Apart they sit, the better know,
Why towns and talk sway men below.
Freedom from affairs, and leisure to entertain his thoughts, is the
scholar's paradise. Hardly less the delight in comparing notes with
another in conversation. It is the chiefest of satisfactions this last,
where sympathy is possible and perfect. One does not see his thought
distinctly till it is reflected in the image of another's. Personal
perspective gives the distance necessary to bring out its significance.
"There are some," says Thoreau, "whose ears help me so much that my
things have a rare significance when I read to them. It is almost too
good a hearing, so that, for the time, I regard my writing from too
favorable a point of view." Yet the criticism of admiration is far more
acceptable and the more likely to be just than that of censure. Much
learning does not make an accomplished critic; taste, sensibility,
sympathy, ideality, are indispensable. A man of talent may apprehend
and judge fairly of works of his class. But genius alone comprehends
and appreciates truly the works of genius.
Nor are all moods equally favorable for criticism. "It may be owing to
my mood at the time," says Goethe, "but it seems to me, that as well
in treating of writings as of actions, unless one speak with a loving
sympathy, a certain enthusiasm, the result is so defective as to have
little value. Pleasure, delight, sympathy in things, is all that is
real; and that reproduces reality in us; all else is empty and vain."
One must seize the traits as they rise with the tender touch, else they
elude and dissolve in the moment; pass into the obscurity out of which
they emerged, and are lost forever. Much depends upon this, that one
make the most of his time, and miss no propitious moods.
Rarely does one win a success with either tongue or pen. Of the books
printed, scarcely never the volume entire justifies its appearance in
type. Much is void of deep and permanent significance, touches nothing
in one's experience, and fails to command attention. Even subjects
of gravest quality, unless treated suggestively, find no place in a
permanent literature. It is not enough that the thing is literally
defined, stated logically; it needs to be complemented ideally,--set
forth in lucid imagery to tell the story to the end. Style carries
weight oftentimes when seemingly light itself. Movement is necessary,
while the logic is unapparent,--all the more profound and edifying as
it appeals to and speaks from the deeper instincts, and so makes claims
upon the reader's mind. That is good which stands strong in its own
strength, detached from local relations. So a book of thoughts suggests
thought, edifies, inspires. Whatever interests at successive readings
has life in it, and deserves type and paper.
My code of composition stands thus, and this is my advice to whom it
may concern:--
Burn every scrap that stands not the test of all moods of criticism.
Such lack longevity. What is left gains immensely. Such is the law.
Very little of what is thought admirable at the writing holds good over
night. Sleep on your writing; take a walk over it; scrutinize it of
a morning; review it of an afternoon; digest it after a meal; let it
sleep in your drawer a twelvemonth; never venture a whisper about it to
your friend, if he be an author especially. You may read selections to
sensible women,--if young the better; and if it stand these trials, you
may offer it to a publisher, and think yourself fortunate if he refuse
to print it. Then you may be sure you have written a book worthy of
type, and wait with assurance for a publisher and reader thirty years
hence,--that is, when you are engaged in authorship that needs neither
type nor publisher.
"Learning," says Fuller, "hath gained most by those books by which the
printers have lost." It must be an enlightened public that asks for
works the most enlightened publishers decline printing. A magazine were
ruined already if it reflected its fears only. Yet one cannot expect
the trade to venture reputation or money in spreading unpopular views.