the sun, so character may be the part of the soul we, the blind,
can see, and then have the right to imagine that the soul is each
man's share of God, and character the muscle which tries to
reveal its mysteries--a kind of its first visible radiance--the
right to know that it is the voice which is always calling the
pragmatist a fool.

At any rate, it can be said that Emerson's character has much to
do with his power upon us. Men who have known nothing of his
life, have borne witness to this. It is directly at the root of
his substance, and affects his manner only indirectly. It gives
the sincerity to the constant spiritual hopefulness we are always
conscious of, and which carries with it often, even when the
expression is somber, a note of exultation in the victories of
"the innate virtues" of man. And it is this, perhaps, that makes
us feel his courage--not a self-courage, but a sympathetic one--
courageous even to tenderness. It is the open courage of a kind
heart, of not forcing opinions--a thing much needed when the
cowardly, underhanded courage of the fanatic would FORCE opinion.
It is the courage of believing in freedom, per se, rather than of
trying to force everyone to SEE that you believe in it--the
courage of the willingness to be reformed, rather than of
reforming--the courage teaching that sacrifice is bravery, and
force, fear. The courage of righteous indignation, of stammering
eloquence, of spiritual insight, a courage ever contracting or
unfolding a philosophy as it grows--a courage that would make the
impossible possible. Oliver Wendell Holmes says that Emerson
attempted the impossible in the Over-Soul--"an overflow of
spiritual imagination." But he (Emerson) accomplished the
impossible in attempting it, and still leaving it impossible. A