“Thus nevertheless,” writes our Autobiographer¹, apparently² as quitting College, “was there realized Somewhat; namely, I, Diogenes Teufelsdrockh: a visible Temporary Figure (Zeitbild), occupying some cubic feet of Space, and containing within it Forces both physical and spiritual; hopes, passions, thoughts; the whole wondrous⁴ furniture, in more or less perfection, belonging to that mystery, a Man. Capabilities⁵ there were in me to give battle, in some small degree, against the great Empire of Darkness: does not the very Ditcher and Delver⁶, with his spade, extinguish many a thistle and puddle⁷; and so leave a little Order, where he found the opposite? Nay⁸ your very Day-moth has capabilities in this kind; and ever organizes something (into its own Body, if no otherwise), which was before Inorganic⁹; and of mute dead air makes living music, though only of the faintest, by humming.

“How much more, one whose capabilities are spiritual; who has learned, or begun learning, the grand thaumaturgic art of Thought! Thaumaturgic I name it; for hitherto all Miracles have been wrought¹⁰ thereby¹¹, and henceforth innumerable will be wrought; whereof we, even in these days, witness some. Of the Poet’s and Prophet’s inspired Message, and how it makes and unmakes whole worlds, I shall forbear mention: but cannot the dullest hear Steam-engines clanking around him? Has he not seen the Scottish Brass-smith’s IDEA (and this but a mechanical one) travelling on fire-wings round the

分享到：