^
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES

 
 THE 
 
 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY 
 
 JAMES AUGUSTUS ST. JOHN. 
 
 ORACLE OF DELPHI 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 EDWARD BULL, HOLLES STREET. 
 1831.
 
 T. BENSLEY, Printer, 9, Crane Court, Fleet Street.
 
 ACS 
 
 REV. HOBART GAUNTER, B. D. 
 
 THE FOLLOWING VOLUMES 
 
 ARE INSCRIBED, 
 
 BY HIS SINCERE FRIE>sD, 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 IT will quickly be perceived that a part only of 
 the original design has been filled up in these 
 volumes. Society is, as it were, a vast con- 
 tinent, over which we must travel long and far, 
 before we can paint its aspect, or exactly de- 
 termine its configuration. Of this extensive 
 and varied region, which has already occupied 
 so many superior observers, and furnished ma- 
 terials for so infinite a variety of sublime or 
 beautiful pictures, I have hitherto examined but 
 a portion ; but such opportunities for observation 
 as have been afforded me by Providence, I have 
 endeavoured to turn to advantage ; perusing 
 mankind with a kindly spirit, no less desirous 
 of strengthening and extending my sympathies, 
 than of purifying and enlarging the number of 
 my ideas. Whether those speculations, which 
 have been a source of much delight to me, can 
 be of any utility to others, it is not in my power 
 to determine ; but in general such ideas as
 
 spring, without any soliciting, spontaneously 
 from the soul, are apt to produce the same 
 kind of satisfaction in the minds which receive 
 as in the minds which engendered them. If 
 this position hold good in my case, I shall be 
 without apprehension. 
 
 With respect to the continuation, or further 
 developement of the design here commenced, I 
 am unable to speak with positiveness, all human 
 schemes depending mainly upon something ex- 
 terior to the will ; but if the requisite leisure 
 be afforded me, it is my intention to examine, 
 in a separate work, the frame and structure of 
 Asiatic society, as well as those forms of social 
 order which prevailed in the ancient world. 
 Meanwhile the present production is complete 
 in itself, as far, I mean, as my opportunities 
 enabled me to render it so. 
 
 It is proper to state here, that many separate 
 portions of the work have already appeared in 
 periodical publications. 
 
 PARIS, 
 December 30, 1830.
 
 CONTENTS TO VOL. I. 
 
 Chap. Page 
 
 1. Modes of Studying the World 1 
 
 2. Science of Fortune and Power 29 
 
 3. Danger of Differing from the Mode 55 
 
 4. Education of Great Men 77 
 
 5. Progress of Civilization among the People 103 
 
 6. Imaginary Systems of Government 125 
 
 7. Effects of Civilization upon Genius 153 
 
 8. Theory of Consistency of Character 177 
 
 9. Delights of Intellectual Supremacy 193 
 
 10. Empire of the Dead over the Living 207 
 
 11. The Grave and the Funeral Pile 223 
 
 12. Specimen of Ancient Character 245 
 
 13. Theory 279 
 
 14. Literary Necromancy 287 
 
 GENERAL INDEX, end of Vol. II.
 
 MODES 
 
 STUDYING THE WORLD.
 
 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY, 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 MODES OF STUDYING THE WORLD. 
 
 IT must be evident that authors necessarily make 
 a number of observations on life and manners, for 
 which, when thrown together, it is exceedingly 
 difficult to find any suitable title. This induces 
 many to prefix to their speculations the most ex- 
 traordinary epigraphs ; and these, at first sight, 
 appear to confer an air of originality, of which, 
 however, they are very far from being an infallible 
 token. Reflecting on these circumstances, it has 
 always appeared much better to us, to place com- 
 mon inscriptions at the head of our disquisitions, 
 and to reserve what little ingenuity we might 
 possess to be infused into the body of the piece. 
 Subjects are not infinite, but they may be infinitely 
 B 2
 
 4 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 varied by the manner of treating of them. There- 
 fore, although it be now impossible to speak of 
 things that have never been spoken of before, it 
 seems to be still in our power to make new reflec- 
 tions on topics apparently familiar, but, for that 
 very reason, little heeded or understood. 
 
 The cause why men visit each other and con- 
 verse, abstracting all considerations of business, 
 seems to be simply the love of pleasure. This is 
 the passion truly universal ; this is the pivot upon 
 which the world intellectual, as well as the world 
 of sense, turns. Philosophers and saints feel it 
 in their speculations and devotions, and yield to 
 it too, in their way, as completely as the Sybar- 
 itish gourmand, whose stomach is his Baal and 
 Ashtaroth. Nor is this at all surprising, in reality, 
 for the gratification of this passion is happiness 
 a gem for which all the world search, and but 
 few find. 
 
 From the first institution of society, however, 
 mankind have always been persuaded that hap- 
 piness is a god that cannot be approached singly. 
 Through this belief, indeed, we have congregated 
 into nations, built cities, invented public worship, 
 formed ourselves into clubs distinguished by par- 
 ticular opinions or costumes, instituted marriage, 
 and desired children. We have, and can have, no 
 conception of independent, solitary being. Even
 
 STUDYING THE WORLD. 5 
 
 God, whom we have fashioned, as Aristotle ob- 
 serves, after our own image, is believed to have 
 surrounded himself with the society of angels, 
 and to delight in the songs and praises of these 
 inferior and dependent spirits. And as to man, 
 he is so little capable of entire solitude, that if 
 cast by shipwreck alone on some desolate island, 
 he would part with every other advantage under 
 heaven in exchange for a companion. We have 
 no enjoyment whatever from which all idea of 
 other beings is excluded. Nothing beginning and 
 ending in self. The presence, therefore, of other 
 beings of our own species is delightful to us all ; 
 and if we love to retire occasionally into solitude, 
 it is not for the purpose of segregating ourselves 
 from mankind, or from any antipathy we indulge 
 for company and conversation, but because we 
 hope, during our temporary absence, to enlarge 
 and perfect our powers of pleasing, that we may 
 return to the circle of our friends more rich in the 
 materials and science of happiness. Society, in- 
 deed, is man's proper sphere ; solitude his aversion, 
 and his bane. And if learned men, forgetting the 
 aim of study, contract, sometimes, a fondness for 
 loneliness and musing, they soon become conscious 
 of indulging an unnatural propensity ; and either 
 grow to despise mankind, to think disdainfully of 
 their hopes and fears, or sink into a timid, feeble
 
 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 distrustfulness of their own powers, and shun 
 society from mere dread. Every kind of learning 
 has a natural tendency to create effeminacy of 
 character, because it has a tendency to enfeeble 
 the physical structure. On this account much at- 
 tention is paid, in every good system of education, 
 to the development of our bodily powers, which, 
 as all real philosophers have inculcated, exert a 
 much stronger influence on the character of our 
 minds than mere learned men have ever been able 
 to comprehend. But the mind itself has its gym- 
 nastic exercises as well as the body 5 exercises, 
 without which it is almost impossible to acquire 
 that amplitude and intrepidity of intellect, which 
 a great writer of our own times regards as the dis- 
 tinguishing attributes of genius. These gymnastics 
 are, conversation and argument. No one, however, 
 we hope, will imagine that we mean to dignify 
 with the name of conversation the silly nonsen- 
 sical chit-chat which generally prevails in society. 
 Our intention is far different; nothing appears to 
 us to deserve the name but that free manly inter- 
 change of ideas, which takes place among friends. 
 Time may be consumed by the hour in gratifying 
 that childish vanity which loves to hear its own 
 voice 5 but, surely, we do not call such abuse of 
 words, conversation. We are afraid that Dr. 
 Johnson, the greatest talker of modern times, not
 
 STUDYING THE WORLD. 7 
 
 excepting Mr. Coleridge himself, had a vicious 
 theory on this subject. He was himself the great 
 catholic church, in his own eyes, and every de- 
 viation from his creed was heresy. To his ear, the 
 growl of triumph which he uttered over an anta- 
 gonist vanquished in argument, was far sweeter 
 than the note of the nightingale. His meat and 
 drink was contention j nothing but that could 
 rouse his sluggish nature into any thing like ec- 
 stacy. He was an intellectual gladiator, animated 
 and cheered in combat by the applause and accla- 
 mation of that miniature amphitheatre in which he 
 always brandished his syllogisms. But it was this 
 that made him what he was. Like certain volup- 
 tuaries that must approach pleasure through the 
 avenues of pain, Johnson reached the goal of his 
 ambition through the buffetings of passionate and 
 contentious argument. Dr. Parr, too, celebrated 
 for his conversational talents and careless wig., 
 was partial to the amphitheatral style, and seems 
 to have vehemently loved to nonplus an ignoramus. 
 Perhaps the most striking thing in his conversa- 
 tion, however, was the contrast observed between 
 the liberality of his opinions and the strict ortho- 
 doxy of his wig and gown. People did not ex- 
 pect to find those clerical ringlets, and that dark 
 symbol of the ecclesiastical spirit, serving as a 
 covering to republican independence, and uni-
 
 8 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 versal tolerance ; the tree looked sombre and 
 forbidding, but, to the surprise of the searcher, 
 it bore golden fruit. This was the feature which 
 chiefly arrested attention in the character of Dr. 
 Parr ; and further than this, he does not appear 
 to have differed much from other very learned 
 men. We are inclined to yield a much higher 
 credence to the stories told of Mr. Coleridge's 
 household or fireside eloquence; his writings in- 
 dicate this sort of talent. Bright, fanciful, but 
 flagging suddenly, as if from want of stimulus, 
 his genius seems formed by nature for detached 
 efforts, springing out of immediate enjoyment. 
 The questions, objections, replies, rejoinders of 
 conversation, are as so many steps upon which 
 his mind mounts up and soars away into sub- 
 limity ; otherwise, like the flying-fish, it makes 
 short bounds, and sinks again upon the surface. 
 
 If we may credit the relations of ancient 
 writers, Socrates possessed the powers of dia- 
 lectic eloquence beyond any man that ever lived. 
 There seemed to be some spell in his language; 
 it attracted like the songs of the syrens. Per- 
 sons who had once heard it, immediately grew 
 attached to his person, burned incessantly to 
 hear him speak ; walked with him, lived with 
 him, or purchased a few hours of his company 
 at the peril of their lives. Yet, undoubtedly,
 
 STUDYING THE WORLD. 9 
 
 this plain old man affected no peculiar splendour 
 of style. His language did not glitter, like a 
 coronation robe, with metaphors; it was only ex- 
 quisitely natural. The most remarkable feature, 
 perhaps, in his conversation, was his amazing 
 versatility, or that readiness with which he en- 
 tered on the particular arts or professions in 
 which those with whom he happened to converse 
 were engaged. With the lover, he could con- 
 verse of love ; with the jurisconsult, of law ; with 
 the statuary, of scxilpture; with the gardener, of 
 plants and trees ; with the painter, of pictures ; 
 with the general, of war; with the politician, of 
 government ; and he spoke not merely to draw 
 out his companion, whoever he might be ; but 
 evinced, during the colloquy, a thorough ac- 
 quaintance with the art or mystery under con- 
 sideration. No doubt he owed much of this 
 facility and extensive knowledge of human con- 
 cerns, to his practice of frequenting the work- 
 shops and manufactories of the city, as well as 
 the forum, the courts of law, the haunts of phi- 
 losophers, and the tables of the great. But it 
 was by no means his superior knowledge which 
 communicated that incomparable flavour to his 
 conversation; for numbers have possessed much 
 more knowledge than Socrates : but some pecu- 
 liar and lofty kind of wisdom, which, when 
 B 5
 
 10 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 clothed in words, appeared to elevate the mind 
 of the auditor as well as of the speaker which is 
 the summit of eloquence. Many speakers, as well 
 as writers, appear to affect an air of superiority 
 over the persons they address, by which, if they 
 sometimes excite our admiration, they lose our 
 love, which we bestow on none but those who 
 are willing to treat with us on terms of equality. 
 The monarchical principle, odious in every point 
 of view, is insufferable in conversation. There, 
 every man is a democrat; thinks himself en- 
 titled to make his voice heard ; and that imme- 
 diately, and not by proxy. The warmth of 
 argument levels all distinctions ; and so soon as 
 an individual calls in the aid of his dignity to 
 support his positions, he is thought to have in- 
 fringed the laws of social intercourse. A positive 
 dogmatical style may be indulged more safely by 
 any one than by a man in power ; for, while in 
 other persons it appears to be merely the effect 
 of temperament, in the prince or great man it 
 seems to imply a secret reference to his autho- 
 rity, and often engenders deadly hatred and ani- 
 mosity. Napoleon understood this ; for, although 
 often hurried into excessive warmth by the im- 
 petuosity of his character, he always seems to 
 have been anxious to repair, by concession and 
 apology, any breach of good manners of which
 
 STUDYING THE WORLD. 1 1 
 
 he had been guilty. Arguing one day with Ber- 
 trand, who obstinately maintained his opinion, 
 though it seems to have been quite erroneous, 
 Napoleon exclaimed, " Bah ! c'est impossible ! " 
 " Oh ! " says Bertrand, " if that is the way in 
 which you mean to talk, there is an end of all 
 argument : " the great man felt the reproof, and 
 exerted all his ingenuity to mollify the anger of 
 his follower. 
 
 The persons who shine most in conversation 
 are, perhaps, those who attack established opi- 
 nions and usages ; for there is a kind of splendid 
 Quixotism in standing up, even in the advocating 
 of absurdity, against the whole world. The same 
 principle holds good in authorship. No one is 
 astonished or startled at seeing the things which 
 are believed by every body defended, however inge- 
 niously ; but let some daring speculator venture to 
 call in question the universal opinion, and all ears 
 are erected to listen. People imagine, and in most 
 cases imagine truly, that the intellect which amid 
 the stream of popular prejudices can resist the cur- 
 rent, and repose firmly on itself, must be great as 
 well as extraordinary. To command considerable 
 attention, therefore, either in writing or talking, 
 a man must hazard bold thoughts, bold figures, 
 and unusual expressions. This was Lord Byron's 
 theory : he perceived that the literary appetite of
 
 12 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 the public, over-clogged with common sweets, was 
 beginning to flag, and he determined to awaken 
 it again with pungent sauces and high-seasoned 
 ragouts. Thus sailors, grown drowsy through fa- 
 tigue and long watching, often contrive to keep 
 each other awake at night upon the ocean, by re- 
 peating fearful tales of shipwreck ; and by painting, 
 in their rude but strong expressions, the hard- 
 ships and horrors to which their manner of life 
 is peculiarly subject. The vulgar, too, on land, 
 sitting up late, to watch over the dead or the 
 sick, scare away sleep by ghost- stories and rela- 
 tions of murder, which usually grow more awful 
 and atrocious as the night advances. Precisely 
 in the same manner, the apathy of excessive 
 civilization, forestalling a feature of returning 
 barbarism, is only to be roused by the paradoxi- 
 cal, the tremendous, or the supernatural. 
 
 Perhaps, if we made the most of it, conversa- 
 tion might be a better nursery of popular ideas 
 than reading. What every body talks of must be 
 interesting to every body; but we can never 
 know exactly what people employ their minds 
 upon unless we converse with them. From con- 
 versation with the world we learn its wants j 
 but it is by conversing assiduously with our own 
 thoughts that we discover how to supply them. 
 There are some few subjects, however, which we
 
 STUDYING THE WORLD. 13 
 
 may know, a priori, will always please immor- 
 tal theses, upon which the wit of man can never 
 be exercised in vain. Do we imagine, when we 
 open some new treatise on Love, that the author 
 has discovered a fresh vein, and mined more 
 deeply than all former adventurers ? Not at all : 
 we know very well that the little god has already 
 usurped all beautiful epithets, all soft expressions, 
 all bewitching sounds ; and the utmost we ex- 
 pect from the skill of the writer is, that he has 
 thrown all these together, so as to produce a new 
 picture. Love is immortal, and does not grow 
 wrinkled because we and our expressions fade. 
 His heart is still as joyous and his foot as light 
 as when he trod the green knolls of Paradise with 
 Eve. He will be young when he sits upon the 
 grave of the thousandth generation of our pos- 
 terity, listening to the beating of his own heart, 
 or sporting with his butterfly consort, as child- 
 ishly as if he were no older than the daisy under 
 his foot. His empire is a theme of which the 
 tongue never grows weary, or utters all that 
 seems to come quivering and gasping to the lips 
 for utterance. We think, more than we ever 
 spoke, of love ; and if we have a curiosity when 
 we first touch some erotic volume, it is to see 
 whether the author has embodied our unutterable 
 feelings, or divulged what we have never dared.
 
 14 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Demosthenes and Cicero, and many others, 
 we dare say, since them, were in the habit of 
 converting the subjects they heard discussed in 
 conversation, into theses. The thunder-tongued 
 Athenian, we are told, whose periods afterwards 
 convulsed Greece through all her states, conde- 
 scended in his youth to chronicle the arguments 
 of ordinary men 5 labouring, however, to improve 
 what he had heard, in thought and expression j 
 sifting every word, weighing every syllable ; pour- 
 ing his fire and his soul into every metaphor. 
 Cicero's themes were chiefly, if not entirely, of a 
 political nature, and written, not so much to 
 exercise his pen, as to call off his mind from dis- 
 agreeable reflections. Nor were they composed 
 during his youth, when such exercises are most 
 useful, but after he had gone through all the 
 public honours of the state, and had seen his 
 country enslaved by the least tyrannical of all 
 tyrants. Locke's ' Essay on the Human Under- 
 standing ' arose out of a casual conversation ; 
 and, perhaps, the most fashionable essays of the 
 present day are little more than the echoes of the 
 familiar chit-chat of a certain coterie. 
 
 As fine conversation is eloquence subdued in 
 tone and broken into dialogue, the same charac- 
 teristics belong to both. We always wish, when 
 we discourse, to pour our opinions and sentiments
 
 STUDYING THE WORLD. 15 
 
 into the mind of our companion, to the exclusion 
 of his own ; and in proportion to the value we set 
 on his friendship and judgment is the vehemence 
 of our efforts to obtain his suffrage in our favour. 
 It is for this reason that warm language, in debate, 
 seldom gives offence ; perhaps never, when both 
 disputants are men of superior understanding. 
 We consider the eagerness of our antagonist to 
 beat down our arguments as a proof that he feels 
 their weight, and attributes power to the mind 
 that wields them. And this, however he may 
 chafe and fume in the utterance of it, is a most 
 unequivocal compliment to our abilities. Sneering 
 and irony, exhibiting on the other hand an affec- 
 tation of superiority, are generally abhorred. But 
 they are figures of speech which wound the mind 
 that handles them much oftener than they lead to 
 victory. Very powerful intellects resort to them 
 but rarely, unless it be to abate the insolence of 
 coxcombry, or to pour the laugh of a company on 
 presumptuous ignorance j and for this purpose they 
 were employed by Socrates against the Sophists. 
 They poison, however, the kindliness of conversa- 
 tion, provoking all parties to put on their most 
 desperate weapons, and changing the friendly 
 contention of the palaestra into the fierce struggles 
 of the field of battle. Warmth of manner, and 
 vehemence of voice and gesture, enliven conversa-
 
 16 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 tion, as we have observed, when they degenerate 
 not into rudeness and intemperance. They are 
 the signs, too, of great singleness of heart, and 
 earnestness of purpose ; and their presence or 
 absence was frequently -turned, by the old orators, 
 into an argument in favour or disparagement of 
 the narratives or asseverations they accompanied. 
 We are told by Plutarch, that a man coming to 
 Demosthenes one day, and desiring him to be 
 his advocate against a person from whom he 
 had suffered by assault : " Not you, indeed," said 
 the orator, " you have suffered no such thing." 
 " What ! said the man, raising his voice, " have I 
 not received those blows?" "Aye, now," replied 
 Demosthenes, " you speak like a person that has 
 been really injured." Cicero, who left few fine 
 thoughts in all the literature that had preceded 
 him untouched or unadorned by his pen, introduced 
 a splendid amplification of this idea into one of his 
 pleadings. It was that which he pronounced in 
 defence of Q. Gallius, accused by the orator Cali- 
 dius of an attempt to poison him. According to 
 his own description, the style of this speaker was 
 pure and beautiful, but void of vehemence and 
 energy ; it delighted the ear and charmed the 
 understanding, but it threw no fire among the 
 trains of passion. It gave light, like the moon, 
 but it was cold. Such a style of speaking suited
 
 STUDYING THE WORLD. 17 
 
 not vehement accusation ; and though, on the 
 occasion in question, he had to describe an attempt 
 upon his own life, his habitual manner underwent 
 no very visible alteration. He told his story 
 clearly and elegantly, but without passion or 
 energy. Yet, although this was his natural style, 
 which he could not, under any circumstances, be 
 expected to change materially, Cicero deduced 
 from it a powerful argument in invalidation of his 
 charge. "Is this an affair, Calidius," said he, "in 
 which you would behave yourself thus, if you were 
 in earnest ? Would you, with that eloquence, 
 which has so frequently been exerted for the 
 benefit of others, neglect your own cause ? Where 
 is your affliction ? Where that passion which 
 extorts words and complaints even from the in- 
 eloquent ? I see in you no perturbation, either of 
 mind or of body; you strike not your forehead, 
 you lay not your hand upon your heart ; nor 
 (which is the most ordinary symptom of passion) 
 do you even stamp upon the ground with your 
 foot. Nay, so far are you from having shaken us 
 with emotion, that we were in danger of falling 
 asleep during your harangue ! " 
 
 Action in conversation, as in oratory, some- 
 times conceals the absence of more lofty qualities ; 
 the eye, charmed with a succession of passionate 
 and graceful movements, prejudges the case, and
 
 18 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 hinders the mind from dwelling coolly on the 
 language and sentiments which these movements 
 were only meant to render more impressive. There 
 is enchantment, too, in a mellow musical voice, 
 which often gives to very ordinary discourse the 
 effect of eloquence. Speaking, in his work on 
 great orators, of the various excellencies of the 
 speakers of old Rome, Cicero characterizes Cn. 
 Lentulus as a pleader who gained by action only 
 the reputation of an orator; " concealing," says 
 he, " beneath his striking movements, the me- 
 diocrity and barrenness of his genius." It is, no 
 doubt, great merit to be able successfully to hide, 
 under graceful gesture, sweetness of voice, or 
 copiousness of language, the natural meanness 
 and poverty of one's thoughts ; it is much greater, 
 however, not to need these painted screens. 
 
 There undoubtedly is great persuasive power 
 in the countenance, independent of words. A 
 picture or a statue, representing man or woman, 
 regarded attentively, has a very strong influence 
 upon the spectator's state of mind. When it is 
 clothed with bland sweet looks, the person con- 
 templating it will involuntarily adjust his own 
 features into the same kind of expression, and 
 adopt the smile of the stone or canvas. In gazing 
 stedfastly at the Venus and Adonis of Titian, we 
 have often detected our own countenance relaxing
 
 STUDYING THE WORLD. 19 
 
 into the softness and alluring fondness of the 
 goddess, and, an instant after, into the gentle 
 reproachfulness of the youthful hunter, delayed 
 for a moment by her tenderness from his favourite 
 sport. Turning round, too, to observe the effect 
 of the same picture upon the fair portion of the 
 spectators, we think we have remarked that the 
 most lovely women looked still more lovely as 
 they meditated, enrapturedly, on that Queen of 
 Beauty, clinging in disordered earnestness to the 
 departing object of her affections. On the other 
 hand, beholding the face and form of Hercules or 
 Jupiter, we insensibly give to our muscles a stre- 
 nuous or sublime expression, answerable to the 
 loftiness of the emotion which the image excites 
 within our soul. Nay, the casual glance of a 
 countenance, caught in passing through the street, 
 has the power to influence our looks and musings ; 
 gentleness and benignity inducing a soft and 
 pleasing expression and tone of mind, and gloom 
 and sternness the reverse. 
 
 But if beauty, attacking us in this flying Par- 
 thian manner, have so much power, it is perfectly 
 irresistible when drawn up in array against us, 
 face to face. Reason then opposes it in vain. 
 Something mysterious seems to emanate from the 
 features as the words are uttered, and, though the 
 mere attribute of form, to mingle with the sounds
 
 20 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 of the voice, and render them enchanting. Per- 
 haps considerations of sex, however obscure and 
 remote, may insinuate themselves into all the 
 pleasures which beauty inspires ; and assist in 
 conferring on sounds and phrases a charm beyond 
 the force of eloquence. Lips steeped in loveliness 
 can never fail, whoever be the auditors, to coin 
 sweet bewitching words, and send them like arrows 
 to the heart. Language assumes a new nature in 
 the mouth of beauty. It grows feminine ; purifies 
 itself from the stains of art; and is then most in- 
 vincible, when throwing off all pomp and metaphor, 
 it appears naked, like Love. We imagine Cleo- 
 patra must have lisped Greek most divinely. Her 
 words borrowed melody from her eyes, and must 
 have seemed full of honey, and rich overflowing 
 gracefulness, because the lips from which they 
 fluttered were so unmatched in softness and 
 beauty. Perhaps there are persons to whom this 
 kind of thinking may seem unintelligible. They 
 might better understand old Montaigne's illustra- 
 tion of the nature of the logic of circumstances. 
 He thought robes, ermine, and badges of authority, 
 exceedingly great helps in conversation; like the 
 old Roman, who was of opinion that it was very 
 absurd to argue with a man who commanded 
 thirty legions. But beauty, and power, which is 
 generally the handmaid of beauty, have much the
 
 STUDYING THE WORLD. 21 
 
 same effect on the human mind : both subdue it, 
 render it submissive, blind, cringing, fawning, 
 nattering. Who is there that has not observed, 
 in his own case or in his neighbour's, some few 
 poor unmeaning syllables, borrowing tenderness, 
 force, or sublimity from the bright eyes that pre- 
 sided, like stars, over their birth ? As to the 
 eloquence of rank or office, of court dresses and 
 lawn sleeves, it is a topic too stale, we fear, to 
 bear mention. But it may be predicated generally, 
 that those buds of rhetoric which put forth upon 
 the stock either of beauty or of power are apt to 
 fade very rapidly when thrown for a moment into 
 the shade, and defy all future showers to give 
 them their bloom again. The jest of an ex- 
 minister is as flavourless as a mummy ; as unin- 
 telligible as its hieroglyphical epitaph. Three 
 days after his fall, his wit, under the spunge of 
 oblivion, has grown as much a mystery as the 
 name of him who built the pyramid, or the taste 
 of Lot's wife. 
 
 The wit and conversation that are relished for 
 their own sake, are those of equals. We soon 
 grow weary of condescension or of condescending, 
 and long for that freedom which prevails only 
 among " birds of a feather." It is pleasant enough 
 to watch familiarity feeling its way among the 
 doubtfulness of new associations j now making a
 
 22 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 slight advance $ now retreating ; watching the 
 gleams of character bursting out from behind 
 the studied folds of etiquette ; treading softly on 
 prejudices or failings ; now congratulating itself ; 
 now despairing. But the mind is never easy 
 until it meets associates in broad daylight ; when 
 the failings and peculiarities of each are perfectly 
 known - } and when few or no thoughts remain in 
 the breast that might not be suffered to venture 
 over the lips. 
 
 When this is the case, conversation is in some 
 respects more valuable than books : for men 
 often hazard, in friendly familiar intercourse, ex- 
 pressions and remarks which they would hesitate 
 to put upon paper, either because they might 
 consider them too dangerous or bold, or, though 
 useful, too common. Besides, men love to con- 
 verse about the subjects with which they are best 
 acquainted j they frequently prefer writing about 
 what they wish, or would be thought, to under- 
 stand. The most ordinary company may convict 
 a person of ignorance, if he presumes to talk of 
 things unknown to him ; but it is not so easy to 
 interrogate an author on the meaning of his book. 
 When Hobbes was at any time at a loss for argu- 
 ments to defend his unsocial principles, viva voce, 
 he always used to say " I have published my 
 opinions ; consult my works ; and, if I am wrong,
 
 STUDYING THE WORLD. 23 
 
 confute me publicly." To most persons this 
 mode of confutation was by far too operose ; but 
 they might have confoundedly puzzled the philo- 
 sopher in verbal disputation. 
 
 Men are social or otherwise in proportion as 
 their sources of happiness are more or less common. 
 Happiness is self-satisfaction, however produced. 
 If an individual, therefore, be so constituted that 
 he can draw advantageous comparisons between 
 himself and others in most cases, he is sure to be 
 generally happy j and as this can be done best in 
 solitude, where the virtues and enjoyments of 
 others dwindle almost to nothing in the distance, 
 while their own appear in all their magnitude, 
 seclusion is the paradise of proud minds, divested 
 of power, an attribute that always enables a man 
 to make those comparisons which, no secret re- 
 morse preventing, constitute happiness. Others, 
 whom no self-flattery short of fatuity can vest 
 with great qualities, seek in noise and bustle for 
 happiness. If they are inferior, they wish to 
 forget it. They mingle with jovial companions, 
 parasites of the bowl, fellows whom Bacchus 
 makes equal. With these the instruments of bliss 
 are delirium and forgetfulness ; as with that 
 Arabian prince, who, having neither a Shakspeare 
 nor a Milton to lift his fancy above " the visible 
 diurnal sphere," was fain to take up with opium,
 
 24 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 which transported him, he said, in delicious trance, 
 to the Indies, and, amid the burning desert, re- 
 freshed his fancy with shady forests and meadows 
 and cooling springs. 
 
 Perhaps the surest way to gain a correct idea 
 of the value of conversation, would be, to study 
 and compare together the modes of it which have 
 prevailed respectively among civilized and bar- 
 barous nations. The old Egyptian was a devout 
 worshipper of silence and of onions ; the Greek 
 was loquacious, but he wrote Iliads, and spoke 
 Philippics j the Roman, too, loved to hear the 
 echo of his own voice ; the modern Gaul and the 
 modern Briton are by no means dumb ; while the 
 Huron, the Spaniard, the Cherokee, the Brahmin, 
 the Turk, and the Monk of Mount Athos, hate 
 words, and will sometimes ponder whole days 
 with their eyes fixed, their lips closed, and their 
 ideas bound up, as in a frost. Barbarians are 
 taciturn, because they have nothing to say ; or, if 
 they do talk, their discourse generally amounts to 
 nothing. But civilized nations, who are conti- 
 nually adding to their intellectual stock, have 
 many motives for avoiding silence : they would 
 learn, and would show that they have learned 
 something; and, from these concurring caxises, 
 are seldom sparing of their words. But, as con- 
 comitance is liable to be mistaken for causation,
 
 STUDYING THE WORLD. 25 
 
 it is sometimes inferred from this, that a nation's 
 fondness for conversation is the reason of its in- 
 tellectual greatness. It is, however, only the effect. 
 The arts are created before we talk of the arts. 
 The birth of eloquence preceded that of rhetoric. 
 When the sciences and the arts have made some 
 progress, however, among a people, they undoubt- 
 edly lend their aid in enlarging and purifying the 
 style of conversation. Among the Greeks and 
 Romans, the tone even of the most familiar dis- 
 course was very much modified by the constant 
 presence of statues, pictures, vases, urns, and 
 gems. We find them making perpetual reference, 
 even in their most homely dialogues, to the pic- 
 tures of Parrhasius, Protogenes, or Apelles ; or to 
 the statues of Phidias, Myron, or Lysippus. This 
 arose from the public manner in which the pro- 
 ductions of the chisel and the pencil were ex- 
 hibited. It was even thought bad taste at Athens, 
 in the time of Socrates, to make a private collec- 
 tion of pictures ; which might be seen to so much 
 more advantage on the sacred walls of the public 
 temples, mingled with associations of the gods. 
 We bid fair, at present, to rival the Athenians in 
 liberality, for the magnificent and costly galleries 
 of our rich men, and even of our Kings, begin to 
 be laid open to the public eye, to enrich our fancy
 
 26 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 and to enliven our conversation. There can be 
 little doubt but that at first both Venuses and 
 Apollos will be criticised with more affectation 
 than judgment ; but experience will correct this 
 evil, and lead us, from indiscriminating admiration 
 or ignorant censure, to a more chaste and en- 
 larged apprehension of what is great and of what 
 is beautiful. 
 
 But, after all, is conversation to be preferred 
 to books ? Montaigne, who is fond of paradoxes, 
 maintains that it is, and so did Plato before him. 
 " The study of books," says the former, " is a 
 languid, feeble motion, that does not warm ; 
 whereas conversation at once instructs and exer- 
 cises." We differ with him. Writing, in our 
 opinion, is the only means by which a philosopher 
 can converse with all those who deserve to hear 
 him. His friendly circle must always, in a great 
 measure, be collected round him by chance ; he 
 cannot choose who shall be his brothers j seldom 
 who shall be his friends. Besides, be his intimates 
 ever so well disposed to hear him, he cannot be 
 always speaking he must sleep, eat, meditate, be 
 idle, die. Nothing, however, can stop the mouth 
 of his book, which can always be made to speak 
 to as many as desire it, at once, and at all hours. 
 Though no one who is indisposed needs hear it, it
 
 STUDYING THE WORLD. 27 
 
 is always eloquent ; is subject to no sickness, no 
 want, no old age. It is an immortal oracle. To 
 converse with the living may, we grant, be more 
 pleasant ; but we regard it as much more useful 
 to hold frequent and assiduous converse with the 
 dead.
 
 SCIENCE 
 
 FORTUNE AND POWER.
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 SCIENCE OF FORTUNE AND POWER. 
 
 I cannot sufficiently marvel that this part of knowledge, touching the 
 several characters of natures and dispositions, should be omitted both in 
 morality and policy; considering it is of so great ministry and suppedita- 
 tion to them both. LORD BACON. 
 
 IN every pursuit into which a man can be led by 
 his necessities or passions, his means of success 
 will be exactly proportioned to his knowledge of 
 character. Not but that there are instances daily 
 occurring of men who acquire power or wealth by 
 mere accident, without their having any preten- 
 sions to this knowledge. But as no man can 
 rationally calculate upon having his wishes ful- 
 filled in such a god-send manner, and as no wise 
 or great man would wish it, knowledge of charac- 
 ter, the only instrument of success upon which we 
 can rely, appears to deserve cultivation. Men of 
 the world, in whatever kind of affairs or business
 
 32 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 they may be engaged, from the management of a 
 shop or counting-house, up to the direction of a 
 government, stand eminently in need of this 
 knowledge ; and the few adventurers who raise 
 themselves to distinction and rank in the state, 
 will be found upon inquiry to have owed their ad- 
 vancement entirely to it. It is, therefore, the 
 grand science of fortune-making. This being the 
 case, it seems very astonishing that so little has 
 been done to facilitate the acquiring and perfecting 
 of this science, which holds the golden keys of 
 fortune and power, and affords a still greater bene- 
 fit, the means of living serenely and independently 
 without either. 
 
 By studying the virtues and defects of others, 
 a prudent man will be induced to reflect upon his 
 own character j for he will perceive that the 
 'effect produced upon mankind by his exertions 
 must inevitably correspond to their fitness no less 
 than to their energy. As few, however, can be 
 found possessed of sufficient courage to dissect 
 and acknowledge to themselves their own weak- 
 nesses, for we all love to believe ourselves perfect, 
 the knowledge of character is seldom acquired, and 
 may in fact be looked upon, almost exclusively, as 
 the science of great men. It may seem strange, 
 since men, the elements of this knowledge, are 
 perpetually in the presence of each other, that it
 
 FORTUNE AND POWER. 33 
 
 should notwithstanding be so little common. But 
 there are many impediments. For men, to whom 
 study is habitual, most commonly choose a retired 
 life, and speculate upon humanity from too great 
 a distance ; thus they never acquire even the 
 elements, and their reasoning on this subject, for 
 the most part, is cold and common-place. Men of 
 business, on the other hand, have their faculties 
 stunned by approaching the great machine of life 
 too near ; they indeed step into it, and are hurried 
 along so rapidly that they have no time for obser- 
 vation. Subtile and acute reasoners, who unite 
 experience with talent, frequently err, likewise, 
 through their attempting to explain all human 
 actions by one simple principle. Numbers decide 
 inaccurately through an over-weening confidence 
 in their capacity to judge at first sight ; many 
 through a habit of judging of others by them- 
 selves. These reasons of failure belong to the 
 observers ; there are others in the complexion and 
 nature of the study. For men of evil dispositions 
 are most careful to throw a veil over their natures, 
 knowing it to be every body's interest that 
 they should be discovered, but for their own that 
 they remain concealed. Even the weak and 
 trifling exert all their energies to hide the defects 
 of their character, come prepared to exhibit them- 
 selves in company, and pick their phrases and 
 c5
 
 34 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 plume their actions with all the art they possess. 
 In business, men view each other with mutual 
 distrust. In their pleasures, they feel or affect a 
 recklessness and magnanimity which form no 
 part of their character. Some are close in their 
 dealings and prodigal in their pleasures j others 
 the reverse ; and many appear to act conformably 
 to no rule whatever. 
 
 It is in the nature of the study, that one 
 man can have but limited observation of another ; 
 that the tide of business and conversation should 
 carry a man out of his drift, and make him a spec- 
 tacle rather than a spectator. Therefore no one 
 can properly be said to study the characters of 
 men who mingles sincerely in their pleasures, 
 or partakes in any great degree of their solici- 
 tudes, or is immersed in affairs, or attaches great 
 value to present matters ; for in all these pre- 
 dicaments he will want that coolness and self- 
 possession which are necessary to study of every 
 kind. To understand a man's character, it is 
 necessary to observe very frequently the conflict 
 between his passions and his intellect, and to cal- 
 culate on which side victory most generally de- 
 clares itself ; for his nature is a thousand-sided 
 figure, which cannot be viewed completely from 
 any one position, but must be contemplated by 
 the lamp of occasion on every side, if we would
 
 FORTUNE AND POWER. 35 
 
 comprehend it thoroughly. Horace speaks with 
 commendation of kings 
 
 who never chose a friend 
 
 Till with full bowls they had unmasked his soul, 
 And seen the bottom of his deepest thoughts. 
 
 But much dependence cannot be placed upon 
 what is wrung out of a man under the influence 
 of wine, which does not so much unveil as it dis- 
 arranges our ideas ; and, therefore, whoever con- 
 templates the character from the combination of 
 ideas produced by intoxication, views man in a 
 false light. Violent anger has nearly the same 
 effect as wine. Voltaire is said to have remarked, 
 that no man is a hero to his valet. There is more 
 wit than truth in the observation, unless the valet 
 be a dolt. Whoever is possessed of real greatness, 
 and is not a hero by complaisance, will lose no- 
 thing by being contemplated in the relations and 
 accidents of domestic life; but, on the contrary, 
 will gain upon the imagination by allowing the 
 observer many casual glimpses into the heart when 
 it is under the influence of the most ennobling 
 affections. It is a vulgar error to consider a man 
 humiliated by being contemplated under pain, or 
 sickness, or any grievous calamity, or even in the 
 exercise of the meanest function of our nature ; 
 for they who think, know before-hand, that the 
 latter must be performed ; and in the former, there
 
 36 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 is always too much of the terrible or the solemn to 
 allow of the existence of contempt. It is only 
 when a man gives way under pains, which include 
 no idea of danger, that he appears weak : a secret 
 sentiment that they are subject to the like contin- 
 gencies will keep up, in serious disorders, the 
 respect of the by-standers. But although the 
 character be much under the eye of domestics, it' 
 may be doubted that " verior fama e domesticis 
 emanat." Relations, and persons who live toge- 
 ther, unless they be very extraordinary people, 
 have very seldom any enlarged knowledge of each 
 other's character. They rather instinctively con- 
 form to than understand one another; and pursue 
 the thread of each other's affections and desires, 
 as a blind man finds his way through streets to 
 which he has been accustomed. They who live in 
 London are much less observing of its beauties 
 and peculiarities than strangers ; the greatest 
 things in it have been subdued by familiarity to 
 common-place in their imaginations; and, there- 
 fore, their ideas of those things are very incorrect. 
 In this way, Voltaire's hero might appear little in 
 the eyes of his valet ; but the defect would be in 
 the valet's eyes. 
 
 Cupid was painted blind by the ancients, to 
 signify that the affections prevent the sight, not 
 so much from perceiving outward as inward de-
 
 FORTUNE AND POWER. 37 
 
 fects. They even obscure perfections and beauties 
 of character, which are not their immediate object, 
 or whose existence might be a bar to their pro- 
 gress or continuance. A man, conscious of many 
 glaring defects in his own mind or person, would 
 dissemble to himself his mistress's discernment 
 and good sense, because, to dwell on them, would 
 be to view the unpleasant side of his prospects, 
 which a man in love is seldom apt to do. This, 
 secundum majus et minus, may be said of all per- 
 sons who live affectionately together ; and, there- 
 fore, a man's family are not the best judges of his 
 character. 
 
 Nor can any correct judgment of the character 
 be formed from conversation; for men of strong 
 passions are commonly too much interested, men 
 of weak, too little, to be known by what they say. 
 Plutarch relates of Brutus, as a proof of his saga- 
 city, that he proposed to some of his friends the 
 question of tyrannicide in the abstract ; and by 
 the manner in which they reasoned concerning it, 
 decided whether or not he should associate them 
 in his enterprise against Caesar. It was hazarding 
 much, if he trusted to their mere approval or con- 
 demnation; for although one might decide for ex- 
 cluding from such an undertaking a man who should 
 condemn it in the abstract, he ought not, perhaps, 
 conversely, to admit any one who should approve 
 
 4.3041 ^
 
 38 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 of it ; for the action might appear so noble and so 
 virtuous to the imagination, while merely contem- 
 plating the abstract proposition, that a man could 
 do no otherwise than admire it, but his energy 
 might fail in action. For to know how a man 
 will act, it is not enough to observe how he can 
 reason. Brutus, however, knew in many other 
 ways the men he had to deal with. 
 
 But even actions themselves bespeak not the 
 character infallibly. Our. natures are often so 
 curbed and constrained by circumstances, and 
 impelled by the general habits of the times, that we 
 seldom appear to be what we are. Indeed it may 
 almost be said, that the character a man gains by 
 his actions in society is never his real character ; 
 for what he does, flows from the fashions of the 
 age, from his position, from the influence of others, 
 and is no manner of rule by which to judge how 
 he would conduct himself the next moment, were he 
 removed to a new scene. It is well known that men 
 sometimes feel appetites and inclinations in their 
 souls which they dread to contemplate, and endea- 
 vour to conceal from themselves : these are rays of 
 their original character breaking up through the 
 forms and habits acquired amongst others. There 
 are those, also, who experience impatient longings 
 for perfection, who question daily their compliance 
 with the maxims of the world, and are never
 
 FORTUNE AND POWER. 39 
 
 satisfied with the fashionable standard of virtue. 
 These are they whom Caesar denominated " men 
 of impracticable consciences;" persons who sel- 
 dom make their fortunes, who are not sought after 
 in society, but who really love the simplicity of 
 nature. The existence of such men is no chimera, 
 and can upon very philosophical grounds be ac- 
 counted for. Imagination is the great efficient 
 cause. 
 
 But people of this cast are rarely the persons 
 to understand the characters of others. They 
 wear a severe, observing look, which discloses the 
 drift of their meditations. Now, whoever would 
 study the characters of those with whom he lives 
 or converses, must keep up the appearance of 
 a kind of recklessness and frivolity, for the mind 
 closes itself up like the hedge-hog, at the least 
 sensible touch of observation, and will not be 
 afterwards drawn out. Men have been known in 
 the middle of a discovery of their character, to be 
 stopped short by a look, which brought them to 
 themselves, and traced before them in an instant 
 the danger of their position and the methods of 
 escape. A keen observer, indeed, may always ad- 
 just the temperature of his discourse by the faces 
 of his auditors, which are saddened or brightened, 
 like the face of the sea in April, as more or less of 
 the sunshine of rhetoric breaks forth upon them.
 
 40 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY, 
 
 Men who are placed in conspicuous situations 
 are supposed to be well known, because any one 
 may soon learn the general opinion concerning 
 them ; which is thought to be an exact picture of 
 their characters. But very few, even of such men, 
 are ever known to the world. Still less are those 
 understood whose birth and manners throw a 
 rough covering over their souls, which, like the 
 cases of the Grecian Hermae, that were rude and 
 shapeless without, but contained within the statues 
 of the gods themselves, conceal the beauty of their 
 intellect. There is nothing, in truth, that bespeaks 
 so much sagacity, as to be able to detect genius in 
 the obscurity of small beginnings,^ while the intel- 
 lectual dawn is struggling, as it were, through the 
 clouds, and revealing, by almost imperceptible 
 rays, the brightness that is approaching. It is 
 nevertheless very politic to mark the first signs of 
 power in intellect, as well as in other forms ; for 
 genius, like beauty, treasures up the remembrance 
 of insult and neglect, 
 
 Manet alta mente repostum, 
 
 and very often has much better means of revenge. 
 It is a fine court-maxim, that, even in disgrace, 
 those who are in the high-road to power ought to 
 be respected ; for, as a great author observes, 
 many that are despised are destined by Provi- 
 dence to arrive at eminence and fortune ; and
 
 FORTUNE AND POWER. 41 
 
 then, confusion to those who have treated them 
 contemptuously! What renders it difficult for 
 ordinary minds to discover a great man before he 
 has, like a tree, put forth his blossoms, is the 
 manner, various and dissimilar, in which such 
 persons evolve their powers. For as in nature 
 the finest days are sometimes in the morning 
 overclouded and dark, so the development of 
 genius follows no rule, but is hastened or retarded 
 by position and circumstance. But to a keen 
 eye there always appear, even in the first obscurity 
 of extraordinary men, certain internal commo- 
 tions and throes, denoting some magna vis animi 
 at work within. These should rouse inquiry in 
 the minds of whoever they may concern; for 
 besides the reputation for wisdom and foresight 
 which a person acquires by announcing the future 
 appearance of any thing extraordinary, there is to 
 be taken into the account the gratitude of genius, 
 warm and lasting, in proportion to the excellence 
 of the principle. 
 
 Many persons overlook a great character, be- 
 cause they observe it slow to come into the field 
 of contention; but they should reflect, that he 
 who has few wares in his shop can easily dispose 
 them for sale, while the merchant who has numer- 
 ous stores requires time and labour to prepare 
 himself for business. There is, as Lord Bacon
 
 42 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 observes, a longanimity, as well as a magnanimity, 
 which demands scope and compass to evolve itself. 
 There is a connexion and continuity in its ener- 
 gies which link it to a distant conclusion ; but 
 
 Jain tutu tenditque, fovetque. 
 
 Flowers and fruits, nature produces abundantly 
 and rapidly upon her bosom, but she ripens gold 
 and diamonds, and all her most durable gifts, in 
 her obscurest womb. The maturing of men's 
 minds bears a strong analogy to these different 
 processes: the light and trifling are generated 
 readily in the lap of fortune ; but no one knows 
 of the existence of the powerful and solid intel- 
 lect till it comes out fully armed, like Minerva 
 from the head of Jupiter. 
 
 The generality, however, are no gainers by this 
 proceeding; for knowledge of character, as has 
 been said before, is the grand'io?/e de parvenir, 
 the mighty engine by which fortune lifts men up 
 to the high places of this world. Some acquire 
 it by experience, and, acting upon it, rise fre- 
 quently to eminence without reflecting profoundly 
 on the causes of their elevation. But the causes 
 are really obvious: they are nothing but supple- 
 ness and the art of pleasing. And because this art 
 has not even yet been very accurately described, 
 we shall explain what is here meant by the art 
 of pleasing. From original conformation, or from
 
 FORTUNE AND POWER. 43 
 
 accident, every man has in his mind an aptitude 
 to receive delight from certain trains of ideas 
 rather than from others; whoever is intimately 
 acquainted with any one will quickly discover 
 these trains, and, if he think it worth his while, 
 will make himself beloved, by artfully managing 
 to connect himself with their appearance. By 
 pursuing this course for any length of time, his 
 presence will become associated in the mind of the 
 other with the most agreeable ideas, and serve, 
 in some sort, as a mirror to reflect back upon 
 his fancy its most delightful images. Through 
 the same kind of policy, light and amusing writers 
 preserve their ground with the public : they know 
 that mankind are more solicitous for pleasure 
 than for knowledge; that a delightful sensation 
 will at any time outweigh a sublime idea; and 
 that to describe what every body feels is flattering 
 every body, by appearing to give to his transient 
 delights a permanence and stability which he had 
 not looked for. Men perpetually individualize, 
 if that will express our meaning, the universal 
 feelings of our nature; they think those things 
 peculiar to themselves which are common to the 
 species; and a writer that describes with tole- 
 rable accuracy his own sensations, pleasurable or 
 painful, will describe those of the whole race, and 
 appear to have looked into every body's bosom.
 
 44 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Upon how many authors has love bestowed im- 
 mortality ! And yet what discovery has ever been 
 made, what new idea added to our old notions 
 of love? The writers in question first felt, and 
 then reflected upon their feelings ; the circum- 
 stances attending them were fresh upon the me- 
 mory j the subsiding passion, in its departure, 
 had deposited a voluptuous sediment upon all the 
 faculties, and while this was fermenting, the mind 
 gave vent to its rich terrestrial ideas, with all the 
 bloom of love diffused over them. As the passion 
 and its reminiscences are common, true descrip- 
 tions of them find an easy way to the heart, which, 
 once interested, bids defiance to criticism. The 
 end of our being is happiness, and these works 
 producing pleasure, its strongest ingredient, are 
 thought to promote very sensibly the main design, 
 and, it must be owned, not without some show 
 of reason. But to return to the art of reaching 
 fortune by pleasing an individual: there are no 
 undertakings, the performance of which does not 
 include at least as much labour as pleasure. Of 
 these, great men, or rather, men of fortune and 
 power, desire to have as much of the credit, and 
 as little of the difficulty, as possible ; in all such 
 enterprises the protege will consent, with an eye 
 to futurity, to let his portion be made up of 
 the greater number of unpleasant, and of the
 
 FORTUNE AND POWER. 45 
 
 smaller number of agreeable sensations 5 in other 
 words, he will do a great deal for very little 
 reward. Here, then, he suffers the great man's 
 pains by proxy, and in so doing, enables himself 
 by habit to suffer more, while his patron grows 
 enervate, and consequently more in need of him 
 every day. By degrees the protege feels his own 
 weight, and begins to presume upon his useful- 
 ness ; and the patron, on the other hand, knowing 
 very well that he stands in need of his co-opera- 
 tion, becomes inclined to part with a larger por- 
 tion of the instruments of pleasure in order to 
 preserve the remainder, now depending, in a great 
 measure, upon his underling. It is in this way 
 that fortune is acquired by the knowledge of 
 character. 
 
 But, undoubtedly, there is a more dignified 
 way of arriving at worldly greatness by the appli- 
 cation of this knowledge. Whoever takes a long 
 survey of his course of life, will immediately per- 
 ceive, that towards whatever aim he directs his 
 footsteps, his path is not through absolute soli- 
 tude: moving in his way, there will be many 
 rivals, many enemies, many inert hinderances, few 
 co-operators, and of these he cannot misunder- 
 stand one without danger. Even his knowledge 
 is a weapon that will stand him in no stead if it 
 be not closely hidden ; the reputation of it would
 
 46 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 carry such a terror into men's minds, that they 
 would never associate with him 5 for who could 
 bear to be the companion of him, who 
 
 almost like the Gods, 
 
 Could even his thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles ? 
 
 But, well dissembled and sharpened by experi- 
 ence, the knowledge of character is a sure help 
 to success ; and is the more honestly and cheer- 
 fully used, as no man is hurt by it, each being 
 managed according to his nature, and only made 
 to promote, blindly and without detriment to 
 himself, the deeper designs of another. The vis 
 inertia of human nature, which we denominate 
 indolence, is a thing upon which all calculate in 
 making an estimate of their associates; but it 
 requires a nice discernment to perceive from 
 what quarter precisely we are to expect co-opera- 
 tion, and from what resistance. 
 
 In order to present a kind of frame to expe- 
 rience upon which it may spread out the various 
 textures of humanity occuring in its way, philoso- 
 phy has divided men into classes, into the mag- 
 nanimous, the poor-spirited, the phlegmatic, the 
 irascible, the proud, the meek, &c. ; but since it 
 must always depend upon the observer to refer 
 individuals to their class, the whole utility of 
 this division consists in the accurate enumeration 
 of the signs of the classes. For what will it avail
 
 FORTUNE AND POWER. 47 
 
 one to know, that a proud man will be an ill 
 co-operator in certain designs, unless it be also 
 known how, by his carriage, looks, or comport- 
 ment, to discriminate between a proud man and 
 a vain? Besides, large divisions include so many 
 differences, that they are of small practical utility, 
 being little more than the alphabet of human 
 nature, which a man must combine many times 
 before he can express his reasonings. Humanity 
 is a common substratum, out of which individuals 
 are formed with infinitely various qualities. It 
 is disputed whether difference of character arises 
 from the original mould, or from education : but 
 character appears, in some degree at least, to be 
 transmissible from father to son, and to continue, 
 with slight modifications, to the extinction of a 
 family. If this be proved, it will follow, that 
 education is not so all-powerful as many pretend, 
 but that, in certain tribes of men, there is a kind 
 of virus which runs through the blood, and gives 
 a secret tinge to the fountains of thought and 
 action in the depths of the soul. Aristotle tells 
 a story illustrative of hereditary irascibility, which 
 is well worth transcribing : " Transports of anger 
 .... seem to be congenial to some races of men; 
 as in the family of him who apologized for beating 
 his father, by saying, 'He beat my grandfather, 
 and my grandfather, the father before him ; and
 
 48 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 this little boy,' pointing to his son, ' will beat me 
 when he is able : the fault runs in our blood ! ' " * 
 He elsewhere observes, that men of energetic cha- 
 racters, as Alcibiades, and Dionysius the elder, 
 failing to transmit their intellectual qualities to 
 their offspring, have progenerated a race leaning 
 strongly towards madness. The animal part of 
 the character, the passions, the affections, the 
 desires, were transmitted in all their force, without 
 that strong reason which, in their great ancestors, 
 had regulated and controlled them. 
 
 But, to say no more on this point, which would 
 demand a separate essay, and to recur again to 
 the methods of discovering the character, what- 
 ever it be, for it is not yet decided what con- 
 stitutes character in men. It appears, however, 
 to be the result, or balance, more or less perfect, 
 of the intellect, passions, and affections, by which 
 an individual is impelled to perform actions com- 
 mon to all the species, in a way peculiar to 
 himself. It is observed by philosophers, that 
 the agitation of the passions operates imper- 
 ceptibly on the muscles of the countenance, giving 
 them abruptness and prominence in proportion 
 to the violence of the inward struggles. Our con- 
 temporaries have mentioned Lord Byron as an 
 example, who, they say, had those rough eleva- 
 
 * Ethics, book vii. Gillies' translation.
 
 FORTUNE AND POWER. 49 
 
 tions of muscle which indicate excessive passion. 
 We can say nothing to this ; we only know that 
 our own experience does not corroborate the 
 opinion. We have known many men whose pas- 
 sions were fierce, changeful, abrupt, and of con- 
 tinual recurrence, who had yet smooth even coun- 
 tenances, indicative of ease and tranquillity. Their 
 eye, it is true, was dark, piercing, uneasy, and had 
 an inscrutable glitter ; but their characters could 
 never have been inferred from thence. We like- 
 wise remember to have known a lady, of a mild 
 placid countenance, full of looks of benevolence 
 and urbanity, with eyes slow, humid, and modest, 
 carriage and mien tranquil and dignified; yet 
 that woman was a serpent, a Messalina. As it 
 appears, however, that every passion has a corre- 
 sponding sign in the visage, it has, by physiogno- 
 mists been inferred that the face is a sure index 
 to the mind. But, allowing that the existence of 
 certain passions is indicated by the expression of 
 the countenance, it will not follow that any clue 
 is thereby afforded to discover whether those 
 passions habitually subside in gratification, or are 
 subdued by intellect; and in this consists the 
 fallacy of physiognomy. But it is very question- 
 able that the muscles of the countenance corres- 
 pond exactly to the inward temperament ; though 
 we by no means think that the expression of a 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 man's vissage is to be overlooked. For although 
 it cannot by the countenance be known correctly 
 how the mind it covers has been actuated for a 
 long backward tract of time, which yet must be 
 known if we would judge of character by phy- 
 siognomy, we may almost infallibly discover the 
 present disposition by it. And to this politicians 
 confine the utility of reading the countenance. 
 For when Atticus advised Cicero to keep strict 
 watch over his face, in his first interview with 
 Caesar after the civil wars, he could not mean 
 that he might thereby conceal his character from 
 Caesar, who knew well enough what that was ; but 
 he meant, that by such precaution he might con- 
 ceal from the tyrant his actual hatred and disgust 
 for his person. Yet for the character and secret 
 nature of a ma.n,fronti nulla fides. 
 
 Some men's minds resemble a mirror, and 
 reflect back exactly the character of him with 
 whom they converse. Such persons, therefore, 
 'are not to be studied when their mental face is 
 towards you, properly disposed to give you back 
 your own image. They must be observed by a 
 side view, when their mind's surface is receiving 
 the impression of other objects ; as also at the 
 moment these are withdrawn, when, like the 
 pupil of the eye, on the removal of intense light 
 .or darkness, they gradually dilate or contract to
 
 FORTUNE AND POWER. 51 
 
 their natural size. An effort of magnanimity 
 exhausts a weak mind, but strengthens one na- 
 turally strong. The former, like waves raised by 
 a tempest, rapidly sinks to its original level 5 the 
 latter, like a mountain lifted higher by an earth- 
 quake, preserves its new position. 
 
 It does not seem necessary, in order to know 
 mankind, that a man should be much in the 
 throng. He may sit quietly on the shore of 
 human society, and observe the rise, fall, and 
 current of the tide, much better than those who 
 are tossed about upon its billows, and obliged to 
 use all their efforts to keep themselves from 
 sinking. But this is what men of business can 
 seldom comprehend. They think, because they 
 have been conversant with affairs in detail, and 
 have come in contact with a great number of men, 
 that therefore the characters and principles of 
 their associates at least must be known to them. 
 But this is seldom the case. Dissimulation and 
 hypocrisy are a cloud, which, like that of ./Eneas, 
 screens the man who walks under it from all 
 common observation; and people never spread 
 this cloud so diligently over their characters, as 
 when they have to do with persons like them- 
 selves. Besides, in general, men of the world 
 have no time to reason on the data afforded by 
 their experience, which supplies but badly the 
 
 D2
 
 52 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 want of principles. For this reason, such persons 
 never properly conceive extraordinary characters ; 
 because, as these occur to them but seldom in 
 their course of life, their experience only enables 
 them to perceive a difference, without determining 
 exactly whether for the worse or for the better. 
 They take a man's character up where it comes 
 in their way, and judge of it superciliously in its 
 present position, never troubling themselves with 
 calculating its previous race, the obstacles it has 
 surmounted, the difficulties it has subdued, the 
 temptations it has resisted. 
 
 How then shall we know mankind, if we can 
 trust neither their words, their looks, nor their 
 deeds ? By their passions and affections. These 
 are the keys of the soul. There is exaggeration, but 
 there is no dissimulation in passion : it bares the 
 bosom of the closest ; it sports with policy; it 
 laughs even intellect, for a time, to scorn. But 
 its undivided reign in a great character is short; 
 mind retreats but for a moment, and returning, 
 curbs, calms, subdues it at length. To know a 
 man thoroughly we should be able to watch him 
 in these conflicts, in which the workings of the 
 soul are unveiled; whence we might in time be 
 able to predicate, a priori, what he would do, and 
 what he would be, in any given situation of life. 
 
 It is delightful, even in contemplation and
 
 FORTUNE AND POWER. 53 
 
 anticipation, to be able to lift the veil from the 
 souls of men 3 to be the "animarum spectator" 
 of our species. For if we meet but too frequently 
 with a ludicrous or dark prospect, there are 
 occasions in which we find men much better than 
 we expected. We have always thought, therefore, 
 that such writers as Rochefoucault are the satirists, 
 not the painters, of human nature. He in par- 
 ticular believed that all men move on the same 
 dead level as they generally do in a court, and 
 was deceived by the sameness of his experience. 
 To know the characters of men, we must go to 
 the study of them without an hypothesis, see them 
 singly, and reserve it to the last to erect a theory 
 from the result of our observations. This kind of 
 knowledge always accompanies extraordinary abi- 
 lities : the reader will recollect the Athenian 
 Timon's judgment of Alcibiades; Sylla's opinion 
 of Caesar, and Caesar's own decision respecting 
 Anthony, Brutus and Cassius. Tiberius was a 
 keen judge of men; and, in our own days, Napo- 
 leon knew perfectly well how to read the heart.
 
 DANGER 
 
 OF 
 
 DIFFERING FROM THE MODE.
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 DANGER OF DIFFERING FROM THE 
 MODE. 
 
 J. HERE has in every age been a kind of tacit 
 general consent between the ideas of all civilized 
 nations that have nourished together. Slight 
 shades of difference there always must be, but 
 the main body of notions prevailing at any par- 
 ticular period, are cognate, and of similar com- 
 plexion. And it is this general resemblance, a 
 kind of family-likeness, between the ideas of 
 contemporaries, which we denominate the spirit 
 of the aye, and every thing which is considerably 
 different is regarded as affectation of singularity. 
 
 It has never, as far as we know, been decided 
 exactly what degree of conformity to public opi- 
 nions and manners a man's duty demands of 
 him ; or whether it be actually in his competence 
 to submit to the spirit of the times. But how- 
 ever this may be, singularity, whether affected 
 or not, is nearly always sure to prejudice ait 
 D 5
 
 58 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 individual in the opinion of the world ; the sin- 
 gular man being shunned as carefully, almost, as 
 the bad man, with whom he is often confounded. 
 People do not understand him. He is not one of 
 themselves. The question is, does the world, in 
 thus setting its face against an individual, act 
 conformably to justice? If it does, all singular 
 men, all authors of sects; all, in short, who dis- 
 turb prevailing notions, or set established customs 
 at defiance, are bad citizens. 
 
 The claims made upon the conformity of each 
 individual by the generality, are very extensive. 
 There is scarcely an office or an act of life, how- 
 ever retired or unimportant, for which fashion has 
 not prescribed the mode. In an enlarged sense, 
 all mankind perform the great functions of their 
 being simultaneously, as an army goes through 
 its evolutions. Day calls them from slumber, 
 and night again oppresses them with oblivion, 
 almost altogether. They eat, dress, sleep, dream 
 at nearly the same season of the day and night, 
 as if they had entered into a contract to suffer, 
 and to forget their miseries in company. 
 
 From this circumstance, a consequence of their 
 nature, men learn to look in every predicament 
 for conformity to the mode; and, when they 
 find it not, or find it in a degree insufficient and 
 inconsiderable, to feel irritation, anger, repug-
 
 DIFFERING FROM THE MODE. 59 
 
 nance, or even antipathy and hatred. Tis no 
 matter whether the hated singularity appear in 
 great things or in small, for in either case it is 
 understood equally to indicate a contempt for 
 grey-headed reverend custom. If in great things, 
 it is inferred that the delinquent must nourish 
 his opinions with viperous designs against society, 
 and have cast them in some forbidden infernal 
 mould, hidden and unknown to honest well- 
 meaning people. If in small, the world is pro- 
 voked to find itself so little respected as to be set 
 at nought for mere trifles. And thus, no person 
 can with impunity presume to differ from the 
 generality. 
 
 We have proofs, indeed, before our eyes daily, 
 in those striking manifestations of feeling which 
 escape the multitude, of man's deep-rooted inhe- 
 rent antipathy to strangeness of every kind. A 
 long beard; a garment of unusual make, or of 
 unusual colour ; a dwarfish or a gigantic stature ; 
 odd coloured eyes; extreme ugliness; excessive 
 strength : all these call forth expressions of con- 
 tempt or aversion. The reader who is familiar 
 with London, must have observed a gentleman 
 nearly eight feet high, walking about the streets in 
 the dusk of the evening. As soon as his gigantic 
 breast appears over the heads of the populace, 
 every eye is turned up upon his countenance
 
 60 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 moving almost in a line with the lamps, which 
 throw a brighter light upon it than reaches the 
 faces below. They who see him for the first time, 
 are pictures of gaping wonder j and the innu- 
 merable crowds, the seas of people through which 
 this second Polypheme wades, not breast-deep, 
 utter a murmur of envious ridicule, as they make 
 way for him, and appear glad to get rid of the 
 monster. But why should a man be laughed at 
 liecause his head is nearer the clouds than that of 
 any other person among a million ? Is it a crime 
 to be tall? Are men all in their hearts like 
 Herod, who cut off his son's head because it 
 overtopped his own? 
 
 Be this as it may, the majority of mankind 
 experience, in the presence of every unaccustomed 
 object, an uneasy feeling, which affects them 
 indescribably. A mysterious sentiment that there 
 is something wrong flutters, as it were, about 
 their hearts, and by degrees becomes painful. 
 And this sentiment always recurring as often as 
 the irksome object is in sight, the mere instinc- 
 tive aversion to pain teaches them at length to 
 shun the thing which they know by experience 
 sure to cause it. 
 
 There are men whose presence is painful. Not 
 that we know any ill of them, or expect positively 
 to receive any injury at their hands. What creates
 
 DIFFERING FROM THE MODE. 61 
 
 our dislike, and sometimes our apprehension of 
 danger, is some peculiar bias of feature, or sinister 
 expression, a kind of finger-post set up by nature 
 at the doubtful cross-roads of human character. 
 Every kind of singularity, therefore, in manners 
 and appearances, has a tendency to disturb, more 
 or less, the intercourse that should subsist be- 
 tween man and man, as it conveys an indication 
 of contemptuous pride, or secret persuasion of 
 superiority, offensive in all cases to our haughty 
 self-love. Accordingly, all those who slide easily 
 into the affections of men have a kind of natural 
 dissimulation ; a loose-jointed shifting counte- 
 nance which adapts itself readily to the occa- 
 sion 5 they become all things to all men ; they 
 lead their own passions about, muzzled like 
 tame bears, to allure the passions of others. 
 But this conduct does not necessarily imply 
 moral turpitude ; for John^ Hampden was re- 
 markable for masking his own designs and opi- 
 nions, that he might discover those of others ; 
 and Atticus valued himself on that urbanity and 
 sweetness of disposition, which, with wonderful 
 versatility, could accommodate itself in turns to- 
 the vanity of Cicero, the ambition of Caesar, the 
 truculent fierceness of Sylla, the peevish intolerable 
 humour of Ca?cilius, the coarseness of Antony, 
 and the virtue and philosophic gravity of Brutus..
 
 O C 2 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Many persons now living have all this Pomponian 
 suavity of character, and put it out at similar 
 interest. 
 
 As contemporaries seem designed to keep pace 
 with each other in intellect, no less than in man- 
 ners, every one who rushes on far beyond the 
 ranks, or exhibits any very strong desire to do so, 
 is naturally viewed from that moment with sus- 
 picion, at least, if not with envy and aversion. 
 His constitutional vigour and alacrity receive the 
 name of affectation, and instead of being con- 
 sidered a great man, he is sometimes regarded as 
 a mountebank. This has happened in our own 
 age. When Mr. Bentham published his Defence 
 of Usury, almost fifty years ago, he was treated 
 as a visionary, and his notions were despised. 
 Time went on, and in the course of thirty or forty 
 years some few came up with Mr. Bentham's 
 position, and found it no longer so absurd as it 
 had appeared through the mists of distance. 
 Meanwhile, the philosopher was stretching away 
 before them, inventing and discovering, and still 
 appearing in his new positions as ludicrous as in 
 the matter of usury. When they overtake him 
 again, they may again find him rational ; and, 
 meantime, he can wait. 
 
 The dexterity with which men throw an air of 
 ridicule over whatever is new or extraordinary has
 
 DIFFERING FROM THE MODE. 63 
 
 been often remarked. It is the weapon of indo- 
 lence. But nature originally bestowed it upon 
 man to enable him to defend himself against the 
 pretensions of quackery and useless innovation. 
 He employs it, however, against all novelties, and 
 against all opinions, new or old, not in present 
 vogue. Indeed, opinion, like Janus, has two faces, 
 one fascinating and beautiful, which it always 
 turns towards its worshipper ; the other withered, 
 wrinkled, deformed, odious, which we never see 
 till we have dismissed it, or refused to hold con- 
 verse with it. The example of the early Christian 
 writers, for the most part newly escaped from the 
 errors of Paganism, illustrates this ; for, no sooner 
 had they shaken off their allegiance to Jupiter, 
 than the golden domes of Olympus were trans- 
 formed in their imagination into wizards' dens, 
 even while their garments were yet perfumed by 
 the incense of the Pagan altar. And recently, in 
 France, we have seen a striking instance of the 
 mutability of opinion. From time immemorial, 
 the Catholic religion had prevailed there ; anti- 
 quity had made it venerable ; it spoke to the 
 hearts and imaginations of the people from a 
 thousand sacred altars, and was propped up by 
 ceremonies and mysteries, and the law, and the 
 early and almost ineradicable prejudices of the 
 mind. The French people thought it a beautiful
 
 64 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 faith. Anon, came the new light of modern phi- 
 losophy. Persecution fanned it into a blaze, and 
 as it increased, the fires of the altar waned, 
 nickered, were extinguished, and lost in their 
 own ashes. The French had now a beautiful 
 philosophy, and Catholicism, viewed in its de- 
 parting aspect, appeared a horrid and hateful 
 monster. Times have again changed, and Ca- 
 tholicism, now amiable again, is taking peaceable 
 possession of its ancient seats, and driving out its 
 enemy by the most vigorous measures.* 
 
 When public opinion is thus fluctuating, in- 
 dividuals have some difficulty in preserving them- 
 selves from the charge of singularity, to which all 
 such persons are obnoxious as maintain in these 
 sudden changes a sober and steady mind. There 
 are, however, but very few in any country enter- 
 taining thoughts and opinions that ought really 
 to be termed singular. For, although there be 
 nothing too absurd for men to believe conjointly 
 with others, they dread to embrace even truth 
 itself, if they are to embrace it alone, in silence 
 and solitude. Men have always thought and be- 
 lieved in masses, under the standard of intellectual 
 despots, in the same manner as they fight in 
 
 * Since the above was written , Catholicism has been put 
 npon a level with all other religions in France, which has now 
 no established faith.
 
 DIFFERING FROM THE MODE. 65 
 
 masses beneath the banners of political despots. 
 Throughout the whole earth, you may observe 
 opinions and ideas, like swarms of bees, clustering 
 together upon particular spots, or as if, like cer- 
 tain trees and plants, they were indigenous to the 
 soil. So that it is no less natural in a Hindoo to 
 believe in Krishna and Brahma, than it is for him 
 to abstain from beef and to feed on rice. We 
 grant that among the idolaters of Hindostan and 
 Tibet, individuals may sometimes be found who 
 differ in many respects from the true orthodox 
 believers. But were the creed of these heretics 
 properly examined, it would be found to be no- 
 thing more than a remoter emanation from the 
 national doctrine, refracted as it were from the 
 peculiarities of some individual character. It is 
 reserved for one man in many thousand years to 
 plant a new root of opinion, created by his own 
 solitary reflections. The lighter and more volatile 
 spirits, for ever on the wing in search of novelty, 
 are the first to receive the untried seeds, and to 
 scatter them over the surface of society. In this 
 process, the first converts are esteemed the most 
 honourable by the rising sect, for all teachers 
 value docility more than prudence and circum- 
 spection. 
 
 But in whatever way we turn, we meet with 
 proofs that all men have naturally a distrust of
 
 66 ANATOMY OP SOCIETY. 
 
 every thing which is singular and strange, even 
 they who invent and propagate it. There would, 
 indeed, be few founders of sects, and preachers of 
 novel doctrines, if it were not that the human 
 mind is always uneasy when it stands in any 
 manner apart from the rest of the world. The 
 solitude of opinion is not less insufferable than 
 local solitude. We are aware that men colour, 
 with the specious pretence of a love for truth, 
 their inordinate zeal for the spread of their own 
 opinions, and perhaps they are sometimes sincere ; 
 but, in general, men's eagerness to create imita- 
 tors and make proselytes arises from the irksome- 
 ness of standing alone, or with few resembling 
 them, and from the dread of that ridicule and an- 
 tipathy which the world always casts on every 
 departure from its received notions. Wise men 
 once bowed down before Jupiter and Neptune, and 
 felt no misgiving in their hearts while they wor- 
 shipped, because millions bent the knee along 
 with them. It would now be difficult, or, perhaps, 
 impossible, to find a dozen persons in all Europe 
 who could be persuaded to return to Paganism. 
 Is it because every man in Europe is now wiser 
 than Homer or Ulysses ? We fear not. Millions 
 of them believe that the Deity may be transmuted 
 into a slice of bread, and, under that shape, eaten. 
 They see no absurdity in this. None at all. But,
 
 DIFFERING FROM THE MODE. 67 
 
 tell them that the God of the Pagans was omni- 
 potent and wise, and neither slumbered nor slept, 
 and add, that his name was Jupiter, or Zeus, or 
 Mithra, or Osiris, and they will laugh at you. 
 They know no such God, and will inform you 
 that the world is now grown wiser than to wor- 
 ship idols. Is it ? Are the Chinese, (themselves 
 more numerous than all the Christians upon the 
 earth,) the Hindoos, the Tartars, the Malays, the 
 thousand tribes of Africa, the aboriginal Ameri- 
 cans, the millions scattered over the Eastern 
 Ocean, and even the Laplanders of Europe ; are 
 all these grown too wise to be every whit as 
 idolatrous as the Greeks and Romans ? No ! 
 but Jupiter has had his day, and Brahma and the 
 Fetiches will have theirs. 
 
 Of all men living, your true proselyte-maker 
 is the most disagreable companion. Every thing 
 you can say or do ministers occasion to his zeal. 
 He reads " sermons in stones," and from all he 
 sees draws matter for his converting vein. It is 
 his hobby-horse. There is philanthropy, however, 
 as well as greatness of mind, in conforming with 
 prevailing customs and unconquerable prejudices, 
 so long as they are indifferent as to vice or virtue. 
 For all opposition ruffles the tranquillity of life ; 
 and love for our species should dispose us, 
 unless when important truths and political rights
 
 68 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 are concerned, to fall in with the customs and 
 observances of our country, that we may give our 
 neighbours the pleasure, however small, of our 
 countenance and fellowship. Littleness of mind, 
 and intemperate zeal, its usual concomitant, are 
 incapable of this forbearance. They subsist upon 
 strife and contention. A zealot, possessed by 
 peculiar notions, whether good or bad, could no 
 more contain his budget of singularities, than a 
 thunder-cloud the lightning. He keeps his opi- 
 nions in edge by wounding the feelings of his 
 neighbour with them. He travels from occasion 
 to occasion, like an Irish pedlar with his linen ; 
 calls at the door of every man's mind, vending 
 here an ell, and there a piece, of his precious 
 merchandise. He does not manufacture opinions 
 for his own wear, but to sell. Like a gossiping 
 woman, his mind is never so unhappy as when 
 confined at home. The breath of his nostrils is 
 argument ; his delight, to see the harmless pre- 
 judices of his fellow-creatures impaled upon the 
 points of his wit. He praises kno\yledge, and has 
 respect for truth in his mouth, but all the while 
 knows well, that ignorance is the only field in 
 which he can hope to reap reputation. Restless 
 sophists of this sort would rather find all man- 
 kind a blind herd, weary of their old conductors, 
 but ready to follow in any direction the footsteps
 
 DIFFERING FROM THE MODE. 69 
 
 of new ones, than see the scales fall from their 
 eyes, leaving them in possession of a degree of 
 light in which every man might see his owiv 
 way. 
 
 The old proverb, " birds of a feather flock 
 together," is a philosophical axiom. Men love 
 every thing that is like themselves, and in general 
 hate whatever is different. Among cannibals it 
 must be a heinous sin against the mode, to 
 abstain from dining off a man's leg or arm, and 
 to prefer a slice of bread-fruit, or the chine of 
 a wild boar. Anthropophagites hate singularity 
 like other people. 
 
 But it is not until society has reached a 
 certain point, that men affect to differ by some 
 fantastical peculiarity from the rest of the world. 
 While man continues in the condition of a savage, 
 he has so many things to rouse and excite him, 
 that he stands in no need of affectation. He 
 struggles with the force of wild beasts by day, 
 and at night is often kept awake by their howling 
 and roaring round his hut. The wolf and the 
 lion lie in his morning walk, the alligator lurks in 
 his bathing-place, the eagle or the condor hovers 
 over his cot, to pounce, as soon as he turns his 
 back, upon his kid or his child. His passions 
 never slumber. Terror and revenge roll over his 
 mind by turns, as the war-whoop of his enemy
 
 70 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 bursts upon his defenceless hiding-place, or as 
 he himself dashes his tomahawk into the brains 
 of his foe. 
 
 The highly civilized and polished man has for 
 the most part to contend with no enemies but his 
 own ennui and vacancy of thought. Art has 
 made the world smooth and uniform for him ; 
 and nature has so far lost her power over him 
 that he almost forgets her existence. Art is 
 every where, and does every thing. He sees her 
 issue from his cities, and lead her highways and 
 her canals over plain and mountain. The whole 
 face of the country is hers. By degrees all his 
 feelings grow to be artificial. The roughness and 
 the energy of nature are lost ; and from a being 
 almost wholly moulded of passion and power, he 
 dwindles into a thing of fancies and conceits, 
 trembles at phantoms and chimeras, is sad or 
 mirthful according to the colour of his dreams, 
 and learns, at length, to make his happiness 
 depend entirely on that army of politicians, 
 preachers, writers, actors, heretics, enthusiasts, 
 &c., who undertake to cause a succession of ideas 
 to pass through his imagination like landscapes 
 through a camera lucida. 
 
 Then it is that, like the ancient king, he holds 
 out the hope of extravagant rewards to the in- 
 ventors of new pleasures, and that the mines of
 
 DIFFERING FROM THE MODE. 71 
 
 imagination and the stores of nature are ran- 
 sacked for excitement. In this state of things, 
 and as a novel variety, affectation of singularity 
 springs up. And sometimes it succeeds. But, 
 being a commodity that must be used imme- 
 diately, its manufacturers are ruined if they bring 
 it not to market at the critical moment, for it will 
 not keep. 
 
 By well-timing his extravagances, however, 
 almost any person might acquire a certain sort of 
 reputation. Eratostratus, 
 
 Th' aspiring youth that fired th' Ephesian dome ! 
 
 immortalized his name by tossing a lighted torch 
 into the combustible part of a temple. Elwes 
 will long be remembered by mankind, because he 
 had a very close pocket, and dined on a bit of dry 
 bread or a boiled egg, while he might have sat 
 down to the costliest dainties. And, then, think 
 of Ravaillac and Damien: assassins! but never- 
 theless chronicled by fame. 
 
 Cleopatra, and Ninon, and Diana of Poictiers, 
 with hundreds of their like, have fastened their 
 names on the page of history, because they un- 
 derstood the theory of lust and voluptuousness 
 more perfectly than other courtezans. Why are 
 Phryne, and Lais, and Lamia, and Flora, remem- 
 bered ? Why are their names more familiar to
 
 72 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 men's tongues than those of Bacon and Newton r 
 Is it because one of them endeared herself to 
 Demetrius Poliorcetes, and another to Pompey, 
 by her amorous bites ? And because the others 
 did things equally worthy of fame ? Barely to 
 be known to posterity, no matter for what, is a 
 poor ambition. Swedenborg, Jacob Boehmen, and 
 Johanna Southcote, are as sure to be in some 
 degree known to posterity, as St. Pachomius and 
 St. Anthony, personages no less fanatical and 
 silly, are known to this age. So will Madame 
 Krudener and the Abbe de la Mennais. In 
 reality, nature appears to produce such persons, 
 as she produces dwarfs and wittols, merely to 
 diversify life, and to add to the catalogue of hu- 
 man amusements ; and the public use them, per- 
 haps unwittingly, as the Romans did their gladia- 
 tors, encouraging them by looking on, to pierce 
 each other by railing and invective, and to wield 
 in turn the sophist's net, to entangle the weapons 
 of their assailants. 
 
 But, although singularity, as well as the affec- 
 tation of it, is in general disagreeable to mankind, 
 they have always shown a disposition to admire 
 it, under the name of originality, in the character 
 and productions of the mind. When nature im- 
 prints any peculiar features on the intellect of an 
 individual, she always takes care so to harmonize
 
 DIFFERING FROM THE MODE. 73 
 
 them with each other, that they appear rather the 
 marks of a new species than of a monstrous 
 singularity. And, therefore, real originality is 
 pleasing, as the common experience of life suffi- 
 ciently proves. We all occasionally make new 
 acquaintances, and if we observe the conduct of 
 our minds at such seasons, we shall discover 
 curiosity, restless, anxious, busy to find some 
 opening into the character, like a nesting-swallow 
 fluttering about the eves of a barn. But in most 
 cases, no sooner has it scaled the outworks, and 
 had time to look about it, than it turns back dis- 
 couraged at the dreary appearance of the interior, 
 which is the cause of so many short-lived friend- 
 ships, as we see die before us daily. Not so when 
 there is originality. Then we love the prospect 
 which opens upon us, and are never tired with 
 expatiating among its beauties. Indeed most men 
 are sensible to the delight of pitching upon a man 
 who really has a distinct character of his own ; 
 who nurses and prunes his ideas after his own 
 fashion, as if he had received a patent from na- 
 ture to preserve his method and management to 
 himself. 
 
 Original ideas are in fact the proper dress of 
 the aristocracy of intellect, which distinguishes 
 them from the vulgar, as the rich brocade, and 
 cloth of gold, and embroidered vests of our an- 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 cestors marked gentility of blood. But even this 
 dress may be imitated. For as cunning very often 
 contrives to carry the appearance of wisdom, so 
 servility at times succeeds, by cautious thieving, 
 in decking itself with the badges of genius. And 
 of all the distinctive marks of mental power, 
 singularity of manner is the most easily put on. 
 But this distinction is quickly lost by diffusion ; 
 the secret soon transpires that it is an imitable 
 quality ; shoals of imitators arise, and the natu- 
 ral, or at least peculiar, manner of one great man 
 serves to disguise the barren mediocrity of a 
 thousand. This has been illustrated in our times 
 by Lord Byron and his innumerable mimics. 
 His Lordship possessed undoubted genius of a 
 very high order; but his manner of displaying it 
 was not quite free from affectation and quackery. 
 Every man, therefore, ambitious of resembling 
 this new Hercules, assumed his club and lion's 
 skin, and hoped to be mistaken, if not for the 
 hero himself, at least for his equal. 
 
 All originality of mind, as we have said before, 
 is singularity ; but while it keeps within the circle 
 that bounds the ideas of the age, though beating 
 constantly about the extreme circumference, it is 
 relished and admired. It is only when it flies 
 beyond the central attraction of fashion, and re- 
 volves in another orbit, that it becomes an object
 
 DIFFERING FROM THE MODE. 75 
 
 of distrust and fear, or at least of neglect, to the 
 rest of mankind. But even should a man be 
 carried, by the force or natural tendency of his 
 mind, to this remoteness from popular ideas, he 
 might still, perhaps, by caution and art, preserve 
 a resemblance to them in his productions, as the 
 furthest visible star is clothed with the same kind 
 of brightness as encloses the head of Sirius or 
 Orion. 
 
 E 2
 
 EDUCATION OF GREAT MEN.
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 EDUCATION OF GREAT MEN. 
 
 IT is a principle in human nature to be pleased 
 with the beginnings of things. We delight to 
 approach the fount of causation, to see the first 
 bud of mighty designs bursting into being. Di- 
 rected by this leaning of the mind, the philoso- 
 phers .of antiquity pondered on the birth of the 
 universe, constructed systems, and bowed down 
 their spirits before them. From the same cause 
 we seek the origin of fashions, of customs, of 
 religions, of the founders of empires, builders of 
 castles, inventors of arts and sciences ; delighting 
 to look for ourselves into the early lives of men 
 of genius and renown. We hope by these means 
 to discover the disposing causes of their supe- 
 riority, and, generally, to step into that sunshine 
 which forwarded and ripened their minds. Be- 
 sides, there is in such persons a rich vein of 
 enthusiam which nourishes most in youth, before
 
 80 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 the world has driven back the sap of life to stag- 
 nate round the heart. It is true, indeed, that 
 they never cool and harden into rigidity like 
 other people 5 but in early life their imaginations 
 are in perfect fusion, floating hither and thither, 
 like the sea, and ready to run into any matrix 
 which may be placed by chance before the vio- 
 lence of their current. From some imperfect and 
 vague notices of this peculiarity, it happens that 
 common individuals attribute an extreme way- 
 wardness to men of genius, especially during 
 youth, and consider them as meteoric fires which 
 are driven by some uncertain force through ec- 
 centric and unknown paths. Upon this principle, 
 too, their weaknesses are sometimes excused j as 
 if their superiority in the higher provinces of 
 mind, necessarily inferred a frail and indeter- 
 minate purpose in the meaner affairs of life. But 
 this reasoning is no less silly than it is false. It 
 is, in fact, the malicious labour of mediocrity, 
 seeking by every means to bring down every 
 thing to its own level. The real man of genius 
 has but one purpose in life ; and that is, to push 
 his mind to the utmost verge of its capability. 
 For this he is not to neglect the charities, the 
 affections, or the duties of life ; he is not, and 
 cannot be, cut off from the necessities of his spe- 
 cies : but he knows better than any man what
 
 EDUCATION OF GREAT MEN. 81 
 
 things are truly estimable, what not, and values 
 them accordingly. Upon his affections he builds 
 his knowledge of affection ; upon his wants, 
 his pity and compassion j upon the discharge 
 of his own duties, the exact estimate of what 
 is to be required at the hands of humanity. 
 Thus the unity of his purpose comprehends what- 
 ever excellences nature has placed within our 
 reach j and by how many of these he fails to 
 attain, by so many is his scheme short of per- 
 fection. 
 
 At its first setting forth, genius sometimes 
 lies undistinguished among the crowd j for it is 
 too commonly the lot of men of few worldly pre- 
 tensions. This, however, is not the worst thing 
 that could happen to it; for, while thus unno- 
 ticed, it forms its strange habits with impunity. 
 It steps on cautiously and at leisure over the field 
 of knowledge ; it pauses when, and where, and 
 how it pleases. It has no vulgar appetite for 
 starting up among its fellows as a prodigy, or for 
 drawing upon its movements the intemperate 
 gaze of superior learning. Such hot-house fires 
 as give premature ripeness to the mind, it shuns 
 and abominates, endeavouring only to keep pace 
 with nature and her seasons. The mere mob are 
 better companions for a youth of this stamp than 
 your half - literary people. Less conceited and 
 E 5
 
 82 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 more natural in their follies, the former com- 
 pletely overlook him. He is a star entirely out 
 of their sphere. But the latter, without being 
 better able to judge of the force of his mind, and 
 with less disposition to tolerate the effervescence 
 of his unruly passions, throw themselves around 
 him, as country-folks crowd about a mountebank, 
 and make to themselves an enigma of him. This 
 proceeding renders him either vain or shy. He 
 shows off, as it is called, or shrinks from them; 
 and in either case he is a loser. 
 
 For this reason it is that that deep enthusi- 
 asm, which shakes the fancy and imagination 
 like a perpetual earthquake, is pleased with the 
 solitude of woods and ruins, the dim silence of 
 night, the roaring and tossing of the sea; and 
 when it has had its fill of these, or is driven by 
 necessity to quit them, it naturally goes among 
 the most unrestrained company, where the song 
 and the laugh are frequent. The hollow civilities 
 of fashionable society have but few charms for 
 such as see through them completely; and men 
 of genius have sharp eyes in such matters. Be- 
 sides, among the vulgar they are not expected to 
 contract unequal friendships; they are permitted 
 to come and go without exciting wonder or in- 
 quiry; they are never nailed down by politeness 
 to listen to ignorant and insipid criticisms upon
 
 EDUCATION OF GREAT MEN. 83 
 
 the hallowed productions of the muse, or to hear 
 some upstart's pretensions preferred before the 
 claims of lasting merit. 
 
 The sort of conversation which obtained in 
 ancient society, especially when youth was pre- 
 sent, seems to have been peculiarly adapted for 
 the nourishment of genius. The achievements of 
 their heroes, the systems of their philosophers, 
 the wonders and peculiarities of foreign lands ; 
 such were the subjects which amused the leisure 
 hours of Euripides and Plato. Their education 
 was longer than ours, though completed in fewer 
 years. But every moment was employed. A 
 visit to a friend, a jaunt into the country, a day 
 at the theatre, were so many lessons of taste or 
 of wisdom. Plato's Dialogues w r ere composed 
 from the actual conversations of his master, 
 though it has been said he added many things. 
 The famous work on the Republic, then, origi- 
 nated in a walk to the Piraeus. What a luxury 
 did the Greeks make of friendship and thought ! 
 But by their method nothing was hastened before 
 its time. A high and inspired mind is seldom 
 rapidly matured ; it follows the process by which 
 the most valuable productions of nature are 
 formed ; it grows insensibly. Necessity has 
 sometimes, it is true, reversed this proceeding, 
 and crowded and hastened its efforts, till an un-
 
 84 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 timely ripeness has been produced, which has 
 caused the death of the plant : but there have 
 been few Chattertons and Kirke Whites. Nor 
 is it desirable that there should be many : nur- 
 tured upon nature's moderate regimen, those 
 youths (the former at least) might have lived 
 long, and given birth to works of very high cha- 
 racter. The true secret of their precocity was 
 their applying that time to meditation, which 
 should have been employed in storing the mind 
 with more knowledge. The richness of Chatter- 
 ton's fancy was expended on a very narrow range ; 
 it was undividedly directed one way. His meta- 
 phors and allusions are beautiful ; but they do 
 not indicate extensive so much as intense thought. 
 What he wished to know he studied with irre- 
 pressible ardour; but he restrained his warmth 
 with a severe economy : he perceived it was not 
 for him to know too many things. The same 
 courage, united to the same degree of industry 
 and enthusiasm, would at any time produce the 
 same results : their union, in fact, is genius. 
 Kirke White had a much weaker, and, to speak 
 the truth, a far inferior mind ; his poetry has not 
 the high and impassioned tone which distin- 
 guishes that of the other: it is lengthy, diffuse, 
 and feeble, though occasionally very sweet and 
 pleasing.
 
 EDUCATION OF GREAT MEN. 85 
 
 But in all instances the early life of genius is 
 a life of labour and intellectual privation ; for, 
 however extensive its powers, the mind, sooner or 
 later, discovers that it cannot taste of every kind 
 of knowledge, and leave itself time for medita- 
 tion ; and the earlier it makes this discovery, 
 with the more vigour does it draw together its 
 forces, and press forward in its chosen track. 
 Men of common intellect suffer a change from 
 the inroad of foreign notions ; acquired ideas 
 expand over their minds like water over a flat 
 surface, leaving none of those bold prominences, 
 thrusting their heads above the waves, which 
 display the inward habits of the soul. From a 
 conviction of this kind, persons of strong minds, 
 nay, perhaps, of genius, have gradually weaned 
 themselves from books, and taken entirely to 
 thinking. But reading, like a skilful gardener, 
 turns up the soil of the mind, and deposits the 
 seeds of thought, leaving to reflection and study, 
 as to the. airs and dews of heaven, the office of 
 fructifying and maturing the future plants. 
 
 To despise learning is often the portion of 
 wrong-headed genius ; but learning is, in respect 
 to thought, what a large estate or capital is to 
 industry. The man of five acres will never be 
 able to cope with him, who, possessing equal 
 industry, has a hundred. Those only are con-
 
 86 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 temptible who attach importance to the possession 
 and not to the use, of learning. It* is, however, 
 a mistake to think that acquirements trench upon 
 originality ; for as the material of every thing we 
 possess is acquired from sources external to our- 
 selves, it is but little matter whether we draw 
 from nature or from books, which are pictures of 
 nature ; for genius, like a politic general, will take 
 care not to trust the event of the battle to mer- 
 cenaries or allies. They may assist in making its 
 phalanxes square and of complete aspect, but are 
 lost in the number of native troops, and sway not 
 the fortune of the field. But in this, as in all 
 things, genius is at variance with common con- 
 clusions ; and the reason why great men differ 
 thus from ordinary persons, is, that their loftiness 
 giving the effect of nearness, causes them to see 
 more of objects than the curvity of the common 
 ground he stands on permits to the eye of the low 
 spectator ; as men upon a mountain perceive a 
 ship at sea long before it becomes visible to those 
 on the level shore. It may not be prudent, there- 
 fore, for a man of great conceptions always to giva 
 the whole scope of his ideas, because persons of 
 ordinary capacities will be apt to lose all percep- 
 tion of their proportions ; in like manner as it is 
 thought a fly is incapable of taking in the whole 
 of any large object at once, believing itself while
 
 EDUCATION OF GREAT MEN. 87 
 
 perched on the back of an ox to be upon a large 
 plain. We -have seen people puzzled by a great 
 idea in this manner - } for them it had neither head 
 nor tail. 
 
 It is accordingly observable, that great authors 
 plunge not at once into the depths of speculation, 
 but, taking their readers by the hand, lead them 
 out gradually over a shelving bottom, feeling their 
 way as they go. We may be said to follow this 
 method when we take a great man from the 
 cradle, and pursue with attention the course and 
 unfolding of his mind. We go on like an Abys- 
 sinian watching the wanderings of the Nile, from 
 his humble and hidden source, until he mixes his 
 broad waters with the ocean. And it is no less 
 delightful than instructive thus to linger round 
 the sources and outsetting of genius ; thus to 
 mark the accession of tributary streams, which 
 widen and deepen the intellectual current j thus to 
 pursue the triumphant disemboguing of its trea- 
 sures : it is the best part of mental geography. 
 
 It is certain that the whole current of after- 
 life frequently takes its rise from some trivial 
 cause. Some simple book or chance-thought gives 
 it its direction ; and the knowledge of that book 
 or idea might afford us one means of judging how 
 greatness is attained. No man is great without 
 being conscious of his greatness, without knowing
 
 88 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 of what importance a knowledge of the march 
 and conformation of his mind might be to his 
 fellow -creatures. It may, therefore, seem almost 
 unaccountable why men of genius have been 
 averse to laying themselves open to the world. 
 In their greatest familiarity there is a reserve. 
 Like skilful anglers, they proportion the length of 
 their line to the depth of the stream in which they 
 may be fishing, and never totally unwind the clue. 
 In youth they act thus from a modest policy, to 
 disarm envy, and preserve their minds fresh and 
 free from the taint of vulgarity. In manhood 
 they are too deeply involved in the disposing, 
 ripening, and perfecting of their schemes, to turn 
 aside for the purpose of gathering up the shreds 
 of memory relating to their opening prospects. 
 Their youth is one strongly connected and unin- 
 terrupted dream ; their manhood the counterpart, 
 or realization of that dream in actual perform- 
 ance. We prefer looking, perhaps, upon the 
 former part, when the mind, creating and draw- 
 ing together its forces, seems to be invigorated 
 with supernatural energy, and capable of things 
 which are shorn and curtailed, in the perform- 
 ance, of half their magnitude. But for this very 
 reason genius may shun reflections upon its early 
 days, when its grand purposes were sketched out 
 in bold and shadowy outline ; when its wealth
 
 EDUCATION OF GREAT MEN. 89 
 
 seemed inexhaustible, no account being made of 
 the tare and tret, and custom-house dues, and 
 fees, and accidental losses, which were to reduce 
 its proud riches to poor and insignificant measure. 
 It is seldom that truly great minds are the 
 favourites of fortune ; her frowns often keep their 
 projects freezing in embryo until the time for 
 action is over ; or else she comes with her minions 
 when the golden harvest is almost ready for the 
 sickle, and tramples it to the dust. After this, 
 who can expect the owner to speak of sowing- 
 time with pleasure ! Regret imposes silence on 
 his tongue. 
 
 Persons, however, who give early indications 
 of great intellect, and afterwards produce nothing, 
 are not always to be reckoned amongst those 
 whose plans have been dissipated by fortune. 
 They may have been equal to the rapid acqui- 
 sition of common endowments, but incapable 
 of reaching at any time those heights of know- 
 ledge or fancy, on which the mind matures its 
 superiority. For those who attain the first rest- 
 ing-places of Parnassus, and halt there to be seen 
 of those below, lose by degrees that warm im- 
 pulse which might have carried them higher ; 
 but they must have been, from the first, too weak 
 even to think of the summit. 
 
 The greater part of the early habits and deter-
 
 90 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 minations of genius are formed from choice. No 
 man can have intellectual greatness " thrust upon 
 him." He sees the goal, and knowing that the 
 interspace must be passed, betakes himself to 
 labour, to the removal of obstacles, to the open- 
 ing himself a way. He makes his own compass, 
 and steers his own course. The love of solitude, 
 which men of genius profess, is often thought by 
 the world to be no better than affectation ; but 
 whoever would do any thing great must be much 
 alone: his enthusiasm is cooled in crowds. He 
 learns to attach less importance to his views : at 
 least he does not think them the only things on 
 earth worthy of consideration. But in solitude 
 every thing seems passive to his mind, nature 
 herself appears to crouch at his feet, his power 
 increases with his consciousness of possessing it, 
 and he forms vast designs through the hope of 
 fulfilling them. 
 
 Nevertheless, those whose only aim is transient 
 popularity, have nothing to do with solitude. 
 Their province is to watch the shifting gale which 
 governs the tide of fashion, that they may launch 
 their bark at the most favourable moment: if 
 they lose that, they are undone. But what is the 
 present temper of the winds to him who calcu- 
 lates on the chances of eternity ? He puts to sea 
 on the elements in a bark as everlasting as them-
 
 EDUCATION OF GREAT MEN. 91 
 
 selves, and caring not for the weather, can afford 
 to wait a tide or two. " I must confess," said 
 Lord Bacon, " my desire to be, that my writings 
 should not court the present time, or some few 
 places, in such sort as might make them either 
 less general to persons, or less permanent to fu- 
 ture ages." And, in spite af his great employ- 
 ments, he loved solitude. " Magis videor cum 
 antiquis versari quam cum his quibuscum vivo." 
 This is ever the confession of deep and lasting 
 minds : such are their society, and such their 
 wishes ! When Sophocles lay all night among the 
 reeds of the Ilissus, listening to the nightingale, it 
 was not merely that he might feast upon the melody 
 of that bird's notes, but that then his mind was 
 lulled to the deepest contemplation. In such a situ- 
 ation no thought, unworthy of the united majesty 
 of genius and nature, could spring up in the mind : 
 the soul was purified, and the imagination raised. 
 The whole was a conception purely Grecian. 
 
 From their retired habits, and sparing respect 
 for common institutions, great men are some- 
 times accused of misanthropy. With some re- 
 striction the accusation may be just. Genius is 
 but too frequently trampled upon in its com- 
 mencement by presumption and ignorance ; and 
 the very act of curbing its impatience is produced 
 by looking forward to a day of retribution, when
 
 92 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 it shall be able to give vent to its inward hatred 
 of littleness, and repay scorn with scorn. But 
 this feeling, in truly great minds, wears away as 
 they ascend in dignity. They no longer view the 
 inflictors of petty vexations as worthy of their 
 hatred, and their affection for their species gains 
 ground in proportion as they are raised above its 
 failings 5 as we hallow even unpleasant places in 
 our memories, when absence has winnowed away 
 their imperfections. But it is not so with insti- 
 tutions 5 these are but too often as dead walls, 
 which prevent the clear prospect of man's nature, 
 and must be thrown down, or pierced by conve- 
 nient openings, before it can be seen how far he 
 may be led on in the road of improvement. These 
 dead walls, man builds up between himself and 
 his fears, for he is always afraid of futurity, and 
 the changes it may bring along with it; but he 
 shuts up his real enemies in the same enclosure 
 with himself, and this he finds to his cost, when 
 he has obstructed his own progression. Nature 
 does not contain a more miserable thing than a 
 nation which has closed up every avenue to its 
 own improvement. It is like those Africans, who, 
 as Mungo Park tells us, let down a great crate, 
 or wicker trap, upon themselves and the lions 
 they were attempting to ensnare, when every soul 
 was sooner or later devoured by his own folly.
 
 EDUCATION OF GREAT MEN. Q3 
 
 Discovering this at a very early age, minds of 
 great powers exert themselves to break through 
 such institutions as are opposed to the free de- 
 velopment of the human faculties, and which have 
 no other tendency than to maintain their own 
 duration at the expense of the people's under- 
 standing. Where men are free, the laws co-operate 
 with individuals in carrying their genius to as 
 much perfection as its nature will bear; and this 
 cannot be done where, by the laws, many subjects 
 of thought are interdicted, and where great talents 
 are not the only means of arriving at the dignities 
 of the state. Whatever may be said, Athens was 
 the country for men of genius : what means and 
 excitements to study did she not possess! Her 
 very mechanics were superior in taste and judg- 
 ment to kings ; and it is questionable, whether 
 the Roman senate, with all its pride, could see 
 through the intricacies of a debate with as much 
 clearness and tact as the people of Athens. Cicero 
 only flattered or laughed at his countrymen when 
 he pretended to prefer them to the Greeks ; they 
 were inferior as individuals, and as a nation. 
 For a people is neither to be estimated by its 
 conquests nor by the duration of its institutions : 
 the Tartars subdued more countries in one age, 
 than the Romans during the whole existence of 
 their state ; and the little republic of San Marino
 
 94 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 was of no longer duration : but neither of these 
 can by any means be compared with the Roman 
 commonwealth. 
 
 Within themselves, however, men of genius 
 attach more importance to thinking than to act- 
 ing ; because they perform the former by them- 
 selves, and therefore more independently. In 
 action, on the contrary, there is always the alloy 
 of foreign interference other men are concerned 
 either as actors or sufferers and they feel the 
 irksomeness of awaiting an uncertain issue. For 
 this reason, minds of the first order sometimes 
 retard the progress of business ; they refine too 
 much for the rough frame of things, and are espe- 
 cially guilty of this in youth, before they have 
 discovered that they are not as other men, who 
 are content with as much of facts as comes before 
 them, seeking little into remote consequences. 
 
 It is certain, also, that sensibility is a consi- 
 derable ingredient of genius. By nature its sym- 
 pathies are more extensive and intense than those 
 which are given to ordinary mortals. But men, 
 undertaking to criticise the ancient master-pieces 
 of poetical art, without the requisite insight into 
 human nature, and relying upon the sole know- 
 ledge of the structure of language, have con- 
 demned Homer and Virgil for the facility with 
 which their heroes shed tears. It is a pity that
 
 EDUCATION OF GREAT MEN. 95 
 
 persons like these should ever venture on poetical 
 criticism. Heroism, when it is genuine, is as 
 much built upon physical sensibility as any 
 other species of greatness ; as it arises from a 
 due mingling of all the great passions, among 
 which pity and affection claim to be numbered. 
 Ulysses weeping at the recital of his sufferings by 
 Demodocus, and Eneas uttering lamentations in 
 the storm, were moved by the same passions 
 differenly actuated. The former, being still far 
 from his country, and in great uncertainty as to 
 his ever being permitted to revisit it, is melted at 
 the remembrance of what deeds of valour, and 
 wisdom, and stratagem, (tinged probably by con- 
 science with some degree of guilt,) he had achieved 
 and undergone in vain. The latter, anticipating 
 and fearing, not so much his own death, and the 
 death of his only child, as the consequent extinc- 
 tion of all his vast hopes of empire in Italy, of 
 the renewal of the Trojan name, of the establish- 
 ment and perpetuity of his domestic religion, and 
 fugitive Gods, and desolate shrines. One must 
 have the heart of a critic, to refuse a few frail 
 tears or sighs to such powerful feelings as these. 
 How often, indeed, is our sensibility melted by 
 the mere harmony and melancholy modulation 
 of words by a passage of history, by poetry 
 chanted in a sad and soothing strain! It is
 
 96 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 true, great men do not attempt, like Richard the 
 Second, to wear themselves graves in the earth 
 by dropping tears upon it ; such conceits being 
 mere absurdity ; but they are accessible to all the 
 calls of the nobler passions. 
 
 We know little of Homer, but much of his 
 early life appears to have been spent in travelling. 
 The imperfect impressions of scenes and objects 
 which he might have received from the relations 
 of others, were not such as could satisfy a mind 
 like his, which thirsted to immortalize the very 
 soil upon which he trod. He had no resource but 
 in travelling ; and it would seem, that in the little 
 adventurous barks of those ages, he had plowed 
 the " immeasurable sea," in numerous voyages, 
 before he commenced his poems. The heart is 
 elated and inspired with a powerful enthusiasm 
 by the sight of new countries and unknown seas : 
 the adventurer feels as if transported out of the 
 every- day world, and values himself, not for what 
 he sees, but for the feelings with which it is be- 
 held. It will be granted that the modish voyager, 
 who should be carried round the world in a ship, 
 would be nothing the better or the wiser for it; 
 but the man of genius would carry back the 
 suavity of nature in his soul; he would hold 
 communion with the great deep, and imbibe a 
 portion of its sublimity. For this reason every
 
 EDUCATION OF GREAT MEN. 9? 
 
 truly great mind has a thirst for travel. Caring 
 little for the raree-shows of corrupted states, such 
 a mind delights to lose itself among ruins and 
 deserts, and strange shores, and mariners, and 
 savage tribes; it loves to he separated by vast 
 distances from home for the consciousness of 
 remoteness is itself a pleasure and to approach 
 again by degrees the sacred and venerated spot. 
 
 Such are the motives which carry genius 
 abroad ; and although they be stronger and fresher 
 in youth, they never very sensibly decay, for great 
 minds do not grow old. Their passions are rather 
 nicely adjusted and balanced than weakened or 
 subdued by time ; they learn to will and desire 
 with more art and method, and not with less force 
 or vivacity. The seeming wavering and incon- 
 stancy which appear in their early habits, are no 
 more than the efforts of the mind to discover 
 what is the most congenial to itself, and resemble 
 the trembling of the magnetic needle, while gaining 
 its true position. Nothing is of more steady tem- 
 per than genius, but only so far as regards the 
 end ; it may be permitted, without charge of 
 fickleness, to search amongst infinite relations 
 what is best fitted to forward its designs. Its 
 whole existence is one piece, and not made up of 
 the shreds and ruins of actions, like that of 
 ordinary persons. Like a hunter, it spends the
 
 98 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 dawn of day in preparing for the chase, and is 
 a-field early, lest the fine scents of things should 
 wear away beneath the sun. From that moment 
 its pursuit of the game is incessant, and when 
 evening comes, it retires with unabated appetite 
 from a finished field. 
 
 It is no easy matter to discover what one is fit 
 for; and there are few but the greatest minds 
 who arrive at an early conviction that they are 
 not fit for every thing. From instinct the ima- 
 gination is hurried away by a blind craving after 
 infinite knowledge, and it requires great powers 
 of judgment and self-denial to make choice of 
 the right path, and to persevere in it to the end. 
 Of this path, those who meditate great designs 
 never lose sight; their little excursions are all 
 made along its side, and serve to enliven and 
 diversify the way. But if they wander too far; 
 if they forget the original direction, they are 
 undone. Like a traveller who has a given dis- 
 tance to perform in a stated time, they lengthen by 
 every delay the space to come, and shorten the 
 time in which it is to be accomplished, until at 
 length difficulty annihilates their enthusiasm. But 
 this conclusion always springs from an imperfect 
 taste. The beauty and uniformity of one simple 
 course is not enough for all minds; some de- 
 lighting in a Gothic mixture of accessory stimu- 

 
 EDUCATION OF GREAT MEN. 99 
 
 lants with the primary energy, and storing their 
 minds, like a virtuoso's cabinet, with all manner 
 of heterogeneous knowledge. To know is enough 
 for them; they deal chiefly in wonder and ex- 
 travagance, and make up by a multiplicity of 
 emotions for the absence of all those which are 
 vigorous and permanent. 
 
 But the simple structure of a great mind is 
 raised on very opposite principles. It is one 
 vast range of continuity and harmonious pro- 
 portion j its parts adhere together from natural 
 affinity, and cementing, and striking root into 
 each other (if we may vary the metaphor,) form 
 one beautiful and prolific whole. For well-har- 
 monized knowledge has this advantage also over 
 the other, that it is productive and lasting in its 
 operation. 
 
 But if we observe narrowly the history of 
 those pretended men of genius, who by some 
 unknown fatality arrive at a kind of dominion 
 over the taste of their times, but afterwards sink 
 gradually into oblivion, we shall perceive that they 
 succeeded in deceiving their contemporaries by 
 an arrogant self-confidence and seeming wisdom, 
 and either violently flattered or abused all ruling 
 prejudices and opinions. Either of these methods 
 is a sure passport to popularity; for the world is 
 no such nice judge of merit as is pretended, but 
 
 F2
 
 100 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 will either be obeyed wholly, or opposed. In the 
 former case it feels its consequence increased ; 
 and in the latter it is staggered, and " turns tail." 
 For having adopted its own conclusions without 
 examination, it is secretly conscious of weakness, 
 and disposed to believe that every daring theorist 
 who swims against the stream, must have looked 
 more deeply into the nature of things, and reached 
 purer and more sublime heights of speculation, 
 than it can pretend to have done. 
 
 It is not to be denied that genius has some- 
 times sported with this failing, and thrown out 
 monstrous systems upon which it might spend 
 its fury. But even in this conduct there has been 
 a hidden ulterior design. The kernel of truth 
 has been concealed in the rough and forbidding 
 husk of theory, and left to float upon the waters 
 for the gathering up of some kindred discerning 
 spirits. Systems, whether bad or good, were, 
 in antiquity, the watch-towers from which great 
 minds hailed each other's beacons in the night 
 of ages ; and it is far from being certain that ge- 
 nuine day has yet opened upon the world. We 
 stand in need of systems still, for it is probable 
 that truth lies incased in some one of them ; and 
 we must open all before we be sure which are the 
 empty ones. 
 
 As far as regards the affairs of life, there can in
 
 
 EDUCATION OF GREAT MEN. 101 
 
 reality be little distinction induced by superiority 
 of mind ; for all persons are more or less within the 
 influence of the society in which they live; and it 
 becomes every man to conform, as far as virtue 
 permits, to the manners of his times. Those per- 
 sons, therefore, who expect to find the stamp of 
 genius upon its every-day necessary intercourse 
 and actions, expect, in fact, that a seal shall leave 
 its impression upon water. Men are not the 
 lords of circumstances ; these flow round them in 
 a resistless tide, and the utmost they can do is to 
 note well its ebbing and flowing, that they may 
 time their important enterprises according to its 
 changes. It is the keenness with which it per- 
 ceives these mutations, that renders genius so 
 impatient of the dull co-operation of common 
 persons, and makes its actions seem inconsequent 
 and rash. This also furnishes us with a reason 
 why people should make a false estimate of the 
 actions of great men. If a writer produce one' 
 good book, they require him forthwith to write 
 a hundred, that he may not be thought to have 
 given birth to the other by chance. It was Addi- 
 son, we believe, who observed of the schoolmen, 
 that they had not genius enough to write a small 
 book, and therefore took refuge in folios of the 
 largest magnitude. We are getting as fast as 
 possible into the predicament of the schoolmen.
 
 102 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 No one knows when he has written enough ; but, 
 like a player at chess, still goes on with the self- 
 same ideas, merely altering their position. This 
 must arise from early habits and prejudices, from 
 having been taught to regard with veneration vast 
 collections of common-places, under the titles of 
 this or that man's works. Tacitus may be carried 
 about in one's pocket, while it will very shortly 
 require a waggon to remove Sir Walter Scott's 
 labours from place to place. Voltaire's facility 
 was ^his greatest fault ; better he had elaborated 
 his periods, like Rousseau; who, notwithstanding, 
 wrote too much. The latter, however, of all mo- 
 dern writers, best knew the value of his own mind. 
 His prime of life was passed in vicissitude and 
 study. He did not set himself about writing 
 books for mankind, until he knew what they pos- 
 sessed and what theyjwanted. It was his opinion, 
 that a writer who would do any good should stand 
 upon the pinnacle of his age, and from thence 
 look into the future. Whoever, in fact, would be 
 regarded in future times, must consider what may 
 benefit them, and how he may bequeath a legacy 
 to mankind which it shall be their interest to t 
 preserve. Hope of fame, without this care, is a 
 mad expectation ; but with it, a certain and in- 
 violable inheritance.
 
 PROGRESS 
 
 CIVILIZATION AMONG THE PEOPLE.
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 PROGRESS OF CIVILIZATION AMONG 
 THE PEOPLE. 
 
 IT would require a nicely adjusted balance to 
 weigh the ideas of the common people, so light 
 and fugitive are they in their nature and duration.- 
 As, however, the affairs of life are considerably 
 influenced by the degree and kind of knowledge 
 possessed even by the multitude, to endeavour to 
 determine the extent and quality of their notions 
 cannot be deemed a useless speculation. It ap- 
 pears to us that a very erroneous estimate has 
 been made as to the quantity of intellectual wealth 
 supposed to be, at this moment, diffused among 
 the common people ; and that very injudicious 
 methods have in consequence been taken for com- 
 pleting the culture of their minds. The natural 
 order of proceeding seems to have been reversed. 
 Instead of being led from known to unknown ;' 
 from things suitable to their capacities, to such as 
 require labour and contention of mind to com- 
 prehend ; they have from the beginning been 
 F5
 
 106 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 brought in contact with metaphysical subtleties, 
 which it would not be uncharitable to suppose 
 beyond the comprehension, sometimes, of their 
 teachers themselves ; and thus, instead of being 
 enlightened, (which is the object professed to be 
 desired by their masters,) they acquire a string of 
 sonorous terms, that have, in their mouths, no 
 meaning whatever. But, as all persons are willing 
 to believe that what, they have acquired with 
 much labour is worth something, the people are 
 not backward in giving themselves credit for won- 
 derful subtlety, supposing that to force a confused 
 multitude of other men's thoughts through the 
 mind, is to think. Accordingly many are deceived 
 by the confidence, and seeming conviction, with 
 which the common people put forth their opinions j 
 and the belief gains ground, that knowledge, like 
 the sun, has pierced through the upper surface of 
 society, and, sinking gradually into its bosom, 
 ripened, amidst dross and darkness, the ore that 
 lay hidden at the bottom. This error is flattering, 
 but it is prejudicial to mankind. It tends to relax 
 the energies of those who labour to let in light 
 upon the Tartarus of shades and chimeras, that 
 still holds possession of the vulgar mind j it gives 
 them the air of the Knight of La Mancha warring 
 on the windmills, and shames them into indolence. 
 But experince and observation at length convince
 
 PROGRESS OF CIVILIZATION. 107 
 
 us that the people have very little exact know- 
 ledge. They have been taught many things. 
 Their imaginations have been carried into the 
 land of opinion, where shadows flit about with 
 the appearances of reality ; where mist and 
 uncertainty pervade every thing j and where 
 truth (if any truth be there) wears an impenetrable 
 veil, never to be raised for a moment by human 
 reason. Opinion, as Plato observed very justly, 
 is something between knowledge and ignorance, 
 and resembles the dim light of dawn, while it 
 is yet doubtful whether it be night or day. It 
 is the mind's dress, and changes with the times. 
 Nor are those who affect to be above the vulgar 
 less mutable in this respect than they ; for as they 
 adopt new fashions in their dress, as soon as their 
 former taste has obtained general approbation, (a 
 proof of excellence, it seems, in other matters,) so 
 also do they discard their opinions when they 
 become common, and resort to new, strange, or 
 absurd tenets, which have not been soiled by 
 vulgar belief. But the common people encroach 
 so rapidly upon the great, in this particular, that 
 very shortly the latter will be compelled, if they 
 would still be singular, to strip their minds naked, 
 and have no opinion at all. 
 
 To return It is not clear to us what advantage 
 thinking persons can promise themselves from the
 
 108 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 belief which they so earnestly inculcate, that the 
 people are highly civilized, and deeply imbued with 
 the principles of useful knowledge. It seems to be 
 an opinion, taken up without examination, and be- 
 lieved, because, as we said before, it is pleasant and 
 nattering to the mind. But no one has ever stepped 
 out of his grade in society, and conversed with 
 those above him or below him, without perceiving 
 that prejudices are suspended, like festoons, on 
 every step of the long ladder of human life, and 
 that each person thinks those the most beautiful 
 which ornament the one on which he stands. 
 The rankest weeds, however, are considered nose- 
 gays at the bottom of the ladder, and their poison- 
 ous effluvia are snuffed up as complacently as if 
 they were the richest and purest odours. This is 
 apparently the condition of man's nature : he is 
 fond of mysteries, of wonders, of things that raise 
 strong emotions ; and, because, upon the dead 
 level of common life, he finds none of these things, 
 it is his weakness to seek them in the mists of the 
 past or future, in which every thing is magnified, 
 distorted, or hidden from his view. Knowledge 
 emancipates but a small portion of mankind from 
 the tyranny of this propensity, the greater part 
 continuing in ignorance and uncertainty 
 
 " As wander travellers in woods by night, 
 By the moon's doubtful and malignant light."
 
 PROGRESS OF CIVILIZATION. 109 
 
 Philosophers appear to have been sometimes 
 deceived in their views of the common people, by 
 taking up their notions of them from the graceless 
 canaille of the metropolis. Such of the latter, as 
 surround them, readily discover their aversion to 
 prejudice and superstition, and learn to affect a 
 freedom from both, which they do not feel, and 
 quickly hasten to shake off in the genial company 
 of their equals. People frequently deceive them- 
 selves also upon this point, and only then discover 
 their own weaknesses, when some strong or 
 sudden blast of misfortune has shaken off the 
 false covering of their minds. Then they relapse 
 into superstition, and sip the grateful cup of pre- 
 judice and boundless belief, without restraint. 
 
 It is not denied that the great have the same 
 weaknesses at bottom. Catherine de Medicis, a 
 woman of strong mind, and profoundly versed in 
 the arts of policy, was, nevertheless, so far a slave 
 to error and the cant of the times, as to believe 
 she might ward off misfortunes by a certain charm, 
 written in cabalistical characters on the skin of a 
 dead-born infant, which she used to wear about her 
 person. The infatuation of Kings, for the reveries 
 of judicial astrology, is well known ; and it is clear 
 from many recent examples, that the growing 
 knowledge of all the rest of mankind has had no 
 influence upon them.
 
 110 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 But the errors of the people, up to this mo- 
 ment, are innumerable, and as whimsical as they 
 are various. Every county in the realm teems 
 with superstitions of its own growth, which 
 adroitly ally themselves to all creeds and per- 
 suasions, and literally defy civilization to root 
 them out. A list of the principal of these would 
 be curious, but does not come within the scope of 
 the present chapter. One or two, however, may 
 be mentioned, as they indicate a degree of civili- 
 zation inferior to that of the Bedouin Arabs. 
 When a ship is wrecked upon the shores of Wales, 
 it is affirmed by the inhabitants that its apparition, 
 previously visiting the spot, has most commonly 
 been seen. Thousands of these spectre-ships 
 hover about the coast in winter, their impassive 
 sails shivering and straining in the tempest, and 
 their decks manned with the spirits of those whom 
 destiny is hurrying through the ocean to destruc- 
 tion. It would be vain to tell these superstitious 
 people that beams, planks, masts, iron bolts, and 
 cordage, can have no soul } they believe, but can- 
 not analyze their notions ; and therefore suppose 
 that the word ship denotes a being which, while it 
 continues whole, has some kind of spirit attached 
 to it'} and this, they imagine, goes before it to the 
 place of shipwreck. In the same belief is also 
 involved another impossibility (unless it be a
 
 PROGRESS OF CIVILIZATION. Ill 
 
 relic of that ancient Grecian opinion, which taught 
 that man was a threefold being a spirit the 
 spirit's aerial vehicle and the body) ; for if the 
 men's spirits were on board the spectre-ship, their 
 bodies would be tenantless in the real wooden te- 
 nement. An opinion, nearly akin to this, was 
 entertained by the learned Earl of Roscommon, 
 and countenanced by Dr. Johnson ; but it may, 
 perhaps, be enough to have mentioned it, in order 
 to obtain it a place with that long list of ghosts, 
 witches, predictions, &c. which an illustrious con- 
 temporary asserts to have been put to flight by 
 the mere smell of printer's ink. We fear that 
 they have not, however, been completely routed, 
 but merely driven for a time to the under-cells of 
 the human heart, to burst forth with fresh force 
 when the torch of philosophy shall once more 
 burn low and feebly. In plain truth, the germs 
 of superstition and ignorance are indestruc- 
 tible : they are the indefinable fears, the incom- 
 prehensible forebodings, the false and delusive 
 hopes which are indigenous to the heart of man. 
 These are the monsters which he always hears, 
 sera sub node rudentes ; and which, when most 
 completely overcome, only resemble the power of 
 War, so nobly imagined by Virgil, confined in his 
 own temple, but sitting upon brazen arms, and 
 still meditating confusion and slaughter.
 
 113 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 If then we admit that high and abstract me- 
 taphysical truth is, in their present condition, 
 beyond the reach of the common people, shall we 
 find them more capable of correct knowledge 
 in other matters ? in matters of fact, and political 
 and natural rights ? We shall see. Mankind are 
 always supposed to yield, to such affairs as touch 
 their interests, a very serious and steady attention, 
 and to acquire, by that means, a full knowledge 
 of their bearing and nature ; but the interests of 
 men are allowed to be most strongly affected by 
 the degree of justice or injustice which enters into 
 the administration of public affairs, and this can- 
 not be known without a careful observation of the 
 conduct and character of public men. It seems 
 evident, however, that the people in general are 
 either unwilling, or unable, to exercise their 
 minds in such observation, being literally a flock, 
 led to that or this intellectual pasture by the pipe 
 of their shepherd. Of what is going forward, 
 whether for their good or for their perdition, they 
 know nothing ; the mere husk of transactions is 
 thrown before them by the newspapers, and by 
 their representatives in Parliament ; and it was 
 the perception of the blind avidity with which 
 this husk is devoured, that induced a great orator, 
 in an unhappy moment, to denominate them the 
 swinish multitude! Should the epithet be de-
 
 PROGRESS OF CIVILIZATION. 113 
 
 served, where lies the blame ? not, certainly, in the 
 multitude. We are not, however, at present, seek- 
 ing for matter of reprehension, but of fact ; we 
 would gain a clear conception of what the people 
 do know; it may hereafter be our endeavour to 
 show what they ought to know, and how it is to be 
 taught them. 
 
 When a war with any neighbouring state is in 
 progress, do the people ever know the true reason 
 why it has been undertaken ; the extent of means, 
 and complexion of policy by which it is con- 
 ducted 3 the losses and reverses suffered in battle ; 
 the probable chances of bringing it to a fortunate 
 conclusion ? Not one of these things do they 
 know. They are, above all, kept in profound ig- 
 norance of the character of their enemy j while a 
 factitious and absurd hatred of every inhabitant 
 of the rival country, is fomented and nourished 
 in their bosoms, and suffered to taint and embase 
 the affections and charities of social life. For 
 they proceed by degrees to hate every body whom 
 they do not know ; and it was by a process of this 
 kind that the same word came, among the old 
 Romans, to signify a stranger and an enemy. In 
 remote country places the inhabitants of one vil- 
 lage indulge a degree of this hatred towards those 
 of the next hamlet, which has often been known 
 to swell during fairs, or merry makings, into
 
 114 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 actual violence. All these are the effects of ig- 
 norance. 
 
 If we contemplate a country life from a dis- 
 tance, we shall be apt to look upon it as the abode 
 of sensibility and virtue ; for the effect of a fa- 
 miliarity with nature, upon a fine intellectual 
 capacity, is most desirable and happy. Farmers, 
 labourers, and fishermen, however, who are much 
 abroad among the elements, and frequently at 
 those hours of the morning and night which seem 
 best calculated to excite the imagination, and 
 awaken the mental powers of mankind, are yet 
 observed to be persons of blunt feelings, and 
 coarse and rugged manners. The fisherman 
 gathers nothing from the tossing or slumber of 
 the dusky waves at midnight, but the lesser or 
 greater probability of filling his nets ; nor does 
 the farmer contemplate any thing in the rich com- 
 plexion of the morning in the perfumed season of 
 spring, except such signs of the weather as may 
 determine his stay a-field. 
 
 Very little better is the city artisan. He sees 
 more, it is true, of the ways of men ; but his 
 sphere is merely different, not more enlarged. If 
 the peasant becomes callous to the charms of nature 
 through thoughtless familiarity, the artisan is not 
 less sure to sink into the same state through mere 
 desuetude. He feels out of his element the moment
 
 PROGRESS OF CIVILIZATION. 115 
 
 he leaves the smoke of the city, wandering in 
 most insipid rurality amidst the chant of birds, or 
 the dusk whispers of the wood. He has heard 
 that Nature is beautiful, and therefore will not 
 fail to speak a word in praise of her rich hues and 
 sunny landscapes ; but at the bottom of his heart 
 there lurks a far stronger predilection for a fine 
 tap-room fire, a snug seat, and a can foaming with 
 ale. Nor is he altogether singular in this pre- 
 ference j for men of high intellectual capacities 
 have been known to indulge sentiments very little 
 more refined ; and, to speak the truth, this conse- 
 quence results naturally from the general tenor of 
 a city life. Hunting, objectionable in most other 
 points of vieWj might have a good effect upon 
 persons in danger of falling into a taste of this 
 kind, as its rapid vicissitudes infuse a species of 
 vigour into the human character. It was, indeed, 
 observed by Hippocrates, more than twenty-two 
 centuries ago, that the Asiatic nations were weak 
 and effeminate, because they passed their lives in 
 a dull, uniform manner, ignorant, and incapable 
 of that energetic state of mind, maintained by 
 vicissitudes, which is always prepared for the 
 worst. The manners of most modern nations are 
 subject to the same objection. Their sameness 
 tends to weaken the mind ; for our life is a long 
 calm which unfits us for the tempests to which
 
 116 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 we are all liable. Private adversities, indeed, are 
 productive of some changes ; but they rarely create 
 a great character. Men connect themselves by so 
 many relations to society, and are upheld by so 
 many artificial props, that they are not often 
 driven to depend upon their own resources. 
 Sometimes, however, all the connecting links are 
 snapt asunder, and then the naked character is 
 displayed, bending to the blow of fortune, and 
 sinking into hopeless oblivion and beggary; or 
 firmly withstanding every shock, and, like Antaeus, 
 rising up stronger from each successive overthrow. 
 But, in general, we are accustomed to move for 
 ever in the same track, and are amazed and con- 
 founded if forced at any time to go aside into a 
 new one ; through which helpless condition of our 
 minds it happens, that we are ready to put our- 
 selves under, the guidance of any one who pro- 
 mises security and ease. 
 
 This state of society is always induced when 
 an agricultural people have long been gathered to- 
 gether in large cities. When a nation first evinces 
 an inclination to pass from rural labours into the 
 tracks of trade and commerce, the nobles are ob- 
 served to linger awhile, in feudal pride, about 
 their castles ; by degrees it becomes apparent that 
 the materials and instruments of luxury are more 
 accessible among the rich plebeians of the cities ;
 
 PROGRESS OF CIVILIZATION. 11* 
 
 and the nobles divide their time between a town 
 and country life : at length the court and the city 
 predominate in their affections, and they never 
 fly to the shades of their own domains, unless 
 when driven to them by fashion or chagrin. 
 
 In the first stage of these changes the nobles 
 possess nearly all the knowledge afloat in the 
 realm ; in the second, they waver between supe- 
 riority and equality ; but in the third, the tables 
 are turned, they are become decidedly inferior, 
 and knowledge, like virtue, is seen to reside in 
 the " golden mean." An old French poet, quoted 
 by Sainte-Palaye in his Memoirs on Ancient Chi- 
 valry, observes that, in the middle ages, the study 
 of the liberal arts was prohibited to the common 
 people 5 but that, in process of time, the nobility, 
 ruined "par les excfes de la gourmandise et autres," 
 had abandoned learning to the vulgar, who thereby 
 quickly gained the ascendancy, and enslaved them 
 in their turn. 
 
 " Car chevaliers ont honte d'estre clercs." 
 
 A very singular effect, however, seems to take 
 place, when the common people are supposed to 
 possess a certain degree of knowledge. In every 
 thing, when they choose to become competitors 
 with the smaller number, their vast majority must 
 inevitably ensure them the victory : when, there-
 
 118 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 fore, they invade the domain of knowledge, the 
 magnates of the land must bow down before 
 them, humour their caprices, and conform to their 
 whims and opinions. But as their ideas seldom 
 soar to the heights of art, the scale of excellence 
 must be lowered to meet their views 3 and hence 
 arise common-place, repetition of truisms, a tri- 
 fling, and, in all respects, subdued tone of perfection. 
 This truth, so bitter to the palate, so perplexing 
 and unmanageable an ingredient to those who 
 would administer it, is, in consequence, con- 
 cealed 3 and those who chew it in secret, like a 
 forbidden drug, only irritate and inflame their 
 minds to very little purpose. 
 
 All the while it is, notwithstanding, certain, 
 that the common people are capable of very cor- 
 rect and extensive knowledge. What stands be- 
 tween it and them, is the spirit of our political 
 institutions 3 through which it happens that their 
 better hours are always spent in labour, which is 
 productive, to them, of nothing further than the 
 means of labouring on to the end of life. This 
 incessant occupation of the body in severe toil, 
 has a sure tendency to weaken the thinking prin- 
 ciple, and consequently to increase credulity, and 
 a disposition to be deceived. Accordingly, the 
 people show a fondness for imposture of every 
 kind ; which once made a certain Cardinal Legate
 
 PROGRESS OF CIVILIZATION. 119 
 
 
 
 exclaim " Puisqiiil veut etre trornpc, qu'il le soit!" 
 The definition of the political art, also, as it was 
 given by a Bishop, " ars non tarn regendi, qnam 
 fallendi hominem," is an unequivocal proof that 
 the clerical politicians, at least, look upon man as 
 an animal that is to be governed by his ignorance 
 and incapacity to discover deception. It is not, 
 indeed, to be denied that mankind may always be 
 overreached by interested cunning j but an intel- 
 lectual people will at least have the satisfaction of 
 being duped by none but able men. This was ge- 
 nerally the case when the citizens of the ancient re- 
 publics were outwitted. It was some credit to their 
 judgment to be deluded by such fine politicians 
 as Peisistratus, Caesar, or Augustus ; as it showed 
 how high men were obliged to reach, who aimed 
 at any thing above their capacity. The intellec- 
 tual powers of a people may, in fact, be cor- 
 rectly estimated by the degree of cunning neces- 
 sary to keep them in subjection, taking into the 
 account the length or shortness of the time they 
 have been enslaved ; because force may compel a 
 people to submit for a season to governors nearly 
 destitute of ability ; though nothing short of real 
 stupidity and incapacity to reason, can chain 
 them, through a series of ages, to the footstool of 
 ignorant power. To judge of the French by their
 
 120 ANATOMY OP SOCIETY. 
 
 present government/ we might be led to think 
 that all the germs of liberality, sown in the Ency- 
 clopedic era, had perished in the land j and that 
 Legitimacy, like a poisonous plant, had oversha- 
 dowed and destroyed all wholesome thinking. 
 But there is room for believing that the faculties 
 of the French people are merely bound up in a 
 kind of frost, which may melt before the heat of 
 vicissitudes, and carry away in its thaw the abo- 
 mination which has disgraced the land. The na- 
 ture of tyranny in Austria appears, however, to 
 justify the old prejudices of almost all European 
 nations against the German character. A jocular 
 observation, applied by Balzac to the girls of some 
 village in France, that they were too stupid to be 
 seduced by a sensible man, seems strictly appli- 
 cable to the Germans : they have never been able 
 to produce, and appear never to have needed, a 
 subtle tyrant; coarse despotism has been enough 
 for them, and they have not spurned even the 
 living madman who has openly uttered his con- 
 tempt of knowledge. The savages who inhabited 
 the woods of ancient Germany, as described by 
 Tacitus, appear to have been actuated, like all other 
 
 * This was written several years ago, during the Villele 
 administration. The " Three Days' Revolution" has partly 
 shown the correctness of the view here taken of the French 
 people.
 
 PROGRESS OF CIVILIZATION. 121 
 
 savages, by an instinctive dislike of restraint ; but 
 it seems vastly incorrect, to say no more of it, to 
 apply the epithet free to such animal aversion to 
 slavery. They were free only in the sense in 
 which wild beasts may be denominated free ; for, 
 properly speaking, they had not then been con- 
 solidated into society. This being considered, it 
 is a high compliment that we pay ourselves when 
 we assert that our "matchless Constitution" took 
 its rise in the woods, among the ignorant savages 
 of ancient Germany. 
 
 To revert, however, to our proposition : the 
 great secret of promoting ignorance among the 
 common people, is to multiply frivolous amuse- 
 ments. This it was which struck that profound 
 observer of human nature, who remarked that 
 " Shows and Bread" were all that the people de- 
 manded of their governors ; for, in varying these 
 Shows, and in perplexing the vulgar mind re- 
 specting the means by which this Bread is 
 secured, consists all the art of tyrannical policy. 
 It may be observed, too, that whenever a spark of 
 knowledge, escaping from the great political fur- 
 nace, is borne amongst that inflammable material, 
 the popular mind, there are never wanting certain 
 mercenary sophists to follow it, who, if they can- 
 not extinguish, can at least give it the direction 
 of an ignis fatuus, to lead the populace into error. 
 
 VOL. i. - G
 
 132 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 This process is busily going forward at the pre- 
 sent moment. The people are taught this, and are 
 taught that; but are never informed how they 
 may teach themselves to discover what is best 
 for them. 
 
 At the first view we are apt to consider it as 
 something very extraordinary that the founders 
 of fanatical sects find, it so easy to insinuate them- 
 selves into the good opinion of the people; but if 
 we weigh the matter, it will appear to deserve little 
 wonder ; for the whole process reduces itself to 
 the replacing of a worn-out, indistinct opinion, 
 by one that is new. This, among persons of little 
 thought, is not difficult ; for the mind is naturally 
 averse to inaction, and easily persuades itself that 
 to be in motion, is to make some approaches to- 
 wards truth. And what motion is like that in 
 which it is carried along by the boiling current 
 of enthusiasm ! An old philosopher taught that 
 happiness was to be found only in the exercise of 
 virtuous energies; and we are constrained, by 
 daily observation, to believe that all mankind so 
 far agree with him as to conceive the exercise of 
 some energies necessary to its acquisition. Hence 
 are we fond of change, and impatient of the pre- 
 sent. We hope in a fresh position to discover 
 more easily the texture of our fortunes, and escape 
 .from the ennui which we have found to adhere to
 
 PROGRESS OF CIVILIZATION. 123 
 
 us through all former vicissitudes. We spring, 
 therefore, on a new opinion, as upon a plank that 
 promises to bear us safe to land, from among our 
 shipwrecked hopes and projects; and with this 
 fresh stay, are content to he driven forward anew 
 before the gale of destiny. In the decay of empires 
 this disposition grows very general among the 
 common people. They are placed on the extreme 
 circumference of a vast wheel, whose motion is 
 every moment dying away; and, as this motion 
 is necessary to their adhesion, they naturally ex- 
 perience alarm as it decreases, and fly off altoge- 
 ther when it ceases. In this stage of society they 
 resemble the fasting Jews, watching the appear- 
 ance of the stars upon the mountains ; as daylight 
 sinks imperceptibly in the west, their attention be- 
 comes more hushed, though their appetite sharpens 
 within; and the first lamp which night suspends 
 upon her battlements, is the signal for the close of 
 inaction, and the commencement of Bacchanalian 
 riot. From this cause sprang the horrors of the 
 French Revolution, as well as the carnage which 
 accompanied the fall of the Roman empire ; and 
 the same principles, operating the same effects, 
 will be the cause why all nations shall submit to 
 change, and why the common people, wanting the 
 connecting principle of knowledge, must always 
 form the elements of the destruction of states, 

 
 124 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 and of every mutation that takes place in human 
 society. 
 
 From what has been said, it seems to result 
 that civilization makes but a slight impression on 
 the general mind, something like the ridges which 
 the receding sea leaves upon the sand ; and that 
 when any great mutations having a tendency to 
 embase a nation happen, the common people easily 
 lose every impression of knowledge, and sink back 
 into barbarism, as if it were their natural con- 
 dition.
 
 IMAGINARY SYSTEMS OF GOVERNMENT.
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 IMAGINARY SYSTEMS OF GOVERNMENT. 
 
 The name of More shal! remain constant and in honour, by his famous 
 Utopia. PAULUS Jovius. 
 
 MANY books which are not much read by the 
 generality, acquire, notwithstanding, a sort of 
 shadowy fame in the world, from being associated 
 in men's minds with some peculiar strain of doc- 
 trine, so that the idea of that doctrine brings up 
 the idea of the books, and causes them to be men- 
 tioned in the conversations and writings of many 
 who know them only by name. Thus we often 
 hear of Aristotelian notions and Platonic ideas 
 from persons who, if two opposite dogmas of phi- 
 losophy were advanced in their hearing, would not 
 be able to decide which had proceeded from the 
 Lyceum, and which from the Academy. This 
 arises not so much from vanity, as from the habit, 
 now quite fashionable, of talking about every 
 thing, whether one understands it or not. We 
 dare say our readers have frequently heard of
 
 128 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Utopian schemes, Utopian notions, Utopian politics, 
 &c., from persons who did not know very accu- 
 rately the etymology of the adjective they used, 
 and who were innocent of all acquaintance with 
 the celebrated performance of Sir Thomas More. 
 We have ourselves been guilty of this random 
 sort of talking ; but it at length occurred to us, 
 some years ago, that it might be as well to look 
 into the ' Utopia ' itself, and see the mint where 
 so many wonderful absurdities had been coined. 
 From the very commencement, it was clear we 
 were not pursuing the speculations of an ordinary 
 mind ; but were moving among the visions, if they 
 are visions, of exalted genius, in which the most 
 beautiful moral landscapes, refreshed and illu- 
 mined by the mild air and bright beams of philo- 
 sophy, spreading on all sides like golden exhala- 
 tions, rose before the mental eye, and made upon 
 the fancy impressions never to be erased. 
 
 We had long before read, in a cursory man- 
 ner, those exquisite dialogues of Plato, entitled 
 ' The Republic ; ' but not having them at hand, 
 when we went through the ' Utopia,' it was not 
 in our power to compare the views of the two 
 writers 5 though, as far as we remembered, they 
 appeared to have many points of resemblance. 
 We thought also that we could trace, in the work 
 before us, the original hints of many later produc-
 
 SYSTEMS OF GOVERNMENT. 129 
 
 tions, especially of Lord Bacon's ' New Atlantis/ 
 and of Bishop Berkeley's ' Gaudentio di Lucca.' 
 Bacon seems, however, to have felt that this kind 
 of invention was not his forte, for his ' New Atlan- 
 tis ' was never completed. Berkeley finished his 
 design, but his ' Gaudentio' will bear no compari- 
 son with the ' Utopia.' He had, in truth, a mind 
 far less original and philosophical than Sir Thomas 
 More's; and, if we are not greatly mistaken, -was 
 less learned. In virtue, perhaps, both were equal ; 
 but their virtues did not resemble : Berkeley's 
 were mild, gentle, almost effeminate ; there was 
 a great portion of Stoicism, of fierce, rugged, 
 haughty, self-sufficiency in those of More. Ac- 
 cordingly, the speculations of Berkeley are gilded 
 by a soft but brilliant enthusiasm ; while^ in 
 More's, a soberer fancy is discernible, with a much 
 stronger likeness to truth. 
 
 In fact the ' Utopia' has, perhaps, never been 
 equalled, as a philosophical romance, except by 
 the relations of Gulliver j which, having been 
 moulded for very peculiar purposes, reject all 
 comparison, and stand up in the world of litera- 
 ture a species by themselves. In them, the in- 
 terest hinges upon an individual, whose adventures 
 all along appear the main object, while the man- 
 ners and customs of the strange nations he visits, 
 though minutely described, seem to be brought 
 G 5
 
 130 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 before the eye incidentally, as they happen to bear 
 a relation more or less remote to the hero of the 
 narrative. Had Sir Thomas More adopted a simi- 
 lar method, the popularity of his ' Utopia ' would 
 have been far greater, as the fable would have 
 been more complete and beautiful. No series 
 of adventures, confined within the bounds of pos- 
 sibility, and represented as happening to one in- 
 dividual, can ever be too extravagant to excite 
 admiration, and obtain a mitigated kind of belief ; 
 for as no one knows what is falling out daily to 
 some of our species, within the vast circle of so- 
 ciety, all are ready to lend an ear to a revelation 
 of individual experience, acquired in remote parts 
 of the world, or in any part where they have not 
 the means of observing for themselves. When the 
 greater portion of the globe was unknown, fiction 
 might be as bold to create imaginary countries 
 and nations, as now to create imaginary indivi- 
 duals, provided it presented some show of proba- 
 bility; but since science has curtailed the realms 
 of ignorance so thoroughly, invention must alter 
 her track, and no longer dare to take any liberties 
 with the map of the world. In Sir Thomas More's 
 times, the recent discovery of America excited 
 wonderful expectations : " space may produce new 
 worlds " was the word; and, in reality, as naviga- 
 tion pursued her researches,, the terraqueous globe
 
 SYSTEMS OF GOVERNMENT. 131 
 
 seemed to swell and enlarge its circumference like 
 a bubble. The ' Utopia ' was, therefore, built 
 upon the general feeling, and, geographically, did 
 not in the least outrage probability. 
 
 The author having been sent ambassador into 
 Flanders, to settle and compose certain differences 
 between his master, Henry VIII., and the Empe- 
 ror Charles V., met at Antwerp with a curious 
 Portuguese traveller, who had visited most parts 
 of the world, and meditated much upon what he 
 had seen. This traveller's name was Raphael 
 Hythloday. He was introduced to Sir Thomas 
 More by Peter Giles, a very pleasant citizen of 
 Antwerp, to whom the ' Utopia ' was afterwards 
 addressed by the author. Raphael, it seems, had 
 sailed to the new world with Americus Vespucius ; 
 and, as our great countryman was inquisitive 
 about every thing relating to remote countries, a 
 remarkable intimacy immediately grew up be- 
 tween him and the Portuguese. Their minds were 
 congenial, and their studies had been nearly the 
 same; both having addicted themselves almost 
 entirely to the perusal of the Greek writers, 
 whose notions, the author observes, are more bold 
 and original than those of the Romans. In a word, 
 Raphael, in the ' Utopia,' is Sir Thomas More 
 himself, whose dual existence is kept up during 
 the whole of the first book, that the author, like a
 
 132 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 dramatic writer, may escape from censure through 
 his interlocutors. 
 
 There is an air of simplicity, quite natural, in 
 the conversations which introduce the main sub- 
 ject; though the author takes occasion very early 
 in the work to exhibit his republican principles. 
 But he does this without any appearance of design, 
 merely by making Peter Giles inquire of Raphael 
 why he did not enter into the service of some 
 prince, and by that means exert his great wisdom 
 and abilities for the good of mankind, as well as of 
 himself and his friends. The comprehensive views, 
 the depth, energy, and acuteness, of an upright 
 and experienced statesman, animated by an honest 
 indignation against tyranny, are conspicuous in 
 Raphael's replies ; for Peter presses the question, 
 and the dialogue is carried on. Princes, he ob- 
 serves, are incapable of comprehending the obli- 
 gations of their office ; have, and can have, no 
 regard for justice; are not, by any force of elo- 
 quence or prudence, to be enlisted on the side of 
 liberty ; but are inveterately disposed to prefer, on 
 all occasions, the flattery and base principles of 
 their courtiers, to the noble counsels of a philoso- 
 pher. To be in the service of a prince, he con- 
 tinues, is to be a slave, to forfeit the privilege of 
 speech, and to be bound to execute blindly the 
 most pernicious commands. He holds that all
 
 SYSTEMS OF GOVERNMENT. 133 
 
 kings are, to a man, ambitious ,- more desirous of 
 robbing their neighbours of their dominions, than 
 of governing their own realms with equity ; and, 
 in all respects, stubborn, self-willed, and im- 
 practicable. 
 
 In pursuing this topic, Raphael sketches in- 
 cidentally the character of John Morton, Arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury; and he does it with a 
 vigorous, expressive brevity, not unworthy of Ta- 
 citus. Morton, it seems, was a man of a shrewd 
 comprehensive mind, patient of innovation, and 
 anxious for the popular good. In a conversation 
 which took place at his table, on the severity of 
 the criminal law, we discover, through the medium 
 of the Portuguese phantom, Raphael, the opinions 
 of Sir Thomas More upon capital punishment; 
 and it appears that he had, in great part, antici- 
 pated the humane notions of the present age. He 
 traces the prevalence of thieves to the vices of 
 monarchical governments, to excessive taxation 
 and war, which impoverish the body of the peo- 
 ple, and nurse a great number of desperate idle 
 fellows, who, on the re-establishment of peace, 
 are let loose, like so many wild beasts, upon so- 
 ciety. Taxation, he observes, is rendered exces- 
 sive for two purposes : to enrich the coffers of the 
 prince, and to break the spirit of the people by 
 extreme poverty. Had this truth been uttered
 
 134 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 by a speculative reasoner, from a priori induction, 
 it might deserve, perhaps, to be disputed; but 
 here we have it from the mouth of a Lord Chan- 
 cellor of England, a man of a clear head, great 
 learning, and vast experience of affairs ; who did 
 not gather the fact from hearsay, but had it 
 beaten into his mind by daily and hourly expe- 
 rience. It may, therefore, be considered a poli- 
 tical axiom, that princes in general will levy taxes 
 even when their coffers are overflowing ; and that, 
 not so much for the sake of the money, as of im- 
 poverishing and depressing the people. 
 
 Thieves are multiplied, also, by the institutions 
 of an hereditary nobility; for, besides the enor- 
 mous portion of wealth they engross, and draw 
 up into heaps, out of the hands of the people, 
 their houses are so many nurseries of robbers; 
 their attendants literally forming an army of 
 idlers, who are draughted off, occasionally, to 
 scour the highways and supply the gallows. 
 
 His opinions on standing armies are not less 
 bold and striking : under whatever pretence they 
 may be maintained, whether as a defence from 
 foreign invasion, or as a curb to sedition at home, 
 the true aim of their being kept up, he observes, 
 is tyranny and arbitrary rule. 
 
 On all these subjects, his observations are the 
 fruit of deep reflection and experience, and though
 
 SYSTEMS OF GOVERNMENT. 135 
 
 many of them may not at present appear new, 
 they are all worthy of attention ; and sometimes 
 send out, through rents, as it were, in the veil of 
 fable which envelopes them, flashes of truth, 
 which are much more brilliant than they would 
 appear in a didactic political work ; as the sun's 
 rays fall warmer when they burst at intervals 
 between the clouds, than when the sky is entirely 
 clear. But, in fact, this whole book, introductory 
 to the portraiture of the Utopian commonwealth, 
 is full of noble thoughts and sentiments, clothed 
 in that rich, marrowy eloquence, which springs 
 from extensive observation and copiousness of 
 ideas. Nothing is forced, or introduced for the 
 sake of ostentation ; or, when introduced, pur* 
 sued too far out of the road : the topics rise 
 out of each other naturally and beautifully, as 
 branches spring from a tree, lopped and pruned 
 into graceful proportion, and loaded with fruit of 
 the richest show and flavour. 
 
 If it be the intention of philosophy to diffuse 
 cheerfulness and serenity through the mind, the 
 reader of the ' Utopia ' will infallibly be persuaded 
 that its author was a true philosopher ; for it is 
 quite impossible to make the smallest progress 
 among his speculations without feeling a tran- 
 quillizing enlivening influence, penetrating like 
 sunshine into the mind, and dispelling the cloud*
 
 136 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 and darkness of solicitude and discontent. This 
 is the great charm of his book, as it was of his 
 character. There is nothing sour or crabbed to 
 be met with in it ; no moroseness, no affectation ; 
 it is like a pleasant companion whom one picks 
 up by the way-side, who, by appearing to slide 
 into our humours, delights and enchants us ; 
 and, if he has any grand ideas, opens, with a 
 smile, a passage for them into our understanding. 
 An author of genius enshrines his soul in his 
 book, which thus becomes a fane whence he may 
 utter his oracles, like a god, to all eternity ; and 
 thus his opinions and sentiments rest upon a 
 surer basis than the Delphian tripod : no mu- 
 tation of empire can disturb his influence, nor any 
 change of religion. Plato speaks still, though 
 Apollo has long been mute. A great writer ap- 
 pears to be one of the mouths of nature, whose 
 revelations men of all creeds would reckon it im- 
 piety to neglect ; and such a writer is Sir Thomas 
 More. 
 
 Perhaps the free nature of More's speculations 
 has tended to restrain their diffusion among man- 
 kind, for he makes free with every body's pre- 
 judices : kings, nobles, and priests, are the theme 
 of his censure ; and, as he never censures unjustly, 
 his reprehension has the bitterer sting. For the 
 rich in general he had very small respect, as he
 
 SYSTEMS OF GOVERNMENT. 137 
 
 considered the accumulation of wealth a species 
 of monopoly, which it should be the business of 
 just laws to restrain. It is rather surprising, 
 considering the manner in which he speaks of the 
 priesthood, that his religion has never been called 
 in question ; for if he ever goes out of his way on 
 any occasion whatever, it is to express his disre- 
 spect and contempt for the priests. They were in 
 his time, he says, a race of men, who, not content 
 with leading an idle life, were resolved to do mis- 
 chief ; to stop the course of agriculture, enclose 
 grounds, and destroy houses and towns, reserving 
 only the churches, that they might lodge their sheep 
 in them. In one passage he appears to call in 
 question the justice of Providence for sending the 
 rot among the sheep, which it ought to have in- 
 flicted, he thought, upon the owners themselves. 
 Add to this, the ludicrous colloquy between the 
 friar and the jester, at the archbishop's table, in 
 which he puts such bitter taunts and sarcasms into 
 the jester's mouth, and makes him goad and ha- 
 rass the friar so effectually, that any one may 
 perceive he is contriving, " mutato nomine," to 
 utter his own sentiments. 
 
 But perhaps the boldest passage in the 'Utopia' 
 is that in which the author ventures to delineate 
 the court and policy of Henry VII., the father of 
 the prince he served 5 for the arts by which that
 
 138 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 monarch contrived to fill his coffers and impoverish 
 his people, are there stigmatized as base, knavish, 
 hypocritical, and inexpressibly unjust. The reader 
 who is acquainted with Lord Bacon's life of that 
 prince, will find no difficulty in recognising in Sir 
 Thomas More's terrible epitome, the genuine his- 
 tory of the period ; he therefore will suspect that 
 Bacon has given but very faintly some of the 
 features of the times. 
 
 By degrees the question of property is in- 
 troduced : Raphael maintains, that in a well- 
 regulated state, men should have all things in 
 common ; and as in the course of the discussion 
 he frequently refers, in proof or illustration of his 
 positions, to the laws and customs of the Utopians, 
 a people he had visited during his travels, he at 
 length excites the curiosity of his companions, who 
 request to know something more particular of that 
 singular and unheard-of nation. The traveller, of 
 course, complies, and from his relation Sir Thomas 
 More compiled his account of Utopia. 
 
 Perhaps there is an inherent defect in every 
 picture of an imaginary government ; as, by piling 
 up the wisest maxims and most important truths 
 upon a scaffolding of palpable fable, we bring 
 those maxims and those truths themselves into 
 suspicion, with as many as cannot accurately dis- 
 tinguish between ideas and the husks in which
 
 SYSTEMS OF GOVERNMENT. 139 
 
 they grow. It must also be confessed, that there 
 is some appearance of puerility in these inventions, 
 which seem like an attempt to gild the pill of in- 
 struction before the reader's eyes, as though the 
 author doubted he might not have the courage to 
 take it, if not so disguised. This produces in 
 many a disdain for this kind of writing ; but their 
 disdain is not well-grounded ; for the writer may 
 not have at all distrusted their capacity to follow 
 and comprehend him, whatever method of in- 
 struction he might have chosen, but have given 
 way to the temper of the times, or been directed 
 in his choice of a mode by the danger of his own 
 position. This we believe to have been the case 
 with Sir Thomas More. He would have written 
 no Utopias, could he have dared to speak his 
 mind of England and its institutions, and to re- 
 commend such maxims of government as his great 
 mind approved. As it is, we must take his 
 thoughts where we can find them ; they are, to 
 be sure, far less extraordinary now than when 
 first published, and some of them may be absurd 
 enough ; but we are much deceived if they are 
 not altogether worthy of being well sifted and 
 studied by mankind in general. 
 
 The description of Utopia commences in the 
 beginning of the second book, with a sketch of 
 the general appearance of the country, of the soil,
 
 140 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 towns, and inhabitants. The island, it appears, 
 contained fifty- four cities, large, well built, and 
 much resembling each other. From one of these 
 cities to the next, the distance was in no case 
 more than a day's journey for a pedestrian, so 
 that every traveller had it in his power to rest at 
 night in the city. Amaurot, the metropolis, lay 
 nearly in the centre of the island ; and there all 
 the deputies from the provincial senates, three 
 from every city, assembled once a year to consult 
 together about the great business of the state. 
 All the citizens submitted in turns to the exercise 
 of rural labour ; a portion of the population being 
 draughted off every year from the cities to work 
 in the fields, and an equal number, who had been 
 called to the country the year before, returning to 
 the towns. By these means the people never 
 dwindled into effeminacy by perpetual confine- 
 ment, nor contracted those rugged manners which 
 constant application to rustic labours is apt to 
 generate. There was a gentleness and a refinement 
 in their robust vigour which diffused over the 
 whole intercourse of life a sweet amenity and a 
 lively grace. In short, they resembled the elegant 
 and urbane population of ancient Attica. 
 
 Their towns, like Mr. Owen's, were built in the 
 form of a parallelogram ; all the streets were of one 
 width, and the houses exactly resembling each other.
 
 SYSTEMS OF GOVERNMENT. 141 
 
 Behind every dwelling was a fine garden, in which 
 the vine, all manner of fruit-trees, and plants and 
 flowers, were cultivated. The Utopian legislator 
 seems, indeed, by the delight with which he 
 speaks of trees, fruits, fountains, and the heauty 
 of flowers, to have possessed the true philosophical 
 taste for gardening and agriculture ; and he often 
 indulges his benevolence by fancying his happy 
 people seated every man under his vine, or under 
 his fig-tree. To heighten the verisimilitude of 
 his relation, he, on mentioning the structure of 
 the capital, takes a short retrospect of its im- 
 provements, and observes that, from a collection 
 of low and mean cottages, it had grown by de- 
 grees to consist of edifices, lofty, uniform, and 
 superb. 
 
 The government was republican, and the 
 prince, or president, elective ; but he continued 
 in office during life, unless suspected of some 
 design to enslave the people, in which case he was 
 immediately removed. Suffrages were given in 
 secret, and the senators chosen annually. Indeed, 
 Sir Thomas More entertained the most entire af- 
 fection for democracy, and contrives on all occa- 
 sions to manifest his affection ; so that the whole 
 scheme of his commonwealth turns upon the 
 principle that government is valuable only in pro- 
 portion as it provides for the general happiness.
 
 142 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 The day was divided with great judgment 
 among the Utopians : six hours out of the twenty- 
 four were consumed in labour, three in the 
 morning, and three in the afternoon ; eight were 
 allotted to sleep ; and the remaining ten to reading 
 and recreation. Public lectures were delivered 
 every morning, before day-break, in all the cities ; 
 but none were compelled to attend, excepting 
 those marked out for literature. It was fashion- 
 able, however, for great numbers of both sexes to 
 be present, each person attending the lectures most 
 congenial to his taste. 
 
 To the Utopian division of time, the author 
 foresaw there would be many objections, princi- 
 pally on the ground that too little was appro- 
 priated to labour. His reply to these anticipated 
 objections is so full of truth and cogency, that we 
 shall presume to lay it entire before the reader : 
 
 " But this matter of the time set off for labour, 
 is to be narrowly examined, .otherwise you may 
 perhaps imagine, that since there are only six 
 hours appointed for work, they may fall under a 
 scarcity of necessary provisions. But it is so 
 far from being true, that this time is not sufficient 
 for supplying them with a plenty of all things 
 that are either necessary or convenient, that it is 
 rather too much ; and this you will easily appre- 
 hend, if you consider how great a part of all other
 
 SYSTEMS OF GOVERNMENT. 143 
 
 nations is quite idle. First, women generally do 
 little, who are the half of mankind ; and if some 
 few women are diligent, their husbands are idle. 
 Then consider the great company of idle priests, 
 and of those that are called religious men; add 
 to these all rich men, chiefly those that have 
 estates in lands, who are called noblemen and 
 gentlemen, together with their families, made up 
 of idle persons, that do nothing but go swaggering 
 about. Reckon in with these, all those strong 
 and lusty beggars, that go about pretending some 
 disease, in excuse for their begging; and upon 
 the whole account you will find, that the number 
 of those by whose labours mankind is supplied, is 
 much less than you did perhaps imagine. Then 
 consider how few of those that work, are employed 
 in labours that men do really need; for we who 
 measure all things by money, give occasions to 
 many trades that are both vain and superfluous, 
 and that serve only to support riot and luxury. 
 For if those who are at work were employed only 
 in such things as the conveniencies of life require, 
 there would be such an abundance of them, and 
 by that means the prices of them would so sink, 
 that tradesmen could not be maintained by their 
 gains ; if all those who labour about useless things 
 were set to more profitable trades ; and if all that 
 number that languishes out their life in sloth and
 
 144 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 idleness, of whom every one consumes as much as 
 any two of the men that are at work do, were 
 forced to labour, you may easily imagine that a 
 small proportion of time would serve for doing all 
 that is either necessary, profitable, or pleasant 
 to mankind, pleasure being still kept within its 
 due bounds." 
 
 There prevailed in Utopia a regulation respect- 
 ing literary men, which might, with great ad- 
 vantage, be revived among many modern nations : 
 the literati were constituted into a distinct class, 
 exempt from labour, and honoured in a particular 
 manner ; but if any member of this class was, in 
 the course of time, found to disappoint the ex- 
 pectations which had been formed of him, his 
 privileges were annulled, and he was compelled to 
 join the labouring classes. On the other hand, a 
 mechanic, who chose to acquire, in his leisure 
 hours, a certain portion of learning, and, besides, 
 displayed a powerful and enlarged intellect, was 
 immediately delivered from the necessity to labour, 
 and ranked among the literati. 
 
 There was great singleness of purpose among 
 the Utopians, for happiness was the object of 
 their study. Their notions of happiness, too, were 
 sufficiently simple, as they made it to consist en- 
 tirely in pleasure, in such pleasure as passes 
 harmlessly over the mind, like a clear wave,
 
 SYSTEMS OF GOVERNMENT. 154 
 
 leaving no stain of sensuality behind it. To know 
 how the delights of life arrange themselves in the 
 scale of nature, and how we are to pass into 
 the sphere of one without missing another, more 
 precious perhaps, is a science far more valuable 
 than the vulgar learned ever yet conceived. But 
 if we make towards it through the right path, it 
 is not difficult of attainment. Nature teaches it. 
 We have but to listen patiently to her dictates. 
 However, Sir Thomas More seems to have thought 
 that the art of listening to nature was not easy of 
 acquirement, and therefore he made it the chief 
 object of study among the Utopians. 
 
 We must caution our readers against sup- 
 posing for a moment that we profess to detail all 
 the opinions or practices of the Utopians; it 
 would be to extract the whole work, of which we 
 are only giving an outline : the most we can do is, 
 to select what appear to us the most extraordinary 
 ideas, and even this is extremely difficult where 
 so many ideas are extraordinary. However, we 
 shall do our best. From the subject of study 
 and domestic government, the author passes to 
 the consideration of colonization and war, k on- the 
 former of which his notions are especially remark- 
 able. If one of two neighbouring nations happen, 
 at any time, to have an overflowing population, 
 while the other has not people enough to cultivate
 
 146 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 the whole of its territory, the former, he thinks, 
 has an undoubted right to occupy the waste 
 lands of the latter, and, in case of opposition, to 
 seize upon them by force of arms ; " since every 
 man," he continues, " has, by the law of nature, 
 a right to such an uncultivated portion of the 
 earth as is necessary for his subsistence." 
 
 The cities of the Utopians were divided into 
 four equal parts, in each of which was a market- 
 place, filled with all the necessaries of life. From 
 these, every father of a family took what he 
 judged necessary for the subsistence of his house ; 
 and there was no danger that he would take too 
 much, for what should he have done with it, since 
 there was no money, and since every one had the 
 same liberty as himself? 
 
 " It is the fear of want that makes any of the 
 whole race of animals either greedy or ravenous : 
 but besides fear, there is in man a vast pride, that 
 makes him fancy it a particular glory for him to 
 excel others in pomp and excess. But by the 
 laws of the Utopians, there is no room for these 
 things among them." 
 
 All the grown-up people of both sexes dined 
 and supped in public, in spacious halls erected in 
 every street. The sick were carefully accom- 
 modated in hospitals, built without the walls, 
 where every delicacy was provided for them. But,
 
 SYSTEMS OF GOVERNMENT. 147 
 
 because in all countries many are found to prefer 
 privacy and retirement, every one who chose might 
 eat at home, that liberty might in no case be 
 infringed. At the public halls, the men were 
 placed on one side, the women on the other ; and 
 old and young were so skilfully intermingled 
 on both sides, that the conversation was always 
 lively and sportive, without degenerating into 
 licentiousness. . 
 
 " They never sup without music ; and there is 
 always fruit served up after meat. While they sit 
 at meat, some burn perfumes, and sprinkle about 
 sweet ointments and sweet waters ; and they are 
 wanting in nothing that may cheer up their spirits, 
 for they give themselves a large allowance that 
 way, and indulge themselves in all such pleasures 
 as are attended with no inconvenience. Thus do 
 those that are in the towns live together ; but in 
 the country, where they live at a greater distance, 
 every one eats at home ; and no family wants any 
 necessary sort of provision, for it is from them 
 that provisions are sent unto those that live in 
 the towns." 
 
 One of the strangest regulations of the Uto- 
 pians was that which settled the mode of travel- 
 ling, as it allowed no man to move out of his 
 district without a passport, under the penalty of 
 being returned to his parish as a rogue and vaga- 
 
 H2
 
 148 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY, 
 
 bond, and, for the second offence, reduced to 
 slavery. This was to prevent idleness. They who 
 travelled in the regular way, found in every town 
 and city the most cordial welcome ; but there 
 were no "taverns, ale-houses, nor stews, among 
 them 5 " conveniencies which no European nation 
 has hitherto been able to dispense with. Legisla- 
 tors like Sir Thomas More, Lord Bacon, Bishop 
 Berkeley, &c., who regulate the passions of Uto- 
 pians, Atlantians, and Mezzoraneans, find small 
 difficulty in banishing vice from their dominions, 
 since they can do it with a stroke of the pen ; but 
 no lawgiver who has had to do with actual society, 
 excepting Lycurgus, has ever, as far as we know, 
 succeeded in banishing public prostitution from 
 his country. Solon allowed itj it prevailed at 
 Rome j it is tolerated in all Christian countries. 
 Why is this ? Is man incorrigible ? Has he always 
 been incorrigible, every where but at Sparta? Or 
 was Lycurgus, as antiquity believed, really supe- 
 rior in genius to all other lawgivers, the opinion 
 of Mr. Campbell* notwithstanding? This foul 
 blot upon all Christian governments seems to be 
 caused by some radical defect in the institution of 
 marriage, which damps the affections of the con- 
 nubial state, and often throws back upon single 
 
 * See his ' Lectures on Poetry.'
 
 SYSTEMS OF GOVERNMENT. 149 
 
 life an ineradicable taint. Sir Thomas More and 
 Lord Bacon seem to have perceived some traces 
 of this defect, and the cause which produces it; 
 and the former, with the bold candour which was 
 natural to him, explained himself, and proposed 
 what appeared to him a proper remedy. It is not 
 so easy to come at Lord Bacon's sentiments on 
 the subject; whether he sometimes laboured under 
 that incapacity to unwrap and be delivered of his 
 conceptions, which he imputed to Aristotle, or 
 thought proper to utter some of his opinions in 
 oracular sentences and phrases that might be 
 turned towards any point of the compass. Be 
 this as it may, we cannot, at present, enter into 
 the subject, but must refer the reader to the 
 ' Utopia ' and the ' New Atlantis.' 
 
 Agreeably to the doctrine and practice of many 
 ancient philosophers, Sir Thomas More inculcates 
 suicide in certain cases; arguing that it is not 
 only allowable, but religious and pious; and 
 Bishop Burnet, his translator, can hardly be said 
 to condemn it, for all he says on the subject is : 
 " The advising men, in some cases, to put an end 
 to their lives, notwithstanding all the caution with 
 which he guards it, is a piece of rough and fierce 
 philosophy" No doubt it is, excellent prelate ! But 
 is it nothing more ? 
 
 The author next ridicules our bulky laws;
 
 150 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 and, to express his thorough abhorrence of law- 
 yers, he imitates Plato's conduct towards the 
 poets, and banishes them entirely from his com- 
 monwealth. He likewise censures the faithless- 
 ness of princes and popes, in a keen ironical 
 manner; and exposes the wicked sophistry by 
 which they set up one kind of virtue for them- 
 selves, and another for the people. To show how 
 he respects them, he observes, that when the 
 Utopians made war with any neighbouring nation, 
 the first thing they did was to offer immense 
 rewards to any one who would kill the hostile 
 prince, or any of his courtiers; for to such they 
 always attributed the causes of war. This bar- 
 barous practice, Bishop Burnet observes, " is so 
 wild and so immoral both, that it does not admit 
 of any thing to soften or excuse it, much less to 
 justify it." 
 
 But the most singular chapter in the whole 
 ' Utopia,' is that on religion, as it unveils, in a 
 pretty clear manner, the workings of the author's 
 mind. What, however, and how much, he be- 
 lieved, it is not easy to say, though the whole 
 tenor of his work furnishes strong grounds for 
 suspecting his orthodoxy. He makes a portion 
 of his people bow down in adoration before the 
 sun and moon, and great men of former times, 
 " not only as ordinary deities, but as the supreme
 
 SYSTEMS OF GOVERNMENT. 151 
 
 God;" and, although he observes that the wiser 
 portion of them adored the one incomprehensible 
 divinity, he censures not those rude pagans for 
 their polytheism, appearing to think it is no great 
 matter what men worship. When Raphael and 
 his companions explained the Christian religion 
 to the Utopians, many of them came over to the 
 new faith; but he observes, that one of these 
 converts was so transported with an intemperate 
 zeal, that he not only openly preferred his new 
 .creed, but abused and declaimed against the reli- 
 gions of the country; upon which he was seized 
 and banished, not, says the author, for dispa- 
 raging those religions, but for inflaming the peo- 
 ple to sedition. It was generally upon the same 
 pretext that the Roman emperors persecuted the 
 primitive Christians, whom they considered bad 
 citizens, as well as bigots. In strict conformity 
 with the practice of the pagans of antiquity, the 
 author of ' Utopia ' teaches, that all religions 
 should be equally tolerated, and that no man 
 should, in any case, be punished for his opinions, 
 unless he attempt to force them upon others. 
 Like a philosopher of more modern times, he 
 seems to suspect that, possibly, God may be 
 pleased with a variety of religions; just as an 
 indulgent father is pleased with the different fan- 
 cies of his children, who, on returning from a
 
 152 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 rural walk, present him, one with a curious pebble, 
 another with a flower, a third with a beautiful 
 feather, or shell, and so on; since' each only 
 adopts a different method of expressing the same 
 love. 
 
 We have now gone through the ' Utopia ' in a 
 cursory manner, and have, we hope, shown that 
 it is an extraordinary work, a splendid recapitu- 
 lation of all the philosophical meditations of its 
 author's life, distinctly, forcibly, and beautifully 
 arranged; that to pass from vulgar literature to 
 such works, is like sailing out of the dull trade- 
 winds, which always blow one way, into the free, 
 changeable airs of the mighty ocean; and that, 
 though it be commonly spoken of as a childish 
 vision, there is very little of absurdity either in 
 the matter or manner of the work. We have 
 detailed its principles; we have spoken our opi- 
 nion : let the reader judge.
 
 EFFECTS 
 
 CIVILIZATION UPON GENIUS. 
 
 H 5
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 EFFECTS OF CIVILIZATION UPON 
 GENIUS. 
 
 AUTHORS are a kind of spies, which society de- 
 spatches into the regions of thought and contem- 
 plation, to observe the face of things, and to draw 
 up correct reports of their discoveries. It falls 
 to the share of some of them to observe but very 
 little, and even that little with abundance of 
 incorrectness and misapprehension. For this, 
 many causes might be assigned; but the prin- 
 cipal we take to be, a desire to discover in the 
 regions which they examine, what those regions, 
 never contained, and (arising out of their conse- 
 quent disappointment) a disposition to set off 
 what they see, in false or inadequate colours. 
 Nothing that has ever yet been made the subject 
 of contemplation, has received such various treat- 
 ment as man's passions and weaknesses, not one 
 of which has escaped the panegyric and satire, 
 balanced exactly against each other, of numerous
 
 156 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 witty writers, according as they were inspired 
 by cheerful or gloomy ideas. Among these pas- 
 sions or frailties of human nature, (we will not 
 quarrel about their nomenclature,) we have ob- 
 served that the teeth of reprehension have fast- 
 ened with peculiar frequency and eagerness upon 
 enthusiasm. Even philosophy has not appeared 
 to disapprove of this; probably, because enthu- 
 siasm is presumed to act in opposition to her 
 calm dictates, to pluck up what she has planted, 
 overthrow what she has built, and piercing the 
 soul, like the Phrygian measures of old, to ex- 
 cite a species of religious frenzy, which hurries 
 men into extravagance and folly. We fear it 
 must plead guilty to part of this charge. History 
 testifies that it has been the cause of great dis- 
 orders in the world ; and we all know that it held 
 up the light of false expectation to our youth, 
 causing our fancy to scale heights, and* our reason 
 to make calculations, which a man sobered' by 
 adversity would be ashamed to dwell upon, even 
 in his dreams. It is therefore granted to be the 
 parent of much absurdity. But this concession, 
 as the reader will observe, does not include an 
 acknowledgment that enthusiasm never produces 
 any good, or even that its effects are more mis- 
 chievous than beneficentj nay, that, upon the 
 whole, were an equal balance struck, we have any
 
 EFFECTS OF CIVILIZATION. 157 
 
 greater reason to complain of it, than of the least 
 harmful passion we possess. Let us consider it 
 in its nature and effects. It is, as all allow, a 
 magnanimous passion, strikes deep root even in a 
 barren fortune, and is rarely to be overthrown by 
 adversity. It is no parasite to be seen at the 
 tables of the great. Heroes, projectors, founders 
 of religions, poets, artists, and political reformers, 
 are the men it smiles on and inspires. It is 
 friendly, but not social ; loves the tete-a-tete, but 
 avoids the merry-making ; breathes sometimes in 
 a senate, but is the informing soul of a popular 
 assembly. Public virtue lives and dies with it. 
 It affects democracy, and produced all the glory 
 of the Athenian commonwealth. In private life, 
 it is the soul of love and friendship: you may 
 reckon on an enthusiast as long as his enthusiasm 
 lasts 5 he will never desert you, till he becomes, 
 quite another man. Nor is this change easily 
 brought about, where the passion had firm root in 
 the mind at first 5 for it is exceedingly fond of old 
 associations, and turns back with a delight which 
 is utterly indescribable to every thing that can 
 recall its early hopes and joys. Poor men, who 
 raise themselves above their original stations by 
 any other means than mere sordid money-making, 
 will all be found to have been enthusiasts in their 
 way: they cherished some particular train of
 
 158 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 ideas, by pursuing which up and down the world, 
 they at length fell in with Mammon, and put their 
 hands into his coffers. Enthusiasm has some 
 natural affinity with greatness, swells the de- 
 sires and capacities of the soul, gives energy to 
 the will, and daring to the hand, makes pastime 
 of toil, and sheds a glory round the head of enter- 
 prise. Men of mere contemplation also possess 
 it ; but in them it is a purer and more temperate 
 fire, and, like a well-trimmed lamp, burns on 
 steadily to the end of life ; by no means resem- 
 bling the bickering torch-like blaze, in which the 
 enthusiasm of the hero bursts forth. The poor 
 student, who meditates on philosophy in his 
 thatched cottage, may hide in his bosom the 
 ambition and enthusiasm of an Alexander, but he 
 conceals his passion with the ashes of learning, 
 never suffering it to blaze forth, unless when his 
 fancy is to be warmed and enlivened for some 
 daring flight, or his resolves to be invigorated 
 under the pressure of chilling adversity. If a 
 man indulge himself with moderate solitude, espe- 
 cially in places abounding with woods and rivers, 
 or near the sea shore, he may strengthen con- 
 siderably his natural enthusiasm, which is apt to 
 cool in cities, by too close a connexion with art. 
 For this purpose it is that imaginative persons 
 visit the ruins of antiquity, or spots rendered
 
 EFFECTS OF CIVILIZATION. 159 
 
 famous by illustrious deeds, or by having been the 
 habitation of great and wise men, as Thermopylae, 
 or Marathon, or Athens ; nor can there be any 
 doubt that the mind feels a new elevation in such 
 places: no Englishman could tread the fields of 
 Agincourt, of Cressy, of Poictiers, without expe- 
 riencing a glow of enthusiasm, which would have 
 been warmer and purer had it been recorded that 
 the heroes who left their bones to whiten on those 
 celebrated spots, had died in defence of man's 
 freedom and rights. It is often thought that the 
 disdain of worldly distinctions, ranks, and plea- 
 sures, expressed by persons really fond of retire- 
 ment, is affected and hypocritical ; but it may not 
 be : they view the world from a distance, and it 
 must needs follow that its concerns and troubles 
 appear little and insignificant in their eyes. Let 
 the busiest man in 'Change-alley be placed in the 
 midst of a storm on the Atlantic, on the heights 
 of the Andes, or in the interminable forests which 
 stretch through the heart of America, and he will 
 look upon the price of stocks as a matter of small 
 importance. What such sublime scenes would 
 do for him, is wrought in others by those sweet 
 little patches of solitude that may be found in 
 England. The vast machine of business, going 
 round perpetually in this city, stuns and perplexes 
 us with the noise of its movements: we gather
 
 160 ANATOMY DF SOCIETY. 
 
 up our thoughts, and unwind our designs, as in a 
 dream ; nor does habit do any thing more than 
 render our dreams less disturbed. The face of 
 nature awakens us. On the banks of rivers, in 
 the darkness of woods, our mind appears to gain 
 its original serenity, and spreads before itself, in. 
 a kind of internal perspective, the whole tract of 
 its thoughts and speculations. Over whatever 
 arises, enthusiasm sheds a tinge of pleasantness, 
 which braces the resolution, and stimulates it to 
 new exertion. The passions, thus diverted from 
 their objects for a moment, return to it with 
 redoubled force ; as the hammer strikes harder 
 in proportion as it is lifted above the anvil. 
 
 No man ever performed any thing remarkable, 
 who was not thoroughly possessed by enthusiasm ; 
 a passion compounded of desire, daring, and un- 
 quenchable energy. The want of it is denomi- 
 nated "poorness of spirit," as if it were the rich 
 juice which fertilized the mind. Virgil was well 
 persuaded of this, when he exclaimed, 
 
 " For they can conquer, who believe they can ! " 
 
 Julius Caesar was a great enthusiast, and believed 
 that heaven and earth were interested in his suc- 
 cess. His rival was doubtful, wavering, suspicious, 
 had no dependence on fortune ; in a word, was 

 
 EFFECTS OF CIVILIZATION. l6l 
 
 "poor -spirited." Youth, in general, possesses 
 something of this passion, and to a certain point 
 it holds out very well ; but at length, like a spent 
 wave, it ceases, in the greater number, to buoy 
 them up ; they turn a cold look upon the scenes 
 of life, imagine the moycns de parvenir to be all 
 exhausted, and sink into listlessness and hope- 
 lessness for the remainder of their existence. 
 Man is a Sybarite in thinking : he loves to let his 
 ideas remain in the order in which they entered 
 his mind, and is naturally averse to rouse them 
 into that ferment, in which they strike, as it were, 
 of their own accord, into new channels. But this 
 holds not with the enthusiast. His brain is the 
 very furnace of invention : theories and novelties 
 flit before his fancy like bees ; his soul is in an 
 orgasm ; he stamps the mark of his intellect on 
 words and notions, and pours out his riches before 
 mankind. It is the want of this natural intoxica- 
 tion which drives men to the habit of drinking ; 
 for when that pleasurable exaltation of mind, 
 which enthusiasm produces, dies away with youth, 
 leaving a mere dry matter-of-fact plodding ho- 
 munculus behind, what is there left to this mi- 
 serable little personage with which to season life, 
 but his dinner, his goblet, and his segar ? Real 
 enthusiasts are sober, severe men, given, as Lord
 
 162 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Shaftesbury observes, rather to melancholy than 
 to mirth; because, in the intervals of their ve- 
 hement transports, there is an ebbing of the 
 spirits, a recoiling of their physical energies, 
 which makes the mind droop and seem bewildered 
 for a season. In reading the histories of half- 
 civilized nations, we have observed that men of 
 this cast readily obtain co-operators among such 
 people, in their designs and enterprises ; and 
 this, principally, because in those stages of society 
 enthusiasts abound : and even the generality, from 
 their manner of life, have minds less strongly tied 
 down to modes and precedents, than afterwards 
 in a more settled and advanced state of civiliza- 
 tion. As the arts of life approach perfection, men 
 begin to rely more upon those arts, and less upon 
 themselves ; their enthusiasm and energy, being 
 seldom called forth, evaporate by degrees ; the 
 bold enterprising character becomes more rare ; 
 cunning takes the place of wisdom and courage ; 
 improvements in laws and arts come to be re- 
 garded as visionary j it is thought advisable " to 
 let well alone," and to give up all hopes of better ; 
 philosophy and learning fall into disrepute ; royal 
 roads to knowledge are discovered, by which a 
 man may master all the arts and sciences in a 
 very short time : the human mind rests upon
 
 EFFECTS OF CIVILIZATION. \3 
 
 these crutches, and when it comes to this, one is 
 hardly sorry to observe the babblings of its dotage 
 silenced by the terrors of a revolution. 
 
 It is humiliating to observe, how general a 
 tendency there is in mankind towards the trifling 
 and the little ; nine-tenths of the conversation of 
 the world are expended on nobody knows what ; 
 and millions live and die without ever knowing 
 what it was to form an opinion, or possess an idea 
 of their own. Nay, it sometimes happens that 
 very dignified and honourable personages, whose 
 smiles and frowns dispense more happiness than 
 it is possible for us to conceive, we say, it some- 
 times happens, that august personages of this 
 description have no more original ideas than a 
 drayman. Notwithstanding this, it is a settled 
 maxim amongst us moderns, that the nonsense of 
 such persons is infinitely more valuable than the 
 wisdom of any other man whatever, and to think 
 otherwise is looked upon as vastly impertinent. 
 But the enthusiast is no respecter of persons : as 
 all are equal in the sight of God, so are they in 
 his sight ; the vehement transports of his be- 
 nevolence, in which he has an eye to the good of 
 all men, are not to be checked by ranks and titles ; 
 he spurns them when they are perked up in his 
 face instead of merit, and will have to see the man 
 himself. Hence enthusiasm is rude, resembling,
 
 164 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 not the ambling pony, which will stop and turn, 
 and trot and gallop, as you please, but the un- 
 tameable war-horse, ''that pricketh his ears, that 
 paweth at the sound of the trumpet, and listeneth 
 not to the voice of his rider ! " Under its in- 
 fluence, the soul is no longer passive to the inroad 
 of ordinary conceptions ; a divine breath appears 
 to rouse some hidden nature, some bias to sub- 
 limity, some bright train of thought, as a vein of 
 gold in the earth is sometimes uncovered by an 
 earthquake. The man is rapt, lifted up, inspired. 
 It is during such moments, that men fashion 
 those designs and perform those actions, which 
 are regarded, in their causes and nature, as some- 
 thing more than human : during such an access 
 of enthusiasm, did Curtius drive his war-horse 
 into the gulf, and Decius devote himself to the 
 infernal gods, for the Roman people. Nor were 
 their deaths unhappy ; for their lives and en- 
 thusiasm were extinguished together. Had either 
 of those brave men made a vow to devote himself 
 a twelvemonth, nay, a month after, he would have 
 been to be pitied ; on coming to himself, he would" 
 have perceived the rashness of his vow ; nature, 
 which in the warm moment urged him on, would 
 have deserted him on reflection ; a thousand ties 
 binding him to life, invisible in the blaze of pas- 
 sion, the calm light of reason would have dis-
 
 EFFECTS OF CIVILIZATION. 165 
 
 covered; his parents, his wife, his children, his 
 friends, his hopes and expectations, would have 
 assailed the sanctity of his vow and instead of 
 a willing sacrifice, he would have fallen a reluctant 
 victim ! That such would have been the case, we 
 have a strong proof in the behaviour of the Roman 
 army, which was caught in the Forks of Caudium. 
 Having marched incautiously into this dangerous 
 defile, they discovered, on drawing near its further 
 outlet, that it was closed with vast stones and 
 trees, and, on marching back, found that the en- 
 trance also had been blocked up behind them by 
 the enemy. The surrounding hills were high, of 
 difficult access, and covered moreover with hostile 
 troops. On perceiving their position, the soldiers 
 were seized with a stupor, their courage failed 
 them, their limbs trembled with terror ; and 
 these men, whose business was war, no sooner 
 lost their enthusiasm, than, like sheep, they gazed 
 upon each other, yielded up their arms, passed 
 under the yoke, and sneaked back to Rome in the 
 lowest stage of dejection. 
 
 There is much less enthusiasm in countries 
 under kingly government than is produced by 
 republican institutions, as there is much less 
 virtue and energy of every kind. Legislators 
 have an eye, however, rather to peace than to
 
 166 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 energy, believing, perhaps, that happiness is 
 thereby more surely attained. But " the soul's 
 joy," as the poet observes, " lies in doing," not in 
 being hushed and calmed down to tranquillity ; 
 and, therefore, wherever man's energies, mental 
 and bodily, are called most powerfully into action 
 uncontrolled, or controlled only by the laws, there 
 happiness is sure to be most generally and ex- 
 quisitely tasted. At Athens the sovereign power 
 was seated nominally and truly in the people, who 
 in the, course of one year enjoyed, in the exercise 
 of it, a greater sum of happiness than can be con- 
 ceived to be spread in a century over the hearts of 
 any modern nation. That men generally believe 
 they were great and happy is proved by this : 
 there is no man who has ever heard a rational 
 account of their institutions who does not wish he 
 had lived when those institutions flourished, unless 
 he be one whose consciousness of demerit, or lit- 
 tleness of soul, assures him he would have made 
 no figure among those great-minded men. Closet 
 politicians, such as Hume, may be incapable of 
 conceiving such a "mobbish government," to use 
 his own paltry and disgraceful expression, but 
 men of nobler minds will be able, without half his 
 learning, to comprehend and value it as it deserves. 
 The happiness and glory of our own country have
 
 EFFECTS OF CIVILIZATION. 167 
 
 been in proportion to our treading in the steps of 
 Athens, and if they have fallen short, it is only 
 where we have fallen short of her example. 
 
 In private life we have a less glowing en- 
 thusiasm than the Greeks and Romans, which 
 may be owing, perhaps, to the character of our 
 religious belief, the tendency of which is to deaden 
 the intensity of our affections for all terrestrial 
 things, our country, our wives and children, and 
 our friends. "Life," said the Pagans, is not to 
 live, but to be happy!" Their happiness, too, 
 consisted in performing mere worldly virtues, 
 patriotism, justice, beneficence, neglecting or con- 
 temning the monkish virtues of abstinence and 
 self-mortification. But it is still natural for great 
 thoughts and actions, nay, for all intense passions 
 and affections, and, in early life, even for common 
 and casual attachments, to excite enthusiasm. The 
 youth and girl of sixteen experience most com- 
 monly the enthusiasm of love ; their imaginations 
 are warm and vivid, their hopes extravagant, their 
 fears swallowed up in their hopes. The swain, 
 however homely in exterior, appears an Adonis 
 to his enamoured mistress ; while she on her part 
 seems in his eyes to be more beautiful than Helen 
 or Venus herself. There is at such times a slight 
 haze over the imagination which tinges all ob- 
 jects, and makes the mind doat on it knows not
 
 168 
 
 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 what. Visions of bliss hover upon the fancy, 
 which seems to wander through delightful groves, 
 where 
 
 " Empty dreams on every leaf are spread." 
 
 Alas ! these visions do not last ! the tide of 
 youthful spirits upon which they floated dries 
 away for the most part in manhood, leaving a 
 small rill shrinking with the march of years, until 
 in old age scarcely a drop is left to trickle through 
 the cold ^crannies of the mind ! How few, but 
 how glorious are the exceptions to this general 
 truth ! men having a degree of energy never to be 
 exhausted, because directed very early into one 
 single channel, in which it is gilded, but not ab- 
 sorbed, by the rays of fame and honour. When 
 the mind has long made its election of a track, 
 and caused all its powers to verge and slope to- 
 wards that direction, it may appear, as to other 
 things, a little too indolent and remiss, but all 
 exact observers of human nature will allow that a 
 man should appoint himself a task, and consider 
 every stroke which does not tend towards its ful- 
 filment as a piece of supererogatory labour. A 
 man with great political designs will cultivate 
 powerful friendships, multiply creatures, create 
 dependents, but will keep the secret of his heart 
 locked from all ; his success hinging on obedience, 

 
 EFFECTS OF CIVILIZATION. 169 
 
 not on participation of knowledge. In small 
 matters, closeness obstructs very often the ac- 
 complishment of a purpose ; for a man's friends 
 move in the dark respecting his wishes, and 
 sometimes defeat them by trying to serve him. 
 It is far better for a man to be able to communi- 
 cate his own enthusiasm to his friends ; and this 
 is done by openness and sincerity, because up- 
 right and noble views have a natural charm for 
 mankind, who will in all cases co-operate for the 
 accomplishment of them, unless checked by some 
 strong motive of self-interest. A man who has 
 never been in the company of an enthusiast will 
 hardly be able to conceive the glow of spirits, the 
 bright conceptions, the new trains of associations, 
 the bold magnificent hopes which overflow from 
 his discourse, and communicate themselves by a 
 kind of infection to all who hear him. People 
 believe themselves to be new beings while they 
 listen, and the spell continues associated ever 
 after with his name, the sound of which recalls 
 to their minds the pleasantest hours they ever, 
 perhaps, passed in their lives. We have observed, 
 however, that the old proverb, " like affects like," 
 "holds good in this as well as in most other in- 
 stances ; for only those possessing very exalted 
 feelings, and who have the simplicity of heart to 
 forgive their having been moved, retain a grateful 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 remembrance of the man who opened, if we may 
 be allowed the metaphor, the floodgates of their 
 souls, and set loose the whole stream of their 
 emotions. Colder minds, raised to enthusiasm in 
 such a moment, remember it with a sort of re- 
 sentment, as if violence had been used to wrench 
 off their covering of circumspection, and show 
 how common prudence is melted by the warmth 
 of passion. We once knew a man who could be 
 wrought up to any pitch of feeling, and turned to 
 any bent while strolling in the fields, or sitting on 
 the cliffs by the seaside, on a summer's evening ; 
 but who cooled as he drew near the town, and 
 had his mind at the freezing point in his own 
 house. Without doubt this arose from a feeble- 
 ness of mind which could not be moved, unless 
 surrounded by things possessing some degree of 
 novelty. His imagination was expanded by the 
 presence of the phenomena of nature, but not 
 being sufficiently vigorous to retain the impres- 
 sion, shrunk back on their being withdrawn to its 
 original cold insignificance. 
 
 Some minds feel the presence of superior men 
 irksome and disheartening. It puts them out of 
 conceit with themselves. They are more full of 
 hopes and designs among inferior persons, con- 
 verse more at their ease, are merry, because there 
 they feel their own consequence undiminished. 

 
 EFFECTS OF CIVILIZATION. 
 
 171 
 
 In the company of greater men they are in a state 
 of eclipse : no one marks them ; they would shine, 
 but cannot; they therefore become uneasy, fidget, 
 grow angry with themselves, and retire. Upon the 
 same principle, dwarfs hate giants, and, in fact, all 
 persons above their own size. It is observed by 
 Quinctilian, that it was a question in his time, 
 whether youths should be put at first to study the 
 most perfect models of composition, or such as 
 were nearer their own capacities. He decided, of 
 course, in favour of the best, because he thought 
 it preposterous to copy imperfection while excel- 
 lence was within reach. Another reason, which, 
 perhaps, he did not think it judicious to mention, 
 might have determined him : this course would 
 tend to discourage the inferior and inadequate 
 from the pursuit of eloquence, while it roused and 
 animated the youth of real genius. By pursuing 
 this train of thinking, we may discover the reason 
 why the sons of great and eminent men have 
 rarely equalled their fathers. In the first place, 
 they perceive, as soon as they begin to perceive 
 any thing, that they already stand, through their 
 parent's honours, upon a certain 'vantage ground, 
 from whence they may, without any exertion of 
 their own, look down upon the greater part of 
 mankind. This of itself takes away a great in-
 
 172 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 centive to labour. But a more effectual cause 
 remains : being impressed, from their earliest 
 years, with the grandeur of their sires, a con- 
 viction of their own vast inferiority immediately 
 arises, and this saps hope, and with it emulation, 
 which being never felt without a mixture of envy, 
 is incompatible with filial affection. These youths, 
 thus overshadowed by the greatness of their fa- 
 thers, like the young scions that dwindle at the 
 foot of vast forest trees, contract an habitual 
 conviction of inferiority, view the heights of fame 
 as inaccessible or forbidden grounds, relax their 
 energies, curb their expectations, and acquire the 
 stamp of mediocrity. Few can conceive how 
 much the perpetual presence of superior genius 
 weighs down and oppresses j it is felt as a stand- 
 ing reproach and ever-recurring memento of com- 
 parative insignificance : but when that superior 
 genius is a father, the mind becomes content to 
 identify itself with and participate his greatness, 
 and looks upon the emulation which would urge 
 it to contend in the race of fame as a kind of 
 parricidal envy. It is scarcely possible for a 
 youth, determined to dispute the palm of supe- 
 riority with his father, to escape this envy. 
 Alexander felt it in so extravagant a degree, that 
 he killed one of his friends, merely for dwelling
 
 EFFECTS OF CIVILIZATION. 173 
 
 on his father's praises unseasonably, as his cour- 
 tiers were of opinion. This reasoning does not 
 apply to middling endowments of any kind, for 
 men can participate mediocrity without much con- 
 tention ; but no one would willingly step from 
 the pinnacle of glory to make room for another, 
 were he even his son ; and no son, while he re- 
 vered his father, could conceive the desire of 
 thrusting him from his station to place himself 
 in his stead. Scaligers may beget Scaligers, and 
 Le Fevres beget Daciers ; but we nowhere read of 
 the younger Homers, or Virgils, or Shakspeares, 
 or Miltons, or Raphaels, or Michael Angelos. If 
 they had children, they were hidden by excessive 
 light, like stars in the neighbourhood of the sun, 
 and were .satisfied with the paternal glory. In 
 truth, we learn that there was in the island of 
 Chios a race of men who called themselves Ho- 
 meridae, or descendants of Homer, but they wrote 
 no Iliads, very wisely contenting themselves with 
 getting their bread by reciting that of their great 
 ancestor. We catch a glimpse of Milton's daugh- 
 ters, also, in pouring oil, as it were, on their 
 father's lamp, (for reading the ancients to him 
 resembled some such process j) but we never 
 learn that they tried their hands at a ' Paradise 
 Lost ' of their own.
 
 174 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 The Greeks thought, we may be sure, that few 
 fathers could bear to be overshadowed by their 
 children's glory, for they represent Jupiter, the 
 most wise as well as most powerful of the gods, 
 repressing the vast desires he felt for Thetis, be- 
 cause it had been decreed by the Fates, (to which 
 even he was subjected,) that the son she should 
 bring forth would prove greater than his father. 
 They could not have chosen a more complete way 
 of showing, that the more exalted and ambitious 
 kind of souls are aptest to feel the most vehement 
 thirst of glory ; which was further illustrated by 
 the preference given to love and enjoyment, over 
 the fierce and doubtful transports of fame, by the 
 modest and amiable Peleus. A fine moral lesson 
 was also attached to this story : for Achilles, who 
 knew that his own glory was built on the mode- 
 ration of his parent, repaid his sire with the most 
 perfect gratitude and filial love ; so it is likely 
 that the old Argonautic hero, in his retirement 
 in Phthiotis, experienced more exquisite delight 
 from the odour of his son's renown, which fame 
 wafted to his retreat, than he might perhaps have 
 felt at the head of his conquering myrmidons 
 before the walls of Troy. As for the son, he is 
 represented as full of anxiety for the welfare of 
 his parent, even in the regions of the dead, his
 
 EFFECTS OF CIVILIZATION. 1J5 
 
 ghost conjuring Ulysses to inform him of his 
 state: 
 
 " Say if my sire, the reverend Peleus, reigns 
 Great in his Fhthia, and his throne maintains ; 
 Or, weak and old, my youthful arm demands, 
 To fix the sceptre steadfast in his hands? " 
 
 So full of truth and beauty is the old mythology ! 
 Religious enthusiasm does not come within 
 the scope of this disquisition : it is a distinct 
 thing, and has been handled already by the 
 most eminent writers. That other state of mind 
 of which we have been speaking, is founded 
 in different principles ; is compatible with the 
 most unbounded knowledge ; is not repugnant to 
 wisdom ; has a close connexion with happiness -, 
 is inevitably consequent on mental energy and 
 vigour. The spread of luxury and wealth and 
 superficial acquirements saps its foundations in- 
 sensibly : it requires a deep and clear mind. Of 
 all the vices, none is so opposed to it as hypocrisy, 
 for enthusiasm is independent and sincere. It is 
 also delicate, and resents mean suspicions, and all 
 presuming upon its condition. The oppression it 
 is compelled to endure sometimes wears away its 
 benevolence, contracts the stream of its affections, 
 projects its yearnings forward upon futurity, and 
 engenders schemes of self-aggrandizement, fami-
 
 176 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 liarizing it, at the same time, with Machiavellian 
 maxims and principles. An enthusiast, become 
 misanthropical, is the most dangerous of men : 
 he looks thenceforward on human nature as on 
 an enemy's country, over which it is glorious to 
 obtain triumph and exercise command ; and, 
 living for himself alone, he sheathes himself in 
 insensibility and the gloom of his opinions. Such 
 are the peculiarities of Enthusiasm.
 
 THEORY 
 
 CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 
 
 10
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 THEORY OF CONSISTENCY OF 
 CHARACTER. 
 
 What matler where, if I be still the game, 
 And what I should be? MILTON. 
 
 CONSISTENCY is a quality which almost all persons 
 are anxious to attribute to themselves. For to 
 foresee from the beginning what course ought to 
 be taken, to imagine a uniform scheme of life, to 
 pursue vigorously and unswervingly the develop- 
 ment of well-chosen principles, is an argument of 
 the highest wisdom and grandeur of soul. It is, 
 therefore, by a wise instinct, if instinct admit an 
 adjective, that men affect consistency in whatever 
 they do or think. They know by experience for 
 how much it always passes current in the world ; 
 and the same school teaches them that it is a 
 quality of ambiguous feature, whose image and 
 superscription other and inferior qualities may be 
 made to bear.
 
 180 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 In regard to the virtue itself, the reasoi* 
 why it is admired is obvious enough : whatever is 
 regular and uniform ceases as soon as it is known 
 to be the object of experiment, and is classed by 
 the mind among those things about which no- 
 doubts need be entertained. It is our natural 
 love of ease which induces us, therefore, to form, 
 once for all, an estimate of the character of those 
 with whom we live and converse, and, having 
 done so, to repose on the notion resulting from 
 our limited experience as on something stable 
 and permanent. For in fact our indolence dis- 
 inclines us to be every moment making new moral 
 experiments on our associates j and is the cause 
 why we are ready to consider our first rough 
 draught of their character as a perfect picture, 
 and to condemn any bias we may afterwards dis- 
 cover in it as a blemish superinduced upon the 
 original frame of their mind, while, perhaps, it 
 always constituted one of their chief character- 
 istics, though shaded from our observation at first 
 by the projecting angle of some other peculiarity. 
 Indeed, half the inconsistency and vacillation in 
 the world is entirely imaginary, and arises from 
 the rapidity with which we sketch to ourselves 
 the characters of men_ Perfect consistency, how- 
 ever, the most rare of all human qualities, can be 
 said to form a portion of the character only when
 
 CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 181 
 
 from the existence of one virtue all others of the 
 same genus may be inferred : as, from generosity, 
 disinterestedness ; from disinterestedness, justice ; 
 from justice, magnanimity, &c. And, perhaps, it 
 is impossible to be really consistent in virtue or 
 in vice ; for cruelty itself, and tyranny, have their 
 weak moments, and are touched by the unwonted 
 working of compassion. Even Nero, when the 
 sentence passed upon a criminal was brought to 
 him in form to be signed, cried out, " Would to 
 God I had never been taught to write!" Of so 
 much value did human life appear to him at that 
 moment. 
 
 The character of some persons, gentle and 
 amiable in small matters and domestic intercourse, 
 but reckless and mischievous in politics, is a 
 moral problem that has been thought of difficult 
 solution. But the adder does not sting its brood, 
 nor the eagle prey in its own nest. Besides, a 
 man may be actuated by very homicidal propen- 
 sities, but be denied by nature the sternness and 
 cool courage necessary to exert them personally. 
 Face to face, and by his own fire-side, a tyrant 
 may be a very agreeable person ; chiefly, because 
 he, perhaps, perceives that physically all around 
 him are his equals or superiors, and that it might 
 be dangerous to rouse their anger or revenge. 
 Possessing, however, the power of killing at a
 
 182 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 distance, of conducting massacre invisibly, of 
 animating by a word or a stroke of the pen the 
 daggers or bayonets of thousands with an appetite 
 for murder, his fears operate on him no longer ; 
 and the man whose sensibility might be tortured 
 at the sight of a mouse agonizing in a trap, will 
 in his closet and comfortable arm-chair, ravage 
 provinces with his pen, and spill the blood of 
 widows and orphans without compunction. 
 
 It is an old theme, the inconsistency of human 
 virtues ! But observe how unequally and absurdly 
 even courage, the most robust habit of the mind, 
 develops itself : the soldier, whose business it is 
 to be familiar with danger, and to think lightly of 
 death, and who would mount a breach without 
 shrinking, will sometimes shudder to pass the 
 night alone in the aisle of a church, or to stumble 
 over a coffin in the dark on some wild heath ; 
 while a crazy old sexton, with one foot in the 
 grave, whom the noise of a demi-culverin would 
 terrify to death, will ply his "pick-axe in a burying- 
 ground, and toss about sculls and crural bones by 
 moonlight, with all the cheerfulness in the world. 
 The courage of this sexton is very different from 
 the courage of the soldier, and far more difficult 
 to be acquired. In battle, the whole scene is 
 energy, and, though the business be death, there 
 is life, action, and stirring sound on all sides.
 
 CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 483 
 
 Like ataper that kindles into greater brightness just 
 before it goes out, life appears to muster up in war 
 its most shining efforts, and to burst, like a bubble, 
 when its powers are largest. But in the sexton's 
 field, a silent, cold, gnawing consciousness of mor- 
 tality attacks the heart, backed by trooping fears 
 and apprehensions of what may be beyond the 
 winding-sheet. Worms, grown fat and wanton on 
 the brain or cheek of some village beauty, tumble out 
 of the black mould as he lifts his spade, and pale 
 ghosts seem to shriek and jibber as his mattock 
 strikes into their earthly hiding-place. His fancy 
 becomes soiled with images of corruption, and the 
 satellites of the King of Terrors creep into and 
 inhabit his very dreams. Yet habit reconciles him 
 to his calling, and at length he digs a grave for 
 his neighbour with as much indifference as a 
 farmer turns up a furrow in a turnip field. Now 
 this sexton, so bold and so callous among ghosts 
 and worms, might prove, as we have already ob- 
 served, an arrant coward in the field of battle ; 
 and in the midnight grave the soldier would 
 acquit himself equally ill. Nevertheless, both 
 cultivate a branch of courage, though not the 
 whole virtue ; and the greater part of mankind 
 are no better in this respect than they. For you 
 may every day meet with persons in the world 
 professing liberal and enlarged notions, and af-
 
 184 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 fecting great superiority over the vulgar, who are 
 as vulnerable to the tricks of rhetoric as the shal- 
 lowest of the multitude, being led by a melodious 
 period, by a brilliant metaphor, by a pathos purely 
 artificial, to approve for the time of the most irra- 
 tional schemes and projects. In fact, the animal 
 with whom Yorick was wont so frequently to col- 
 loquize, and to whom he gave the maccarone" at 
 we forget where, was never more readily led by 
 the ear than man. Words have ever been his 
 idols : to these, artfully arranged, he gives the 
 name of wisdom ; to them he bows down in wor- 
 ship ; by them he is irritated, enraged, maddened, 
 soothed, wrought to compassion, rendered mer- 
 ciful, persuaded to virtue. The master of words 
 is his master. Where, then, is the real courage of 
 beings thus subdued and enslaved by words ? The 
 principal merit of the institutions of Lycurgus, 
 abused much oftener than understood, was, that 
 they emancipated the citizens of Lacedaemon from 
 the tyranny of noisy rhetoric. The Spartan was 
 taught to look upon eloquence as a veil, wrought 
 over with beautiful figures, and cast indifferently 
 before beauty or deformity ; while it was waved or 
 unfolded before him, he stood tranquil, endeavour- 
 ing to look at what might be behind it, and de- 
 cided according to the glimpses he thus caught. 
 It is words that, under the name of slander
 
 CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 185 
 
 and calumny, strike terror into the bravest. No- 
 thing but words. For, although philosophers 
 have endeavoured to show that we are fearful of 
 calumny only as it is an indication of evil inten- 
 tions towards us, which, by spreading, may bring 
 actual damage to our fortunes j experience denies 
 the inference, and demonstrates that in such in- 
 stances words alone are the objects of our appre- 
 hension. Let the calumniated individual be on his 
 death-bed, let him be the last of his race, and 
 expect to leave behind him no beloved head upon 
 which the sting of slander could inflict a wound - } 
 let the grave, in such case friendly and beneficent, 
 offer him for ever the amplest indemnity from 
 suffering and malice and danger and loss still 
 the prospect of being pursued after death with 
 false and hateful words (himself now become a 
 word !) shall terrify and torment him, and double 
 the bitterness of dissolution ! 
 
 The very foundation of our hopes and fears 
 would, if carefully examined, be found to rest 
 chiefly on our misapprehension of words. The 
 concurrence of the will of numbers constitutes 
 power ; power moving long in one direction, as it 
 were, becomes right j and the exertion of this 
 right being intrusted to some one individual, ap- 
 pears at length to be . his natural office. This 
 notion establishes tyranny, which subsists, there-
 
 186 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 fore, on the folly of imagining an immutable re- 
 lation between the act and the instrument ; between 
 government and the governor. Society itself is 
 built upon the fiction, that priority of possession 
 constitutes right ; and the condition of men sub- 
 sisting in it can never be considerably bettered 
 until the greater number shall perceive correctly 
 the comparative value of peace and liberty. 
 
 But the errors and inconsistencies which are 
 common to nearly all mankind, are perhaps in- 
 corrigible, and therefore profitless subjects of 
 speculation j those affecting only certain indivi- 
 duals, or, at most, certain classes of men, afford 
 more useful scope for reflection. 
 
 Numerous as are the occasions on which men 
 differ from themselves, and go floating on between 
 doubt and decision, it is yet a common failing to 
 inculpate them oftener than they are guilty. The 
 vulgar mistake change of means for inconsistency; 
 and, on the contrary, see no mutability in a cha- 
 racter that tends, with the same appearances, to 
 various and incompatible ends. A man setting 
 up, in the beginning, Fame as the goal of his ex- 
 ertions, may set out with amassing wealth, and 
 make avarice his first instrument ; the first step 
 made, he may have occasion to distribute his 
 riches to bribe praise and silence envy ; then, if it 
 lie within his sphere, he may acquire power, and,
 
 CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 187 
 
 to remove pernicious men, may exercise it harshly 
 or even cruelly ; having proceeded thus far, and 
 silenced opposition, he may sacrifice the posses- 
 sion ' of despotic power to freedom, and, stepping 
 from a throne, mingle with the crowd from whence 
 he rose. To many this would appear a mere series 
 of inconsistency, for want of discerning the real 
 aim of the whole. Such, however, very nearly, 
 was the career of Sylla the Fortunate, a proud 
 and lofty intellect, than which few more great 
 and none more consistent ever existed. On the 
 other hand, some men, whose views, like Jonah's 
 gourd, spring up and perish in a night, establish 
 their reputation for consistency by always prac- 
 tising the same habits, and maintaining the same 
 observances. If prudence be their favourite habit, 
 then they are always, or nearly always, exceed- 
 ingly cautious and circumspect. If courage, they 
 brave all dangers alike, as far, at least, as their 
 courage will hold. They are the slaves of some 
 particular virtue. 
 
 However, as we begin to live before we have 
 gained the least experience, or formed any very 
 correct notion of what we would aim at, perhaps 
 it is, after all, a fortunate circumstance that the 
 beginning is not set up as the rule of our lives. 
 For, in advancing into futurity, we take up, for 
 the most part, our positions in the dark, like an
 
 188 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 army moving by stealth, and scarcely know whe- 
 ther we are in the neighbourhood of good or ill, 
 before the light of experience has begun to dawn 
 about us. When we happen to make a wrong 
 movement, we should, if we piqued ourselves on 
 our consistency, be very loth to retreat, like poor 
 Doctor Sangrado in ' Gil Bias,' who, though he 
 found his method of bleeding and administering 
 warm water in all diseases to be more destructive 
 than the plague, was prevented from altering his 
 system by the consideration that he had written 
 a book in defence of it. Indeed, we daily meet 
 with Sangrados who have never meddled with 
 physic, or written a book, but who have formerly 
 said something which they are now ashamed to 
 retract. To preserve the appearance of consist- 
 ency, they make oracles of the sentiments of past 
 moments, and are always wrong, because they 
 had the ill luck to be so twenty years ago. Some 
 persons, too, we find industriously endeavouring 
 to provide the means of preserving themselves in 
 error in secula seculorum, by oaths and vows. 
 This attempt to put out the eye of the future, 
 originates, we suspect, in unsteadiness of charac- 
 ter and self-distrust. For a man would hardly 
 think of making heaven a surety for his good 
 behaviour, unless from some inward consciousness 
 of a leaning towards the transgression dreaded.
 
 CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 18Q 
 
 Be this as it may, the persons most addicted to 
 vows and irrevocable determinations are women, 
 and men resembling them strongly in softness of 
 disposition and in waywardness of mind. Ex- 
 ceeding indecision and doubt are very painful to 
 support, and their continued pressure is a thing 
 the mind would gladly be rid of at almost any 
 price. It is thus that very weak persons muster 
 sufficient courage to become monks, nuns, der- 
 vishes, or fakirs, that they may set the seal of 
 religious terror on their brittle resolves, and link 
 their actions to a fatal uniformity. 
 
 If the actions of mankind be at all influenced 
 by their opinions, it is by no means wonderful 
 that men behave inconsistently; for opinion is 
 always changing. We commonly enter upon man- 
 hood with a very large stock of notions, picked 
 up casually and indiscriminately, and these we 
 are compelled as we go along to abandon one by 
 one, till all, perhaps, upon which we valued our 
 judgment originally, has been driven out of our 
 minds. There is no law of the Medes and Per- 
 sians for opinion. It undergoes more metamor- 
 phoses than the butterfly. It is a star shining 
 in the dawn of knowledge, but lost in the 
 increasing light ; or, perhaps, it may be best 
 compared to the twilight, which separates light 
 from darkness, in which we both perceive and
 
 190 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 judge imperfectly. Opinion, therefore, being a 
 kind of half-knowledge, is liable to be perpetually 
 removed as knowledge advances, and at length to 
 be entertained of those things only which the 
 intellect cannot approach sufficiently near. In a 
 thing of so mutable a kind, consistency is not 
 to be hoped for. We may very well entertain 
 opinions now, which, in fact, would appear incom- 
 patible with each other were our knowledge en- 
 larged; nay, with our present degree of know- 
 ledge, were we to apply it to the careful sifting of 
 our notions. But even those who examine their 
 conceptions most narrowly, and affect a sceptical 
 indifference to both sides of an argument, enter- 
 tain ideas in their mind which appear repugnant 
 to each other. Montaigne is an example. He is 
 a writer by no means over credulous, or disposed 
 to be complaisant to the prejudices of mankind : 
 what he thinks and feels he translates into honest 
 downright expressions, and transfers to his essays 
 for the good of the reader. If, therefore, any 
 author whatever might be expected to be con- 
 sistent, it should be the "man whose standard of 
 truth and falsehood is in his own breast; who 
 never looks to authority to learn what he is to 
 believe and what not ; but, pursuing the current 
 of his own cogitations, admits conclusions or 
 rejects them simply as they appear true or false.
 
 CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 1Q1 
 
 But opinion, in the mind of Montaigne, is a real 
 vapour, assuming a new shape every moment, and 
 new colours ; and shifting, as it were, before the 
 wind, now gilds and now darkens the imagination. 
 The honest old gentleman knew very well that 
 where certainty is not to be reached, apparent 
 extravagance is soon reconciled to the mind, and 
 that therefore opinions are not at all the less 
 captivating for being a little absurd. He saw 
 with what boyish enthusiasm we cherish our own 
 fancies, and make them part of our creed, and 
 how readily we anathematize all heretical dis- 
 putants, and impugners of our infallibility. From 
 this, and other similar views of human nature, 
 he fell at times into an opinion very disadvan- 
 tageous to the dignity of our species, and gave 
 vent to his contemptuous notions with impetuous 
 vehemence. On other occasions, the perusal of 
 Plato, or Plutarch, leading him insensibly into 
 the contemplation of sublime ideas or sublimer 
 actions, effaced from his memory all mean asso- 
 ciations with humanity ; and, in the fire of his 
 enthusiasm, he broke out into the warmest, most 
 animated, eloquent, and exalted panegyric on 
 human nature, in the person of Socrates, that 
 ever perhaps flowed from the lips or pen of any 
 man. Rousseau, who, in many other respects, 
 very much resembled Montaigne, entertained also,
 
 192 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 like him, a motley opinion of mankind. And 
 Mr. Hazlitt, who has something of the spirit of 
 Montaigne and Rousseau, and speaks perhaps 
 with equal ingenuousness the sentiments he che- 
 rishes, preserves this characteristic of his favourite 
 authors, that he is every whit as inconsistent in 
 his opinions as they. 
 
 Perhaps, however, there are very few of us in 
 any better predicament. Change of position in- 
 duces change of views, and reconciles our minds to 
 sentiments we may previously have regarded with 
 horror. It does not fall to the lot of many to be 
 acquainted long before hand with the circum- 
 stances and persons that are to influence their 
 fate, and, consequently, to affect, in some measure, 
 their opinions of mankind. The sort of consist- 
 ency, therefore, which is practicable, or indeed de- 
 sirable, is, to act according to present views, and 
 to take full advantage of all previous experience. 
 This, in reality, is to be still the same, and what 
 we should be.
 
 DELIGHTS 
 
 INTELLECTUAL SUPREMACY. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 DELIGHTS OF INTELLECTUAL 
 SUPREMACY. 
 
 \VHOEVER reads many books must find among 
 them some for which he will entertain strong pre- 
 dilections. But wherefore ? Do these favourite 
 books contain more germs of agreeable associa- 
 tions than any others ? Are they such as minister 
 to the growth and vigour of the intellect, by 
 challenging contentious application, or such as 
 open their treasures readily to the reader, and 
 gratify, like music, the present moment, without 
 carrying forward a thought to futurity ? 
 
 Books, numerous as they are, may be properly 
 divided into two classes : those which require in 
 the reader knowledge and the habit of thinking ; 
 and those which do not. But in each genus there 
 are so many species, distinguished by their proper 
 peculiarities, and consisting each of so many in- 
 dividuals differing among themselves, that, in 
 
 K2
 
 1Q6 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 making this division, we are sensible we leave the 
 reader a wide field and great scope for his own 
 judgment and conjecture. It is with books, how- 
 ever, as with men, the pleasantest are not always 
 the most valuable. But as literature is to be 
 valued exactly in proportion as it contributes to 
 happiness, the books best calculated to bestow 
 pleasure, which forms so important an ingredient 
 of happiness, appear, at first sight, to deserve the 
 preference before all others ; and whether they 
 do or not, they obtain it. The world judges, 
 however, much more correctly than it acts. Put 
 the matter before it in this light : we will imagine 
 a prince, desirous of choosing from among his 
 courtiers the one most competent to infuse into 
 his son those principles and opinions and virtues, 
 which, when the authority both of father and 
 teacher shall have ceased, may best enable the 
 youth to act with justice and dignity. Does he 
 search for a man pleasing and insinuating, intent 
 upon diffusing, wherever he goes, enjoyment and 
 vivacity j but still more intent upon making 
 himself the fountain of this delight, that his 
 society may be courted, and rendered, in fact, 
 necessary to the happiness of his companions ? 
 Or for one who, having himself learned to de- 
 rive from his own breast the greater part of his 
 pleasures, is capable of generating in others a
 
 INTELLECTUAL SUPREMACY. 197 
 
 similar power, together with enlarged notions of 
 duty and those social relations upon which it is 
 founded ? 
 
 Books are mischievous when they beget the 
 idea that happiness is to be derived from books ; 
 no matter whether this idea be clearly and dis- 
 tinctly recognized by the mind, or only a vague 
 persuasion operating imperceptibly on the con- 
 duct. It is an undoubted fact, that the greater 
 number of books have a tendency to weaken and 
 perplex the mind, and to diminish exceedingly the 
 sources of human felicity. No doubt this doctrine 
 may be assailed, for there is no proposition mailed 
 so closely in the armour of truth as to dishearten 
 all attempts at wounding it. But what can be so 
 destructive of all nice powers of perception as 
 that perpetual transition from one new trifle to 
 another, in which the lives of what are called the 
 "reading public," are consumed! What so cer- 
 tainly productive of that mental effeminacy which 
 craves after excitement with a fierceness resem- 
 bling the hunger of a besieged garrison! Who 
 can be happy that depends upon the contents of 
 ' Blackwood ' or the ' Edinburgh Review, ' for 
 topics to think or speak upon for a month or a 
 quarter of a-year to come ? Thousands now watch 
 as eagerly for the appearance of a new novel, as
 
 198 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 the Mohammedans, towards the end of the Rama 
 dan, do for the new moon, or the Jews on a fast 
 day for the first star. Is this the genuine thirst 
 of well-regulated minds for knowledge, or an 
 unnatural appetite for novelty, created and main- 
 tained by the peculiar circumstances of the times ? 
 We talk of the passion of the Athenians of Pho- 
 cion's days for theatrical representations ; but our 
 own passion for frivolous reading, to say nothing 
 now of our other amusements, is not less absurd. 
 Book-making, reading, and gambling, occupy half 
 the nation. 
 
 It is not among these indiscriminate devourers 
 of novelty that we are to look for the admirers of 
 favourite authors. They have no time for favour- 
 itism. Like death, they swallow whatever acci- 
 dent or misfortune brings within their capacious 
 grasp, and are always ready for more. It is not 
 their province to linger fondly on some beautiful 
 passage, or some bright idea, as the mind always 
 lingers about what it loves ; or to turn back with 
 affectionate reverence to the first mute teachers 
 of their youth, to try whether the same noble 
 sentiments would still find the same warm re- 
 sponses in their heart ? No. The author of to-day 
 is always superior in their judgment to the author 
 of yesterday ; and as to such as lived and wrote
 
 INTELLECTUAL SUPREMACY. 199 
 
 in former times, the superior lights of modern 
 civilization render it perfectly unnecessary to 
 consume gas or candle-light in discovering how 
 little they had the good luck to understand in 
 those barbarous ages. 
 
 To make an idol, however, of some one writer, 
 as many do of Shakspeare, and have done of 
 Homer, is a no less certain mark of weakness of 
 understanding. It is from the same mean spirit 
 which in politics leads them to worship a monarch, 
 and bless the destiny which gave them a haughty 
 hereditary superior. No writer deserves this ex- 
 clusive preference. There is no Jupiter in the 
 republic of letters. Vulgar understandings, how- 
 ever, always require some jealous object of ado- 
 ration, which they may suppose perfect, being 
 impatient of that long and sceptical survey of men 
 or books, which hesitates to confer the crown of 
 excellence, and dies doubting. The absence of 
 fanatical preference by no means supposes a cap- 
 tious disposition to censure; for the man who 
 does not, like Don Quixote, imagine his mistress 
 entirely a Venus, may, notwithstanding, be a very 
 ardent lover. Indeed, the representatives which 
 some men have left us of their souls are so essen- 
 tially beautiful, that, although some slight traces 
 of the earthly mould still clings upon the image,
 
 200 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 the general lineaments and expression extort our 
 warmest applause. But, we confess, that they 
 who can single out from the immortal group some 
 one figure, and pronounce it the most beautiful, 
 must possess more taste or more presumption than 
 we pretend to. Perhaps, however, so much may 
 not be implied by choosing a favourite author} 
 it may, after all, consist in yielding to an involun- 
 tary preference, arising from some secret affinity 
 between the admired and the admirer. Oftener 
 still it may take its rise in affectation, and be- 
 come real from time and custom. 
 
 But in what way soever it arises, a moderate 
 preference for some one great author, indulged 
 with judgment and continued for a course of 
 years, or for life, is one of the surest roads to 
 excellence and the renown it bestows. There is 
 no danger that a strong mind will lose its origin- 
 ality by such an intimacy, and sink into slavish 
 imitation j or the same argument would hold 
 against forming a close personal friendship with 
 any great contemporary. For, whatever may be 
 said, the habit of constant intimacy with a living 
 friend is much more likely to affect our notions 
 and our style than any familiarity we should be 
 likely to form with a deceased author's remains. 
 And, after all, for what purpose do we read, if
 
 INTELLECTUAL SUPREMACY. 201 
 
 it be not, that by studying the ways in which 
 others have expressed their thoughts, we may 
 learn, when we also have thoughts worth express- 
 ing, to convey them to others in the best manner 
 possible ? None are in danger of being injured by 
 imitation, who are worthy that we should enter- 
 tain a fear for them. Great painters imitate each 
 other without scruple. The world expects that 
 they shall imitate, and therefore our young artists 
 are packed off in shoals to study the frescoes and 
 statues of Rome. To be sure, there are critics 
 who anticipate, that from the contemplation of 
 the antique nothing beautiful or original can pos- 
 sibly spring ; though whatever Michael Angelo or 
 modern sculpture has done, would never have had 
 any existence but for the beautiful wrecks and 
 fragments of antiquity scattered over Italy. These 
 created their taste and awoke their emulation, 
 and art has long despaired of producing any thing 
 more exquisite. 
 
 Ordinary authors imagine, that when they 
 admire a writer, they should show it every mo- 
 ment by appealing to his authority, or speaking 
 in his words. Hence their thoughts are but echoes 
 of his, and their style a string of quotations 
 adorned with inverted commas. Now, Aristotle, 
 however paradoxical it may seem, was Bacon's 
 K 5 

 
 202 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 favourite, though Bacon never said so : and it is 
 to his secret struggles to rival that great master 
 of reason that we owe the Novum Organum, and 
 those other splendid fragments of the Magna In- 
 stauratio, which will survive the Coliseum and the 
 Pyramids. Had Bacon made a pet of his genius, 
 and kept it sedulously aloof from the influence of 
 that great mind, buried, but not slumbering, in 
 his ponderous Greek tomes, the world might still 
 have been deformed by more of the cobwebs of the 
 middle ages than are now seen hanging upon our 
 institutions. 
 
 It is a very usual thing with those who affect 
 singularity, to be more than ever singular in the 
 choice of their favourite authors. These never 
 fail to be some of those illustrious obscure, whom 
 the world with one consent decrees to condemn 
 to eternal oblivion ; and will, notwithstanding 
 their silly admirers. Coleridge, in his 'Biogra- 
 phia Literaria,' that most singular tissue of mys- 
 ticism and affectation, pretends to trace Hume's 
 philosophical notions to a long-forgotten tract of 
 Thomas of Aquinas, because, it seems, he or Payne 
 Knight discovered a copy of the tract in question 
 with Hume's MS. notes upon it. Coleridge, with 
 the rest of that school, would have been too happy 
 could he have traced our philosopher's footsteps
 
 INTELLECTUAL SUPREMACY. 203 
 
 among the subtleties of the Angelical Doctor, to 
 have withheld the proofs of the fact from the 
 public. It would indeed have been singular to 
 find the favourite author of a sceptic,, not among 
 the great writers of his own creed, " if creed it 
 maybe termed, which creed is none," but among 
 trifling theological disputants, fighting habitually 
 with opponents less noble than a wind-mill. Haz- 
 litt observes acutely, that Coleridge himself always 
 contrives to prefer the unknown to the known. 
 This is the trick of all persons of his stamp. They 
 would be thought to judge more finely than the 
 whole world, and could create this impression sim- 
 ply by making it clear that they had discovered 
 wit where ordinary mortals find nothing but dul- 
 ness, and light where they only find obscurity. 
 Coleridge should have lived in the middle ages. 
 He would have made a figure among the Irre- 
 fragable Doctors, who illustrated the balance of 
 equal motives, by supposing an ass, equally hun- 
 gry and thirsty, placed between a pail of water 
 and a bundle of hay, and starving for want of 
 decision. 
 
 There is nothing extraordinary in liking an 
 author whom every body likes. It seems a vulgar 
 predilection, unworthy of a wit. But it may per- 
 haps be worth while to consider for a moment
 
 204 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY, 
 
 whether we would wish to resemble him, whose 
 beauties are visible to every eye, or one of those 
 hieroglyphical sages, whose profounder meaning 
 must be dived for by a Young or a Champollion. 
 For our part, we are utterly common-place in 
 our favouritism, admiring precisely those authors 
 who, with very few exceptions, stand, and have 
 always stood, highest with the public. There is, 
 indeed, as much difference between a great author 
 and a writer of philosophical puzzles, as between 
 a soothsayer and an historian : vagueness, cloudy 
 eloquence, the lightning of metaphor, marshal 
 themselves in the prognostication, before the 
 sense, and dazzle while they delude the eye which 
 attempts to penetrate through them into futurity ; 
 in the great narrator of facts we discover, not 
 merely the acts of this or that nation, but the 
 actions which mankind are constantly performing. 
 Futurity will still reflect the past like a mirror. 
 In the past, therefore, where the deeds and mis- 
 deeds of mankind stand arrayed in sunshine, we 
 may behold the future j and for this reason, his- 
 torians are always enumerated among the favourite 
 authors of all thinking men. 
 
 This idea leads naturally to the reflection, how 
 glorious a thing it is to become one of the favourite 
 authors of mankind. All men, who make the study
 
 INTELLECTUAL SUPREMACY. 20 
 
 and exposition of their own thoughts their pro- 
 fession, must, we apprehend, experience immense 
 difficulty in discovering a proper nucleus around 
 which to arrange the ideas they most value. Yet, 
 without such a nucleus, or point d'appui, if this 
 expression be better, there is scarcely, perhaps, 
 any effort of genius sufficient to elaborate an im- 
 mortal production, a production which, amid the 
 vicissitudes of time, the revolutions of learning, 
 the variations of taste, the changes of opinions 
 and religions, shall still find in every country and 
 in every age, admirers, imitators, guarantees for 
 the continuance of its fame. It is certainly some- 
 thing very noble to make one's voice heard through 
 all the din of a thousand years ; to be the creator 
 of expressions, with which, when we sh'all have 
 long been mingled with the elements, unborn 
 generations shall be thrilled with pleasure, or 
 made wiser, or better, or more content with their 
 lotj to transmute our fleeting thoughts into im- 
 perishable signs, which may be made as numerous 
 as the sands on the sea- shore, and as lasting as 
 the world ; and, by means of these, to make our- 
 selves the companions of man's fortune for ever, 
 and hold sway over his resolutions, and temper 
 his passions, and influence his happiness, like a 
 household god, ever ready to be consulted on his
 
 206 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 domestic hearth, and ever advising that, which, 
 followed, must render him our grateful dehtor ! 
 To become one of these oracles, to change our- 
 selves from frail, changeful, transitory beings, 
 subject, like the most ignorant, to sorrow and 
 sickness, into impassive, unchangeable, eternal 
 somethings, is surely reward sufficient for a few 
 years of abstinence and watching, and toil, and 
 endurance, and study.
 
 EMPIRE 
 
 DEAD OVER THE LIVING.
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 EMPIRE OF THE DEAD OVER THE 
 LIVING. 
 
 De mortals nil nisi bomim. 
 
 OUR present subject, the respect due to the me- 
 mory of the dead, has a deep-rooted, general 
 interest, an interest in which every man more 
 or less sensibly shares, and which, if well con- 
 sidered, will be allowed to have given rise very 
 naturally to the maxim we have chosen for our 
 motto. Whenever, in general society, the dead 
 are made the topic of conversation, a disposition 
 to censure lightly their faults and errors, and to 
 enhance their merits and agreeable qualities, is 
 observable in most men j and, indeed, the con- 
 trary would, for the most part, be regarded as 
 exceedingly savage and unamiable. A disposition 
 so generally prevalent must have some grounds in 
 our common nature ; what these are, it is our 
 present business to inquire.
 
 210 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Man is naturally magnanimous, and, in general, 
 drops all hatred, and even envy, the most perse- 
 vering of all passions, as soon as their object is pros- 
 trated and rendered powerless by misfortune or by 
 death ; his feelings regarding the grave lead him, in 
 most cases, to consider it as an asylum to which 
 humanity may retire unmolested from the strug- 
 gles, and trials, and sufferings, and bitter remem- 
 brances of life. " There the wicked cease from trou- 
 bling, and the weary are at rest ! " Perhaps our rival 
 or our enemy, had he fallen into our power, would 
 not have appeared to deserve any punishment ap- 
 proaching in severity the loss of life ; perhaps he 
 might have been forgiven ; and, therefore, when 
 death has stepped into the arena, and laid our ad- 
 versary at our feet, we should experience, in siding 
 with this king of terrors, a feeling of injustice and 
 pusillanimity, and appear to be bearding the dead 
 lion. It happens, too, very frequently, that we 
 contend with only a portion of a man's character, 
 with his love of power, with his petulance, with 
 his pride, overlooking, for the time, his generosity 
 and other amiable qualities ; but when the contest 
 is closed by death, when our fears and our jea- 
 lousies are for ever extinguished, and the medium 
 thus removed through which only the man ap- 
 peared detestable, we begin to wonder at and 
 repent of our former opposition, and to say within
 
 EMPIRE OF THE DEAD. 211 
 
 ourselves : " He was, after all, a much better man 
 than we thought him." 
 
 The petty insults and injuries that disturb the 
 tranquillity of private life, intrusted to so frail a 
 chronicle as the memory, soon sink into oblivion, 
 unless where, as in Arabia, the lex talionis per- 
 petuates their remembrance. Yet to such as carry 
 their reflections but a very short way into futurity, 
 the fame or infamy that survives them in their 
 little circle appears of some consequence j to their 
 surviving friends it is of as much as if it were to 
 be engraven on the forehead of renown to make 
 the circle of eternity. The paltry vices, for ex- 
 ample, and mean tyranny of a country magistrate, 
 however vexatious to his contemporaries, can be 
 of no moment to posterity 5 they will, therefore, 
 assuredly be forgotten in much less than a cen- 
 tury 5 but the reflection that the happiness of his 
 children and friends must be deeply affected by 
 the good or bad name he may leave behind, will 
 have influence, as often as such a reflection is 
 made, upon the magistrate's conduct ; and would 
 have more, if he saw ignominy more constantly 
 following in the track of crime. But, in general, 
 men have very little temptation to brand with 
 infamy the memory of the dead; it is so much 
 labour, they think, in vain; and when the first 
 bursts of resentment or indignation have ex-
 
 212 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 hausted themselves to no purpose, it would appear 
 to them as rational to make war with the ele- 
 ments, as to continue to triumph over an inmate 
 of the grave. 
 
 By forbearing to do what they very well know 
 to be useless, politic men likewise expect to obtain 
 the reputation of generosity and greatness of mind ; 
 they do not exult, not they, over a prostrate foe ; 
 they respect the sanctity of the tomb 5 their 
 enemy is gone to answer before the last tribunal 
 for his actions ; religion forbids them to urge 
 their hatred beyond the precincts of hell or 
 heaven. This has weight with mankind. The 
 true secret, however, of their moderation is, that 
 they fear no further opposition from the dead. 
 There is another reason which makes men tender 
 of the privileges of death : they are conscious of 
 failings in themselves, and know that they must 
 die ; it may, they think, be their own turn next, 
 to undergo the sifting of envy, or to encounter the 
 searching eye of justice ; their consciences whisper 
 what must be the result ; they tremble for their 
 good name, and endeavour to soften the rigour of 
 posterity by affecting forbearance for their pre- 
 decessors. 
 
 By the softness of their nature, many, in 
 reality, are backward to utter censure, however 
 well merited ; they view even the vices of mankind
 
 EMPIRE OF THE DEAD. 213 
 
 with pity; and mercy appears to them the most 
 divine of all attributes. We are all, perhaps, in- 
 terested in impressing upon each other the value 
 of a merciful disposition, as it is the lot of all oc- 
 casionally to need forgiveness ; but that unwil- 
 lingness to wound the feelings of mischievous 
 individuals, or of their family after their death, is 
 at all favourable to the general good, may very 
 justly be questioned. Fear is a much more pow- 
 erful principle than gratitude, and operates more 
 promptly and universally; and, therefore, stern- 
 ness and rigour are more natural allies to virtue 
 than extreme mildness and mercy. Poets may be 
 allowed to enhance, by the splendour of metaphors 
 and similes, the loveliness of mercy, and to tell us 
 that 
 
 It droppeth like the gentle dew from heaven ! 
 
 but reason would seldom disenthrone justice to 
 put mercy in its place. It is at best but a kind 
 of handmaid to justice, and may sometimes be 
 permitted to intercede for the criminal. Of all 
 the virtues, justice, perhaps, is the least popular ; 
 it is, in its nature, awful, and sublime, and un- 
 bending, and self-sufficient ; it is incessantly sur- 
 rounded by toil, and watchfulness, and self-denial; 
 but, in the midst of these terrible satellites, it 
 maintains a perpetual serenity. In these circum-
 
 214 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 stances of justice we discover the reason why 
 truly great men are seldom objects of love to the 
 multitude, who are awed by the severity of virtue, 
 but reserve their affection for easy, complying 
 dispositions. In illustration of this truth, we have 
 frequently observed in conversation the effect 
 produced upon ordinary minds by Sallust's con- 
 trasted pictures of Cato and Caesar : the " malis 
 pernicies," the " nihil largiendo," the " malebat 
 esse, quam videri, bonus," of the former, all cha- 
 racteristics of justice, have received but a cold 
 approbation tinctured with dislike ; while the 
 " clarus factus mansuetudine, et miserecordia," 
 the " dando, sublevando, ignoscendo" of Caesar, 
 have diffused a glow of satisfaction through the 
 heart. This we have considered a silent confession 
 that they would have stood better with the urbane 
 forgiving tyrant, than with the honest but stern 
 republican, who, in being the "malis pernicies," 
 was the object of their aversion. 
 
 Owing to a false tenderness for the dead, or, 
 more generally, perhaps, a real tenderness for the 
 living, we seldom find the genuine characters of 
 men depicted in their epitaphs, which are generally 
 nothing more than 
 
 Sepulchral lies onr holy walls to grace. 
 Under proper regulations, however, a tomb-
 
 EMPIRE OF THE DEAD. 215 
 
 stone might be made a kind of Rnadamanthus, 
 and give sentence upon the ashes deposited be- 
 neath with inexorable justice. Were this the case, 
 we might read the history of a country's morals 
 in its burying-grounds, or on the walls of its 
 churches ; and might learn to calculate the de- 
 grees of influence which the country and the city 
 exert upon men's virtue. But, at present, what 
 woful havoc would not truth make with the vo- 
 cabulary of tomb-stone-cutters ! For our part, we 
 have sometimes been unable to repress a sad smile, 
 when, taking shelter from sun or shower under 
 the lugubrious yews of some country church-yard, 
 we have perused at leisure the encomiums of those 
 faithless historians, the tombs ! According to 
 their accounts, we were treading on the ashes of 
 saints and sages, who, with Berkeley, had pos- 
 sessed " every virtue under heaven." In one in- 
 stance, some of our own intimates were there, but 
 so bedecked by the rural sculptor with virtues and 
 fine qualities, from the same principle that humble 
 affection strews flowers over the grave, that we 
 with difficulty recognised them. Not that they 
 had by any means been bad men ; far from it ; 
 but while they were harmless, they were insigni- 
 ficant, never having given themselves the trouble 
 to exert the energies of virtue. 
 
 Many persons conceive they are greatly
 
 216 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 benefiting the cause of public virtue by endeavour- 
 ing to eternize the memory of a late honest poli- 
 tician, whose life it seems was every way irre- 
 proachable. But, although he could have been no 
 ordinary man, who was able to behave with firm- 
 ness and without reproach in public and private 
 life, not having united genius with innocence, he 
 was no subject for fame. Men have no permanent 
 sympathy for any thing but intellectual power, 
 and experience a feeling of burlesque as often as 
 they attempt to attach eminent importance to 
 qualities merely amiable j such attributes never 
 being the ground of great reputation, or impress- 
 ing upon mankind that sense of awe and ad- 
 miration which is ever the effect of intellectual 
 greatness. Socrates is not considered the pattern 
 of humanity for his patient bearing towards 
 Xantippe, for his goodness as a father, as a friend, 
 as a citizen j in these respects, many, perhaps, 
 whom fame never heard of, have equalled him } 
 he is looked upon as the first of men, because, to 
 an incomparable genius, he united the energy of 
 active virtue, with passion and dignity, and indif- 
 ference for riches, and poverty, and death. His 
 character was divine, because his virtues were the 
 offspring, not of natural instincts or tendencies, 
 but of genius and study; of that genius which 
 generated the minds of Plato, of Xenophon, of
 
 EMPIRE OF THE DEAD. 217 
 
 Aristotle ; that is, carried human nature as far as 
 intellect can carry it. One may easily perceive by 
 this the folly of attempting to excite an artificial 
 enthusiasm for an inferior individual, whether 
 before or after death ; his portion is and should 
 be oblivion. 
 
 Every prejudice in society may be traced more 
 or less immediately to government, and among 
 others the irrational respect thought to be due to 
 the dead. Princes, not in general very distin- 
 guished for virtue, feel from the eminence of their 
 station a peculiar repugnance to scrutiny, and 
 consider attacks upon a predecessor as nothing 
 less than the first approaches of envy, as they 
 term it, towards their own persons. But if the 
 sovereign protects his own immediate ancestors 
 from deserved censure, he can, with no face of 
 justice, refuse the same privilege to his courtiers ; 
 to render his protection effectual he must procure 
 the sanction of the laws : thus the principle is 
 acknowledged, and it henceforth becomes criminal 
 to speak the truth of any respectable villain. This 
 is the true source of that trembling anxiety with 
 which the memory of the dead is watched in mo- 
 narchical governments, being a consequence of 
 that principle which makes truth a libel. As it is 
 only an ingenious expedient to screen the vices of 
 the prince, it should have no existence in a free 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 country, in which virtue ought ever to be valued 
 above peace j and as virtue is generated by praise 
 and emulation, it must necessarily languish where 
 it is confounded by the laws with vice and immo- 
 rality, by being enclosed within the same pale of 
 protection. It is said, and of course very truly, 
 that although the laws in monarchical govern- 
 ments forbid men to express their real sentiments 
 of each other, they have no power to force them 
 into wrong conceptions of character, and that thus 
 virtue is actually respected and vice detested in 
 spite of the laws. This is saying nothing more 
 than that the laws have no power over our 
 thoughts; but it is because we dare not speak 
 what we do think that these laws are vicious and 
 tyrannical. High personages, as we have seen, 
 such as kings and ministers, have their vices pro- 
 tected by the laws even after death ; to expose 
 their faults, to show what they were, to say to 
 mankind, " these were the gtfds ye worshipped ! " 
 is libellous, either because it is said to bring the 
 government into contempt, or to tend to disturb 
 the " king's peace." History itself lowers its 
 voice and treads softly, as it draws near present 
 times, lest it should provoke the notice of the 
 Attorney-General, be fined, and sent to the King's 
 Bench prison to reflect upon the matter. 
 
 All this is a strong indication that the love of
 
 EMPIRE OF THE DEAD. 219 
 
 fame and the dread of infamy act very powerfully 
 on the minds of princes, though the love of plea- 
 sure and dominion is found, in the greater 
 number, to be still more powerful. They are 
 flattered too by the hope of eluding obloquy by 
 cunning devices, such as keeping in pay poets 
 laureate, historiographers, news-writers, &c., who, 
 with the nicest sophistry, gild over their crimes, 
 and convert their frailties and follies into subjects 
 of praise and congratulation. One monarch 
 makes petticoats with peculiar neatness for the 
 Virgin Mary ; another is a connoisseur in coat- 
 making; a third fishes with great felicity; a 
 fourth understands to perfection the composition 
 of soups and ragouts. This is matter of praise 
 during the lifetime of the illustrious cooks and 
 fishermen : as, while Nero and Domitian lived, it 
 was matter of praise that the former was an 
 amateur actor and poet, and the latter an expert 
 fly- catcher ; but the most loyal writer living does not 
 now go out of his way to sing the praises of those 
 old legitimates for the above-mentioned princely 
 accomplishments, though, in a reigning monarch, 
 they would strain hard to find something laudable 
 in such practices. However, as we said, the mere 
 fact of princes maintaining a menagerie of poets, 
 newsmongers, and historians, to display their 
 magnificence, is a proof that they are unwilling to
 
 220 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 be branded with infamy after death, to leave be- 
 hind them a name odious to the ears of men, and 
 inserted in the Index Expurgatorius of renown. 
 From this hint mankind might draw a useful 
 lesson. The kings of past ages are free game: 
 their vices are not sacred ; William the Norman, 
 or Louis XI., or Richard III., may be held up to 
 execration with impunity. Let men carry their 
 reflections into futurity, and imagine they hear 
 the judgments of their remote descendants ; it 
 will considerably dispel the mist through which 
 they always look at present objects. 
 
 Coarse matter-of-fact reasoners contend, we 
 are aware, that nothing short of the dread of per- 
 sonal punishment can deter the powerful from 
 crime. But princes, they perceive, are most 
 anxious to transmit the power they possess to 
 their offspring, and are also persuaded that all 
 power is engrafted on opinion ; their reason, 
 therefore, must inform them, that the fortunes 
 of their race will very much depend upon their 
 present conduct, and the reputation they shall 
 leave behind them; and although their unchast- 
 ened passions, and the insolence of sovereignty, 
 often lead them into the most shameless excesses, 
 it is clear, from their solicitude to ward off its 
 point, that they consider fame to be the weapon 
 which God has put into the hands of mankind
 
 EMPIRE OF THE DEAD. 221 
 
 to avenge themselves upon their tyrants. A 
 prince, succeeding to a wicked father, must read 
 in the ambiguous countenances of all around him, 
 in spite of the jussus vultus for which courtiers 
 are celebrated, that he is viewed, like the dawn 
 which follows a tempestuous night, with doubt 
 and awe; and if ever he visits the tombs of his 
 forefathers, must shudder to think that the dust 
 before him, the parental dust, though cased in 
 marble, and covered by trophies and monuments 
 of glory, is execrated by his people, who long in 
 their hearts to trample it in the dunghill, as the 
 most hateful offal of humanity. When the Romans 
 dragged the mangled carcass of Nero through the 
 streets, the reigning Emperor might have read 
 the fate, under similar circumstances, of his own 
 remains ; and it is the fellow-feeling, produced by 
 a reflection of this kind, that has induced so many 
 sovereigns to be respectful to the corses of their 
 deceased enemies. It is certain, therefore, that 
 princes are bitterly stung by the odium cast upon 
 the memory of departed tyrants ; their hearts 
 sicken at the bare mention of Caligula and Helio- 
 gabalus. How much more if such men had been 
 their own ancestors, their immediate predecessors, 
 their fathers ! Let our matter-of-fact reasoners 
 imagine in their own hands a sceptre haunted by 
 the associations which would unavoidably arise
 
 222 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 in such a case, and they will hardly doubt so per- 
 tinaciously the influence of fame. 
 
 The desire, indeed, of posthumous reputation 
 is natural to all men, and is a powerful auxiliary 
 to virtue ; but to an acute observer the value of 
 this reputation must appear considerably dimi- 
 nished, when it is seen with how little regard to 
 truth and justice fame is sometimes bestowed. 
 For if the mind be warmed by the reflection that, 
 in spite of time and death, it shall leave the re- 
 membrance of its excellence impressed upon the 
 hearts and memories of men, its hopes are also 
 shocked and checked when it considers the cha- 
 racters of its associates, and their slight claim to 
 be exempted from oblivion. The mansion of fame 
 appears under this view an immense granary, in 
 which the chaff of humanity is preserved with as 
 much care as the grain. If we would winnow 
 this chaff away, it can only be done by respecting 
 the claims of truth; in short, by calling men, 
 whether dead or living, by their right appellations. 
 We owe, therefore, no respect to the dead, because 
 they are dead, but only inasmuch as they were 
 respectable while living ; consequently, the maxim 
 " de mortuis nil nisi bonum," is wicked and per- 
 nicious.
 
 THE GRAVE 
 
 AND 
 
 THE FUNERAL PILE.
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 THE GRAVE AND THE FUNERAL PILE. 
 
 Vix manet & tanto parva quod urna capit! OVID. Eleg.ix. 
 
 IN pursuing the present argument, our chief an 
 tagonists, we apprehend, will be the undertakers, 
 sextons, and resurrection - men ; for as to the 
 clergy, we will suppose that they would he willing, 
 in favour of the feelings of humanity, to forego any 
 claims they may be supposed to have upon the dis- 
 posal of our dead bodies. Indeed, if it were thought 
 necessary, they might still assist at the funeral 
 pile ; as there would be no less solemnity of feel- 
 ing excited by committing our ashes to the urn, 
 than by the present practice of lowering the un- 
 dissolved body into the grave. It may possibly 
 appear that the ceremony of cremation, or burn- 
 ing, would more strongly excite and accord better 
 with our sensibilities. For it is acknowledged, 
 that whatever feelings are generated by witnessing 
 the interment of a friend, they are quickly dissi- 
 pated by the bustle of the world ; and, as few 
 
 L5
 
 226 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 leave behind them any durable monuments, the 
 little mementoes which serve at first to keep his 
 memory alive in the domestic sanctuary, being of 
 a perishable 'nature, soon fade away, and verify too 
 rapidly, the melancholy truth, that " the place 
 that knew him shall know him no more for ever ! " 
 Men altogether destitute of imagination may say 
 that all this is right. It may be right in the ab- 
 stract that sorrow should be of short duration: 
 but the human mind loves to repose on its griefs j 
 and regret, when not too violent, is pleasing to it. 
 Habit renders us worldly ; but our natural craving 
 is after such things as give us glimpses of the 
 world of imagination, and seem to lift the veil of 
 futurity. It need not be feared that the memory 
 of any one will last too long; no art can evade 
 the tooth of Time ; he gnaws our reputation as 
 surely as he does our cerecloth j and if for a while 
 he seems to respect any particular names, it is 
 because he needs be in no hurry} he can afford 
 them a long scope and come up with them at last. 
 
 Before great Agamemnon reigned, 
 Reigned kings as great as he, and brave, 
 Whose huge ambition 's now contained 
 In the small compass of a grave ; 
 
 In endless night they sleep, unwept, unknown ; 
 
 No bard had they to make all time their own! 
 
 There may come a time, Horace ! when Aga-
 
 THE GRAVE AND FUNERAL PILE. 227 
 
 memnon himself shall sleep unknown, and even 
 thy verses be forgotten. Our present arguments, 
 however, apply to much quicker marches of ob- 
 livion ; we are not now looking forward to the 
 revolution of Plato's year ; the turn of a century, 
 or even of a simple generation, will perform our 
 business, and place us with the kings who lived 
 " ante Agamemnona ! " In speaking, therefore, 
 of preserving the memory of the dead, we mean, 
 for a year or two j just long enough to allow their 
 virtues or vices to do their offices, as examples in 
 society. That this might be done more effectually 
 by inurning than inhumation we are fully per- 
 suaded ; for there is nothing awful or even decent 
 in a city churchyard, and in the country, super- 
 stition mars all practical deductions. The former 
 looks like a place where worn-out humanity is 
 thrown, that it may be kept out of sight and me- 
 mory ; and raises disgust and horror.* Now it 
 
 * We ask our readers whether the Pagan custom of burn- 
 ing the dead be not somewhat less shocking to the feelings than 
 the following Christian mode of burial : " We drove to the 
 Campo Santo, the great Golgotha of Naples. It is situated 
 on a rising ground behind the town, about a mile and a half 
 from the gate. Within its walls are 365 caverns ; one is 
 opened every day for the reception of the dead, the great mass 
 of whom, as soon as the rites of religion have been performed, 
 are brought here for sepulture. There were fifteen cast in 
 while we were there, men, women, and children, without a rag
 
 228 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 is certainly desirable that none of these ideas 
 should be connected in anticipation with death. 
 It ought, we think, to be our aim to strip it as 
 much as possible of all its terrors 5 in order that 
 men might look to the end of life, if not with 
 cheerfulness, at least without fear and shuddering. 
 This serenity of anticipation is not to be attained 
 by leading the imagination through the horrors 
 of tombs and cemeteries, where the ruins of all 
 that was ever wise or beautiful amongst men lie 
 at the mercy of worms and corruption; where 
 the unfeeling sexton kicks the head of a philo- 
 
 to cover them ; literally fulfilling the words of scripture : 
 ' As he came forth out of his mother's womb, naked shall he 
 return, to go as he came ! ' I looked down into this frightful 
 charnel house ; it was a shocking sight a mass of blood and 
 garbage ; for many of the bodies had been opened at the 
 hospitals. Cockroaches, and other reptiles, were crawling about 
 in all their glory. ' We fat all creatures else to fat us, and we 
 fat ourselves for maggots, that's the end! ' We made the 
 sexton of this dreary abode, who, by the way, had been em- 
 ployed in this daily work for eleven years, open the stone of 
 the next day's grave, which had been sealed up for a year. 
 The flesh was entirely gone, for, in such a fermenting mass, 
 the work of corruption must go on swimmingly. Quick-lime 
 is added to hasten the process, and nothing seemed to remain 
 but a dry heap of bones and sculls. What must be the feelings 
 of those who can suffer the remains of a friend, a sister, a 
 mother, or a wife to be thus disposed of ? " Matthew*'* Diary 
 of an Invalid, vol. L p. 255.
 
 THE GRAVE AND FUNERAL PILE. 229 
 
 sopher as he would that of a dog; where vice and 
 virtue appear blended and confounded by death. 
 Out upon the taste of that people who first in- 
 vented common cemeteries ! It was a barbarous 
 and unintellectual notion. 
 
 Not that these things are of any moment to 
 the dead : the King of Terrors has no terrors for 
 those whom he has conquered; he is dreadful 
 only as long as he is feared, and never tramples 
 unfeelingly on the enemies he has subdued. But 
 the living have an interest in coming near a power 
 with whom they must one day be so familiar ; 
 and this cannot be done by removing imme- 
 diately his triumphs from their eyes. They should 
 accustom themselves to think upon his works, and 
 that with composure and without affectation. To 
 render this possible, nothing could be so effica- 
 cious as burning the bodies of the dead. The 
 purifying action of the elements would in this 
 practice take place before our eyes ; our friends 
 would quickly be reduced to inodorous ashes; 
 which, kept separate by proper contrivances from 
 that of the pile, might be carefully deposited in 
 an urn of marble, alabaster, metal, or clay, as 
 might be most convenient; and this could be pre- 
 served in our houses for a long course of genera- 
 tions. To filial piety, to friendship, or to love, 
 how precious, how sacred a deposit ! How often
 
 230 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 should we steal at midnight to bedew these urns 
 with our tears ! There is no house so poor that 
 it might not afford some small closet for a sanc- 
 tuary to these domestic monuments of its in- 
 mates' affections. In them the manes of the mo- 
 ther would still seem to he present among her 
 children ; the image of the husband or wife would 
 be there to be evoked at any time by its deserted 
 partner 5 and the innocent souls of children would 
 appear to smile and linger round their sculptured 
 urns. What a rich nursery of affection and vir- 
 tue! How different from the cold habit of dis- 
 missing those we love from our sight, the moment 
 Death has put his hand upon them. Who would 
 not feel warmed and quickened as if by the rays 
 of some other sun, did he possess the ashes of 
 Shakespeare or Milton, preserved in gold or mar- 
 ble, and placed on a pedestal near his pillow ! 
 As often as the rays of the moon streamed upon 
 them through his lattice, he would seem to feel 
 their illustrious shades near him, exalting his 
 genius and purifying his soul. How much more, 
 could he call them his ancestors and progenitors ! 
 The supporters and arguers in favour of the 
 things that be, may possibly pretend to see some- 
 thing extremely shocking in our proposal to burn 
 his Majesty's Christian subjects, though it be 
 after they are dead. But such persons are like-
 
 THE GRAVE AND FUNERAL PILE. 231 
 
 wise great enemies to innovation, and would be 
 chiefly apt, we think, to oppose us on the present 
 occasion, through their looking on the ancient 
 rite of burning as such. It has prevailed, how- 
 ever, in all quarters and ages of the world ; though, 
 it must be confessed, the practice of interring the 
 dead seems, from what is related of the patriarchs 
 and others, to be still more ancient. But the rite 
 of burning was not unknown to the Hebrews: 
 the men of Jabesh burned the body of Saul; 
 and we learn from the prophet Amos, that, to 
 guard against infection, the bodies of such as died 
 of any epidemic disease were burned. Among 
 the Pagans we can trace the funeral pile up to the 
 most remote antiquity : the bodies of Archemorus 
 and Menecius, slain in the Theban war, as well 
 as those of Achilles, Patroclus, and Hector, were 
 consumed upon the pile. We find also that 
 cremation was in use among the Heruli, Getes, 
 Thracians, Celts, Sarmatians, Germans, Gauls, 
 Danes, Swedes, Norwegians, and Carthaginians.* 
 The ancient Persians and Chaldeans did not burn 
 their dead, because they held it impious to pollute 
 their deity (fire) with a carcass. The Egyptians 
 abstained from it through a superstitious opinion 
 
 * Sir Thomas Browne, Treatise on Urn Burial.
 
 232 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 that the soul subsisted only as long as the body 
 remained undissolved, or, as some have thought, 
 through an obscure hope of a resurrection or 
 reunion of the soul and body. Hence the practice 
 of embalming, that on the return of the spirit, it 
 might find its ancient mansion unchanged in 
 form and feature. Numa gave orders that his 
 body should not be burned; which Sir Thomas 
 Browne conjectures to have arisen from his inter- 
 course with Pythagoras, who might have contracted 
 in Egypt a horror for the ceremony : but we learn 
 from Cicero and Livy, that Pythagoras was con- 
 temporary with the elder Brutus. Sir Thomas 
 was therefore led away by popular error, in en- 
 tertaining this opinion. The Romans do not 
 seem, however, to have practised burning until 
 much later than Numa; Pliny relating that, ac- 
 cording to tradition, Lucius Sylla was the first 
 whose body was burned at Rome. Tradition was 
 in this instance mistaken: in the laws of the 
 Twelve Tables we find these words " Hominem 
 mortuum in urbe ne sepelito, neve urito:" 
 neither bury nor burn any dead body in the city. 
 Directions were also given that the funeral fire 
 should be made with planed wood, and the flames 
 quenched with wine. But the Romans had a 
 curious notion about the impropriety of burning
 
 THE GRAVE AND FUNERAL PILE. 233 
 
 the bodies of children,, who died before they had 
 cut their teeth* (to use a familiar phrase : ) some- 
 times they were buried beneath the eaves of their 
 houses,f but more frequently perhaps in the earth, 
 as Juvenal talks of being moved by meeting the 
 pomp of their funerals in the street : 
 
 Naturae imperio gemimus, &c. 
 in English : 
 
 Tears steal from our eyes, when in the street 
 
 With some bethrothed virgin's hearse we meet ; 
 Or infant's funeral, from the cheated womb 
 Conveyed to earth, and cradled in a tomb. Tale. 
 
 In which, however, we find nothing of the minor 
 igne rogi (too small for the funeral fire) that 
 denotes the peculiar practice of which we have 
 been speaking. 
 
 Why the early Christians, who must, from the 
 beginning, have been familiar with these rites, 
 should have been altogether averse from the 
 funeral pile, it is not easy to conjecture ; unless, 
 indeed, we suppose that they chose to sanctify 
 every ceremony which served to distinguish them 
 from the Pagans, or were all desirous of disposing 
 of their mortal remains in the manner in which 
 Christ's had been deposited. But a custom adopted 
 
 * Priusquam genito dente cremari, mos gentium non est. 
 Plin. 1. vi. c. 16. t Fab. Planciades.
 
 234 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 without reason, (since none appears why crema- 
 tion should not be considered as favourable to 
 piety as interment,) may certainly be withstood, 
 when it can be proved to make against the peace 
 and interests of humanity. Were the practice of 
 burning adopted universally, no one need fear that 
 the remains of his wife or children might be 
 dragged from their grave, by the sacrilegious 
 hands of robbers, and sold to surgeons for dissec- 
 tion. These apprehensions would be dissipated 
 with the smoke of the funeral pile. Nor would 
 the timid and nervous feel half the horror they 
 now do at the approach of death ; for in so visible 
 and complete a dissolution, the fancy would be 
 able to attach no consciousness to any particle of 
 the remains, which, whatever may be said, it is 
 apt to do when it considers how small is the 
 outward alteration wrought by death. The prac- 
 tice of burning would likewise do away with the 
 necessity of common cemeteries ; and with that 
 the belief of ghosts, and all the diablerie which, in 
 the country, subsists upon graves and church- 
 yards. Those, however, for whom the aspect of 
 a cemetery has certain melancholy charms, might 
 still deposit the ashes of their friends in tombs or 
 mausoleums ; * by which whatever is pious and 
 
 * Artemesia mixed the ashes of her husband in wine, 
 and drank it. The Indians, according to Herodotus, were in
 
 THE GRAVE AND FUNERAL PILE. 235 
 
 pleasing in the rite of inhumation, would be united 
 to the wholesome and purifying consequences of 
 the funeral pile. But men of a certain cast of 
 thinking, by which they are lifted above the pre- 
 judices that disturb the minds of the people, 
 would, in death as in life, prefer a degree of sim- 
 plicity and modesty, to the pomp and magnificence 
 which are the objects of vulgar ambition. Tri- 
 malchio, in Petronius, giving orders amid his cups 
 for the conduct of his funeral and the construction 
 of his tomb, is a good satire upon the feelings 
 which sometimes agitate human vanity in the last 
 scene it has to play in this world. " Let not my 
 wife's statue," said he, (they had just quarrelled,) 
 " be placed upon my monument, lest even in death 
 I should have contentions with her. And, that 
 she may know I have it in my power to torment 
 her, let her not kiss me after I am dead." * The 
 same worthy thus begins his orders for his monu- 
 
 the habit of eating their deceased parents, which Chrysippus 
 wanted to introduce into general practice. Such are the 
 fancies of men ! 
 
 * Petron. Arbit. Satyr, t. i. p. 304. Trimalchio (by whom 
 he meant Nero,) alludes, in this place, to the ancient custom, 
 by which, as soon as a man was dead, his wife, relations, and 
 friends, ran and kissed his face as a mark of their affection for 
 him. Mistresses hung upon their lover's lips, in order to 
 imbibe his soul, which was supposed to depart through 
 the mouth.
 
 236 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 ment. " I earnestly entreat you to place at the 
 foot of my tomb the statue of my favourite bitch, 
 with crowns, boxes of perfume, and representa- 
 tions of all the battles I have won, in relief, that 
 by your assistance I may live after death. Let 
 the facade of the structure be one hundred feet 
 long ; its depth two hundred feet. I desire also 
 that all manner of fruit-trees be planted round 
 my ashes, especially vines ; for it would be absurd 
 to give room for it to be said after my death, that, 
 although I spared no pains in cultivating my 
 lands during life, that spot had been neglected 
 in which I must dwell for a so much longer 
 period." * 
 
 Plato and Sir Thomas Browne, the one in his 
 most beautiful piece entitled the Banquet, and the 
 other in his treatise on Urn Burial, have with the 
 keenest ridicule assaulted man's absurd practices 
 for perpetuating his memory. The latter, indeed, 
 affected to look upon all methods as ineffectual 
 and absurd ; because, as he thought, we had 
 fallen in the evening of time, merely soon enough 
 to say we had lived, but too near the world's goal, 
 to allow the echoes of our virtues to be heard 
 upon the earth. Plato, on the contrary, as con- 
 ceiving probably that he lived in the morning of 
 the world, was not averse to reputation ; only, he 
 * Idem. L i. p. 286.
 
 THE GRAVE AND FUNERAL PILE. 237 
 
 thought it was to be acquired, not by preserving 
 our bodies from corruption by embalming, or by 
 raising over our ashes piles of marble or tombs of 
 brass, or by being the founder of a family distin- 
 guished for nothing but riches, but by generating 
 noble and magnanimous thoughts. 
 
 It cannot be denied that there is something 
 exceedingly impressive in seeing any remnant of 
 humanity going to join " the mighty nations of 
 the dead," in whatever manner it is effected. The 
 presence of Death with his terrors has sometimes 
 an ennobling effect upon the survivors ; they feel 
 for a moment as if they could willingly cope with 
 him, while his dart is scarcely extracted from the 
 bosom of their friend. How much of a heroine 
 does even a peasant girl or forlorn widow appear, 
 in the pomp of grief and tears, while the lover or 
 the husband is borne by hands made hard with 
 labour, to his long home beneath the turf of some 
 village church-yard. But the stern pathos of 
 these scenes might be heightened by the ceremo- 
 nies of the funeral pile. When it was a youth, in 
 those times when burning prevailed, that was cut 
 off in the flower of his age, or a virgin before the 
 period of womanhood, the mother, if she unhappily 
 survived, or else some near relation, wrapped in a 
 sad- coloured garment, gathered up the beloved
 
 238 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 ashes into an urn ; * and little vases of perfumes 
 and bottles of essences (afterwards mistaken for 
 tears,) were deposited with it in the tomb, while 
 lamentations and sorrow were heard on all sides. 
 The funeral supper, borne in upon paterae, was 
 then tasted by the relations, who wore crowns 
 upon their heads,f and at stated periods these la- 
 mentations were renewed. 
 
 But the practice of burying in churches is 
 doubly objectionable, as it injures alike our piety 
 and health. 
 
 The character of our devotion should be pure 
 and cheerful, and the places set apart for its public 
 exercise ought rather to increase than diminish 
 the natural exaltation of the mind. For this 
 reason lightness and elegance should be aimed at 
 in the architecture of our churches, and every 
 thing offensive and gloomy removed from their 
 vicinity. Pure sublimity might be preferable, if 
 it were within the reach of ordinary architects, 
 for such are the persons generally employed in 
 building churches ; but every attempt at reaching 
 it only proves that they mistake gloom and ob- 
 scurity for the sublime, and, in consequence, only 
 depress the souls they mean to raise and purify. 
 
 * Antiquitates Middletonianae. 
 f Cicero de Legib.
 
 THE GRAVE AND FUNERAL PILE. 239 
 
 Added to this, our dead are interred in our 
 temples, and putrid exhalations float like mist 
 through those aisles which should be sacred to 
 the breath of praise alone. It is a great mistake, 
 if it be thought that greater veneration is through 
 these means paid to our sacred edifices. Men feel 
 an involuntary sinking of the spirit on entering 
 them, but it is caused, not by any accession of 
 penitential feelings, but by inhaling a fetid, un- 
 wholesome atmosphere ; and through life they 
 associate a certain heavy, cadaverous scent with 
 every reminiscence of a church. Besides, nothing 
 is more certain than that the sight and smell of 
 mortality may be endured without any increase 
 of virtuous or moral feelings. The Arabs of the 
 Nile lie down, without any observable emendation 
 of morals, beside the crumbling mummies in the 
 ancient sepulchres of the Egyptians ; and the 
 early Christians retired to the tombs of the mar- 
 tyrs, that they might enjoy, according to St. Am- 
 brose, the advantage of getting intoxicated with 
 impunity. On warm summer days, when the sun 
 has darted his rays through the long dim windows 
 of a country church, we have often observed bluish 
 steams ascending heavily towards the roof of the 
 building ; and these, mingling with the breath of 
 a numerous congregation, have so depressed our 
 spirits, that we have been overwhelmed with me-
 
 240 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 lancholy. How different were the taste and no- 
 tions of the Pagans ! Though their gods and their 
 rites were sometimes impure, it was very rarely 
 that their temples were profaned by any thing 
 calculated to create disgust, and never by the 
 presence of a dead body. Nay their scrupulous 
 delicacy was so great in this respect, that they 
 suspended boughs of cypress at the doors of de- 
 ceased persons, lest any one about to perform some 
 religious rite, should enter a house rendered con- 
 taminated, and unpropitious by the presence of a 
 corpse. This may have been carrying the matter 
 too far, but it was a pr,oof of respect for the objects 
 of their religion. 
 
 Our notions of death are sought by every 
 means to be rendered more gloomy ; while the 
 Pagans were anxious to strip them, as much as 
 possible, of that characteristic, though their hopes 
 of futurity were much more vague and cheerless. 
 We fear that difference of creed, however, has 
 very little to do with natural feelings, for we find 
 from the reproaches of the fathers, that even the 
 primitive Christians were accustomed to abandon 
 themselves to excessive grief on the death of their 
 friends, and, not content with their own tears, to 
 hire Prceficce, or mercenary female mourners, who 
 might lengthen and direct their grief by art and 
 method. And, though they did not practise burn-
 
 THE GRAVE AND FUNERAL PILE. 241 
 
 ing, much of the pomp and expense of the funeral 
 pile was preserved, or rather augmented ; for Ter- 
 tullian informs the Arabs, that they had no reason 
 to regret the decay of Paganism, since a greater 
 quantity of their precious odours were used at 
 the funerals of the Christians than formerly had 
 been burnt on the altars of the Gods. 
 
 The practice of cremation, is indeed the most 
 economical way in which the dead can be dis- 
 posed of ; and it is certainly a mistaken notion 
 to think we honour our departed friends by de- 
 priving those that are living of gifts which we 
 heap upon their ashes. Towards neither dead nor 
 living is the fervency of our affections proved 
 by the price of our gifts. A common urn might 
 be purchased for a few shillings, and with such 
 the poor would be content ; while the rich might 
 show their regret or extravagance by sculptured 
 marble or alabaster. What is now expended on a 
 coffin would buy wood for the pile 5 and as to the 
 perfumes anciently used, their place might be 
 supplied by very homely expedients. Instead, 
 also, of the planed wood, and wine to extinguish 
 the flames, commanded by law among the Romans, 
 common faggots and water might be substituted. 
 The practice of inhumation has always given rise 
 to useless labour and expense. The coffins of the 
 ancient kings of France were immense blocks of 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 stone hollowed out with prodigious labour, their 
 effigies were painted on the inside, and consider- 
 able riches were buried with them j and if they 
 did not equal the pyramids, as a French author 
 excellently observes, they were at least as useful. 
 To common-place minds every thing is com- 
 mon-place, and nothing more so than reflections 
 on death ; but yet what lessons might we not 
 learn from these common-places ! Let such minds 
 grapple with this most common of all things, and 
 see how they will fare. The most strange and 
 marvellous of subjects would scarcely bow down 
 their spirit so effectually, or show these despisers 
 of common-place how they would shudder at 
 having it thrust home to their bosoms. On such 
 occasions are seen the advantages of those whose 
 habits of thinking never led them to reckon death 
 a subject beneath their contemplation, or foreign 
 to their happiness ; whose night- thoughts were 
 wont to wander calmly among urns and sepul- 
 chres ; and who, like the Egyptians, beheld their 
 festivals accompanied by a skeleton, present to the 
 imagination, without checking their mirth or 
 damping their enjoyments. We should like to 
 see the turns of our ancestors arranged on our 
 chimney-pieces with their various dates sculptured 
 on their sides, that we might never forget the du- 
 ration of human life, or be angry at what are em-
 
 THE GRAVE AND FUNERAL PILE. 243 
 
 phatically called "the ups and downs" of this 
 world. As it is, we keep a strict debtor and cre- 
 ditor account with Time, and complacently reckon 
 up at stated periods what we have gained by 
 yielding up certain portions of our lives to his 
 sway. We shall see who will be the gainer in the 
 end ! Meanwhile it is our wish that our country 
 would adopt the healthful, pious, and economical 
 practice of what Sir Thomas Browne calls " the 
 fiery solution," and yield up the dead bodies of 
 its people rather to purifying flames, than to 
 worms and corruption. 
 
 M2
 
 SPECIMEN 
 
 ANCIENT CHARACTER.
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 SPECIMEN OF ANCIENT CHARACTER. 
 
 Seize then, my soul! from freedom's trophied dome 
 
 The harp which, hanging high between the shields 
 
 Of BROTUS and LEOMDAS, oft gives 
 
 A fitful music to the breezy touch 
 
 Of patriot spirits that demand their fame . 
 
 SOUTHKY'S JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 Marcus Brutus etoit le plus grand Republican! que 1'on vit jamais. 
 
 BAYLE. 
 
 THE mind which feels itself drawn, by any strong 
 attraction, towards virtue, naturally looks abroad 
 among its contemporaries, or the celebrated peiv 
 sonages of history, to discover, if possible, some 
 great character approximating in tone and qualities 
 to itself. When it imagines it has found such a 
 character, a glow of feeling something resembling 
 friendship arises, and seems ever after to subsist, 
 and to be strengthened perpetually by a secret 
 recurrence to the illustrious name. There is 
 something, indeed, extremely noble in the in- 
 tercourse of our imaginations with the manes of the
 
 248 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 dead, which purifies the soul from all the meaner 
 passions, and much more surely nerves and for- 
 tifies it against suffering, than most of those actual 
 connexions which obtain the name of friendship 
 in the world. The reason is very plain : a man, 
 when he has all the great of the past world before 
 him, will hardly choose to place his admiration 
 upon a common character ; for, as we all have a 
 good opinion of ourselves, he would not think that 
 such a character resembled him in the least. His 
 choice will rather be directed towards a man, who, 
 together with a few similar intellectual features, 
 possessed very great qualities, and whose cha- 
 racter, therefore, must always remain a fine sub- 
 ject for imitation. Young men who read Plutarch 
 very early are sure to find a favourite amongst his 
 heroes ; for his work is a kind of banqueting- 
 room, in which you sit down to table with the most 
 illustrious men of all ages. For my own part, I 
 acquired, I know not how early, an unaccountable 
 and vehement predilection for Marcus Brutus j 
 and although I have since heard a good deal said 
 against him, it has not been of a nature to make 
 me change my opinion. It has always appeared 
 to me, that the popular institutions of Greece and 
 Rome were a kind of rich soil in which humanity 
 shot up, like a cedar on Lebanon, into the very 
 heights of heaven. There was not, in fact, any 

 
 ANCIENT CHARACTER. 249 
 
 thing, in those states, between man and God ; the 
 sense of sovereignty and power circulated like his 
 blood through the veins of the citizen ; it was 
 present to his mind upon all occasions ; and Xe- 
 nophon adduces it to the ten thousand as a reason 
 why they should beat the Persians, that they did 
 not, like them, acknowledge any earthly master. 
 In looking back upon antiquity, however, we 
 should recollect that all was not like what re- 
 mains ; but every thing that was perishable having 
 been laid waste by the tide of time, the few forms 
 which still survive, and which we discover by the 
 light of history standing above the reach of its 
 waves, like the vast idols of Egypt towering over 
 the waters of the inundation, are such as will be 
 co-lasting with the world. They are become a 
 part of nature, and must be imperishable, like her. 
 The time, therefore, which we spend in making 
 ourselves familiar with these ancient characters, 
 is very far from being misemployed, as they seem 
 to shed around them an odour of virtue which re- 
 freshes the mind. 
 
 The history of Marcus Brutus is much too 
 well known to render it necessary for us to enter 
 into any detail of his actions : our object is, to 
 look at his character. If this could be done 
 without referring at all to what he did, there 
 would be no temptation to relate any thing after 
 M 5
 
 250 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Plutarch, which must render a man liable to be 
 made the subject of a disadvantageous comparison. 
 But, except through his actions, we have no means 
 of knowing him ; and, on this account, must 
 refer perpetually to matters of history, which the 
 reader will of course remember well enough, but 
 which we must sometimes repeat, in order that 
 we may not appear to give imperfect views of 
 things. 
 
 There are strong reasons for believing that 
 Marcus Brutus was descended from that Brutus 
 w y ho expelled the kings from Rome. Dionysius 
 of Halicarnassus endeavours, it is true, to prove 
 that he could not be descended from him, and 
 adduces this reason, amongst others that the 
 younger Brutus was a plebeian, and Lucius Junius 
 a patrician. But this is not decisive, as there 
 were many examples of patrician families be- 
 coming plebeian. Suetonius instances, amongst 
 others, the Octavian family. The reason generally 
 was, that such families desired the possession of 
 the tribuneship, which could not be held by a pa- 
 trician. However this may be and it is not of 
 much consequence it was the opinion of Cicero, 
 and of the Roman people in general, that Marcus 
 Brutus derived his race from the old Juiiian 
 stock. To confute the vulgar notion that he was 
 Caesar's son, it will be sufficient to mention, that
 
 ANCIENT CHARACTER. 251 
 
 Caesar was only fifteen years old when he was 
 born, and did not become acquainted with his 
 mother, Servilia, until many years afterwards. 
 His father, whose name also was Marcus Junius 
 Brutus, having been put to death by Pompey, he 
 was left, at a very early age, to the care of his 
 uncle Cato, who provided him masters to instruct 
 him in learning and philosophy. His attachment 
 to the Stoic sect arose, very probably, from this 
 connexion with his uncle ; but he did not entirely 
 embrace the doctrines of Zeno: his philosophy 
 was a mixture of the system of the Old Academy 
 with that of the Portico. His love of knowledge 
 was intense; he studied the doctrines of all the 
 philosophers, and understood them thoroughly ; 
 he was fond, also, of oratory, and entertained in 
 his house not only philosophers, but orators, as 
 well as some young men who had studied rhetoric 
 with him. He married the daughter of Appius 
 Pulcher, when he was very young, but their union 
 appears to have been unhappy : for when Cato's 
 daughter, Portia, became a widow, he made use of 
 the facilities afforded by the laws of his country, to 
 obtain a divorce, was separated from his first wife, 
 and married his cousin. Portia appears to have 
 been a wife worthy of him ; a similar education 
 had fitted them for each other, and the happiness 
 they enjoyed, when at length united, is a strong
 
 252 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 testimony in favour of the law of divorce, as it 
 existed amongst the Romans. 
 
 It was not, however, for domestic happiness, 
 or a life of study, that Brutus had been born : the 
 republic was verging towards its dissolution, and 
 that field of honour and renown, in which he was 
 preparing himself to gather those laurels that are 
 only to be gained in a free state, was rapidly de- 
 vastated by the most terrible civil wars. Caesar 
 and Pompey were now drawing the forces of the 
 commonwealth into two parts ; and the soldiers, 
 on whichever side they stood, appeared to forget 
 the republic, in their attachment to their chiefs. 
 But Pompey was certainly the general of the 
 state, and Caesar a rebel ; and for this reason, 
 Brutus experienced no difficulty in determining 
 to join Pompey, although he was his private 
 enemy, while Caesar was known to entertain a 
 strong friendship for him. This action is an 
 index to his whole character. Pompey had killed 
 his father, on which account there was the most 
 deadly hatred between them, Brutus shunning 
 and showing his aversion for him upon all occa- 
 sions. Caesar loved him exceedingly, and was, in 
 return, beloved by him j yet, when these two 
 men came to make war upon each other when 
 they came to stand up, one for their common 
 country, the other for himself, private affection
 
 ANCIENT CHARACTER. 253 
 
 had no weight with Brutus ; he joined his enemy 
 against his friend, because his enemy's cause was 
 the more just. If any man's whole soul was ever 
 absorbed by patriotism, it was Brutus's upon this 
 occasion. 
 
 When Brutus came to join Pompey in his 
 camp in Macedonia, the latter was so overjoyed at 
 the unexpected event, " that he rose to embrace 
 him in the presence of his guards, and treated 
 him with as much respect as if he had been his 
 superior." The camp was necessarily a scene of 
 much confusion, as preparations were then making 
 for the battle of Pharsalia, while every heart was 
 agitated by musing on the uncertainty of the 
 event : the season of the year, also, was summer, 
 and the heat excessive j yet amidst these untoward 
 circumstances Brutus calmly pursued his studies, 
 and, on the very evening before the battle, em- 
 ployed himself in abridging Polybius. The event 
 of this action, the escape of Brutus from the 
 camp when Caesar was storming it after the battle, 
 his hiding in a marsh among the reeds, his flight 
 to Larissa, and subsequent reconciliation with 
 Caesar, the reader will remember from Plutarch : 
 but there is a circumstance connected with this 
 reconciliation which must be noticed, as it is one 
 of those things for which Brutus has been blamed. 
 It appears that when Pompey had fled towards
 
 254 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 the sea, and escaped with his fleet, various opi- 
 nions were entertained by Caesar's friends con- 
 cerning the country in which it was probable he 
 would take refuge, some conjecturing one region, 
 and some another. Things standing thus, Caesar 
 went out of his tent with Brutus, and, as they 
 walked about the camp, contrived to discover his 
 opinion on the subject : finding that he supposed 
 Egypt would be the country, Csesar slighted the 
 conjectures of his other friends, and prepared to 
 lead his forces in that direction. Now, it has 
 been pretended, that in disclosing to Caesar his 
 suspicions regarding the retreat of Pompey, Brutus 
 was guilty of a serious fault. But, " in the first 
 place," as Bayle observes, " Pompey had not 
 confided to him in any manner the secret of his 
 retreat ; secondly, it was not possible for him to 
 conceive how he could render worse the unhappy 
 destiny of the fugitive by communicating his 
 conjectures to Caesar ; besides, it is likely that he 
 looked upon Egypt to be an asylum of such 
 strength as would deter the conqueror from going 
 thither to attack the great Pompey." 
 
 The republic being now in the hands of Caesar, 
 Brutus was appointed Governor of Cisalpine Gaul, 
 where, by the wisdom and humanity of his admi- 
 nistration, he made some amends to the inhabi- 
 tants for the injuries they had suffered during the
 
 ANCIENT CHARACTER. 255 
 
 civil wars. Many of the young nobility repairing 
 to him from Rome, he entertained them cour- 
 teously, and thus rapidly increased the number 
 of his friends 5 for all they who loved the republic, 
 loved Brutus. 
 
 During the whole interval which elapsed be- 
 tween the battle of Pharsalia and Caesar's death, 
 we observe Brutus assiduous in the discharge of 
 his duty, and aspiring to the lawful honours of 
 the state. He composed a panegyric on his uncle 
 and father-in-law, Cato, which Caesar affected to 
 consider a very poor performance. His literary 
 works were, indeed, numerous : he abridged the 
 Roman histories of Fannius, and Antipater, he 
 wrote a work De Ojficiis, and another De Virtute, 
 which is mentioned by Cicero and Seneca, and 
 Diomede speaks of one, De Patientia. But all 
 these are lost. The materials for judging of the 
 learning and eloquence of Brutus, which time has 
 spared, are therefore peculiarly scanty; there now 
 remaining nothing of his, excepting a few Latin 
 and Greek letters ; the former published among 
 those of Cicero, the latter separately. From the 
 testimony, however, of his contemporaries, and of 
 those ages immediately following, (which pos- 
 sessed his works,) we may learn that his genius 
 was not inferior to his virtue ; that in learning he 
 surpassed all the young nobility of Rome ; that
 
 256 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 his philosophy was enlightened, his taste refined 
 and severe. Even Cicero's eloquence did not come 
 up to his notions of oratory : he required some- 
 thing still more masculine and vehement, having 
 formed his conceptions from the style of De- 
 mosthenes. The character of his mind, and the 
 tone of his philosophy, had infused a peculiar 
 vigour into his own manner of speaking, which is 
 said, upon one occasion, to have terrified Caesar, 
 and to have given him the first suspicion of the 
 fierceness of Brutus's temper. Earnestness and 
 gravity were the prevailing features in his style ; 
 the expression of his desires evinced the most 
 intense energy ; and, the fire of truth flashing 
 perpetually through his periods, rendered unne- 
 cessary the petty flourishes of an artificial rhe- 
 toric. The oratory of Cicero could not but appear 
 too diffuse and showy to so stern a cultivator of 
 eloquence ; especially as, while truth alone was 
 his own aim, Cicero's often terminated in per- 
 suasion. The mind of Brutus resembled a steed 
 in the Olympic contests, which, having to run a 
 race of glory, sees only the goal, and bounds to- 
 wards it with invincible energy ; Cicero's the 
 same steed, covered with triumphal trappings, 
 pawing the ground with pride, and listening with 
 evident delight to the applauding shouts of the 
 spectators. Cicero frequently indulged his genius
 
 ANCIENT CHARACTER. 257 
 
 in lively digressions and puns that upset the 
 gravity of the senate. He sometimes made 
 himself merry at the expense of the stoics, and 
 drew a caricature of their wise man, which forced 
 a smile even from Cato himself. Brutus relished 
 nothing of this. His genius was argumentative 
 and sublime ; his chief figures of speech were 
 candour and patriotism ; and as he waved his 
 hand on the rostrum, the Roman people might 
 have imagined they saw truth itself enveloped in 
 the folds of the toga. His letters breathe the 
 same spirit. In the midst of great grandeur of 
 thought, there is in them throughout an affec- 
 tionate commiseration for the weaknesses and 
 misfortunes of mankind. The style is suitable : 
 brief, strong, perspicuous ; without art, and with- 
 out affectation. 
 
 If we carry our examination further, and ob- 
 serve the unfolding of his character in the rela- 
 tions of private life, the disappointment by which 
 the looking upon great men in this point of view 
 is usually attended, will not meet us here. His 
 philosophy was, it is granted, of a rigid cast ; but 
 there does not appear to be any necessary con- 
 nexion between a stern philosophy and unamiable 
 manners. It indeed appears quite evident that 
 Brutus made choice of the stoic dogmas as a cor- 
 rective of his too gentle disposition : for, as Dr.
 
 258 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 M iddleton observes, " he was very often forced, 
 by the tenderness of his nature, to confute the 
 rigour of his principles." Accordingly, he was 
 exceedingly beloved ; and it is equally honour- 
 able, both to himself and to his connexions, that, 
 during all his misfortunes, he was not deserted by 
 a single friend. This was singular good fortune in 
 the times in which, he lived, when it was common 
 for men to sup with one party, and be found next 
 morning at breakfast amongst their enemies. 
 Brutus's friends were, indeed, a remarkable circle ; 
 and that could have been no ordinary virtue 
 which enabled him to bind them to himself. They 
 not only preserved their attachment to him du- 
 ring his life, however, but even after he had fallen, 
 when it was injurious to their fortunes to appear 
 to have loved him. It is true, they were so nu- 
 merous, and possessed of so much weight and 
 ability, that the proper operation of government 
 was scarcely compatible with their total exclusion 
 from power. Octavius, therefore, felt himself 
 compelled by his situation to feign a degree of 
 affection for Brutus's friends. Hypocrisy, however, 
 cost him but little : he understood his interest, 
 and " tolerated" as Plutarch beautifully expresses 
 it, " the public respect which was paid to Brutus's 
 memory" Presuming upon this toleration, Mes- 
 sala, the friend of Brutus, took occasion after his
 
 ANCIENT CHARACTER. 25Q 
 
 reconciliation with Augustus, to recommend Strato 
 to his imperial master : "This," said he, with tears, 
 " is the man who did the last kind office for my 
 dear Brutus." Strato had aided Brutus in put- 
 ting an end to his life. 
 
 By his choice of friends, a man's character may 
 almost always be known ; for it is in every one's 
 power to choose virtuous friends, or to remain 
 without any. Caesar, as Cicero observes, was not 
 nice in selecting his intimates ; he indeed acknow- 
 ledged that he preferred bad men who would do 
 any thing to promote his designs, to those vir- 
 tuous persons who possessed untractable con- 
 sciences ; and Plato reproaches Dion with having 
 chosen unprincipled men for his associates. But 
 all allow that Brutus selected his friends with 
 judgment, and possessed the affection of great 
 men, who were faithfully attached to him and his 
 cause. As long as any of these survived, a degree 
 of respect for his memory was kept up ; but, as 
 soon as the diadem of the Caesars glittered over 
 the broken fasces of the republic, it was clearly 
 perceived that his name was destined to be covered 
 with opprobrium. In the reign of Tiberius, Cre- 
 mutius Cordus was accused, before the senate, of 
 high treason, for having written an eulogium on 
 Brutus and Cassius. In his defence, he sheltered 
 himself behind the example of the historian Livy,
 
 260 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 and of Messala Corvinus the orator ; both of 
 whom, though living under Augustus, had spoken 
 with becoming enthusiasm of the great patriots. 
 After such a defence, however, Cremutius did not 
 think it safe to live, and therefore forestalled the 
 executioner by a voluntary death. From this 
 instance of suicide, and from many others in the 
 early books of Tacitus's Annals, it seems that the 
 contempt of life, evinced in an extraordinary 
 manner by the people of those times, arose en- 
 tirely from a despair of freedom. Having from 
 the cradle framed their minds for the exercise of 
 liberty, tyrannical restraint was so intolerable to 
 them, that they willingly laid down their lives to 
 escape from it. The example also of Brutus and 
 Cato had much influence in recommending suicide, 
 which, if ever excusable, was excusable in the 
 Romans of those days. 
 
 But to proceed : as soon as it was perceived 
 that to speak favourably of Brutus and Cassius 
 was hateful, and to speak abusively, agreeable to 
 the Emperors, all those who hoped for preferment 
 at court, became loud in their clamours against 
 them. As it was not possible to charge them 
 with any specific crimes, calumny was compelled 
 to shroud itself under general expressions : they 
 were called " villains," "assassins," "parricides," 
 &c., and the echo of these clamours appears to be
 
 ANCIENT CHARACTER. 261 
 
 still sounding in the ears of mankind. Of course, 
 these opprobrious terms could be applied to 
 Brutus and Cassius only with reference to their 
 putting Caesar to death. This action has not yet 
 been irrevocably referred to its class, men still 
 disputing about the justice or injustice of it. 
 Before I proceed to express my opinion on that 
 head, I will beg leave to remark, that men have 
 an inveterate propensity to judge of every thing 
 by the event. Had Brutus succeeded in restoring 
 the republic, even at the expense of Caesar's life, 
 there can be no question that they who are now 
 most noisy in their condemnation of him, would 
 have applauded his patriotism to the skies. Do 
 not historians, indeed, constantly praise that 
 Scipio who assassinated Tiberius Gracchus ? Is 
 he ever styled ''murderer," "assassin," "parri- 
 cide?" &c. Not at all ; but Gracchus was ranged 
 on the side of popular rights ; and it appears that 
 little sorrow would be felt by the writers alluded 
 to, if all such men were despatched in the same 
 way. Caesar aimed at subverting the government 
 of his country, or rather, had subverted it. 
 Brutus 's aim was the restoration of that govern- 
 ment. Brutus was therefore the enemy of inno- 
 vationthe champion of establishments. Can his 
 enemies see nothing good in this ? Oh, no ! the 
 government he laboured to restore was republican, 

 
 262 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 and they find nothing good in any thing but 
 despotism. Well, but what if he had succeeded 
 in re-establishing the republic ? What then ? 
 why, in doing so, he would have changed the 
 destinies of the world. Civilization might have 
 ran on in one uninterrupted career from that time 
 to this, and the progress of society have been ac- 
 celerated by the march of a thousand years. 
 There is no man living who has not, as it is, 
 received benefit from the death of Caesar. Had 
 Antony and Lepidus and Octavius fallen with 
 him, Roman liberty might have lasted some cen- 
 turies longer, until the world had been prepared 
 to catch the flame from the capitol ; in which 
 case, we should have appeared to owe more than 
 we now do, to Brutus. But we are unjust : he 
 could not possibly foresee that Hirtius and Pansa 
 would be slain j that Antony and Octavius and 
 Lepidus would unite -, that Cicero would mistake 
 the character of Octavius, and overwhelm him 
 with honours ; and, unless he could have fore- 
 seen all this, he would not have been justified in 
 cutting off Antony, or Lepidus, or Octavius. 
 
 But that he was justified in killing Caesar, I 
 proceed to prove : it is quite clear, from the uni- 
 versal testimony of antiquity, that an opinion 
 prevailed in all the old republics, that any citizen 
 might lawfully kill a tyrant ; through this belief,
 
 ANCIENT CHARACTER. 263 
 
 Harmodius and Aristogeiton slew Hipparchus at 
 Athens ; Ahala, Sp. Melius, who did but aim at 
 tyranny, at Rome ; and, among the Jews, we find 
 Ehud assassinating the Moabitish King, and Je- 
 hoiadah taking off Athaliah, with other examples 
 innumerable. At the close of the seventh book 
 of his politics, Aristotle gives a practical illus- 
 tration of the effect of this opinion in Greece. 
 He observes, that tyrannies were never durable ; 
 and then goes on to enumerate such as might 
 have been supposed to militate against his doc- 
 trine. "The most lasting tyranny," says he, "on 
 record, was that of Orthagoras and his sons at 
 Sicyon. It continued a hundred years ! " The 
 second example given, is that of Cypselus and his 
 family at Corinth, which lasted seventy- seven 
 yars and six months. The third, that of the 
 Peisistratidae at Athens, continued only thirty-five 
 years. The Greeks, we see, knew how to put 
 their opinions in practice. They were "animated," 
 said Montesquieu, " with a predominating love of 
 .their country, which, overstepping the ordinary 
 rules of crimes and virtues, listened to that alone, 
 and saw neither citizen, nor friend, nor benefactor, 
 nor father ; virtue seemed to forget, in order to 
 surpass herself ; and the action which might at 
 first be disapproved as sanguinary, was, through 
 her influence, admired as divine!"
 
 264 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 This sentiment was at Rome embodied into a 
 law. Upon the expulsion of the Tarquins, the 
 Romans, experiencing the delights of freedom, 
 decreed, that whoever should be found aiming at 
 royalty, might be put to death by any private 
 citizen, without the forms of law ; for they rightly 
 judged, that the man who endeavoured at the 
 subversion of all law was not entitled to its pro- 
 tection. All they required of the tyrannicide was, 
 that he should be able to bring proofs that the 
 person he had put to death had entertained the 
 designs imputed to him. Valerius Publicola was 
 the author of this law. These are Plutarch's 
 words : " He made it lawful, without form of 
 trial, to kill any man that should attempt to set 
 himself "up for king; and the person who took 
 away his life, was to stand excused, if he could 
 adduce proof of the intended crime. His reason 
 for such a law, we presume, was this : though it 
 is not possible that he, who undertakes so great 
 an enterprise, should escape all notice ; yet it is 
 very probable that, even if suspected, he may ac- 
 complish his designs before he can be brought to 
 answer for it in a judicial way ; and as the crime, 
 if committed, would prevent his being called to ac- 
 count for it at all, this law empowered any one to 
 punish him before any cognizance was taken." 
 Publicola also made it death to enter upon the
 
 ANCIENT CHARACTER. 265 
 
 magistracy without the people's consent. The 
 consular laws, likewise, published immediately 
 after the overthrow of the Decemvirate, made it 
 capital to create magistrates without reference and 
 appeal to the people. "Ne quis ullum magis- 
 tratum sine provocatione crearet : qui creasset, 
 eum jus fasque esset occidi : neve a caedes capi- 
 talis noxa haberetur." Whoever injured any 
 tribune of the people, his head also was devoted 
 to Jupiter ; that is, he was condemned to death. 
 Moreover, there was a decree of the senate, passed 
 expressly for the security of Rome, which devoted 
 to the Infernal Gods whoever should pass the 
 Rubicon with an army, a legion, or a cohort : 
 this decree may still be seen engraven upon stone, 
 on the road between Rimini and Cesena. Such 
 were the laws of Rome. 
 
 Now we shall see how these laws were set at 
 nought and broken by Caesar. That he passed 
 the Rubicon with an army, I have no need to 
 prove ; and while proving the remainder, shall, I 
 fear, require a considerable portion of the reader's 
 indulgence. 
 
 A part of the public treasure of Rome was 
 laid up in the temple of Saturn, never to be drawn 
 from thence, unless in case of a war with the 
 Gauls. The keys of the temple were in the hands 
 of a tribune. When Caesar parricidically entered 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 the city with his troops, the first thing which oc- 
 curred to him was, to rob this temple ; and, ac- 
 cordingly, he immediately hastened thither, where 
 he found the tribune at his post, ready to with- 
 stand his entry. Upon this he grew enraged, and, 
 advancing towards the tribune, exclaimed "Give 
 way, Metellus, or I will strike you dead at my 
 feet! And you know, young man," he added, m 
 a milder tone, " it is much easier for me to do it 
 than to say it." Let the reader observe the full 
 meaning of this speech: the law, as we have 
 shown, made the persons of the tribunes sacred, 
 and acknowledged no power that could injure 
 them ; in averring, therefore, that it was easy for 
 him to put one of these sacred magistrates to 
 death, Caesar did in effect acknowledge that he 
 had set himself above the laws ; that he had 
 placed himself in that position in which they had 
 armed the hands of every citizen against his life. 
 
 But this was not the only time in which Caesar 
 invaded the laws in the persons of the tribunes ; 
 for, returning one day through the city, after the 
 sacrifice of the Latiaii Festivals, the people accom- 
 panied him with shouts and acclamations. Upon 
 this, one of his creatures crowned his statue with 
 laurel. The two tribunes who were present, per- 
 ceiving the drift of the whole affair, commanded 
 the wretch to be taken into custody, and the
 
 ANCIENT CHARACTER. 267 
 
 crown to be removed, at which the tyrant felt so 
 much anger that he displaced the tribunes from 
 their offices. Upon another occasion, he observed 
 to a tribune who had presumed to sit. in his pre- 
 sence, " Well done, tribune Aquilla, you had 
 better try if you can wrest the government of the 
 commonwealth out of my hands with your tri- 
 buneship ! " and by way of mockery and contempt, 
 he promised nothing to any one, for several days 
 after, but with this expression : " If Pontius 
 Aquilla consents." 
 
 He had, therefore, usurped the supreme power, 
 and only wanted the name of king. To show, in- 
 deed, that he had emancipated himself from the 
 obedience due to his country's laws, he bestowed 
 the honours of the consulship, and of all other 
 magistracies, without consulting or convening the 
 people. Upon one occasion, the regular consul 
 dying a few hours before the year expired, he 
 conferred the dignity upon one of his friends for 
 the remaining time ; upon which occasion, Cicero 
 said : " Let us make haste, and pay our compli- 
 ments to the consul before his office expires." And 
 again : " Our consul is a man of so much strict- 
 ness and rigour, that not a man of us has dined, 
 supped, or slept, during his magistracy." Plutarch 
 observes, that Caesar wished to reign over a willing 
 people ; but his impatience to be a king, (says Dr. 
 
 N2
 
 268 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Middleton,) defeated all his projects. And Sue- 
 tonius, after impartially summing up his good 
 and bad deeds., declares that he was justly slain : 
 "Jure CCESUS existimetur." For he disposed of 
 offices and honours (says he) in contempt of his 
 country's laws "spreto patriae more/' "ac nullus 
 non honores ad libidinem recepit et dedit j " he 
 took and bestowed all the offices of the state at 
 his pleasure. He had, besides, the audacity to 
 declare, that he had reduced the republic to a 
 mere name : " The commonwealth," said he " is 
 now nothing but a word, without body or soul." 
 To this he added, that hereafter he was to be 
 spoken to with more reverence j and that every 
 word he uttered was to be looked upon as a law. 
 Lord Bacon observes, that " Caesar did himself 
 infinite hurt in that speech, ' Sylla nescivit li- 
 teras, non potuit dictare ; ' for it did utterly cut 
 off that hope which men had entertained, that he 
 would, at one time or other, give over his dic- 
 tatorship." 
 
 It is clear, therefore, that Caesar was lawfully 
 and justly slain, which, as Middleton remarks, 
 was the opinion of the best, the wisest, and the 
 most disinterested in Rome, at the time when the 
 fact was committed. " Cent mille vies," says 
 Bayle, " s'il les avoit eues, n'auroient pas suffi a 
 1'expiation de son crime." He thinks, however,
 
 ANCIENT CHARACTER. 269 
 
 that it was not for two or three private individuals 
 to undertake his punishment ; and applies on this 
 occasion the old maxim, "Passio justa ; actio in- 
 just issima." But Bayle must have forgotten the 
 Valerian law. 
 
 Many persons, however, who are willing to 
 allow that Caesar deserved his fate, refuse, never- 
 theless, to acknowledge that Brutus was right in 
 putting him to death. They have a notion, that 
 because Caesar had conferred favours on Brutus, 
 and refrained from taking away his life when he 
 might easily have done it, it was, therefore, the 
 duty of the latter to suffer him quietly to enslave 
 his country ; because, say they, how could Brutus 
 rise up against Caesar without ingratitude, with- 
 out trampling on the laws of friendship ? in short, 
 without being a villain and a murderer ? Men 
 certainly entertain very different opinions about 
 the extent of the duties which we owe our coun- 
 try ; some imagining it is not to be served at the 
 expense of a boon companion j others, that we 
 ought first to take care of ourselves and our 
 families, and give the remainder of our energies 
 to the commonwealth ; while there have, in all 
 ages, been a few on whom no views of interest, no 
 ties of friendship or affection, could ever operate 
 to turn them aside for a moment from pursuing 
 the public good. Nay, some have carried theijr
 
 270 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 devotion to their country so far, as to affirm, that 
 for its sake we ought to be ready to suffer the loss" 
 not only of our fortunes and of our lives, but, 
 should it be necessary, of our very fame and re- 
 putation. " Ea caritas patriae est," said Lentulus 
 to the soldiers at Caudium, " ut tarn ignomini& 
 earn, quam morte nostra, si opus sit, servamus." 
 This, we are all aware, is unpalatable logic, for it 
 levels the last stronghold of selfishness, our 
 desire of renown ; but whoever has elevated his 
 reason to admit its conclusions, is a man above 
 the ordinary pitch of humanity. In the case 
 before us, Brutus could not have been ignorant 
 that, in attacking Caesar, he was subjecting himself 
 to the suspicion of being nothing more than an 
 ambitious man, incapable of bearing a superior, 
 and envious of a fame which he could not hope to 
 rival. He must have known, too, that it was 
 possible for him to fail in his enterprise, and thus 
 be cut off entirely from every possibility of ex- 
 plaining his views; while he was subject to be 
 represented to posterity as a mere assassin, who 
 had no aim but interest or revenge. He must, 
 therefore, have thought with Lentulus that the 
 chance of ignominy was to be hazarded for the 
 good of Rome ; for had the preservation of his 
 own glory been the chief motive of his actions, he 
 had but one course to pursue : to submit to the
 
 ANCIENT CHARACTER. 271 
 
 yoke of Caesar, in order to participate in his 
 power. Great men, however, do not act wholly 
 for reputation, as many appear to imagine ; they 
 feel within themselves a bias towards noble deeds, 
 and perform them, careless of any other reward 
 than the consciousness of their virtue. Were it, 
 in fact, within their power to choose between the 
 praise and the blame of those who blame or praise 
 without reflection, they would be altogether indif- 
 ferent, as a man is indifferent whether the people 
 of New Zealand interest themselves in his fame or 
 not. Virtue, being always sure of the sympathy 
 of virtue, is careless of every thing beyond. As 
 to Caesar, he was incapable of this degree df 
 virtue, and condescended to falsify his own ac- 
 tions, in the hopes of escaping the just condem- 
 nation of posterity. With this view, he wrote his 
 ' Commentaries,' in which Asinius Pollio declared 
 he had misrepresented the truth on many oc- 
 casions : we are sure enough that he did so in the 
 affair of the temple of Saturn, and it is clear from 
 this, that he dreaded the avenging pen of history. 
 Nevertheless he has been detected. We know, in 
 spite of his ' Commentaries,' that he robbed the 
 public treasury, and would have murdered the 
 magistrate, whom the republic had placed as a 
 guard over it, if he had not ceased to resist his 
 injustice. The patriots who put him to death
 
 272 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 wrote no Commentaries, not being ashamed of 
 the deed, nor of the principles which led them to 
 perform it j for in a letter to Cicero, Brutus him- 
 self avows, that had Caesar been his father he 
 must have acted as he did. Has history, in all 
 her other pages, any thing comparable to this ? 
 Can the human mind conceive a virtue more sub- 
 lime ? For my part I agree with Swift, in enu- 
 merating Brutus amongst that sextumvirate, to 
 which all the ages of the world cannot add a 
 seventh. I may, perhaps, be carried away by 
 my enthusiasm for the character of this great 
 man, whose mind, according to Plutarch, the 
 Deity had peculiarly fitted for the habitation of 
 virtue ; but it is a remarkable fact, that no one 
 ever attempted to unravel the texture of his cha- 
 racter, without experiencing very violent feelings 
 of affection or antipathy. The reason may be, he 
 is identified in men's minds with the principle of 
 liberty ; and therefore, when we speak of Brutus, 
 we speak not merely of a man who studied phi- 
 losophy and killed a tyrant at Rome ; but of that 
 innate detestation of tyranny which uncorrupted 
 man always feels. His name has a golden sound 
 in the ears of integrity, makes our blood flow more 
 briskly and warmly in our veins, and adds to the 
 dignity of human nature itself. If I stood alone 
 in this sentiment, though I might not think it
 
 ANCIENT CHARACTER. 273 
 
 less just on that account, I should, perhaps, 
 hesitate to obtrude it upon the world. But if I 
 am wrong, I am wrong in very good company ; 
 for from Cicero to Swift, there has scarcely been a 
 great writer who might not be reckoned among 
 the admirers of Brutus. " You know," says 
 Cicero to a friend, " I have always loved Marcus 
 Brutus on account of his great genius, his suavity 
 of manners, his singular probity and fortitude. 
 But the ides of March " (the day on which he 
 killed Caesar) " have so increased my affection, 
 that I have wondered there should have been room 
 to add to that which before appeared full, even to 
 overflowing." * Swift's expressions are hardly 
 less strong : " The governor, at my request, gave 
 the sign for Caesar and Brutus to advance towards 
 us. I was struck with a profound veneration at 
 the sight of Brutus, and could easily discover "the 
 most consummate virtue, the greatest intrepidity 
 and firmness of mind, the truest love of his 
 country, and general benevolence for mankind in 
 every lineament of his countenance. I observed, 
 with much pleasure, that these two persons were 
 in good intelligence with each other ; and Caesar 
 freely confessed to me, that the greatest actions 
 of his own life were not equal, by many degrees, 
 to the glory of taking it away." f 
 
 * Epist. ad Familiares, ix. 14. 
 
 f Gulliver's Travels, pt. 3. iii. c. /. 
 
 N 5
 
 274 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Even his enemies acknowledge that his virtue 
 was of the most exalted kind. " He was perfect 
 in every respect," says Paterculus, " but soiled all 
 his virtues by assassinating Caesar." We have 
 seen that Cicero considered this the greatest virtue 
 of all, and it is very certain that those men who 
 love liberty will participate in the sentiment of 
 Cicero. Algernon Sidney, a great name with all 
 noble-minded men, proposed Brutus, as the 
 model of his life, which did not in any manner 
 disgrace the original. It would be easy to find 
 testimonies in favour of Brutus, but I shall 
 have thrown away my labour, if the reader still 
 stand in need of them to form his opinion of the 
 man, after what has been now written. In the hope 
 that he will not, I shall close this essay with a 
 brief sketch of the death of this illustrious Roman ; 
 and the reader will excuse me if I dwell for a mo- 
 ment on sad and melancholy images, for there 
 were no others connected with the death of Brutus. 
 He had toiled and was about to bleed for his 
 country ; but he had toiled and was to bleed in 
 vain. No grateful people pressed round his death- 
 bed, to bless him for homes made happy, and for 
 liberties restored. The glories of the republic in 
 which he was born, and which had infused incal- 
 culable energies into the minds of men, were now 
 about to fade for ever with him. It was the re-
 
 ANCIENT CHARACTER. 2?5 
 
 fleeting on this circumstance, that made men at- 
 tribute to him the celebrated apostrophe to virtue, 
 which there is no reason to believe he ever ut- 
 tered ; for, instead of considering it an empty name, 
 he comforted both himself and his friends with 
 the reflection, that through the consciousness of 
 having always fulfilled its dictates, he was even 
 then far happier than his conquerors. " It is an 
 infinite satisfaction to me," said he, " that all my 
 friends have been faithful. If I am angry with 
 FORTUNE, it is for the sake of my country. Myself 
 I esteem more happy than the conquerors, not only 
 in respect of my past, but also my present situation. 
 I shall leave behind me that reputation for virtue, 
 which they, with all their wealth and power, will 
 never acquire. For posterity will not scruple to 
 believe, that they were an abandoned and worth- 
 less set of men, who destroyed the good and the 
 virtuous for the sake of unjust empire." From 
 this it would appear, that if Brutus uttered any 
 apostrophe on this occasion, it was addressed to 
 Fortune, not to Virtue ; for virtue has never been 
 thought to regulate the events of war ; whereas 
 the ancients attributed great influence in such af- 
 fairs to fortune. We see, therefore, that although 
 pressed down by the most grievous calamities, 
 dying an outcast, defeated, houseless, forsaken by 
 fortune, Brutus was not unequal to the event. In
 
 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 order to comprehend, with a tolerable degree of 
 ftdness, the circumstances which made this event 
 terrible, let the reader imagine this great soldier 
 retiring in the darkness from the route of Philippi, 
 with the friends of his youth and better days 
 clinging round him to the last. Let him sit down 
 with Brutus in his concealment among rocks and 
 thickets, and accompany his thoughts, struggling 
 through the agony of his soul towards Rome. 
 There borrowing for a moment a Roman's eyes 
 and feelings, let him picture him to himself, 
 taking leave for ever of the Forum, which had so 
 often thundered with the voice of liberty ; let 
 him observe the indignant spirit of a free people 
 crushed out by proscriptions, the innumerable 
 statues of the old republicans insultingly thrown 
 down and trampled on by tyranny ; let his fancy 
 go yet one step further, and picture Brutus'g 
 thoughts busy with home ; there, in that room, are 
 Servilia and Portia the mother and the wife of 
 Brutus petrified at the entrance of a blood-stained 
 
 messenger, who announces to them the news 
 
 There is torture in pursuing this thought to its 
 conclusion. Let us turn our eyes towards Phi- 
 lippi. Here is Brutus on this rocky eminence, 
 surrounded by his friends, who are anxiously 
 marking the fires of the hostile camp, and listen- 
 ing to the tramp of steeds scouring the plain in
 
 ANCIENT CHARACTER. 277 
 
 all directions in search of them. He is calm even 
 at this moment he steps aside with Strato a 
 sword gleams between them he has fallen! 
 
 Something like this must be imagined, if we 
 would form any conception of the end of this great 
 and good man. Plutarch has painted the scene 
 with his usual simplicity; and perhaps his de- 
 scription was never read without tears. His noble 
 prose has been transmuted into poetry by Shaks- 
 peare, who, although loose in his political notions, 
 did yet admire the virtue of Brutus, and has put 
 his opinion of him into the mouth of Antony : 
 
 This was the noblest Roman of them all ; 
 
 All the conspirators, save only he, 
 
 Did that they did in envy of great Ca?sar ; 
 
 He only, in a general honest thought, 
 
 And common good to all, made one of them. 
 
 His life was gentle, and the elements 
 
 So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up, 
 
 And say to all the world " THIS WAS A MAN ! "
 
 THEORY
 
 CHAP. XIII. 
 THEORY. 
 
 I F learning be ever productive of happiness, it is 
 when connected with the habit of theorizing ; for 
 under the guidance of this habit, a man discovers 
 in almost every thing a verification of his system ; 
 while those objects or combinations which make 
 against him he is expert at removing to a great 
 distance, and, consequently, reducing to almost 
 nothing. He of course consults reason in the 
 constructive part of his labour ; but, because that 
 is fallible, his system will have errors ; and to bend 
 and shape facts to support these, is the work of 
 passion. The whole man, therefore, is thrown into 
 an easy current, which produces no counter onesj 
 and to move in this is to be happy. It is com- 
 mon enough to ridicule minds of this description, 
 but, I fear, not quite so common to understand 
 them ; for theory, in some shape or other, has been 
 the " hobby-horse ' ' of the greatest and best of 
 men. It requires no ordinary reach, indeed, to
 
 28 C 2 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 frame a system of any thing that shall stand the 
 test even of ordinary examination ; for, be the 
 principles ever so sound, and ever so harmonious 
 among themselves, one flaw in the mould which 
 they must be cast in, to be made palpable to 
 common apprehensions, is sufficient to draw upon 
 their author the reprehension of the usual judges 
 of such things. 
 
 Every man is inwardly theoretical and po- 
 sitive j and it is because philosophical systems 
 break or turn into a new direction his little par- 
 ticular current, that he sometimes becomes dis- 
 posed to pick them to pieces. They are good so 
 long as no interest or vanity of his is disturbed 
 by their influence. But, it seems a circumstance 
 to be regretted, that a pre-formed taste, or a pre- 
 valent fashion, should suspend a veil between the 
 young inquirer after truth, and those forms of 
 intellect which reside nearest the adyta of her 
 fane. The man of exalted theory is to the sceptic, 
 what a jeweller, having his gems laid out in order 
 in hig shop, is to a man with an equal quantity 
 huddled up in a wallet on his back. The shop is 
 worth something. Theory has, besides, a kind of 
 generative principle within itself, for it puts ideas, 
 if one may so speak, into a state of fermentation, 
 and extracts a new spirit from their union ; 
 whereas scepticism keeps its perceptions in a
 
 THEORY. 283 
 
 cold and unprolific separation, and though they 
 should be brilliant as the stars, they would also 
 be as unproductive. But theory, like the principle 
 of attraction, tends constantly to unity and pro- 
 portion, and whoever wishes to see the utmost 
 splendour of the human imagination, must seek 
 for it in the writings of systematic philosophers. 
 This, it is true, has been converted into blame ; 
 but let it be remembered, that by these men 
 imagination has been used only as a lamp to 
 light up the deep recesses of an obscure palace, 
 for such is nature. 
 
 It appears from what has been said, that 
 theory is something more than a mere casket to 
 exhibit truth in ; though men fashion it, of ne- 
 cessity, according to the greater or less capacity 
 of their minds. It is in all cases, however, pro- 
 ductive of considerable good. It exercises inven- 
 tion, and invigorates the discriminating powers. 
 It induces a habit of circumspection, lest a man 
 make the " latter part of his commonwealth con- 
 tradict the beginning," and accustoms the mind 
 to follow its ideas to their remotest consequences, 
 that objections may be foreseen and provided 
 against. The greatest apparent inconvenience re- 
 sulting from it is dogmatism. But a man is 
 always positive in proportion to the vividness of 
 his conceptions ; and it is only those whose
 
 284 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 bluntness of perception prevents their arriving at 
 clear ideas of any thing, who linger between truth 
 and falsehood, in that state which is commonly 
 called being open to conviction. To be sceptical, 
 is to be persuaded of the doubtfulness of every 
 thing ; and this persuasion may be accompanied 
 by as much dogmatism as its opposite. The 
 framer or supporter of a system has always one 
 advantage, he is sure to be more contented with 
 himself, because it is essentially more pleasing to 
 build than to destroy. Spinoza was a striking 
 example of this. His opinions were more erro- 
 neous, less consolatory in every sense, even than 
 those of Pyrrho himself; but the delight arising 
 from following the path of what he supposed to 
 be truth, through the whole dominion of nature, 
 rendered him insensible to the charms of all or- 
 dinary pleasures j and probably made him par- 
 taker of as high a degree of that serene felicity 
 which merits the name of happiness, as it is in 
 the power of literature to bestow. His spe- 
 culations united him, as it were, with nature ; and 
 her constancy and sameness lent simplicity and 
 equability to his mind. 
 
 The man without a system, of some kind or 
 another, is a mariner without a chart: he is at. 
 the mercy of the winds and waves. In such a 
 man paradox, or, occasionally, a little contradic-
 
 THEORY. 285 
 
 tion, is a venial fault. He attempts to build with 
 unhewn stones and without cement ; and thus 
 rents and roughnesses are unavoidable. What is 
 worse, he cannot avoid the having favourite no- 
 tions, though disclaiming a favourite set ; and 
 generally wears them, as the old knights did their 
 mistresses' favours, in his hat, to challenge essay 
 of prowess. The small sceptic feels the objects 
 around him escape the grasp of his mind, and can 
 never drive them into a cul de sac where they 
 must at length turn round and be taken. He 
 lives in a land of shadows in which every thing 
 seems disposed to elude being known he strug- 
 gles with indistinct forms he becomes weary 
 without becoming wise and at length determines 
 to lie still and suffer the phantoms to mock him 
 as they please. But this is a state of inward 
 agony a feeling of the absolute nothingness of life. 
 How much better is it to erect a mound upon 
 which speculation may sit above the common at- 
 mosphere of error ! though, occasionally, a cloud 
 may mount and stain the purity of the prospect 
 Hie labor, hoc opus est ! 
 
 To have a system, is to have an everlasting 
 spur to thought, an aim to which you tend " through 
 evil and through good report," it is this which 
 raises a shaking among the dry bones of know- 
 ledge 5 which gathers together principles j turns
 
 286 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 up the soil of the mind, and implants those healthy 
 and vigorous shoots of thought, beneath which 
 happiness delights to recline. It suffers no stag- 
 nation in the stream of life, no branching off of 
 minor rivulets into useless channels, but, drawing 
 all into one broad bed, creates a deep and fer- 
 tilizing river, of what otherwise might have putri- 
 fiecl in a morass.
 
 LITERARY NECROMANCY,
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 LITERARY NECROMANCY. 
 
 SOME writers are born for the amusement of their 
 own age, which, in vanishing, carries off their 
 works along with it. They are trees whose roots 
 descend no further than the vegetable mould, 
 being too weak, or too fond of the warm surface, 
 to strike down among the rocks and ribs of the 
 earth. To attempt to revive such writers, when 
 their day is past, is turning the handle of time 
 the wrong way. They were never meant for 
 posterity. 
 
 That those who write for the public should 
 provide as fully as possible for their entertain- 
 ment, must of course be admitted j but it is not 
 unreasonable to expect that an author should, at 
 the same time, have an eye to fame and posterity. 
 The latter, in fact, is the true liege lord of the 
 children of the Muses. But, dwelling at a dis- 
 tance, he cannot be present at the christening of 
 his subjects, or witness the sports of their 
 
 VOL. i. o
 
 290 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 infancy. Those who would reach his court must 
 strengthen their constitutions by exercise apid 
 diet, and live to the age of manhood. It were a 
 poor compliment to the discernment of our own 
 times to suppose that we are incapable of relishing 
 what after ages shall admire : but an author un- 
 questionably may too exclusively regard the taste of 
 his contemporaries. It does not necessarily follow 
 that what pleases now, shall always please, though 
 the presumption is that it may. 
 
 Those books are of course neglected which 
 treat of subjects not generally interesting to man- 
 kind ; which pick up the scraps and leavings of 
 genius that they may seem to contain what even 
 great men had failed to reach : their authors not 
 distinguishing between overlooking, and purposely 
 passing by. The exposition of peculiar tenets of 
 theology, the portraiture of some transient modifi- 
 cation of manners, even the treating of important 
 subjects after some corrupt fashion, generated by 
 circumstances, are necessarily inductive of ob- 
 livion : and this, though the authors be men of 
 capacity, for men of inferior powers naturally 
 sink into neglect, be their works conversant about 
 what they may. It is in vain to think to remedy, 
 by artifices of style, the inherent aversion of some 
 subjects to longevity; the world has never yet 
 bestowed immortality upon any performance
 
 LITERARY NECROMANCY. 291 
 
 merely on account of its rhetorical ornaments. 
 Men in fact know their own interests too well to 
 be guilty of this. They pardon a plain man the 
 roughness of his expressions, if they are able to 
 perceive the light of a great understanding flash- 
 ing up from among them ; from the same prin- 
 ciple that they prefer travelling through the most 
 rugged country which is rich in extraordinary 
 natural objects, to rolling along over a smooth 
 way, whose sole recommendation arises from its 
 own excellent structure. 
 
 To a man of sensibility, it is painful to reflect 
 how many ingenious volumes which now circulate 
 from hand to hand through the community must, 
 ere long, go the way of all paper and ink, and be 
 seen no more for ever. The flashes of wit which 
 now appear so discoverable in their pages, the 
 pestilent breath of time will totally extinguish, 
 leaving nothing but a caput mortuum that shall 
 weigh them down ad plures. Their authors, now 
 wafted about on the breath of popularity, must 
 themselves, alas ! submit to his scythe, making 
 way for some monastic scholar, perhaps, whom, 
 in the day of their prosperity, they treated as a 
 mere day-labourer of the Muses. 
 
 Make a list (if the thing be possible) of the 
 obscure books which constitute the lifeless body 
 of our public libraries ; examine their subjects ; 
 o 3
 
 292 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 inquire into the history of their publication, and 
 you will find that such of them as are the produc- 
 tions of men of talent, treat of things which it is 
 the interest of no human being to understand 
 that, notwithstanding, their authors were pressed 
 by numerous friends to favour the world with the 
 results of their studies that the books ran through 
 two or three editions that the idle portion of 
 mankind, who alone look into such works, were 
 shortly drawn off by new ones of the same kind, 
 and that then these laborious publications sunk 
 at once and for ever. Such has been and such 
 must be the fate of all books of the kind. In the 
 common conversation of most families there are 
 peculiar expressions, intelligible enough among 
 themselves, which no one out of the pale of their 
 circle could translate into common sense. Nations 
 are large families, and have a language and mode 
 of thinking so exclusively their own, that it is not 
 sense beyond their frontiers ; and this, altering 
 with the alterations of times and circumstances, 
 becomes obsolete at the next shifting of the 
 scene. The author who makes such peculiarities 
 the mine of his observations, and often seems the 
 deepest looker into human nature to his intimates 
 and friends, from their mistaking a small variety 
 for the whole species, goes out of date with his 
 age, and no efforts of critics, or others, can
 
 LITERARY NECROMANCY. 293 
 
 preserve him. This temporary fashion is a kind 
 of cross current over the great tide of time, oc- 
 casioned by some chance wind, which ceasing to 
 blow, the waters take their usual way, and those 
 barks which were built only to sail in it necessarily 
 overturn and sink. 
 
 To interest posterity, and gain a lasting repu- 
 tation, an author must grapple with the permanent 
 passions of his species. The human heart is a 
 deep slough, and he who stands finicking about 
 the brink, afraid of soiling his shoes, will make 
 no hand of it. We have a natural aversion to see 
 a palace built merely for a spider to spin its web 
 in ; and it is little better when, within the vast 
 enclosures of long and high sounding periods, we 
 perceive a few naked ideas flitting to and fro as if 
 lost in a labyrinth. If man be an old subject he 
 is at least a lasting and inexhaustible one, and 
 still includes much terra incognita in his make. 
 But these lands, must be sought by a sparing 
 light, through long and intricate ways. There is 
 no setting up a traffic with or subduing them in a 
 few weeks, and retailing in a kind of haberdasher's 
 shop their opirna spolia reeking from the field of 
 victory. Men can get no buyers who come out 
 into the streets with one truth in their hands at a 
 time, because the public suspect they did not 
 come honestly by it. They must lay out their
 
 294 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 ideas in order, if they would have credit for being 
 the original proprietors, and suffer us to examine 
 them leisurely, out of their own dark shop. 
 
 Writers have sometimes condemned them- 
 selves to obscurity by attempting to cut down the 
 human mind to fit some hastily constructed 
 theory. Many of these have moreover been per- 
 sons of strong intellect, unhappily led astray by 
 following the ignis fatuus light of some phantom 
 of originality. They were hewing, however, at an 
 indiscerptible substance, which, like the body of 
 Satan, suffered their sword to pass through it and 
 closed again. There is no gaining a real immor- 
 tality but by taking and describing man as he is. 
 The various disguises he may put on, wear out, or 
 are exchanged for others ; he himself remaining 
 beneath every mask eternally the same. Like a 
 lover in masquerade, too, he secretly prefers those 
 who know him in all his changes j and think it a 
 breach of affection to offer up adoration to any 
 fictitious phisiognomy which for some purpose or 
 other he may have been driven to assume. In 
 like manner satire is a perishable subject, unless 
 directed against the inherent vices of the human 
 character. Horace and Juvenal will never cease 
 to be read, but the Dunciad might already be cut 
 out of the works of Pope without great detriment. 
 Even Hudibras is much more spoken of than read.
 
 LITERARY NECROMANCY. 295 
 
 But of all causes that make works the property 
 of forgetfulness, there is not one more effective than 
 affectation of originality. It is a formal bidding 
 adieu to nature. For under the influence of so 
 unhappy a propensity, a writer no longer feels 
 himself at liberty to say any thing in the usual 
 way. It were to forfeit his claim to consideration. 
 His mind, in the perpetual orgasm of novelty, be- 
 comes unsettled and fidgetty; and he follows 
 common sense about like an old slippered duenna 
 keeping watch on a wild heiress, lest it should 
 form some acquaintance with the ways of men. 
 He must not take up the old distinctions between 
 right and wrong, because they are common-place, 
 and excite no wonder. It is not his business to 
 put established principles in motion for the pro- 
 duction of some new result. He takes nature in 
 hand as if she might be divided piecemeal ; and 
 for the sake of newness attempts to tie discordant 
 parts together. He has no conception that the 
 continuity of her operations cannot be broken ; 
 that though noiseless and mild, they are inevitable ; 
 that all we can do is faithfully to set forth what 
 is, never dreaming of erecting a paltry dyke for 
 the purpose of staying or turning off the irre- 
 sistible march of causes and effects. We are 
 bound however to the wheel of nature, and 
 though it should roll over us, we must still cling
 
 296 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 to it. But the knight-errant of originality un- 
 derstands nothing of all this. He labours at his 
 subject with eyes closed to all common beauties, 
 hailing with the enthusiasm of a soothsayer, every 
 strange or uncouth idea that rises above the plane 
 of his mind. Like a swimmer who is to gain some 
 certain point, he dashes through crowding similes 
 and metaphors, till he touches upon the extreme 
 verge of resemblance ; and imagining this proceed- 
 ing to be under the guidance of wit, fills his quiver 
 with the points and shafts of arrows, throwing 
 away the reed as vulgar and burdensome. The barb 
 however will not fly without a body to any certain 
 aim 5 but as he pours forth his riches, having no 
 weight, they are taken up by the storm, and 
 scattered to all the winds of heaven. 
 
 A writer of this species should make up his 
 mind to become obscure in a very few years. 
 After ages can have no clue to the dark genesis 
 of his thoughts, but would be reduced to guess at 
 their import as if they were so many Delphian 
 oracles. Were they worth interpreting, this labour 
 might be undertaken cheerfully ; but how can a 
 mind, intent upon nothing but strangeness, work 
 
 out any reasonable proposition ? C is one of 
 
 those writers. His mind is a glowing furnace, 
 but he has stretched the dark canvass of sophistry 
 between it and mankind, through the breaks of
 
 LITERARY NECROMANCY. 297 
 
 which a few flashes of light burst forth occa- 
 sionally. Some few of his productions may live, 
 and preserve his name j but the mass of his 
 works will drop into the obscurity where now 
 repose the volumes of Quarles, Withers, and 
 Daniel. P is another. His imagination is ar- 
 tificial, slow, and observing. There is not enough 
 of fire in it to melt down his metaphors, so as 
 that they may receive the stamp of his mind ; or 
 to light our way through the heavy march of his 
 sentences, or to form a will-o'-the-wisp, which 
 by flitting before us in our path, might cheat us 
 on to the end of it. One feels himself in the 
 Slough of Despond on entering upon his pages. 
 The further we proceed, the deeper and more per- 
 plexed we find ourselves. When going about in 
 search of a new idea, he resembles Diogenes with 
 his lantern; it escapes from him through crowds 
 of every-day notions ; he plunges after it ; he 
 seizes on something like it by mistake. Who in 
 labouring through the productions of such a 
 writer can feel delight, or admiration, or enthu- 
 siasm ? Who can ever return to them as he re- 
 turns to a pleasing path which he has once 
 wandered through, to renew an acquaintance with 
 objects either fertile in charming associations, or 
 calculated to call forth the fancy on her winged 
 journies ?
 
 298 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 It is hard however, to distinguish between an 
 extensive popularity and a fame begun. Mr. 
 Shelley was not, during his life, a popular writer ; 
 nor are his works calculated, independently of 
 the erroneous opinions they contain, ever to be- 
 come popular ; but he has purchased a freehold 
 in the territory of the Muses which neither time 
 nor critics will ever be able to separate from his 
 name. Whatever may be said, it is impossible to 
 credit that his singularity was the effect of affec- 
 tation, and not rather the aberration of a spirit 
 drenched in enthusiasm, and fluctuating with the 
 impulses of extraordinary feeling. He threw himself 
 into the course to run with nature to the extremity 
 of her race, and it is no wonder that, amidst the 
 whirling dust of this Olympic contest, he some- 
 times forgot the charioteer. It may be also, that 
 seeing men shot with poisoned arrows from high 
 places, he, through a spirit of contradiction, be- 
 took himself to casting back their own weapons 
 at the archers. Let his errors be exposed, while 
 his motives are respected, and his genius honoured 
 and cherished. He is not an obscure writer, 
 though only now beginning to be read j and 
 forms a striking contrast with those who are 
 fated to become the prey of oblivion. Un- 
 doubtedly he did not see his way with sufficie$t 
 clearness through the incumbent swarms of his
 
 LITERARY NECROMANCY. 299 
 
 A 
 
 weighty thoughts, and sometimes raised, like a 
 daring necromancer, more active principles than 
 he could afterwards reduce to order ; but this did 
 not happen because his mind was weak, but be- 
 cause nature is too strong for any mind, and will 
 not have her secrets wrested from her by the bold 
 impiety of mortals. The reader does not, how- 
 ever, go from his works with a conviction that ho 
 has seen through the whole texture of them. He 
 is led to ponder upon principles. His reason and 
 his judgment are sharpened to come again to the 
 onset, and he is seldom cheated with a shadow. 
 What if Mr. Shelley's conclusions be often wrong, 
 and induce false notions of some of the most 
 sacred things about which the human mind is 
 conversant ? We do not read to borrow opinions, 
 but to weigh and examine them ; to " prove all 
 things, and hold fast that which is good." Many 
 writers are free from such errors only because 
 they have never turned up the soil in which they 
 lie jumbled with their correspondent truths ; the 
 dross and the metal interveined, and almost un- 
 distinguishable. Lucretius and Aristotle are 
 thought harmless enough now, yet are more in- 
 structive than when they were implicitly be- 
 lieved in. 
 
 Among our old writers, the obsolete and for- 
 gotten, as well as the illustrious, we commonly
 
 300 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 find a free vein of scholarship mitigating the 
 strong acerbity of their nature. But in the former 
 there is an essential deficiency in point of taste. 
 Their speculations, whether high or low, are re- 
 mote from human interest, or run among transient 
 habits and fading vagaries of the mind. There is 
 too much of the spirit of " P. P. Clerk of this Pa- 
 rish " in them. The degree of habitual intercourse 
 which a man keeps up with the great writers of 
 all ages, is unquestionably the least uncertain test 
 by which to judge of his taste and discernment. 
 He who is for ever digging, like a mole, among the 
 obscure fields of literature, may be sure that his 
 mind has itself a strong tendency that way. He 
 acts by a kind of presentiment, and may be looked 
 upon as conciliating the shades of his future as- 
 sociates. There is a species of fatality in one's 
 choice of books. There is an industry which is 
 ruinous of the mind's force and elasticity. There 
 is a mephitic odour which exhales from some of 
 them, that disturbs and stupifies the brain. I 
 have at this moment before me the "Psychozioa" 
 of Dr. Henry More, as good a specimen perhaps 
 of laborious dulness as could be mentioned. Here 
 sholarship and deep, or rather bottomless, specu- 
 lation concur to drive away every shadow of 
 meaning. Yet did the author assume airs of im- 
 portance, predicating as a certainty that he should
 
 LITERARY NECROMANCY. 301 
 
 not be blamed by " any thing but ignorance and 
 malignity." Blamed ! he hoped to be read then ! 
 Let the most unlettered hind in the kingdom re- 
 joice in his ignorance, for he has a mind more 
 clearly human than the compiler of such absur- 
 dities as are contained in this book ; as the 
 reader, who attempts to discover the meaning of 
 the following passage from the doctor's preface, 
 will, I think, acknowledge. 
 
 " This first book, (says he,) as you may judge 
 by the names therein, was intended for a mere Pla- 
 tonical description of Universal Life, or life that 
 is omnipresent though not alike omnipresent. As 
 in Noah's Deluge, the water that overflowed the 
 earth was present in every part thereof, but every 
 part of the water was not in every part of the 
 earth or all in every part j so the low spirit of the 
 universe, though it go quite through the world, 
 yet it is not totally in every part of the world, 
 else we should hear our antipodes if they did 
 but whisper. Because our lower man is a part of 
 the inferior Spirit of the Universe." 
 
 And is the world to be blamed for neglecting 
 such productions as this > It is for the honour 
 of human nature that they should be forgotten ; 
 and numberless are the works which our worthy 
 ancestors have left us in the same strain. Eng- 
 land, indeed, and Germany appear to have been
 
 303 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 the chief nurseries of these professors of the bathos. 
 Among us, however, the race is nearly extinct, nor 
 would it be easy to revive it ; for, whatever may 
 be said to our disparagement, we can not now be 
 very much amused by any thing which we do not 
 in some measure understand. Unmindful of this, 
 some of our contemporaries seem to harbour a 
 design of reanimating these skeletons of antiquity. 
 But it is as barbarous as it is impolitic to drag 
 out such rude memorials of human weakness from 
 beneath the accumulated oblivion of ages, to ex- 
 pose them to the scorn of the acuter intellects of 
 these times. It is endeavouring to transform an 
 annual into a perennial flower. It is taking the 
 peaceful dead out of their coffins, to expose them 
 to the fierce passions of the living, by attempting 
 to drive the latter out of their places for their re- 
 ception. It is unjust. In the journal of time they 
 have written their tale, and though their leaves 
 are now closed, they have no right to usurp upon 
 the small portion allotted to us. The wind of 
 eternity, blowing but one way, can never suffer 
 those pages which it has closed to be opened 
 again. We must read them as they flutter past 
 us, and inscribe what we have to say rapidly, that 
 we may give place to others. Fame keeps her roll 
 apart, and eternally open ; but it is by no means 
 free to all. Her children are a privileged order ;
 
 LITERARY NECROMANCY. 303 
 
 and though she sometimes seems to judge by 
 proxy, like the Roman senate, she disclaims her 
 instruments, if the affair prove not to her taste. 
 The conductress to fame is Art, which is never 
 decried by those who have genius enough to make 
 use of it. Art is the key which unlocks the trea- 
 sures of genius j but when a man has only an 
 empty chest, he may well laugh at locks and keys. 
 Among obsolete and obscure writers, nine out of 
 every ten were eccentric contemners of art. Men 
 who trusted that a kind of blind instinct, taking 
 the lead among their perceptions, would operate 
 its effect by a species of plastic power. But if 
 man was from the first doomed not to reach 
 simple bread, unless by the sweat of his 
 browj how can he expect that he shall be able, 
 without vast art and labour, to bind up his 
 thoughts into a frame that may be co-lasting with 
 nature herself ? It may be well enough for the 
 present to pour forth our ideas in the newest 
 fashion ; like pancakes, they may require to be 
 eaten hot. But I should like to see Fame's Index 
 Expurgatorius for this century : she would make 
 strange havoc, I am afraid, of our immortality. 
 We go out unarmed to war with Time, or carry 
 only the sling and^stone of fancy ; but if our first 
 blow miss, we are undone. The giant rushes on 
 with his scythe, mows us down like grass, and
 
 304 ANATOMY OF SOCIETY. 
 
 then tramples us under his feet. Those who have 
 led him captive at their triumphal car, used far 
 other arts. They came to the trial in impenetrable 
 armour, close as the scales of the crocodile, and 
 were able to keep pace with the swift steeds of 
 their enemy. Contemning the treachery of their 
 own camp, they came off with victory j and those 
 who at their out-goings strewed thorns and 
 brambles in their way, have been known to weave 
 a chaplet to adorn their brows at their return. 
 Success is the test of a man's merit to little minds 
 his deservings are like water sprinkled on the 
 sand. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 SI- 
 
 T. Jiensley, Printer, Crane Court, 
 Fleet Street.
 
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