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Part III
Part III
Well, all that sad stuff being the too well-known product of our method
of vocal education, - the teacher merely operating on the tongue of the pupil,
and teaching him to wag it in a particular way [Laughter], - it has made
various thinking men entertain a distrust of this not very salutary way of
procedure; and they have longed for some less theoretic, and more practical
and concrete way of working out the problem of education; - in effect, for an
education not vocal at all, but mute except where speaking was strictly
needful. There would be room for a great deal of description about this, if I
went into it; but I must content myself with saying that the most remarkable
piece of writing on it is in a book of Goethe`s, - the whole of which you may
be recommended to take up, and try if you can study it with understanding. It
is one of his last books; written when he was an old man above seventy years
of age: I think, one of the most beautiful he ever wrote; full of meek wisdom,
of intellect and piety; which is found to be strangely illuminative, and very
touching, by those who have eyes to discern and hearts to feel it. This about
education is one of the pieces in Wilhelm Meister`s Travels; or rather, in a
fitful way, it forms the whole gist of the book. I first read it many years
ago; and, of course, I had to read into the very heart of it while I was
translating it [Applause]; and it has ever since dwelt in my mind as perhaps
the most remarkable bit of writing which I have known to be executed in these
late centuries. I have often said that there are some ten pages of that,
which, if ambition had been my only rule, I would rather have written, been
able to write, than have written all the books that have appeared since I came
into the world [Cheers]. Deep, deep is the meaning of what is said there.
Those pages turn on the Christian religion, and the religious phenomena of the
modern and the ancient world: altogether sketched out in the most aerial,
graceful, delicately wise kind of way, so as to keep himself out of the common
controversies of the street and of the forum, yet to indicate what was the
result of things he had been long meditating upon.
Among others, he introduces in an airy, sketchy kind of way, with here
and there a touch, - the sum-total of which grows into a beautiful picture, -
a scheme of entirely mute education, at least with no more speech than is
absolutely necessary for what the pupils have to do. Three of the wisest men
discoverable in the world have been got together, to consider, to manage and
supervise, the function which transcends all others in importance, - that of
building up the young generation so as to keep it free from that perilous
stuff that has been weighing us down, and clogging every step; - which
function, indeed, is the only thing we can hope to go on with, if we would
leave the world a little better, and not the worse, of our having been in it,
for those who are to follow. The Chief, who is the Eldest of the three, says
to Wilhelm: "Healthy well-formed children bring into the world with them many
precious gifts; and very frequently these are best of all developed by Nature
herself, with but slight assistance, where assistance is seen to be wise and
profitable, and with forbearance very often on the part of the overseer of the
process. But there is one thing which no child brings into the world with him,
and without which all other things are of no use." Wilhelm, who is there
beside him, asks, "And what is that?" "All want it," says the Eldest; "perhaps
you yourself." Wilhelm says, "Well, but tell me what it is?" "It is," answers
the other, "Reverence (Ehrfurcht); Reverence!" Honour done to those who are
greater and better than ourselves; honour distinct from fear. Ehrfurcht; the
soul of all religion that has ever been among men, or ever will be.
And then he goes into details about the religions of the modern and the
ancient world. He practically distinguishes the kinds of religion that are, or
have been, in the world; and says that for men there are three reverences. The
boys are all trained to go through certain gesticulations; to lay their hands
on their breasts and look up to heaven, in sign of the first reverence; other
forms for the other two: so they give their three reverences. The first and
simplest is that of reverence for what is above us. It is the soul of all the
Pagan religion; there is nothing better in the antique man than that. Then
there is reverence for what is around us, - reverence for our equals, to which
he attributes an immense power in the culture of man. The third is reverence
for what is beneath us; to learn to recognise in pain, in sorrow and
contradiction, even in those things, odious to flesh and blood, what divine
meanings are in them; to learn that there lies in these also, and more than in
any of the preceding, a priceless blessing. And he defines that as being the
soul of the Christian religion, - the highest of all religions; `a height,` as
Goethe says (and that is very true, even to the letter, as I consider), `a
height to which mankind was fated and enabled to attain; and from which,
having once attained it, they can never retrograde.` Man cannot quite lose
that (Goethe thinks), or permanently descend below it again; but always, even
in the most degraded, sunken and unbelieving times, he calculates there will
be found some few souls who will recognise what this highest of the religions
meant; and that, the world having once received it, there is no fear of its
ever wholly disappearing.
The eldest then goes on to explain by what methods they seek to educate
and train their boys; in the trades, in the arts, in the sciences, in whatever
pursuit the boy is found best fitted for. Beyond all, they are anxious to
discover the boy`s aptitudes; and they try him and watch him continually, in
many wise ways, till by degrees they can discover this. Wilhelm had left his
own boy there, perhaps expecting they would make him a Master of Arts, or
something of the kind; and on coming back for him, he sees a thunder-cloud of
dust rushing over the plain, of which he can make nothing. It turns out to be
a tempest of wild horses, managed by young lads who had a turn for
horsemanship, for hunting, and being grooms. His own son is among them; and he
finds that the breaking of colts has been the thing he was most suited for
[Laughter].
The highest outcome, and most precious of all the fruits that are to
spring from this ideal mode of educating, is what Goethe calls Art:-ofwhich I
could at present give no definition that would make it clear to you, unless it
were clearer already than is likely [A laugh]. Goethe calls it music,
painting, poetry: but it is in quite a higher sense than the common one; and a
sense in which, I am afraid, most of our painters, poets and music-men would
not pass muster [A laugh]. He considers this as the highest pitch to which
human culture can go; infinitely valuable and ennobling; and he watches with
great industry how it is to be brought about in the men who have a turn for
it. Very wise and beautiful his notion of the matter is. It gives one an idea
that something far better and higher, something as high as ever, and
indubitably true too, is still possible for man in this world.-And that is all
I can say to you of Goethe`s fine theorem of mute education.
I confess it seems to me there is in it a shadow of what will one day be;
will and must, unless the world is to come to a conclusion that is altogether
frightful: some kind of scheme of education analogous to that; presided over
by the wisest and most sacred men that can be got in the world, and watching
from a distance: a training in practicality at every turn; no speech in it
except speech that is to be followed by action, for that ought to be the rule
as nearly as possible among men. Not very often or much, rarely rather, should
a man speak at all, unless it is for the sake of something that is to be done;
this spoken, let him go and do his part in it, and say no more about it.
I will only add, that it is possible, all this fine theorem of Goethe`s,
or something similar! Consider what we have already; and what `difficulties`
we have overcome. I should say there is nothing in the world you can conceive
so difficult, prima facie, as that of getting a set of men gathered together
as soldiers. Rough, rude, ignorant, disobedient people; you gather them
together, promise them a shilling a day; rank them up, give them very severe
and sharp drill; and by bullying and drilling and compelling (the word
drilling, if you go to the original, means `beating,` `steadily tormenting` to
the due pitch), they do learn what it is necessary to learn; and there is your
man in red coat, a trained soldier; piece of an animated machine incomparably
the most potent in this world; a wonder of wonders to look at. He will go
where bidden; obeys one man, will walk into the cannon`s mouth for him; does
punctually whatever is commanded by his general officer. And, I believe, all
manner of things of this kind could be accomplished, if there were the same
attention bestowed. Very many things could be regimented, organised into this
mute system; - and perhaps in some of the mechanical, commercial and
manufacturing departments some faint incipiences may be attempted before very
long. For the saving of human labour, and the avoidance of human misery, the
effects would be incalculable, were it set about and begun even in part.
Alas, it is painful to think how very far away it all is, any real
fulfilment of such things! For I need not hide from you, young Gentlemen, -
and it is one of the last things I am going to tell you, - that you have got
into a very troublous epoch of the world; and I don`t think you will find your
path in it to be smoother than ours has been, though you have many advantages
which we had not. You have careers open to you, by public examinations and so
on, which is a thing much to be approved of, and which we hope to see
perfected more and more. All that was entirely unknown in my time, and you
have many things to recognise as advantages. But you will find the ways of the
world, I think, more anarchical than ever. Look where one will, revolution has
come upon us. We have got into the age of revolutions. All kinds of things are
coming to be subjected to fire, as it were: hotter and hotter blows the
element round everything. Curious to see how, in Oxford and other places that
used to seem as lying at anchor in the stream of time, regardless of all
changes, they are getting into the highest humour of mutation, and all sorts
of new ideas are afloat. It is evident that whatever is not inconsumable, made
of asbestos, will have to be burnt, in this world. Nothing other will stand
the heat it is getting exposed to.
And in saying that, I am but saying in other words that we are in an
epoch of anarchy. Anarchy plus a constable! [Laughter.] There is nobody that
picks one`s pocket without some policeman being ready to take him up [Renewed
laughter]. But in every other point, man is becoming more and more the son,
not of Cosmos, but of Chaos. He is a disobedient, discontented, reckless and
altogether waste kind of object (the commonplace man is, in these epochs); and
the wiser kind of man, - the select few, of whom I hope you will be part, -
has more and more to see to this, to look vigilantly forward; and will require
to move with double wisdom. Will find, in short, that the crooked things he
has got to pull straight in his own life all round him, wherever he may go,
are manifold, and will task all his strength, however great it be.
But why should I complain of that either? For that is the thing a man is
born to, in all epochs. He is born to expend every particle of strength that
God Almighty has given him, in doing the work he finds he is fit for; to stand
up to it to the last breath of life, and do his best. We are called upon to do
that; and the reward we all get, - which we are perfectly sure of, if we have
merited it, - is that we have got the work done, or at least that we have
tried to do the work. For that is a great blessing in itself; and I should
say, there is not very much more reward than that going in this world. If the
man gets meat and clothes, what matters it whether he buy those necessaries
with seven thousand a year, or with seven million, could that be, or with
seventy pounds a year? He can get meat and clothes for that; and he will find
intrinsically, if he is a wise man, wonderfully little real difference
[Laughter].
On the whole, avoid what is called ambition; that is not a fine principle
to go upon, - and it has in it all degrees of vulgarity, if that is a
consideration. `Seekest thou great things, seek them not:` I warmly second
that advice of the wisest of men. Don`t be ambitious; don`t too much need
success; be loyal and modest. Cut down the proud towering thoughts that get
into you, or see that they be pure as well as high. There is a nobler ambition
than the gaining of all California would be, or the getting of all the
suffrages that are on the Planet just now [Loud and prolonged cheers].
Finally, Gentlemen, I have one advice to give you, which is practically
of very great importance, though a very humble one. In the midst of your zeal
and ardour, - for such, I foresee, will rise high enough, in spite of all the
counsels to moderate it that I can give you, - remember the care of health. I
have no doubt you have among you young souls ardently bent to consider life
cheap, for the purpose of getting forward in what they are aiming at of high;
but you are to consider throughout, much more than is done at present, and
what it would have been a very great thing for me if I had been able to
consider, that health is a thing to be attended to continually; that you are
to regard that as the very highest of all temporal things for you [Applause].
There is no kind of achievement you could make in the world that is equal to
perfect health. What to it are nuggets and millions? The French financier
said, "Why, is there no sleep to be sold!" Sleep was not in the market at any
quotation [Laughter and applause].
It is a curious thing, which I remarked long ago, and have often turned
in my head, that the old word for `holy` in the Teutonic languages, heilig,
also means `healthy.` Thus Heilbronn means indifferently `holy-well` or
`health-well.` We have in the Scotch, too, `hale,` and its derivatives; and, I
suppose, our English word `whole` (with a `w`), all of one piece, without any
hole in it, is the same word. I find that you could not get any better
definition of what `holy` really is than `healthy.` Completely healthy; mens
sana in corpore sano [Applause]. A man all lucid, and in equilibrium. His
intellect a clear mirror geometrically plane, brilliantly sensitive to all
objects and impressions made on it, and imagining all things in their correct
proportions; not twisted up into convex or concave, and distorting everything,
so that he cannot see the truth of the matter without endless groping and
manipulation: healthy, clear and free, and discerning truly all round him. We
never can attain that at all. In fact, the operations we have got into are
destructive of it. You cannot, if you are going to do any decisive
intellectual operation that will last a long while; if, for instance, you are
going to write a book, - you cannot manage it (at least, I never could)
without getting decidedly made ill by it: and really one nevertheless must; if
it is your business, you are obliged to follow out what you are at, and to do
it, if even at the expense of health. Only remember, at all times, to get back
as fast as possible out of it into health; and regard that as the real
equilibrium and centre of things. You should always look at the heilig, which
means `holy` as well as `healthy.`
And that old etymology, - what a lesson it is against certain gloomy,
austere, ascetic people, who have gone about as if this world were all a
dismal prison-house! It has indeed got all the ugly things in it which I have
been alluding to; but there is an eternal sky over it; and the blessed
sunshine, the green of prophetic spring, and rich harvests coming, - all this
is in it too. Piety does not mean that a man should make a sour face about
things, and refuse to enjoy wisely what his Maker has given. Neither do you
find it to have been so with the best sort, - with old Knox, in particular.
No; if you look into Knox, you will find a beautiful Scotch humour in him, as
well as the grimmest and sternest truth when necessary, and a great deal of
laughter. We find really some of the sunniest glimpses of things come out of
Knox that I have seen in any man; for instance, in his History of the
Reformation, - which is a book I hope every one of you will read [Applause], a
glorious old book.
On the whole, I would bid you stand up to your work, whatever it may be,
and not be afraid of it; not in sorrows or contradictions to yield, but to
push on towards the goal. And don`t suppose that people are hostile to you or
have you at ill-will, in the world. In general, you will rarely find anybody
designedly doing you ill. You may feel often as if the whole world were
obstructing you, setting itself against you: but you will find that to mean
only, that the world is travelling in a different way from you, and, rushing
on in its own path, heedlessly treads on you. That is mostly all: to you no
specific ill-will; - only each has an extremely good-will to himself, which he
has a right to have, and is rushing on towards his object. Keep out of
literature, I should say also, as a general rule [Laughter], - though that is
by the bye. If you find many people who are hard and indifferent to you, in a
world which you consider to be inhospitable and cruel, as often indeed happens
to a tender-hearted, striving young creature, you will also find there are
noble hearts who will look kindly on you; and their help will be precious to
you beyond price. You will get good and evil as you go on, and have the
success that has been appointed you.
I will wind-up with a small bit of verse, which is from Goethe also, and
has often gone through my mind. To me it has something of a modern psalm in
it, in some measure. It is deep as the foundations, deep and high, and it is
true and clear:-no clearer man, or nobler and grander intellect has lived in
the world, I believe, since Shakespeare left it. This is what the poet sings;
- a kind of road-melody or marching-music of mankind:
`The future hides in it
Gladness and sorrow;
We press still thorow,
Nought that abides in it
Daunting us, - onward.
And solemn before us,
Veiled, the dark Portal;
Goal of all mortal:-
Stars silent rest o`er us,
Graves under us silent!
While earnest thou gazest,
Comes boding of terror,
Comes phantasm and error;
Perplexes the bravest
With doubt and misgiving.
But heard are the Voices,
Heard are the Sages,
The Worlds and the Ages:
"Choose well; your choice is
Brief, and yet endless.
Here eyes do regard you,
In Eternity`s stillness;
Here is all fulness,
Ye brave, to reward you;
Work, and despair not."`
Work, and despair not: Wir heissen euch hoffen, `We bid you be of
hope!`-let that be my last word. Gentlemen, I thank you for your great
patience in hearing me; and, with many most kind wishes, say Adieu for this
time.
Finis of Rectorship.-`Edinburgh University. Mr. Carlyle ex-Lord Rector of
the University of Edinburgh, has been asked to deliver a valedictory address
to the students, but has declined. The following is a copy of the
correspondence.
`2 S.-W. Circus Place, Edinburgh, 3d December 1868.
`Sir, - On the strength of being Vice-President of the Committee for your
election as Lord Rector of the University of Edinburgh, I have been induced to
write to you, in order to know if you will be able to deliver a Valedictory
Address to the Students. Mr. Gladstone gave us one, and we fondly hope you
will find it convenient to do so as well. Your Inaugural Address is still
treasured up in our memories, and I am sure nothing could give us greater
pleasure than once more to listen to your words. I trust you will pardon me
for this intrusion; and hoping to receive a favourable answer, I am, etc., A.
Robertson, M. A.
`T. Carlyle, Esq.`
`Chelsea, 9th December 1868.
`Dear Sir, - I much regret that a Valedictory Speech from me, in present
circumstances, is a thing I must not think of. Be pleased to assure the young
Gentlemen who were so friendly towards me, that I have already sent them, in
silence, but with emotions deep enough, perhaps too deep, my loving Farewell,
and that ingratitude, or want of regard, is by no means among the causes that
keep me absent. With a fine youthful enthusiasm, beautiful to look upon, they
bestowed on me that bit of honour, loyally all they had; and it has now, for
reasons one and another, become touchingly memorable to me, - touchingly, and
even grandly and tragically, - never to be forgotten for the remainder of my
life.
`Bid them, in my name, if they still love me, fight the good fight, and
quit themselves like men in the warfare, to which they are as if conscript and
consecrated, and which lies ahead. Tell them to consult the eternal oracles
(not yet inaudible, nor ever to become so, when worthily inquired of): and to
disregard, nearly altogether, in comparison, the temporary noises, menacings
and deliriums. May they love Wisdom as Wisdom, if she is to yield her
treasures, must be loved, - piously, valiantly, humbly, beyond life itself or
the prizes of life, with all one`s heart, and all one`s soul:-in that case (I
will say again), and not in any other case, it shall be well with them. Adieu,
my young Friends, a long adieu. - Yours with great sincerity.
T. Carlyle. Z
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