Section 1.  On Sunday evening, July 15, 1838, Emerson delivered an Address before the Senior Class in Divinity College, Cambridge, which caused a profound sensation in religious circles, and led to a controversy, in which Emerson had little more than the part of Patroclus when the Greeks and Trojans fought over his body.  In its simplest and broadest statement this discourse was a plea for the individual consciousness as against all historical creeds, bibles, churches; for the soul as the supreme judge in spiritual matters.

He begins with a beautiful picture which must be transferred without the change of an expression:—­

“In this refulgent Summer, it has been a luxury to draw the breath of life.  The grass grows, the buds burst, the meadow is spotted with fire and gold in the tint of flowers.  The air is full of birds, and sweet with the breath of the pine, the balm of Gilead, and the new hay.  Night brings no gloom to the heart with its welcome shade.  Through the transparent darkness the stars pour their almost spiritual rays.  Man under them seems a young child, and his huge globe a toy.  The cool night bathes the world as with a river, and prepares his eyes again for the crimson dawn.”

How softly the phrases of the gentle iconoclast steal upon the ear, and how they must have hushed the questioning audience into pleased attention!  The “Song of Songs, which is Solomon’s,” could not have wooed the listener more sweetly.  “Thy lips drop as the honeycomb:  honey and milk are under thy tongue, and the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon.”  And this was the prelude of a discourse which, when it came to be printed, fared at the hands of many a theologian, who did not think himself a bigot, as the roll which Baruch wrote with ink from the words of Jeremiah fared at the hands of Jehoiakim, the King of Judah.  He listened while Jehudi read the opening passages.  But “when Jehudi had read three or four leaves he cut it with the penknife, and cast it into the fire that was on the hearth, until all the roll was consumed in the fire that was on the hearth.”  Such was probably the fate of many a copy of this famous discourse.

It is reverential, but it is also revolutionary.  The file-leaders of Unitarianism drew back in dismay, and the ill names which had often been applied to them were now heard from their own lips as befitting this new heresy; if so mild a reproach as that of heresy belonged to this alarming manifesto.  And yet, so changed is the whole aspect of the theological world since the time when that discourse was delivered that it is read as calmly to-day as a common “Election Sermon,” if such are ever read at all.  A few extracts, abstracts, and comments may give the reader who has not the Address before him some idea of its contents and its tendencies.

The material universe, which he has just pictured in its summer beauty, deserves our admiration.  But when the mind opens and reveals the laws which govern the world of phenomena, it shrinks into a mere fable and illustration of this mind.  What am I?  What is?—­are questions always asked, never fully answered.  We would study and admire forever.