Sartor Resartus
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Thomas Carlyle >> Sartor Resartus
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SARTOR RESARTUS: The Life and Opinions of Herr Teufelsdrockh
By Thomas Carlyle.
[1831]
BOOK I.
CHAPTER I.
PRELIMINARY.
Considering our present advanced state of culture, and how the Torch of
Science has now been brandished and borne about, with more or less effect,
for five thousand years and upwards; how, in these times especially, not
only the Torch still burns, and perhaps more fiercely than ever, but
innumerable Rushlights, and Sulphur-matches, kindled thereat, are also
glancing in every direction, so that not the smallest cranny or dog-hole in
Nature or Art can remain unilluminated,--it might strike the reflective
mind with some surprise that hitherto little or nothing of a fundamental
character, whether in the way of Philosophy or History, has been written on
the subject of Clothes.
Our Theory of Gravitation is as good as perfect: Lagrange, it is well
known, has proved that the Planetary System, on this scheme, will endure
forever; Laplace, still more cunningly, even guesses that it could not have
been made on any other scheme. Whereby, at least, our nautical Logbooks
can be better kept; and water-transport of all kinds has grown more
commodious. Of Geology and Geognosy we know enough: what with the labors
of our Werners and Huttons, what with the ardent genius of their disciples,
it has come about that now, to many a Royal Society, the Creation of a
World is little more mysterious than the cooking of a dumpling; concerning
which last, indeed, there have been minds to whom the question, _How the
apples were got in_, presented difficulties. Why mention our disquisitions
on the Social Contract, on the Standard of Taste, on the Migrations of the
Herring? Then, have we not a Doctrine of Rent, a Theory of Value;
Philosophies of Language, of History, of Pottery, of Apparitions, of
Intoxicating Liquors? Man's whole life and environment have been laid open
and elucidated; scarcely a fragment or fibre of his Soul, Body, and
Possessions, but has been probed, dissected, distilled, desiccated, and
scientifically decomposed: our spiritual Faculties, of which it appears
there are not a few, have their Stewarts, Cousins, Royer Collards: every
cellular, vascular, muscular Tissue glories in its Lawrences, Majendies,
Bichats.
How, then, comes it, may the reflective mind repeat, that the grand Tissue
of all Tissues, the only real Tissue, should have been quite overlooked by
Science,--the vestural Tissue, namely, of woollen or other cloth; which
Man's Soul wears as its outmost wrappage and overall; wherein his whole
other Tissues are included and screened, his whole Faculties work, his
whole Self lives, moves, and has its being? For if, now and then, some
straggling broken-winged thinker has cast an owl's glance into this obscure
region, the most have soared over it altogether heedless; regarding Clothes
as a property, not an accident, as quite natural and spontaneous, like the
leaves of trees, like the plumage of birds. In all speculations they have
tacitly figured man as _a Clothed Animal_; whereas he is by nature a _Naked
Animal_; and only in certain circumstances, by purpose and device, masks
himself in Clothes. Shakespeare says, we are creatures that look before
and after: the more surprising that we do not look round a little, and see
what is passing under our very eyes.
But here, as in so many other cases, Germany, learned, indefatigable,
deep-thinking Germany comes to our aid. It is, after all, a blessing that,
in these revolutionary times, there should be one country where abstract
Thought can still take shelter; that while the din and frenzy of Catholic
Emancipations, and Rotten Boroughs, and Revolts of Paris, deafen every
French and every English ear, the German can stand peaceful on his
scientific watch-tower; and, to the raging, struggling multitude here and
elsewhere, solemnly, from hour to hour, with preparatory blast of cow-horn,
emit his _Horet ihr Herren und lasset's Euch sagen_; in other words, tell
the Universe, which so often forgets that fact, what o'clock it really is.
Not unfrequently the Germans have been blamed for an unprofitable
diligence; as if they struck into devious courses, where nothing was to be
had but the toil of a rough journey; as if, forsaking the gold-mines of
finance and that political slaughter of fat oxen whereby a man himself
grows fat, they were apt to run goose-hunting into regions of bilberries
and crowberries, and be swallowed up at last in remote peat-bogs. Of that
unwise science, which, as our Humorist expresses it,
"By geometric scale
Doth take the size of pots of ale;"
still more, of that altogether misdirected industry, which is seen
vigorously thrashing mere straw, there can nothing defensive be said. In
so far as the Germans are chargeable with such, let them take the
consequence. Nevertheless be it remarked, that even a Russian steppe has
tumult and gold ornaments; also many a scene that looks desert and
rock-bound from the distance, will unfold itself, when visited, into rare
valleys. Nay, in any case, would Criticism erect not only finger-posts and
turnpikes, but spiked gates and impassable barriers, for the mind of man?
It is written, "Many shall run to and fro, and knowledge shall be
increased." Surely the plain rule is, Let each considerate person have his
way, and see what it will lead to. For not this man and that man, but all
men make up mankind, and their united tasks the task of mankind. How often
have we seen some such adventurous, and perhaps much-censured wanderer
light on some out-lying, neglected, yet vitally momentous province; the
hidden treasures of which he first discovered, and kept proclaiming till
the general eye and effort were directed thither, and the conquest was
completed;--thereby, in these his seemingly so aimless rambles, planting
new standards, founding new habitable colonies, in the immeasurable
circumambient realm of Nothingness and Night! Wise man was he who
counselled that Speculation should have free course, and look fearlessly
towards all the thirty-two points of the compass, whithersoever and
howsoever it listed.
Perhaps it is proof of the stunted condition in which pure Science,
especially pure moral Science, languishes among us English; and how our
mercantile greatness, and invaluable Constitution, impressing a political
or other immediately practical tendency on all English culture and
endeavor, cramps the free flight of Thought,--that this, not Philosophy of
Clothes, but recognition even that we have no such Philosophy, stands here
for the first time published in our language. What English intellect could
have chosen such a topic, or by chance stumbled on it? But for that same
unshackled, and even sequestered condition of the German Learned, which
permits and induces them to fish in all manner of waters, with all manner
of nets, it seems probable enough, this abtruse Inquiry might, in spite of
the results it leads to, have continued dormant for indefinite periods.
The Editor of these sheets, though otherwise boasting himself a man of
confirmed speculative habits, and perhaps discursive enough, is free to
confess, that never, till these last months, did the above very plain
considerations, on our total want of a Philosophy of Clothes, occur to him;
and then, by quite foreign suggestion. By the arrival, namely, of a new
Book from Professor Teufelsdrockh of Weissnichtwo; treating expressly of
this subject, and in a style which, whether understood or not, could not
even by the blindest be overlooked. In the present Editor's way of
thought, this remarkable Treatise, with its Doctrines, whether as
judicially acceded to, or judicially denied, has not remained without
effect.
"_Die Kleider, ihr Werden und Wirken_ (Clothes, their Origin and
Influence): _von Diog. Teufelsdrockh, J. U. D. etc. Stillschweigen und
Cognie. Weissnichtwo_, 1831.
"Here," says the _Weissnichtwo'sche Anzeiger_, "comes a Volume of that
extensive, close-printed, close-meditated sort, which, be it spoken with
pride, is seen only in Germany, perhaps only in Weissnichtwo. Issuing from
the hitherto irreproachable Firm of Stillschweigen and Company, with every
external furtherance, it is of such internal quality as to set Neglect at
defiance.... A work," concludes the well-nigh enthusiastic Reviewer,
"interesting alike to the antiquary, the historian, and the philosophic
thinker; a masterpiece of boldness, lynx-eyed acuteness, and rugged
independent Germanism and Philanthropy (_derber Kerndeutschheit und
Menschenliebe_); which will not, assuredly, pass current without opposition
in high places; but must and will exalt the almost new name of
Teufelsdrockh to the first ranks of Philosophy, in our German Temple of
Honor."
Mindful of old friendship, the distinguished Professor, in this the first
blaze of his fame, which however does not dazzle him, sends hither a
Presentation-copy of his Book; with compliments and encomiums which modesty
forbids the present Editor to rehearse; yet without indicated wish or hope
of any kind, except what may be implied in the concluding phrase: _Mochte
es_ (this remarkable Treatise) _auch im Brittischen Boden gedeihen_!
CHAPTER II.
EDITORIAL DIFFICULTIES.
If for a speculative man, "whose seedfield," in the sublime words of the
Poet, "is Time," no conquest is important but that of new ideas, then might
the arrival of Professor Teufelsdrockh's Book be marked with chalk in the
Editor's calendar. It is indeed an "extensive Volume," of boundless,
almost formless contents, a very Sea of Thought; neither calm nor clear, if
you will; yet wherein the toughest pearl-diver may dive to his utmost
depth, and return not only with sea-wreck but with true orients.
Directly on the first perusal, almost on the first deliberate inspection,
it became apparent that here a quite new Branch of Philosophy, leading to
as yet undescried ulterior results, was disclosed; farther, what seemed
scarcely less interesting, a quite new human Individuality, an almost
unexampled personal character, that, namely, of Professor Teufelsdrockh the
Discloser. Of both which novelties, as far as might be possible, we
resolved to master the significance. But as man is emphatically a
proselytizing creature, no sooner was such mastery even fairly attempted,
than the new question arose: How might this acquired good be imparted to
others, perhaps in equal need thereof; how could the Philosophy of Clothes,
and the Author of such Philosophy, be brought home, in any measure, to the
business and bosoms of our own English Nation? For if new-got gold is said
to burn the pockets till it be cast forth into circulation, much more may
new truth.
Here, however, difficulties occurred. The first thought naturally was to
publish Article after Article on this remarkable Volume, in such widely
circulating Critical Journals as the Editor might stand connected with, or
by money or love procure access to. But, on the other hand, was it not
clear that such matter as must here be revealed, and treated of, might
endanger the circulation of any Journal extant? If, indeed, all
party-divisions in the State could have been abolished, Whig, Tory, and
Radical, embracing in discrepant union; and all the Journals of the Nation
could have been jumbled into one Journal, and the Philosophy of Clothes
poured forth in incessant torrents therefrom, the attempt had seemed
possible. But, alas, what vehicle of that sort have we, except _Fraser's
Magazine_? A vehicle all strewed (figuratively speaking) with the maddest
Waterloo-Crackers, exploding distractively and destructively, wheresoever
the mystified passenger stands or sits; nay, in any case, understood to be,
of late years, a vehicle full to overflowing, and inexorably shut!
Besides, to state the Philosophy of Clothes without the Philosopher, the
ideas of Teufelsdrockh without something of his personality, was it not to
insure both of entire misapprehension? Now for Biography, had it been
otherwise admissible, there were no adequate documents, no hope of
obtaining such, but rather, owing to circumstances, a special despair.
Thus did the Editor see himself, for the while, shut out from all public
utterance of these extraordinary Doctrines, and constrained to revolve
them, not without disquietude, in the dark depths of his own mind.
So had it lasted for some months; and now the Volume on Clothes, read and
again read, was in several points becoming lucid and lucent; the
personality of its Author more and more surprising, but, in spite of all
that memory and conjecture could do, more and more enigmatic; whereby the
old disquietude seemed fast settling into fixed discontent,--when
altogether unexpectedly arrives a Letter from Herr Hofrath Heuschrecke, our
Professor's chief friend and associate in Weissnichtwo, with whom we had
not previously corresponded. The Hofrath, after much quite extraneous
matter, began dilating largely on the "agitation and attention" which the
Philosophy of Clothes was exciting in its own German Republic of Letters;
on the deep significance and tendency of his Friend's Volume; and then, at
length, with great circumlocution, hinted at the practicability of
conveying "some knowledge of it, and of him, to England, and through
England to the distant West:" a work on Professor Teufelsdrockh "were
undoubtedly welcome to the _Family_, the _National_, or any other of those
patriotic _Libraries_, at present the glory of British Literature;" might
work revolutions in Thought; and so forth;--in conclusion, intimating not
obscurely, that should the present Editor feel disposed to undertake a
Biography of Teufelsdrockh, he, Hofrath Heuschrecke, had it in his power to
furnish the requisite Documents.
As in some chemical mixture, that has stood long evaporating, but would not
crystallize, instantly when the wire or other fixed substance is
introduced, crystallization commences, and rapidly proceeds till the whole
is finished, so was it with the Editor's mind and this offer of
Heuschrecke's. Form rose out of void solution and discontinuity; like
united itself with like in definite arrangement: and soon either in actual
vision and possession, or in fixed reasonable hope, the image of the whole
Enterprise had shaped itself, so to speak, into a solid mass. Cautiously
yet courageously, through the twopenny post, application to the famed
redoubtable OLIVER YORKE was now made: an interview, interviews with that
singular man have taken place; with more of assurance on our side, with
less of satire (at least of open satire) on his, than we anticipated; for
the rest, with such issue as is now visible. As to those same "patriotic
_Libraries_," the Hofrath's counsel could only be viewed with silent
amazement; but with his offer of Documents we joyfully and almost
instantaneously closed. Thus, too, in the sure expectation of these, we
already see our task begun; and this our _Sartor Resartus_, which is
properly a "Life and Opinions of Herr Teufelsdrockh," hourly advancing.
Of our fitness for the Enterprise, to which we have such title and
vocation, it were perhaps uninteresting to say more. Let the British
reader study and enjoy, in simplicity of heart, what is here presented him,
and with whatever metaphysical acumen and talent for meditation he is
possessed of. Let him strive to keep a free, open sense; cleared from the
mists of prejudice, above all from the paralysis of cant; and directed
rather to the Book itself than to the Editor of the Book. Who or what such
Editor may be, must remain conjectural, and even insignificant:* it is a
voice publishing tidings of the Philosophy of Clothes; undoubtedly a Spirit
addressing Spirits: whoso hath ears, let him hear.
*With us even he still communicates in some sort of mask, or muffler; and,
we have reason to think, under a feigned name!--O. Y.
On one other point the Editor thinks it needful to give warning: namely,
that he is animated with a true though perhaps a feeble attachment to the
Institutions of our Ancestors; and minded to defend these, according to
ability, at all hazards; nay, it was partly with a view to such defence
that he engaged in this undertaking. To stem, or if that be impossible,
profitably to divert the current of Innovation, such a Volume as
Teufelsdrockh's, if cunningly planted down, were no despicable pile, or
floodgate, in the logical wear.
For the rest, be it nowise apprehended, that any personal connection of
ours with Teufelsdrockh, Heuschrecke or this Philosophy of Clothes, can
pervert our judgment, or sway us to extenuate or exaggerate. Powerless, we
venture to promise, are those private Compliments themselves. Grateful
they may well be; as generous illusions of friendship; as fair mementos of
bygone unions, of those nights and suppers of the gods, when, lapped in the
symphonies and harmonies of Philosophic Eloquence, though with baser
accompaniments, the present Editor revelled in that feast of reason, never
since vouchsafed him in so full measure! But what then? _Amicus Plato,
magis amica veritas_; Teufelsdrockh is our friend, Truth is our divinity.
In our historical and critical capacity, we hope we are strangers to all
the world; have feud or favor with no one,--save indeed the Devil, with
whom, as with the Prince of Lies and Darkness, we do at all times wage
internecine war. This assurance, at an epoch when puffery and quackery
have reached a height unexampled in the annals of mankind, and even English
Editors, like Chinese Shopkeepers, must write on their door-lintels _No
cheating here_,--we thought it good to premise.
CHAPTER III.
REMINISCENCES.
To the Author's private circle the appearance of this singular Work on
Clothes must have occasioned little less surprise than it has to the rest
of the world. For ourselves, at least, few things have been more
unexpected. Professor Teufelsdrockh, at the period of our acquaintance
with him, seemed to lead a quite still and self-contained life: a man
devoted to the higher Philosophies, indeed; yet more likely, if he
published at all, to publish a refutation of Hegel and Bardili, both of
whom, strangely enough, he included under a common ban; than to descend, as
he has here done, into the angry noisy Forum, with an Argument that cannot
but exasperate and divide. Not, that we can remember, was the Philosophy
of Clothes once touched upon between us. If through the high, silent,
meditative Transcendentalism of our Friend we detected any practical
tendency whatever, it was at most Political, and towards a certain
prospective, and for the present quite speculative, Radicalism; as indeed
some correspondence, on his part, with Herr Oken of Jena was now and then
suspected; though his special contributions to the _Isis_ could never be
more than surmised at. But, at all events, nothing Moral, still less
anything Didactico-Religious, was looked for from him.
Well do we recollect the last words he spoke in our hearing; which indeed,
with the Night they were uttered in, are to be forever remembered. Lifting
his huge tumbler of _Gukguk_,* and for a moment lowering his tobacco-pipe,
he stood up in full Coffee-house (it was _Zur Grunen Gans_, the largest in
Weissnichtwo, where all the Virtuosity, and nearly all the Intellect of the
place assembled of an evening); and there, with low, soul-stirring tone,
and the look truly of an angel, though whether of a white or of a black one
might be dubious, proposed this toast: _Die Sache der Armen in Gottes und
Teufels Namen_ (The Cause of the Poor, in Heaven's name and --'s)! One
full shout, breaking the leaden silence; then a gurgle of innumerable
emptying bumpers, again followed by universal cheering, returned him loud
acclaim. It was the finale of the night: resuming their pipes; in the
highest enthusiasm, amid volumes of tobacco-smoke; triumphant, cloud-capt
without and within, the assembly broke up, each to his thoughtful pillow.
_Bleibt doch ein echter Spass_- _und Galgen-vogel_, said several; meaning
thereby that, one day, he would probably be hanged for his democratic
sentiments. _Wo steckt doch der Schalk_? added they, looking round: but
Teufelsdrockh had retired by private alleys, and the Compiler of these
pages beheld him no more.
*Gukguk is unhappily only an academical-beer.
In such scenes has it been our lot to live with this Philosopher, such
estimate to form of his purposes and powers. And yet, thou brave
Teufelsdrockh, who could tell what lurked in thee? Under those thick locks
of thine, so long and lank, overlapping roof-wise the gravest face we ever
in this world saw, there dwelt a most busy brain. In thy eyes too, deep
under their shaggy brows, and looking out so still and dreamy, have we not
noticed gleams of an ethereal or else a diabolic fire, and half fancied
that their stillness was but the rest of infinite motion, the _sleep_ of a
spinning-top? Thy little figure, there as, in loose ill-brushed threadbare
habiliments, thou sattest, amid litter and lumber, whole days, to "think
and smoke tobacco," held in it a mighty heart. The secrets of man's Life
were laid open to thee; thou sawest into the mystery of the Universe,
farther than another; thou hadst _in petto_ thy remarkable Volume on
Clothes. Nay, was there not in that clear logically founded
Transcendentalism of thine; still more, in thy meek, silent, deep-seated
Sansculottism, combined with a true princely Courtesy of inward nature, the
visible rudiments of such speculation? But great men are too often
unknown, or what is worse, misknown. Already, when we dreamed not of it,
the warp of thy remarkable Volume lay on the loom; and silently, mysterious
shuttles were putting in the woof.
How the Hofrath Heuschrecke is to furnish biographical data, in this case,
may be a curious question; the answer of which, however, is happily not our
concern, but his. To us it appeared, after repeated trial, that in
Weissnichtwo, from the archives or memories of the best-informed classes,
no Biography of Teufelsdrockh was to be gathered; not so much as a false
one. He was a stranger there, wafted thither by what is called the course
of circumstances; concerning whose parentage, birthplace, prospects, or
pursuits, curiosity had indeed made inquiries, but satisfied herself with
the most indistinct replies. For himself, he was a man so still and
altogether unparticipating, that to question him even afar off on such
particulars was a thing of more than usual delicacy: besides, in his sly
way, he had ever some quaint turn, not without its satirical edge,
wherewith to divert such intrusions, and deter you from the like. Wits
spoke of him secretly as if he were a kind of Melchizedek, without father
or mother of any kind; sometimes, with reference to his great historic and
statistic knowledge, and the vivid way he had of expressing himself like an
eye-witness of distant transactions and scenes, they called him the _Ewige
Jude_, Everlasting, or as we say, Wandering Jew.
To the most, indeed, he had become not so much a Man as a Thing; which
Thing doubtless they were accustomed to see, and with satisfaction; but no
more thought of accounting for than for the fabrication of their daily
_Allgemeine Zeitung_, or the domestic habits of the Sun. Both were there
and welcome; the world enjoyed what good was in them, and thought no more
of the matter. The man Teufelsdrockh passed and repassed, in his little
circle, as one of those originals and nondescripts, more frequent in German
Universities than elsewhere; of whom, though you see them alive, and feel
certain enough that they must have a History, no History seems to be
discoverable; or only such as men give of mountain rocks and antediluvian
ruins: That they have been created by unknown agencies, are in a state of
gradual decay, and for the present reflect light and resist pressure; that
is, are visible and tangible objects in this phantasm world, where so much
other mystery is.
It was to be remarked that though, by title and diploma, _Professor der
Allerley-Wissenschaft_, or as we should say in English, "Professor of
Things in General," he had never delivered any Course; perhaps never been
incited thereto by any public furtherance or requisition. To all
appearance, the enlightened Government of Weissnichtwo, in founding their
New University, imagined they had done enough, if "in times like ours," as
the half-official Program expressed it, "when all things are, rapidly or
slowly, resolving themselves into Chaos, a Professorship of this kind had
been established; whereby, as occasion called, the task of bodying somewhat
forth again from such Chaos might be, even slightly, facilitated." That
actual Lectures should be held, and Public Classes for the "Science of
Things in General," they doubtless considered premature; on which ground
too they had only established the Professorship, nowise endowed it; so that
Teufelsdrockh, "recommended by the highest Names," had been promoted
thereby to a Name merely.
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