Great men are always simple--strikingly so; simple in their thoughts
and feelings, and in the expression of them. Nor is this an unimportant
characteristic. For to one who reflects how few artless men there
are--how much there is that is factitious, in the character of almost
every one whom he meets; most of all, in the character of those who
ape this same simplicity; how much many men consult fashion, custom,
and mode for their thoughts and feelings, instead of their own hearts
and minds, till they almost cease to have any of their own; and when
it is not so, how much rules of thinking and of feeling insensibly
influence us;--to such a one, true simplicity will appear worthy the
name of a rare virtue, and further, of an important one--especially, if
he considers how much even the smallest act of cunning or affectation
impairs the honesty and high-mindedness of him who allows it. As such,
we might express our admiration of it in the great man, and derive from
thence a strong recommendation.
But it may bring out more important results to ask why, especially by
what peculiar mental habits it is, that minds which might, with the
best reason, make a parade of their powers, are apparently so utterly
unconscious of them, and so thoroughly simple. A chief reason is, that
a great mind is completely absorbed in the objects before it, to the
entire forgetfulness of self. The objects must be great certainly, thus
to fill the mind; there must also be great powers to grasp them. Both
these things are supposed in the truly great man. But the peculiar
feature of his mind is this complete absorption in the objects of
contemplation. It is carried forth beyond the cares and complexities of
what most men call self, and for a time, at least, identifies itself
with its object. His own powers, as things of selfish pride, are the
last to concern his thoughts, and are only instruments of bringing
before him the truth. In this he approaches what may be regarded as
perfect mental action. For what are these powers but instruments? And
what is the mind in itself apart from its objects? Truths so plain seem
to be forgotten by those who idolize mental power in themselves and
others, more than they revere the truth, on which it is, or should be
employed.
To this it may be added, that the great mind is generally absorbed by
single objects. The one truth which absorbed the mind of Newton, was
that of the law of universal gravitation. All the energies of Bacon’s
mind were active in the elucidation of the single truth, that facts are
at the foundation of reasoning. The same has been true of those who
have made plain great moral truths. Indeed the end of every mind which
acts to purpose is more or less definitely the perception of unity. But
many minds mistake the single truth which explains the whole subject,
or assuming that which is false, or taking up minor relations, or
seeking complication for the love of it, go a-raving amid cycles and
epicycles, extent of knowledge only making the confusion greater.
You shall see men disquieting themselves in vain, and plunging into hot
and endless debate, all for the overlooking of some single truth which
puts an end to all question. It is this tendency towards unity dimly
seen in ordinary minds, which is brought out into a distinct habit,
in minds of a higher order, and gives them their peculiar oneness and
simplicity.
But we have not spoken of that which leads to this absorption of the
mind in its objects. It is the love of truth--of all truth. Not that
other minds have none of it, but it lies mixed, often insensibly,
with other desires which reflect upon self, or reach out towards some
foreign end, and thus mar its simplicity. There is the love of favor,
the ambition of rivaling some admired forerunner or competitor, the
desire of seeming superior to the vulgar crowd, the love of victory in
discussion. More laudable than these, there is the desire of success
in some pursuit or project, or a desire of acquiring what may be
useful. More nearly affecting the mind’s operations, there is the love
of novelty for novelty’s sake, the love of system, and the desire of
bringing forth to the world something new. Besides these there are a
thousand prejudiced feelings, aside from the simple love of the truth,
which influence men in forming their opinions and in searching after
truth. It is easy to see how all these differ in their nature from
love of truth for the truth’s sake, and, of course, when blended with
it destroy its simplicity. It is not a sense of duty even which mainly
influences the great mind in its pursuit of truth. The love of it in
such a mind is a passion, an appetite, which asks simply the reception
of its natural food; an appetite ever enlarging itself, “growing
by that it feeds on.” From these peculiar habits of mind, namely,
absorption in its objects, and for the most part in single objects,
guided by a simple love of the truth, there arises further, great
simplicity in the feelings with which the truth is contemplated when
it is discovered. There is nothing of a feeling of arrogance in the
great mind--a feeling that it has established a separate domain, about
which it alone is competent to legislate, and which none but itself may
touch or enter. Nor is there any thing like envy in such a mind. On
the contrary, he is ready to welcome with the hand and the heart of a
brother, and with warm gratitude, any who shall make new revelations of
that which he most loves and adores. Nor has he any such love of system
as would lead him knowingly to overlook any one truth. Still less is
there a feeling of triumph after discussion, except as the triumphs of
truth are his own. Least of all is there a feeling of pedantry, the
self satisfied glee with which little minds chuckle over their small
apartment in the world of mind, ready to give battle to any one who
shall dispute that it is a magnificent temple. The feelings of a great
mind are as different from these as possible. His is the simplicity of
reverence. He gazes upon some truth, till it rises before him in its
full dimensions, and to it he pays humble adoration. Inspired by this
feeling he forgets himself, and comes forth with simplicity to deliver
his message to others, seeking not their praise, and caring not for
their censure. He needs not, and does not comprehend the arts which
others use to attract applause, for he can afford to be simple.
His again is the simplicity of wonder. “_Nil admirari_” is a maxim
of none but common minds, who can contrive to wrap themselves up in
self-sufficiency of intellect, while they trust in it and laugh at
the absurdity and childishness of him who finds any thing at which to
wonder. Thus such an one will exultingly go forth in the full pride
of scientific attainment, esteeming all things as certain when he has
ascribed them to the laws of nature; not thinking of the mysterious
agency ever at work to maintain those laws. Such a mind has no wonder,
because it has no powers to carry it forward into the mysterious and
illimitable in the universe. Another feeling of the great mind in view
of great objects, is that of simple ignorance. It has gone forth, and
seen its own narrow limits, and then it pauses and is humble, conscious
how like a child it is. Such are some of the features which a great
mind exhibits, and such the results to which it tends, the expression
of which is marked by that simplicity of which we have spoken.