Chronicles and Characters By Robert Lytton (Owen Meredith): In Two Volumes |
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VANINI
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 | Chronicles and Characters |  |
208
VANINI
LECTURES BEFORE THE SORBONNE. (PARIS, SIXTEENTH CENTURY.)
Welcome, dear friends! . . . tho' to a stranger's heart!
For, 'mid your fair French faces, as they throng
Fast, fast about me, I perceive—if not
The name of Italy encharacter'd,
Such as her sultry suns with swarthy finger
Upon my own have traced it—yet the eye
Of keen enquiry, and the eager cheek,
Native to such as nature's hand hews out
From her unfeatured and inglorious mass,
For common kindred in the shining band
Of those that both desire, and dare, to know!
Therefore, I take you to my heart of hearts:
High peers, whose brows by Thought are privileged
To owe no homage to the narrow zones
Of partial Place, and casual Circumstance,
But hold high colloquy with those supreme
And solitary Spirits which allow
No bondage of the branding zodiac
To limit their hereditary realms
In universal space! Therefore, I bid
My best self, freely, to your fellowship:
And, as, within the mystic circle traced
By Persic priests, the affable Genius
(Appeased by myrrhy fumes that please him well)
Doth, to delight each mild-eyed Magian,
Unpack the treasures of the ransackt world,
Else hutcht from sight 'twixt either sleeping pole,
—Gold, by wing'd gryphons for Abassin kings
Guarded in mountain treasure-houses deep,
Great wizard gems from Solomon's thumb ring,
And sea-green marbles from Caucasian mines,
Thick-vein'd with white fire;—so, sweet Mages, I,
Lured by your loves, do at your feet lay low
The spoils from Science filch'd by stealthy toil;
Rare secrets of the starry universe,
Flying around the centre, and what dwells
Deep in the undivulgèd mind of man.
For, 'mid your fair French faces, as they throng
209
The name of Italy encharacter'd,
Such as her sultry suns with swarthy finger
Upon my own have traced it—yet the eye
Of keen enquiry, and the eager cheek,
Native to such as nature's hand hews out
From her unfeatured and inglorious mass,
For common kindred in the shining band
Of those that both desire, and dare, to know!
Therefore, I take you to my heart of hearts:
High peers, whose brows by Thought are privileged
To owe no homage to the narrow zones
Of partial Place, and casual Circumstance,
But hold high colloquy with those supreme
And solitary Spirits which allow
No bondage of the branding zodiac
To limit their hereditary realms
In universal space! Therefore, I bid
My best self, freely, to your fellowship:
And, as, within the mystic circle traced
By Persic priests, the affable Genius
(Appeased by myrrhy fumes that please him well)
Doth, to delight each mild-eyed Magian,
Unpack the treasures of the ransackt world,
Else hutcht from sight 'twixt either sleeping pole,
—Gold, by wing'd gryphons for Abassin kings
Guarded in mountain treasure-houses deep,
Great wizard gems from Solomon's thumb ring,
210
Thick-vein'd with white fire;—so, sweet Mages, I,
Lured by your loves, do at your feet lay low
The spoils from Science filch'd by stealthy toil;
Rare secrets of the starry universe,
Flying around the centre, and what dwells
Deep in the undivulgèd mind of man.
I mark the wonder widening in your eyes
As they turn to me, wistful what comes next;
And hear you murmuring, as my spirit moves
Among you like the unseen wind that blows
To billowy toil full-bearded harvest fields.
“Can it be true?” ye ask yourselves, . . . “The man
Before you, with the scarcely-wrinkled brow
And yet unsilver'd hair,—can he have reach'd
So soon the cloudy summits that command
That spacious prospect which the hoary sage
Scarce sees before he sinks into the grave?
How many cycles in the wilderness
Did Moses wander, leading right and left
His puzzled followers, till, fatigued to death,
He, from the top of Pisgah gazing, saw
The Promised Land, and died. yet hath the man
That stands before you, speaking like a voice
Out of the sunder'd stars, imperative,
Some years of youth still left to fling away.”
And so ye marvel. And I marvel not
That ye delay to put aside all doubt.
Because I know that half the Prophet's power
Upon the multitude (tho' ye, indeed,
I count not of the many, but the few)
Lies in the lifted rod, the flowing robe,
The hoary beard, and many-furrow'd brow.
Yet, friends, 'tis true,—all true! The man ye see me,
Such as I am, I have attain'd the end
And eminence of all the sciences.
A spirit zoned with the nine-folded spheres,
That in his right hand turns the rolling globe
Around, for pastime,—I command the Powers
That hide within the heights and depths of things,
Not easily commanded. In a word,
Whatever may be known by man, I know.
As they turn to me, wistful what comes next;
And hear you murmuring, as my spirit moves
Among you like the unseen wind that blows
To billowy toil full-bearded harvest fields.
“Can it be true?” ye ask yourselves, . . . “The man
Before you, with the scarcely-wrinkled brow
And yet unsilver'd hair,—can he have reach'd
So soon the cloudy summits that command
That spacious prospect which the hoary sage
Scarce sees before he sinks into the grave?
How many cycles in the wilderness
Did Moses wander, leading right and left
His puzzled followers, till, fatigued to death,
He, from the top of Pisgah gazing, saw
The Promised Land, and died. yet hath the man
That stands before you, speaking like a voice
Out of the sunder'd stars, imperative,
Some years of youth still left to fling away.”
And so ye marvel. And I marvel not
211
Because I know that half the Prophet's power
Upon the multitude (tho' ye, indeed,
I count not of the many, but the few)
Lies in the lifted rod, the flowing robe,
The hoary beard, and many-furrow'd brow.
Yet, friends, 'tis true,—all true! The man ye see me,
Such as I am, I have attain'd the end
And eminence of all the sciences.
A spirit zoned with the nine-folded spheres,
That in his right hand turns the rolling globe
Around, for pastime,—I command the Powers
That hide within the heights and depths of things,
Not easily commanded. In a word,
Whatever may be known by man, I know.
Yes! I, the italian Doctor, Julius Cæsar
Lucilio Vanini, whom you know
Already by no casual report,
Have by much study, travel, and strong thought,
Master'd in some few thirty years, or less,
Philosophy, and physics: medicals:
Theology; and law, in both its branches,
The civil and the canon (for who knows not
That in utroque jure I am Doctor?)
All schools of East or West: anatomy:
Mechanics: mathematics: music: all
Poets, grammarians, and historians:
Natural magic, and astronomy,
Astrology: with what from these a man
May further fashion, in the advance of time,
By sharp experience of himself, to add
Knowledge to knowledge. Also I have writ
On Free Will, Fate, and Providence, confuting
Whatever was by others said before
Upon these subjects, and constraining those
That read my books to burn their own: besides
Two dialogues on the contempt of glory
Which, that I do not crave a vain renown
But have sought Science for her own sweet sake,
Shall witness for me to all candid minds:
And,—so you shall not fear that I indulge
Such froward spirit as our Holy Church
Not seldom in her children hath reproved,
Prodigals that forsake the Father's board
To feed, and starve, on miserable husks,
—A long Apology—Concilio
Pro Tridentino—of the Council, and
Decrees of Trent: with many other matters,
Fully discoursed. Which books, whoe'er will read them,
May at the Fair in Frankfort easily
Obtain, thro' any merchant of this town.
And I have visited the greater part
Of Europe. I have traversed Italy,
Whereof no city is to me unknown,
Nor I to it. In Holland, Germany,
And England, every University
I have both seen, and sometime studied there.
Nay, was I not the chosen and the chief
Disciple of the English Carmelite
John Bacon, prince of the Averröists?
So that . . . albeit I would not have you deem
I in pretension do exceed the pith
And marrow of performance, nor indeed
That, whatsoe'er it may be I have done,
I have done more than any man may do,
Let him but love, as I loved, Learning more
Than house, or lands, or any other good,
(Albeit such fervour is not to be found
In men of insufficient elements)
. . . . I dare affirm what I erewhile averr'd,
That whatsoe'er a man may know, I know.
Lucilio Vanini, whom you know
Already by no casual report,
Have by much study, travel, and strong thought,
Master'd in some few thirty years, or less,
Philosophy, and physics: medicals:
Theology; and law, in both its branches,
The civil and the canon (for who knows not
That in utroque jure I am Doctor?)
All schools of East or West: anatomy:
Mechanics: mathematics: music: all
Poets, grammarians, and historians:
212
Astrology: with what from these a man
May further fashion, in the advance of time,
By sharp experience of himself, to add
Knowledge to knowledge. Also I have writ
On Free Will, Fate, and Providence, confuting
Whatever was by others said before
Upon these subjects, and constraining those
That read my books to burn their own: besides
Two dialogues on the contempt of glory
Which, that I do not crave a vain renown
But have sought Science for her own sweet sake,
Shall witness for me to all candid minds:
And,—so you shall not fear that I indulge
Such froward spirit as our Holy Church
Not seldom in her children hath reproved,
Prodigals that forsake the Father's board
To feed, and starve, on miserable husks,
—A long Apology—Concilio
Pro Tridentino—of the Council, and
Decrees of Trent: with many other matters,
Fully discoursed. Which books, whoe'er will read them,
May at the Fair in Frankfort easily
Obtain, thro' any merchant of this town.
And I have visited the greater part
Of Europe. I have traversed Italy,
Whereof no city is to me unknown,
Nor I to it. In Holland, Germany,
213
I have both seen, and sometime studied there.
Nay, was I not the chosen and the chief
Disciple of the English Carmelite
John Bacon, prince of the Averröists?
So that . . . albeit I would not have you deem
I in pretension do exceed the pith
And marrow of performance, nor indeed
That, whatsoe'er it may be I have done,
I have done more than any man may do,
Let him but love, as I loved, Learning more
Than house, or lands, or any other good,
(Albeit such fervour is not to be found
In men of insufficient elements)
. . . . I dare affirm what I erewhile averr'd,
That whatsoe'er a man may know, I know.
And as for Pomponat, men's present Mentor,
He, and Averröes, whom he but follows
—(Altho' I would not count them less than kings
Whose erudition and audacity
Hath made them half to be esteem'd as gods)
Let these, with Cardan, and I will not name
How many more that be their vavasours,
Sit at my feet forever, and be dumb!
My worst is better than the best of theirs.
(Believe I do not boast!) for they, indeed,
Have but rough-guess'd the ways which I have paved
With ponderous fact, and irrefragable
Results, accumulated carefully,
To distances divined not by these men.
Which you shall also, if you will, reach with me:
For what I know I would to all make known:
And what I have would share with who will have it:
Since knowledge by division grows to more.
Is it not written that the Teachers—they
That have turn'd many to the light—shall shine
Like stars in heaven? Which shine not for themselves
But for the illumination of mankind.
Only believe me!
He, and Averröes, whom he but follows
—(Altho' I would not count them less than kings
Whose erudition and audacity
Hath made them half to be esteem'd as gods)
Let these, with Cardan, and I will not name
How many more that be their vavasours,
Sit at my feet forever, and be dumb!
My worst is better than the best of theirs.
(Believe I do not boast!) for they, indeed,
Have but rough-guess'd the ways which I have paved
214
Results, accumulated carefully,
To distances divined not by these men.
Which you shall also, if you will, reach with me:
For what I know I would to all make known:
And what I have would share with who will have it:
Since knowledge by division grows to more.
Is it not written that the Teachers—they
That have turn'd many to the light—shall shine
Like stars in heaven? Which shine not for themselves
But for the illumination of mankind.
Only believe me!
Yet, for all, I see
That you do think I boast myself beyond
The stretch of my deserving. If, good friends,
You deem it thus, believe me you do wrong
Me first,—and, in the consequence, yourselves!
For I conceive there's nothing more beseems
A teacher, than assurance of the worth
Of what he teaches, and his own to teach it.
On these two points behoves the man to have
No doubt whatever. If he doubt himself,
Let him be dumb and put belief in others.
For all his right to speak is in the right
Of what he can speak to be boldly spoken:
And, therefore, reverently listen'd to.
Whence, if his worth be furnish'd with fair titles
Both to his own, and other men's, good credence,
He cannot too conspicuously show them.
There's nought but such conviction as rejects
All question of it, that what's now to say
Is better worth the saying than all else
By others said before it, justifies
Infraction of that silence which befits
A man in presence of the universe,
The stars above him, and the graves below.
Therefore, my masters, I am bold to speak:
This boldness (which, were it less positive,
Would stand in silence) being, as you see,
The only right which I admit myself
To speak at all. Be mine bold speech, or none.
That you do think I boast myself beyond
The stretch of my deserving. If, good friends,
You deem it thus, believe me you do wrong
Me first,—and, in the consequence, yourselves!
For I conceive there's nothing more beseems
A teacher, than assurance of the worth
Of what he teaches, and his own to teach it.
On these two points behoves the man to have
No doubt whatever. If he doubt himself,
Let him be dumb and put belief in others.
For all his right to speak is in the right
Of what he can speak to be boldly spoken:
And, therefore, reverently listen'd to.
Whence, if his worth be furnish'd with fair titles
215
He cannot too conspicuously show them.
There's nought but such conviction as rejects
All question of it, that what's now to say
Is better worth the saying than all else
By others said before it, justifies
Infraction of that silence which befits
A man in presence of the universe,
The stars above him, and the graves below.
Therefore, my masters, I am bold to speak:
This boldness (which, were it less positive,
Would stand in silence) being, as you see,
The only right which I admit myself
To speak at all. Be mine bold speech, or none.
Oh! I have seen in Professorial Chairs
How much of mock humility, lip-lowliness
Mouthing it thus . . . . . ‘The Grace of God forbid
‘We should be overbold to lay rough hands
On any man's opinion. For opinions
Are, certes, venerable properties,
And those which show the most decrepitude
Should have the gentlest handling. Yes, good sirs,
We have that sort of courtesy about us,
We would not, flatly, call a fool a fool,
Nor wrong all wrong, nor right entirely right,
Lest we affirm too much. you shall not find us
Of such an overweening arrogance
That we should swear, because we are disposed
To this or that conclusion, that it needs
Must better yours. We think that we are right:
We may be wrong: we doubt you are in error:
You may be right. Civility forbids
Insistance on harsh terms.’ Civility
Therefore goes sidling, with a glance asquint
'Twixt true and false, along her slippery road,
Which is the road to Hell, the Home of Lies!
How much of mock humility, lip-lowliness
Mouthing it thus . . . . . ‘The Grace of God forbid
‘We should be overbold to lay rough hands
On any man's opinion. For opinions
Are, certes, venerable properties,
And those which show the most decrepitude
Should have the gentlest handling. Yes, good sirs,
We have that sort of courtesy about us,
We would not, flatly, call a fool a fool,
Nor wrong all wrong, nor right entirely right,
Lest we affirm too much. you shall not find us
Of such an overweening arrogance
216
To this or that conclusion, that it needs
Must better yours. We think that we are right:
We may be wrong: we doubt you are in error:
You may be right. Civility forbids
Insistance on harsh terms.’ Civility
Therefore goes sidling, with a glance asquint
'Twixt true and false, along her slippery road,
Which is the road to Hell, the Home of Lies!
For wherefore should we call you here, to gaze
In sober earnest, and some shuddering,
Upon this dreadful combat of the gods,
—This conflict of resistant Error arm'd
Against resistless Truth, on all sides round,
Not ended till the world be won or lost?
Why bid you mark severe Minerva there?
Here snaky Typhon,—both at horrible handgrips?
If, to assuage amazement, and restore
The careless satisfaction we were bold
Thus to break-in on with the horrid news,
We lightly whisper,—just when the heart stops
And the veins tighten with the hideous thought
Of what's depending on the deadly issue,—
‘Friends, here's no cause to fear yon grisly god,
For all his savage show his claws be clipp'd.
Athene's angry spear can draw no blood,
It being button'd like your fencing foils.
And this tremendous spectacle, which shakes
The ample theatres of Heaven and Hell,
Is but a mock-heroic at the most.’
Ye gods! if this be thus, and only thus,
Why then, I cry i' the name of all men's patience,
You impudent knaves that play the herald's part,
Sound ye your brawling trumpets in our ears
So shrilly? Why do you, unmannerly thus,
Rouse us from slumber, scare us from our business
Of feasting, fooling, and forgetting all things,
To cry the house a-fire? Or why drag hither
Grave men, grown men, grey men, with cares enough,
And griefs enough, and grievances enough,
To try the nerves of those that have the stoutest,
Merely to cheat us of our hard-earned rest
With your preposterous puppetings!
In sober earnest, and some shuddering,
Upon this dreadful combat of the gods,
—This conflict of resistant Error arm'd
Against resistless Truth, on all sides round,
Not ended till the world be won or lost?
Why bid you mark severe Minerva there?
Here snaky Typhon,—both at horrible handgrips?
If, to assuage amazement, and restore
The careless satisfaction we were bold
Thus to break-in on with the horrid news,
We lightly whisper,—just when the heart stops
And the veins tighten with the hideous thought
Of what's depending on the deadly issue,—
‘Friends, here's no cause to fear yon grisly god,
For all his savage show his claws be clipp'd.
Athene's angry spear can draw no blood,
It being button'd like your fencing foils.
And this tremendous spectacle, which shakes
The ample theatres of Heaven and Hell,
219
Ye gods! if this be thus, and only thus,
Why then, I cry i' the name of all men's patience,
You impudent knaves that play the herald's part,
Sound ye your brawling trumpets in our ears
So shrilly? Why do you, unmannerly thus,
Rouse us from slumber, scare us from our business
Of feasting, fooling, and forgetting all things,
To cry the house a-fire? Or why drag hither
Grave men, grown men, grey men, with cares enough,
And griefs enough, and grievances enough,
To try the nerves of those that have the stoutest,
Merely to cheat us of our hard-earned rest
With your preposterous puppetings!
Yet will some wise and moderate good man
Make answer that to no one living soul
Is absolute truth vouchsafed, and this alone
Is absolutely certain. Granted, friend.
Yet he is absolutely right or wrong
That dares, or dares not, follow to the end
And utterly use the whole o' the truth he hath.
For there be many that, in face of Truth
Fear her imperative aspect, and affirm
‘This customary falsehood is a thing
More safe than that uncustomary truth,’
Or ‘only thus and thus much of the truth
‘Is competent of usage,’ having not
Within themselves true love of truth, nor yet
The courage of the consequence of thought.
This is the approved philosophy of fools,
Of which you shall hear nothing from my lips,
For half-truths need no teaching from this chair.
The craft of cowardice, the world's vile promptings,
The glare of false authority, the fear
Of exile, prisons, halters, and the rack,
These teach the customary compromise
Twixt true and false; and find in every land
Sufficient school, without the added weight
Of verdict from the lips of men, not vile
By nature, who, tho' none regard their speech,
Must speak undaunted, or not speak at all.
Most men, indeed, believe in something better
Than their own actions: and conciliate
The world, by acting worse than they believe:
And all men even their best actions base
On something worse than is their best Belief:
Yet hope to mollify the scorn of God,
Because their thoughts are better than their acts,
And their beliefs more blameless than their lives.
This needs no teaching. This is the world's wisdom.
But, when the Teacher speaks, he speaks as one
That knows his audience in the universe
Is not of this world only: but perchance
Millions of starry spirits beyond the sun
Pause o'er their planetary toil to lean
And listen to him. If he speak the truth
Truly, his speech is as a trenchant sword
To cut the world asunder to the heart,
And take its stealthy secrets by surprise.
So let him stand up stern, as on a rock,
Like Joshua when he held the sun and moon
In Ajalon and Gibeon, till he ceased
To smite the Amorite before the Lord.
No more ignoble powers, no lesser laws
Can hurt his sacred head whom Nature's own
Eternal and divine supremacies
Safeguard with unseen cohorts to the end.
Make answer that to no one living soul
Is absolute truth vouchsafed, and this alone
Is absolutely certain. Granted, friend.
Yet he is absolutely right or wrong
That dares, or dares not, follow to the end
And utterly use the whole o' the truth he hath.
For there be many that, in face of Truth
Fear her imperative aspect, and affirm
‘This customary falsehood is a thing
More safe than that uncustomary truth,’
Or ‘only thus and thus much of the truth
‘Is competent of usage,’ having not
Within themselves true love of truth, nor yet
The courage of the consequence of thought.
This is the approved philosophy of fools,
Of which you shall hear nothing from my lips,
For half-truths need no teaching from this chair.
217
The glare of false authority, the fear
Of exile, prisons, halters, and the rack,
These teach the customary compromise
Twixt true and false; and find in every land
Sufficient school, without the added weight
Of verdict from the lips of men, not vile
By nature, who, tho' none regard their speech,
Must speak undaunted, or not speak at all.
Most men, indeed, believe in something better
Than their own actions: and conciliate
The world, by acting worse than they believe:
And all men even their best actions base
On something worse than is their best Belief:
Yet hope to mollify the scorn of God,
Because their thoughts are better than their acts,
And their beliefs more blameless than their lives.
This needs no teaching. This is the world's wisdom.
But, when the Teacher speaks, he speaks as one
That knows his audience in the universe
Is not of this world only: but perchance
Millions of starry spirits beyond the sun
Pause o'er their planetary toil to lean
And listen to him. If he speak the truth
Truly, his speech is as a trenchant sword
To cut the world asunder to the heart,
And take its stealthy secrets by surprise.
So let him stand up stern, as on a rock,
218
In Ajalon and Gibeon, till he ceased
To smite the Amorite before the Lord.
No more ignoble powers, no lesser laws
Can hurt his sacred head whom Nature's own
Eternal and divine supremacies
Safeguard with unseen cohorts to the end.
Good friends,
I will not use you thus, I warrant you.
But you shall have hard fighting, and real blows,
Not dealt in vain. For, by the help of God,
We will this day Goliaths more than one
Destroy forever from the Field of Truth.
—If you'll believe me!
I will not use you thus, I warrant you.
But you shall have hard fighting, and real blows,
Not dealt in vain. For, by the help of God,
We will this day Goliaths more than one
Destroy forever from the Field of Truth.
—If you'll believe me!
—Nay! but neither think,
Because I have put off humility
Before I stept into this Chair of Doctrine,
That therefore I, with idle arrogance
Aspire to hit the stars; revering not
The worth of modest-mindedness in man.
Not so. I have been humble more than most.
Whiles I was yet a learning, I was humble.
Then, my humility was such as suits
A lover when he sues: which I put off
To clothe me with the pride that lover feels
When afterwards, he having won that woo'd,
His love lives in possession. I might tell
Of days and nights of painful patientness
In Padua; when, a beardless boy, I braved
Sharp winter's biting in a threadbare coat,
And, late and early, trimm'd a lonely lamp
With toilful tendance: sat at all men's feet:
And read from all men's books right reverently:
And lived to learn: and learn'd from all that lived:
And held myself the least of little ones,
Not worthy to be seated at the board,
Grateful to cram what charitable crumbs
Fell from o'erflowing trenchers to my lot;
While nothing but the daily doled-out crust
(A frail and miserable alms!) appeased
The begging of the body, barely heard.
But love makes warmth and fulness everywhere.
The lover lives on love luxuriously,
And lacks for nothing. O be very sure
That no man will learn anything at all,
Unless he first will learn humility.
The humblest mounts the highest. Who would scale
The skyey Alp must go afoot. The vain
And arrogant man may drive his gilded coach
Across the plain, gazed by the servile crowd,
But, would he mount that mighty eminence,
He must alight, and foot it with slow steps.
Therefore I say . . . Be humble,—to be high!
Because I have put off humility
Before I stept into this Chair of Doctrine,
That therefore I, with idle arrogance
Aspire to hit the stars; revering not
220
Not so. I have been humble more than most.
Whiles I was yet a learning, I was humble.
Then, my humility was such as suits
A lover when he sues: which I put off
To clothe me with the pride that lover feels
When afterwards, he having won that woo'd,
His love lives in possession. I might tell
Of days and nights of painful patientness
In Padua; when, a beardless boy, I braved
Sharp winter's biting in a threadbare coat,
And, late and early, trimm'd a lonely lamp
With toilful tendance: sat at all men's feet:
And read from all men's books right reverently:
And lived to learn: and learn'd from all that lived:
And held myself the least of little ones,
Not worthy to be seated at the board,
Grateful to cram what charitable crumbs
Fell from o'erflowing trenchers to my lot;
While nothing but the daily doled-out crust
(A frail and miserable alms!) appeased
The begging of the body, barely heard.
But love makes warmth and fulness everywhere.
The lover lives on love luxuriously,
And lacks for nothing. O be very sure
That no man will learn anything at all,
Unless he first will learn humility.
The humblest mounts the highest. Who would scale
221
And arrogant man may drive his gilded coach
Across the plain, gazed by the servile crowd,
But, would he mount that mighty eminence,
He must alight, and foot it with slow steps.
Therefore I say . . . Be humble,—to be high!
And I will tell you—I, that have, O friends,
Read many books, and written not a few,
—This is a secret. Tell it not in Gath,
O very reverend Doctors of Sorbonne!
A man may cram his brains with libraries,
And yet know nothing.
Read many books, and written not a few,
—This is a secret. Tell it not in Gath,
O very reverend Doctors of Sorbonne!
A man may cram his brains with libraries,
And yet know nothing.
Whence comes Knowledge? think!
By reading? No: by thinking on things read.
By seeing? No: by thinking on things seen.
Nor hearing, but by thinking on things heard.
Yet half the first-class writers I have read
Are merely setters forth—not of their own,
But other men's stale thinkings: second-hand
Employers of spent brains! Is Thought so easy?
Try!
By reading? No: by thinking on things read.
By seeing? No: by thinking on things seen.
Nor hearing, but by thinking on things heard.
Yet half the first-class writers I have read
Are merely setters forth—not of their own,
But other men's stale thinkings: second-hand
Employers of spent brains! Is Thought so easy?
Try!
Take some simple, obvious object here,
And think it. Think the wall.
And think it. Think the wall.
What! you are silent?
You cannot?
You cannot?
Yet altho' you cannot think
This simple wall that stares you in the face,
You can think Plato and Pythagoras,
Zeno, and Aristotle, Epicurus,
Plotinus, Jamblicus, Themistius,
Thales, Parmenides,—and the Lord knows whom.
That is to say, you can think second-hand.
Well then, O friends, now let us learn to think!
Think anything. But only think. For, see you?
There's nothing of so singular, nor mean
Condition in this universe, but what
It doth include, and, in a sort, continue
The fact of something greater than itself,
Nay, of the Very Greatest. Nothing is,
But by the having been of something else,
Which something else, the cause of this thing here,
Is, in its turn, the effect of something elsewhere.
Thus we the higher in the lower perceive:
From each obtain intelligence of all:
And find in all the consciousness of each.
For all which is, by reason that it is,
And is itself, not other than itself,
Defines itself; and, being definite,
Must be perceivable at some one point,
If but no more, on which perception acts,
Whether of bodily sense, or mental force.
Away, then, with the indefinite, from thought,
Which is the non-existent. What exists,
Acts; and what acts gives notice of itself
To all existence, acting thus or thus
Conformably to laws that govern all
Existence. Acts are laws: no law, no act.
Therefore, be sure that whatsoever is
Man's thought is competent, if not to know,
At least to know of. And the Infinite
Appears, reported by its parts, to be
The Finite infinitely multiplied,
Extended infinitely every way.
This simple wall that stares you in the face,
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Zeno, and Aristotle, Epicurus,
Plotinus, Jamblicus, Themistius,
Thales, Parmenides,—and the Lord knows whom.
That is to say, you can think second-hand.
Well then, O friends, now let us learn to think!
Think anything. But only think. For, see you?
There's nothing of so singular, nor mean
Condition in this universe, but what
It doth include, and, in a sort, continue
The fact of something greater than itself,
Nay, of the Very Greatest. Nothing is,
But by the having been of something else,
Which something else, the cause of this thing here,
Is, in its turn, the effect of something elsewhere.
Thus we the higher in the lower perceive:
From each obtain intelligence of all:
And find in all the consciousness of each.
For all which is, by reason that it is,
And is itself, not other than itself,
Defines itself; and, being definite,
Must be perceivable at some one point,
If but no more, on which perception acts,
Whether of bodily sense, or mental force.
Away, then, with the indefinite, from thought,
Which is the non-existent. What exists,
Acts; and what acts gives notice of itself
To all existence, acting thus or thus
223
Existence. Acts are laws: no law, no act.
Therefore, be sure that whatsoever is
Man's thought is competent, if not to know,
At least to know of. And the Infinite
Appears, reported by its parts, to be
The Finite infinitely multiplied,
Extended infinitely every way.
Think, and all things become confederates
To the thought in you. For the Thinking-Power
Is of such pregnant faculty, it imbues
All things, or can from all things extricate,
And stir to answerable activity,
Some portion of the essential consciousness.
Upon the dumb, long inarticulate earth
Descends the gift of prophecy and tongues:
The smallest fact—the last in consequence
Of the supreme procession of events,
—Mere garniture of life's superfluous pomp,
Becomes a willing spy upon the track
Of its more potent predecessor, gone
Most likely in a grand indifference by:
The dust grows dainty with divinity:
The limpet has surmises of the huge
Enormous-back'd sea-violencing-whale:
He, of Behemoth in the days when God
Held colloquies upon the Chaldee plains
With the vex'd Uzzite: the dull-hearted ox
Hath in him legends of his father-race,
Those monstrous and imaginary forms
That frighten'd Adam when the bitten fruit
Turn'd sour between his teeth, and thunder lower'd.
The sandgrain in his dreams, divines the stars.
The very stones are garrulously given
And babble to each other in the moon
The story of the waters that of old
Roll'd Noë's ark on Ararat. Perchance
The poising of a pebble that a child
Sends from his sling in swift parabola,
Interprets in a tongue that's yet to learn
The fiat that gave motion to the stars.
So that this volatile fluid of the brain
This flux of thought, like streams compell'd to seek
The level of their sources, flowing forth
No matter by what channels, thro' what fields,
Is by each course constrain'd towards the height
From whence it issued, and mounts up to God.
To the thought in you. For the Thinking-Power
Is of such pregnant faculty, it imbues
All things, or can from all things extricate,
And stir to answerable activity,
Some portion of the essential consciousness.
Upon the dumb, long inarticulate earth
Descends the gift of prophecy and tongues:
The smallest fact—the last in consequence
Of the supreme procession of events,
—Mere garniture of life's superfluous pomp,
Becomes a willing spy upon the track
Of its more potent predecessor, gone
Most likely in a grand indifference by:
The dust grows dainty with divinity:
The limpet has surmises of the huge
Enormous-back'd sea-violencing-whale:
He, of Behemoth in the days when God
Held colloquies upon the Chaldee plains
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Hath in him legends of his father-race,
Those monstrous and imaginary forms
That frighten'd Adam when the bitten fruit
Turn'd sour between his teeth, and thunder lower'd.
The sandgrain in his dreams, divines the stars.
The very stones are garrulously given
And babble to each other in the moon
The story of the waters that of old
Roll'd Noë's ark on Ararat. Perchance
The poising of a pebble that a child
Sends from his sling in swift parabola,
Interprets in a tongue that's yet to learn
The fiat that gave motion to the stars.
So that this volatile fluid of the brain
This flux of thought, like streams compell'd to seek
The level of their sources, flowing forth
No matter by what channels, thro' what fields,
Is by each course constrain'd towards the height
From whence it issued, and mounts up to God.
Ha! there you smile, and bring your faces all
To bear on mine; like men who, unawares,
And by a sudden happy chance, detect
In some familiar object, grown a blank
By being look'd at carelessly too often,
A novel feature, not before divulged.
Why, this is well. And, since we all are here
To use our wits, friends, let us use them sharply
And to some purpose: not as your mere swords
Of ceremony, shut up safe in velvet,
Tawdry and tedious appendages,
Put on for show, and put aside for comfort!
I see you take my humour by this time.
Good! and your faces brighten, and your eyes
Glitter, as stars do in a good sharp wind.
Sharp? why, what else should be the atmosphere
Of vigorous spirits?
To bear on mine; like men who, unawares,
And by a sudden happy chance, detect
In some familiar object, grown a blank
By being look'd at carelessly too often,
A novel feature, not before divulged.
Why, this is well. And, since we all are here
225
And to some purpose: not as your mere swords
Of ceremony, shut up safe in velvet,
Tawdry and tedious appendages,
Put on for show, and put aside for comfort!
I see you take my humour by this time.
Good! and your faces brighten, and your eyes
Glitter, as stars do in a good sharp wind.
Sharp? why, what else should be the atmosphere
Of vigorous spirits?
You believe me, friends?
You do believe me!
You do believe me!
Ay, I always felt
That I should find in France my own compeers,
The finest and most eager spirits of men!
Some guiding angel drew me in my dreams
To choose this land for my abiding home.
I loved you ere I knew you: know you now,
And, having known you, love you better still.
Gather, then, close about me, all of you!
You, there, bright youth with sunbeams in your hair,
And you, grave sir, with eyes like icicles,
Come round me, one and all . . . close! closer still!
Let not a word escape!
That I should find in France my own compeers,
The finest and most eager spirits of men!
Some guiding angel drew me in my dreams
To choose this land for my abiding home.
I loved you ere I knew you: know you now,
And, having known you, love you better still.
Gather, then, close about me, all of you!
You, there, bright youth with sunbeams in your hair,
And you, grave sir, with eyes like icicles,
Come round me, one and all . . . close! closer still!
Let not a word escape!
We will discourse
This day of the Eternal Providence.
Clap all your pens to paper, and write down:—
This day of the Eternal Providence.
Clap all your pens to paper, and write down:—
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‘Amphitheatrum Providentiæ
Eternæ christiano-physicum,
Divino-magicum, astrologico-
Catholicum; adversus veteres
Philosophos, peripateticos,
Epicureos, atheos, stoicos.’
Eternæ christiano-physicum,
Divino-magicum, astrologico-
Catholicum; adversus veteres
Philosophos, peripateticos,
Epicureos, atheos, stoicos.’
Good! Have you written? Now attend.
We thus
Begin with the Beginning. Which is God.
Begin with the Beginning. Which is God.
Lucilio (self-styled Julius Cæsar, and Pompeius) Vanini, was one of that numerous Army of Martyrs who have been canonized by no Church. Murdered by the Parliament of Toulouse upon an infamous and unfounded charge of Atheism, his memory has been calumniated by the few and forgotten by the many. I think that no reader of his ‘Dialogues’ will accuse me of exaggerating the vanity of the man. It was excessive, but not ignoble: and to it I am disposed to attribute much of the heroism with which he endured torture and faced death. When we remember that his martyrdom and murder were justified by their perpetrators on the grounds of the audacious freedom with which Vanini had expressed unorthodox opinions, the excessive caution and timidity of all his writings significantly illustrate what was considered “Freedom of thought” in the Sixteenth Century. On being accused of Atheism by his judges, he picked a straw from the ground, and proceeded, by arguments which would probably have satisfied Paley, to demonstrate the existence of God from the existence of the straw. Those arguments, however, did not satisfy the Tribunal, which condemned him, first to have his tongue cut out, and then to be burned alive. He went through it all, and died, “cheerfully for the sake of Philosophy,” as he said, with a heroism, never surpassed and rarely equalled by any of those martyrs who are admired as brave men because they died in vindication—not of Doubt— but of a Faith, which promised them immediate beatitude. Yet consider the difference!
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