Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 68, No 420, October 1850

TALBOYS

Pretty good.

BULLER

Common Life seems to be the school of it. It seems a practical faculty, or to respect practice. Obvious relations are its domain – obvious connexions of cause and effect – means and end. A man of common sense effects a plain object, quickly and cheaply, by ready and direct means. High reach of thought is distinguished from common sense on the same side, as downright folly is on the other. Yet the interests dealt with need not be, if they frequently are, low; only the relations obvious. Perhaps the phrase is oftener brought out by its violation than its maintenance. He who wants common sense employs means thwarting his end. I propose that Common Sense is a combination of common understanding and common experience.

TALBOYS

I asked you, my dear Buller, for an Obs – one single Obs – you have given us a dozen – a Series. Let us take them one by one, and dissect the —

BULLER

Be hanged if we do! I am afraid that my notion of Common Sense is but a low one. I think that a blacksmith may acquire common sense about shoeing of horses, and a housewife about her kitchen and laundry. Sound sense applicable to high matters is another matter —une toute autre chose.

TALBOYS

Be done, dear Buller.

BULLER

In a moment. Moreover, I can imagine a strong, clear, sound sense confined to a special higher employment – a lawyer who would manage the most difficult and hazardous cause with admirable discretion, and make a mere fool of himself in marrying.

TALBOYS

Be done – be done.

BULLER

In a moment. I am not able to affirm that a Poet of high and sound faculties must have the talent for conducting himself with prudence in the common affairs of life; and really that is what seems to me to be Common Sense.

TALBOYS

Be done now – you cannot better it.

BULLER

About the Poet what can I say that every body does not know and say in all the weekly newspapers. Why, gentlemen, the Mission of the Poet is to fight the fight of the Spirit against the flesh, and to extend the reign of the Beautiful. Also, he is the Prophet of [Greek: gnôthi seauton]: and the finest of wordmongers. The words that he touches turn all to gold. He is the subtlest of thinkers. Our best discipline of thinking has been from the Poets. Compare Shakspeare and Euclid.

TALBOYS

From you! Buller, you astonish me.

BULLER

Astonishment is sometimes proof of a weak mind.

NORTH

There seem to be two Common Senses. Goldsmith appears to be viewed as an eminent case of wanting it, in conduct – the practical – for his own use. But the theoretical – for judging others – imaginary cases – characterises that immortal work, The Vicar of Wakefield: and the theoretical, for judging other men real, existing, and known, his Retaliation. The criticism of Burke, for instance, is all exalted Common Sense —

"Who, born for the Universe, narrowed his mind,
And to Party gave up what was meant for Mankind."

That is the larger grasp of common Sense rising into high Sense.

"And thought of convincing while they thought of dining"

is its homelier scope.

SEWARD

Common Sense is the lower part of complete Good Sense. Shakspeare and Phidias must use Good Sense in governing their whole composition; which Common Sense could not reach; and a man might have good sense in composing a group in marble, yet want it in governing his family. But Phidias executing a Venus with a blunt notched chisel, would want Common Sense.

NORTH

Wordsworth the Great and Good has said that "the privilege and the duty of Poetry is to describe things not as they are, but as they seem to the senses and the passions;" and when in so saying he claimed further for the works of Poetry law and constancy, he spake heroically and thence well, – up to the mark of the fearless and clear truth. But when he condescended to speak of "one quality that is always favourable to good poetry, namely, good sense," he said that, without note of reserve, which should have been guarded. Good sense, if you please, but such good sense as Homer shows when the κλαγγη of the silver bow sounds – when the Mountain-Isle trembles with all her Woods to Neptune stepping along – or the many-folded snowy Olympus to Jupiter giving the one calm, slow, simple, majestic, earth-and-heaven-obliging Nod – or when at the loosed storm of terrestrial and celestial battle on the Scamandrian plain, the Infernal Jove leaps from his throne, and shouts, or yells, or bellows – μεγ' ιαχε – lest the solidly-vaulted Earth rend above and let in sunlight on the Shades. The "good sense" of Shakspeare, when the Witches mingle in the hell-broth "Tartar's lips," and "yew-slips slivered in the Moon's eclipse." Claim the good sense, but claim it in its own kind – separated and high – kingly – Delphic – divine. The good sense of Jupiter – Apollo – the Nine Muses, and the practical Pallas Athene. Or claim Wisdom – and not "good sense;" – "the meed of Poets SAGE!" Lucid intelligence – profound intuitions – disclosed essences – hidden relations laid bare – laws discerned – systems and worlds comprehended – revealed mysteries – prophecy – the "terrible sagacity" – and to all these add the circumspection – the caution – the self-rule – the attentive and skilful prudence of consummate Art, commanding effects which she forecast and willed. Wisdom in choosing his aim – Wisdom in reaching his aim – Wisdom to weigh men's minds and men's deeds – their hopes, fears, interests – to read the leaves of the books which men have written – to read the leaves of the book which the Creating Finger has written – to read the leaves of the book which lies for ever open before the Three Sisters – the leaves which the Storms of the Ages turn over.

TALBOYS

Coffee, my dear sir? Here's a cup – cool and sweetened to your taste to a nicety.

NORTH

Thanks, Talboys. I am ready for another spell.

BULLER

Reflect, sir, breathe awhile. Do, Seward, interpose something between the Master and exhaustion. Quick – quick – else he will be off again – and at his time of Life —

SEWARD

Oh for the gift denied me by my star – presence of mind!

TALBOYS

Common sense, in a high philosophical signification, is the sum of human opinions and feelings; or the "Universal Sense" of mankind. That is not homely – and cannot therefore be what Stewart calls that "homely endowment." The apter translation of the place in his Essay is "ordinary sense or understanding" – which seems to suggest now "so much sense or understanding as you ordinarily meet with among men" – and now "sense and understanding applied to ordinary concerns." Only this last makes the quality homely. But the tooth of Stewart's insult is in the prior suggestion (in the case of the Gifted, untrue), that they have not as much sense or understanding as you ordinarily meet with. They have ten, twenty, a thousand times as much. Think of Robert Burns! But they have – or may, I do not say must have – the repugnance to apply the winged and "delighted spirit" to considerations and cares that are easily felt as if sordid and servile – imprisoning – odious. They suffer, however, not for the lack of knowing, but of resolution to conform their doing to their knowing. They sin against common sense – and much more against their own. Hinc illæ lacrymæ.

NORTH

Gentlemen, the Cardinal Virtue – Prudence – holds her sway, in the world of man, over Action, and, as much as she may, over Event, by the union as if of two Sceptres. For She must reign, at once, in the Understanding and in the Will. Common Sense, as the word is commonly meant and understood, is Intellectual Prudence applied to the more obvious requisitions of the more obvious interests which daily and hourly claim our concern and regard. This Intellectual Prudence, thus applied – that is to say, the clear Intelligence of these requisitions – Common Sense, therefore – one man has, and another has not. The case shall occur that the man, Poet or no Poet, who has it, shall act like a fool; whilst the Poet or no Poet, who has it not, shall act like a Sage. For the man, wise to see and to know, shall have yielded the throne of his Will to some usurping and tyrannising desire – and the other, who either does not possess, or who possessing, has not so applied the Intelligence – some dedicated Mathematician, or Metaphysician, or Mechanician, or Naturalist, or Scholar, or Antiquary, or Artist, or Poet, shall live wisely, because he has brought his heart and his blood under the rule of Moral Necessity. Prudence, or, in her stead, Conscience, has established her reign in his Will. To be endowed with Common Sense is one thing; to act with common sense, or agreeably to her demands, is another. Popular speech – loose, negligent, self-willed, humoursome and humorous – often poetical – easily and gladly confounds the two neighbouring cases. Philosophic disquisition – which this of Dugald Stewart does not – should sedulously hold them apart. You may judge of a man's Common Sense by hearing him criticise the character and conduct of his neighbour. To learn in what hand the Sceptre of the Will is, you must enter his own doors. The proneness of the Poet, easy, kind, frank – except in his Art, artless – compassionate, generous, and, large-thoughted – heaven-aspiring – to neglect, like the lover, (and what else is he but the perpetually enthralled lover of the Good, the True, and the Beautiful?) the earthly and distasteful Cura Peculî, is to be counteracted mainly on the side of the Will. Simplicity of desire will go far, and this you may expect in him from Nature – indeed it is the first ground of the fault charged. Next, of stronger avail – not perhaps of more dignity – comes that which is indeed the base, if not yet the edified structure of Common Sense, the plain Intelligence of naked Necessity. No great stretch of intellectual power required, surely, for discovering and knowing his own condition in the work-day world! But the goods of fortune – worldly estate —money– shall the "heavenly Essence" – the "celestial Virtue" – the "divine Emanation" – for so loftily has Man spoken of Man – that is within us – crouch down and grovel in this dark, chill den – this grave which Mammon has delved to be to it a pitfall and a prison?

BULLER

Ay – why shall the Poet guard and noose the strings of his purse?

NORTH