The great desire would be for the combination of emotion with knowledge, of philosophy with mathematics, of Plato with a Napoleon, or Spinoza with a Gould. This will come. Now it is very rare....
You might reply, "In the present order of things the combination would ruin the working-power of the man. The Gould could not act the Gould if combined with the Spinoza,--nor could the Napoleon _se foule de la vie d'un million d'hommes_ if crossed with a Plato."
I would answer, "Not in the elder generation, but why not to-day? If the moral laws that in a Spinoza would have checked a Gould, or in a Plato checked a Napoleon, were essentially limited in other years, are they so to-day? If the two philosophers had had larger horizons of thinking, would they have recognized a tether,--or would they not rather have viewed themselves as mere force-atoms in an infinite electric stream? Are there not now recognitions of laws transcending all human ethics?--laws of which Goethe threw out such weird suggestions?--and must not business, from its very nature, drift into the knowledge of these laws?"
To-day, it is true, the highest possible type of business man would have to follow the small policy of the majority. But certainly he can be like one of those compound double-engines,--whereof the best half is kept idle in reserve,--always oiled and speckless and ready for rare emergencies or opportunities. If something within you regrets something else that is passing away, that need not be any alarming sign. The mere fact that the regret exists, indicates higher possibilities. Don't you remember Emerson's extraordinary lines,--
"Though thou love her as thyself-- As a self of purer clay,-- Though her parting dim the day Stealing grace from all alive,-- _Heartily know, When half-gods go The Gods arrive!_"
The dear little psyche is going? Well, let her go! Regret her a little--that is sweet and good. Feel lonesome for her awhile. Wait. Then make yourself a new soul, large enough to wrap round the whole world, like the Æther.
DEAR PAGE,--Though I never hear from you directly, the _T.-D._ brings me occasionally very emphatic proof that I am not forgotten, and am perhaps forgiven. So I venture a line or two, hoping you will not show the letter to anybody.