You just have to read this passage. I took it from the October 10, 1846, issue of Scientific American.
It is dangerous for a man of superior ability to find himself thrown upon the world without some regular employment. The restlessness inherent in genius, being thus undirected by any permanent influence, frames for itself occupations out of accidents. Moral integrity sometimes falls a prey to the want of a fixed pursuit, and the man who receives his direction in active life from the fortuitous impulse of circumstances, will be very apt to receive his principles likewise from chance. Genius, under such guidance, attains no noble ends, but resembles rather a copious spring conveyed in a falling aqueduct, where the waters continually escape through the frequent crevices, and waste themselves ineffectually on their passage. The law of nature is here, as elsewhere, binding, and no powerful results ever ensue from the trivial exercise of high endowments. The finest mind, when thus destitute of a fixed purpose, passes away without leaving permanent traces of its existence; losing its energy by turning aside from its course, it becomes as harmless and inefficient as the lightning, which, of itself irresistible, may yet be rendered powerless by a slight conductor.*
We might have to infer some of the meaning in the passage. By “employment,” the writer most likely meant “a fixed pursuit,” not working for a wage or salary. And by “moral integrity,” he is probably arguing from the perspective of the old saw, “Idleness is the Devil’s workshop.” So, the fixed pursuit can’t be, let’s say, chasing after an armored car’s money sacks. He’s arguing, I believe, for an energetic life that benefits others, thus his warning about passing “away without leaving permanent traces,” another term that we have to infer a meaning. Hitler left a permanent trace on the world, but such a “trace,” coming a century after the date of the paragraph, would lack moral integrity. Let’s use that “trace” as a point of departure:
“The finest mind, when thus destitute of a fixed purpose, passes away without leaving permanent traces of its existence…” reminds me of lyrics in a song by Cat Stevens (AKA Yusuf Islam): “Oh! Very young, what will you leave us this time?” ** In the affluence that has arisen since 1846, human population has grown from about 1.2 billion to more than 7.8 billion. Even the smaller population of the nineteenth century could not have all its individuals leaving a “permanent trace,” and surely the writer was aware of that fact. What, for example is the permanent trace left by the Scientific American editor, save a piece of writing that I stumbled upon? And what of the fundamental message in his writing? Isn’t it a timeworn cliché about “doing something with one’s life”?
Had Plato’s writings not been fortuitously preserved through the centuries, would he have left much of a trace save indirectly through his student’s student, that is, through Alexander the Great whose conquests spread Hellenism? And we have only Plato’s words to pass on the “trace” left by his teacher Socrates. Permanence of trace is haphazard at best, mere footprints in the sand, but since death is inevitable, leaving a trace is a consolation path to permanence. Think, for example, of the lyrics to the song “Fame” from the movie and TV series about talented youth: “Fame!/I’m gonna live forever/Baby, remember my name.” *** Leaving a trace isn’t an uncommon desire, but all fame is temporary. No doubt many pharaohs were famous in their time. But only an exceptional few names continue past the rise and fall of cultures, for example, Siddhartha, Jesus, and Mohammed. Many who were well known in their times, even conquerors, have fallen into the dustbin of history. We might have to thank Gutenberg and the increase in the number of historians for any chance of remembrance and influence. What, I might ask, will become of these thousand plus little essays that I have posted on this website when I join the hundred billion humans who have come and gone over the past 250,000 years without leaving a “permanent trace”?
I was particularly drawn to the sentence, “The restlessness inherent in genius, being thus undirected by any permanent influence, frames for itself occupations out of accidents…Genius, under such guidance, attains no noble ends….” There might be in all of us, regardless of IQ, a wasted genius of some kind, wasted because we react rather than act.
That speaks well in general for purposeful, that is, planned, actions, but not all purposeful actions bear equal value. Collecting beer cans as a hobby leads to a personal museum, as collecting any kind of object does. In some instances, such collections become a mass of items for a public museum’s curator to partly display, given the space available and the value, intrinsic or cultural, placed on the collection. “And this next case, Ladies and Gentlemen, holds 153 of the 2,353 beer cans collected by So-n-So.” Thus, collecting beer cans is purposeful and not an occupation “out of accident,” but it is not likely to leave a trace comparable to that left by the Buddha.
I suppose I could argue similarly that purposeful collecting any kind of object, even art worth millions of dollars, differs little from collecting beer cans. After all, assigning a value to a painting (or a can), however talented its artist, is a matter of culture and economics. Sorry if this kind of thinking puts you in a funk over your years of purposeful collecting or over some other actions you have deemed to be “noble.” But assigning value to art or any kind of object is a cultural preference. We put great value on the 17-millennia-old cave paintings at Lascaux, but most of those drawings are little better than finger-paintings by six-year-olds. Putting aside arguments about collecting as a purposeful action that leaves a permanent trace of the individual, I might argue that because we are finite, any trace we leave is likely to be semi-permanent at best.
Whereas it is true that much of what comes our way comes unexpectedly (“accidentally”), it is also true that we have the ability to plan if we have reached the age of reason. But what of the term “noble ends”? Certainly, the idea of nobility dates the writer’s psycho-socio orientation. I can envision that mid-nineteenth-century writer bearing in his values a leftover notion from the chivalric era, or at least from chivalric literature, some idea that nobles are, well, “noble.” If you remember your medieval French chansons de geste, you’ll associate “noble” with heroism, honor, loyalty, love of country, and protection of the weak and innocent. We still speak of nobility and noble actions in the twenty-first century, but our own meaning has nuances shaded by scandals of contemporary nobles in monarchic countries. I’m thinking, for example, of Prince Charles and Lady Diana, both of who had affairs and of other “nobles” whose purposeful pursuits the nineteenth-century writer would call ignoble. Plus, since the rise of European Romanticism, the thinking in “egalitarian” western societies is either that everyone is “noble” or no one is.****
I suppose the term “noble ends” smacks of “elitism” for some and for others of ethical or even “divine” qualities. The work of Saint Mother Teresa, for example, would be “noble.” Certainly, she left a “trace” of her existence—though like the traces so many other “saints,” secular or religious, her mark will fade with time. Andrew Carnegie, whose life is negatively associated with union-buster Henry Clay Frick and with the Johnstown Flood, left a considerable “trace” in libraries, museums, and in a university, all those buildings and institutions surviving long past their namesake.
And what of the writer’s comment that “no powerful results ever ensue from the trivial exercise of high endowments”? Would sports be “trivial”? I’m thinking of Edson Arantes do Nascimento, AKA Pelé, Roberto Clemente, Jim Brown, and thousands of great athletes, all of them physical “geniuses” and many of them also intellectual geniuses. Athletes have “high endowments.” Are their pursuits of excellence and superiority in their games “noble ends” that leave permanent traces? The Scientific American writer seems to have only “intellectual” pursuits in mind. And we can’t fault him. Among the greatest athletes, few attain remembrance beyond their eras. Marathon originalist Pheidippides is a notable exception, but he had to die for his enduring “trace.”
Regardless of the writer’s undefined terms and the differences in enculturation that derives from our different centuries, I believe I find much to think about in that 1846 passage. Am I mostly a reactive person, with more of my life unplanned than planned? Do I pursue trivial matters rather than those of greater import? I know, what’s “greater import” if it is undefined? Do I possess any “endowments” I should be using to imprint on the planet a lasting trace of my existence? Do I do anything that could be labeled “noble”? Or, shouldn’t I take a realistic view of my relative significance (or insignificance) among my contemporary 7.8 billion fellow humans, most of who do not even know that I exist? Then, again, maybe I can find consolation that a few readers have come to this website, where they find as points of departure a bit of inspiration to pursue their own endowments and genius. If I were like Socrates to Plato your Muse and nothing else,…
As Cat Stevens asks in words that apply even to one who is well past youth, “What will you leave us this time?” And if YOU were someone else’s Muse and nothing else,…
*Project Gutenberg. Scientific American, under the heading “Employment.” Online at https://www.gutenberg.org/files/29411/29411-h/29411-h.htm#The_Great_Fair .
** https://video.search.yahoo.com/yhs/search?fr=yhs-iba-syn&hsimp=yhs-syn&hspart=iba&p=cat+stevens+oh+very+young#id=0&vid=ba8f226a79d166b05e425c2b10208eaf&action=click
***The lively song sung by Irene Cara can be heard here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H1gMQ_q3FSM Accessed November 6, 2020.
****Does the thinking that no one is noble derive from existentialism? From Dadaism? From Nihilism? Is it the product of twentieth century wars that have killed untold millions?
It is dangerous for a man of superior ability to find himself thrown upon the world without some regular employment. The restlessness inherent in genius, being thus undirected by any permanent influence, frames for itself occupations out of accidents. Moral integrity sometimes falls a prey to the want of a fixed pursuit, and the man who receives his direction in active life from the fortuitous impulse of circumstances, will be very apt to receive his principles likewise from chance. Genius, under such guidance, attains no noble ends, but resembles rather a copious spring conveyed in a falling aqueduct, where the waters continually escape through the frequent crevices, and waste themselves ineffectually on their passage. The law of nature is here, as elsewhere, binding, and no powerful results ever ensue from the trivial exercise of high endowments. The finest mind, when thus destitute of a fixed purpose, passes away without leaving permanent traces of its existence; losing its energy by turning aside from its course, it becomes as harmless and inefficient as the lightning, which, of itself irresistible, may yet be rendered powerless by a slight conductor.*
We might have to infer some of the meaning in the passage. By “employment,” the writer most likely meant “a fixed pursuit,” not working for a wage or salary. And by “moral integrity,” he is probably arguing from the perspective of the old saw, “Idleness is the Devil’s workshop.” So, the fixed pursuit can’t be, let’s say, chasing after an armored car’s money sacks. He’s arguing, I believe, for an energetic life that benefits others, thus his warning about passing “away without leaving permanent traces,” another term that we have to infer a meaning. Hitler left a permanent trace on the world, but such a “trace,” coming a century after the date of the paragraph, would lack moral integrity. Let’s use that “trace” as a point of departure:
“The finest mind, when thus destitute of a fixed purpose, passes away without leaving permanent traces of its existence…” reminds me of lyrics in a song by Cat Stevens (AKA Yusuf Islam): “Oh! Very young, what will you leave us this time?” ** In the affluence that has arisen since 1846, human population has grown from about 1.2 billion to more than 7.8 billion. Even the smaller population of the nineteenth century could not have all its individuals leaving a “permanent trace,” and surely the writer was aware of that fact. What, for example is the permanent trace left by the Scientific American editor, save a piece of writing that I stumbled upon? And what of the fundamental message in his writing? Isn’t it a timeworn cliché about “doing something with one’s life”?
Had Plato’s writings not been fortuitously preserved through the centuries, would he have left much of a trace save indirectly through his student’s student, that is, through Alexander the Great whose conquests spread Hellenism? And we have only Plato’s words to pass on the “trace” left by his teacher Socrates. Permanence of trace is haphazard at best, mere footprints in the sand, but since death is inevitable, leaving a trace is a consolation path to permanence. Think, for example, of the lyrics to the song “Fame” from the movie and TV series about talented youth: “Fame!/I’m gonna live forever/Baby, remember my name.” *** Leaving a trace isn’t an uncommon desire, but all fame is temporary. No doubt many pharaohs were famous in their time. But only an exceptional few names continue past the rise and fall of cultures, for example, Siddhartha, Jesus, and Mohammed. Many who were well known in their times, even conquerors, have fallen into the dustbin of history. We might have to thank Gutenberg and the increase in the number of historians for any chance of remembrance and influence. What, I might ask, will become of these thousand plus little essays that I have posted on this website when I join the hundred billion humans who have come and gone over the past 250,000 years without leaving a “permanent trace”?
I was particularly drawn to the sentence, “The restlessness inherent in genius, being thus undirected by any permanent influence, frames for itself occupations out of accidents…Genius, under such guidance, attains no noble ends….” There might be in all of us, regardless of IQ, a wasted genius of some kind, wasted because we react rather than act.
That speaks well in general for purposeful, that is, planned, actions, but not all purposeful actions bear equal value. Collecting beer cans as a hobby leads to a personal museum, as collecting any kind of object does. In some instances, such collections become a mass of items for a public museum’s curator to partly display, given the space available and the value, intrinsic or cultural, placed on the collection. “And this next case, Ladies and Gentlemen, holds 153 of the 2,353 beer cans collected by So-n-So.” Thus, collecting beer cans is purposeful and not an occupation “out of accident,” but it is not likely to leave a trace comparable to that left by the Buddha.
I suppose I could argue similarly that purposeful collecting any kind of object, even art worth millions of dollars, differs little from collecting beer cans. After all, assigning a value to a painting (or a can), however talented its artist, is a matter of culture and economics. Sorry if this kind of thinking puts you in a funk over your years of purposeful collecting or over some other actions you have deemed to be “noble.” But assigning value to art or any kind of object is a cultural preference. We put great value on the 17-millennia-old cave paintings at Lascaux, but most of those drawings are little better than finger-paintings by six-year-olds. Putting aside arguments about collecting as a purposeful action that leaves a permanent trace of the individual, I might argue that because we are finite, any trace we leave is likely to be semi-permanent at best.
Whereas it is true that much of what comes our way comes unexpectedly (“accidentally”), it is also true that we have the ability to plan if we have reached the age of reason. But what of the term “noble ends”? Certainly, the idea of nobility dates the writer’s psycho-socio orientation. I can envision that mid-nineteenth-century writer bearing in his values a leftover notion from the chivalric era, or at least from chivalric literature, some idea that nobles are, well, “noble.” If you remember your medieval French chansons de geste, you’ll associate “noble” with heroism, honor, loyalty, love of country, and protection of the weak and innocent. We still speak of nobility and noble actions in the twenty-first century, but our own meaning has nuances shaded by scandals of contemporary nobles in monarchic countries. I’m thinking, for example, of Prince Charles and Lady Diana, both of who had affairs and of other “nobles” whose purposeful pursuits the nineteenth-century writer would call ignoble. Plus, since the rise of European Romanticism, the thinking in “egalitarian” western societies is either that everyone is “noble” or no one is.****
I suppose the term “noble ends” smacks of “elitism” for some and for others of ethical or even “divine” qualities. The work of Saint Mother Teresa, for example, would be “noble.” Certainly, she left a “trace” of her existence—though like the traces so many other “saints,” secular or religious, her mark will fade with time. Andrew Carnegie, whose life is negatively associated with union-buster Henry Clay Frick and with the Johnstown Flood, left a considerable “trace” in libraries, museums, and in a university, all those buildings and institutions surviving long past their namesake.
And what of the writer’s comment that “no powerful results ever ensue from the trivial exercise of high endowments”? Would sports be “trivial”? I’m thinking of Edson Arantes do Nascimento, AKA Pelé, Roberto Clemente, Jim Brown, and thousands of great athletes, all of them physical “geniuses” and many of them also intellectual geniuses. Athletes have “high endowments.” Are their pursuits of excellence and superiority in their games “noble ends” that leave permanent traces? The Scientific American writer seems to have only “intellectual” pursuits in mind. And we can’t fault him. Among the greatest athletes, few attain remembrance beyond their eras. Marathon originalist Pheidippides is a notable exception, but he had to die for his enduring “trace.”
Regardless of the writer’s undefined terms and the differences in enculturation that derives from our different centuries, I believe I find much to think about in that 1846 passage. Am I mostly a reactive person, with more of my life unplanned than planned? Do I pursue trivial matters rather than those of greater import? I know, what’s “greater import” if it is undefined? Do I possess any “endowments” I should be using to imprint on the planet a lasting trace of my existence? Do I do anything that could be labeled “noble”? Or, shouldn’t I take a realistic view of my relative significance (or insignificance) among my contemporary 7.8 billion fellow humans, most of who do not even know that I exist? Then, again, maybe I can find consolation that a few readers have come to this website, where they find as points of departure a bit of inspiration to pursue their own endowments and genius. If I were like Socrates to Plato your Muse and nothing else,…
As Cat Stevens asks in words that apply even to one who is well past youth, “What will you leave us this time?” And if YOU were someone else’s Muse and nothing else,…
*Project Gutenberg. Scientific American, under the heading “Employment.” Online at https://www.gutenberg.org/files/29411/29411-h/29411-h.htm#The_Great_Fair .
** https://video.search.yahoo.com/yhs/search?fr=yhs-iba-syn&hsimp=yhs-syn&hspart=iba&p=cat+stevens+oh+very+young#id=0&vid=ba8f226a79d166b05e425c2b10208eaf&action=click
***The lively song sung by Irene Cara can be heard here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H1gMQ_q3FSM Accessed November 6, 2020.
****Does the thinking that no one is noble derive from existentialism? From Dadaism? From Nihilism? Is it the product of twentieth century wars that have killed untold millions?
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