art of their conservation. There was no _man_ to claim it, for the _boast_, the very boast made on behalf of the thing for whom it was claimed–was– he _did not know it was worth preserving_!–he _did not know_ that this mass of new and profoundly scientific observation–this so new and subtle observation, so artistically digested, with all the precepts concluded on it, strewn, crowded everywhere with those aphorisms, those axioms of practice, that are made out of the pith and heart of sciences–he did not know it was of any value! That is his history. That is the sum of it, and surely it is enough. Who, that is himself at all above the condition of an oyster, will undertake to say, deliberately and upon reflection, that it is not? So long as we have that one fact in our possession, it is absurd, it is simply disgraceful, to complain of any deficiency in this person’s biography. There is enough of it and to spare. With that fact in our possession, we ought to have been able to dispense long ago with some, at least, of those details that we have of it. The only fault to be found with the biography of this individual as it stands at present is, that there is too much of it, and the public mind is labouring under a plethora of information.
If that fact be not enough, it is our own fault and not the author’s. He was perfectly willing to lie by, till it was. He would not take the trouble to come out for a time that had not studied his philosophy enough to find it, and to put the books of it together.
Many years afterwards, the author of this work on the Advancement of Learning, saw occasion to recast it, and put it in another language. But though he has had so long a time to think about it, and though he does not appear to have taken a single step in the interval, towards the supplying of this radical deficiency in human science; we do not find that his views of its importance are at all altered. It is still the first point with him in the scientific culture of human nature,–the first point in that Art of Human Life, which is the end and term of _Natural Philosophy_, as _he_ understands the limits of it. We still find the first Article of the Culture of the Mind put down, ‘THE DIFFERENT NATURES OR DISPOSITIONS OF MEN,’ _not the vulgar propensities_ to VIRTUES and VICES–note it–‘or perturbations and passions, but of such as are _more internal and radical_, which are generally neglected.’ ‘This is a study,’ he says, which ‘might afford GREAT LIGHT TO THE SCIENCES.’ And again he refers us to the existing supply, such as it is, and repeats with some amplification, his previous suggestions. ‘In astrological traditions, the natures and dispositions of men, are tolerably _distinguished_ according to the influence of the planets, where _some_ are said to be by nature formed for _contemplation, others_ for _war_, others for _politics_.’ Apparently it _would_ be ‘great ministry to policy,’ if one could get the occult sources of such differences as these, so as to be able to command them at all, in the culture of men, _or_ in the fitting of men to their places. ‘But’ he proceeds, ‘so likewise among the _poets_ of all kinds, we _everywhere find_ characters of nature, though _commonly_ drawn with excess and _exceeding the limits of nature_.’
Here, too, the philosopher refers us again to the common discourse of men, as containing wiser observations on this subject, than their books. ‘But much the best matter of all,’ he says, ‘for such a treatise, may be _derived from_ the more _prudent_ historians, and not so well from eulogies or panegyrics, which are usually written soon after the death of _an illustrious person_, but much rather from a whole body of history, as often as such a person appears, for such an _inwoven_ account gives a better description than _panegyrics_…. But we do not mean that such characters should be received in ethics, as perfect civil images.’ They are to be subjected to an artistic process, which will bring out the radical principles in the dispositions and tempers of men in general, as the material of inexhaustible varieties of combination. He will have these historic portraits merely ‘for outlines and first draughts of the images themselves, which, being variously compounded and mixed, afford all kinds of portraits, so that an _artificial and accurate dissection_ may be made of MEN’S MINDS AND NATURES, and the _secret disposition of each particular man laid open_, that from the knowledge of the _whole_, the PRECEPTS _concerning the_ ERRORS of THE MIND may be MORE RIGHTLY FORMED.’ Who did that very thing? Who was it that stood on the spot and put that design into execution?
But this is not all; this is only the beginning of the observation and study of _differences_. For he would have also included in it, ‘those impressions of nature which are otherwise _imposed_ upon by the mind, by the SEX, AGE, COUNTRY, STATE OF HEALTH, MAKE OF BODY, as of beauty and deformity, and THE LIKE, which are inherent and not external:’ and more, he will have included in it–in these _practical Ethics_ he will have included–‘POINTS OF FORTUNE,’ and the differences that they make; he will have _all the differences_ that this creature exhibits, under any conditions, put down; he will have his whole nature, so far as his history is able to show it, on his table; and not as it is exhibited accidentally, or spontaneously merely, but under the test of a studious inquiry, and essay; he will apply to it the trials and vexations of Art, and wring out its last confession. This is the practical doctrine of this species; this is what the author we have here in hand, calls the _science_ of it, or the beginning of its science. This is one of the _parts of science_ which he says is wanting. Let us follow his running glimpse of the points here, then, and see whether it is extant here, too, and whether there is anything to justify all this preparation in bringing it in, and all this exceeding marvelling at the want of it.
‘And again _those differences_ which proceed from FORTUNE, as SOVEREIGNTY, NOBILITY, OBSCURE BIRTH, RICHES, WANT, MAGISTRACY, PRIVATENESS, PROSPERITY, ADVERSITY, constant fortune, variable fortune, rising _per saltum, per gradus_, and the like.’ These are articles that he puts down for points in his _table of natural history_, points for the collection of instances; this is the tabular preparation for induction here; for he does not conclude his precepts on the popular, miscellaneous, accidental history. That will do well enough for books. It won’t do to get out axioms of practice from such loose material. They have to ring with the proof of another kind of condensation. All _his_ history is artificial, prepared history more _select_ and _subtle_ and _fit_ than the other kind, he says,–prepared on purpose; perhaps we shall come across his tables, some day, with these very points on them, filled in with the observations of one, so qualified by the truth of direction to make them ‘severe’. It would not be strange, for he gives us to understand that he is not altogether idle in this part of his Instauration, and that he does not think it enough to lay out work for others, without giving an occasional specimen of his own, of the thing which he notes as deficient, and proposes to have done, so that there may be no mistake about it as to what it really is; for he appears to think there is some danger of that. Even here, he produces a few illustrations of his meaning, that it may appear the better what is, and whether it be extant.
‘And therefore we see, that _Plautus_ maketh it a wonder to see an OLD man beneficent. _St. Paul_ concludeth that severity of _discipline_ was to be used to the _Cretans_, (“increpa eos dure”), upon _the disposition_ of THEIR COUNTRY. “Cretenses semper mendaces, malae bestize, ventres pigri.” _Sallust_ noteth that it is usual with KINGS to desire _contradictories_; “Sed plerumque, regiae voluntates, ut vehementes sunt sic mobiles saepeque ipsae sibi adversae.” _Tacitus_ observeth how rarely THE RAISING OF THE FORTUNE mendeth the disposition. “Solus Vespasianus mutatus in melius.” _Pindar_ maketh an observation that great and sudden fortune for the most part defeateth men. So _the Psalm_ showeth it more easy to keep a measure in the enjoying of fortune, than in the increase of fortune; “Divitiae si affluant nolite cor apponere.”‘ ‘_These observations, and the like_,’–what book is it that has so many of ‘_the like_’?–‘I deny not but are touched a little by Aristotle _as in passage_ in his _Rhetorics_, and are handled in some scattered discourses.’ One would think it was another philosopher, with pretensions not at all inferior, but professedly very much, and altogether superior to those of Aristotle, whose short-comings were under criticism here; ‘but they (_these observations_) were never INCORPORATED _into moral philosophy_, to which they do ESSENTIALLY appertain, as THE KNOWLEDGE of THE DIVERSITY of GROUND and MOULDS doth to _agriculture_, and the knowledge of the DIVERSITY of COMPLEXIONS and CONSTITUTIONS doth to the _physician_; except’–note it–‘except we mean to follow the indiscretion of empirics, which minister _the same medicines to all patients_.’
Truly this does appear to give us some vistas of a _science_, and a ‘pretty one,’ for these particulars and illustrations are here, that we may see the better what it is, and whether it be extant. That is the question. And it happens singularly enough, to be a question just as pertinent now, as it was when the philosopher put it on his paper, two hundred and fifty years ago.
_There_ is the first point, then, in the table of this scientific history, with its subdivisions and articulations; and here is the second, not less essential. ‘Another article of this knowledge is the inquiry touching THE AFFECTIONS; for, as in medicining the body,’–and it is a practical science we are on here; it is the cure of the mind, and not a word for show,–‘as in medicining the body, it is in order, _first_, to know the divers complexions and constitutions; secondly, the _diseases_; and, lastly, the _cures_; so in medicining of the mind,–after knowledge of the _divers characters_ of _men’s natures_, it followeth, in order, to know the diseases and infirmities of the mind, which are no other than the perturbations and distempers of the affections.’ And we shall find, under the head of the medicining of the body, some things on the subject of medicine in general, which could be better said _there_ than _here_, because the wrath of professional dignitaries,–the eye of the ‘basilisk,’ was not perhaps quite so terrible in that quarter then, as it was in some others. For though ‘the Doctors’ in that department, did manage, in the dark ages, to possess themselves of certain weapons of their own, which are said to have proved, on the whole, sufficiently formidable, they were not, as it happened, armed by the State as the others then were; and it was usually discretionary with the patient to avail himself, or not, of their drugs, and receipts, and surgeries; whereas, in the diseased and suffering soul, no such discretion was tolerated. The drugs were indeed compounded by the State in person, and the executive stood by, axe in hand, to see that they were taken, accompanying them with such other remedies as the case might seem to require; the most serious operations being constantly performed without ever taking ‘the sense’ of the patient.
So we must not be surprised to find that this author who writes under such liabilities ventures to bring out the pith of his trunk of sciences,–that which sciences have in common,–the doctrine of the nature of things,–what he calls ‘_prima philosophia_,’ when his learned sock is on–a little more strongly and fully in that branch of it, with a glance this way, with a distinct intimation that it is common to the two, and applies here as well. There, too, he complains of the ignorance of anatomy, which is just the complaint he has been making here, and that, for want of it, ‘they quarrel many times with the humours which are not in fault, the fault being in the very frame and mechanic of the part, which cannot be removed by medicine _alterative_, but must be _accommodated_ and palliated by diet and medicines _familiar_.’ There, too, he reports the lack of medicinal history, and gives directions for supplying it, just such directions as he gives here, but that which makes the astounding difference in the reading of these reports to-day, is, that the one has been accepted, and the other has not; nay, that the one has been _read_, and the other has not: for how else can we account for the fact, that men of learning, in our time, come out and tell us deliberately, not merely that this man’s place in history, is the place of one who devoted his genius to the promotion of the personal convenience and bodily welfare of men, but, that it is the place of one who gave up the nobler nature, deliberately, on principle, and after examination and reflection, as a thing past help from science, as a thing lying out of the range of philosophy? How else comes it, that the critic to-day tells us, dares to tell us, that this leader’s word to the new ages of advancement is, that there is no scientific advancement to be looked for _here_?–how else could he tell us, with such vivid detail of illustration, that this innovator and proposer of advancement, never intended his Novum Organum to be applied to the _cure_ of the moral diseases, to the subduing of the WILL and the AFFECTIONS,–but thought, because the old philosophy had failed, there was no use in trying the new;–because the philosophy of words, and preconceptions, had failed, the philosophy of observation and application, the philosophy of ideas as they are in nature, and not as they are in the mind of man merely, the philosophy of _laws_, must fail also;–because ARGUMENT had failed, ART was hopeless;–because syllogisms, based on popular, unscientific notions were of no effect, _practical axioms_ based on the scientific knowledge of natural causes, and on their specific developments, were going to be of none effect also? If the passages which are now under consideration, had been so much as _read_, how could a learned man, in our time, tell us that the author of the ‘Advancement of Learning’ had come with any such despairful word as that to us,–to tell us that the new science he was introducing upon this Globe theatre, the science of _laws_ in nature, offered to _Divinity_ and Morality no aid,–no ministry, no service in the _cure of the mind_? And the reason why they have not been read, the reason why this part of the ‘Advancement of Learning,’ which is the principal part of it in the intention of its author, _has_ been overlooked hitherto is, that the Art of Tradition, which is described, here–the art of the Tradition, and delivery of knowledges which are foreign from opinions received, was in the hand of its inventor, and able to fulfil his pleasure.
After the knowledge of the divers characters of men’s natures then, the next article of this inquiry is the DISEASES and INFIRMITIES of the MIND, which are no other than the perturbations and distempers of THE AFFECTIONS. For as the ancient politicians in popular estates were wont to compare the people to the sea, and the _orators_ to the winds, because the sea would of itself be calm and quiet, if the winds did not move and trouble it; _so_ the _people would be peaceable_ and _tractable_, if the _seditious orators did not set them in working and agitation_; so it may be fitly said, that the mind, in the nature thereof, would be _temperate_ and _stayed_, if _the affections_, as winds, did not put it into tumult and perturbation. And _here, again_, I find, _strange as before_, that _Aristotle_ should have written divers volumes of _Ethics_, and never handled THE AFFECTIONS, which is the _principal subject thereof_; and yet, in his _Rhetorics_, where they are considered but _collaterally_, and in a second degree, as they may be moved by speech, he findeth place for them, and handleth them well _for the quantity_, but where their _true place_ is, he _permitteth_ them. (Very much the method of procedure adopted by the philosopher who composes that criticism; who also finds a place for the affections in passing, where they are considered collaterally, and in a second degree, and for the quantity, he handleth them well, and who knows how to bring his Rhetorics to bear on them, as well as the politicians in popular estates did of old, though for a different end; but where their true place is, he, too, _permitteth_ them; and, in his Novum Organum, he keeps so clear of them, and _permits_ them so fully, that the critics tell us he never meant it should touch them.) ‘For it is not his disputations about pleasure and pain that can satisfy this inquiry, no more than he that should _generally_ handle the nature of light can be said to handle the nature of _colours_; for pleasure and pain are to the particular affections as light is to the particular colours.’ Is not this a man for particulars, then? And when he comes to the practical doctrine,–to _the art_–to the knowledge, which is _power_,–will he not have particulars here, as well as in those other arts which are based on them? Will he not have particulars here, as well as in chemistry and natural philosophy, and botany and mineralogy; or, when it comes to practice here, will he be content, after all, with the old line of argument, and elegant disquisition, with the old generalities and subtleties of definition, which required no collection of particulars, which were independent of observation, or for which the popular accidental observation sufficed? ‘Better travels, I suppose, had the Stoics taken in this argument, as far as I can gather by that which we have at secondhand. _But yet_ it is like it was after their manner, rather in subtlety of definitions, which, in a subject of this nature, are _but curiosities_, than _in_ ACTIVE _and_ AMPLE DESCRIPTIONS AND OBSERVATIONS. So, likewise, I find some particular writings of _an elegant nature_, touching some of the affections; as of anger, of comfort upon adverse accidents, of tenderness of countenance, and others.’ And such writings were not confined to the ancients. Some of us have seen elegant writings of this nature, published under the name of the philosopher who composes this criticism, and suggests the possibility of essays of a more lively and _experimental_ kind, and who seems to think that the treatment should be _ample_, as well as _active_.
‘_But_ the POETS and WRITERS of HISTORY are the best _Doctors_ of _this knowledge_, where we may find, painted forth with great _life_, _how affections are kindled and incited_, and _how pacified_ and _refrained_;’–certainly, that is the kind of learning we want here:–‘and how, again, contained from _act_ and _further degree_’–very useful knowledge, one would say, and it is a pity it should not be ‘diffused,’ but it is not every poet who can be said to have it;–‘_how_ they disclose themselves–_how_ they work–how they vary;’–this is the science of them clearly, _whoever_ has it;–‘how they gather and fortify–how they are _enwrapped one within another_;’–yes, there is one Poet, one Doctor of this science, in whom we can find _that_ also;–‘and how they do fight and encounter one with another, and other like _particularities_.’ We all know what Poet it is, to whose lively and ample descriptions of the affections and passions–to whose _particularities_–that description best applies, and in what age of the world he lived; but no one, who has not first studied them as scientific exhibitions, can begin to perceive the force–the exclusive force–of the reference. ‘Amongst the which, this last is of special _use_ in MORAL and CIVIL matters: _how_, I say, to _set affection against affection_, and to master one by another, even as we used to hunt beast with beast, and fly bird with bird, which otherwise, percase, we could not so easily recover.’ The Poet has not only exhibited this with very voluminous and lively details, but he, too, has concluded his precept;–
‘One fire burns out another’s burning’– ‘One desperate grief cures with another’s languish’– ‘Take thou some new infection to thine eye, And the rank poison of the old will die.’ _Romeo and Juliet_.
‘As fire drives out fire, so pity, pity; And pity to the _general wrong of Rome_ Hath, done this deed _on Caesar.’
_Julius Caesar_.
for it is the _larger_ form, which is the worthier, in that new department of mixed mathematics which this philosopher was cultivating.
‘One fire drives out one fire, one nail one nail: Rights by rights fouler, strength by strengths do fail.’ _Coriolanus_.
And for history of _cases_, see the same author in Hamlet and other plays. [This philosopher’s prose not unfrequently contains the key of the poetic paraphrase; and the true reading of the line, which has occasioned so much perplexity to the critics, may, perhaps, be suggested by this connection–‘to set affection against affection, and to master one by another, even as we hunt beast with beast, and fly bird with bird.’]
CHAPTER V.
THE SCIENCE OF MORALITY.–ALTERATION.
Hast thou not learn’d me how
To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so, That our great king himself doth woo me oft For my confections? Having thus far proceeded, (Unless thou think’st me devilish,) is’t not meet That I did amplify my judgment in
Other conclusions? _Cymbeline_.
Thus far, it is the science of Man, _as he is_, that is propounded. It is a scientific history of the Mind and its diseases, built up from particulars, as other scientific histories are; and having disposed, in this general manner, of that which must be dealt with by way of _application_, those points of nature and fortune, which he puts down as the basis and conditions to _which all our_ WORK _is limited and tied_, we come now to that which IS within our power–to those points which we can deal with by way of ALTERATION, and not of _application_ merely; and yet points which are operating perpetually on the human character, changing the will and appetite, and altering the conduct, by laws not less sure than those which operate in the occult processes of nature, and determine differences behind the scene, or out of the range of our volition.
And if after having duly weighed the hints we have already received of the importance of the subject, we do not any longer suffer ourselves to be put off the track, or bewildered by the first rhetorical effect of the sentence in which these agencies are introduced to our attention,–if we look at that rapid series of words, as something else than the points of a period, if we stop long enough to recover from the confusion which a mere string of names, a catalogue or table of contents, crowded into single sentence, will, of necessity, create,–if we stop long enough to see that each one of these words is a point in the table of a new science, we shall perceive at once, that after having made all this large allowance, this _new_ allowance for that which is _without_ our power, there is still a very, very large margin of operation, and discovery, and experiment left; that there is still a large scope of _alteration_ left–alteration in man as he is. For we shall find that these forces which _are_ within our power, are the very ones which are making, and always have been making, man what he is. Running our eye along this table of forces and supplies, with that understanding of its uses, we shall perceive at once, that we have the most ample material here, if it were but scientifically handled; untried, inexhaustible means and appliances for raising man to the height of his pattern and original, to the stature of a perfect man.
It is not the material of this regimen of growth and advancement, it is not the Materia Medica that is wanting,–it is the science of it. It is the natural history of these forces, with the precepts scientifically concluded on them, that is wanting. The appliances are here; the scientific application of them remains to be made, and until these have been tried, it is too early to pronounce on the case; until these have been tried, just as other precepts of the new science have been, it is too soon to say that that science of nature,–that knowledge of laws–that foreknowledge of effects, which operates so remedially in all other departments of the human life, is without application, is of no efficiency here; until these have been tried it is too soon to say that the science of nature is _not_ what the man who brought it in on this Globe theatre _declared it_ to _be_, the handmaid of Divinity, the intelligent handmaid and minister of religion, to whose discretion in the economy of Providence, much, much has evidently been left.
And it was no assumption in this man to claim, as he did claim, a divine and providential authority for this procedure. And those who intelligently fulfil their parts in this great enterprise for man’s relief, and the Creator’s glory, have just as clear a right to say, as those of old who fulfilled with such means and lights, and inspirations as their time gave them, their part in the plan of the human advancement, ‘it is God who worketh in us.’
‘Now come we to those points which _are_ within our command, and have _force_ and _operation_ upon the mind, to _affect the will and appetite_, and to alter manners: wherein they ought to have handled CUSTOM, EXERCISE, HABIT, EDUCATION, EXAMPLE, IMITATION, EMULATION, COMPANY, FRIENDS, PRAISE, REPROOF, EXHORTATION, FAME, LAWS, BOOKS, STUDIES: these, as they have determinate use in moralities, from these _the mind_ SUFFERETH; and of these are such receipts and regiments compounded and described, as may serve to recover or preserve the health and good estate of the mind, as far as pertaineth to human medicine; of which number we will insist upon some one or two, _as an example of the rest_, because it _were too long_ to prosecute _all_.’ But the careful reader perceives in that which follows, that the treatment of this so vital subject, though all that the author has to say upon it _here_, is condensed into these brief paragraphs, is not by any means so miscellaneous, as this introduction and ‘the _first_ cogitation’ on it, might, perhaps, have prepared him to find it.
To be permitted to handle these forces openly, in the form of literary report, and recommendation, would, no doubt, have seemed to this inventor of sciences, in his day no small privilege. But there was another kind of experiment in them which he aspired to. He wished to take these forces in hand more directly, and compound recipes, with them, and other ‘regiments’ and cures. For by nature and carefullest study he was a Doctor in this degree and kind–and a man thus fitted, inevitably seeks his sphere. Very unlearned in this science of human nature which he has left us,–much wanting in analysis must he be, who can find in the persistent determination of such a man to possess himself of places of trust and authority, only the vulgar desire for courtly distinction, and eagerness for the paraphernalia of office. This man was not wanting in any of the common natural sentiments; the private and particular nature was large in him, and that good to which he gives the preference in his comparison of those exclusive aims and enjoyments, is ‘the good which is _active_, and not that which is _passive_’; both as it tends to secure that individual perpetuity which is the especial craving of men thus specially endowed, and on account of ‘that affection for variety and _proceeding_’ which is also common to men, and specially developed in such men,–an affection which the goods of the passive nature are not able to satisfy. ‘But in _enterprises_, pursuits and purposes of life, there is much variety whereof men are sensible with pleasure in their inceptions, progressions, recoils, re-integration, approaches and attainings to their ends.’ And he gives us a long insight into his own particular nature and history in that sentence. He is careful to distinguish this kind of good from the good of society, ‘though in some cases it hath an incident to it. For that gigantine state of mind which possesseth the _troublers_ of the world, such as was Lucius Sylla, and _infinite other in smaller model_, who would have all men happy or unhappy, as they were their friends or enemies, _and would give form to the world according to their own humours_, which is the true _theomachy_, pretendeth and aspireth to _active good_ though it _recedeth farthest_ from that _good of society_, which we have determined to be _the greater_.’
In no troubler or benefactor of the world, on the largest scale, in no theomachist of any age, whether intelligent and benevolent, or demoniacal and evil, had this nature which he here defines so clearly, ever been more largely incorporated, or more effectively armed. But in him this tendency to personal aggrandisement was overlooked, and subordinated by the larger nature,–by the intelligence which includes the whole, and is able to weigh the part with it, and by the sentiments which enforce or anticipate intelligent decision.
Both these facts must be taken into the account, if we would read his history fairly. For he composed for himself a plan of living, in which this naturally intense desire for an individual perpetuity and renown, and this love of action and enterprise for its own sake, was sternly subordinated to the noblest ends of living, to the largest good of his kind, to the divine and eternal law of duty, to the relief of man’s estate and the Creator’s glory. And without making any claim on his behalf, which it would be unworthy to make for one to whom the truth was dearer than the opinions of men; it may be asserted, that whatever errors of judgment or passion, we may find, or think we find in him, these ends were with him predominant, and shaped his course.
He was not naturally a man of _letters_, but a man of action, intensely impelled to action, and it was because he was forbidden to fulfil his enterprise in person, because he had to write letters of direction to those to whom he was compelled to entrust it, because he had to write letters to the future, and leave himself and his will in letters, that letters became, in his hands, _practical_. He, too, knew what it was to be compelled ‘to unpack his heart in words’ when deeds should have expressed it.
But even words are forbidden him here. After all the pains he has taken to show us what the deficiency is which he is reporting here, and what the art and science which he is proposing, he can only put down a few paragraphs on the subject, casually, as it were, in passing. Of all these forces which have operation on the mind, and with which scientific appliances for the human mind should be compounded, he can only ‘insist upon some one or two as an example of the rest.’
That was all that a writer, who was at the same time a public man, could venture on,–a writer who had once been under violent political suspicion, and was still eagerly watched, and especially by one class of public functionaries, who seemed to feel, that with all his deference to their claims, there was something there not quite friendly to them, this was all that he could undertake to insist upon ‘in that place.’ But a writer who had the advantage of being already defunct–a writer whose estate on the earth was then already done, and who was in no kind of danger of losing either his head or his place, could of course manage this part of the subject differently. _He_ would not find it too long to prosecute all, perhaps. And if he had at the same time the advantage of a foreign name and seignorie, he could come out in England at this very crisis with the freest exhibitions of the points which are _here_ only _indicated_. He could even put them down openly in his table of contents, every one of them, and make them the titles of his chapters.
There was a work published in England, in that age, in which these forces, of which only the _catalogue_ is inserted here, these forces which _are_ in our power, which we _can_ alter, forces from which the mind _suffereth_, which have operation upon the mind to affect the will and appetite, are directly dealt with in the most subtle and artistic manner, in the form of literary _essay_; and in the bolder chapters, the author’s observations and criticisms are clearly put down; his scientific suggestions of alterations and new compounds, his scientific doctrine of _careful alterations_, his scientific doctrine of surgery, and adaptation of regimen, and cure to different ages, and differing social conditions, are all promiscuously filed in, and the English public swallows it without any difficulty at all, and perceives nothing disagreeable or dangerous in it.
_This_ work contains, also, some of those other parts of the new science which have just been reported as wanting, parts which are said by the inventor of this science, to have a great ministry to policy, as well as morality, and the natural history of the creature, which it is here proposed to reform, is brought out without any regard whatever to considerations which would inevitably affect a moralist, looking at the subject from any less earnest and practical–from any less _elevated_ point of view.
Of course, it was perfectly competent for a Gascon whose gasconading was understood to be without any motive beyond that of vanity and egotism, and without any incidence to effects, to say, in the way of mere foolery, many things which an English statesman could not then so well endorse. And in case his personality were called in question, there was the mountain to retreat to, and the saint of the mount, in whose behalf the goose is annually sacrificed by the English people, the saint under whose shield and name the great English philosopher sleeps. In fact, this personage is not so limited in his quarters as the proper name might seem to imply. One does not have to go to the south of France to find him. But it is certainly remarkable, that a work in Natural History, composed by the inventors of the science of observation, and the first in the field, containing their observations in that part of the field too, in which the deficiency appeared to them most important, should have been able to pass so long under so thin a disguise, under this merest gauze of _egotism_, unchallenged.
These _essaies_, however, have not been without result. They have been operating incessantly, ever since, directly upon the leading minds, and indirectly upon the minds of men in general, (for many who had never read the book, have all their lives felt its influence), and tending gradually to the clearing up of the human intelligence in ‘the practice part of life’ in general, and to the development of a common sense on the topics here handled, much more creditable to the species than anything that the author could find stirring in his age. When the works which the propounders of the Great Instauration took pains to get composed by way of filling up their plan of it, a little, corn to be collected and bound, this one will have to find its place among them.
But here, at home, in his own historical name and figure, in his own person, instead of conducting his magnificent scientific experiments on that scale which the genius of his activity, and the largeness of his good will, would have prescribed to him, instead of founding his House of Solomon as he would have founded it, (as that proximity to the throne, when it was the throne of an absolute monarch might have enabled him to found it, if the monarch he found there had been, indeed, what he claimed to be, a lover of learning), instead of such large help and countenance as that of the king, to whom this great proposition was addressed, the philosopher of that time could not even venture on a literary essay in this field under that protection; it was as much as he could do, it was as much as his favor with the king was worth, to slip in here, in this conspicuous place, where it would be sure to be found, sooner or later, the index of his _essaies_.
‘It would be too _long_,’ he says, ‘to inquire here into the operation of all these social forces that are making men, that are doing more to make them what they are, than nature herself is doing,’ for, ‘know thou,’ the Poet of this Philosophy says, ‘know thou MEN ARE as the TIME IS.’ He has included here, in these points which he would have scientifically handled, that which makes _times_, that which _can be altered_, that which Advancements of Learning, however, set on foot at first, are sure in the end to _alter_. ‘We will insist upon some one or two as an example of the rest.’ And we find that the points he resumes to speak of here, are, indeed, points of primary consequence; social forces that do indeed need a scientific control, effects reported, and precepts concluded. Custom and Habit, Books and Studies, and then a kind of culture, which he says, ‘seemeth to be more accurate and elaborate than the rest,’ which we find, upon examination, to be a strictly religious culture, and lastly the method to which he gives the preference, as the most compendious and summary in its formative or reforming influence, ‘the _electing_ and propounding unto a man’s self _good and virtuous ends of his life_, such as may be in a _reasonable sort within his compass to attain_.’ He says enough under these heads to show the difficulty of writing on a subject where the science has been reported wanting, while the ‘Art and Practice’ is prescribed.
He lays much stress on CUSTOM and HABIT, and gives some few precepts for its management, ‘made out of the pith and heart of sciences,’ but he speaks briefly, and chiefly for the purpose of indicating the value he attaches to this point, for he concludes his precepts and observations on it, thus: ‘Many other axioms there are, touching the managing of exercise and custom, which being _so conducted_,– scientifically conducted–do prove, _indeed_ ANOTHER NATURE’ [‘almost, can _change_ the stamp of nature,’–is Hamlet’s word on _this_ point]; ‘but being governed by _chance_, doth commonly prove but AN APE of nature, and bringeth forth that which is _lame and counterfeit_.’ For not less than that is the difference between the scientific administration of these things, from which the mind _suffereth_, and the blind, hap-hazard one.
But in proceeding to the next point on which he ventures to offer some suggestions, that of BOOKS and STUDIES, we shall do well to take with us that general doctrine of _cure_, founded upon the nature of things, which he produces under the head of the cure of the body, with a distinct allusion to its proper application here. And it is well to observe how exactly the tone of the criticism in _this department_, chimes in with that of the criticism already reported here. ‘In the consideration of the _cures of diseases_, I find a deficiency in the receipts of _propriety_ respecting the _particular_ cures of diseases; for the physicians _have frustrated the fruit of tradition, and experience_, by their _magistralities_ in _adding and taking out_, and changing _quid pro quo_ in their receipts _at their pleasure_, COMMANDING SO OVER THE MEDICINE, as the medicine _cannot command over the disease_:’ that is a piece of criticism which appears to belong to the general subject of cure; and here is one which he himself stops to apply to a different branch of it.
‘But, lest I grow more particular than _is agreeable_, either to my intention or _proportion_, I will conclude this part with the note of one deficiency more, which seemeth to me of GREATEST consequence, which is, that the _prescripts_ in use are too COMPENDIOUS TO ATTAIN THEIR END; for, to my understanding, it is a vain and flattering opinion to think any _medicine_ can be so sovereign, or so happy, as that the receipt or use of it can work any great effect upon the body of man: it were a strange _speech_, which spoken, or spoken oft, should reclaim a man from a vice to which he were _by nature subject_; it is _order, pursuit, sequence, and interchange of application_ WHICH IS MIGHTY IN NATURE,’ (and it is _power_ we are inquiring for here) ‘which, although it requires more exact _knowledge_ in prescribing, and more precise _obedience_ in observing, yet it is recompensed with the magnitude of effects.’
Possessed now of his general theory of cure, we shall better understand his particular suggestions in regard to these medicines and alteratives of the mind and manners, which are here under consideration.
‘So if we should handle BOOKS and STUDIES,’ he continues, having handled custom and habit a little and their powers, in that profoundly suggestive manner, ‘so if we should handle books and studies, and what influence and operation _they_ have upon manners, are there not divers precepts of _great caution_ and _direction_?’ A question to be asked. And he goes on to make some further enquiries and suggestions which have considerably more in them than meets the ear. They appear to involve the intimation that many of our books on moral philosophy, come to us from the youthful and poetic ages of the world, ages in which sentiment and spontaneous conviction supplied the place of learning; for the accumulations of ages of experiment and conclusion, tend to maturity and sobriety of judgment in the race, as do the corresponding accumulations in the individual experience and memory. ‘And the reason why books’ (which are adapted to the popular belief in these early and unlearned ages) ‘are of so little effect towards _honesty of life_, is that they are not read and _revolved_–revolved–as they should be, by _men in mature years_.’ But unlearned people are always beginners. And it is dangerous to put them upon the task, or to leave them to the task of remodelling their beliefs and adapting them to the advancing stages of human development. He, too, thinks it is easier to overthrow the old opinions, than it is to discriminate that which is to be conserved in them. The hints here are of the most profoundly cautious kind–as they have need to be–but they point to the danger which attends the advancement of learning when rashly and unwisely conducted, and the danger of introducing opinions which are in advance of the popular culture; dangers of which the history of former times furnished eminent examples and warnings then; warnings which have since been repeated in modern instances. He proposes that books shall be tried by their effects on manners. If they fail to produce HONESTY OF LIFE, and if certain particular forms of truth which were once effective to that end, in the course of a popular advancement, or change of any kind, have lost that virtue, let them be examined; let the translation of them be scientifically accomplished, so that the main truth be not lost in the process, so that men be not compelled by fearful experience to retrace their steps in search of it, even, perhaps, to the resuming of the old, dead form again, with all its cumbrous inefficacies; for the lack of a leadership which should have been able to discriminate for them, and forestall this empirical procedure.
Speaking of books of Moral science in general, and their adaptation to different ages, he says–‘Did not one of the _fathers_, in great indignation, call POESY “_vinum demonum_,” because it increaseth _temptations_, _perturbations_, and _vain opinions_? Is not the opinion of Aristotle worthy to be regarded, wherein he saith, “That _young men_ are no fit _auditors_ of moral philosophy,” because they are not settled from the boiling heat of their _affections_, nor attempered with _time_ and _experience_?’ [And our Poet, we may remark in passing, seems to have been struck with that same observation; for by a happy coincidence, he appears to have it in his commonplace book too, and he has not only made a note of it, as this one has, but has taken the trouble to translate it into verse. He does, indeed, go a little out of his way _in time_, to introduce it; but he is a poet who is fond of an anachronism, when it happens to serve his purpose–
‘Paris and Troilus, you have both said well; And on the cause and question now in hand Have _glozed_; but, superficially, not much Unlike _young men_ whom _Aristotle_ thought Unfit to hear _moral philosophy_.’]
The question is, then, as to the adaptations of forms, of moral instruction to different _ages_ of the human development. For when a decided want of ‘honesty of life’ shows itself, in any very general manner, under the fullest operation of _any_ given doctrine which is the received one, it is time for men of learning to begin to look about them a little; and it is a time when directions so cautious as these should not by any means be despised by those on whom the responsibility of direction, here, is in any way devolved.
‘And doth it not hereof come, that those excellent books and discourses of the ancient writers, _whereby_ they have _persuaded unto virtue most effectually_, by representing her in _state_ and _majesty_, and popular opinions against virtue in their _parasites’ coats_, fit to be scorned and derided, are of so little effect towards honesty of life–
[_Polonius.–Honest_, my lord?
_Hamlet_.–Ay, honest.]
‘–because they are not read and _revolved_ by men, in their mature and settled years, but confined almost _to boys and beginners_? But is it not true, also, that _much less_ young men are fit auditors of _matters of policy_ till they have been _thoroughly seasoned_ in _religion and morality_, lest their judgments be corrupted, and made apt to think that there are no true differences of things, but according to utility and fortune.’
By putting in here two or three of those ‘elegant sentences’ which the author has taken out from their connections in his discourses, and strung together, by way of making more perceptible points and stronger impressions with them, according to that theory of his in regard to aphorisms already quoted, we shall better understand this passage, for the connection in which it is introduced here tends somewhat to involve and obscure the meaning. ‘In removing superstitions,’ he tells us, then, in this so pointed manner, ‘care should be had _the good_ be not taken away with the bad, which commonly is done _when the people is the physician_.’ ‘_Things will have_ their _first_ or _second_ agitation.’ [Prima Philosophia–pith and heart of sciences: the author of this aphorism is sound and grounded.] ‘If they be not tossed on the waves of _counsel_, they will be _tossed on the waves of fortune_.’ That last ‘tossing’ requires a second cogitation. There might have been a more direct way of expressing it; but this author prefers similes in such cases, he tells us. But here is more on the same subject. ‘It were good that men in their RENOVATIONS follow the example of time itself, which, indeed, innovateth greatly, but quietly, and by degrees scarce to be perceived;’ and ‘Discretion in speech is more than eloquence.’ These are the sentiments and opinions of that man of science, whose works we are now opening, not caring under what particular name or form we may find them. One or two of these observations do not sound at all like prescience _now_; but at the time when they were given out as precepts of direction, it required that acquaintance with the nature of things in general which is derived from a large and studious observation of particulars, to put them into a form so oracular.
But this general suggestion with regard to our books of moral philosophy, and their adaptation to the largest effect on the will and appetite under the given conditions of time–conditions which involve the instruction of masses of men, in whom _affection_ predominates– men in whom judgment is not yet matured–men not attempered with the time and experience of ages, by means of those preservations of it which the traditions of learning make; beside this general suggestion in regard to these so potent instrumentalities in manners, he has another to make, one in which this general proposition to substitute learning for preconception in _practical matters_,–at least, as far as may be, comes out again in the form of criticism, and of a most specially significant kind. It is a point which he touches lightly here; but one which he touches again and again in other parts of this work, and one which he resumes at large in his practical ethics.
‘Again, is there not a caution likewise to be given of the doctrines of moralities themselves, some kinds of them, lest they make men too _precise, arrogant, incompatible_, as Cicero saith of Cato, in _Marco Catone_: “Haec bona quae videmus divina et egregia ipsius scitote esse propria: quae nonnunquam requirimus, ea sunt omnia non a natura, sed a magistro?”‘
And after glancing at the specific subject of remedial agencies which _are_ within the scope of our revision and renovation, under some other heads, concluding with that which is of all others the most compendious and summary, and again the most noble and effectual to the reducing of the mind unto virtue and good estate, he concludes this whole part, this part in which the points and outlines of the new science–that radical human science which he has dared to report deficient, come out with such masterly grasp and precision,–he concludes this _whole part_ in the words which follow,–words which it will take the author’s own doctrine of interpretation to open. For this is one of those passages which he commends to the second cogitation of the reader, and he knew if ‘the times that were nearer’ were not able to read it, ‘the times that were farther off’ would find it clear enough.
‘Therefore I do conclude this part of Moral _Knowledge_ concerning the culture and regiment of the Mind; wherein if any man, _considering the facts thereof which I have enumerated_, do judge that _my labour is_ to COLLECT INTO AN ART OR SCIENCE, that which hath been _pretermitted by others_, as matters of common sense and experience, he judgeth well.’ The practised eye will detect on the surface here, some marks of that style which this author recommends in such cases: especially where such strong pre-occupations exist; already we perceive that this is one of those sentences which is addressed to the skill of the interpreter; in which, by means of a careful selection and collocation of words, two or more meanings are conveyed under one form of expression. And it may not be amiss to remember here, that this is a style, according to the author’s own description of it elsewhere, in which the more involved and enigmatical passages sometimes admit of _several_ readings, each having its own pertinence and value, according to the mental condition of the reader; and that it is a style in which even the _delicate, collateral sounds_, that are distinctly included in this art of tradition, must come in sometimes in the more critical places, in aid of the interpretation. ‘But what if it be an harangue whereon his life depends?’
l.–If any man considering the parts thereof, which I have enumerated, do judge that MY LABOUR IS to _collect into an_ ART or SCIENCE that which hath been PRETER-MITTED by others, _he_ judgeth well.
2.–If any man do judge that my labour is to collect into an ART or SCIENCE that which hath been pretermitted by others AS MATTERS OF COMMON SENSE and EXPERIENCE, _he_ judgeth well.
3.–If any man _considering_ the PARTS THEREOF WHICH I HAVE ENUMERATED, do judge that my labor is to collect into an ART or SCIENCE, that which hath been pretermitted _by_ OTHERS, as matters of common sense and experience, _he_ judgeth well.
But if there be any doubt, about the more critical of these meanings, let us read on, and we shall find the criticism of this great and greatest proposition, the proposition to substitute learning for preconception, in the main department of human practice, brought out with all the emphasis and significance which becomes the close of so great a period in sciences, and not without a little flowering of that rhetoric, in which beauty is the incident, and discretion is more than eloquence.
‘But as Philocrates sported with Demosthenes you may not marvel, Athenians, that _Demosthenes_ and I do differ, for _he_ drinketh water, and _I_ drink wine. And like as we read of an ancient parable of the two gates of sleep–
Sunt geminae somni portae, quarum altera fertur Cornea, qua veris facilis datur exitus umbris: Altera candenti perfecta nitens elephanto, Sed falsa ad coelum mittunt insomnia manes.
‘So if we put on _sobriety and attention_ we shall find it a sure maxim in knowledge, _that the more pleasant liquor of wine is the more vaporous_, and the braver gate of ivory sendeth forth the falser dreams.’
CHAPTER VI.
METHOD OF CONVEYING THE WISDOM OF THE MODERNS
It is a basilisk unto mine eyes,–
_Kills me to look_ on’t,
This fierce abridgment
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which Distinction should be rich in.
_Cymbeline_.
This whole subject is introduced here in its natural and inevitable connection with that special form of Delivery and Tradition which it required. For we find that connection indicated here, where the matter of the tradition, and that part of it which specially requires this form is treated, and we find the form itself specified here incidentally, but not less unmistakeably, that it is in that part of the work where the Art of Tradition is the primary subject. In bestowing on ‘the parts’ of this science, which the propounder of it is here enumerating–that consideration which the concluding paragraph invites to them, we find, not only the fields clearly marked out, in which he is labouring to collect into an art and science, that which has hitherto been conducted without art or science, and left to common sense and experience, the fields in which these goodly observations grow, of which men have hitherto been content to gather a poesy to carry in their hands,–(observations which he will bring home to his confectionery, in such new and amazing prodigality and selection), but we find also _the very form_ which these new collections, with the new precepts concluded on them, would naturally take, and that it is one in which these new parts of the new science and its art, which he is labouring to constitute, might very well come out, at such a time, without being recognised as philosophy at all,–might even be brought out by _other_ men without science, as matters of common sense and experience; though the world would have to concede, and the longer the study went on, the more it would be inclined to concede, that the common sense and experience was upon the whole somewhat uncommon, and some who perceived its reaches, without finding that it was _art or science_, would even be inclined to call it preternatural.
And when he tells us, that the first step in the New Science is _the dissection_ of _character_, and the production and exhibition of certain scientifically constructed portraits, by means of which this may be effected, portraits which shall represent in their type-form by means of ‘illustrious instances,’ the several characters and tempers of men’s _natures_ and _dispositions_ ‘that the _secret disposition of each particular man_ may be laid open, and from a knowledge of the whole, the precepts concerning the cures of the mind may be more rightly concluded,’–surely _here_, to a man of learning, _the form_,–the form in which these artistically composed diagrams will be found, is not doubtfully indicated.
And when, at the next step, we come to the history of ‘the affections,’ and are told distinctly that _here_ philosophy, the philosophy of practice, must needs descend from the abstraction, and generalities of the ancient morality, for those observations and experiments which it is the legitimate business of the poet to conduct, though the poet, in conducting these observations and experiments, has hitherto been wanting in the rigor which science requires, when we are told that philosophy must _inevitably_ enter here, that department of learning, of which the true poet is ‘the doctor,’–surely here at least, we know where we are. Certainly it is not the fault of the author of the Great Instauration if we do _not_ know what department of learning the collections of the new learning which he claims to have made will be found in–if found at all, _must_ be found in. It is not his fault if we do not know in what department to look for the applications of the Novum Organum to those ‘noblest subjects’ on which he preferred to try its powers, he tells us. Here at least–the Index to these missing books–is clear enough.
But in his treatment of Poetry, as one of the three grand departments of Human Learning, for not less noble than that is the place he openly assigns to it, though that open and primary treatment of it, is superficially brief, he contrives to insert in it, his deliberate, scientific preference of it, as a means of effective scientific exhibition, to either of the two graver parts, which he has associated with it–to history on the one hand, as corresponding to the faculty of memory, and to philosophy or mere abstract statement on the other, as corresponding to the faculty of Reason; for it is that great radical department of learning, which is referred to the Imagination, that constitutes in this distribution of learning the third grand division of it. He shows us here, in a few words, under different points and heads, what masterly facilities, what indispensable, incomparable powers it has for that purpose. There is a form of it, ‘which is as A VISIBLE HISTORY, and is an image of actions as if _they were present_, as history is, of actions that _are past_.’ There is a form of it which is applied only to express some _special purpose_ or _conceit_, which was used of old by _philosophers_ to express any point of _reason_ more sharp and subtle than the vulgar, and, nevertheless, _now and at all times_ these _allusive parabolical_ poems do retain much life and vigour because–note it,–note that because,–that _two-fold because_, because REASON CANNOT be so SENSIBLE, nor EXAMPLES SO FIT. And he adds, also, ‘there remains another use of this poesy, opposite to the one just mentioned, for that use tendeth to _demonstrate_ and _illustrate_ that which is taught or delivered; and this other to _retire_ and _obscure_ it: that is, when the secrets and mysteries of _religion, policy or philosophy_ are involved in fables and parables.’
But under the cover of introducing the ‘Wisdom of the Ancients,’ and the form in which that was conveyed, he explains more at large the conditions which this kind of exhibition best meets; he claims it as a proper form of _learning_, and tells us outright, that the New Science _must be_ conveyed in it. He has left us here, all prepared to our hands, precisely the argument which the subject now under consideration requires.
‘Upon deliberate consideration, my judgment is, that a _concealed instruction_ and _allegory_, was originally intended in many of the ancient fables; observing that some fables discover a great and evident similitude, relation, and connection with the things they signify, as well in the _structure of the fable_, as in the _propriety of the names_ whereby _the persons or actors are characterised_, insomuch that no one could positively deny a sense and meaning to be from the first intended and purposely shadowed out in them’; and he mentions some instances of this kind; and the first is a very explanatory one, tending to throw light upon the proceedings of men whose rebellions, so far as political action is concerned, have been successfully repressed. And he takes occasion to introduce this particular fable repeatedly in similar connections. ‘For who can hear that _Fame_, after the giants were destroyed, sprung up as their _posthumous sister_, and not apply it to the clamour of _parties_, and the seditious rumours which commonly fly about upon the _quelling of insurrections_. _Or_ who, upon hearing that memorable expedition of the gods against the giants, when the braying of _Silenus’ ass_ greatly contributed in putting the giants to flight, does not clearly conceive that this directly _points_ to the _monstrous_ enterprises of _rebellious subjects_, which are frequently disappointed and frustrated by _vain fears and empty rumours_. Nor is it wonder if sometimes a _piece of history_ or other things are introduced by way of ornament, or if _the times_ of the action are confounded,’ [the very likeliest thing in the world to happen; things are often ‘forced in _time_’ as he has given us to understand in complimenting a king’s book where the person was absent but not the occasion], ‘or if part of one fable be tacked to another, for all this must necessarily happen, as the fables were the invention of men who lived in _different ages_, and had _different views_, some of them being _ancient_, others more _modern_, some having an eye to _natural philosophy_, _others_ to _morality_ and _civil policy_.’
This appears to be just the kind of criticism we happen to be in need of in conducting our present inquiry, and the passage which follows is not less to the purpose.
For, having given some other reasons for this opinion he has expressed in regard to the concealed doctrine of the ancients, he concludes in this manner: ‘But if any one shall, notwithstanding this, contend that allegories are always adventitious, and no way native or _genuinely_ contained in them, we _might here leave him undisturbed in the gravity of that judgment_, though we cannot but think it somewhat dull and phlegmatic, and, _if it were worth the trouble_, proceed to another _kind_ of argument.’ And, apparently, the argument he proceeds to, is worth some trouble, since he takes pains to bring it out so cautiously, under so many different heads, with such iteration and fulness, taking care to insert it so many times in his work on the Advancement of Learning, and here producing it again in his Introduction to the Wisdom of the Ancients, accompanied with a distinct assurance that it is _not_ the wisdom of the _ancients_ he is concerning himself about, and _their_ necessities and helps and instruments; though if any one persists in thinking that it _is_, he is not disposed to disturb him in the gravity of that judgment. He honestly thinks that they had indeed such intentions as those that he describes; but that is a question for the curious, and he has other work on hand; he happens to be one, whose views of learning and its uses, do not keep him long on questions of mere curiosity. It is with the Moderns, and not with the Ancients that he has to deal; it is the present and the future, and not the past that he ‘breaks his sleeps’ for. Whether the Ancients used those fables for purposes of innovation, and gradual encroachment on error or not, here is a Modern, he tells us, who for one, cannot dispense with them in _his_ teaching.
For having disposed of his _graver_ readers–those of the dull and phlegmatic kind–in the preceding paragraph, and not thinking it worth exactly that kind of trouble it would have cost then to make himself more explicit for the sake of reaching _their_ apprehension, he proceeds to the following argument, which is not wanting in clearness for ‘those who happen to be of his ear.’
‘Men have proposed to answer two different and contrary ends by the use of Parables, for parables serve as well to instruct and illustrate, as to wrap up and envelope:’ [and what is more, they serve at once that double purpose] ‘so that for _the present we drop the concealed use_, and suppose the _ancient fables_ to be vague undeterminate things _formed for amusement, still the other use must remain_, and can never be given up. And every man of any learning must readily allow that THIS METHOD of INSTRUCTION is grave, sober, exceedingly useful, and _sometimes necessary in the sciences_, as it opens an easy and familiar passage to the human understanding, IN ALL NEW DISCOVERIES that are abstruse and _out of the road of vulgar opinion_. Hence, in the first ages, when such inventions and conclusions of the human reason as are _now_ trite and common, were rare and little known, all things abounded with fables, parables, similes, comparisons, allusions, which were not intended to _conceal_, but to _inform and teach_, whilst the minds of men continued rude and unpractised in matters of subtlety and speculation, and even impatient, and in a manner _incapable of receiving such things as did not directly fall under and strike the senses_.’ [And those ages were not gone by, it seems, for these are the very men of whom Hamlet speaks, ‘who for the most part are capable of nothing but _inexplicable dumb-shows_ and _noise_.’] ‘For as hieroglyphics were in use before writings, so were parables in use _before argument_. _And even to this day_, if any man would let NEW LIGHT IN upon the human understanding, [who was it that proposed to do that?] and _conquer prejudices without raising animosities_, OPPOSITION, or DISTURBANCE–[who was it that proposed to do that precisely]–he _must still_–[note it]–he _must still go in the same path_, and have recourse _to the like method_.’ Where are they then? Search and see. Where are they?–The lost Fables of the New Philosophy? ‘To conclude, the knowledge of the earlier ages was either great or happy; _great_, if _by design_ they made use of tropes and figures; happy, if whilst _they had other views_ they afforded _matter_ and _occasion_ to such _noble contemplations_. Let either be the case, _our_ pains perhaps will not be misemployed, _whether we illustrate_ ANTIQUITY _or_ [hear] THINGS THEMSELVES.
But he complains of those who have attempted such interpretations hitherto, that ‘being _unskilled in nature_, and _their learning_ no more than that of common-place, they have applied the sense of the parables to certain _general_ and _vulgar_ matters, without reaching to their real purport, genuine interpretation and full depth;’ certainly it would not be _that kind_ of criticism, then, which would be able to bring out _the_ subtleties of the _new learning_ from those popular embodiments, which he tells us it will have to take, in order to make some impression, at least, on the common understanding. ‘Settle that question, then, in regard to the old Fables as you will, _our_ pains will not perhaps be misemployed, whether we illustrate antiquity or things themselves,’ and to that he adds, ‘for _myself, therefore, I expect to appear_ NEW in THESE COMMON THINGS, because, leaving untouched such as are sufficiently plain and open, I _shall drive only those_ that are either deep or rich.’ ‘For myself?’–I?–‘I expect to appear new in these common things.’ But elsewhere, where he lays out the argument of them, by the side of that ‘resplendent and lustrous mass of matter,’ those _heroical_ descriptions of virtue, duty, and felicity, that _others_ have got glory from, it is some _Poet_ we are given to understand that is going to be found _new_ in them. _There_, the argument is all–_all_–_poetic_, and it is a theme for one who, if he know how to handle it, need not be afraid to put in his modest claim, with those who sung of old, the wrath of heroes, and their arms.
Any one who does not perceive that the passages here quoted were designed to introduce more than ‘the wisdom of the ancients’, the reader who is disposed to conclude after a careful perusal of these reiterated statements, in regard to the form in which doctrines differing from received opinions must be delivered, taken in connexion, too, with that draught of the new science of the _human culture_ and its parts and points, which has just been produced here,–the reader who concludes that _this_ is, after all, a science that _was_ able to dispense with this method of appeal to the senses and the imagination; that it was _not_ obliged to have recourse to that path;–that the NEW LEARNING, ‘the NEW DISCOVERY,’ had here no fables, no particular topics, and methods of tradition; that it contented itself with abstractions and generalities, with ‘the husks and shells of sciences,’–such an one ought, undoubtedly, to be left undisturbed in that opinion. He belongs precisely to that class of persons which this author himself deliberately proposed to leave to such conclusions. He is one whom this philosopher himself would not take any trouble at all to enlighten on such points. The other reading, with all its _gravity_, was designed for him. The time for such an one to adopt the reading here produced, will be, when ‘those who are incapable of receiving such things as do not directly fall under and strike the senses,’ have, at last, got hold of it; when ‘the groundlings, who, for the most part are capable of nothing but dumb show and noise,’ have had their ears split with it, it will be time enough for him.
This Wisdom of the Moderns, then, to resume with those to whom the appeal is made, this new learning which the Wise Man and Innovator of the Modern Ages tells us must be clothed in fable, and adorned with verse, this learning that must be made to fall under and strike the senses; this dumb show of science, that is but show to him who cannot yet take the player’s own version of what it means; this illustrated tradition, this beautiful tradition of the New Science of Human Nature,–where is it? This historical collection, this gallery that was to contain scientific draughts and portraitures of the human character, that should exhaust its varieties,–where is it? These new Georgics of the mind whose _argument is here_,–where are they? This new Virgil who might promise himself such glory,–such new glory in the singing of them,–where is he? Did he make so deep a summer in his verse, that the track of the precept was lost in it? Were the flowers, and the fruit, so thick, there; was the reed so sweet that the argument of that great husbandry could no point,–could leave no furrow in it?
‘Where souls do couch, on flowers, we’ll hand in hand, And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze: Dido and her Aeneas shall want troops,
And all the haunt be ours.’
‘The neglect of our times,’ says this author, in proposing this great argument, this new argument, of the application of SCIENCE to the Culture and Cure of the Mind, ‘the neglect of _our times_, wherein _few men do hold any consultations_ touching the _reformation of their lives, may_ make _this part_ seem superfluous. As Seneca excellently saith, “De partibus vitae quisquae deliberat, de summa nemo.”‘ And is that, after all,–is that the trouble still? Is it, that that characteristic of Elizabeth’s time–that same thing which Seneca complained of in Nero’s,–is it that _that_ is not yet obsolete? Is that the reason, this so magnificent part, this radical part of the new discovery of the Modern Ages, is still held ‘superfluous?’ ‘De partibus vitae quisquae deliberat, de summa nemo.’ ‘Now that we have spoken, and spoken for so many ages, of this fruit of life, it remaineth to speak of the husbandry thereunto.’ That is the scientific proposition which has waited now two hundred and fifty years, for a scientific audience. The health of the soul, the scientific promotion of it, the FRUIT OF LIFE, and the observations of its husbandry. ‘And if it be said,’ he continues, anticipating the first inconsiderate objection, ‘if it be said that the cure of mens’ minds belongeth to sacred divinity, it is most true; but yet, moral philosophy may be preferred unto her, as a wise servant and humble handmaid. For as the Psalm saith, that the eyes of the handmaid look perpetually towards the _mistress_, and yet, no doubt, many things are left to the _discretion_ of the handmaid, to _discern of the mistress’ will_; so ought moral philosophy to give a constant attention to the doctrines of divinity, and yet so as it may yield of herself, within due limits, many sound and profitable directions.’
For the times that were ‘far off’ when that proposition was made, it is brought out anew and reopened. Oh, people of the ages of arts and sciences that are called by this man’s name, shall we have the fruits of his new doctrine of KNOWLEDGE, brought to our relief in all other fields, and reject it in this, which he himself laid out, and claimed as its only worthy field? Instructed now in the validity of its claims, by its ‘magnitude of effects’ in every department of the human practice to which it has yet been applied, shall we permit the department of it, on which _his_ labour was expended, to escape that application? Shall we suffer that wild barbaric tract of the human life which the will and affections of man create,–that tract which he seized,–which it was his labour to collect into an art or science, to lie unreclaimed still?
Oh, Man of the new ages of science, will you have the new fore-knowledge, the magical command of effects, which the scientific inquiry into causes as they are actual in nature, puts into our hands, in every other practice, in every other culture and cure,–will you have the rule of this knowledge imposed upon your fields, and orchards, and gardens, to assist weak nature in her ‘conservations’ and ‘advancements’ in these,–to teach her to bring forth here the latent ideals, towards which she struggles and vainly yearns, and can only point to, and wait for, till science accepts her hints;–will you have the Georgics of this new Virgil to load your table with its magic clusters;–will you take the Novum Organum to pile your plate with its ideal advancements on spontaneous nature and her perfections;–will you have the rule of that Organum applied in its exactest rigors, to all the physical oppositions of your life, to minister to your physical safety, and comfort, and luxury, and never relax your exactions from it, till the last conceivable degree of these has been secured; and in this department of art and science,–this, in which the sum of our good and evil is contained,–in a mere oversight of it, in a disgraceful indifference and carelessness about it, be content to accept, without criticism, the machinery of the past–instrumentalities that the unlearned ages of the world have left to us,–arts whose precepts were concluded ages ere we knew that _knowledge_ is power.
Shall we be content to accept as a science any longer, a science that leaves human life and its actualities and particulars, unsearched, uncollected, unreduced to scientific nomenclature and axiom? Shall we be content any longer with a knowledge that is _power_,–shall we boast ourselves any longer of a scientific _art_ that leaves _human_ nature,–that makes over human nature to the tampering of an unwatched, unchecked empiricism, that leaves our own souls it may be, and the souls in which ours are garnered up, all wild and hidden, and gnarled within with nature’s crudities and spontaneities, or choked and bitter with artificial, but unscientific, unartistic repression?
Will you have of that divinely appointed and beautiful ‘handmaid,’ that was brought in on to this Globe Theatre, with that upward look,–with eyes turned to that celestial sovereignty for her direction, with the sum of good in her intention, with the universal doctrine of practice in her programme, with the relief ‘of man’s estate and the Creator’s glory’ put down in her role,–with her _new song_–with her song of man’s nature and life _as it is,_ on her lips–will you have of her, only the minister to your physical luxuries and baser wants? Be it so: but in the name of that truth which is able to survive ages of misunderstanding and detraction, in the name of that honor which is armed with arts of self-delivery and tradition, that will enable it to live again, ‘though all the earth o’erwhelm it to men’s eyes,’ while this Book of the Advancemement of Learning stands, do not charge on this man henceforth, that election.
The times of that ignorance in which it could be thus accredited, are past; for the leader of this Advancement is already unfolding his tradition, and opening his books; and he bids us debase his name no longer, into a name for these sordid fatuities. The Leader of ages that are yet to be,–ages whose nobler advancements, whose rational and scientific advancements to the dignity and perfection of the human form, it was given to him and to his company to plan and initiate,–he declines to be held any longer responsible for the blind, demoniacal, irrational spirit, that would seize on his great instrument of science, and wrest it from its nobler object and intent, and debase it into the _mere_ tool of the senses; the tool of a materialism more base and sordid than any that the world has ever known; more sordid, a thousand-fold, than the materialism of ages, when there was yet a god in the wood and the stone, when there was yet a god in the brick and the mortar. This ‘_broken science_’ that has no end of ends, this godless science, this railway learning that travels with restless, ever quickening speed, no whither,–these dead, rattling ‘branches’ and slivers of arts and sciences, these _modern_ arts and sciences, hacked and cut away from that tree of sciences, from which they sprang, whereon they grew, are _his_ no longer. He declines to be held any longer responsible for a materialism that shelters itself under the name of philosophy, and identifies his own name with it. Call it science, if you will, though science be the name for unity and comprehension, and the spirit of life, the spirit of the largest whole; call it philosophy if you will, if you think philosophy is capable of being severed from that common trunk, in which this philosopher found its pith and heart,–call it science,–call it philosophy,–but call it not, he says,–call it not henceforth ‘_Baconian_.’
For _his_ labor is to collect into an art or science the doctrine of _human_ life. He, too, has propounded that problem,–he has translated into the modern speech, that problem, which the inspired Leader of men, of old propounded. ‘What is a man profited if he should gain the whole world and lose his own soul; or what can a man give in exchange for his soul?’ He, too, has recognized that ideal type of human excellence, which the Great Teacher of old revealed and exemplified; he has found scientifically,–he has found in the universal law,–that divine dogma, which was taught of old by One who spake as having authority–One who also had looked on nature with a loving and observant eye, and found in its source, the Inspirer of his doctrine. In his study of that old book of divinity which he calls the book of God’s Power this Modern Innovator has found the scientific version of that inspired command ‘Be ye therefore perfect.’ This new science of morality, which is ‘_moral knowledge_,’ is able to recognise the inspiration and divinity of that received platform and exemplar of good, and pours in on it the light of a universal illustration. And in his new scientific policy, in his scientific doctrine of success, in his doctrine of the particular and private good, when he brings out at last the rule which shall secure it from all the blows of fortune, what is it but that same old ‘_Primum quaerite_’ which he produces,–clothing it with the authority and severe exaction of a scientific rule in art,–that same ‘_Primum quaerite_’ which was published of old as a doctrine of faith only. ‘But let men rather build,’ he says, ‘upon that foundation, which is as a corner-stone of divinity and _philosophy, wherein they join close; namely_, that _same ‘Primum quaerite_.’ For divinity saith, ‘Seek first the kingdom of God, and all other things shall be added to you’; and philosophy saith, ‘Primum quaerite bona animi caetera aut aderunt, aut non oberunt.’
And who will now undertake to say that it is, indeed, written in the Book of God,–in the Book of the Providential Design, and Creative Law, or that it is written in the Revelation of a divine good will to men; that those who cultivate and cure the soul–who have a divine appointment to the office of its cure–shall thereby be qualified to ignore its actual laws, or that they shall find in the scientific investigation of its actual history, or in this new–so new, this so wondrous and beautiful science, which is here laid out in all its parts and points on the basis of a universal science of practice,–no ‘ministry’ to their end? Who shall say that the Regimen of the mind, that its Education and healthful culture, as well as its cure, shall be able to accept of no instrumentalities from the _advancement_ of learning? Who shall say that this department of the human life–_this_ alone, is going to be held back to the past, with bonds and cramps of iron, while all else is advancing; that this is going to be held forever as a place where the old Aristotelian logic, which we have driven out of every other field, can keep its hold unchallenged still,–as a place for the metaphysics of the school-men, the empty conceits, the old exploded inanities of the Dark Ages, to breed and nestle in undisturbed?
Who shall claim that this department is the only one, which that gift, that is the last gift of Creation and Providence to man is forbidden to enter?
Surely it is the authorised doctrine of a supernatural aid, that it is never brought in to sanction indolence and the neglect of means and instruments already in our power; and in that book of these new ages in which the doctrine of a successful human practice was promulgated, is it not written that in no department of the human want, ‘can those noble effects, which God hath set forth to be bought as the price of labour, be obtained as the price of a few easy and slothful observances?’
And who that looks on the world as it is at this hour, with all our boasted aids and instrumentalities,–who that hears that cry of sorrow which goes up from it day and night,–who that looks at these masses of men as they are,–who that dares to look at all this vice and ignorance and suffering which no instrumentality, mighty to relieve, has yet reached, shall think to put back,–as if we had no need of it,–this great gift of light and healing,–this gift of _power_, which the scientific ages are bringing in; this gift which the ages of ‘anticipation,’ the ages of inspiration and spontaneous affirmation, could only divinely–diviningly–foresee and promise;–this gift which the knowledge of the creative laws, the historic laws, the laws of kind, as they are actual in the human nature and the human life, puts into our hands? Who shall think himself competent to oppose this benefaction? Alas for such an one! let us take up a lamentation for him. He has stayed too long. The constitution of things, the universal laws of being, and the Providence of this world are against him. The track of the advancing ages goes over him. He is at variance with that which was and shall be. The world’s wheel goes over him. And whosoever falls on that stone shall be broken, but on whomsoever it falls it shall grind him to powder.
It is by means of the scientific Art of Delivery and Tradition, that this doctrine of the scientific Culture and Cure of the Mind, which is the doctrine of the scientific ages, has been made over to us in the abstract; and it is by means of the rule of interpretation, which this Art of Delivery prescribes, it is by means of the secret of an Illustrated Tradition, or Poetic Tradition of this science, that we are now enabled to unlock at last those magnificent collections in it–those inexhaustible treasures and mines of it–which the Discoverer, in spite of the time, has contrived to leave us, in that form of Fable and Parable in which the advancing truth has always been left,–in that form of Poesy in which the highest truth has, from of old, been uttered. For over all this ground lay extended, then, in watchful strength all safe and unespied, the basilisk of whom the Fable goes, if he sees you first, you die for it,–_but_ if YOU SEE HIM FIRST, HE DIES. And this is the Bishop who fought with a _mace_, because he would _kill_ his enemy and not _wound_ him.