we don't quite appreciate the merits of the 'ecstatic state.'
In one of its aspects Emerson's philosophy or poetry, whichever be its proper name, has scandalised his critics. His optimism, they think, is irritating. The most hopeless of all consolations is the denial that there is any need for consolation. The latter-day philosopher prefers thorough-going pessimism, and scornfully rejects Emerson's futile attempts to ignore the dark side of the world. Undoubtedly Emerson was an unequivocal optimist. 'My whole philosophy, which is very real,' he said to Carlyle, 'teaches acquiescence and optimism.' He laments his 'stammering tongue and fumbling fingers,' but he is not going to commit or recommend suicide. When men degrade each other, and desponding doctrines are spread, the 'scholar,' he said, in one of the early epoch-making lectures, 'must be a bringer of hope, and must reinforce man against himself.' 'Power,' he says elsewhere, 'dwells with cheerfulness. … A man should make life and 'nature happier to us or he had better have never been born.' All the talent in the world, he declares, cannot save a Schopenhauer from being odious. I confess that I do not altogether dislike
