Special Method in the Reading of Complete English Classics. Charles A. McMurry
it reproduces all that it represents, and the impersonations clothed in its Elysian light stand thenceforward in the minds of those who have once contemplated them, as memorials of that gentle and exalted content which extends itself over all thoughts and actions with which it coexists. The great secret of morals is love; or a going out of our own nature, and an identification of ourselves with the beautiful which exists in thought, action, or person, not our own. A man, to be greatly good, must imagine intensely and comprehensively; he must put himself in the place of another and of many others; the pains and pleasures of his species must become his own. The great instrument of moral good is the imagination; and poetry administers to the effect by acting upon the cause."
"The drama being that form under which a greater number of modes of expression of poetry are susceptible of being combined than any other, the connection of poetry and social good is more observable in the drama than in whatever other form. And it is indisputable that the highest perfection of human society has ever corresponded with the highest dramatic excellence; and that the corruption or the extinction of the drama in a nation where it has once flourished, is a mark of corruption of manners, and an extinction of the energies which sustain the soul of social life."
The inseparable union of the intellectual, moral, and imaginative elements is well expressed by Shairp in his "On Poetic Interpretation of Nature" (pp. 23–24):—
"Imagination in its essence seems to be, from the first, intellect and feeling blended and interpenetrating each other. Thus it would seem that purely intellectual acts belong to the surface and outside of our nature—as you pass onward to the depths, the more vital places of the soul, the intellectual, the emotional, and the moral elements are all equally at work—and this in virtue of their greater reality, their more essential truth, their nearer contact with the centre of things. To this region belong all acts of high imagination—the region intermediate between pure understanding and moral affection, partaking of both elements, looking equally both ways."
Besides the moral element or fundamental truth involved, every classic masterpiece is infused therefore with an element of imagination. Whether in prose or verse, the artist reveals himself in the creative touch. The rich coloring and imagery of his own mind give a tint to every object. The literary artist is never lacking in a certain, perhaps indefinable, charm. He possesses a magic wand that transforms into beauty every commonplace object that is met. We observe this in Irving, Hawthorne, Warner, as well as in still greater literary masters. Our poets, novelists, and essayists must all dip their pens in this magic ink. Even Webster and Burke, Lincoln and Sumner, must rise to the region of fancy if they give their thought sufficient strength of wing to carry it into the coming years. The themes upon which they discoursed kindled the imagination and caused them to break forth into figures of speech and poetic license. The creative fancy is that which gives beauty, picturesqueness, and charm to all the work of poet or novelist. This element of fancy diffuses itself as a living glow through every classic product that was made to endure. In the masters of style the rhythmic flow and energy of language are enlivened by poetic imagery. Figures of speech in architectural simplicity and chasteness stand out to symbolize thought. That keenness and originality which astonishes us in master thinkers is due to the magic vigor and picturesqueness of their images. Underneath and permeating all this wealth of ideas is the versatile and original mind which sees everything in the glow of its own poetic temperament, kindling the susceptible reader to like inspiration. Among literary masters this creative power shows itself in an infinite variety of forms, pours itself through a hundred divergent channels, and links itself so closely with the individuality of the writer as to merge imperceptibly into his character and style. But as we cannot secure wholesome bread without yeast, so we shall fail of a classic without imagination.
Stedman says: "If anything great has been achieved without exercise of the imagination, I do not know it. I am referring to striking productions and achievements, not to acts of virtue. Nevertheless, at the last analysis, it might be found that imagination has impelled even the saints and martyrs of humanity. Imagination is the creative origin of what is fine, not in art and song alone, but also in all forms of action—in campaigns, civil triumphs, material conquest. I have mentioned its indispensability to the scientists." He says further: "Yet if there is one gift which sets Shakespeare at a distance even from those who approach him on one or another side, it is that of his imagination. As he is the chief of poets, we infer that the faculty in which he is supereminent must be the greatest of poetic endowments. Yes: in his wonderland, as elsewhere, imagination is king."
Not only is it true that the vitality of poets and prose writers, the conceptive power of scientists, inventors, and business organizers, depend upon the fertility and strength of the imagination, but throughout the broader reaches of common humanity this power is everywhere present—constructive and creative. Max Müller has shown that the root words of language are imbedded in metaphor, that "Language is fossil poetry." Again, the mythologies of the different races, grand and stately, or fair and lovely, are the immediate product of the folk mind.
It has been said that "The man of culture is preëminently a man of imagination." But the kind of mental alertness, freedom, and joy which is suggested by the term culture may spring up in the heart of every boy and girl endowed with a modicum of human nature. Hamilton Wright Mabie, in his "Books and Culture" (pp. 148–149), says:—
"The development of the imagination, upon the power of which both absorption of knowledge and creative capacity depend, is, therefore, a matter of supreme importance. To this necessity educators will some day open their eyes, and educational systems will some day conform; meantime, it must be done mainly by individual work. Knowledge, discipline, and technical training of the best sort are accessible on every hand; but the development of the faculty which unites all these in the highest form of activity must be secured mainly by personal effort. The richest and most accessible material for this highest education is furnished by art; and the form of art within reach of every civilized man, at all times, in all places, is the book. To these masterpieces, which have been called the books of life, all men may turn with the assurance that as the supreme achievements of the imagination they have the power of awakening, stimulating, and enriching it in the highest degree."
Besides the strong thread of truth and the work of the swift-glancing shuttle of imagination, the woven fabric of the literary master must show a beauteous pattern or form. The melody and music of poetry spring from a rhythmic form. Apparently stiff and formal, it is yet the consensus of critics that only through this channel can the soul of truth and beauty escape from the poet, and manifest itself to others. Says George Willis Cooke, "The poet worships at the triple shrine of beauty, love, and truth; and his mission is to teach men that all other objects and places of veneration are but faint imitations of this one form of faith." But the spirit of this worship can best embody itself in the poetic form.
Schlegel, in his "Dramatic Art and Literature" (p. 340), says:—
"The works of genius cannot therefore be permitted to be without form; but of this there is no danger. … [Some] critics … interpret it [form] merely in a mechanical, and not in an organical sense. … Organical form, again, is innate; it unfolds itself from within, and acquires its determination contemporaneously with the perfect development of the germ. We everywhere discover such forms in nature throughout the whole range of living powers, from the crystallization of salts and minerals to plants and flowers, and from these again to the human body. In the fine arts, as well as in the domain of nature—the supreme artist—all genuine forms are organical, that is, determined by the quality of the work. In a word, the form is nothing but a significant exterior, the speaking physiognomy of each thing, which, as long as it is not disfigured by any destructive accident, gives a true evidence of its hidden essence."
Some products, like the "Paradise Lost," "Thanatopsis," and "Hamlet," show such a perfect fitness of form to thought that every effort to change or modify is profanation. The classic form and thought go together. As far as possible, therefore, it is desirable to leave these creations in their native strength, and not to mar the work of masters. The poet has moulded his thought and feeling into these forms and transfused them with his own imagery and individuality. The power of the writer is in his peculiar mingling of the poetic elements. Our English and American classics, therefore, should be read in their original form as far as possible.