[The first of many letters.]
CONCORD, March 27, 1848.
I am glad to hear that any words of mine, though spoken so long ago
that I can hardly claim identity with their author, have reached you.
It gives me pleasure, because I have therefore reason to suppose that
I have uttered what concerns men, and that it is not in vain that man
speaks to man. This is the value of literature. Yet those days are so
distant, in every sense, that I have had to look at that page again,
to learn what was the tenor of my thoughts then. I should value that
article, however, if only because it was the occasion of your letter.
I do believe that the outward and the inward life correspond; that if
any should succeed to live a higher life, others would not know of it;
that difference and distance are one. To set about living a true life
is to go a journey to a distant country, gradually to find ourselves
surrounded by new scenes and men; and as long as the old are around
me, I know that I am not in any true sense living a new or a better
life. The outward is only the outside of that which is within. Men are
not concealed under habits, but are revealed by them; they are their
true clothes. I care not how curious a reason they may give for their
abiding by them. Circumstances are not rigid and unyielding, but our
habits are rigid. We are apt to speak vaguely sometimes, as if a
divine life were to be grafted on to or built over this present as a
suitable foundation. This might do if we could so build over our old
life as to exclude from it all the warmth of our affection, and addle
it, as the thrush builds over the cuckoo's egg, and lays her own atop,
and hatches that only; but the fact is, we--so thin is the
partition--hatch them both, and the cuckoo's always by a day first,
and that young bird crowds the young thrushes out of the nest. No.
Destroy the cuckoo's egg, or build a new nest.
Change is change. No new life occupies the old bodies;--they decay.
_It_ is born, and grows, and flourishes. Men very pathetically inform
the old, accept and wear it. Why put up with the almshouse when you
may go to heaven? It is embalming,--no more. Let alone your ointments
and your linen swathes, and go into an infant's body. You see in the
catacombs of Egypt the result of that experiment,--that is the end of
it.
I do believe in simplicity. It is astonishing as well as sad, how many
trivial affairs even the wisest man thinks he must attend to in a day;
how singular an affair he thinks he must omit. When the mathematician
would solve a difficult problem, he first frees the equation of all
incumbrances, and reduces it to its simplest terms. So simplify the
problem of life, distinguish the necessary and the real. Probe the
earth to see where your main roots run. I would stand upon facts. Why
not see,--use our eyes? Do men know nothing? I know many men who, in
common things, are not to be deceived; who trust no moonshine; who
count their money correctly, and know how to invest it; who are said
to be prudent and knowing, who yet will stand at a desk the greater
part of their lives, as cashiers in banks, and glimmer and rust and
finally go out there. If they _know_ anything, what under the sun do
they do that for? Do they know what _bread_ is? or what it is for? Do
they know what life is? If they _knew_ something, the places which
know them now would know them no more forever.
This, our respectable daily life, on which the man of common sense,
the Englishman of the world, stands so squarely, and on which our
institutions are founded, is in fact the veriest illusion, and will
vanish like the baseless fabric of a vision; but that faint glimmer of
reality which sometimes illuminates the darkness of daylight for all
men, reveals something more solid and enduring than adamant, which is
in fact the cornerstone of the world.
Men cannot conceive of a state of things so fair that it cannot be
realized. Can any man honestly consult his experience and say that it
is so? Have we any facts to appeal to when we say that our dreams are
premature? Did you ever hear of a man who had striven all his life
faithfully and singly toward an object and in no measure obtained it?
If a man constantly aspires, is he not elevated? Did ever a man try
heroism, magnanimity, truth, sincerity, and find that there was no
advantage in them? that it was a vain endeavor? Of course we do not
expect that our paradise will be a garden. We know not what we ask. To
look at literature;--how many fine thoughts has every man had! how few
fine thoughts are expressed! Yet we never have a fantasy so subtle and
ethereal, but that _talent merely_, with more resolution and faithful
persistency, after a thousand failures, might fix and engrave it in
distinct and enduring words, and we should see that our dreams are the
solidest facts that we know. But I speak not of dreams.
What can be expressed in words can be expressed in life.
My actual life is a fact, in view of which I have no occasion to
congratulate myself; but for my faith and aspiration I have respect.
It is from these that I speak. Every man's position is in fact too
simple to be described. I have sworn no oath. I have no designs on
society, or nature, or God. I am simply what I am, or I begin to be
that. I _live_ in the _present_. I only remember the past, and
anticipate the future. I love to live. I love reform better than its
modes. There is no history of how bad became better. I believe
something, and there is nothing else but that. I know that I am. I
know that another is who knows more than I, who takes interest in me,
whose creature, and yet whose kindred, in one sense, am I. I know that
the enterprise is worthy. I know that things work well. I have heard
no bad news.
As for positions, combinations, and details,--what are they? In clear
weather, when we look into the heavens, what do we see but the sky and
the sun?
If you would convince a man that he does wrong, do right. But do not
care to convince him. Men will believe what they see. Let them see.
Pursue, keep up with, circle round and round your life, as a dog does
his master's chaise. Do what you love. Know your own bone; gnaw at
it, bury it, unearth it, and gnaw it still. Do not be too moral. You
may cheat yourself out of much life so. Aim above morality. Be not
simply good; be good for something. All fables, indeed, have their
morals; but the innocent enjoy the story. Let nothing come between you
and the light. Respect men and brothers only. When you travel to the
Celestial City, carry no letter of introduction. When you knock, ask
to see God,--none of the servants. In what concerns you much, do not
think that you have companions: know that you are alone in the world.
Thus I write at random. I need to see you, and I trust I shall, to
correct my mistakes. Perhaps you have some oracles for me.