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Emerson on Intuition There is a time in every man's education when he arrives
at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he
must take himself for better, for worse, as his portion; that though the wide
universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but
through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him to
till. The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he knows
what that is which he can do, nor does he know until
he has tried.
.. Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string.
Accept the place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your
contemporaries, the connection of events.
.. These are the voices which we hear in solitude, but they
grow faint and inaudible as we enter into the world. Society everywhere is in
conspiracy against the manhood of every one of its members. Society is a
joint-stock company, in which the members agree, for the better securing of
his bread to each shareholder, to surrender the liberty and culture of the
eater. The virtue in most request is conformity.
Self-reliance is its aversion. It loves not realities and creators, but names
and customs.
.. For nonconformity the world whips you with its
displeasure. And therefore a man must know how to estimate a sour face. The
by-standers look askance on him in the public street or in the friend's parlour. If this aversation had
its origin in contempt and resistance like his own, he might well go home
with a sad countenance; but the sour faces of the multitude, like their sweet
faces, have no deep cause, but are put on and off as the wind blows and a
newspaper directs.
.. The other terror that scares us
from self-trust is our consistency; a reverence for our past act or
word, because the eyes of others have no other data for computing our orbit
than our past acts, and we are loath to disappoint them
. A foolish
consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and
philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to
do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall. Speak what
you think now in hard words, and to-morrow speak
what to-morrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict everything
you said to-day.
.. The magnetism which all original action exerts is
explained when we inquire the reason of self-trust. Who is the Trustee? What
is the aboriginal Self, on which a universal reliance may be grounded? What
is the nature and power of that science-baffling star, without parallax,
without calculable elements, which shoots a ray of beauty even into trivial
and impure actions, if the least mark of
independence appear? The inquiry leads us to that source, at once the essence
of genius, of virtue, and of life, which we call Spontaneity or Instinct
. The inquiry leads us to that source, at once the essence of genius, of virtue, and of life, which we call Spontaneity or Instinct. We denote this primary wisdom as Intuition.... In that deep force, the last fact behind which analysis cannot go, all things find their common origin. For, the sense of being which in calm hours rises, we know not how, in the soul, is not diverse from things, from space, from light, from time, from man, but one with them, and proceeds obviously from the same source whence their life and being also proceed. We first share the life by which things exist, and afterwards see them as appearances in nature, and forget that we have shared their cause. Here is the fountain of action and of thought. Here are the lungs of that inspiration which giveth man wisdom, and which cannot be denied without impiety and atheism. We lie in the lap of immense intelligence, which makes us receivers of its truth and organs of its activity. When we discern justice, when we discern truth, we do nothing of ourselves, but allow a passage to its beams. If we ask whence this comes, if we seek to pry into the soul that causes, all philosophy is at fault. Its presence or its absence is all we can affirm. Every man discriminates between the voluntary acts of his mind, and his involuntary perceptions, and knows that to his involuntary perceptions a perfect faith is due. He may err in the expression of them, but he knows that these things are so, like day and night, not to be disputed.... For my perception of it is as much a fact as the sun.... .. Man is timid and apologetic; he is no longer upright; he dares not say 'I
think,' 'I am,' but quotes some saint or sage. He is ashamed before the blade
of grass or the blowing rose. These roses under my window make no reference
to former roses or to better ones; they are for what they are; they exist
with God to-day. There is no time to them. There is simply the rose; it is
perfect in every moment of its existence. Before a leaf-bud has burst, its
whole life acts; in the full-blown flower there is no more; in the leafless
root there is no less. Its nature is satisfied, and it satisfies nature, in
all moments alike. But man postpones or remembers; he does not live in the
present, but with reverted eye laments the past, or, heedless of the riches
that surround him, stands on tiptoe to foresee the future. He cannot be happy
and strong until he too lives with nature in the present, above time.... .. And now at last the highest truth on this subject remains unsaid; probably cannot be said; for all that we say is the far-off remembering of the intuition. That thought, by what I can now nearest approach to say it, is this. When good is near you, when you have life in yourself, it is not by any known or accustomed way; you shall not discern the foot-prints of any other; you shall not see the face of man; you shall not hear any name; the way, the thought, the good, shall be wholly strange and new. It shall exclude example and experience. You take the way from man, not to man. All persons that ever existed are its forgotten ministers. Fear and hope are alike beneath it. There is somewhat low even in hope. In the hour of vision, there is nothing that can be called gratitude, nor properly joy. The soul raised over passion beholds identity and eternal causation, perceives the self-existence of Truth and Right, and calms itself with knowing that all things go well. Vast spaces of nature, the Atlantic Ocean, the South Sea, long intervals of time, years, centuries, are of no account. This which I think and feel underlay every former state of life and circumstances, as it does underlie my present, and what is called life, and what is called death. |