CHAPTER X.
CONCLUSION.
My readers, I hope, will pardon a new word I introduce in this chapter. It is Unitedstatians. When this Union will spread herself, until the continent of this new world will be under a single popular government, then the word americans, or columbians, will be the general, and particular name. But, as there are indians, canadians, and mexicans also, it seems to me, that the citizens of this Union are wanting a particular name.
During the foregoing chapters, I wrote against fashionable literature; unreligious religion; bad newspapers; tourists, whose blind love for their country rendered them pert, or saucy towards other nations; american theatres; political parties; and selfish merchants of books. Odd, or bad men are found in every part of the world; and bad creatures, though they have more, or less influence in every part of this too much ruled earth, the plurality has now sufficient understanding to discriminate good from bad, when the frightful hobgoblin of the so called Religion does not put its long tail. Demagogues, scribblers, bad politicians, or bad merchants cannot injure my character, as a member of society in America: but unreligious religionists, can do a great mischief. And why so? Because in America the hypocrite is not easily known. The hypocrite who must, of course, be offended of what I have said against unreligious religion, has a great power on this new soil of America, against all those who, despising as I do any kind of cant, take off the mask from the long face. To such hypocrites, I have only to say now, that their Belief does not give them any right to brand my Belief. If they think their Belief better than my Belief, they have only to keep their good conscience for themselves, without branding my Belief with their inquisitorial hot iron, and frightful words. He who thinks himself a religious man, and thinks it man’s duty to be religious as he is, should keep his beautiful face with modesty, and never say that those, who have not his very face, are ugly; and as the inquisition of the mind, or that of the body have never done any good to the true religion, it is now time to learn, that in condemning those, who cannot think as he does, he shows to be no better than an inquisitor. Fanatics have wronged too much the morals of Jesus. The hypocrite may, hereafter, speak behind my back against me, with impunity, as far as his infernal voice does not reach my ears.
There are unfortunately individuals, who think that virtue, integrity, and all the good qualities of mind, and heart are not indispensable requisites to a man of belles letters. They are very much mistaken. It is the purity of the heart alone, which gives immortality to the labor of a genius. As I think it to be an indispensable requisite, I feel it my duty now, to demonstrate it in this conclusion, and last chapter. It is the sine qua non, on which a National Literature should be grounded.
It is a fact: Pope’s, or Addison’s heart had not been free from envy, and other petty moral faults which, but obscured their fine qualities of character, and sentiment. As many philosophers have not yet been entirely free of selfish feelings, so pernicious to the very philosophy they professed, it seems to me, that a perfect civilization as Plato, Rousseau, Bentham, or Fourier are aiming at, must needs be farther off, than philanthropy expects. But, that such a fortunate philosophical millennium will come, I do so honestly believe it, that, had it been my choice to come into this world, I would have postponed it, until that happy future time.
That many elevated sentiments of morality are originated from the impure source of selfishness, we must shamefully admit it. Still, had not Pope, or Addison had, a good share of noble sentiments, they could never have written so forcibly of morals, without having felt it in their own breast. Such authors are like the physicians, who though acquainted with the means of alleviating the endemial sickness of their country, fell themselves the victims of human frailty. Besides, we learn how to become just, and moral from the reflections of our own faults, as well as of others: and he, who acknowledges his own imperfections, is, to my mind, a good man still. Happy those, who receive from nature, or education, a mild temperament, free of any selfish consideration.
Men, whose thoughts cannot go beyond the age in which they live, sustain the impossibility of human perfection; and think, that selfishness is our human duty. Hence this immoral precept: “Charity begins at home.” As I am obliged to exert my physical strength among cannibals; so obliged am I also, to be selfish among the selfish, and cunning among the cunning, as far as the propriety, and the honor of the age, in which I live, will permit. But, when we speak of a future civilization, we must bring our mind to a civilized, and educated population: a people, who can easily distinguish the cunning, roguish, or selfish from the open, sincere, or generous. And when the cunning, roguish, or selfish will find, that he can not get the esteem of his contemporaries, he will, of necessity, become open, sincere, or generous. We are the children of our education, and of the century in which we live. The virtuous, alone, can impart virtue: and refinement will force men to be refined.
Nothing is more disgusting than those individuals, whose sight being not longer than a span, pretend to judge of distances which they cannot see: and because they have never been better, thinking mankind a race incapable of moral perfection, or improvement, they call Plato, Rousseau, Bentham, and Fourier the dreamers of the ages, in which they lived, and of those to come, while they do not perceive that, had men never attempted to ameliorate human frailties, we would be still nothing better, than our ancient fathers—the cannibals. Because we have not arrived at perfection, shall we stop on our half civilization?—This is my firm belief: Unless we practice that, which we profess in theory, we will never be able to describe in writing, nor speaking, the honest delineaments of morals, or integrity. The man, who does not feel nobility under his skin, cannot speak, or write with propriety of the attributes of a Divinity. It is an axiom: that which is not felt, can not be expressed.