thought, but will not bear examination; and a society of men will
cursorily represent well enough a certain quality and culture, for
example, chivalry or beauty of manners; but separate them and there is
no gentleman and no lady in the group. The least hint sets us on the
pursuit of a character which no man realizes. We have such exorbitant
eyes that on seeing the smallest arc we complete the curve, and when the
curtain is lifted from the diagram which it seemed to veil, we are vexed
to find that no more was drawn than just that fragment of an arc which
we first beheld. We are greatly too liberal in our construction of each
other's faculty and promise. Exactly what the parties have already done
they shall do again; but that which we inferred from their nature and
inception, they will not do. That is in nature, but not in them. That
happens in the world, which we often witness in a public debate. Each
of the speakers expresses himself imperfectly; no one of them hears much
that another says, such is the preoccupation of mind of each; and the
audience, who have only to hear and not to speak, judge very wisely and
superiorly how wrongheaded and unskilful is each of the debaters to his
own affair. Great men or men of great gifts you shall easily find,
but symmetrical men never. When I meet a pure intellectual force or a
generosity of affection, I believe here then is man; and am presently
mortified by the discovery that this individual is no more available to
his own or to the general ends than his companions; because the power
which drew my respect is not supported by the total symphony of his
talents. All persons exist to society by some shining trait of beauty or
utility which they have. We borrow the proportions of the man from that
one fine feature, and finish the portrait symmetrically; which is false,
for the rest of his body is small or deformed. I observe a person who
makes a good public appearance, and conclude thence the perfection of
his private character, on which this is based; but he has no private
character. He is a graceful cloak or lay-figure for holidays. All our
poets, heroes, and saints, fail utterly in some one or in many parts to
satisfy our idea, fail to draw our spontaneous interest, and so leave us
without any hope of realization but in our own future. Our exaggeration
of all fine characters arises from the fact that we identify each in
turn with the soul. But there are no such men as we fable; no Jes