A further explanation by Emerson:
«What is popularly called Transcendentalism among us, is Idealism; Idealism as it appears in 1842. As thinkers, mankind have ever divided into two sects, Materialists and Idealists; the first class founding on experience, the second on consciousness; the first class beginning to think from the data of the senses, the second class perceive that the senses are not final, and say, the senses give us representations of things, but what are the things themselves, they cannot tell. The materialist insists on facts, on history, on the force of circumstances, and the animal wants of man; the idealist on the power of Thought and of Will, on inspiration, on miracle, on individual culture. These two modes of thinking are both natural, but the idealist contends that his way of thinking is in higher nature. He concedes all that the other affirms, admits the impressions of sense, admits their coherency, their use and beauty, and then asks the materialist for his grounds of assurance that things are as his senses represent them. But I, he says, affirm facts not affected by the illusions of sense, facts which are of the same nature as the faculty which reports them, and not liable to doubt; facts which in their first appearance to us assume a native superiority to material facts, degrading these into a language by which the first are to be spoken; facts which it only needs a retirement from the senses to discern. Every materialist will be an idealist; but an idealist can never go backward to be a materialist. The idealist, in speaking of events, sees them as spirits. He does not deny the sensuous fact: by no means; but he will not see that alone. He does not deny the presence of this table, this chair, and the walls of this room, but he looks at these things as the reverse side of the tapestry, as the "other end", each being a sequel or completion of a spiritual fact which nearly concerns him. This manner of looking at things, transfers every object in nature from an independent and anomalous position without there, into the consciousness.»»
The Transcendentalist, 1842
Excerpt from W. E. CHANNING, "Unitarian Christianity"
«We farther agree in rejecting, as unscriptural and absurd, the
explanation given by the popular system, of the manner in which
Christ's death procures forgiveness for men. This system used to
teach as its fundamental principle, that man, having sinned against
an infinite Being, has contracted infinite guilt, and is
consequently exposed to an infinite penalty. We believe, however,
that this reasoning, if reasoning it may be called, which overlooks
the obvious maxim, that the guilt of a being must be proportioned
to his nature and powers, has fallen into disuse. Still the system
teaches, that sin, of whatever degree, exposes to endless
punishment, and that the whole human race, being infallibly
involved by their nature in sin, owe this awful penalty to the
justice of their Creator. It teaches, that this penalty cannot be
remitted, in consistency with the honor of the divine law, unless
a substitute be found to endure it or to suffer an equivalent. It
also teaches, that, from the nature of the case, no substitute is
adequate to this work, save the infinite God himself; and
accordingly, God, in his second person, took on him human nature,
that he might pay to his own justice the debt of punishment
incurred by men, and might thus reconcile forgiveness with the
claims and threatenings of his law. Such is the prevalent system.
Now, to us, this doctrine seems to carry on its front strong marks
of absurdity; and we maintain that Christianity ought not to be
encumbered with it, unless it be laid down in the New Testament
fully and expressly. We ask our adversaries, then, to point to some
plain passages where it is taught. We ask for one text, in which we
are told, that God took human nature that he might make an infinite
satisfaction to his own justice; for one text, which tells us, that
human guilt requires an infinite substitute; that Christ's
sufferings owe their efficacy to their being borne by an infinite
being; or that his divine nature gives infinite value to the
sufferings of the human. Not ONE WORD of this description can we
find in the Scriptures; not a text, which even hints at these
strange doctrines. They are altogether, we believe, the fictions of
theologians. Christianity is in no degree responsible for them. We
are astonished at their prevalence. What can be plainer, than that
God cannot, in any sense, be a sufferer, or bear a penalty in the
room of his creatures? How dishonorable to him is the supposition,
that his justice is now so severe, as to exact infinite punishment
for the sins of frail and feeble men, and now so easy and yielding,
as to accept the limited pains of Christ's human soul, as a full
equivalent for the endless woes due from the world? How plain is it
also, according to this doctrine, that God, instead of being
plenteous in forgiveness, never forgives; for it seems absurd to
speak of men as forgiven, when their whole punishment, or an
equivalent to it, is borne by a substitute? A scheme more fitted to
obscure the brightness of Christianity and the mercy of God, or
less suited to give comfort to a guilty and troubled mind, could
not, we think, be easily framed.
We believe, too, that this system is unfavorable to the
character. It naturally leads men to think, that Christ came to
change God's mind rather than their own; that the highest object of
his mission was to avert punishment, rather than to communicate
holiness; and that a large part of religion consists in disparaging
good works and human virtue, for the purpose of magnifying the
value of Christ's vicarious sufferings. In this way, a sense of the
infinite importance and indispensable necessity of personal
improvement is weakened, and high-sounding praises of Christ's
cross seem often to be substituted for obedience to his precepts.
For ourselves, we have not so learned Jesus. Whilst we gratefully
acknowledge, that he came to rescue us from punishment, we believe,
that he was sent on a still nobler errand, namely, to deliver us
from sin itself, and to form us to a sublime and heavenly virtue.
We regard him as a Saviour, chiefly as he is the light, physician,
and guide of the dark, diseased, and wandering mind. No influence
in the universe seems to us so glorious, as that over the
character; and no redemption so worthy of thankfulness, as the
restoration of the soul to purity. Without this, pardon, were it
possible, would be of little value. Why pluck the sinner from hell,
if a hell be left to burn in his own breast? Why raise him to
heaven, if he remain a stranger to its sanctity and love? With
these impressions, we are accustomed to value the Gospel chiefly as
it abounds in effectual aids, motives, excitements to a generous
and divine virtue. In this virtue, as in a common centre, we see
all its doctrines, precepts, promises meet; and we believe, that
faith in this religion is of no worth, and contributes nothing to
salvation, any farther than as it uses these doctrines, precepts,
promises, and the whole life, character, sufferings, and triumphs
of Jesus, as the means of purifying the mind, of changing it into
the likeness of his celestial excellence.»
The William Ellery Channing Web Site)
Excerpts from "Civil Disobedience"
«I heartily accept the motto, -- "That government is best which
governs least"; and I should like to see it acted up to more rapidly
and systematically. Carried out, it finally amounts to this, which
also I believe, -- "That government is best which governs not at
all"; and when men are prepared for it, that will be the kind of
government which they will have. Government is at best but an
expedient; but most governments are usually, and all governments are
sometimes, inexpedient. (...)
Can there not be a government in
which majorities do not virtually decide right and wrong, but
conscience? -- in which majorities decide only those questions to
which the rule of expediency is applicable? Must the citizen ever
for a moment, or in the least degree, resign his conscience to the
legislator? Why has every man a conscience, then? I think that we
should be men first, and subjects afterward. It is not desirable to
cultivate a respect for the law, so much as for the right. The only
obligation which I have a right to assume is to do at any time what
I think right. (...)
How does it become a man to behave toward this American
government to-day? I answer, that he cannot without disgrace be
associated with it. I cannot for an instant recognize that
political organization as my government which is the slave's
government also. (...)
It is not a man's duty, as a matter of course, to devote himself
to the eradication of any, even the most enormous wrong; he may
still properly have other concerns to engage him; but it is his
duty, at least, to wash his hands of it, and, if he gives it no
thought longer, not to give it practically his support. If I devote
myself to other pursuits and contemplations, I must first see, at
least, that I do not pursue them sitting upon another man's
shoulders. I must get off him first, that he may pursue his
contemplations too. (...)
I have paid no poll-tax for six years. I was put into a jail
once on this account, for one night; and, as I stood considering the
walls of solid stone, two or three feet thick, the door of wood and
iron, a foot thick, and the iron grating which strained the light, I
could not help being struck with the foolishness of that institution
which treated me as if I were mere flesh and blood and bones, to be
Complete text: "Civil Disobedience", 1849
Excerpts from Representative Men, "Uses of Great Men"
«It is natural to believe in great men. If the companions of our childhood should turn out to be heroes, and their condition regal, it would not surprise us. All mythology opens with demigods, and the circumstance is high and poetic; that is, their genius is paramount. In the legends of the Gautama, the first men ate the earth, and found it deliciously sweet.
Nature seems to exist for the excellent. The world is upheld by the veracity of good men: they make the earth wholesome. They who lived with them found life glad and nutritious. Life is sweet and tolerable only in our belief in such society; and actually, or ideally, we manage to live with superiors. We call our children and our lands by their names. Their names are wrought into the verbs of language, their works and effigies are in our houses, and every circumstance of the day recalls an anecdote of them.
The search after the great is the dream of youth, and the most serious occupation of manhood. We travel into foreign parts to find his works,--if possible, to get a glimpse of him.
But we are put off with fortune instead. You say, the English are practical; the Germans are hospitable; in Valencia, the climate is delicious; and in the hills of the Sacramento, there is gold for the gathering. Yes, but I do not travel to find comfortable, rich, and hospitable people, or clear sky, or ingots that cost too much. But if there were any magnet that would poffit to the countries and houses where are the persons who are intrinsically rich and powerful, I would sell all, and buy it, and put myself on the road to-day.
The race goes with us on their credit. The knowledge, that
in the city is a man who invented the railroad, raises the credit of all the citizens. But enormous populations, if they be beggars, are disgusting, like moving cheese, like hills of ants, or of fleas-the more, the worse.
Our religion is the love and cherishing of these patrons.
The gods of fable are the shining moments of great men. We run all our vessels into one mould. Our colossal theologies of Judaism, Christism, Buddhism, Mahometism, are the necessary and structural action of the human mind. The student of history is like a man going into a warehouse to buy cloths or carpets. He fancies he has a new article. If he go to the factory, he shall find that his new stuff still repeats the scrolls and rosettes which are found on the interior walls of the pyramids of Thebes.~ Our theism is the purification of the human mind. Man can paint, or make, or think nothing but man. He believes that the great material elements had their origin from his thought. And our philosophy finds one essence collected or distributed.»
«I admire great men of all classes, those who stand for facts, and for thoughts; I like rough and smooth, "Scourges of Cod," and "Darlings of the human race." I like the first Caesar; and Charles VI, of Spain; and Charles XII, of Sweden; Richard Plantagenet; and Bonaparte, in France. I applaud a sufficient man, an officer equal to his office; captains, ministers, senators. I like a master standing firm on legs of iron well-born, rich, handsome, eloquent, loaded with advantages, drawing all men by fascination into tributaries and supporters of his power. Sword and staff, or talents sword-like or stafflike, carry on the work of the world. But I find him greater, when he can abolish himself, and all heroes, by letting in this element of reason, irrespective of persons; this subtiliser, and irresistible upward force, into our thought, destroying individualism; the Power so great, that the' Potentate is nothing. Then he is a monarch, who gives a constitution to his people; a pontiff, who preaches the equality of souls, and releases his servants from their barbarous homages; an emperor, who can spare my empire.»
(Representative Men, "Uses of Great Men")
Excerpt from Emerson's Journal (March-April 1843)
«Margaret. A pure & purifying mind, selfpurifying also, full of faith in men, & inspiring it. Unable to find any companion great enough to receive the rich effusions of her thought, so that her riches are still unknown & seem unknowable. It is a great joy to find that we have underrated our friend, that he or she is far more excellent than we had thought. All natures seem poor beside one so rich, which pours a stream of amber over all objects clean & unclean that lie in its path, and makes that comely & presentable which was mean in itself. We are taught by her. plenty how lifeless & outward we were, what poor Laplanders burrowing under the snows of prudence & pedantry. Beside her friendship, other friendships seem trade, and by the firmness with which she treads her upward path, all mortals are convinced that another road exists than that which their feet know. The wonderful generosity of her sentiments pours a contempt on books & writings at the very time when one asks how shall this fiery picture be kept in its glow & variety for other eyes. She excels other intellectual persons in this, that her sentiments are more blended with her life; so the expression of them has greater steadiness &greater clearness. I have never known any example of such steady progress from stage to stage of thought & of character. An inspirer of courage, the secret friend of all nobleness, the patient waiter for the realization of character, forgiver of injuries, gracefully waiving aside folly, & elevating lowness--in her presence all were apprised of their fettered estate & longed for liberation, of ugliness & longed for their beauty; of meannes, & panted for grandeur.
Her growth is visible. All the persons whom we know, have reached their height, or else their growth is so nearly at the same rate with ours, that it is imperceptible, but this child inspires always more faith in her. She rose before me at times into heroical & godlike regions, and I could remember no superior women, but thought of Ceres, Minerva, Proserpine, and the august ideal forms of the F~oreworld. She said that no man gave such invitation to her mind as to tempt her to a full expression; that she felt a power to enrich her thought with such wealth & variety of embellishment as would no doubt be tedious to such as she conversed with. And there is no form that does seem to wait her beck~ramatic, lyric, epic, passionate, pictorial, humourous.
She has great sincerity, force, & fluency as a writer, yet her powers of speech throw her writing into the shade. What method, what exquisite judgment, as well as energy, in the selection of her words, what character & wisdom they convey! You cannot predict her opinion. She sympathizes so fast with all forms of life, that she talks never narrowly or hostilely nor betrays, like all the rest, under a thin garb of new words, the old droning castiron opinions or ndtions of many years standing. What richness of experience, what newness of dress, and fast as Olympus to her principle. And a silver eloquence, which inmost Polymnia taught. Meantime, all the pathos of sentiment and riches of literature & of invention and this march of character threatening to arrive presently at the shores & plunge into the sea of Buddhism & mystic trances, consists with a boundless fun & drollery, with ligh~ satire, & the most entertaining conversation in America.
Her experience contains, I know, golden moments, which, if they could be fitly narrated, would stand equally beside any histories of magnanimity which the world contains; and whilst Dante's 'Nuova Vita' is almost unique in the literature of sentiment, I have called the imperfect record she gave me of two of her days, 'Nuovissima Vita.'»
Emerson in His Journals--Selected and Edited by Joel Porte--(Cambridge, MA. - London: Harvard University Press, 1982), 302.
Emerson's letter to W. Whitman, July 21, 1855
Concord, Massachusetts, 21 July 1855
«I am not blind to the worth of the wonderftil gift of "Leaves of Grass." I find it the most extraordinary piece of wit & wisdom that America has yet contributed. I am very happy in reading it' as great power makes us happy. It meets the demand I am always making of what seemed the sterile & stingy Nature, as if too much handiwork or too much lymph in the temperament were making our western wits fat & mean. I give you joy of your free & brave thought. I have great joy in it. I find incomparable things said incomparably well, as they must be. I find the courage of treatment, which so delights us, & which large perception only can inspire.
I greet you at the heginning of a great career, which yet must have had a long foreground somewhere for such a start. I rubbed my eyes a little to see if this sunbeam were no illusion; but the solid sense of the book is a sober certainry. It has the best merits, namely, of fortifying & encouraging.
I did not know until I, last night, saw the book advertised in a newspaper, that I could trust the name as real & available for a post-office. I wish to see my benefactor, & have felt much like striking my tasks, & visiting New York to pay you my respects.»
R. W. Emerson
The Selected Letters of Ralph Waldo Emerson--Edited by Joel Myerson (New York: Columbia Yniversity Press, 1997), 383.
Excerpt from The Republic by Plato
«And now, I said, let me show in a figure how far our nature is enlightened or unenlightened: --Behold! human beings living in a underground den, which has a mouth open towards the light and reaching all along the den; here they have been from their childhood, and have their legs and necks chained so that
they cannot move, and can only see before them, being prevented by the chains from turning round their heads. . Above and behind them a fire is blazing at a distance, and between the fire and the prisoners there is a raised way; and you will see, if you look, a low wall built along the way, like the screen which marionette players have in front of them, over which they show the puppets. (...)
And do you see, I said, men passing along the wall carrying all sorts of vessels, and statues and figures of animals made of wood and stone and various materials, which appear over the wall? Some of them are talking, others silent. (...)
And now look again, and see what will naturally follow it' the prisoners are released and disabused of their error. At first, when any of them is liberated and compelled suddenly to stand up and turn his neck round and walk and look towards the light, he will suffer sharp pains; the glare will distress him, and he will be unable to see the realities of which in his former state he had seen the shadows; and then conceive some one saying to him, that what he saw before was an illusion, but that now, when he is approaching nearer to being and his eye is turned towards more real existence, he has a clearer vision, -what will be his reply? And you may further imagine that his instructor is pointing to the objects as they pass and requiring him to name them, -will he not be perplexed? Will he not fancy that the shadows which he formerly saw are truer than the objects which are now shown to him?
(...) And if he is compelled to look straight at the light, will he not have a pain in his eyes which will make him turn away to take and take in the objects of vision which he can see, and which he will conceive to be in reality clearer than the things which are now being shown to him? (...) And suppose once more, that he is reluctantly dragged up a steep and rugged ascent, and held fast until he 's forced into the presence of the sun himself, is he not likely to be pained and irritated? When he approaches the light his eyes will be dazzled, and he will not be able to see anything at all of what are now called realities. (...) He will require to grow accustomed to the sight of the upper world. And first he will see the shadows best, next the reflections of men and other objects in the water, and then the objects themselves; then he will gaze upon the light of the moon and the stars and the spangled heaven; and he will see the sky and the stars by night better than the sun or the light of the sun by day?
(...) Last of he will be able to see the sun, and not mere reflections of him in the water, but he will see him in his own proper place, and not in another; and he will contemplate him as he is. (...) He will then proceed to argue that this is he who gives the season and the years, and is the guardian of all that is in the visible world, and in a certain way the cause of all things which he and his fellows have been accustomed to behold? (...)
And when he remembered his old habitation, and the wisdom of the den and his fellow-prisoners, do you not suppose that he would felicitate himself on the change, and pity them? (...) And if they were in the habit of conferring honours among themselves on those who were quickest to observe the passing shadows and to remark which of them went before, and which followed after, and which were together; and who were therefore best able to draw conclusions as to the future, do you think that he would care for such honours and glories, or envy the possessors of them? Would he not say with Homer,
"Better to be the poor servant of a poor master, and to endure anything, rather than think as they do and live after their manner?"
(...) Imagine once more, I said, such an one coming suddenly out of the sun to be replaced in his old situation; would he not be certain to have his eyes full of darkness? (...) And if there were a contest, and he had to compete in measuring the shadows with the prisoners who had never moved out of the den, while his sight was still weak, and before his eyes had become steady (and the time which would be needed to acquire this new habit of sight might be very considerable) would he not be ridiculous? Men would say of him that up he went and down he came without his eyes; and that it was better not even to think of ascending; and if any one tried to loose another and lead him up to the light, let them only catch the offender, and they would put him to death. (...)
This entire allegory, I said, you may now append, dear Glaucon, to the previous argument; the prison-house is the world of sight, the light of the fire is the sun, and you will not misapprehend me if you interpret the journey upwards to be the ascent of the soul into the intellectual world according to my poor belief, which, at your desire, I have expressed whether rightly or wrongly God knows. But, whether true or false, my opinion is that in the world of knowledge the idea of good appears last of all, and is seen only with an effort; and, when seen, is also inferred to be the universal author of all things beautiful and right, parent of light and of the lord of light in this visible world, and the immediate source of reason and truth in the intellectual; and that this is the power upon which he who would act rationally, either in public or private life must have his eye fixed. (...) You must not wonder that those who attain to this beatific vision are unwilling to descend to human affairs; for their souls are ever hastening into the upper world where they desire to dwell; which desire of theirs is very natural, if our allegory may be trusted.»
(Plato, The Republic, Book VII)
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