Many of the pupils became interested in the new life with which they came in contact. It influenced them for good, and in after years they were full of grat.i.tude and praise for the help and moral tone it imparted to them. An extract from a letter from Mr. Richard F. Fuller, the father of Margaret Fuller, to Mr. Ripley at this time reads as follows:--
"A lady asked me not long since where she should send her daughter to school. I said at once, to the _Community_, for there she would learn for the first time, perhaps, that all these matters of creed and morals are not quite so well settled as to make thinking nowadays a piece of supererogation, and would learn to distinguish between truth and the "sense sublime," and the dead dogmas of the past. This is the great benefit I believe you confer upon the young."
The pupil who became most prominent was George William Curtis, who always acknowledged the beneficial effect it had upon all his future career.
New England and New York sent in their share of pupils until the accommodations were crowded. The school flourished. It was not large, but select. It was necessary to have more room, and a neighbor"s cottage was hired. Enthusiasts wished to build on the place. Plans of procedure for the a.s.sociation were indefinite. The central idea of justice to all men and women was ever uppermost. Mrs. Olvord, a lady of means, built a small gabled cottage of wood, which, owing to ill health, she was able to occupy but a short time. At the highest point of the domain, on a ledge of "pudding-stone," the a.s.sociation erected a small, square, wooden building which was named "the Eyrie," and at another period a large double or twin house was built to be conjointly occupied by two brothers from Plymouth, Ma.s.s., of the name of Morton; it was called "the Pilgrim House." The original farmhouse was christened "the Hive." The cultivation of the farm proceeded, and some ornamentation in the shape of flower-beds was done around the houses.
It was soon found that much milk was needed at home, and the sale of it was discontinued.
A few individuals making a common family on a farm near a city, would seem to be too unimportant a matter to excite much comment now, even though the people who did it were superior in attainments, of high purpose, and above criticism in their moral and social standing; but at this date of our country"s history, all thoughtful people in New England seemed to be gaping at them with curiosity and wonder, and comments were unlimited. As they were neither dogmatists, nor active fanatics who brandished anathemas of terror and destruction at those who followed not in their ways, but simply and unostentatiously attended to their own business, and seemed to care very little for what anyone said derogatory to their proceedings, the conditions appeared so unique, that interest in their doings increased day by day.
Mr. Ripley wrote of it a few months after its commencement: "We are now in full operation as a family of workers, teachers and students. We feel the deepest convictions that, for us, our mode of life is the true one, and no attraction would tempt any one of us to exchange it for that we have quitted lately." And it would be an impertinence now to penetrate into its private circles and bring its members and doings to the gaze of an investigating and curious public, were it not that its doings and its members have become, from their relation to social science, a part of public history.
The pressure of life was off at Brook Farm, for the nonce. What anyone did that was out of the common, might cause smiles and laughter but no frowns or scoldings. Each felt and believed in the demonstration of his or her own individuality, and, as a first consequence, there was something that was often mistaken, by strangers, for rudeness and want of order. Some forgot that it was especially work they came for, and were anxious to have their theories discussed. Independence in dress was universal. The Mrs. Grandys were all away, and if the young ladies thought it was prettier to exhibit the grace of flowing tresses than to bind them up in "pugs" behind their heads, who should, who could, object?
Prim Margaret Fuller, who was a visitor--and never a member of the community as has often been stated--professed herself disturbed, at first, by the easy and perhaps indifferent manner in which they listened to her long conversations, as they sat on the floor or on crickets; but on a later visit, she expressed herself as better pleased. Doubtless some of the individual angularities had been rubbed off, by this time, by the pleasant but close contact of the Community life--and some of hers as well.
CHAPTER II.
THE SECOND DEVELOPMENT.
Two years of the experimental and "idyllic" life, ran rapidly away, and the Community had gained something of position and name in the outward world. Personal contact had modified the extreme views of many of the founders. Changes had taken place in the Individuals composing it; some had departed. Six of the original stockholders remained. The number had increased to about seventy, including some thirty who were pupils. The financial success had not been all that was desired. Everything else was getting more settled. The social life was charming. Improvements in material matters, in comforts, in discipline and in grace of manners were visible. But what was to be developed next among all the things desirable? Was it to push the school still further in progress, to attach mechanical industries to the organization, to work up the farm life into more prominence, or what?
It could not be expected that this large number of persons, whose early surroundings and ideas had been so varied, could at once agree as to what next steps were necessary to take, or to what definite end the Community should be shaped. There was need, certainly, of some central purpose strong enough for all to unite upon to inspire permanence.
Neither Mr. Ripley nor any of his co-workers had heard of Charles Fourier--the French exponent of industrial a.s.sociation--or his doctrines, unless in a most casual way, and certainly they had not studied them when they started the Community. They were independent workers in a field of social science; but when they became acquainted with his ideas, especially his ideas of industry made attractive by organized labor, and its relation to the higher standard of work and liberal belief they had adopted and maintained thus far, their enthusiasm was awakened for them and they resolved to graft some of his formulas on their inst.i.tution. The little Community, with its bright, cheerful school and its happy members, was not paying its way. There were philosophers enough in it. There were plenty of sweet, charming characters and amateur workmen in it, but the hard-fisted toilers and the brave financiers were absent.
Still, it was not entirely absence of financial success that led the responsible men of the Community to make the change in the organization that they did, but truly because the grand and reasonable ideas of the distinguished Frenchman bore such internal evidences of harmony with human nature and with G.o.d"s providence and laws that they carried conviction to the great and sympathetic minds of Brook Farm. Fourier argued that there was a sublime destiny for mankind on this earth, that the Creator was infinitely good, that all the instincts of our nature, when not subverted by bad conditions, pointed towards that destiny, and that humanity was on its way upward--that the past progress argued what the future might be.
I give as ill.u.s.trations, a few extracts from "The Social Destiny of Man," by Albert Brisbane, page 269:--"Four societies have existed on the earth--the savage, patriarchal, barbarian and civilized. Under these general heads may be cla.s.sed the various social forms through which man has progressed up to the present day. _If four have existed may not a fifth, or even a sixth, be discovered and organized?_ Common sense would dictate that there could, although the world has entertained a different opinion."
Page 293: "If the barbarian a.s.serts that the lash is the only means of forcing the slave to labor, the civilized is not far behind him in his reasoning, for he will a.s.sert with equal confidence that necessity and want are necessary stimulants to industry. The barbarian is as ignorant of the levers which civilization puts in play as is the civilized of the powerful incentives to action which the groups and series will call forth."
Page 464: "If He [G.o.d] has not known how or has not wished to give us a social code productive of justice, industrial attraction and pa.s.sional harmony;--_if he has not known how_, how could he have supposed our weak reason would succeed in a task in which he himself doubted of success? _If he has not wished_, how can our legislators hope to organize a society which would lead to the results above mentioned, and of which he wished to deprive us.... What motive could he have had to refuse us such a code? Six views may be taken on the subject of this omission.
"_First--either he has not known how_ to give us a social code guaranteeing truth, justice and industrial attraction; in this case why create in us the want of it, without having the means of satisfying that want which he satisfies in creatures inferior to us, to which he a.s.signs a mode of existence adapted to their attractions and instincts:
"Second--_or he has not wished_ to give us this code; which thus supposes the Creator to be the persecutor of mankind, creating in us wants which it is impossible to satisfy, inasmuch as none of our codes can extirpate our permanent scourges:
"Third--_or he has known how and has not wished_; in which case the Creator becomes a malignant being, knowing how to do good, but preferring the reign of evil:
"Fourth--_or he has wished and has not known how_; in this case he is incapable of governing us, knowing and wishing the good which he cannot realize, and which we still less can attain:
"Fifth--_or he has neither wished nor known how_; and we must attribute to him both want of genius and evil intention:
"Sixth--_or he has known how and has wished_; in this case the code exists, and he must have provided a mode for its revelation--for of what use would it be if it were to remain hidden from men for whom it is destined?"
Page 468: "If the human race were at the commencement of their social career--in the first ages of civilization--they would perhaps be excusable for founding some hope of social good upon human science, upon the legislation of man; but long experience has proved the impotency of human legislation, and shown clearly that the world has nothing to hope from human laws and civilized const.i.tutions."
Page 260: "Either the pa.s.sions _are_ bad or the social mechanism _is false_, for evil prevails, and to a melancholy extent. If the former be true, then there is no hope of a better state of things, for every means of repression and constraint that human ingenuity could invent has been applied to regulate their action; but all in vain--they have remained unchanged, and in the eyes of the moralist as perverse as ever. If, however, the latter be true--that is, if the social mechanism be false--then there is a chance for a better future; for our incoherent and absurd societies are changing more or less with every century. They are at the mercy or whim of a tyrant, or of a revolution of the ma.s.s; they may therefore be reformed or done away with entirely."
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, companionship 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 friendship, 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.