Part 2 (2/2)
These grand words and this powerful logic, if even too strong for some of the readers of this book, were not so for the brave hearts of the leaders of Brook Farm, and for Mr. Ripley in particular. The tentative feeling, the search for science to back up the social impulses, seemed at last to have found something solid in a society conceived by the Creator; the man created by him, fitted to it by him; the society fitted to the man; the one the counterpart of the other. Albert Brisbane, Parke G.o.dwin and Horace Greeley, with the _Tribune_, were arousing the thinkers in New York; Gerritt Smith was agitating the land question and giving away to actual settlers vast tracts of land owned by him. The works of the communist Owen and others were read.
Antislavery, anti-war and non-resistance societies were vigorously prosecuting their claims. It was an era of great social activity.
Thousands were aroused. ”Communities,” ”a.s.sociations” and ”Phalanxes”
were springing up in various quarters. It seemed that the tide of change from social chaos to order was fast rising. A great wave of reform was sweeping over the land. Should the Community moor itself where it was, or be borne on with the flood?
This was the question of moment; and while the young danced or played, acted in charade or masquerade, and the youths wove garlands of green around their straw hats, and amused themselves by wearing long tresses and tunics, the sedater heads were solving this important question. And they must decide it, but first of all Mr. Ripley's wishes must be consulted: the key to the situation was in his hands. What would he do?
Would he, and should they, take among them men and women endowed only with practical, everyday talents, able to be honest and make shoes and sew garments; to strike with a sledge and a blacksmith's arm; to be adepts, maybe, in all the cares for the outward wants of the body, but who had never read Goethe or Schiller, and, possibly, neither Shakespeare, Scott nor Robert Burns; and might not care to read or study Latin, French, German or philosophy! It was for Mr. Ripley to decide.
Did he then think of the little church in Purchase Street, and of what he had solemnly said to the listening congregation? Had he not told them that in every soul was a divine fire that aspired to the right no matter how deeply it had been covered from sight or buried by the troubling cares and surroundings that environed it: that there was a divine equality of spirit at the base of all human lives?
Did he not hear reverberating in his soul the sublime pa.s.sage, ”If I be lifted up, I will lift all others up to me”? Had he not been lifted up?
Had he not been supremely blest with health, strength, education, talent, friends, companions.h.i.+p with the great and his cup filled full of the sweet and sublime accords of the Christian faith? Had he not been lifted up, not in crucifixion, but by myriads of silent blessings, and was it not Christ-like to aid in lifting all others up also?
Alas for those who speak of Mr. Ripley's action at this time as ”Ripley's fall”! These were the moments when he achieved his glory, when the greatness of his character arose, almost without exception, above all others of the Transcendental School, who hovered around, and wished to claim him as a bright example of a man separated from the common herd of humanity, as a leader of a select group of men and women, cultivated intellectually and socially. Then, as before, when he saw what he deemed right, or, rather, when the intuitions of his soul told him his duty, he did not hesitate.
Soon he was practically deserted by Emerson and his coterie, by some of the a.s.sociates and pupils of the school, and boarders, who were scared out of their propriety by the fear of losing social caste, and they showed their disfavor by leaving him alone; but, intrenched as he was, and surrounded by a mult.i.tude of friends, new and old, and many secretly admiring his intrepid spirit, they could only vent their disfavor in sly sneers and hints that Mr. Ripley, and, of course, his followers with him, had fallen from their high estate. Yes, they who sat near by on the fences and crowed reform the loudest--they who had never soiled their ink-stained fingers with the gra.s.s-green sod of old Brook Farm in practical example of work--found most fault with him, because he chose to remain and risk his social standing still more than he had already done, in his magnificent work and experiment.
In order to show more clearly some of the philosophy under which the leaders of Brook Farm based the changes in their theories and organization, let us pause a few moments to give a slight sketch of the growth of human society from its primitive formation to the present time, trusting that the time spent on it may not be unworthily used, and the patience of those to whom these ideas are old is asked for the benefit of others to whom they are new.
It is evident that, at some time, there was a beginning of social life.
To those who have full faith in the Mosaic record it was in the Garden of Eden; but that may be considered as before society, as such, was fairly begun. It was the very dawn of the childhood of our race. To those who recognize the fact that the primitive man was a weak, unskilled, uncultivated savage, the conclusion must come that the first social life of the race was very crude; that men lived in trees or in caves and rude huts, and that they formed societies or hordes for protection from the huge and formidable wild animals that roamed the uncultivated earth.
Upon the slain beasts, wild fruits and grains they existed. They hunted and fished, and although the pa.s.sions of friends.h.i.+p, love and ambition implanted in their souls by their Creator shone out at times, at other times they quarrelled like the brutes they slaughtered. This state of crude society is named _savagism_.
But as the beasts became less formidable foes, and were much diminished in numbers by being slain and possibly from other causes, it is probable that at times the race suffered hunger, and finding that the ground readily produced from seed, the primitive race or races began to plant, and finding also that they had slain so many of the wild animals that they could keep herds of cattle without great danger of their destruction by them, the life of the herdsman began. But as the herds began to be numerous, it was found necessary to travel with them in order to give them new pasturage, and then the nomadic or wandering life was fully installed.
With their cattle and their wives, and their limited knowledge of cultivation, the patriarchal tribe moved from place to place; sometimes to find water, sometimes to find pasture for their horses and cattle, and at harvest time they returned to their fields to harvest the grain which had been planted for all. This, as you see, describes crudely the second state of society, which is the ”_patriarchal_” state.
As population increased, the difficulty of constantly changing the place of residence was more and more apparent; and as some arts had sprung up, such as the manufacture of pottery, farming implements and defensive weapons, which could not be equally well carried on in all places, towns, and afterwards cities, sprang up, where the artisans resided; and being often liable to marauders, especially when the outside population or tribes were wandering away from them, they enclosed them with walls. By industry some wealth was acquired; some luxury and comparative splendor were introduced. Prominent and naturally ambitious individuals and families raised themselves into power, and, placing themselves at the head of armies, with the newest weapons of war, made by their own hands, went forth to conquer. Thus the third, or what is called the ”_barbaric_” state was established.
Still moving on in the same direction, a great variety of cla.s.s distinction was made. Woman arose steadily from a condition of almost hopeless slavery to be the one companion of man, and direct slavery of man to man was abolished. Invention was stimulated, and means of dissemination of knowledge, such as the printing press and the university, came to light. Kings and princes reign by law, which is fully established, and commerce and trade flourish. These things inaugurate the advent of civilization; but perhaps the most marked types of civilization are the _independence of the individual, monogamic marriage_ and _free compet.i.tion_. Thus was established the fourth societary condition.
Society having progressed so far, and gone through so many changes, is it reasonable that it must now stop at what we call ”_civilization_” as the _ultimatum_ of its progress? With a little thought it will be seen how surely man has, through all these changes, emanc.i.p.ated himself from physical surroundings until he stands forth free and independent, but without, however, any positive relation or duty binding him to maintain the independence of all the human brotherhood. His independence is for himself alone, and in that relation he is forced by _conditions of his surroundings_ to neglect and trespa.s.s on the rights of his fellow-man to keep his individual supremacy, and to develop various promptings of his soul, which are ofttimes good, great and n.o.ble.
In the early days of civilization, free compet.i.tion develops the resources of man. The prospect of wealth, and the power it brings with it, encourages trade to seek the ends of the earth, and from its products vast enterprises are built up. As every fruit has in it that which causes its final dissolution, and within it also the germs of a future and higher life, so civilized society carries in it the germs of its decay and dissolution, society being a natural product, as fruit is, of G.o.d's providence. _Free compet.i.tion_ is the destructive agent, or one of the most important agents in its dissolution. Observe that the power which ripens a natural fruit causes, in the end, its destruction. Observe also that free compet.i.tion, which in the early stages of civilization glorifies and typifies it, by continuing at its work will finally destroy it.
There is another element which is called capital. In savage life there is hardly anything which can be called capital. The amount of capital depends on the wealth of the community. As society advances, wealth increases; from savagism to civilization, from early civilization to the present time. This wealth, this capital comes from the reserved products of labor; ”dried labor,” it has been called, for labor is its only source of production. This wealth belongs to the community that has earned it, saved it and inherited it. It is the grand moving power of society as it now stands, and without it we would return to the savage state. Society can never be too wealthy, any more than it can be too powerful, and the one is the synonym, to a great extent, of the other.
But capital with interest, as the agent and a.s.sistant of compet.i.tion, is destructive. Capital joined with labor builds manufactories, railroads, towns, and is the great moving power of civilization; but in the growth of civilization vast amounts of it have acc.u.mulated, and being unevenly distributed, there are those who are constantly seeking its use to help them to business and to elevation, and have been ready to pay a royalty, which we call interest, for the use of it. This has made capital a commodity.
The progress of arts and inventions has been, in modern days, in such increased ratio to the increase of capital that it has created so great a demand that a monopoly has been made of it; more is paid for the use of it than its real worth, so that wealth, even in this democratic country, is piling up in colossal fortunes by being drawn from the great body of society. Consequently, cla.s.ses of people grow relatively poorer as fast as other bodies of people or individuals grow richer; the extremes of riches and poverty constantly increasing.
Every advance in the producing capacity of machinery gives organized capital a better hold on labor, because capital owns the machinery, and, in homely phrase, labor ”is the under dog in the fight” all of the time. It makes no practical difference to it whether the laborer becomes capitalist or no, for the moment he becomes so he is engaged in the same crusade. He is no better nor worse than the one whom we called capitalist yesterday. It is the _unnatural position_ or _relation_ of _capital and labor_ that makes him what he is. To change this relation to a more just one was among the grandest ideas of the Brook Farmers, and the only way it could possibly be done, in their estimation, was by reorganizing society on a new basis; by combining the capital of the workers and others interested and using it so as finally to control machinery for the benefit of labor, and to reduce its hours of toil so that the laborer could have time for self-improvement.
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