Cold and bloodless
intellectuality dominates him. (I know the fires, emotions, love,
egotisms, glow deep, perennial, as in all New Englanders--but the
facade, hides them well--they give no sign.) He does not see or take
one side, one presentation only or mainly, (as all the poets, or most
of the fine writers anyhow)--he sees all sides. His final influence
is to make his students cease to worship anything--almost cease to
believe in anything, outside of themselves. These books will fill, and
well fill, certain stretches of life, certain stages of development--
are, (like the tenets or theology the author of them preach'd when a
young man,) unspeakably serviceable and precious as a stage. But
in old or nervous or solemnest or dying hours, when one needs the
impalpably soothing and vitalizing influences of abysmic Nature, or
its affinities in literature or human society, and the soul resents
the keenest mere intellection, they will not be sought for.
For a philosopher, Emerson possesses a singularly dandified theory of
manners. He seems to have no notion at all that manners are simply the
signs by which the chemist or metallurgist knows his metals. To the
profound scientist, all metals are profound, as they really are. The
little one, like the conventional world, will make much of gold and
silver only. Then to the real artist in humanity, what are called bad
manners are often the most picturesque and significant of all. Suppose
these books becoming absorb'd, the permanent chyle of American general
and particular character--what a well-wash'd and grammatical, but
bloodless and helpless, race we should turn out! No, no, dear friend;
though the States want scholars, undoubtedly, and perhaps want ladies
and gentlemen who use the bath frequently, and never laugh loud, or
talk wrong, they don't want scholars, or ladies and gentlemen, at the
expense of all the rest.
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