|
Ralph
Waldo Emerson Home Page
previous
--All rights reserved--
Web Site designed by
© 1998 Jim Manley
jim@rwe.org
Hosted by
WebToast.Com
All documents written by Ralph Waldo Emerson can be
copied, printed
and redistributed as they are available in the Public Domain.
New England Reformers
from Essays: Second Series (1844)
by
Ralph Waldo Emerson
ESSAY IX New England Reformers
A Lecture read before the Society in Amory Hall, on Sunday, 3 March, 1844
Whoever has had opportunity of acquaintance with society in New England, during
the last twenty-five years, with those middle and with those leading sections
that may constitute any just representation of the character and aim of the
community, will have been struck with the great activity of thought and
experimenting. His attention must be commanded by the signs that the Church, or
religious party, is falling from the church nominal, and is appearing in
temperance and non-resistance societies, in movements of abolitionists and of
socialists, and in very significant assemblies, called Sabbath and Bible
Conventions, — composed of ultraists, of seekers, of all the soul of the
soldiery of dissent, and meeting to call in question the authority of the
Sabbath, of the priesthood, and of the church. In these movements, nothing was
more remarkable than the discontent they begot in the movers. The spirit of
protest and of detachment, drove the members of these Conventions to bear
testimony against the church, and immediately afterward, to declare their
discontent with these Conventions, their independence of their colleagues, and
their impatience of the methods whereby they were working. They defied each
other, like a congress of kings, each of whom had a realm to rule, and a way of
his own that made concert unprofitable. What a fertility of projects for the
salvation of the world! One apostle thought all men should go to farming; and
another, that no man should buy or sell: that the use of money was the cardinal
evil; another, that the mischief was in our diet, that we eat and drink
damnation. These made unleavened bread, and were foes to the death to
fermentation. It was in vain urged by the housewife, that God made yeast, as
well as dough, and loves fermentation just as dearly as he loves vegetation;
that fermentation develops the saccharine element in the grain, and makes it
more palatable and more digestible. No; they wish the pure wheat, and will die
but it shall not ferment. Stop, dear nature, these incessant advances of thine;
let us scotch these ever-rolling wheels! Others attacked the system of
agriculture, the use of animal manures in farming; and the tyranny of man over
brute nature; these abuses polluted his food. The ox must be taken from the
plough, and the horse from the cart, the hundred acres of the farm must be
spaded, and the man must walk wherever boats and locomotives will not carry him.
Even the insect world was to be defended, — that had been too long neglected,
and a society for the protection of ground-worms, slugs, and mosquitos was to be
incorporated without delay. With these appeared the adepts of homœopathy, of
hydropathy, of mesmerism, of phrenology, and their wonderful theories of the
Christian miracles! Others assailed particular vocations, as that of the lawyer,
that of the merchant, of the manufacturer, of the clergyman, of the scholar.
Others attacked the institution of marriage, as the fountain of social evils.
Others devoted themselves to the worrying of churches and meetings for public
worship; and the fertile forms of antinomianism among the elder puritans, seemed
to have their match in the plenty of the new harvest of reform.
With this din of opinion and debate, there was a keener scrutiny of institutions
and domestic life than any we had known, there was sincere protesting against
existing evils, and there were changes of employment dictated by conscience. No
doubt, there was plentiful vaporing, and cases of backsliding might occur. But
in each of these movements emerged a good result, a tendency to the adoption of
simpler methods, and an assertion of the sufficiency of the private man. Thus it
was directly in the spirit and genius of the age, what happened in one instance,
when a church censured and threatened to excommunicate one of its members, on
account of the somewhat hostile part to the church, which his conscience led him
to take in the anti-slavery business; the threatened individual immediately
excommunicated the church in a public and formal process. This has been several
times repeated: it was excellent when it was done the first time, but, of
course, loses all value when it is copied. Every project in the history of
reform, no matter how violent and surprising, is good, when it is the dictate of
a man's genius and constitution, but very dull and suspicious when adopted from
another. It is right and beautiful in any man to say, 'I will take this coat, or
this book, or this measure of corn of yours,' — in whom we see the act to be
original, and to flow from the whole spirit and faith of him; for then that
taking will have a giving as free and divine: but we are very easily disposed to
resist the same generosity of speech, when we miss originality and truth to
character in it.
There was in all the practical activities of New England, for the last quarter
of a century, a gradual withdrawal of tender consciences from the social
organizations. There is observable throughout, the contest between mechanical
and spiritual methods, but with a steady tendency of the thoughtful and virtuous
to a deeper belief and reliance on spiritual facts.
In politics, for example, it is easy to see the progress of dissent. The country
is full of rebellion; the country is full of kings. Hands off! let there be no
control and no interference in the administration of the affairs of this kingdom
of me. Hence the growth of the doctrine and of the party of Free Trade, and the
willingness to try that experiment, in the face of what appear incontestable
facts. I confess, the motto of the Globe newspaper is so attractive to me, that
I can seldom find much appetite to read what is below it in its columns, "The
world is governed too much." So the country is frequently affording solitary
examples of resistance to the government, solitary nullifiers, who throw
themselves on their reserved rights; nay, who have reserved all their rights;
who reply to the assessor, and to the clerk of court, that they do not know the
State; and embarrass the courts of law, by non-juring, and the
commander-in-chief of the militia, by non-resistance.
The same disposition to scrutiny and dissent appeared in civil, festive,
neighborly, and domestic society. A restless, prying, conscientious criticism
broke out in unexpected quarters. Who gave me the money with which I bought my
coat? Why should professional labor and that of the counting-house be paid so
disproportionately to the labor of the porter, and woodsawyer? This whole
business of Trade gives me to pause and think, as it constitutes false relations
between men; inasmuch as I am prone to count myself relieved of any
responsibility to behave well and nobly to that person whom I pay with money,
whereas if I had not that commodity, I should be put on my good behavior in all
companies, and man would be a benefactor to man, as being himself his only
certificate that he had a right to those aids and services which each asked of
the other. Am I not too protected a person? is there not a wide disparity
between the lot of me and the lot of thee, my poor brother, my poor sister? Am I
not defrauded of my best culture in the loss of those gymnastics which manual
labor and the emergencies of poverty constitute? I find nothing healthful or
exalting in the smooth conventions of society; I do not like the close air of
saloons. I begin to suspect myself to be a prisoner, though treated with all
this courtesy and luxury. I pay a destructive tax in my conformity.
The same insatiable criticism may be traced in the efforts for the reform of
Education. The popular education has been taxed with a want of truth and nature.
It was complained that an education to things was not given. We are students of
words: we are shut up in schools, and colleges, and recitation-rooms, for ten or
fifteen years, and come out at last with a bag of wind, a memory of words, and
do not know a thing. We cannot use our hands, or our legs, or our eyes, or our
arms. We do not know an edible root in the woods, we cannot tell our course by
the stars, nor the hour of the day by the sun. It is well if we can swim and
skate. We are afraid of a horse, of a cow, of a dog, of a snake, of a spider.
The Roman rule was, to teach a boy nothing that he could not learn standing. The
old English rule was, 'All summer in the field, and all winter in the study.'
And it seems as if a man should learn to plant, or to fish, or to hunt, that he
might secure his subsistence at all events, and not be painful to his friends
and fellow men. The lessons of science should be experimental also. The sight of
the planet through a telescope, is worth all the course on astronomy: the shock
of the electric spark in the elbow, out-values all the theories; the taste of
the nitrous oxide, the firing of an artificial volcano, are better than volumes
of chemistry.
One of the traits of the new spirit, is the inquisition it fixed on our
scholastic devotion to the dead languages. The ancient languages, with great
beauty of structure, contain wonderful remains of genius, which draw, and always
will draw, certain likeminded men, — Greek men, and Roman men, in all countries,
to their study; but by a wonderful drowsiness of usage, they had exacted the
study of all men. Once (say two centuries ago), Latin and Greek had a strict
relation to all the science and culture there was in Europe, and the Mathematics
had a momentary importance at some era of activity in physical science. These
things became stereotyped as education, as the manner of men is. But the Good
Spirit never cared for the colleges, and though all men and boys were now
drilled in Latin, Greek, and Mathematics, it had quite left these shells high
and dry on the beach, and was now creating and feeding other matters at other
ends of the world. But in a hundred high schools and colleges, this warfare
against common sense still goes on. Four, or six, or ten years, the pupil is
parsing Greek and Latin, and as soon as he leaves the University, as it is
ludicrously called, he shuts those books for the last time. Some thousands of
young men are graduated at our colleges in this country every year, and the
persons who, at forty years, still read Greek, can all be counted on your hand.
I never met with ten. Four or five persons I have seen who read Plato.
But is not this absurd, that the whole liberal talent of this country should be
directed in its best years on studies which lead to nothing? What was the
consequence? Some intelligent persons said or thought; 'Is that Greek and Latin
some spell to conjure with, and not words of reason? If the physician, the
lawyer, the divine, never use it to come at their ends, I need never learn it to
come at mine. Conjuring is gone out of fashion, and I will omit this
conjugating, and go straight to affairs.' So they jumped the Greek and Latin,
and read law, medicine, or sermons, without it. To the astonishment of all, the
self-made men took even ground at once with the oldest of the regular graduates,
and in a few months the most conservative circles of Boston and New York had
quite forgotten who of their gownsmen was college-bred, and who was not.
One tendency appears alike in the philosophical speculation, and in the rudest
democratical movements, through all the petulance and all the puerility, the
wish, namely, to cast aside the superfluous, and arrive at short methods, urged,
as I suppose, by an intuition that the human spirit is equal to all emergencies,
alone, and that man is more often injured than helped by the means he uses.
I conceive this gradual casting off of material aids, and the indication of
growing trust in the private, self-supplied powers of the individual, to be the
affirmative principle of the recent philosophy: and that it is feeling its own
profound truth, and is reaching forward at this very hour to the happiest
conclusions. I readily concede that in this, as in every period of intellectual
activity, there has been a noise of denial and protest; much was to be resisted,
much was to be got rid of by those who were reared in the old, before they could
begin to affirm and to construct. Many a reformer perishes in his removal of
rubbish, — and that makes the offensiveness of the class. They are partial; they
are not equal to the work they pretend. They lose their way; in the assault on
the kingdom of darkness, they expend all their energy on some accidental evil,
and lose their sanity and power of benefit. It is of little moment that one or
two, or twenty errors of our social system be corrected, but of much that the
man be in his senses.
The criticism and attack on institutions which we have witnessed, has made one
thing plain, that society gains nothing whilst a man, not himself renovated,
attempts to renovate things around him: he has become tediously good in some
particular, but negligent or narrow in the rest; and hypocrisy and vanity are
often the disgusting result.
It is handsomer to remain in the establishment better than the establishment,
and conduct that in the best manner, than to make a sally against evil by some
single improvement, without supporting it by a total regeneration. Do not be so
vain of your one objection. Do you think there is only one? Alas! my good
friend, there is no part of society or of life better than any other part. All
our things are right and wrong together. The wave of evil washes all our
institutions alike. Do you complain of our Marriage? Our marriage is no worse
than our education, our diet, our trade, our social customs. Do you complain of
the laws of Property? It is a pedantry to give such importance to them. Can we
not play the game of life with these counters, as well as with those; in the
institution of property, as well as out of it. Let into it the new and renewing
principle of love, and property will be universality. No one gives the
impression of superiority to the institution, which he must give who will reform
it. It makes no difference what you say: you must make me feel that you are
aloof from it; by your natural and super-natural advantages, do easily see to
the end of it, — do see how man can do without it. Now all men are on one side.
No man deserves to be heard against property. Only Love, only an Idea, is
against property, as we hold it.
I cannot afford to be irritable and captious, nor to waste all my time in
attacks. If I should go out of church whenever I hear a false sentiment, I could
never stay there five minutes. But why come out? the street is as false as the
church, and when I get to my house, or to my manners, or to my speech, I have
not got away from the lie. When we see an eager assailant of one of these
wrongs, a special reformer, we feel like asking him, What right have you, sir,
to your one virtue? Is virtue piecemeal? This is a jewel amidst the rags of a
beggar.
In another way the right will be vindicated. In the midst of abuses, in the
heart of cities, in the aisles of false churches, alike in one place and in
another, — wherever, namely, a just and heroic soul finds itself, there it will
do what is next at hand, and by the new quality of character it shall put forth,
it shall abrogate that old condition, law or school in which it stands, before
the law of its own mind.
If partiality was one fault of the movement party, the other defect was their
reliance on Association. Doubts such as those I have intimated, drove many good
persons to agitate the questions of social reform. But the revolt against the
spirit of commerce, the spirit of aristocracy, and the inveterate abuses of
cities, did not appear possible to individuals; and to do battle against
numbers, they armed themselves with numbers, and against concert, they relied on
new concert.
Following, or advancing beyond the ideas of St. Simon, of Fourier, and of Owen,
three communities have already been formed in Massachusetts on kindred plans,
and many more in the country at large. They aim to give every member a share in
the manual labor, to give an equal reward to labor and to talent, and to unite a
liberal culture with an education to labor. The scheme offers, by the economies
of associated labor and expense, to make every member rich, on the same amount
of property, that, in separate families, would leave every member poor. These
new associations are composed of men and women of superior talents and
sentiments: yet it may easily be questioned, whether such a community will draw,
except in its beginnings, the able and the good; whether those who have energy,
will not prefer their chance of superiority and power in the world, to the
humble certainties of the association; whether such a retreat does not promise
to become an assylum to those who have tried and failed, rather than a field to
the strong; and whether the members will not necessarily be fractions of men,
because each finds that he cannot enter it, without some compromise. Friendship
and association are very fine things, and a grand phalanx of the best of the
human race, banded for some catholic object: yes, excellent; but remember that
no society can ever be so large as one man. He in his friendship, in his natural
and momentary associations, doubles or multiplies himself; but in the hour in
which he mortgages himself to two or ten or twenty, he dwarfs himself below the
stature of one.
But the men of less faith could not thus believe, and to such, concert appears
the sole specific of strength. I have failed, and you have failed, but perhaps
together we shall not fail. Our housekeeping is not satisfactory to us, but
perhaps a phalanx, a community, might be. Many of us have differed in opinion,
and we could find no man who could make the truth plain, but possibly a college,
or an ecclesiastical council might. I have not been able either to persuade my
brother or to prevail on myself, to disuse the traffic or the potation of
brandy, but perhaps a pledge of total abstinence might effectually restrain us.
The candidate my party votes for is not to be trusted with a dollar, but he will
be honest in the Senate, for we can bring public opinion to bear on him. Thus
concert was the specific in all cases. But concert is neither better nor worse,
neither more nor less potent than individual force. All the men in the world
cannot make a statue walk and speak, cannot make a drop of blood, or a blade of
grass, any more than one man can. But let there be one man, let there be truth
in two men, in ten men, then is concert for the first time possible, because the
force which moves the world is a new quality, and can never be furnished by
adding whatever quantities of a different kind. What is the use of the concert
of the false and the disunited? There can be no concert in two, where there is
no concert in one. When the individual is not individual but is dual; when his
thoughts look one way, and his actions another; when his faith is traversed by
his habits; when his will, enlightened by reason, is warped by his sense; when
with one hand he rows, and with the other backs water, what concert can be?
I do not wonder at the interest these projects inspire. The world is awaking to
the idea of union, and these experiments show what it is thinking of. It is and
will be magic. Men will live and communicate, and plough, and reap, and govern,
as by added ethereal power, when once they are united; as in a celebrated
experiment, by expiration and respiration exactly together, four persons lift a
heavy man from the ground by the little finger only, and without sense of
weight. But this union must be inward, and not one of covenants, and is to be
reached by a reverse of the methods they use. The union is only perfect, when
all the uniters are isolated. It is the union of friends who live in different
streets or towns. Each man, if he attempts to join himself to others, is on all
sides cramped and diminished of his proportion; and the stricter the union, the
smaller and the more pitiful he is. But leave him alone, to recognize in every
hour and place the secret soul, he will go up and down doing the works of a true
member, and, to the astonishment of all, the work will be done with concert,
though no man spoke. Government will be adamantine without any governor. The
union must be ideal in actual individualism.
I pass to the indication in some particulars of that faith in man, which the
heart is preaching to us in these days, and which engages the more regard, from
the consideration, that the speculations of one generation are the history of
the next following.
In alluding just now to our system of education, I spoke of the deadness of its
details. But it is open to graver criticism than the palsy of its members: it is
a system of despair. The disease with which the human mind now labors, is want
of faith. Men do not believe in a power of education. We do not think we can
speak to divine sentiments in man, and we do not try. We renounce all high aims.
We believe that the defects of so many perverse and so many frivolous people,
who make up society, are organic, and society is a hospital of incurables. A man
of good sense but of little faith, whose compassion seemed to lead him to church
as often as he went there, said to me; "that he liked to have concerts, and
fairs, and churches, and other public amusements go on." I am afraid the remark
is too honest, and comes from the same origin as the maxim of the tyrant, "If
you would rule the world quietly, you must keep it amused." I notice too, that
the ground on which eminent public servants urge the claims of popular education
is fear: 'This country is filling up with thousands and millions of voters, and
you must educate them to keep them from our throats.' We do not believe that any
education, any system of philosophy, any influence of genius, will ever give
depth of insight to a superficial mind. Having settled ourselves into this
infidelity, our skill is expended to procure alleviations, diversion, opiates.
We adorn the victim with manual skill, his tongue with languages, his body with
inoffensive and comely manners. So have we cunningly hid the tragedy of
limitation and inner death we cannot avert. Is it strange that society should be
devoured by a secret melancholy, which breaks through all its smiles, and all
its gayety and games?
But even one step farther our infidelity has gone. It appears that some doubt is
felt by good and wise men, whether really the happiness and probity of men is
increased by the culture of the mind in those disciplines to which we give the
name of education. Unhappily, too, the doubt comes from scholars, from persons
who have tried these methods. In their experience, the scholar was not raised by
the sacred thoughts amongst which he dwelt, but used them to selfish ends. He
was a profane person, and became a showman, turning his gifts to a marketable
use, and not to his own sustenance and growth. It was found that the intellect
could be independently developed, that is, in separation from the man, as any
single organ can be invigorated, and the result was monstrous. A canine appetite
for knowledge was generated, which must still be fed, but was never satisfied,
and this knowledge not being directed on action, never took the character of
substantial, humane truth, blessing those whom it entered. It gave the scholar
certain powers of expression, the power of speech, the power of poetry, of
literary art, but it did not bring him to peace, or to beneficence.
When the literary class betray a destitution of faith, it is not strange that
society should be disheartened and sensualized by unbelief. What remedy? Life
must be lived on a higher plane. We must go up to a higher platform, to which we
are always invited to ascend; there, the whole aspect of things changes. I
resist the skepticism of our education, and of our educated men. I do not
believe that the differences of opinion and character in men are organic. I do
not recognize, beside the class of the good and the wise, a permanent class of
skeptics, or a class of conservatives, or of malignants, or of materialists. I
do not believe in two classes. You remember the story of the poor woman who
importuned King Philip of Macedon to grant her justice, which Philip refused:
the woman exclaimed, "I appeal": the king, astonished, asked to whom she
appealed: the woman replied, "from Philip drunk to Philip sober." The text will
suit me very well. I believe not in two classes of men, but in man in two moods,
in Philip drunk and Philip sober. I think, according to the good-hearted word of
Plato, "Unwillingly the soul is deprived of truth." Iron conservative, miser, or
thief, no man is, but by a supposed necessity, which he tolerates by shortness
or torpidity of sight. The soul lets no man go without some visitations and
holy-days of a diviner presence. It would be easy to show, by a narrow scanning
of any man's biography, that we are not so wedded to our paltry performances of
every kind, but that every man has at intervals the grace to scorn his
performances, in comparing them with his belief of what he should do, that he
puts himself on the side of his enemies, listening gladly to what they say of
him, and accusing himself of the same things.
What is it men love in Genius, but its infinite hope, which degrades all it has
done? Genius counts all its miracles poor and short. Its own idea it never
executed. The Iliad, the Hamlet, the Doric column, the Roman arch, the Gothic
minster, the German anthem, when they are ended, the master casts behind him.
How sinks the song in the waves of melody which the universe pours over his
soul! Before that gracious Infinite, out of which he drew these few strokes, how
mean they look, though the praises of the world attend them. From the triumphs
of his art, he turns with desire to this greater defeat. Let those admire who
will. With silent joy he sees himself to be capable of a beauty that eclipses
all which his hands have done, all which human hands have ever done.
Well, we are all the children of genius, the children of virtue, — and feel
their inspirations in our happier hours. Is not every man sometimes a radical in
politics? Men are conservatives when they are least vigorous, or when they are
most luxurious. They are conservatives after dinner, or before taking their
rest; when they are sick, or aged: in the morning, or when their intellect or
their conscience have been aroused, when they hear music, or when they read
poetry, they are radicals. In the circle of the rankest tories that could be
collected in England, Old or New, let a powerful and stimulating intellect, a
man of great heart and mind, act on them, and very quickly these frozen
conservators will yield to the friendly influence, these hopeless will begin to
hope, these haters will begin to love, these immovable statues will begin to
spin and revolve. I cannot help recalling the fine anecdote which Warton relates
of Bishop Berkeley, when he was preparing to leave England, with his plan of
planting the gospel among the American savages. "Lord Bathurst told me, that the
members of the Scriblerus club, being met at his house at dinner, they agreed to
rally Berkeley, who was also his guest, on his scheme at Bermudas. Berkeley,
having listened to the many lively things they had to say, begged to be heard in
his turn, and displayed his plan with such an astonishing and animating force of
eloquence and enthusiasm, that they were struck dumb, and, after some pause,
rose up all together with earnestness, exclaiming, 'Let us set out with him
immediately.'" Men in all ways are better than they seem. They like flattery for
the moment, but they know the truth for their own. It is a foolish cowardice
which keeps us from trusting them, and speaking to them rude truth. They resent
your honesty for an instant, they will thank you for it always. What is it we
heartily wish of each other? Is it to be pleased and flattered? No, but to be
convicted and exposed, to be shamed out of our nonsense of all kinds, and made
men of, instead of ghosts and phantoms. We are weary of gliding ghostlike
through the world, which is itself so slight and unreal. We crave a sense of
reality, though it come in strokes of pain. I explain so, — by this manlike love
of truth, — those excesses and errors into which souls of great vigor, but not
equal insight, often fall. They feel the poverty at the bottom of all the
seeming affluence of the world. They know the speed with which they come
straight through the thin masquerade, and conceive a disgust at the indigence of
nature: Rousseau, Mirabeau, Charles Fox, Napoleon, Byron, — and I could easily
add names nearer home, of raging riders, who drive their steeds so hard, in the
violence of living to forget its illusion: they would know the worst, and tread
the floors of hell. The heroes of ancient and modern fame, Cimon, Themistocles,
Alcibiades, Alexander, Cæsar, have treated life and fortune as a game to be well
and skillfully played, but the stake not to be so valued, but that any time, it
could be held as a trifle light as air, and thrown up. Cæsar, just before the
battle of Pharsalia, discourses with the Egyptian priest, concerning the
fountains of the Nile, and offers to quit the army, the empire, and Cleopatra,
if he will show him those mysterious sources.
The same magnanimity shows itself in our social relations, in the preference,
namely, which each man gives to the society of superiors over that of his
equals. All that a man has, will he give for right relations with his mates. All
that he has, will he give for an erect demeanor in every company and on each
occasion. He aims at such things as his neighbors prize, and gives his days and
nights, his talents and his heart, to strike a good stroke, to acquit himself in
all men's sight as a man. The consideration of an eminent citizen, of a noted
merchant, of a man of mark in his profession; naval and military honor, a
general's commission, a marshal's baton, a ducal coronet, the laurel of poets,
and, anyhow procured, the acknowledgment of eminent merit, have this lustre for
each candidate, that they enable him to walk erect and unashamed, in the
presence of some persons, before whom he felt himself inferior. Having raised
himself to this rank, having established his equality with class after class, of
those with whom he would live well, he still finds certain others, before whom
he cannot possess himself, because they have somewhat fairer, somewhat grander,
somewhat purer, which extorts homage of him. Is his ambition pure? then, will
his laurels and his possessions seem worthless: instead of avoiding these men
who make his fine gold dim, he will cast all behind him, and seek their society
only, woo and embrace this his humiliation and mortification, until he shall
know why his eye sinks, his voice is husky, and his brilliant talents are
paralyzed in this presence. He is sure that the soul which gives the lie to all
things, will tell none. His constitution will not mislead him. If it cannot
carry itself as it ought, high and unmatchable in the presence of any man, if
the secret oracles whose whisper makes the sweetness and dignity of his life, do
here withdraw and accompany, him no longer, it is time to undervalue what he has
valued, to dispossess himself of what he has acquired, and with Cæsar to take in
his hand the army, the empire, and Cleopatra, and say, 'All these will I
relinquish, if you will show me the fountains of the Nile.' Dear to us are those
who love us, the swift moments we spend with them are a compensation for a great
deal of misery they enlarge our life; — but dearer are those who reject us as
unworthy, for they add another life: they build a heaven before us, whereof we
had not dreamed, and thereby supply to us new powers out of the recesses of the
spirit, and urge us to new and unattempted performances.
As every man at heart wishes the best and not inferior society, wishes to be
convicted of his error, and to come to himself, so he wishes that the same
healing should not stop in his thought, but should penetrate his will or active
power. The selfish man suffers more from his selfishness, than he from whom that
selfishness withholds some important benefit. What he most wishes is to be
lifted to some higher platform, that he may see beyond his present fear the
transalpine good, so that his fear, his coldness, his custom may be broken up
like fragments of ice, melted and carried away in the great stream of good will.
Do you ask my aid? I also wish to be a benefactor. I wish more to be a
benefactor and servant, than you wish to be served by me, and surely the
greatest good fortune that could befall me, is precisely to be so moved by you
that I should say, 'Take me and all nine, and use me and mine freely to your
ends'! for, I could not say it, otherwise than because a great enlargement had
come to my heart and mind, which made me superior to my fortunes. Here we are
paralyzed with fear; we hold on to our little properties, house and land, office
and money, for the bread which they have in our experience yielded us, although
we confess, that our being does not flow through them. We desire to be made
great, we desire to be touched with that fire which shall command this ice to
stream, and make our existence a benefit. If therefore we start objections to
your project, O friend of the slave, or friend of the poor, or of the race,
understand well, that it is because we wish to drive you to drive us into your
measures. We wish to hear ourselves confuted. We are haunted with a belief that
you have a secret, which it would highliest advantage us to learn, and we would
force you to impart it to us, though it should bring us to prison, or to worse
extremity.
Nothing shall warp me from the belief, that every man is a lover of truth. There
is no pure lie, no pure malignity in nature. The entertainment of the
proposition of depravity is the last profligacy and profanation. There is no
skepticism, no atheism but that. Could it be received into common belief,
suicide would unpeople the planet. It has had a name to live in some dogmatic
theology, but each man's innocence and his real liking of his neighbor, have
kept it a dead letter. I remember standing at the polls one day, when the anger
of the political contest gave a certain grimness to the faces of the independent
electors, and a good man at my side looking on the people, remarked, "I am
satisfied that the largest part of these men, on either side, mean to vote
right." I suppose, considerate observers looking at the masses of men, in their
blameless, and in their equivocal actions, will assent, that in spite of
selfishness and frivolity, the general purpose in the great number of persons is
fidelity. The reason why any one refuses his assent to your opinion, or his aid
to your benevolent design, is in you: he refuses to accept you as a bringer of
truth, because, though you think you have it, he feels that you have it not. You
have not given him the authentic sign.
If it were worth while to run into details this general doctrine of the latent
but ever soliciting Spirit, it would be easy to adduce illustration in
particulars of a man's equality to the church, of his equality to the state, and
of his equality to every other man. It is yet in all men's memory, that, a few
years ago, the liberal churches complained, that the Calvinistic church denied
to them the name of Christian. I think the complaint was confession: a religious
church would not complain. A religious man like Behmen, Fox, or Swedenborg, is
not irritated by wanting the sanction of the church, but the church feels the
accusation of his presence and belief.
It only needs, that a just man should walk in our streets, to make it appear how
pitiful and inartificial a contrivance is our legislation. The man whose part is
taken, and who does not wait for society in anything, has a power which society
cannot choose but feel. The familiar experiment, called the hydrostatic paradox,
in which a capillary column of water balances the ocean, is a symbol of the
relation of one man to the whole family of men. The wise Dandini, on hearing the
lives of Socrates, Pythagoras, and Diogenes read, "judged them to be great men
every way, excepting, that they were too much subjected to the reverence of the
laws, which to second and authorize, true virtue must abate very, much of its
original vigor."
And as a man is equal to the church, and equal to the state, so he is equal to
every other man. The disparities of power in men are superficial; and all frank
and searching conversation, in which a man lays himself open to his brother,
apprizes each of their radical unity. When two persons sit and converse in a
thoroughly good understanding, the remark is sure to be made, See how we have
disputed about words! Let a clear, apprehensive mind, such as every man knows
among his friends, converse with the most commanding poetic genius, I think, it
would appear that there was no inequality such as men fancy between them; that a
perfect understanding, a like receiving, a like perceiving, abolished
differences, and the poet would confess, that his creative imagination gave him
no deep advantage, but only the superficial one, that he could express himself,
and the other could not; that his advantage was a knack, which might impose on
indolent men, but could not impose on lovers of truth; for they know the tax of
talent, or, what a price of greatness the power of expression too often pays. I
believe it is the conviction of the purest men, that the net amount of man and
man does not much vary. Each is incomparably superior to his companion in some
faculty. His want of skill in other directions, has added to his fitness for his
own work. Each seems to have some compensation yielded to him by his infirmity,
and every hindrance operates as a concentration of his force.
These and the like experiences intimate, that man stands in strict connexion
with a higher fact never yet manifested. There is power over and behind us, and
we are the channels of its communications. We seek to say thus and so, and over
our head some spirit sits, which contradicts what we say. We would persuade our
fellow to this or that; another self within our eyes dissuades him. That which
we keep back, this reveals. In vain we compose our faces and our words; it holds
uncontrollable communication with the enemy, and he answers civilly to us, but
believes the spirit. We exclaim, 'There's a traitor in the house!' but at last
it appears that he is the true man, and I am the traitor. This open channel to
the highest life is the first and last reality, so subtle, so quiet, yet so
tenacious, that although I have never expressed the truth, and although I have
never heard the expression of it from any other, I know that the whole truth is
here for me. What if I cannot answer your questions? I am not pained that I
cannot frame a reply to the question, What is the operation we call Providence?
There lies the unspoken thing, present, omnipresent. Every time we converse, we
seek to translate it into speech, but whether we hit, or whether we miss, we
have the fact. Every discourse is an approximate answer: but it is of small
consequence, that we do not get it into verbs and nouns, whilst it abides for
contemplation forever.
If the auguries of the prophesying heart shall make themselves good in time, the
man who shall be born, whose advent men and events prepare and foreshow, is one
who shall enjoy his connexion with a higher life, with the man within man; shall
destroy distrust by his trust, shall use his native but forgotten methods, shall
not take counsel of flesh and blood, but shall rely on the Law alive and
beautiful, which works over our heads and under our feet. Pitiless, it avails
itself of our success, when we obey it, and of our ruin, when we contravene it.
Men are all secret believers in it, else, the word justice would have no
meaning: they believe that the best is the true; that right is done at last; or
chaos would come. It rewards actions after their nature, and not after the
design of the agent. 'Work,' it saith to man, 'in every hour, paid or unpaid,
see only that thou work, and thou canst not escape the reward: whether thy work
be fine or coarse, planting corn, or writing epics, so only it be honest work,
done to thine own approbation, it shall earn a reward to the senses as well as
to the thought: no matter, how often defeated, you are born to victory. The
reward of a thing well done, is to have done it.'
As soon as a man is wonted to look beyond surfaces, and to see how this high
will prevails without an exception or an interval, he settles himself into
serenity. He can already rely on the laws of gravity, that every stone will fall
where it is due; the good globe is faithful, and carries us securely through the
celestial spaces, anxious or resigned: we need not interfere to help it on, and
he will learn, one day, the mild lesson they teach, that our own orbit is all
our task, and we need not assist the administration of the universe. Do not be
so impatient to set the town right concerning the unfounded pretensions and the
false reputation of certain men of standing. They are laboring harder to set the
town right concerning themselves, and will certainly succeed. Suppress for a few
days your criticism on the insufficiency of this or that teacher or
experimenter, and he will have demonstrated his insufficiency to all men's eyes.
In like manner, let a man fall into the divine circuits, and he is enlarged.
Obedience to his genius is the only liberating influence. We wish to escape from
subjection, and a sense of inferiority, — and we make self-denying ordinances,
we drink water, we eat grass, we refuse the laws, we go to jail: it is all in
vain; only by obedience to his genius; only by the freest activity in the way
constitutional to him, does an angel seem to arise before a man, and lead him by
the hand out of all the wards of the prison.
That which befits us, embosomed in beauty and wonder as we are, is cheerfulness
and courage, and the endeavor to realize our aspirations. The life of man is the
true romance, which, when it is valiantly conducted, will yield the imagination
a higher joy than any fiction. All around us, what powers are wrapped up under
the coarse mattings of custom, and all wonder prevented. It is so wonderful to
our neurologists that a man can see without his eyes, that it does not occur to
them, that it is just as wonderful, that he should see with them; and that is
ever the difference between the wise and the unwise: the latter wonders at what
is unusual, the wise man wonders at the usual. Shall not the heart which has
received so much, trust the Power by which it lives? May it not quit other
leadings, and listen to the Soul that has guided it so gently, and taught it so
much, secure that the future will be worthy of the past?
| | |
