Harvard Classics Volume 28: Essays English and American
General
Harvard Classics Volume 28: Essays English and American
American essays; English essays
29. We come then to the great concourse of the Dead, not merely to
know from them what is True, but chiefly to feel with them what is
just. Now, to feel with them, we must be like them: and none of us can
become that without pains. As the true knowledge is disciplined and
tested knowledge,--not the first thought that comes,--so the true
passion is disciplined and tested passion,--not the first passion that
comes. The first that come are the vain, the false, the treacherous;
if you yield to them they will lead you wildly and far in vain pursuit,
in hollow enthusiasm, till you have no true purpose and no true passion
left. Not that any feeling possible to humanity is in itself wrong,
but only wrong when undisciplined. Its nobility is in its force and
justice; it is wrong when it is weak, and felt for paltry cause. There
is a mean wonder, as of a child who sees a juggler tossing golden
balls, and this is base, if you will. But do you think that the wonder
is ignoble, or the sensation less, with which every human soul is
called to watch the golden balls of heaven tossed through the night by
the Hand that made them? There is a mean curiosity, as of a child
opening a forbidden door, or a servant prying into her master's
business;--and a noble curiosity, questioning, in the front of danger,
the source of the great river beyond the sand,--the place of the great
continents beyond the sea;--a nobler curiosity still, which questions
of the source of the River of Life, and of the space of the Continent
of Heaven,--things which "the angels desire to look into." So the
anxiety is ignoble, with which you linger over the course and
catastrophe of an idle tale; but do you think the anxiety is less, or
greater, with which you watch, or _ought_ to watch, the dealings of
fate and destiny with the life of an agonized nation? Alas! it is the
narrowness, selfishness, minuteness, of your sensation that you have to
deplore in England at this day;--sensation which spends itself in
bouquets and speeches; in revelings and junketings; in sham fights and
gay puppet shows, while you can look on and see noble nations murdered,
man by man, without an effort or a tear.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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