rable; as if a man had intellect, imagination,
fancy, &c., as he has hands, feet and arms. That is a capital error.
Then again, we hear of a man's "intellectual nature," and of his
"moral nature," as if these again were divisible, and existed apart.
Necessities of language do perhaps prescribe such forms of utterance;
we must speak, I am aware, in that way, if we are to speak at all.
But words ought not to harden into things for us. It seems to me, our
apprehension of this matter is, for most part, radically falsified
thereby. We ought to know withal, and to keep forever in mind, that
these divisions are at bottom but _names_; that man's spiritual nature,
the vital Force which dwells in him, is essentially one and indivisible;
that what we call imagination, fancy, understanding, and so forth, are
but different figures of the same Power of Insight, all indissolubly
connected with each other, physiognomically related; that if we knew one
of them, we might know all of them. Morality itself, what we call the
moral quality of a man, what is this but another _side_ of the one vital
Force whereby he is and works? All that a man does is physiognomical of
him. You may see how a man would fight, by the way in which he sings;
his courage, or want of courage, is visible in the word he utters, in
the opinion he has formed, no less than in the stroke he strikes. He is
_one_; and preaches the same Self abroad in all these ways.

Without hands a man might have feet, and could still walk: but, consider
it,--without morality, intellect were impossible for him; a thoroughly
immoral _man_ could not know anything at all! To know a thing, what we
can call knowing, a man must first _love_ the thing, sympathize with it:
that is, be _virtuously_ related to it. If he have not the justice to
put down his own selfishness at every turn, the courage to stand by the
dangerous-true at every turn, how shall he know? His virtues, all
of them, will lie recorded in his knowledge. Nature, with her truth,
remains to the bad, to the selfish and the pusillanimous forever a
sealed book: what such can know of Nature is mean, superficial,
small; for the uses of the day merely.--But does not the very Fox know
something of Nature? Exactly so: it knows where the geese lodge! The
human Reynard, very frequent everywhere in the world, what more does he
know but this and the like of this? Nay, it should be considered too,
that if the Fox had not a certain vulpine _moral