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30 pages, Paperback
First published August 31, 1837
The world of any moment is the merest appearance. Some great decorum, some fetich of a government, some ephemeral trade, or war, or man, is cried up by half mankind and cried down by the other half, as if all depended on this particular up or down. The odds are that the whole question is not worth the poorest thought which the scholar has lost in listening to the controversy. Let him not quit his belief that a popgun is a popgun, though the ancient and honorable of the earth affirm it to be the crack of doom. In silence, in steadiness, in severe abstraction, let him hold by himself; add observation to observation, patient of neglect, patient of reproach, and bide his own time,—happy enough if he can satisfy himself alone that this day he has seen something truly. Success treads on every right step. For the instinct is sure that prompts him to tell his brother what he thinks. He then learns that in going down into the secrets of his own mind he has descended into the secrets of all minds. He learns that he who has mastered any law in his private thoughts is master to that extent of all men whose language he speaks, and of all into whose language his own can be translated. The poet, in utter solitude remembering his spontaneous thoughts and recording them, is found to have recorded that which men in cities vast find true for them also. The orator distrusts at first the fitness of his frank confessions, his want of knowledge of the persons he addresses, until he finds that he is the complement of his hearers;—that they drink his words because he fulfills for them their own nature; the deeper he dives into his privatest, secretest presentiment, to his wonder he finds this is the most acceptable, most public and universally true. The people delight in it; the better part of every man feels—This is my music; this is myself.
"The world, — this shadow of the soul, or other me, lies wide around. Its attractions are the keys which unlock my thoughts and make me acquainted with myself. I run eagerly into this resounding tumult. I grasp the hands of those next me, and take my place in the ring to suffer and to work, taught by an instinct, that so shall the dumb abyss be vocal with speech. I pierce its order; I dissipate its fear; I dispose of it within the circuit of my expanding life."This was very revolutionary stuff in ante-bellum America and you still find these ideas having an impact on undergraduates before student-loan debts pull them back to Earth. I just wish he could have kept his essays on a more charismatic, interesting tone because as much as I have read historians and philosophers who many consider extremely dull, something about how Emerson writes prose just does not move me like I know it should. Be that as it may, if you want to see the foundation of American exceptionalism in academia, this essay is ground-zero for me.
"It is the raw material out of which the intellect moulds her splendid products. A strange process too, this, by which experience is converted into thought, as a mulberry leaf is converted into satin. The manufacture goes forward at all hours."
Books are the best of things, well used; abused, among the worst. What is the right use? What is the one end, which all means go to effect? They are for nothing but to inspire. I had better never see a book, than to be warped by its attraction clean out of my own orbit, and made a satellite instead of a system. The one thing in the world, of value, is the active soul.”Yes, receive the thoughts of others, but not without taking time for quiet reflection and pushback. “Genius is always sufficiently the enemy of genius of overinfluence.” “Man Thinking must not be subdued by his instruments.” These are good words. Finally, Emerson discusses action.
So much only of life as I know by experience . . . . I do not see how any man can afford, for the sake of his nerves and his nap, to spare any action in which he can partake. It is pearls and rubies to his discourse. Drudgery, calamity, exasperation, want, are instructors in eloquence and wisdom. The true scholar grudges every opportunity of action passed by, as a loss of power” (31), “Life is our dictionary” (32), “Thinking is the function. Living is the functionary” (33), and “Time shall teach him, that the scholar loses no hour which the man lives” (34).Emerson promotes scholarly work as that which “plies the slow, unhonored, and unpaid task of observation” (35). As one will see further on, it seems to me that Emerson places undue confidence in man in general and scholarly man in particular. That said, he is advocating thinking—doing the hard work of living, observing, and cataloging even though that cake takes a long time to bake.
It is not always easy to understand Emerson; his sentences are full of hidden meaning which cannot be detected at a glance; they must be read and re-read to perceive the full drift of the thought; but the through in its fullness will repays us for the trouble. 15As the introduction declares, “He is the champion of mental freedom, and continually urges others to free themselves from the fetters of conventionality” (17). There is some wisdom here, but Emerson seems to travel the path of the morning star, “I will ascend to the heavens; I will rise my throne above the stars of God . . . I will make myself like the Most High” (Isaiah 14:13-14 NIV).
The world is nothing, the man is all; in yourself is the law of all nature, and you know not yet how a globule of sap ascends; in yourself slumbers the whole of Reason; it is for you to know all, it is for you to dare all. . . . this confidence in the unsearched might of man belongs, by all motives, by all prophecy, by all preparation, to the American Scholar. . . . and thousands of young men as hopeful now . . . do not see, that, if the single man plant himself indomitable on his instincts, and there abide, the huge world will come round to him.Really? Can someone tell that to the Democratic and Republican parties?