A LECTURE READ BEFORE THE SOCIETY IN AMORY HALL, ON SUNDAY, MARCH 3,
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 homoeopathy, 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, outvalues 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 supernatural 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 asylum 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 holydays 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 has 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, Caesar, have treated life and
fortune as a game to be well and skilfully 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. Caesar, 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; a 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 Caesar 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 mine, 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 Dandamis, 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, apprises 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
connection 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 connection 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?