Chapter IX: HOMEWARD By W.H. Channing (3)

_'July, 1842. Boston_.--I have been entertaining the girls
here with my old experiences at Groton. They have been very
fresh in my mind this week. Had I but been as wise in such
matters then as now, how easy and fair I might have made the
whole! Too late, too late to live, but not too late to think!
And as that maxim of the wise Oriental teaches, "the Acts of
this life shall be the Fate of the next."'

* * * 'I would have my friends tender of me, not because I am
frail, but because I am capable of strength;--patient, because
they see in me a principle that must, at last, harmonize all
the exuberance of my character. I did not well understand what
you felt, but I am willing to admit that what you said of my
"over-great impetuosity" is just. You will, perhaps, feel it
more and more. It may at times hide my better self. When it
does, speak, I entreat, as harshly as you feel. Let me be
always sure I know the worst I believe you will be thus just,
thus true, for we are both servants of Truth.'

* * * * *

'_August, 1842. Cambridge._--Few have eyes for the pretty
little features of a scene. In this, men are not so good
as boys. Artists are always thus young; poets are; but the
pilgrim does not lay aside his belt of steel, nor the merchant
his pack, to worship the flowers on the fountain's brink. I
feel, like Herbert, the weight of "business to be done," but
the bird-like particle would skim and sing at these sweet
places. It seems strange to leave them; and that we do so,
while so fitted to live deeply in them, shows that beauty is
the end but not the means.

'I have just been reading the new poems of Tennyson. Much has
he thought, much suffered, since the first ecstasy of so fine
an organization clothed all the world with rosy light. He has
not suffered himself to become a mere intellectual voluptuary,
nor the songster of fancy and passion, but has earnestly
revolved the problems of life, and his conclusions are calmly
noble. In these later verses is a still, deep sweetness;
how different from the intoxicating, sensuous melody of his
earlier cadence! I have loved him much this time, and taken
him to heart as a brother. One of his themes has long been
my favorite,--the last expedition of Ulysses,--and his, like
mine, is the Ulysses of the Odyssey, with his deep romance of
wisdom, and not the worldling of the Iliad. How finely marked
his slight description of himself and of Telemachus. In Dora,
Locksley Hall, the Two Voices, Morte D'Arthur, I find my own
life, much of it, written truly out.'

* * * * *

_Concord, August 25. 1842._--Beneath this roof of peace,
beneficence, and intellectual activity, I find just the
alternation of repose and satisfying pleasure that I need. * *
*

'Do not find fault with the hermits and scholars. The true text
is:--

"Mine own Telemachus
He does his work--I mine."

'All do the work, whether they will or no; but he is "mine
own Telemachus" who does it in the spirit of religion, never
believing that the last results can be arrested in any one
measure or set of measures, listening always to the voice of
the Spirit,--and who does this more than ----?

'After the first excitement of intimacy with him,--when I
was made so happy by his high tendency, absolute purity, the
freedom and infinite graces of an intellect cultivated much
beyond any I had known,--came with me the questioning season.
I was greatly disappointed in my relation to him. I was,
indeed, always called on to be worthy,--this benefit was sure
in our friendship. But I found no intelligence of my best
self; far less was it revealed to me in new modes; for not
only did he seem to want the living faith which enables one to
discharge this holiest office of a friend, but he absolutely
distrusted me in every region of my life with which he was
unacquainted. The same trait I detected in his relations
with others. He had faith in the Universal, but not in the
Individual Man: he met men, not as a brother, but as a critic.
Philosophy appeared to chill instead of exalting the poet.

'But now I am better acquainted with him. His "accept"
is true; the "I shall learn," with which he answers every
accusation, is no less true. No one can feel his limitations,
in fact, more than he, though he always speaks confidently
from his present knowledge as all he has yet, and never
qualifies or explains. He feels himself "shut up in a crystal
cell," from which only "a great love or a great task could
release me," and hardly expects either from what remains in
this life. But I already see so well how these limitations
have fitted him for his peculiar work, that I can no longer
quarrel with them; while from his eyes looks out the angel
that must sooner or later break every chain. Leave him in his
cell affirming absolute truth; protesting against humanity,
if so he appears to do; the calm observer of the courses of
things. Surely, "he keeps true to his thought, which is the
great matter." He has already paid his debt to his time; how
much more he will give we cannot know; but already I feel how
invaluable is a cool mind, like his, amid the warring elements
around us. As I look at him more by his own law, I understand
him better; and as I understand him better, differences melt
away. My inmost heart blesses the fate that gave me birth in
the same clime and time, and that has drawn me into such a
close bond with him as, it is my hopeful faith, will never be
broken, but from sphere to sphere ever more hallowed. * * *

'What did you mean by saying I had imbibed much of his way
of thought? I do indeed feel his life stealing gradually into
mine; and I sometimes think that my work would have been more
simple, and my unfolding to a temporal activity more rapid and
easy, if we had never met. But when I look forward to eternal
growth, I am always aware that I am far larger and deeper for
him. His influence has been to me that of lofty assurance and
sweet serenity. He says, I come to him as the European to the
Hindoo, or the gay Trouvére to the Puritan in his steeple hat.
Of course this implies that our meeting is partial. I present
to him the many forms of nature and solicit with music; he
melts them all into spirit and reproves performance with
prayer. When I am with God alone, I adore in silence. With
nature I am filled and grow only. With most men I bring words
of now past life, and do actions suggested by the wants of
their natures rather than my own. But he stops me from doing
anything, and makes me think.'

* * * * *

_October_, 1842 * * To me, individually, Dr. Channing's
kindness was great; his trust and esteem were steady, though
limited, and I owe him a large debt of gratitude.

'His private character was gentle, simple, and perfectly
harmonious, though somewhat rigid and restricted in its
operations. It was easy to love, and a happiness to know him,
though never, I think, a source of the highest social pleasure
to be with him. His department was ethics; and as a literary
companion, he did not throw himself heartily into the works of
creative genius, but looked, wherever he read, for a moral. In
criticism he was deficient in "individuality," if by that
the phrenologists mean the power of seizing on the peculiar
meanings of special forms. I have heard it said, that, under
changed conditions, he might have been a poet. He had, indeed,
the poetic sense of a creative spirit working everywhere. Man
and nature were living to him; and though he did not yield to
sentiment in particulars he did in universals. But his mind
was not recreative, or even representative.

'He was deeply interesting to me as having so true a respect
for woman. This feeling in him was not chivalrous; it was not
the sentiment of an artist; it was not the affectionateness of
the common son of Adam, who knows that only her presence can
mitigate his loneliness; but it was a religious reverence. To
him she was a soul with an immortal destiny. Nor was there at
the bottom of his heart one grain of masculine assumption. He
did not wish that Man should protect her, but that God should
protect her and teach her the meaning of her lot.

'In his public relations he is to be regarded not only as a
check upon the evil tendencies of his era, but yet more as a
prophet of a better age already dawning as he leaves us. In
his later days he filled yet another office of taking the
middle ground between parties. Here he was a fairer figure
than ever before. His morning prayer was, "Give me more light;
keep my soul open to the light;" and it was answered. He
steered his middle course with sails spotless and untorn. He
was preserved in a wonderful degree from the prejudices of his
own past, the passions of the present, and the exaggerations
of those who look forward to the future. In the writings
where, after long and patient survey, he sums up the evidence
on both sides, and stands umpire, with the judicial authority
of a pure intent, a steadfast patience, and a long experience,
the mild wisdom of age is beautifully tempered by the
ingenuous sweetness of youth. These pieces resemble charges
to a jury; they have always been heard with affectionate
deference, if not with assent, and have, exerted a purifying
influence.' * *

* * * * *

'_November, 1842._--When souls meet direct and all secret
thoughts are laid open, we shall need no forbearance, no
prevention, no care-taking of any kind. Love will be pure
light, and each action simple,--too simple to be noble. But
there will not be always so much to pardon in ourselves and
others. Yesterday we had at my class a conversation on Faith.
Deeply true things were said and felt. But to-day the virtue
has gone out of me; I have accepted all, and yet there will
come these hours of weariness,--weariness of human nature
in myself and others. "Could ye not watch one hour?" Not one
faithfully through! * * To speak with open heart and "tongue
affectionate and true,"--to enjoy real repose and the
consciousness of a thorough mutual understanding in the
presence of friends when we do meet, is what is needed. That
being granted, I do believe I should not wish any surrender of
time or thought from a human being. But I have always a sense
that I cannot meet or be met _in haste_; as ---- said he could
not look at the works of art in a chance half-hour, so cannot
I thus rudely and hastily turn over the leaves of any mind. In
peace, in stillness that permits the soul to flow, beneath the
open sky, I would see those I love.'

[Footnote A: This was some years before their reprint in this country, it should be noticed.]

[Footnote B: Miss Rotch, of New Bedford.]

[Footnote C: The Dorr rebellion.]

VIII.

SOCIALISM.

* * * * *

In the preceding extracts will have been noticed frequent reference to the Association Movement, which, during the winter of 1840-41, was beginning to appear simultaneously at several points in New England. In Boston and its vicinity several friends, for whose characters Margaret felt the highest honor, and with many of whose views, theoretic and practical, she accorded, were earnestly considering the possibility of making such industrial, social, and educational arrangements, as would simplify economies, combine leisure for study with healthful and honest toil, avert unjust collisions of caste, equalize refinements, awaken generous affections, diffuse courtesy, and sweeten and sanctify life as a whole. Chief among these was the Rev. George Ripley, who, convinced by his experience in a faithful ministry, that the need was urgent for a thorough application of the professed principles of Fraternity to actual relations, was about staking his all of fortune, reputation, position, and influence, in an attempt to organize a joint-stock community at Brook Farm. How Margaret was inclined to regard this movement has been already indicated. While at heart sympathizing with the heroism that prompted it, in judgment she considered it premature. But true to her noble self, though regretting the seemingly gratuitous sacrifice of her friends, she gave them without stint the cheer of her encouragement and the light of her counsel. She visited them often; entering genially into their trials and pleasures, and missing no chance to drop good seed in every furrow upturned by the ploughshare or softened by the rain. In the secluded yet intensely animated circle of these co-workers I frequently met her during several succeeding years, and rejoice to bear testimony to the justice, magnanimity, wisdom, patience, and many-sided good-will, that governed her every thought and deed. The feelings with which she watched the progress of this experiment are thus exhibited in her journals:--

'My hopes might lead to Association, too,--an association, if
not of efforts, yet of destinies. In such an one I live with
several already, feeling that each one, by acting out his own,
casts light upon a mutual destiny, and illustrates the thought
of a mastermind. It is a constellation, not a phalanx, to
which I would belong.'

* * * * *

'Why bind oneself to a central or any doctrine? How much
nobler stands a man entirely unpledged, unbound! Association
may be the great experiment of the age, still it is only an
experiment. It is not worth while to lay such stress on it;
let us try it, induce others to try it,--that is enough.'

* * * * *

'It is amusing to see how the solitary characters tend
to outwardness,--to association,--while the social and
sympathetic ones emphasize the value of solitude,--of
concentration,--so that we hear from each the word which, from
his structure, we least expect.'

* * * * *

'On Friday I came to Brook Farm. The first day or two here
is desolate. You seem to belong to nobody--to have a right
to speak to nobody; but very soon you learn to take care of
yourself, and then the freedom of the place is delightful.

'It is fine to see how thoroughly Mr. and Mrs. R. act out, in
their own persons, what they intend.

'All Saturday I was off in the woods. In the evening we had
a general conversation, opened by me, upon Education, in its
largest sense, and on what we can do for ourselves and others.
I took my usual ground: The aim is perfection; patience the
road. The present object is to give ourselves and others a
tolerable chance. Let us not be too ambitious in our hopes
as to immediate results. Our lives should be considered as a
tendency, an approximation only. Parents and teachers
expect to do too much. They are not legislators, but only
interpreters to the next generation. Soon, very soon, does the
parent become merely the elder brother of his child;--a little
wiser, it is to be hoped. ---- differed from me as to some
things I said about the gradations of experience,--that "to
be brought prematurely near perfect beings would chill and
discourage." He thought it would cheer and console. He spoke
well,--with a youthful nobleness. ---- said "that the most
perfect person would be the most impersonal"--philosophical
bull that, I trow--"and, consequently, would impede us least
from God." Mr. R. spoke admirably on the nature of loyalty.
The people showed a good deal of the _sans-culotte_ tendency
in their manners,--throwing themselves on the floor, yawning,
and going out when they had heard enough. Yet, as the majority
differ from me, to begin with,--that being the reason this
subject was chosen,--they showed, on the whole, more respect
and interest than I had expected. As I am accustomed to
deference, however, and need it for the boldness and animation
which my part requires, I did not speak with as much force as
usual. Still, I should like to have to face all this; it would
have the same good effects that the Athenian assemblies had on
the minds obliged to encounter them.

'Sunday. A glorious day;--the woods full of perfume. I was out
all the morning. In the afternoon, Mrs. R. and I had a talk.
I said my position would be too uncertain here, as I could not
work. ---- said:--"They would all like to work for a person of
genius. They would not like to have this service claimed from
them, but would like to render it of their own accord." "Yes,"
I told her; "but where would be my repose, when they were
always to be judging whether I was worth it or not. It would
be the same position the clergyman is in, or the wandering
beggar with his harp. Each day you must prove yourself anew.
You are not in immediate relations with material things."

'We talked of the principles of the community. I said I had
not a right to come, because all the confidence in it I had
was as an _experiment_ worth trying, and that it was a part of
the great wave of inspired thought. ---- declared they none of
them had confidence beyond this; but they seem to me to have.
Then I said, "that though I entirely agreed about the dignity
of labor, and had always wished for the present change, yet
I did not agree with the principle of paying for services by
time;[A] neither did I believe in the hope of excluding evil,
for that was a growth of nature, and one condition of the
development of good." We had valuable discussion on these
points.

'All Monday morning in the woods again. Afternoon, out with
the drawing party; I felt the evils of want of conventional
refinement, in the impudence with which one of the girls
treated me. She has since thought of it with regret, I notice;
and, by every day's observation of me, will see that she ought
not to have done it.'

* * * * *

'In the evening, a husking in the barn. Men, women, and
children, all engaged. It was a most picturesque scene, only
not quite light enough to bring it out fully. I staid and
helped about half an hour, then took a long walk beneath the
stars.'

* * * * *

'Wednesday. I have been too much absorbed to-day by others,
and it has made me almost sick. Mrs. ---- came to see me,
and we had an excellent talk, which occupied nearly all the
morning. Then Mrs. ---- wanted to see me, but after a few
minutes I found I could not bear it, and lay down to rest.
Then ---- came. Poor man;--his feelings and work are wearing
on him. He looks really ill now. Then ---- and I went to walk
in the woods. I was deeply interested in all she told me. If
I were to write down all she and four other married women have
confided to me, these three days past, it would make a cento,
on one subject, in five parts. Certainly there should be some
great design in my life; its attractions are so invariable.'

* * * * *

'In the evening, a conversation on Impulse. The reason for
choosing this subject is the great tendency here to advocate
spontaneousness, at the expense of reflection. It was a much
better conversation than the one before. None yawned, for
none came, this time, from mere curiosity. There were about
thirty-five present, which is a large enough circle. Many
engaged in the talk. I defended nature, as I always do;--the
spirit ascending through, not superseding, nature. But in the
scale of Sense, Intellect, Spirit, I advocated to-night
the claims of Intellect, because those present were rather
disposed to postpone them. On the nature of Beauty we had
good talk. ---- spoke well. She seemed in a much more reverent
humor than the other night, and enjoyed the large plans of the
universe which were unrolled. ----, seated on the floor, with
the light falling from behind on his long gold locks, made,
with sweet, serene aspect, and composed tones, a good exposé
of his way of viewing things.'

* * * * *

'Saturday. Well, good-by, Brook Farm. I know more about this
place than I did when I came; but the only way to be qualified
for a judge of such an experiment would be to become an
active, though unimpassioned, associate in trying it. Some
good things are proven, and as for individuals, they are
gainers. Has not ---- vied, in her deeds of love, with "my
Cid," and the holy Ottilia? That girl who was so rude to me
stood waiting, with a timid air, to bid me good-by. Truly, the
soft answer turneth away wrath.

'I have found myself here in the amusing position of a
conservative. Even so is it with Mr. R. There are too many
young people in proportion to the others. I heard myself
saying, with a grave air, "Play out the play, gentles." Thus,
from generation to generation, rises and falls the wave.'

Again, a year afterward, she writes:--

'Here I have passed a very pleasant week. The tone of the
society is much sweeter than when I was here a year ago. There
is a pervading spirit of mutual tolerance and gentleness, with
great sincerity. There is no longer a passion for grotesque
freaks of liberty, but a disposition, rather, to study and
enjoy the liberty of law. The great development of mind and
character observable in several instances, persuades me
that this state of things affords a fine studio for the
soul-sculptor. To a casual observer it may seem as if there
was not enough of character here to interest, because there
are no figures sufficiently distinguished to be worth painting
for the crowd; but there is enough of individuality in free
play to yield instruction; and one might have, from a few
months' residence here, enough of the human drama to feed
thought for a long time.'

Thus much for Margaret's impressions of Brook Farm and its inmates. What influence she in turn exerted on those she met there, may be seen from the following affectionate tribute, offered by one of the young girls alluded to in the journal:--

"Would that I might aid even slightly, in doing justice to the
noble-hearted woman whose departure we must all mourn. But I feel
myself wholly powerless to do so; and after I explain what my
relation to her was, you will understand how this can be, without
holding me indolent or unsympathetic.

"When I first met Miss Fuller, I had already cut from my moorings,
and was sailing on the broad sea of experience, conscious that I
possessed unusual powers of endurance, and that I should meet with
sufficient to test their strength. She made no offer of guidance,
and once or twice, in the succeeding year, alluded to the fact
that she 'had never helped me.' This was in a particular sense, of
course, for she helped all who knew her. She was interested in my
rough history, but could not be intimate, in any just sense, with
a soul so unbalanced, so inharmonious as mine then was. For my
part, I reverenced her. She was to me the embodiment of wisdom and
tenderness. I heard her converse, and, in the rich and varied
intonations of her voice, I recognized a being to whom every shade
of sentiment was familiar. She knew, if not by experience then by
no questionable intuition, how to interpret the inner life of
every man and woman; and, by interpreting, she could soothe and
strengthen. To her, psychology was an open book. When she came to
Brook Farm, it was my delight to wait on one so worthy of all
service,--to arrange her late breakfast in some remnants of
ancient China, and to save her, if it might be, some little
fatigue or annoyance, during each day. After a while she seemed to
lose sight of my more prominent and disagreeable peculiarities,
and treated me with affectionate regard."

Being a confirmed Socialist, I often had occasion to discuss with Margaret the problems involved in the "Combined Order" of life; and though unmoved by her scepticism, I could not but admire the sagacity, foresight, comprehensiveness, and catholic sympathy with which she surveyed this complicated subject. Her objections, to be sure, were of the usual kind, and turned mainly upon two points,--the difficulty of so allying labor and capital as to secure the hoped-for coöperation, and the danger of merging the individual in the mass to such degree as to paralyze energy, heroism, and genius; but these objections were urged in a way that brought out her originality and generous hopes. There was nothing abject, timid, or conventional in her doubts. The end sought she prized; but the means she questioned. Though pleased in listening to sanguine visions of the future, she was slow to credit that an organization by "Groups and Series" would yield due incentive for personal development, while ensuring equilibrium through exact and universal justice. She felt, too, that Society was not a machine to be put together and set in motion, but a living body, whose breath must be Divine inspiration, and whose healthful growth is only hindered by forcing. Finally, while longing as earnestly as any Socialist for "Liberty and Law made one in living union," and assured in faith that an era was coming of "Attractive Industry" and "Harmony," she was still for herself inclined to seek sovereign independence in comparative isolation. Indeed, at this period, Margaret was in spirit and in thought preëminently a Transcendentalist.

[Footnote A: This was a transitional arrangement only.]

IX.

CREDO.

* * * * *

In regard to Transcendentalism again, there was reason to rejoice in having found a friend, so firm to keep her own ground, while so liberal to comprehend another's stand-point, as was Margaret. She knew, not only theoretically, but practically, how endless are the diversities of human character and of Divine discipline, and she reverenced fellow-spirits too sincerely ever to wish to warp them to her will, or to repress their normal development. She was stern but in one claim, that each should be faithful to apparent leadings of the Truth; and could avow widest differences of conviction without feeling that love was thereby chilled, or the hand withheld from cordial aid. Especially did she render service by enabling one,--through her blended insight, candor, and clearness of understanding,--to see in bright reflection his own mental state.

It would be doing injustice to a person like Margaret, always more enthusiastic than philosophical, to attribute to her anything like a system of theology; for, hopeful, reverent, aspiring, and free from scepticism, she felt too profoundly the vastness of the universe and of destiny ever to presume that with her span rule she could measure the Infinite. Yet the tendency of her thoughts can readily be traced in the following passages from note-books and letters:--

'When others say to me, and not without apparent ground, that
"the Outward Church is a folly which keeps men from enjoying
the communion of the Church Invisible, and that in the desire
to be helped by, and to help others, men lose sight of the
only sufficient help, which they might find by faithful
solitary intentness of spirit," I answer it is true, and the
present deadness and emptiness summon us to turn our thoughts
in that direction. Being now without any positive form of
religion, any unattractive symbols, or mysterious rites, we
are in the less danger of stopping at surfaces, of accepting
a mediator instead of the Father, a sacrament instead of the
Holy Ghost. And when I see how little there is to impede
and bewilder us, I cannot but accept,--should it be for many
years,--the forlornness, the want of fit expression, the
darkness as to what is to be expressed, even that characterize
our time.

'But I do not, therefore, as some of our friends do, believe
that it will always be so, and that the church is tottering to
its grave, never to rise again. The church was the growth of
human nature, and it is so still. It is but one result of the
impulse which makes two friends clasp one another's hands,
look into one another's eyes at sight of beauty, or the
utterance of a feeling of piety. So soon as the Spirit has
mourned and sought, and waited long enough to open new depths,
and has found something to express, there will again be
a Cultus, a Church. The very people, who say that none is
needed, make one at once. They talk with, they write to one
another. They listen to music, they sustain themselves with
the poets; they like that one voice should tell the thoughts
of several minds, one gesture proclaim that the same life is
at the same moment in many breasts.

'I am myself most happy in my lonely Sundays, and do not feel
the need of any social worship, as I have not for several
years, which I have passed in the same way. Sunday is to me
priceless as a day of peace and solitary reflection. To all
who will, it may be true, that, as Herbert says:--

"Sundays the pillars are
On which Heaven's palace arched lies;
The other days fill up the space
And hollow room with vanities;"

and yet in no wise "vanities," when filtered by the Sunday
crucible. After much troubling of the waters of my life, a
radiant thought of the meaning and beauty of earthly existence
will descend like a healing angel. The stillness permits me
to hear a pure tone from the One in All. But often I am not
alone. The many now, whose hearts, panting for truth and
love, have been made known to me, whose lives flow in the same
direction as mine, and are enlightened by the same star, are
with me. I am in church, the church invisible, undefiled by
inadequate expression. Our communion is perfect; it is that
of a common aspiration; and where two or three are gathered
together in one region, whether in the flesh or the spirit,
He will grant their request. Other communion would be a
happiness,--to break together the bread of mutual thought, to
drink the wine of loving life,--but it is not necessary.

'Yet I cannot but feel that the crowd of men whose pursuits
are not intellectual, who are not brought by their daily walk
into converse with sages and poets, who win their bread from
an earth whose mysteries are not open to them, whose worldly
intercourse is more likely to stifle than to encourage the
sparks of love and faith in their breasts, need on that
day quickening more than repose. The church is now rather a
lecture-room than a place of worship; it should be a school
for mutual instruction. I must rejoice when any one, who lays
spiritual things to heart, feels the call rather to mingle
with men, than to retire and seek by himself.

'You speak of men going up to worship by "households," &c.
Were the actual family the intellectual family, this might be;
but as social life now is, how can it? Do we not constantly
see the child, born in the flesh to one father, choose in the
spirit another? No doubt this is wrong, since the sign does
not stand for the thing signified, but it is one feature of
the time. How will it end? Can families worship together till
it does end?

* * * * *

'I have let myself be cheated out of my Sunday, by going to
hear Mr. ----. As he began by reading the first chapter
of Isaiah, and the fourth of John's Epistle, I made mental
comments with pure delight. "Bring no more vain oblations."
"Every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God." "We
know that we dwell in Him, and He in us, because he hath
given us of the Spirit." Then pealed the organ, full of
solemn assurance. But straightway uprose the preacher to deny
mysteries, to deny the second birth, to deny influx, and to
renounce the sovereign gift of insight, for the sake of what
he deemed a "_rational_" exercise of will. As he spoke I could
not choose but deny him all through, and could scarce refrain
from rising to expound, in the light of my own faith, the
words of those wiser Jews which had been read. Was it not a
sin to exchange friendly greeting as we parted, and yet tell
him no word of what was in my mind?

'Still I saw why he looked at things as he did. The old
religionists did talk about "grace, conversion," and the like,
technically, without striving to enter into the idea, till
they quite lost sight of it. Undervaluing the intellect, they
became slaves of a sect, instead of organs of the Spirit. This
Unitarianism has had its place. There was a time for asserting
"the dignity of human nature," and for explaining total
depravity into temporary inadequacy,--a time to say that the
truths of _essence_, if simplified at all in statement from
their infinite variety of existence, should be spoken of as
One, rather than Three, though that number, if they would only
let it reproduce itself simply, is of highest significance.
Yet the time seems now to have come for reinterpreting the old
dogmas. For one I would now preach the Holy Ghost as zealously
as they have been preaching Man, and faith instead of the
understanding, and mysticism instead &c. But why go on? It
certainly is by no means useless to preach. In my experience
of the divine gifts of solitude, I had forgotten what might
be done in this other way. That crowd of upturned faces,
with their look of unintelligent complacency! Give tears and
groans, rather, if there be a mixture of physical excitement
and bigotry. Mr. ---- is heard because, though he has not
entered into the secret of piety, he wishes to be heard,
and with a good purpose,--can make a forcible statement, and
kindle himself with his own thoughts. How many persons must
there be who cannot worship alone, since they are content with
so little! Can none wake the spark that will melt them, till
they take beautiful forms? Were one to come now, who could
purge us with fire, how would these masses glow and be
clarified!

'Mr. ---- made a good suggestion:--"Such things could not be
said in the open air." Let men preach for the open air, and
speak now thunder and lightning, now dew and rustling leaves.
Yet must the preacher have the thought of his day before he
can be its voice. None have it yet; but some of our friends,
perhaps, are nearer than the religious world at large, because
neither ready to dogmatize, as if they had got it, nor content
to stop short with mere impressions and presumptuous hopes. I
feel that a great truth is coming. Sometimes it seems as if
we should have it among us in a day. Many steps of the Temple
have been ascended, steps of purest alabaster, and of shining
jasper, also of rough-brick, and slippery moss-grown stone. We
shall reach what we long for, since we trust and do not fear,
for our God knows not fear, only reverence, and his plan is
All in All.'

* * * * *

'Who can expect to utter an absolutely pure and clear tone on
these high subjects? Our earthly atmosphere is too gross to
permit it. Yet, a severe statement has rather an undue charm
for me, as I have a nature of great emotion, which loves free
abandonment. I am ready to welcome a descending Moses, come
to turn all men from idolatries. For my priests have been very
generally of the Pagan greatness, revering nature and seeking
excellence, but in the path of progress, not of renunciation.
The lyric inspirations of the poet come very differently on
the ear from the "still, small voice." They are, in fact, all
one revelation; but one must be at the centre to interpret it.
To that centre I have again and again been drawn, but my large
natural life has been, as yet, but partially transfused with
spiritual consciousness. I shun a premature narrowness, and
bide my time. But I am drawn to look at natures who take a
different way, because they seem to complete my being for me.
They, too, tolerate me in my many phases for the same reason,
probably. It pleased me to see, in one of the figures by which
the Gnostics illustrated the progress of man, that Severity
corresponded to Magnificence.'

* * * * *

'In my quiet retreat, I read Xenophon, and became more
acquainted with his Socrates. I had before known only
the Socrates of Plato, one much more to my mind. Socrates
conformed to the Greek Church, and it is evident with a
sincere reverence, because it was the growth of the _national_
mind. He thought best to stand on its platform, and to
illustrate, though with keen truth, by received forms. This
was his right way, as his influence was naturally private, for
individuals who could in some degree respond to the teachings
of his dæmon; he knew the multitude would not understand him.
But it was the other way that Jesus took, preaching in the
fields, and plucking ears of corn on the Sabbath.'

* * * * *

'Is it my defect of spiritual experience, that while that
weight of sagacity, which is the iron to the dart of genius,
is needful to satisfy me, the undertone of another and a
deeper knowledge does not please, does not command me? Even in
Handel's Messiah, I am half incredulous, half impatient,
when the sadness of the second part comes to check, before
it interprets, the promise of the first; and the strain, "Was
ever sorrow like to his sorrow," is not for me, as I have
been, as I am. Yet Handel was worthy to speak of Christ. The
great chorus, "Since by man came death, by man came also the
resurrection of the dead; for as in Adam all die, even so in
Christ shall all be made alive," if understood in the
large sense of every man his own Saviour, and Jesus only
representative of the way all must walk to accomplish our
destiny, is indeed a worthy gospel.'

* * * * *

'Ever since ---- told me how his feelings had changed towards
Jesus, I have wished much to write some sort of a Credo, out
of my present state, but have had no time till last night. I
have not satisfied myself in the least, and have written
very hastily, yet, though not full enough to be true, this
statement is nowhere false to me.

* * * 'Whatever has been permitted by the law of being, must
be for good, and only in time not good. We trust, and are led
forward by experience. Light gives experience of outward life,
faith of inward life, and then we discern, however faintly,
the necessary harmony of the two. The moment we have broken
through an obstruction, not accidentally, but by the aid of
faith, we begin to interpret the Universe, and to apprehend
why evil is permitted. Evil is obstruction; Good is
accomplishment.

'It would seem that the Divine Being designs through man
to express distinctly what the other forms of nature only
intimate, and that wherever man remains imbedded in nature,
whether from sensuality, or because he is not yet awakened to
consciousness, the purpose of the whole remains unfulfilled.
Hence our displeasure when Man is not in a sense above
Nature. Yet, when he is not so closely bound with all other
manifestations, as duly to express their Spirit, we are also
displeased. He must be at once the highest form of Nature, and
conscious of the meaning she has been striving successively to
unfold through those below him. Centuries pass; whole races
of men are expended in the effort to produce one that shall
realize this Ideal, and publish Spirit in the human form. Here
and there is a degree of success. Life enough is lived through
a man, to justify the great difficulties attendant on the
existence of mankind. And then throughout all realms of
thought vibrates the affirmation, "This is my beloved Son, in
whom I am well pleased."

'I do not mean to lay an undue stress upon the position and
office of man merely because I am of his race, and understand
best the scope of his destiny. The history of the earth, the
motions of the heavenly bodies, suggest already modes of being
higher than ours, and which fulfil more deeply the office of
interpretation. But I do suppose man's life to be the rivet in
one series of the great chain, and that all higher existences
are analogous to his. Music suggests their mode of being, and,
when carried up on its strong wings, we foresee how the
next step in the soul's ascension shall interpret man to the
universe, as he now interprets those forms beneath himself. * *

'The law of Spirit is identical, whether displaying itself as
genius, or as piety, but its modes of expression are distinct
dialects. All souls desire to become the fathers of souls, as
citizens, legislators, poets, artists, sages, saints; and,
so far as they are true to the law of their incorruptible
essence, they are all Anointed, all Emanuel, all Messiah; but
they are all brutes and devils so far as subjected to the law
of corruptible existence.

'As wherever there is a tendency a form is gradually evolved,
as its Type,--so is it the law of each class and order of
human thoughts to produce a form which shall be the visible
representation of its aim and strivings, and stand before it
as its King. This effort to produce a kingly type it was, that
clothed itself with power as Brahma or Osiris, that gave laws
as Confucius or Moses, that embodied music and eloquence in
the Apollo. This it was that incarnated itself, at one time as
Plato, at another as Michel Angelo, at another as Luther, &c.
Ever seeking, it has produced Ideal after Ideal of the beauty,
into which mankind is capable of being developed; and one
of the highest, in some respects the very highest, of these
kingly types, was the life of Jesus of Nazareth.

'Few believe more in his history than myself, and it is very
dear to me. I believe, in my own way, in the long preparation
of ages for his coming, and the truth of prophecy that
announced him. I see a necessity, in the character of Jesus,
why Abraham should have been the founder of his nation, Moses
its lawgiver, and David its king and poet. I believe in the
genesis of the patriarchs, as given in the Old Testament. I
believe in the prophets,--that they foreknew not only what
their nation longed for, but what the development of universal
Man requires,--a Redeemer, an Atoner, a Lamb of God, taking
away the sins of the world. I believe that Jesus came when the
time was ripe, and that he was peculiarly a messenger and Son
of God. I have nothing to say in denial of the story of his
birth; whatever the actual circumstances were, he was born of
a Virgin, and the tale expresses a truth of the soul. I have
no objection to the miracles, except where they do not
happen to please one's feelings. Why should not a spirit,
so consecrate and intent, develop new laws, and make matter
plastic? I can imagine him walking the waves, without any
violation of my usual habits of thought. He could not remain
in the tomb, they say; certainly not,--death is impossible to
such a being. He remained upon earth; most true, and all who
have met him since on the way, have felt their hearts burn
within them. He ascended to heaven; surely, how could it be
otherwise?

'Would I could express with some depth what I feel as to
religion in my very soul; it would be a clear note of calm
assurance. But for the present this must suffice with regard
to Christ. I am grateful here, as everywhere, when Spirit
bears fruit in fulness; it attests the justice of aspiration,
it kindles faith, it rebukes sloth, it enlightens resolve.
But so does a beautiful infant. Christ's life is only one
modification of the universal harmony. I will not loathe
sects, persuasions, systems, though I cannot abide in them one
moment, for I see that by most men they are still needed. To
them their banners, their tents; let them be Fire-worshippers,
Platonists, Christians; let them live in the shadow of past
revelations. But, oh, Father of our souls, the One, let me
seek Thee! I would seek Thee in these forms, and in proportion
as they reveal Thee, they teach me to go beyond themselves.
I would learn from them all, looking only to Thee! But let me
set no limits from the past, to my own soul, or to any soul.

'Ages may not produce one worthy to loose the shoes of
the Prophet of Nazareth; yet there will surely be another
manifestation of that Word which was in the beginning. And all
future manifestations will come, like Christianity, "not to
destroy the law and the prophets, but to fulfil." The very
greatness of this manifestation demands a greater. As an
Abraham called for a Moses, and a Moses for a David, so does
Christ for another Ideal. We want a life more complete and
various than that of Christ. We have had a Messiah to teach
and reconcile; let us now have a Man to live out all the
symbolical forms of human life, with the calm beauty of a
Greek God, with the deep consciousness of a Moses, with the
holy love and purity of Jesus.'

X.

SELF-SOVEREIGNTY.

* * * * *

To one studying the signs of the times, it was quite instructive to watch the moods of a mind so sensitive as Margaret's; for her delicate meter indicated in advance each coming change in the air-currents of thought. But I was chiefly interested in the processes whereby she was gaining harmony and unity. The more one studied her, the more plainly he saw that her peculiar power was the result of fresh, fervent, exhaustless, and indomitable affections. The emotive force in her, indeed, was immense in volume, and most various in tendency; and it was wonderful to observe the outward equability of one inwardly so impassioned.

This was, in fact, the first problem to be solved in gaining real knowledge of her commanding character: "How did a person, by constitution so impetuous, become so habitually serene?" In temperament Margaret seemed a Bacchante,[A] prompt for wild excitement, and fearless to tread by night the mountain forest, with song and dance of delirious mirth; yet constantly she wore the laurel in token of purification, and, with water from fresh fountains, cleansed the statue of Minerva. Stagnancy and torpor were intolerable to her free and elastic impulses; a brilliant fancy threw over each place and incident Arcadian splendor; and eager desire, with energetic purposes, filled her with the consciousness of large latent life: and yet the lower instincts were duly subordinated to the higher, and dignified self-control ordered her deportment. Somehow, according to the doctrine of the wise Jacob Boehme, the fierce, hungry fire had met in embrace the meek, cool water, and was bringing to birth the pleasant light-flame of love. The transformation, though not perfected, was fairly begun.

Partly I could see how this change had been wrought. Ill health, pain, disappointment, care, had tamed her spirits. A wide range through the romantic literature of ancient and modern times had exalted while expending her passions. In the world of imagination, she had discharged the stormful energy which would have been destructive in actual life. And in thought she had bound herself to the mast while sailing past the Sirens. Through sympathy, also, from childhood, with the tragi-comedy of many lives around her, she had gained experience of the laws and limitations of providential order. Gradually, too, she had risen to higher planes of hope, whence opened wider prospects of destiny and duty. More than all, by that attraction of opposites which a strong will is most apt to feel, she had sought, as chosen companions, persons of scrupulous reserve, of modest coolness, and severe elevation of view. Finally, she had been taught, by a discipline specially fitted to her dispositions, to trust the leadings of the Divine Spirit. The result was, that at this period Margaret had become a Mystic. Her prisoned emotions found the freedom they pined for in contemplation of nature's exquisite harmonies,--in poetic regards of the glory that enspheres human existence, when seen as a whole from beyond the clouds,--and above all in exultant consciousness of life ever influent from the All-Living.

A few passages from, her papers will best illustrate this proneness to rapture.

'My tendency is, I presume, rather to a great natural than
to a deep religious life. But though others may be more
conscientious and delicate, few have so steady a faith in
Divine Love. I may be arrogant and impetuous, but I am never
harsh and morbid. May there not be a mediation, rather than a
conflict, between piety and genius? Greek and Jew, Italian and
Saxon, are surely but leaves on one stern, at last.'

* * * * *

'I am in danger of giving myself up to experiences till
they so steep me in ideal passion that the desired goal is
forgotten in the rich present. Yet I think I am learning how
to use life more wisely.'

* * * * *

'Forgive me, beautiful ones, who earlier learned the harmony
of your beings,--with whom eye, voice, and hand are already
true to the soul! Forgive me still some "lispings and
stammerings of the passionate age." Teach me,--me, also,--to
utter my paean in its full sweetness. These long lines are
radii from one centre; aid me to fill the circumference. Then
each moment, each act, shall be true. The pupil has found the
carbuncle,[B] but knows not yet how to use it day by day. But
"though his companions wondered at the pupil, the master loved
him." He loves me, my friends. Do ye trust me. Wash the tears
and black stains from the records of my life by the benignity
of a true glance; make each discord harmony, by striking
again the key-note; forget the imperfect interviews, burn the
imperfect letters, till at last the full song bursts forth,
the key-stone is given from heaven to the arch, the past is
all pardoned and atoned for, and we live forever in the Now.'
* *

* * * * *

'Henceforth I hope I shall not write letters thus full of
childish feeling; for in feeling I am indeed a child, and the
least of children. Soon I must return into the Intellect, for
_there_ in sight, at least, I am a man, and could write the
words very calmly and in steadfast flow. But, lately, the
intellect has been so subordinated to the soul, that I am
not free to enter the Basilikon, and plead and hear till I am
called. But let me not stay too long in this Sicilian valley,
gathering my flowers, for "night cometh."'

* * * * *

'The other evening, while hearing the Creation, in the music
of "There shoots the healing plant," I felt what I would ever
feel for suffering souls. Somewhere in nature is the Moly, the
Nepenthe, desired from the earliest ages of mankind. No wonder
the music dwelt so exultingly on the passage:--

"In native worth and honor clad."

Yes; even so would I ever see man. I will wait, and never
despair, through all the dull years.'

* * * * *

'I am "too fiery." Even so. Ceres put her foster child in the
fire because she loved him. If they thought so before, will
they not far more now? Yet I wish to be seen as I am, and
would lose all rather than soften away anything. Let my
friends be patient and gentle, and teach me to be so. I never
promised any one patience or gentleness, for those beautiful
traits are not natural to me; but I would learn them. Can I
not?'

* * * * *