To a Young Friend

_Who Has Become Interested in the Metaphysical Thoughts of the Day_

Your letter bubbled with enthusiasm, and steamed with optimism. I am

rejoiced that you have come into so healthful a line of thought, for I

know of no one who was in more immediate need of it than you, when we

last met.

As your hostess, I could not tell you how wearing to the nerves your

continual reverting to your physical ills became: and I hope I did not

seem wholly unsympathetic to you when I so frequently made the effort to

change the conversation to more cheerful topics.

And now you tell me that you are astounded to find how universal is this

topic with all classes, and on all occasions when one or two human

beings gather together even in "His name." Your recital of the church

sewing-bee, where all the good Christian women described their diseases

and the different operations they and their friends had undergone, is as

amusing as it is distressingly realistic.

What a pity that the old theology fostered the idea that God especially

loved the people he afflicted with illness and poverty and trouble! It

has filled the world with egotistical and selfish invalids and idlers,

who have believed they were "God's chosen ones," instead of realizing

that they were the natural results of broken laws, which might be mended

by the aid of the God-power in themselves, once they understood it.

How Christians have reconciled the idea of a God of love with a God who

wanted his chosen ones to be sick and poor, is a problem I cannot solve.

Of course you are well, and growing stronger daily, now that you realize

the fact that God made only health, wealth, and love, and that he

intended all his children to share his opulence.

As soon as the mind is filled with a dominating idea, no lesser ones can

find lodgment therein.

A woman of my acquaintance suffered agonies from seasickness.

She crossed the ocean twice each year, yet seemed unable to accustom

herself to the experience.

On her last voyage her child fell dangerously sick with typhoid fever on

the second day out at sea.

So wrought up was the mother, and so filled with the thought of her

child, that she never felt one moment's seasickness. Her mind was

otherwise occupied.

Now you have filled your mind with a consciousness of your divine right

to health and happiness, and the thought of sickness and disease has no

room.

Yet do not be discouraged if you feel the old ailments and

indispositions returning at times. A complete change in mental habits,

is difficult to obtain in a moment.

Be satisfied to grow slowly. A wise philosopher has said, "It is not in

never falling that we show our strength, but in our ability to rise

after repeated falls, and to continue our journey in triumph."

Avoid talking your belief to every individual you meet. It will be

breaking your string of pearls for the feet of swine to tread upon.

Those who are ready for these truths will indicate the fact to you, and

then will be your time for speech. And when you do speak, say little,

and say it briefly and to the point.

Leave some things for other minds to study out alone. The people who are

not ready for higher ideals of religion and life, will only ridicule or

combat your theories and beliefs, if you force them to listen.

Wait until you have fully illustrated by your own conduct of life, that

you have something beside vague theories to prove your statements of the

power of the mind to conquer circumstance. The world is full to-day of

bedraggled and haggard men and women, who are talking loudly of the

power of mind to restore youth and health, and bestow riches and

success.

Do not add yourself to the unlovely and tiresome army of talkers, until

you prove yourself a doer.

And even after you have shown a record of health and prosperity and

usefulness, let your silent influence speak louder than your uttered

words.

The moment a philosopher becomes a bore, he ceases to be a philosopher.

A Woman of the World: Her Counsel to Other People's Sons and Daughters · 第 49 / 85 题