by　other　words；　am　striving　imperfectly　to　name；　what　there　is　at　present　no　name　for：　　The　unspeakable　Divine　Significance；　full　of　splendor；　of　wonder　and　terror；　that　lies　in　the　being　of　every　man；　of　every　thing；the　Presence　of　the　God　who　made　every　man　and　thing。　Mahomet　taught　this　in　his　dialect；　Odin　in　his：　　it　is　the　thing　which　all　thinking　hearts；　in　one　dialect　or　another；　are　here　to　teach。
  Fichte　calls　the　Man　of　Letters；　therefore；　a　Prophet；　or　as　he　prefers　to　phrase　it；　a　Priest；　continually　unfolding　the　Godlike　to　men：　　Men　of　Letters　are　a　perpetual　Priesthood；　from　age　to　age；　teaching　all　men　that　a　God　is　still　present　in　their　life；　that　all　〃Appearance；〃　whatsoever　we　see　in　the　world；　is　but　as　a　vesture　for　the　〃Divine　Idea　of　the　World；〃　for　〃that　which　lies　at　the　bottom　of　Appearance。〃　　In　the　true　Literary　Man　there　is　thus　ever；　acknowledged　or　not　by　the　world；　a　sacredness：　　he　is　the　light　of　the　world；　the　world's　Priest；guiding　it；　like　a　sacred　Pillar　of　Fire；　in　its　dark　pilgrimage　through　the　waste　of　Time。　　Fichte　discriminates　with　sharp　zeal　the　_true_　Literary　Man；　what　we　here　call　the　_Hero_　as　Man　of　Letters；　from　multitudes　of　false　unheroic。　　Whoever　lives　not　wholly　in　this　Divine　Idea；　or　living　partially　in　it；　struggles　not；　as　for　the　one　good；　to　live　wholly　in　it；he　is；　let　him　live　where　else　he　like；　in　what　pomps　and　prosperities　he　like；　no　Literary　Man；　he　is；　says　Fichte；　a　〃Bungler；　_Stumper_。〃　　Or　at　best；　if　he　belong　to　the　prosaic　provinces；　he　may　be　a　〃Hodman；　〃　Fichte　even　calls　him　elsewhere　a　〃Nonentity；〃　and　has　in　short　no　mercy　for　him；　no　wish　that　_he_　should　continue　happy　among　us！　　This　is　Fichte's　notion　of　the　Man　of　Letters。　It　means；　in　its　own　form；　precisely　what　we　here　mean。
  In　this　point　of　view；　I　consider　that；　for　the　last　hundred　years；　by　far　the　notablest　of　all　Literary　Men　is　Fichte's　countryman；　Goethe。　　To　that　man　too；　in　a　strange　way；　there　was　given　what　we　may　call　a　life　in　the　Divine　Idea　of　the　World；　vision　of　the　inward　divine　mystery：　　and　strangely；　out　of　his　Books；　the　world　rises　imaged　once　more　as　godlike；　the　workmanship　and　temple　of　a　God。　　Illuminated　all；　not　in　fierce　impure　fire…splendor　as　of　Mahomet；　but　in　mild　celestial　radiance；really　a　Prophecy　in　these　most　unprophetic　times；　to　my　mind；　by　far　the　greatest；　though　one　of　the　quietest；　among　all　the　great　things　that　have　come　to　pass　in　them。　　Our　chosen　specimen　of　the　Hero　as　Literary　Man　would　be　this　Goethe。　　And　it　were　a　very　pleasant　plan　for　me　here　to　discourse　of　his　heroism：　　for　I　consider　him　to　be　a　true　Hero；　heroic　in　what　he　said　and　did；　and　perhaps　still　more　in　what　he　did　not　say　and　did　not　do；　to　me　a　noble　spectacle：　　a　great　heroic　ancient　man；　speaking　and　keeping　silence　as　an　ancient　Hero；　in　the　guise　of　a　most　modern；　high…bred；　high…cultivated　Man　of　Letters！　　We　have　had　no　such　spectacle；　no　man　capable　of　affording　such；　for　the　last　hundred　and　fifty　years。
  But　at　present；　such　is　the　general　state　of　knowledge　about　Goethe；　it　were　worse　than　useless　to　attempt　speaking　of　him　in　this　case。　　Speak　as　I　might；　Goethe；　to　the　great　majority　of　you；　would　remain　problematic；　vague；　no　impression　but　a　false　one　could　be　realized。　　Him　we　must　leave　to　future　times。　　Johnson；　Burns；　Rousseau；　three　great　figures　from　a　prior　time；　from　a　far　inferior　state　of　circumstances；　will　suit　us　better　here。　　Three　men　of　the　Eighteenth　Century；　the　conditions　of　their　life　far　more　resemble　what　those　of　ours　still　are　in　England；　than　what　Goethe's　in　Germany　were。　　Alas；　these　men　did　not　conquer　like　him；　they　fought　bravely；　and　fell。　　They　were　not　heroic　bringers　of　the　light；　but　heroic　seekers　of　it。　　They　lived　under　galling　conditions；　struggling　as　under　mountains　of　impediment；　and　could　not　unfold　themselves　into　clearness；　or　victorious　interpretation　of　that　〃Divine　Idea。〃　　It　is　rather　the　_Tombs_　of　three　Literary　Heroes　that　I　have　to　show　you。　　There　are　the　monumental　heaps；　under　which　three　spiritual　giants　lie　buried。　Very　mournful；　but　also　great　and　full　of　interest　for　us。　　We　will　linger　by　them　for　a　while。
  Complaint　is　often　made；　in　these　times；　of　what　we　call　the　disorganized　condition　of　society：　　how　ill　many　forces　of　society　fulfil　their　work；　how　many　powerful　are　seen　working　in　a　wasteful；　chaotic；　altogether　unarranged　manner。　　It　is　too　just　a　complaint；　as　we　all　know。　　But　perhaps　if　we　look　at　this　of　Books　and　the　Writers　of　Books；　we　shall　find　here；　as　it　were；　the　summary　of　all　other　disorganizations；a　sort　of　_heart_；　from　which；　and　to　which　all　other　confusion　circulates　in　the　world！　　Considering　what　Book　writers　do　in　the　world；　and　what　the　world　does　with　Book　writers；　I　should　say；　It　is　the　most　anomalous　thing　the　world　at　present　has　to　show。We　should　get　into　a　sea　far　beyond　sounding；　did　we　attempt　to　give　account　of　this：　　but　we　must　glance　at　it　for　the　sake　of　our　subject。　　The　worst　element　in　the　life　of　these　three　Literary　Heroes　was；　that　they　found　their　business　and　position　such　a　chaos。　　On　the　beaten　road　there　is　tolerable　travelling；　but　it　is　sore　work；　and　many　have　to　perish；　fashioning　a　path　through　the　impassable！
  Our　pious　Fathers；　feeling　well　what　importance　lay　in　the　speaking　of　man　to　men；　founded　churches；　made　endowments；　regulations；　everywhere　in　the　civilized　world　there　is　a　Pulpit；　environed　with　all　manner　of　complex　dignified　appurtenances　and　furtherances；　that　therefrom　a　man　with　the　tongue　may；　to　best　advantage；　address　his　fellow…men。　　They　felt　that　this　was　the　most　important　thing；　that　without　this　there　was　no　good　thing。　It　is　a　right　pious　work；　that　of　theirs；　beautiful　to　behold！　　But　now　with　the　art　of　Writing；　with　the　art　of　Printing；　a　total　change　has　come　over　that　business。　　The　Writer　of　a　Book；　is　not　he　a　Preacher　preaching　not　to　this　parish　or　that；　on　this　day　or　that；　but　to　all　men　in　all　times　and　places？　　Surely　it　is　of　the　last　importance　that　_he_　do　his　work　right；　whoever　do　it　wrong；that　the　_eye_　report　not　falsely；　for　then　all　the　other　members　are　astray！　　Well；　how　he　may　do　his　work；　whether　he　do　it　right　or　wrong；　or　do　it　at　all；　is　a　point　which　no　man　in　the　world　has　taken　the　pains　to　think　of。　　To　a　certain　shopkeeper；　trying　to　get　some　money　for　his　books；　if　lucky；　he　is　of　some　importance；　to　no　other　man　of　any。　　Whence　he　came；　whither　he　is　bound；　by　what　ways　he　arrived；　by　what　he　might　be　furthered　on　his　course；　no　one　asks。　　He　is　an　accident　in　society。　　He　wanders　like　a　wild　Ishmaelite；　in　a　world　of　which　he　is　as　the　spiritual　light；　either　the　guidance　or　the　misguidance！
  Certainly　the　Art　of　Writing　is　the　most　miraculous　of　all　things　man　has　devised。　　Odin's　_Runes_　were　the　first　form　of　the　work　of　a　Hero；　_Books_　written　words；　are　still　miraculous　_Runes_；　the　latest　form！　　In　Books　lies　the　_soul_　of　the　whole　Past　Time；　the　articulate　audible　voice　of　the　Past；　when　the　body　and　material　substance　of　it　has　altogether　vanished　like　a　dream。　　Mighty　fleets　and　armies；　harbors　and　arsenals；　vast　cities；　high…domed；　many…engined；they　are　precious；　great：　　but　what　do　they　become？　　Agamemnon；　the　many　Agamemnons；　Pericleses；　and　their　Greece；　all　is　gone　now　to　some　ruined　fragments；　dumb　mournful　wrecks　and　blocks：　　but　the　Books　of　Greece！　　There　Greece；　to　every　thinker；　still　very　literally　lives：　　can　be　called　up　again　into　life。　　No　magic　_Rune_　is　stranger　than　a　Book。　　All　that　Mankind　has　done；　thought；　gained　or　been：　　it　is　lying　as　in　magic　preservation　in　the　pages　of　Books。　　They　are　the　chosen　possession　of　men。
  Do　not　Books　still　accomplish　_miracles_；　as　_Runes_　were　fabled　to　do？　They　persuade　men。　　Not　the　wretchedest　circulating…library　novel；　which　foolish　girls　thumb　and　con　in　remote　villages；　but　will　help　to　regulate　the　actual　practical　weddings　and　households　of　those　foolish　girls。　　So　〃Celia〃　felt；　so　〃Clifford〃　acted：　　the　foolish　Theorem　of　Life；　stamped　into　those　young　brains；　comes　out　as　a　solid　Practice　one　day。　　Consider　whether　any　_Rune_　in　the　wildest　imagination　of　Mythologist　ever　did　such　wonders　as；　on　the　actual　firm　Earth；　some　Books　have　done！　　What　built　St。　Paul's　Cathedral？　　Look　at　the　heart　of　the　matter；　it　was　that　divine　Hebrew　BOOK；the　word　partly　of　the　man　Moses；　an　outlaw　tending　his　Midianitish　herds；　four　thousand　years　ago；　in　the　wildernesses　of　Sinai！　It　is　the　strangest　of　things；　yet　nothing　is　truer。　　With　the　art　of　Writing；　of　which　Printing　is　a　simple；　an　inevitable　and　comparatively　insignificant　corollary；　the　true　reign　of　miracles　for　mankind　commenced。　It　related；　with　a　wondrous　new　contiguity　and　perpetual　closeness；　the　Past　and　Distant　with　the　Present　in　time　and　place；　all　times　and　all　places　with　this　our　actual　Here　and　Now。　　All　things　were　altered　for　men；　all　modes　of　important　work　of　men：　　teaching；　preaching；　governing；　and　all　else。
  To　look　at　Teaching；　for　instance。　　Universities　are　a　notable；　respectable　product　of　the　modern　ages。　　Their　existence　too　is　modified；　to　the　very　basis　of　it；　by　the　existence　of　Books。　　Universities　arose　whi