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Life of Father Hecker. Walter Elliott
Читать онлайн.Название Life of Father Hecker
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isbn 4064066241810
Автор произведения Walter Elliott
Жанр Документальная литература
Издательство Bookwire
The next letter, though addressed to his brothers, was apparently intended for the whole family, and begins with more than Isaac's customary abruptness:
"Chelsea, December 28, 1842.—I will open my mind so that you can have the materials to judge from as well as myself. I feel unable to the task of judging alone correctly. I have given an account of my state of mind in my former letter, but will add that what is there said describes a permanent state, not a momentary excitement. You may think that in a little time this would pass away, and I would be able to resume my former life; or, at least, you could so adapt things at home that although I should not precisely occupy myself as then, still it might be so arranged as to give me that which I feel necessary in order to live somewhat contented.
"I am sorry to say I can in no way conceive such an arrangement of things at home. Why? I hate to say it, yet we might as well come to an understanding. I have grown out of the life which can be received through the accustomed channels of the circle that was around me. I am subject to thoughts and feelings which the others had no interest in; hence they could not be expressed. There can be no need to tell you this—you all must have seen it. How can I stop my life from flowing on? You must see the case I stand in. Do not think I have less of the feelings of a brother and a son. My heart never was closer, not so close as it is now to yours. …
"Do not think this is imagination; in this I have had too much experience. The life that was in me had none to commune with, and I felt it was consuming me. I tried to express this in different ways obscurely, but it appeared singular and no one understood me. This was the cause of my wishing to go away, hoping I would either get clear of it or something might turn up, I knew not what. One course was advised by the doctor, and you all thought as he did—that was to keep company with the intention of getting married. This was not the communion that I wanted or that was congenial to my life. Marrying would not, I am convinced, have had any permanent effect. It was not that which controlled me, then or now. It is altogether different; it is a life in me which requires altogether different circumstances to live it. This is no dream; or, if it is, then have I never had such reality. …
"When I wrote last it struck me I might secure what I need at Brook Farm, but that would depend greatly upon how you answer my letter. If you do as perhaps you may, I will go and see whether I could be satisfied and how it is, and let you know.
"So far had I written when your letter came. … You appear to ask this question: What object have you in contemplation? None further than to live a life agreeable to the mind I have, which I feel under a necessity to do."
"Chelsea, December 30, 1842.—TO MOTHER: I am sorry to hear that you feel worried. My health is good, I eat and sleep well. That my mind is not settled, or as it used to be, is no reason to be troubled, for I hope it is not changing for the worse, and I look forward to brighter days than we have seen in those that are gone. I was conscious my last letter was not written in a manner to give you ease; but to break those old habits of our accustomed communion was to me a serious task, and done under a sense of duty, to let you know the cause of the disease I was supposed to labor under. That is past now, and I hope we shall understand each other, and that our future will be smooth and easy. The ice has been broken. That caused me some pain but no regret, and instead of feeling sorrow, you will, I hope, be contented that I should continue the path that will make me better."
Concerning Isaac Hecker's residence at Brook Farm, which was begun about the middle of the following January, we shall have more to say hereafter. At present our concern is chiefly with those explanations of his conduct and motives which the anxieties of his family continually forced him to attempt. There is, however, among the papers belonging to this period one which, although found with the letters, was evidently so included by mistake, and at some later date. It is an outpouring still more intimate than he was able to make for the enlightenment of others, and is the first vestige of a diary which has been found. But it seems plain that his longing for what he continually calls "communion," and the effort to divine the will of Providence in his regard, must frequently have urged him to that introspective self-contemplation so common to natures like his before their time for action has arrived. We make some brief extracts from this document which illustrates, still more plainly than any of the letters, the fact that the interior pressure to which he was subjected had for its uniform tendency and result his vivid realization of the Incarnation of God in Jesus Christ. It is written in a fine, close hand on a sheet of letter-paper, which it entirely covers, and bears date January 10, 1843:
"Could I but reveal myself unto myself! What shall I say? Is life dear to me? No. Are my friends dear to me? I could suffer and die for them, if need were, but yet I have none of the old attachment for them. I would clasp all to my heart, love all for their humanity, but not as relatives or individuals. … Lord, if I am to be anything, I am, of all, most unfit for the task. What shall I do? Whom shall I cry to but Him who has given me life and planted this spirit in me? Unto Thee, then, do I cry from the depths of my soul for light to suffer. If there is anything for me to do, why this darkness all around me? I ask not to be happy. I will forego, as I always had a presentiment I must do, all hopes which young men of my age are prone to picture in their minds. If only I could have a ray of light on my present condition! O Lord! open my eyes to see the path Thou wouldst have me walk in. …
"Jan. 11.—True life is one continuous prayer, one unceasing aspiration after the holy. I have no conception of a life insensible to that which is not above itself lofty. I would not take it on myself to say I have been 'born again,' but I know that I have passed from death to life. Things below have no hold upon me further than as they lead to things above. It is not a moral restraint that I have over myself, but it is such a change, a conversion of my whole being, that I have no need of restraint. Temptations still beset me—not sensual, but of a kind which seek to make me untrue to my life. If I am not on my guard I become cold. May I always be humble, meek, prayerful, open to all men. Light, love, and life God is always giving, but we turn our backs and will not receive. …
"Who can measure the depths of Christ's suffering—alone in the world, having that which would give life everlasting, a heaven, to those who would receive it, and yet despised, spit upon, rejected of men! Oh! how sweet must it have been to His soul when He found even one who would accept a portion of that precious gift which He came to the world to bestow! Well could He say, 'Father, forgive them; they know not what they do.' He would give them life, but they would not receive. He would save them, but they rejected Him. He loved them, and they despised Him. Alas! who has measured even in a small degree the love of Christ and yet denied His superiority over man! His love, goodness, mercy are unbounded. O Lord! may I daily come into closer communion with Thy Son, Jesus Christ."
On the 22d of February he addresses both of his parents in reply to a letter sent by his brother John, detailing some of their troubles on this head. He writes:
"It is as great a difficulty for me to reconcile my being here with my sense of duty towards you. … Since I must speak, let me tell you that I have at present no disposition to return. Neither are the circumstances that surround me now those which will give me contentment; but I feel that I am here as a temporary place, and that by spring something will turn up which I hope will be for the happiness of us all. What it will be I have not the least idea of now. It is as impossible for me to give you an explanation of that which has led me of late as it would be for a stranger. All before me is dark, even as that is which leads me now and has led me before. One sentiment I have which I feel I cannot impart to you. It is that I am controlled. Formerly I could act from intention, but now I have no future to design, nothing in prospect, and my present action is from a present cause, not from any past. Hence it is that while my action may appear to others as designed, to me it is unlooked-for and unaccountable. I do not expect that others can feel this as I do. I am tossed about in a sea without a rudder. What drives me onward, and where I shall be driven, is to me unknown. My past life seems to me like that of another person, and my present is like a dream. Where am I? I know not. I have no power over my present, I do not even know what it is. Whom can I find like myself, whom can I speak to that will understand me?
"This