Emerson's Rainbow

[Terrance]

Nay, I do not oscillate in Emerson's rainbow, but prefer
rather to hang myself in
mine own halter than swing in any other man's swing. Yet I
think Emerson is more
than a brilliant fellow. Be his stuff begged, borrowed, or
stolen, or of his own
domestic manufacture he is an uncommon man. Swear he is a
humbug -- then is he
no common humbug. Lay it down that had not Sir Thomas Browne
lived, Emerson
would not have mystified -- I will answer, that had not Old
Zack's father begot him,
old Zack would never have been the hero of Palo Alto. The
truth is that we are all
sons, grandsons, or nephews or great-nephews of those who go
before us. No one
is his own sire. -- I was very agreeably disappointed in Mr
Emerson. I had heard of
him as full of transcendentalisms, myths & oracular
gibberish; I had only glanced at
a book of his once in Putnam's store -- that was all I knew
of him, till I heard him
lecture. -- To my surprise, I found him quite intelligible,
tho' to say truth, they told
me that that night he was unusually plain. -- Now, there is
a something about every
man elevated above mediocrity, which is, for the most part,
instinctuly perceptible.
This I see in Mr Emerson. And, frankly, for the sake of the
argument, let us call
him a fool; -- then had I rather be a fool than a wise man.
-- I love all men who
dive. Any fish can swim near the surface, but it takes a
great whale to go down
stairs five miles or more; & if he don't attain the bottom,
why, all the lead in Galena
can't fashion the plumet that will. I'm not talking of Mr
Emerson now -- but of the
whole corps of thought-divers, that have been diving &
coming up again with
bloodshot eyes since the world began.
I could readily see in Emerson, notwithstanding his merit, a
gaping flaw. It was, the
insinuation, that had he lived in those days when the world
was made, he might
have offered some valuable suggestions. These men are all
cracked right across the
brow. And never will the pullers-down be able to cope with
the builders-up. And
this pulling down is easy enough -- a keg of powder blew up
Block's Monument --
but the man who applied the match, could not, alone, build
such a pile to save his
soul from the shark-maw of the Devil. But enough of this
Plato who talks thro' his
nose.

"Secret retributions are always restoring the level, when
disturbed, of the divine justice." --Pynchon, James,
Emerson, VL