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by other words; am striving imperfectly to name; what there is at present no name for:  The unspeakable Divine Significance; full of splendor; of wonder and terror; that lies in the being of every man; of every thing;the Presence of the God who made every man and thing。 Mahomet taught this in his dialect; Odin in his:  it is the thing which all thinking hearts; in one dialect or another; are here to teach。

Fichte calls the Man of Letters; therefore; a Prophet; or as he prefers to phrase it; a Priest; continually unfolding the Godlike to men:  Men of Letters are a perpetual Priesthood; from age to age; teaching all men that a God is still present in their life; that all 〃Appearance;〃 whatsoever we see in the world; is but as a vesture for the 〃Divine Idea of the World;〃 for 〃that which lies at the bottom of Appearance。〃  In the true Literary Man there is thus ever; acknowledged or not by the world; a sacredness:  he is the light of the world; the world's Priest;guiding it; like a sacred Pillar of Fire; in its dark pilgrimage through the waste of Time。  Fichte discriminates with sharp zeal the _true_ Literary Man; what we here call the _Hero_ as Man of Letters; from multitudes of false unheroic。  Whoever lives not wholly in this Divine Idea; or living partially in it; struggles not; as for the one good; to live wholly in it;he is; let him live where else he like; in what pomps and prosperities he like; no Literary Man; he is; says Fichte; a 〃Bungler; _Stumper_。〃  Or at best; if he belong to the prosaic provinces; he may be a 〃Hodman; 〃 Fichte even calls him elsewhere a 〃Nonentity;〃 and has in short no mercy for him; no wish that _he_ should continue happy among us!  This is Fichte's notion of the Man of Letters。 It means; in its own form; precisely what we here mean。

In this point of view; I consider that; for the last hundred years; by far the notablest of all Literary Men is Fichte's countryman; Goethe。  To that man too; in a strange way; there was given what we may call a life in the Divine Idea of the World; vision of the inward divine mystery:  and strangely; out of his Books; the world rises imaged once more as godlike; the workmanship and temple of a God。  Illuminated all; not in fierce impure fire…splendor as of Mahomet; but in mild celestial radiance;really a Prophecy in these most unprophetic times; to my mind; by far the greatest; though one of the quietest; among all the great things that have come to pass in them。  Our chosen specimen of the Hero as Literary Man would be this Goethe。  And it were a very pleasant plan for me here to discourse of his heroism:  for I consider him to be a true Hero; heroic in what he said and did; and perhaps still more in what he did not say and did not do; to me a noble spectacle:  a great heroic ancient man; speaking and keeping silence as an ancient Hero; in the guise of a most modern; high…bred; high…cultivated Man of Letters!  We have had no such spectacle; no man capable of affording such; for the last hundred and fifty years。

But at present; such is the general state of knowledge about Goethe; it were worse than useless to attempt speaking of him in this case。  Speak as I might; Goethe; to the great majority of you; would remain problematic; vague; no impression but a false one could be realized。  Him we must leave to future times。  Johnson; Burns; Rousseau; three great figures from a prior time; from a far inferior state of circumstances; will suit us better here。  Three men of the Eighteenth Century; the conditions of their life far more resemble what those of ours still are in England; than what Goethe's in Germany were。  Alas; these men did not conquer like him; they fought bravely; and fell。  They were not heroic bringers of the light; but heroic seekers of it。  They lived under galling conditions; struggling as under mountains of impediment; and could not unfold themselves into clearness; or victorious interpretation of that 〃Divine Idea。〃  It is rather the _Tombs_ of three Literary Heroes that I have to show you。  There are the monumental heaps; under which three spiritual giants lie buried。 Very mournful; but also great and full of interest for us。  We will linger by them for a while。


Complaint is often made; in these times; of what we call the disorganized condition of society:  how ill many forces of society fulfil their work; how many powerful are seen working in a wasteful; chaotic; altogether unarranged manner。  It is too just a complaint; as we all know。  But perhaps if we look at this of Books and the Writers of Books; we shall find here; as it were; the summary of all other disorganizations;a sort of _heart_; from which; and to which all other confusion circulates in the world!  Considering what Book writers do in the world; and what the world does with Book writers; I should say; It is the most anomalous thing the world at present has to show。We should get into a sea far beyond sounding; did we attempt to give account of this:  but we must glance at it for the sake of our subject。  The worst element in the life of these three Literary Heroes was; that they found their business and position such a chaos。  On the beaten road there is tolerable travelling; but it is sore work; and many have to perish; fashioning a path through the impassable!

Our pious Fathers; feeling well what importance lay in the speaking of man to men; founded churches; made endowments; regulations; everywhere in the civilized world there is a Pulpit; environed with all manner of complex dignified appurtenances and furtherances; that therefrom a man with the tongue may; to best advantage; address his fellow…men。  They felt that this was the most important thing; that without this there was no good thing。 It is a right pious work; that of theirs; beautiful to behold!  But now with the art of Writing; with the art of Printing; a total change has come over that business。  The Writer of a Book; is not he a Preacher preaching not to this parish or that; on this day or that; but to all men in all times and places?  Surely it is of the last importance that _he_ do his work right; whoever do it wrong;that the _eye_ report not falsely; for then all the other members are astray!  Well; how he may do his work; whether he do it right or wrong; or do it at all; is a point which no man in the world has taken the pains to think of。  To a certain shopkeeper; trying to get some money for his books; if lucky; he is of some importance; to no other man of any。  Whence he came; whither he is bound; by what ways he arrived; by what he might be furthered on his course; no one asks。  He is an accident in society。  He wanders like a wild Ishmaelite; in a world of which he is as the spiritual light; either the guidance or the misguidance!

Certainly the Art of Writing is the most miraculous of all things man has devised。  Odin's _Runes_ were the first form of the work of a Hero; _Books_ written words; are still miraculous _Runes_; the latest form!  In Books lies the _soul_ of the whole Past Time; the articulate audible voice of the Past; when the body and material substance of it has altogether vanished like a dream。  Mighty fleets and armies; harbors and arsenals; vast cities; high…domed; many…engined;they are precious; great:  but what do they become?  Agamemnon; the many Agamemnons; Pericleses; and their Greece; all is gone now to some ruined fragments; dumb mournful wrecks and blocks:  but the Books of Greece!  There Greece; to every thinker; still very literally lives:  can be called up again into life。  No magic _Rune_ is stranger than a Book。  All that Mankind has done; thought; gained or been:  it is lying as in magic preservation in the pages of Books。  They are the chosen possession of men。

Do not Books still accomplish _miracles_; as _Runes_ were fabled to do? They persuade men。  Not the wretchedest circulating…library novel; which foolish girls thumb and con in remote villages; but will help to regulate the actual practical weddings and households of those foolish girls。  So 〃Celia〃 felt; so 〃Clifford〃 acted:  the foolish Theorem of Life; stamped into those young brains; comes out as a solid Practice one day。  Consider whether any _Rune_ in the wildest imagination of Mythologist ever did such wonders as; on the actual firm Earth; some Books have done!  What built St。 Paul's Cathedral?  Look at the heart of the matter; it was that divine Hebrew BOOK;the word partly of the man Moses; an outlaw tending his Midianitish herds; four thousand years ago; in the wildernesses of Sinai! It is the strangest of things; yet nothing is truer。  With the art of Writing; of which Printing is a simple; an inevitable and comparatively insignificant corollary; the true reign of miracles for mankind commenced。 It related; with a wondrous new contiguity and perpetual closeness; the Past and Distant with the Present in time and place; all times and all places with this our actual Here and Now。  All things were altered for men; all modes of important work of men:  teaching; preaching; governing; and all else。

To look at Teaching; for instance。  Universities are a notable; respectable product of the modern ages。  Their existence too is modified; to the very basis of it; by the existence of Books。  Universities arose whi

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