§ 1.
Many philosophers have asserted that the body is, as it were, the
prison-house of the spirit, holding it only too firmly to what is
earthly, and checking its so-called flight towards perfection. On the
other hand, it has been held by another philosophic school that
knowledge and virtue are not so much an end as a means towards
happiness, and that the whole perfection of man culminates in the
amelioration of his body.
Both opinions,[18] methinks, are one-sided. The latter system has almost
entirely disappeared from our schemes of ethics and philosophy, and is,
I am inclined to think, not seldom cast out with over-fanatical
zeal—(nothing assuredly is so dangerous to truth as when one-sided
opinions meet with one-sided opponents). The former system has on the
whole been more patiently endured, since it has the greatest capacity
for warming the heart towards virtue, and has already justified its
value in the case of truly great souls. Who is there that does not
admire the strength of mind of a Cato, the lofty virtue of a Brutus and
Aurelius, the equanimity of an Epictetus and a Seneca? But, in spite of
all this, the system in question is nothing more than a beautiful
aberration of the understanding, a real extreme, which in its wild
enthusiasm underrates one part of our human nature, and desires to raise
us into the order of ideal beings without at the same time relieving us
of our humanity,—a system which runs directly contrary to all that we
historically know or philosophically can explain either of the evolution
of the single man or of that of the entire race, and can in no way be
reconciled with the limitations of our human soul. It is therefore here,
as ever, the wisest plan to hold the balance between the two opinions,
and thus reach with greater certainty the middle line of truth. But,
inasmuch as a mistake has very often been committed by treating the
mental powers in an exclusive way, that is, in so far as they can be
considered in independence of the body, and through an intentional
subordination of this same body, the aim of this present essay will be
to bring into a clearer light the remarkable contributions made by the
body to the workings of the soul, and the great and real influence of
the animal system of sensations upon the spiritual. But this is as like
the philosophy of Epicurus as the holding of virtue to be the _summum
bonum_ is stoicism.
Before we seek to discover those higher moral ends which the animal
nature assists us in attaining to, we must establish their physical
necessity, and come to an agreement as to some fundamental conceptions.
PHYSICAL CONNECTION.
THE ANIMAL NATURE STRENGTHENS THE ACTION OF THE SPIRIT.
§ 2.—_Organism of the Operations of the Soul—of its Maintenance and
Support—of Generation._
All those conditions which we accept as requisite to the perfection of
man in the moral and material world may be included in one fundamental
sentence: The perfection of man consists in his ability to exercise his
powers in the observation of the plan of the world; and since between
the measure of the power and the end towards which it works there must
exist the completest harmony, perfection will consist in the highest
possible activity of his powers, and, at the same time, in their mutual
subordination. But the action of the human soul is—from a necessity
which I do not understand—bound fast to the action of matter. The
changes in the world of matter must be modified and, so to speak,
refined by a peculiar class of secondary powers—I mean the senses—before
they can produce in me any corresponding ideas; while, on the other
hand, a fresh set of organic powers, the agents of voluntary movements,
must come into play between the inner spirit and the outward world in
order to make the changes of the former tell upon the latter; thus must
the operations of thinking and sensation alike correspond to certain
movements of the internal sensorium. All this goes to make up the
organism of the soul’s activities.
But matter is spoil stolen from the eternal change, and wears itself
away, even as it works; in its movement its very element is driven from
its grooves, chased away and lost. Because now, on the contrary, that
simple essence, the soul, possesses in itself permanence and stability,
and in its essence neither gains nor loses aught,—matter cannot keep
step with the activity of the spirit, and there would thus soon be an
end of the organism of spiritual life, and therewith of all action of
the soul. To prevent which there must be added to the first system of
organic powers a second one, which shall make good the losses sustained,
and sustain the decay by a chain of new creations ready to take the
place of those that have gone. This is the organism of maintenance.
Still further. After a short period of activity, when the equal balance
of loss and reparation is once removed, man quits the stage of life, and
the law of mortality depopulates the earth. There is not room enough for
the multitude of sentient beings, whom eternal love and wisdom seemed to
have called to a happy existence, to live side by side within the narrow
boundaries of our world, and the life of one generation shuts out the
life of another. Therefore was it necessary that new men should appear,
to take the place of those who had departed, and that life should be
kept up in unbroken succession. But of _creation_ there is no longer any
trace; what now becomes new becomes so only by development. The
development of man must come to pass through man, if it is to bear a
proportion to the original number, if man is to be cultivated into man.
On this account a new system of organic powers was added to the two that
had preceded it, which had for its object to quicken and to develop the
seed of humanity. This is the organism of generation.
These three organisms, brought into the most thorough connection, local
and real, go to form the human body.
§ 3.—_The Body._
The organic powers of the human body naturally divide themselves into
two principal classes. The first class embraces those which no known
laws and phenomena of the physical world enable us to comprehend; and to
these belong the sensibility of the nerves and the irritability of the
muscles. Inasmuch as it has hitherto been impossible to penetrate the
economy of the invisible, men have sought to interpret this unknown
mechanism through that with which they were already familiar, and have
considered the nerves as a canal conducting an excessively fine,
volatile, and active fluid, which in rapidity of motion and fineness was
held to excel ether and the electric spark. This fluid was held to be
the principle and author of our sensibility and power of motion, and
hence received the name of the spirit of life. Further, the irritability
of the muscles was held to consist in a certain effort to contract
themselves on the touch of some external provocation. These two
principles go to form the specific character of animal organism.
The second class of powers embraces those which we can account for by
the universally-known laws of physics. Among these I reckon the
mechanism of motion, and the chemistry of the human body, the source of
vegetable life. Vegetation, then, and animal mechanism, thoroughly
mingled, form the proper physical life of the human body.
§ 4.—_Animal Life._
This is not yet all. Since loss or misfortune, when it occurs, falls
more or less within the will-power of the spirit, the spirit must be
able to make some compensation for it. Further, since the body is
subjected to all the consequences of this connection, and in the circle
of circumstances is exposed to countless hostile forces, it must be
within the power of the soul to protect the body against these harmful
influences, and to bring it into such relations with the physical world
as shall tend most to its preservation. The soul must therefore be
conscious of the present evil or good state of its organs; from a bad
state it must draw dissatisfaction, from a good state satisfaction, so
that it may either retain or remove the condition, seek it or fly from
it. Here then we have the organism at once and closely linked to the
sensational capacity, and the soul drawn into the service of the body.
We have now something more than vegetation, something more than a dead
model and the mechanism of nerves and muscles. Now we have animal
life.[19]
A healthy condition of our animal life is, as we know, most important
for the healthy condition of our spiritual life; and we dare never
ignore the animal life so long as we are not quit of it. It must
therefore possess a firm foundation, not easily moved; that is, the soul
must be fitted and prepared for the actions of our bodily life by an
irresistible power. Were then the sensations of our animal loss or
well-being to become spiritual perceptions, and had they to be created
by thought, how often would the soul be obscured by the overwhelming
blaze of passion; how often stifled by laziness and stupidity; how often
overlooked in the absorptions and distractions of business! Further,
would not, in this case, the most perfect knowledge of his economy be
demanded of the animal man—would not the child need to be a master in a
branch of knowledge in which, after fifty years of investigation,
Harvey, Boerhaave, and Haller were only beginners? The soul could thus
have positively no _idea_ of the condition she was called upon to alter.
How shall she become acquainted with it? how shall she begin to act at
all?
§ 5.—_Animal Sensations._
So far we have met with such sensations only as they take their rise in
an antecedent operation of the understanding; but we have now to deal
with sensations in which the understanding bears no part. These
sensations, if they are not exactly the expression of the present state
of our organs, mark it out specifically, or, better, accompany it. These
sensations have quickly and forcibly to determine the will to aversion
or desire; but, on the other hand, they are ever to float on the surface
of the soul, and never to extend to the province of the reason. The
part, accordingly, played by thought, in the case of a mental
perception, is here taken up by that modification in the animal parts of
us which either threatens the destruction of the sensation or insures
its duration: that is, an eternal law of wisdom has combined with that
condition of the machine which confirms its welfare, a pleasant emotion
of the soul; and, on the other hand, with that condition which
undermines it and threatens ruin, an unpleasant emotion is connected;
and this in such a manner that the sensation itself has not the faintest
resemblance to the state of the organs of which it is the mark. Animal
sensations have, on this showing, a double origin: (1) in the present
state of the machine; (2) in the capacity or faculty (of sensation).
We are now able to understand how it is that the animal sensations have
the power to drive the soul with an irresistible tyranny in the
direction of passionate action, and not seldom gain the upper hand in a
struggle with those sensations which are most purely intellectual. For
these last the soul has produced by means of thought, and therefore they
can by thought be solved or even destroyed. Abstraction and philosophy
have this power over the passions, over opinions—in short, over all the
situations of life; but the animal sensations are forced upon the soul
by a blind necessity, by a stern mechanical law. The understanding,
which did not create them, likewise cannot dissolve them and make them
as if they were not, though by giving an opposite direction to our
attention it can do much to weaken their power and obscure their
pretensions. The most stubborn stoic, lying in the agony of the stone,
will never be able to boast that he did not feel its pain; but, lost in
the consideration of the end of his existence, he will be able to divide
his whole power of sensation and perception, and the preponderating
pleasure of a great achievement, which can subordinate even pain to the
general welfare, will be victorious over the present discomfort. It was
neither absence of nor annihilation of sensation that enabled Mucius,
while he was roasting his hand in the fire, to gaze upon the foe with
the Roman look of proud repose, but the thought of great Rome in
admiration of his deed. This it was that ruled in his soul, and kept it
grandly self-possessed, so that the terrible provocation of the animal
pain was too slight to disturb the equal balance of his nature. But not
on this account was the pain the Roman suffered less than it would have
been in the case of the most effeminate voluptuary. True enough, the man
who is accustomed to pass his days in a state of confused ideas will be
less capable of manly action, in the critical moment of sensuous pain,
than he who lives persistently among ideas distinct and clear; but, for
all that, neither the loftiest virtue, nor the profoundest philosophy,
nor even divine religion, can save a man from the result of a necessary
law, though religion can bless her servants even at the stake, and make
them happy as the pile gives way.
The wisest purpose is served by the power which the animal sensations
possess over the perceptive faculty of the soul. The spirit once
initiated in the mysteries of a higher pleasure would look with disdain
upon the motions of its companion, and would pay no heed to the poor
necessities of physical life, were it not that the animal feeling
compelled it to do so. The mathematician, soaring in the region of the
infinite, and dreaming away reality in a world of abstractions, is
roused by the pang of hunger from his intellectual slumber; the natural
philosopher, dismembering the solar system, accompanying through
immeasurable space the wanderings of the planets, is restored by the
prick of a needle to his mother earth; the philosopher who unfolds the
nature of the Deity, and fancies himself to have broken through the
fetters of mortality, returns to himself and everyday life when the
bleak north wind whistles through his crazy hut, and teaches him that he
stands midway between the beast and the angel.
Against an excess of the animal sensations the severest mental exertion
in the end possesses no influence; as they continue to grow stronger,
reason closes her ears, and the fettered soul moves but to subserve the
purposes of the bodily organization. To satisfy hunger or to quench
thirst man will do deeds at which humanity will shudder: against his
will he turns traitor or murderer—even cannibal:—
Tiger! in the bosom of thy mother wilt thou set thy teeth?
—so violent is the influence of the animal sensation over the mind. Such
watchful care has the Creator shown for the preservation of the machine
that the pillars on which it rests are the firmest, and experience has
taught us that it is rather the over-abundance than the want of animal
sensations that has carried destruction with it.
The animal sensations therefore may be said to further the welfare of
the animal nature, just as the moral and intellectual perceptions
promote spiritual progress or perfection. The system of animal
sensations and motions, then, comprises the conception of the animal
nature. This is the ground on which all the activities of the soul
depend, and the conformation of this fabric determines the duration of
the spiritual activity itself, and the degree of ease with which it
works. Here, then, we find ourselves in possession of the first member
of the connection between the two natures.
§ 6.—_Objections against the Connection of the Two Natures, drawn from
Ideas of Morality._
There is no doubt that thus much will be conceded; but the next remark
will be: “Here ends, too, any determining influence the body may
possess; beyond this point the body is but the soul’s inert companion,
with whom she must sustain a constant battle, attendance on whose
necessities robs her of all leisure, whose attacks and interruptions
break the thread of the most intricate speculation, and drive the spirit
from the clearest and plainest conceptions into a chaotic complexity of
the senses, whose pleasures remove the greatest part of our
fellow-creatures far from their high original, and reduce them to the
level of the beasts, which, in a word, entangles them in a slavery from
which death only can deliver them. Is it not senseless and injust,” our
complainer might go on to say, “to mix up a being, simple, necessary,
that has its subsistence in itself, with another being that moves in an
eternal whirl, exposed to every chance and change, and becomes the
victim of even external necessity?” On cooler afterthought we shall
perhaps see a great beauty take its rise out of this apparent confusion
and want of plan.
PHILOSOPHICAL CONNECTION.
ANIMAL IMPULSES AWAKEN AND DEVELOP THE IMPULSES OF THE SOUL.
§ 7.—_The Method_
The surest way, perhaps, to throw some light upon this matter is the
following: Let us detach from man all idea of what can be called
organization,—that is, let the body be separated from the spirit,
without, however, depriving the latter of the power to attain to
representations of, and to produce actions in, the corporeal world; and
let us then inquire how the spirit would set to work, would develop its
powers, what steps it would take towards its perfection: the result of
this investigation must be founded upon facts. The actual culture of the
individual man is thus surveyed, while we at the same time obtain a view
of the development of the whole race. In the first place, then, we have
this abstract case: the power of representation and will are present, a
sphere of action is present, and a free way opened from the soul to the
world, from the world to the soul. The question then is, How will the
spirit act?
§ 8.—_The Soul viewed as out of connection with the Body._
We can form no conception without the antecedent will to form it; no
will, unless by experience of a better condition thereby induced,
without [some] sensation; no sensation without an antecedent idea (for
along with the body we excluded bodily sensations), therefore no idea
without an idea.
Let us consider now the case of a child; that is, according to our
hypothesis, a spirit conscious in itself of the power to form ideas, but
which for the first time is about to exercise this power. What will
determine him to think, unless it be the pleasant sensation thereby
arising, and what can have procured for him the experience of this
pleasurable sensation? We have just seen that this, again, could be
nothing but thinking, and he is now for the first time to think.
Further, what shall invite him to a consideration of the [external]
world? Nothing but the experience of its perfection in so far as it
satisfies his instinct of activity, and as this satisfaction affords him
pleasure. What, then, can determine him to an exercise of his powers?
Nothing but the experience of their existence; and all these experiences
are now to be made for the first time. He must therefore have been
active from all eternity—which is contrary to the case as stated—or he
will to all eternity be inactive, just as the machine without a touch
from without remains idle and motionless.
§ 9.—_The Soul viewed in connection with the Body._
Now let the animal be added to the spirit. Weave these two natures so
closely together as they really are closely woven, and cause an unknown
something, born of the economy of the animal body, to be assailed by the
power of sensation,—let the soul be placed in the condition of physical
pain. _That_ was the first touch, the first ray to light up the night of
slumbering powers, a touch as from a golden finger upon nature’s lute.
Now is _sensation_ there, and _sensation_ only was it that before we
missed. This kind of sensation seems to have been made on purpose to
remove all these difficulties. In the first case none could be produced
because we were not allowed to presuppose an idea; here a modification
of the bodily organs becomes a substitute for the ideas that were
lacking, and thus does animal sensation come to the help of the spirits
inward mechanism, if I may so call it, and puts the same in motion. The
will is active, and the action of a single power is sufficient to set
all the rest to work. The following operations are self-developed and do
not belong to this chapter.
§ 10.—_Out of the History of the Individual._
Let us follow now the growth of the soul in the individual man in
relation to what I am trying to demonstrate, and let us observe how all
his spiritual capacities grow out of motive powers of sense.
_a._ The _child_. Still quite animal; or, rather more and at the same
time less than animal—human animal (for that being which at some time
shall be called man can at no time have been only animal). More wretched
than an animal, because he has not even instinct—the animal-mother may
with less danger leave her young than the mother abandon her child. Pain
may force from him a cry, but will never direct him to the source from
which it comes. The milk may give him pleasure, but he does not seek it.
He is altogether passive.
His thinking rises only to sensation.
His knowledge is but pain, hunger—and what binds these together.
_b._ The _boy_. Here we have already reflection, but only in so far as
it bears upon the satisfaction of the animal impulse. “He learns to
value,” says Garve,[20] “the things of others, and his actions in
respect of others, first of all through the fact of their affording him
[sensuous] pleasure.”
A love of work, the love to his parents, to friends, yea even love to
God, must go along the pathway of physical sense [Sinnlichkeit] to reach
his soul. “That only is the sun,” as Garve elsewhere observes, “which in
itself enlightens and warms: all other objects are dark and cold; but
they too can be warmed and illumined when they enter into such a
connection with the same as to become partakers of its rays.”[21] The
good things of the spirit possess a value with the boy only by
transference—they are the spiritual means to an animal end.
_c._ _Youth and man._ The frequent repetition of this process of
induction at last brings about a readiness, and the transference begins
to discover a beauty in what at first was regarded simply as a means.
The youth begins to linger in the process without knowing why. Without
observing it, he is often attracted to think about this means. Now is
the time when the beams of spiritual beauty in itself begin to fall upon
his open soul; the feeling of exercising his powers delights him, and
infuses an inclination to the object which, up to this time, was a means
only: the first end is forgotten. His enlightened mind and the richer
store of his ideas at last reveal to him the whole worth of spiritual
pleasures—the means has become the highest end.
Such is the teaching more or less of the history of each individual
man—whose means of education have been fairly good; and wisdom could
hardly choose a better road along which to lead mankind. Is not the mass
of the people even to this day in leading-strings?—much like our boy.
And has not the prophet from Medina left us an example of striking
plainness how to bridle the rude nature of the Saracens?
On this subject nothing more excellent can be said than what Garve
remarked in his translation of Ferguson’s “Moral Philosophy,” in the
chapter upon the Natural Impulses, and has developed as follows: “The
impulse of self-preservation and the attraction of sensual pleasure
first bring both man and beast to the point of action: he first comes to
value the things of others and his own actions in reference to them
according as they procure him pleasure. In proportion as the number of
things under whose influence he comes increases do his desires cover a
wider circle; as the road by which he reaches the objects of his wishes
lengthens, so do his desires become more artificial. Here we come to the
first line of separation between man and the mere animal, and herein we
may even discover a difference between one species of animal and
another. With few animals does the act of feeding follow immediately
upon the sensation of hunger; the heat of the chase, or the industry of
collection must come first. But in the case of no animal does the
satisfaction of this want follow so late upon the preparations made in
reference thereto as in the case of man; with no animal does the
endeavor wind through so long a chain of means and intentions before it
arrives at the last link. How far removed from this end, though in
reality they have no other, are the labors of the artisan or the
ploughman. But even this is not all. When the means of human subsistence
have become richer and more various through the institutions of society;
when man begins to discover that without a full expenditure of time and
labor a surplus remains to him; when at the same time by the
communication of ideas he becomes more enlightened; then he begins to
find a last end for all his actions in himself; he then remarks that,
even when his hunger is thoroughly satisfied, a good supply of raiment,
a roof above him, and a sufficiency of furniture within doors, there
still remains something over and above for him to do. He goes a step
further, he becomes conscious that in those very actions by which he has
procured for himself food and comfort—in so far as they have their
origin in certain powers of a spirit, and in so far as they exercise
these powers—there lies a higher good than in the external ends which
thereby are attained. From this moment on he works, indeed—in company
with the rest of the human race, and along with the whole animal
kingdom—to keep himself alive, and to provide for himself and his
friends the necessaries of physical existence;—for what else could he
do? What other sphere of action could he create for himself, if he were
to leave this? But he knows now that nature has not so much awakened in
him these various impulses and desires for the purpose of affording so
many particular pleasures,—but, and far more, places before him the
attraction of those pleasures and advantages, in order that these
impulses may be put in motion—and with this end, that to a thinking
being there may be given matter for thought, to a sensitive spirit
matter for sensations, to the benevolent means of beneficence, and to
the active opportunity for work. Thus does everything, living or
lifeless, assume to him a new form. All the facts and changes of life
were formerly estimated by him only in so far as they caused him
pleasure or pain: _now_, in so far as they offer occasion for expression
of his desire of perfection. In the first case, events are now good, now
bad; in the latter, all are equally good. For there is no chance or
accident which does not give scope for the exercise of some virtue, or
for the employment of a special faculty. At first he loved his fellows
because he believed that they could be of use to him; he loves them now
far more—because he looks upon benevolence as the condition of the
perfect mind.”
§ 11.—_From the History of Humanity._
Yet once more, a glance at the universal history of the whole human
race—from its cradle to the maturity of full-grown man—and the truth of
what has been said up to this point will stand forth in clearest relief.
Hunger and nakedness first made of man a hunter, a fisher, a cowherd, a
husbandman, and a builder. Sensual pleasure founded families, and the
defencelessness of single men was the origin of the tribe. Here already
may the first roots of the social duties be discovered. The soil would
soon become too poor for the increasing multitude of men; hunger would
drive them to other climates and countries that would discover their
wealth to the necessity that forced men to seek it; in the process they
would learn many improvements in the cultivation of the soil, and
perhaps some means to escape the hurtful influence of many things they
would necessarily encounter. These separate experiences passed from
grandfather to grandson, and their number was always on the increase.
Man learned to use the powers of nature against herself; these powers
were brought into new relations and the first invention was made. Here
we have the first roots of the simple and healing arts—always, we admit,
art and invention for the behoof of the _animal_, but still an exercise
of power, an addition to knowledge; and at the very fire in whose embers
the savage roasted his fish, Boerhaave afterwards made his inquiries
into the composition of bodies; through the very knife which this wild
man used to cut up his game, Lionet invented what led to his discovery
of the nerves of insects; with the very circle wherewith at first hoofs
were measured, Newton measures heaven and earth. Thus did the body force
the mind to pay attention to the phenomena around it; thus was the world
made interesting and important, through being made indispensable. The
inward activity of their nature, and the barrenness of their native
soil, combined in teaching our forefathers to form bolder plans, and
invented for them a house wherein, under conduct of the stars, they
could safely move upon rivers and seas, and sail toward regions new:—
Fluctibus ignotis insultavere carinæ.
(Their keels danced upon waves unknown.)
Here again they met with new productions of nature, new dangers, new
needs that called for new exertions. The collision of animal instincts
drives hordes against hordes, forges a sword out of the raw metal,
begets adventurers, heroes, and despots. Towns are fortified, states are
founded: with the states arise civic duties and rights, arts, figures,
codes of law, subtle priests—and gods.
And now, when necessities have degenerated into luxury, what a boundless
field is opened to our eyes! Now are the veins of the earth burrowed
through, the foot of man is planted on the bottom of the sea, commerce
and travel flourish:—
Latet sub classibus æquor.
(The sea is hid beneath the fleets.)
The West wonders at the East, the East at the West; the productions of
foreign countries accustom themselves to grow under other skies, and the
art of gardening shows the products of three-quarters of the world in
one garden. Artists learn her works from nature, music soothes the
savage breast, beauty and harmony ennoble taste and manners, and art
leads the way to science and virtue “Man,” says Schlözer,[22] “this
mighty demigod, clears rocks from his path, digs out lakes, and drives
his plough where once the sail was seen. By canals he separates quarters
of the globe and provinces from one another; leads one stream to another
and discharges them upon a sandy desert, changed thereby into smiling
meadow; three-quarters of the globe he plunders and transplants them
into a fourth. Even climate, air, and weather acknowledge his sway.
While he roots out forests and drains the swamp, the heaven grows clear
above his head, moisture and mist are lost, winter becomes milder and
shorter, because rivers are no longer frozen over.” And the mind of man
is refined with the refining of his clime.
The state occupies the citizen in the necessities and comforts of life.
Industry gives the state security and rest from without; from within,
granting to thinker and artist that fruitful leisure through which the
age of Augustus came to be called the Golden Age. The arts now take a
more daring and untrammelled flight, science wins a light pure and dry,
natural history and physical science shatter superstition, history
extends a mirror of the times that were, and philosophy laughs at the
follies of mankind. But when luxury grows into effeminacy and excess,
when the bones begin to ache, and the pestilence to spread and the air
becomes infected, man hastens in his distress from one realm of nature
to another, that he may at least find means for lessening his pains.
Then he finds the divine plant of China; from the bowels of the earth he
digs out the mightily-working mercury, and from the poppy of the East
learns to distil its precious juice. The most hidden corners of nature
are investigated; chemistry separates material objects into their
ultimate elements, and creates worlds of her own; alchemists enrich the
province of physical science; the microscopic glance of a Schwammerdam
surprises nature in her most secret operations. Man goes still further;
necessity or curiosity transcends the boundaries set by superstition: he
seizes the knife, takes courage, and the masterpiece of nature is
discovered, even man. Thus did it behoove the least, the poorest, to
help us to reach the highest; disease and death must lend their aid to
man in teaching him Γνῶθι σεαύτον (“Know thyself!”). The plague produced
and formed our Hippocrates, our Sydenhams, as war is the mother of
generals; and we owe to the most devastating disease that ever visited
humanity an entire reformation of our medical system.
Our intention was to show the influence upon the perfecting of the soul
through the temperate enjoyment of the pleasures held out by the senses;
and how marvellously has the matter changed, even while under our hands!
We found that even excess and abuse in this direction have furthered the
real demands of humanity; the deflections from the primitive end of
nature—merchants, conquerors, and luxury—have, undoubtedly, tended to
hasten a progress which had otherwise been more regular, but very slow.
Let us compare the old world with the new! In the first, desire was
simple, its satisfaction easy; but how mistaken, how painful was the
judgment passed on nature and her laws! Now, the road is made more
difficult by a thousand windings, but how full the light that has been
shed upon all our conceptions!
We may, then, repeat: Man needed to be an animal before he knew that he
was a spirit; he needed to crawl in the dust before he ventured on a
Newtonian flight through the universe. The body, therefore, is the first
spur to action; sense the first step on the ladder to perfection.