The development of the human consciousness, according to the triple
principle of its existence, or of its nature as compounded of spirit or
mind, soul, and animated body, must begin with the soul, and not with
the spirit, even though the latter be the most important and supreme.
For the soul is the first grade in the progress of development. In
actual life, also, it is the beginning and the permanent foundation, as
well as the primary root of the collective consciousness. The
development of the spirit or mind of man is much later, being first
evolved in or out of, by occasion of, or with the co-operation of the
soul. But even when thus developed, the mind (under which term we
comprise the will, as well as the understanding) is neither in all men,
nor always in the same individual, equally active. In this respect we
may apply to it what has been said of the wind, which imparts vital
motion and freshness to all the objects of outward nature: we “hear the
sound thereof, but we can not tell whence it comes, nor whither it
goeth.”[13] The thinking soul, on the contrary, is, properly speaking,
always, though silently, working; and it is highly probable that it is
never without conceptions. Of these, indeed, it may either possess a
clear or an almost totally indistinct consciousness, according to that
principle of unconscious representations propounded as a fundamental
axiom of psychology by a great German philosopher[14] of earlier times,
with whose opinions I often find myself agreeing, and with whom, before
all other men, I would most gladly concur.
Applied to the alternating states of sleeping and waking in the outward
organic life, this would merely mean that in sleep we always dream, even
at those times when our vision leaves no traces on our memory. The great
majority of dreams, even those which in the moment of awakening we still
remember, are absolutely nothing but the conjoint impression of the
bodily tone and the ever-varying temperament of life and health, and of
the disorderly repetition of such ideas as previously to sleeping had
principally engaged the attention. Now, since every opposite comes near
to its correlative in one or more points of contact, which, as they
establish, also serve to maintain the relationship between the two, so
the state of the soul in dreaming will serve strikingly to illustrate
its waking action. Of the great multitude of dreams, which are for the
most part confused and unmeaning, some occasionally stand out from the
rest extremely clear and well-connected, in which the feelings
oftentimes discover a profound significance, or which, at least, as
significant images, interest the fancy. And just in the same manner in
the state of waking there passes before the soul no inconsiderable
number of obscure and vague conceptions, which are not much if at all
clearer or more methodically disposed than the train of images which in
a dream succeed one another without the least intrinsic order or
connection. Still we should greatly err were we to assume, that like the
latter they leave no trace behind them on the soul. On the contrary, in
these undeveloped beginnings of thought there often lies the germ of
very definite ideas, and especially of the various peculiarities of
mental character, as also of the impulses and determination which, at
first slowly and spontaneously formed, eventuate in some definite
susceptibility or direction of the will. Now, as the external life of
man alternates between the waking activity and the state of repose in
sleep, so, too, the thinking soul is divided between the abstracting and
classifying Reason and the inventive Fancy.[15] These two are, as it
were, the halves, so to speak, or the two poles of the thinking soul,
of which the one may be regarded as the positive, the other as the
negative. In respect to the inner fruitful cogitation itself--to the
origination and production of thoughts--the imagination, as the
reproductive faculty, is the positive pole. As for the fancy, properly
so called--the poetic _fancy_, or that which plays an important part in
the inclinations and passions--it is only a particular species and
operation of this faculty, which in its general form also manifests
itself in many other directions and spheres of human thought and action.
To it belongs, for instance, that talent of extensive combination which
distinguishes all the great discoverers in mathematics. Opposite to this
productive faculty of thought, the negative pole is formed by the
classifying faculty of reason, which further elaborates, closely
determines, and limits the materials furnished to it by the fancy. Thus,
then, the place which the fancy--with all the powers, emotions, and
impressions which belong to it--assumes relatively to the external
world, is subordinate and ministerial, since it is only within certain
prescribed limits that it can duly make use of its rich productive
energies, realize its inmost ideas, and act upon them.
Here, therefore, the first place belongs to the ordering and determining
reason, and which here ought to hold the helm. In this respect it may
justly be called the regulative faculty. And yet, since the reason is,
so to speak, only one half of the soul, it must not pretend to exclusive
authority; while, on the other hand, it is but little likely that that
which we may have set before our mind and imagination as the innermost
wish of our hearts, will simply on that account prove invariably a real
and lasting good.
I called the understanding and the will, the reason and the fancy, the
four principal branches of the human consciousness, of which all other
mental powers or faculties of the soul, usually ascribed to man, are but
so many offshoots. These other powers, however, can not with perfect
propriety be called subordinate, since in another point of view they
may, perhaps, be entitled to assume a higher rank. _Assigned_[16]
faculties is, therefore, what I should prefer to term them. Now of such
faculties belonging to the domain of the combining and distinguishing
reason, the memory and the conscience are pre-eminently to be
mentioned. For the memory also in another way is a combining, just as
the conscience is a distinguishing faculty--the latter, however, being
so not only in another, but even in a far higher sense. But we must
postpone for the present the further consideration of this matter, and
consider rather those faculties or functions which are under the
influence of, or at least immediately connected with, the fancy. These
are the senses, and the inclinations or instincts. With regard, then, to
the senses: in the first place, I would simply call your attention to
the fact, that the triple principle of human existence--according to
which the latter consists of a spirit or mind, of a soul, and of a
living body or a bodily manifestation--is repeated as it were in
miniature in every smaller and narrower sphere of man’s consciousness.
This is especially the case with the external senses. Thus viewing them,
however, we should have to reckon but three senses instead of the usual
number of five. This can be managed easily enough by taking the three
lower and counting them as one, since they constitute pre-eminently the
corporeal sense, as contradistinguished from the other two, which are
both higher and more incorporeal. For to the three lower senses, not
only is a material contact indispensable, but also, as in the case of
smell, a sort of chemical assimilation with matter. No doubt, in the act
of seeing and hearing there is likewise a certain but imperceptible
contact of the nerves of the eye and ear with the waves of light and the
undulations of the air; but still this contact is of a different kind
from the former, and of another and indeed of a higher nature, producing
the relations of tone, color, and shape. Now, in this classification,
the eye is the mind or spirit’s sense for beauty of form and grace of
motion. It is so in truth, not merely in those who are endowed with a
taste for the arts or the artistic eye, but far more universally, being
diffused in a greater or less degree through the whole human family.
Special gifts of it, or, rather, higher though varying endowments, are
to be found in some highly-favored individuals; and in the same way the
ear for music is not imparted to all who possess the general organ of
hearing, which we very properly term the soul’s sense. The external
senses man shares, indeed, in common with the brutes, in some of whom
they are found of an exquisite and highly-developed susceptibility. But
these higher endowments of eye and ear, and above all the natural
artistic feeling for beauty of form, and the musical talent, are the
prerogatives of man, conferred upon him by his peculiar faculty of
fancy. On this account they, like that faculty, are distributed
unequally among men, though they are not on that account less real and
undeniable.
The brutes, I said, do not possess them. No doubt there is a certain
melodious rhythm perceptible in the songs of birds. Some, also, of the
more eminently docile and sagacious of terrestial animals do indeed
evince peculiar signs of pleasure in the music of man. Still I would
call this but so many single, unconnected echoes or reverberations of
fancy, since every thing like free choice, further development, or
intrinsic coherence, is wanting to them--all is broken, abrupt, and
incapable of being formed into a whole. In the same manner the artistic
instinct and skill of some animals exhibits, no doubt, a certain
likeness in its operations to the rational works of man, but still it
ever remains a resemblance at best, and is forever divided from reason
by a wide and impassable gulf. It is, as it were, the indistinct trace
of a weather-worn and nearly obliterated inscription--the dying notes of
some far-off music. And hence the agreeable, but, at the same time,
melancholy, impression which such things make upon our feelings. A
something human seems to be stirring in them. They appear to revive a
faint but nearly-forgotten allusion to an originally close and intrinsic
relation between animated nature in its highest developments and man as
its former master and as the divinely-appointed lord of the whole
earthly creation. But if the influence and the operation of the fancy on
the external senses be thus indistinct and difficult to be traced, it is
far more apparent, as also far greater and more decided, on the
inclinations, instincts, and passions which form the second class of the
faculties subordinate to the fancy. It can easily be shown how even the
simplest instincts of self-preservation, and the gratification of the
most natural wants, are in man perceptibly affected by the working of
fancy, so as to be manifoldly diversified thereby. But still more is
this the case with the higher impulses and instincts, as confirmed and
strengthened by use and indulgence, especially when, in their most
violent and intensest development, they become passions. For, in this
shape, both by this excess and by the false direction they give to the
mental powers, originally designed for nobler and more exalted purposes,
they form so many moral perversities and faults of character. I would
here, in the first place, call your attention to the fact, that in all
the passions, when, by their intensity, they become immoral, the fancy
exercises an essential and co-operating influence. And, in the second
place, I would remind you that in the same way as in the external senses
generally, so also in all the principal phases of ill-regulated passion,
the threefold principle of human existence manifests itself once more,
and is even repeated anew in all the several forms and subdivisions of
these special spheres.
Now, the first of these false tendencies and moral
infirmities--unbounded pride and haughtiness--is essentially a mental
blindness and aberration; and vanity, with its delusions, is the same
disease in a lower and milder phase. And all will admit that the source
of this moral failing is an overweening love of self. But in
self-conceit the co-operating influence of fancy is easily and
distinctly traceable. As to the second of those infirmities which
distract and disturb life: I should also be disposed to consider the
sensual passionateness or passionate sensuality as a disease indeed, but
of a brutalizing tendency--an inflammatory habit, a fever of the soul,
which either spends itself in acute and violent paroxysms, or with
slower but certain progress secretly undermines and subverts all man’s
better qualities. In either case, the true source of the evil--the
irresistible energy and the false magic of this passion--lies in an
over-excited, deluded, or poisoned fancy. The natural instinct itself,
in so far as it is inborn and agreeable to nature, is obnoxious to no
reproach. The blame lies altogether in the want of principle, or that
weakness of character which half-voluntarily concedes to the mere
instinct an unlimited authority, or, at least, is incapable of
exercising over it a due control. The third false direction of man’s
instincts which, after the two already noticed, involves human society
in the greatest disorder, and most fatally disturbs the peace of
individuals, is an unlimited love of gain, selfishness, and avarice. No
doubt, in a certain modified and lower sense, the hope of advantage or
profit is the motive that prompts every enterprise; at least, according
to the judgment of the world, nothing is undertaken or transacted
without a view to some object of a selfishness more or less refined. But
when we look to the worst and most violent cases of this disease--an
insatiable avarice and a morbid love of gain, then we at once see the
baneful effects which the fancy, dwelling exclusively on material
property and chinking coin, has on this moral disease, where, with the
golden treasure, mind and soul are shut up and buried, and both
completely numbed and petrified, in the same way that, by certain
organic diseases of the body, the heart becomes ossified.
By these pernicious passions, the higher moral organ of life is in
different ways attacked and destroyed. In the first case, that of the
blinding of the mind by pride and vanity, the moral judgment is
perverted and falsified. In the second case, where the soul is
brutalized by a life of sensuality, the moral sense is clouded, loses
all its delicacy, and is at last totally obliterated. In the third
instance, that of a thorough numbness of the inner life produced by
selfishness and avarice, the idea of moral duty is in the end totally
lost, dies away, and becomes extinct, while the dead Mammon is regarded
as the supreme good of life, and, being set up as the sole object of
human exertion, is substituted for the best and noblest acquisition of
mind and soul. The three passions which we have already examined are
founded indeed on a positive pursuit, however false may be the extent or
perverted the direction in which it is carried out. We might now proceed
with our speculation, and, progressively developing it from the same
point of view, extend and apply it to the aggressive passions, which are
based on a merely negative pursuit--the attack, annihilation, and
destruction of their objects. I allude to the passion of hatred, in its
three different elements or species, viz., anger, malice, and revenge.
But to enter further upon such investigations would be inappropriate in
the present place. Generally, indeed, in touching upon matters so
universally known, my object has been merely to consider and exhibit
them from their psychological side, in order to show partly how the
triple principle of human existence, according to mind or spirit, and
soul, and the third element, wherein the former two conjointly operate,
finds its application, and is repeated, as it were, in miniature, in the
narrower sphere of the natural inclination, both good and bad, and also
in that of the external senses. At the same time it was also my wish to
call attention to the fact, that the dominion of the fancy over its
subordinate faculties, whether of the external senses or the instincts,
manifests itself likewise in the pernicious passions, as exercising over
them a very baneful influence, and, indeed, as being the principal
source of the prevailing aberrations.
These three passions and leading defects of character, which destroy the
inward peace of individuals and disturb the order of society, may be
regarded as so many Stygian floods, so many dark subterranean streams of
lava and fire, which, bursting from the crater of a burning fancy, pour
down upon the region of the will, there again to break out in lawless
deeds and violent catastrophes, or, perhaps, what is far worse, to lie
smoldering in a life frittered away in worthless pursuits, without
object or meaning, or in the frivolous routine of an ordinary existence.
Having thus fully set forth the injurious influence of a disordered
fancy on the deadly and pernicious passions of man, we shall be more at
liberty to consider the other and better aspect of this mental faculty.
For fancy, which, as his peculiar prerogative, distinguishes man from
all other intellectual beings, is a living and fruitful source of good
no less than of evil. Accordingly, in the higher aims of his good
instincts, noble inclinations, and true enthusiasms, fancy gives life
and stability to his exertions, and arouses and calls to his aid all the
energies of mind and intellect.
But here I must make the preliminary remark, that in the ethical domain
generally, and in all moral matters and relations, nothing but a very
fine line divides right from wrong. The fault lies not unfrequently in
the undue exaggeration or false application of a right principle. Pride
and vanity, for instance, are the commonest subjects of the world’s
censure; but who would banish from existence a true sense of honor, and
a noble thirst of fame. And how would society lose all its tone and its
true ring, if we were to withdraw from it all those precious metals!
Avarice and the love of gain are, no doubt, fruitful sources of evil,
and bring into society a thousand--nay, we may rather say, without
exaggeration, ten thousand times ten thousand woes. They are the
occasion of countless feuds and endless litigation; so that the
prevention and settlement of these numberless commercial quarrels and
disputes about property occupy the chief part of the attention, and
absorb the best energies of domestic government. But a gainful industry,
directed to utility, and even to private utility--labor and assiduity
which have no other end in view than a lawful gain and a fair profit,
which not merely does not violate the rights of others, but even pays a
due regard to their interests, will be universally recognized as an
essential part of the frame of society. It forms, indeed, the
alimentary sap of life, which, as it ascends through its different
vessels, diffuses every where both health and strength.
Lastly, we will now consider that other instinct of our nature, which,
even as the strongest, most requires moral regulation and treatment. By
all noble natures among civilized nations, in their best and purest
times, this instinct has, by means of various moral relations, been
spontaneously associated with a higher element. And, indeed, taken
simply as inclination, it possesses some degree of affinity therewith.
Such a strong inclination and hearty love, elevated to the bond of
fidelity, receives thereby a solemn consecration, and is even, according
to the divine dispensation, regarded as a sanctuary. And it is in truth
the moral sanctuary of earthly existence, on which God’s first and
earliest blessing still rests. It is, moreover, the foundation on which
is built the happiness and the moral welfare of races and nations. This
soul-connecting link of love, which constitutes the family union, is the
source from which emanate the strong and beautiful ties of a mother’s
love, of filial duty, and of fraternal affection between brethren and
kindred, which together make up the invisible soul, and, as it were, the
inner vital fluid of the nerves of human society. And here, too, the
great family problem of education must be taken into account--and by
education I mean the whole moral training of the rising generation. For,
however numerous and excellent may be the institutions founded by the
state, or conducted by private individuals, for special branches and
objects, or for particular classes and ages, still, on the whole,
education must be regarded as pre-eminently the business and duty of the
family. For it is in the family that education commences, and there,
also, it terminates and concludes at the moment when the young man,
mature of mind and years, and the grown-up maiden, leave the paternal
roof to found a new family of their own. In seasons of danger, and of
wide-spread and stalking corruption, men are wont to feel--but often,
alas! too late--how entirely the whole frame, both of human and
political society, rests on this foundation of the family union. Not
merely by the phenomena of our own times, but by the examples of the
most civilized nations of antiquity, may this truth be historically
proved; and numerous passages can be adduced from their great historians
in confirmation of it. In all times and in all places a moral revolution
within the domestic circle has preceded the public outbreaks of general
anarchy, which have thrown whole nations into confusion, and undermined
the best-ordered and wisely-constituted states. When all the principal
joists of a building have started, and all its stays and fastenings,
from the roof to the foundation, have become loose, then will the first
storm of accident easily demolish the whole structure, or the first
spark set the dry and rotten edifice in flames.
Next in order and dignity to this soul-binding tie of a noble and
virtuous love, which promotes and preserves the intimate union of all
the parts of social life, another species or form of a lofty, a good,
and a beautiful--nay, even of a sublime--endeavor, shows itself in what
we call enthusiasm. The latter has for its positive object a thought
which the soul having once intellectually embraced, is ever after filled
and possessed with. But the mere inward idea does not suffice here,
however it may in the case of the simple conception or admiration of a
noble thought. The distinctive characteristic of enthusiasm is rather
the untiring energy with which, even at great personal sacrifice, it
labors to realize, or to preserve in realization, the idea which has
once fully possessed the soul. The commonest form or species of this
enthusiasm is patriotism, or the love of country, which best and most
plainly manifests itself in seasons of national danger or calamity. As
the daily life of the individual alternates between labor and rest, and
the refreshing sleep of the night renews the strength which has been
exhausted by the toils of the day, so is it on a larger scale with the
public life of the state in its alternations between peace and war. For
although peace is justly prized and desired, as the greatest of public
blessings, still it is some comfort and compensation for its unavoidable
absence, to know that the presence of war, and the struggle with its
dangers and hardships, first awaken and call into being many of man’s
best energies and noblest virtues, which, in uninterrupted peace and
tranquillity, must have remained forever dormant. But, as is every where
the case throughout the moral domain, a spurious enthusiasm stands close
alongside of the true and genuine species, and requires to be carefully
distinguished from it. Forced to speak of the love of country, and to
paint its genuine traits, I rejoice that I am standing on one of its
chosen and most familiar scenes, where my hearers will understand me at
the first sound, when I declare that the true enthusiasm of patriotism
reveals itself most plainly in misfortune--in the midst of deep and
lasting calamities. Another characteristic is, that it does not
arbitrarily set up its object, or capriciously make its own occasion,
but at the first call of its hereditary sovereign rushes to the post of
danger. The second mark, therefore, of a true patriotism is obedience,
but an obedience associated with the forward energies of a fixed and
prepared resolve, which far outruns the exact requisitions of duty, and
gives rise to a true and real equality--the equality of self-sacrifice,
wherein the high and noble vie with the poor and lowly in the
magnanimous oblation to their country of their best and dearest
possessions.
Another generally known and admitted species of enthusiasm, viz., a
taste for the arts, has not so universal a foundation in the
constitution of the human mind as the feeling of patriotism, but implies
a particular mental disposition, and certain natural endowments, and
consequently the sphere of its operation is far narrower. But here,
also, as in the former case, enthusiasm manifests itself as a property
or state of the soul which is far from being contented with a calm
philosophical contemplation, or admiration, of its inward thought, but
which, longing eagerly to realize and exhibit externally the idea with
which it is possessed, knows no rest nor peace till it has accomplished
its cherished object. And such an ideal enthusiasm is not confined to
the sphere of art alone, but even in the calmer regions of science is
its influence felt. It is, in short, the animating impulse of all great
inventions, creations, and discoveries. Without it Columbus would never
have been able to overcome all the dangers and obstacles which beset the
first design and the final consummation of his bold conception. But in
the latter instances the object of enthusiasm is no longer a pure ideal,
like that which animates the artist, but something great or new in the
region of useful science, or of practical life. In every case, however,
enthusiasm has for its object a something positive and real, which, even
if it be not one which captivates the soul with its transcendent beauty
and excellence, yet, at least, by its exalted nature fills it with
wonder and admiration. Quite otherwise is it with a longing--an
indefinite feeling of profound desire, which is satisfied with no
earthly object, whether real or ideal, but is ever directed to the
eternal and the divine. And although it presupposes, as the condition of
its existence, no special genius or peculiar talents, but proceeds
immediately out of the pure source of the divinely created and immortal
soul--out of the everlasting feelings of the loving soul--still, from
causes which are easily conceivable, a pure development of this species
is _far_ rarer than even of the enthusiasm for art. No doubt, in certain
happy temperaments, under circumstances favorable to their free
expansion, this vague longing is peculiar to the age of youth, and is
often enough observed there. Indeed, it is in that soft melancholy,
which is always joined with the half-unconscious, but pleasant feeling
of the blooming fullness of life, that lies the charm which the
reminiscence of the days of youth possesses for the calm and quiet
contemplations of old age. Here, too, the distinctive mark between the
genuine and the spurious manifestations of this feeling is both simple
enough, and easily found. For as this longing may in general be
explained as an inchoate state--a love yet to be developed--the question
reduces itself consequently to the simple one of determining the nature
of this love. If, upon the first development and gratification of the
passions, this love immediately passes over to and loses itself in the
ordinary realities of life, then is it no genuine manifestation of the
heavenly feeling, but a mere earthly and sensual longing. But when it
survives the youthful ebullition of the feelings, when it does but
become deeper and more intense by time, when it is satisfied with no
joys, and stifled by no sorrows of earth--when, from the midst of the
struggles of life, and the pressure of the world, it turns, like a
light-seeing eye upon the storm-tossed waves of the ocean of time, to
the heaven of heavens, watching to discover there some star of eternal
hope--then is it that true and genuine longing, which, directing itself
to the divine, is itself also of a celestial origin. Out of this root
springs almost every thing that is intellectually beautiful and
great--even the love of scientific certainty itself, and of a profound
knowledge of life and nature. Philosophy, indeed, has no other source,
and we might in this respect call it, with much propriety, the doctrine
or the science of longing. But even that youthful longing, already
noticed, is oftentimes a genuine, or, at least, the first foundation of
the higher and truer species, although, unlike the latter, it is as yet
neither purely evolved nor refined by the course of time.
One general remark remains to be added. This beautiful longing of youth,
a fruitful fancy, and a loving soul, are the best and most precious
gifts of benignant nature, that dispenses with so liberal a hand, or,
rather, not of nature, but of that wonderful Intelligence that presides
in and over it. They form, as it were, a fair garden of hidden life
within man. But as the first man was placed in the garden of Eden, not
merely for his idle enjoyment, but, as it is expressly stated, “to dress
it and to keep it,” so here also, when this law of duty is neglected,
the inmost heart of the most eminent characters and of the most
richly-endowed natures becomes, as it were, a Paradise run wild and
waste.
In the consideration of these three forms of man’s higher effort--viz.,
longing, true love, and genuine enthusiasm--I have throughout silently
implied, what no one can possibly deny, the co-operating influence of
fancy. As in the evil passions it exercises an injurious, inflammatory,
and destructive effect, so also it co-operates beneficially with the
longing which is directed to the good and the divine, and imparts to it
its animating ardor, and its highest energy. In the pure longing,
indeed, the inventive fancy is dissolved in what has ceased to be an
earthly feeling, and has become completely identified with the living
soul. But in the love and enthusiasm which are directed to some actual
object, it is the sustaining flame of life, and of all loftier
aspirations which, as they spring from the source of fancy, attest its
co-operation. It may be that the pure spirits are filled and pervaded
with that loving veneration of the Deity which makes up their blissful
existence, simply by means of the intuitive understanding and the pure
will, without even any admixture of fancy. A human love or enthusiasm,
however, which should be totally devoid of fancy, and free from its
influence, will very rarely, if ever, be met with, and is but barely
conceivable. This, however, does not involve any reproach or censure
against man’s love and enthusiasm, as though they were unreal and
founded on an untruth. For nothing can be more erroneous than to suppose
that the fancy must invariably be untrue and deceiving, or at least
self-deceived. Such a supposition is derived merely from one species of
it--the poetical fancy. And yet even this, in its genuine
manifestations, contains beneath its privileged and permitted garb of
external untruth, a rich store and living source of great and profound
verities, of a peculiar kind, and belonging to an internal truth of
nature. Or, perhaps, this misconception of fancy in general may have its
origin in that abortion or corruption of it which operates so
powerfully in the evil passions, which is undoubtedly in the highest
degree deceptive and delusive. In and by itself, and taken in its widest
signification, this faculty of fancy is, generally speaking, the living
productive thought--the faculty of internal fertility--and which also
with its outward organs, both of an earthly and a higher sense,
apprehends the whole external world. It enters, therefore, with a living
interest into every good as well as base pursuit of man, and giving new
shapes of its own to all that it has once apprehended, labors to invest
it with a living form, to apply and to realize it. In itself, therefore,
and in its pure and uncorrupt state, far from clashing with the divine
truth (which, however, is not in every case identical with the ordinary
reality), fancy, as we shall show more fully in another place, admits of
being easily reconciled with it. But of human things we must always
judge by a human standard, and with due allowance. Even supposing that,
in the case of a true love and a genuine enthusiasm, a passing thought
may be detected, a momentary excitement or manifestation which goes
beyond the exact line of the actual truth--even in such a case this love
and this enthusiasm would not therefore be less real and genuine--still
would not all be exaggeration that might seem so to the unsympathizing
and unenthusiastic intellect. At all events, it must ever remain
undeniable, that emergencies occur in human life which are not met by
the rigorous and mathematical formularies of ethical science, and where
by nothing but a noble sacrifice of love far transcending all the common
and general requisitions of the practical reason--by nothing but a lofty
energy and resolute enthusiasm--can a man extricate himself from his
perplexities and arrive at a happy result. At least, it will not do to
overlook or misrepresent this element of human life, even though it must
be admitted that it is not exempt from those traces of human infirmity
which are also but too apparent in the other aspect of it, the one,
viz., in which the formal reason decides every thing, and is supreme.
As, therefore, the thinking soul is the living center of the human
consciousness, so, on the other hand, the loving soul is the middle
point and the foundation of all moral life, as it shows itself in that
soul-bond of love, which, while it constitutes marriage, is tied and
completed therein. On this union, then, which, as historically
represented, appears to be the true commencement of civilized life, it
will be necessary to say a few words; and the present seems the most
appropriate place for them. Now, both in philosophy and in all general
speculation, there are many reasoners who would derive every thing from
material sensations, and seek to degrade all that is regarded as high
and noble by mankind. So here, also, in the world’s mode of judging of
this union--which, however, all publicly-acknowledged principles regard
as holy--it, and all that belongs to it, is accounted for by some
evanescent passion, some sensual impression, or some interested view or
other, while the existence of any thing like true and genuine love is
absolutely denied. But, in the first place, in the case of a union which
embraces the entire man--his sensuous as well as his rational, or, as I
should prefer to say, his earthly no less than his spiritual nature and
temperament--it can not fairly be urged in objection to it, that both
the elements of his mixed constitution are present in it. On the
contrary, it is obviously most unjust, in our estimate of it, violently
to separate what, even in the least corrupted disposition and purest
characters, are most closely interwoven, or, rather, fused together, and
to subject them to an invidious and destructive analysis. This is not
the way to determine the characteristics of a true and of a false love.
The distinction between them must rather be sought by a simpler method,
similar to that which we followed in the case of longing and
enthusiasm--by considering merely the total result. A feeling of this
kind may appear at the beginning never so violent; it may even amuse
itself with a thorough mental hallucination, which betrays itself in its
very outward aspect, with the profoundest veneration, nay, deification
of its admired object; but in married life this intense admiration soon
gives place to satiety or indifference, and imbittered by mutual
distrust and misunderstanding, it terminates in incurable discord. In
such a case the feeling, even in its ardent beginnings, was no true
love, but simply passion. But in those happy unions, where the first
passionate ardor of youth yields only to an ever-growing and still purer
development of mutual good-will and confidence--while self-sacrifice and
patient endurance, both in good and evil fortune, do but cherish the
same deep affection and calm friendship--here, from the very first, it
was true and genuine love. For, however much the outward appearances of
human life may seem to contradict it, there is not in nature, and even
in the higher region, any love without a return. And as all true love
is reciprocal, so also is true love lasting and indestructible; or, to
“speak as a man,” even because it is the very inmost life of humanity,
it is, therefore, true unto death.
Moreover, in the case of a union which extends to the whole of life, it
is quite consistent that a due regard should be paid to the other
circumstances and relations of existence; only no general rule can be
laid down in this respect. This is a matter which has been left to the
discretion of individuals, even by the divine laws, those sacred
guardians of wedlock, which, however, rigorously insist on the absence
of all compulsion, inasmuch as the free consent of all parties is an
essential condition of this union. And as we should be justified in
taking for granted that this reciprocal act of free will must not be any
inconsiderate or extorted assent, or one induced by other interested
feeling or consideration, so is this expressly asserted by the fact
that, according to the spirit of these holy laws of matrimony, this
union must be founded on mutual affection, and regarded as an
indissoluble bond of souls, and not as a mere civil contract or deed of
sale and transfer of rank and property. The latter, as well as all else,
are mere subordinate matters. Three things, according to God’s moral
government of the world, are indispensable to and required by the
essence and spirit of these holy laws. In the first place, there must be
a mutual consent of the will--a reciprocal fondness and liking, to which
the will, whenever it is left free and unshackled, gives an appropriate
utterance and expression. In the second place, these laws require that
unison of temper which is indispensable to its permanence; while,
thirdly and lastly, they provide that this union, so sacred in the sight
of all civilized nations, should be indissoluble. In perfect harmony
with this last condition is monogamy--the fundamental law of Christian
wedlock. And even among the heathen nations of antiquity, though without
the sanction of law, yet, nevertheless, under the influence of an
instinctive sense of what is morally right and noble, monogamy had
practically become the almost universal rule. Highly important to the
welfare of the human race is the inviolable maintenance of this sacred
law of marriage. So incalculable are the disasters which follow from its
violation, that I can safely venture to assert, without fear of
exaggeration, that a religion which would venture to desecrate or pull
down the venerable sanctuary of wedlock, and consequently to expose the
weaker sex to degradation and oppression, would even thereby bespeak its
own falsity, and renounce all pretensions to a divine origin. Wherever,
on the contrary, this noble institution and woman’s dignity are
acknowledged and respected, there this union of souls in consecrated
love operates, by the means of lasting personal intercourse, a
reciprocal mental influence of the most diversified, salutary, and
beautiful kind. And this influence tends to promote the development not
only of the soul and character, but also of the mind or spirit.
Accordingly in this, the first and the most intimate of all unions, all
the three principles of human existence--body, soul, and spirit, or
mind--alike meet together, and partake of a common evolution. And the
result of this mutual influence relatively to the different characters
of the mental capacities and consciousness of the two sexes, and the
development of each produced thereby, forms, merely in its psychological
aspect, a remarkable and pregnant phenomenon. Consistently, therefore,
with the law I have proposed myself, in every case, to set out in my
investigations from life itself, and from the very center thereof, I can
not well avoid, while treating of the several grades of the development
of man’s consciousness, to give some, though it must be but a partial,
consideration to this interesting topic.
Congeniality of mind and temper forms, it is confessed, the sole basis
of domestic peace and contentment, and of a happy, _i.e._, of a
well-assorted marriage. But to determine on what this depends, in each
individual case, is a problem which, considering the extremely great and
infinite varieties of human dispositions, admits not of a precise or
particular solution. On this point the closest observers are not
unfrequently deceived in their predictions. How often do those agree
very well of whom previously it would not have been supposed possible?
On the contrary, those frequently live most unhappily together of whose
blissful union the judgment of society and the ordinary estimate of
human character had led to the most favorable anticipations.
Nevertheless, for the latter fact a general reason may be given. It is
not so much the similarity of tastes and pursuits, as, rather, the want
in one of some mental quality possessed by the other, that forms the
strongest source of attraction between the two sexes, so that the inner
life or consciousness of the one finds its complement in that of the
other, or, at least, receives from it a further development and
elevation. For in the same way that a certain community of goods and
property, even though not complete nor enforced by law, yet still, in
some measure and by daily use, does practically take place in
wedlock--so, also, by the constant interchange of every thought and
feeling, a sort of community of consciousness is produced, which derives
its charm and value from the very difference in the mental character of
the two sexes. When I would attempt to give a more precise determination
of this difference, I feel how difficult and incomplete must be every
attempt generally to define the varieties of mental character. And this
is especially the case when men take in hand to paint the characters of
whole ages and nations, and by contrasts endeavor distinctly to limit
and sharply to define them. Thus, for instance, the predominant element
in the mental character of the Greeks is usually said to be
intellect--comprising under this term every form and manifestation of
it, the scientific as well as the artistic, profundity not less than
acuteness, and vivid perspicuity, together with critical analysis; while
energy of will, strength of mind, and greatness of soul, are assigned to
the Romans as their distinguishing peculiarity. No doubt these
descriptions are not in general untrue. How many nicer limitations,
however, and modifications must they undergo, if we are not to rest
contented with this historical antithesis and summary--which, no doubt,
are correct enough, as far as they go--but desire, rather, to form in
idea and to set down in words a full and complete image of these two
nations in their whole intellectual life. So, too, as a general
description of the middle ages, it might be said, with tolerable truth,
that in them fancy was predominant; while in modern times reason has
been gradually becoming more and more paramount. But how many
particulars must be added in the latter case, if the truth of life is
not to be swallowed up in a general notion. But in a still higher degree
does this observation apply, when we come to speak not merely of nations
and eras, but of the mental differences of the two sexes. Such mere
outlines must be given and taken for nothing more than what they really
are, mere sketchy thoughts. However, they may often lead us farther,
giving rise occasionally to useful applications, or, at least, serving,
not seldom, to exclude a false and delusive semblance of a thought. To
attempt, therefore, something of the kind, I would make the following
remark, in which most voices will, I think, concur. Of the several
faculties or aspects of human consciousness previously described, soul
appears to be most pre-eminent in the mental constitution of women; so
that the prophet who said that women have no soul proved himself thereby
a false prophet. For it is even this rich fullness of soul which
manifests itself in all their thoughts, and words, and deeds--that
constitutes the great charm of the social intercourse of civilized
nations, as well as the winning attractiveness of their more familiar
conversation, and in part, also, the harmonizing influence which they
produce on the mind in the more intimate union of wedded life.
Nevertheless, I think we should altogether miss the truth, if, from any
love of antithesis, we should go on to append the remark, that, in like
manner, mind [_geist_] generally predominates among men, and is commonly
to be found in a higher degree among them than among women. For, in the
first place, the measure both of natural capacity and also of acquired
culture, not only in themselves, but also in the manifold spheres and
modes of their application, are so exceedingly different in different
individuals, that it is not easy to form therefrom any general and
characteristic estimate of the whole sex. And just as it would be a most
false exaggeration to deny to man altogether the possession of a soul
with its rich fullness of feeling, since it is only of its preponderance
among the other sex that it is allowable to speak, so can we with as
little justice refuse absolutely to attribute mind to woman, or at best
ascribe it to her only in a very limited degree. For even if the subtler
abstractions of scientific reasoning are very rare among, and little
suited to them, still sound reason and judgment are only the more
common. The understanding which women possess is not so much dry,
observant, cool, and calculating, as it is vivid and intuitively
penetrating. And it is exactly this vividness of intellect that, when
speaking of individuals, we call mind or spirit.
Another line of thought will, perhaps, lead us more directly and nearer
to the end we have in view. The external influence of women on the whole
human community is, for the most part (for here, too, there are great
and memorable exceptions) confined to a narrow sphere of the immediate
duties of the affections, or to similar relations in the wider social
circle. So, too, is it inwardly as regards the consciousness. All the
faculties of women and their several manifestations lie, if I may so
express myself, close together, and, as it were, in a friendly circle
around the loving soul, as their common center. With regard, then, to
the comparison of the two sexes and their mental differences, I would
venture to observe, that on the one side it seems to me that a certain
harmonious fullness of the consciousness is the preponderating
character; and, on the other, its eccentric evolution. Not that I mean
that in the sex which is pre-eminently called to outward activity, the
mind loses its grand center in the inner life, or, comet-like, delights
to wander in vast, irregular orbits, as is, indeed, commonly enough
asserted. My meaning is, simply, that the masculine mind will ever dare,
as, indeed, it ought, to move in wider circles than the feminine. The
extremes of the consciousness, if the expression be allowable--the
farthest poles both of reason and fancy--are, so to speak, the property
of the more active sex; while the harmonious union and contact of both
in the soul belong to the more sensitive. All such general and
characteristic sketches, however, must always be most imperfect. Still I
believe it may be safely and truly said, that, with highly-favored
dispositions and noble natures (and these must be always supposed and
taken for the foundation of such general remarks), the gain to be
derived from this intellectual community and influence, in which one
individual consciousness completes the other, must be sought in the one
sex in a greater development of mind and elevation of soul, and in the
other in a more harmonious adjustment and softening of the mental
powers, and in a far more sensitive excitement of the soul’s
susceptibilities. But in this most intimate of unions, when regarded as
divinely blessed, and when in reality it appears to be so, then on
either side both mind and soul are, as it were, twice combined and
joined together in closest association, and, if we may say so, even
married and wedded together. Consequently, while external life derives
from marriage its moral foundation and origin, the internal life of man
is, as it were, mentally renewed by it, or fructified afresh and
redoubled.