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LIFE AND DESTINY
BY
FELIX ADLER
AUTHOR OF
“CREED AND DEED,” “MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE,” ETC.
LONDON:
WATTS & CO.,
17 JOHNSON’S COURT, FLEET STREET, E.C.
1913
CONTENTS
s PAGE
THE MEANING OF LIFE 3
RELIGION 17
IMMORTALITY 31
MORAL IDEALS 37
LOVE AND MARRIAGE 53
HIGHER LIFE 65
SPIRITUAL PROGRESS 81
SUFFERING AND CONSOLATION 89
ETHICAL OUTLOOK 105
PUBLISHERS’ PREFACE
_Dr. Felix Adler, from whose Addresses the following gems of thought are
extracted, is widely known in the United States as an impassioned
preacher, a distinguished scholar, and a leading citizen. He founded in
1876, in the City of New York, the first Ethical Society, of which he is
still the much-beloved inspirer and guide. Since that date the Ethical
Movement inaugurated by Dr. Adler has taken root in many lands, and an
International Union of Ethical Societies has been called into being, of
which he is President. According to him, the three fundamental tenets of
the Ethical Movement are “the supremacy of the moral end of life above
all other ends, the sufficiency of man for the pursuit of that end, and
the increase of moral truth to be expected from loyalty in this
pursuit.”_
_In this volume connected excerpts bearing on the more intimate side of
life, as apprehended by the author, are offered to the reader. Here Dr.
Adler reveals himself not only as some one who has explored the deeper
recesses of the human heart, but his words prove him to be of the long
line of poets and prophets who have contributed to purify and elevate
humanity._
_This small work appears destined by its form and content to be a
religious and ethical classic, to be placed on the book-shelf alongside
of À Kempis’s “Imitation of Christ,” Pascal’s “Thoughts,” and Emerson’s
“Essays”. Whoever craves for self-knowledge, reveres his deeper self,
and seeks to be captain of his own soul, will feel that these pages
offer him precious and sympathetic counsel._
_In conclusion, the Publishers desire to express their grateful thanks
to Dr. Adler for permission to issue this popular edition, and to state
that they are entirely responsible for the few omissions in the text._
THE MEANING OF LIFE
There are two kinds of light, the light on the hither side of the
darkness and the light beyond the darkness. We must press on through the
darkness and the terror of it if we would reach the holier light beyond.
We are here--no matter who put us here, or how we came here--to fulfil a
task. We cannot afford to go of our own volition until the last item of
our duty is discharged. We are here to make mind master of matter, soul
of sense. We do so by overriding pain, not by weakly capitulating to it.
When we are smitten by the rod of affliction do not let us sit still,
but rather get to work as fast as we can. In action lies our salvation.
But it must be remembered that only a great aim, one which remains
valid, irrespective of our private griefs, is competent in the critical
moments to put us into action and to sustain us in action.
The thought that extreme suffering is a key which unlocks life’s deepest
and truest meanings is the final rejoinder to the plea on behalf of
suicide. It is a thought which, when fully apprehended, is calculated to
give peace to every troubled soul.
The fact that there is a spiritual power in us, that is to say, a power
which testifies to the unity of our life with the life of others, which
impels us to regard others as other selves--this fact comes home to us
even more forcibly in sorrow than in joy. It is thrown into clearest
relief on the background of pain.
In the glow of achievement we are apt to be full of a false
self-importance. But in moments of weakness we realise, through
contrast, the infinitely superior strength of the power whose very
humble organs and ministers we are. It is then we come to understand
that, isolated from it, we are nothing; at one with it, identified with
it, we participate in its eternal nature, in its resistless course.
There are two terms of the series of progress which we should always
keep before us. The one is the starting-point, and the other the final
goal. The former is the cave man; the latter is the divine man. We know
in a measure what sort of being the cave man was. Instructed by
anthropologists, we know how poor and mean were the beginnings of
humanity on earth. But of that other term of progress--the goal of
progress, the divine man of whom the cave man was the germ, the first
rough draft--of the man who is to be, our notions are vague. He rises
before us, indeed, in a vision of glory, but his shape is nebulous. And
the result of progress is just this, that it makes us more and more able
to define the outlines of that shape, to draw sharply and finely the
noble lineaments of that face; that it makes us more and more able to
see the divine, the perfect man, the only begotten son of all the
spirits of the myriads of the generations of men--the man that is to be,
the perfection of our imperfection.
The perfect man has never yet appeared on earth. The perfect man is an
apparition of light and beauty rising in the boundless infinite, an
ideal to be more and more clothed with particularity. The purpose for
which we exist is to help to create the perfect man, to incarnate him
more and more in ourselves and in others.
That the lofty form of man may be wholly disengaged from the
encompassing clay, that the traces of our bestial ancestry may be wholly
purged from our nature, that our spirits may stand erect as our bodies
already do--this, I think, is the end for which we exist.
Every man, however humble, is worthy of reverence because, in his
limited sphere, he can be a beneficent, forward-working agent, he can
help a little to create the perfect man. Every child is a possible
avatar of the more perfect man. On every child the whole past lays its
burdens, and of the outcome of its life the whole future is expectant.
The way to overcome dejection is to energise our nature vigorously. An
eminent physician is quoted as saying: “I firmly believe that one-half
of the confirmed invalids could be cured of their maladies if they were
compelled to live busy and active lives, and had no time to fret over
their miseries. The will has a wonderfully strong and direct influence
over the body. Good work is the safeguard of health. The way to live
well is to work well.” If this be true, even when the cause of the
dejection is corporeal, how much more likely is it to be true where the
cause is seated in the mind.
In cases of bereavement, what is it that can enable a man to weather the
hurricane of grief which is apt to descend upon the soul immediately
after a great loss; and what can enable him to live through the dead
calm which is apt to succeed that first whirlwind of passionate
desolation? It is the thought that the fight must still go on, because
there are issues of infinite worth at stake; and that, though wounded
and crippled, he must still bear his part in the fight until the end.
For singleness of purpose, I plead. This alone can give strength to our
will, coherence to our life. Without it we drift; with it we steer. Let
us have before us, whatever we do, a sovereign aim, but let us also make
sure that it be a worthy aim, one that will purge the clay from our
eyes, from our lips, from our brains, from our hearts.
A great man helps us by the standard which he erects. He never really is
level with his own standard, and yet we do not therefore reject him. He
helps us by what he earnestly tries for, and by what he suggests to us
that we should try for; he helps us, not so much by what he achieves,
as by what he reveals, by the insight which he gives us into the nature
of good.
So far as the forward movement of the human race is concerned, it is the
effort that counts, and not the attainment; the realm of time and space
can never be the scene of complete realisation. The reward of the effort
is the wider outlook upon the ultimate aim; the truer estimate of its
character as infinite, and, along with this, the recognition of that
infiniteness of our own nature which enables us to conceive of and
aspire to such an aim.
Joy is a light which those who possess are bound to keep burning
brightly for the sake of others as well as for their own sake. Every
pure joy in the world is so much pure gain.
Cold and bare is youth without the glow of generous idealism.
Contemptible is middle age without the sense of definite attachments
and the willing acceptance of limitations. And ungracious and unlovely
is old age if it be not illumined by the light of contemplation, if it
be not fruitful in counsel.
Every vocation, even the lowliest, which we pursue in a spirit of entire
sincerity, is a means of acquiring culture. The artisan may be, in his
way, as truly a cultivated man as the artist or the scholar, for by
culture I understand insight gained into all manner of activities
through genuineness and thoroughness in one. To be cultivated is to see
things in their relations.
Our daily avocation, whatever it be, if we cling to it closely enough,
is sure to engender in us a new respect for reality, a new humility.
To put forth power in such a way as to be provocative of power in
others is the ethical aim that should guide men in all vocations and in
all their relations.
This fair earth, with its fir-clad hills, its snowy mountains, its
sparkling seas, its azure vaults, and the holy light of the stars, is
but a painted screen behind which lurks the true reality.
The beauty of this earth and all that is precious and great in this
human life of ours is but a hint and a suggestion of an eternal
fairness, an eternal rightness.
We need something of the virility of stoicism to grapple with the
difficulties of life; we need to cultivate a large patience; an humble
spirit that teaches us to be prepared for every loss, and to welcome
every joy as an unlooked-for gain. There are a thousand pleasures in
little things which we, with the petulance of children, daily spurn,
because we cannot have all we ask for.
The question, Is life worth living? implies a species of blasphemy. The
right question to ask is: Am I worthy of living? If I am not, I can make
myself so. That is always in my power.
At bottom, the world is to be interpreted in terms of joy, but of a joy
that includes all the pain, includes it and transforms it and transcends
it.
The Light of the World is a light that is saturated with the darkness
which it has overcome and transfigured.
RELIGION
Religion is a wizard, a sibyl. She faces the wreck of worlds, and
prophesies restoration. She faces a sky blood-red with sunset colours
that deepen into darkness, and prophesies dawn. She faces death, and
prophesies life.
Religion has been so eager to supply us with information concerning the
universe outside of us, its origin and its destiny, because our life is
linked with that of the universe, and our destiny is dependent on the
destiny of the universe.
The dependence of man on outside forces which he cannot control is the
point of departure of religion.
It is the moral element contained in it that alone gives value and
dignity to a religion, and only in so far as its teachings serve to
stimulate and purify our moral aspirations does it deserve to retain its
ascendency over mankind.
“There is a time to act for the Lord by breaking his commandments” was a
saying current among the ancient Hebrews. This means there is a time to
act for religion by protesting against what passes for religion; there
is a time to prepare the way for a larger morality by shattering the
narrow forms of dogma whereby the progress of morality is hindered.
Ethical religion can be real only to those who are engaged in ceaseless
efforts at moral improvement. By moving upward we acquire faith in an
upward movement, without limit.
The symbols of religion are ciphers of which the key is to be found in
moral experience. It is in vain we pore over the ciphers unless we
possess the key.
To understand the meaning of a great religious teacher we must find in
our own life experiences somewhat akin to his. To selfish, unprincipled
persons whose heart is wholly set on worldly ends, what meaning, for
instance, can such utterances have as these? “You must become like
little children if you would possess the kingdom of heaven;” “You must
be willing to lose your life in order to save it;” “If you would be
first you must consent to be last.” To the worldly-minded such words
convey no sense whatever; they are, in fact, rank absurdity.
Of the origin of things we know nothing, and can know nothing.
Perfection does not reveal itself to us as existent in the beginning;
but as something that ought to be, something new which we are to help
create. Somehow the secret of the universe is hidden in our breast.
Somehow the destinies of the universe depend upon our exertions.
The Infinite, from which comes the impulse that leads us to activity, is
not the highest Reason, but higher than reason; not the highest
Goodness, but higher than goodness.
There is a city to be built, the plan of which we carry in our heads, in
our hearts. Countless generations have already toiled at the building of
it. The effort to aid in completing it takes, with us, the place of
prayer. In this sense we say, “_Laborare est orare_.”
The essential faith is the product of effort and is sustained and
clarified by effort.
What is the way to get a religion? We know, at all events, what cannot
be the way. It cannot be to prostrate our intellects before the throne
of authority; to bind the Samson within us, the human mind, and deliver
him into the hands of the Philistines; to abjure our reason. Whatever
religion we adopt must be consistent with the truths with which
we have been enriched at the hands of science. It may be
ultra-scientific--indeed, it must be; but it may not be anti-scientific.
But, on the other hand, we need to be equally warned against expecting
too much from the intellect. One cannot attain religion merely by
trying, in his closet, to think out the problems of the universe.
It is a mistake to approach the subject of religion from the point of
view of philosophy. All really religious persons declare that religion
is, primarily, a matter of experience. We must get a certain kind of
experience, and then philosophic thinking will be of use to us in
explicating what is implicated in that experience. But we must get the
experience first.
The undulatory theory would not help any one to know what light is who
had never seen light, and the chemical formula for water would not help
any one to know what water is who had never tasted it. To know light one
must see it; to know water one must taste it. So, too, philosophy will
not help any one to know what religion is.
The experience of religion is not reserved for the initiated and elect,
it is accessible to every one who chooses to have it.
The experience to which I refer is essentially moral experience. It may
be described as a sense of subjection to imperious impulses which urge
our finite nature toward infinite issues; a sense of propulsions which
we can resist, but not disown; a sense of a power greater than
ourselves, with which, nevertheless, in essence we are one; a sense, in
times of moral stress, of channels opened by persistent effort, which
let in a flood of rejuvenating energy and put us in command of
unsuspected moral resources; a sense, finally, of the complicity of our
life with the life of others, of living in them in no merely
metaphorical signification of the word; of unity with all spiritual
being whatsoever.
A religion which is to satisfy us must be a religion of progress. But we
must be progressive ourselves if we are to have faith in progress. We
must be constantly developing if we are to have faith in unbounded
further development. And especially we must be progressing in a moral
direction.
We should acquire the habit of taking stock from time to time of our
moral possessions, of keeping faithful count of our net gains and
losses. Do we, for instance, possess more fortitude, or less, in
encountering unavoidable pain? Are we in better or worse control of our
passions, of our tempers? Alas, that many of us, as we grow older,
become more fretful and irascible, a greater trial and burden to our
surroundings. Are we more broadly charitable in our judgment of others;
more ready to make allowance for their faults, to bear with their
shortcomings? Are we more or are we less devoted to the public ends of
humanity? Does our idealism turn out to have been a mere ebullition of
optimistic youth, a mere flash in the pan? Or does it grow wiser and
warmer with the years? Does it burn with a steadier glow? Are we
learning resignation, renunciation? It is by an honest answer given to
such questions as these that we may decide whether we are progressing or
retrograding.
When we have reached a certain stage of culture, genuine gratitude and
the verbal expression of it are inconsistent. We can say thanks for the
little gifts, the lesser favours. But when the gift is great, and the
debt exceeding heavy, when we are full to overflowing with gratitude,
then the words die upon our lips, and the only way to show our gratitude
is by the use we make of the benefits we receive. For this reason, among
others, the verbal expression of thanks to the Infinite Being in the
form of prayer has always seemed to me a kind of desecration.
Because the Hebrew view of life is essentially the ethical view,
therefore we still go back to the writings in which this view was first
promulgated, and delight in them, as we do in no other scriptures in the
world.
All of us are spiritually the heirs of the Hebrew prophets, including
among them Jesus, the greatest of their number.
There are moral traits in all religions, but, as a rule, they are
subordinated. Morality is subordinated to _beauty_ and _harmony_ in the
Greek ideal. It is the accompaniment and consequence of _order_ in the
Confucian scheme. It is but one form of the _brightness_ of things, as
opposed to darkness and evil, in Zoroastrianism. But to the Hebrew
thought, moral excellence is the supreme excellence to which every
other species of excellence is tributary.
The Hebrew religion and its descendants are the only ethical religions,
strictly speaking, because in the Hebrew religion the moral element is
constitutive and sovereign.
That the moral “ought” cannot be explained as the product of physical
causation, is the greatest contribution which the Hebrew people have
made to the religious and moral history of mankind.
A new Easter Day will come for mankind, when a race of religious
teachers shall arise, who will be consecrated for their work by a more
adequate training and a deeper moral enthusiasm, whose word will again
be mighty as of old to inform the conscience of nations, and who shall
carry the glad tidings of a higher life to the ends of the earth.
IMMORTALITY
The dead are not dead if we have loved them truly. In our own lives we
can give them a kind of immortality. Let us arise and take up the work
they have left unfinished, and preserve intact the treasures they have
won, and round out, if possible, the circuit of their being to the
fulness of an ampler orbit in our own.
They that have left us are not afar; their presence is near and real, a
silent and august companionship. In still hours of meditation, in the
stress of action, in the midst of trials and temptations, we hear their
voices whispering words of cheer or warning, and our deeds are, in a
sense, their deeds, and our lives their lives.
So does the light of other days still shine in the bright-hued flowers
that clothe our fields. So do they who have long since been gathered
into the silent city of the dead still live in the deeds we do for their
sake, in the earnest effort we put forth toward greater rectitude,
patience, purity, under the influence of their unforgettable memories.
The conservation of moral energy is in a certain sense as true as the
conservation of mechanical energy. We are not dust merely that returns
to dust; we are not summer flies that bask in the sunshine of a passing
day; we are not bounded in our influence by the narrow boundary of our
years.
In aspiring to noble ends, the soul takes on something of the greatness
of that which it truly admires.
The evident disparity between virtue and happiness has led men to take
refuge in the thought of compensation hereafter, and the necessity of a
future state in which the good shall be rewarded and the evil punished
has been deduced from the very inequities and moral inconsistencies of
our present experience. The argument in this specific form is worthless,
but it is based, nevertheless, upon a capital truth--the truth, namely,
that our moral ideal is destined to be realised, though we may not know
_how_ it will be realised.
Vast possibilities suggest themselves to us of an order of existence
wholly different from all that we have ever known; a gleam reaches the
eye, as it were, from a far celestial land, and the crimson dawn of a
Sun of Truth appears, to which the splendours of our earthly mornings
are as obscurity.
MORAL IDEALS
As the light of morning strikes now one peak and then another, some
being illuminated while others are in the shadow, so the light of the
essential moral principle shines now upon one duty and then upon
another, while others are in the shadow.
Let us religiously set apart times and seasons in which to gather up the
fruits of action and to experience the reactions which should follow on
action. The most valuable of these fruits is just the intensified
appreciation of the disparity existing between our achievements and the
goal, the clearer vision of the goal, the sublimer and truer conception
of it.
In order to join vigorously in the moral work of the world I must
believe that somehow the best I can accomplish will endure, will leave
its trace on things, will aid the final consummation.
What is needed above all else, is to find a more secure basis for
morality, now that the theological basis has slipped away; to rekindle
the belief in the ideal, to bring into new prominence the unchanging
truths, and to discover the new truths which men need for their moral
guidance.
It is said that we live in order to make the world better, but this
phrase is ambiguous. Often it is used as referring merely to an increase
of the sum of human pleasure. And this would be an aim by no means
comparable in grandeur and sublimity to that which Religion in the past
has set up.
We live to unfold the unmanifested potentialities of the universe, so
far as they are latent in man, who, as far as we know, is the highest
product of the universe. We live to enhance mentality and morality in
the world. A developed mentality and morality will of itself cure the
evils of poverty, and ignorance and sin. It may bring pleasure in its
train, or may not bring it--it matters not. Not the fool’s paradise of
ease and enjoyment, but the heightened mentality and morality is the
aim.
The moral ideal in its simplicity is all-sufficient. Its native charm
can derive no added splendour from the drapery of creeds. Its severe
beauty needs no factitious embellishment of myth and legend. The
conviction that this is so has long been cherished by solitary thinkers.
We should endeavour to spread it among the people. The hope of a perfect
society is entertained vaguely. We should seek to lift it into the
clear light of consciousness as the one commanding end of human
endeavour, the supreme object of reverence and devotion.
Day by day there are triumphs to be won over the passion that stirs in
our breasts; over the rising anger that sears our lips; over the
turpitudes that defile our hearts; over the spirit of impatience and
mutiny that threatens the authority of our reason. By such triumphs we
are raised above our baser selves, and the fire which consumes our
grosser natures, like the flaming chariot of Elijah, bears us living
into a higher world.
To those who take part with all their heart and all their might in the
struggle, there comes, at last, a great peace, a purified gladness.
Gladness, in some instances, springs from a natural buoyancy of
temperament, and is quite consistent with shallowness and
superficiality of character. In other cases it is coincident with the
swift flow of the currents of the blood, and ceases when the stream
flows more slowly and begins to stagnate. Or it is due to gifts which an
exceptional good fortune showers into the laps of favoured mortals.
Gladness of this sort comes with happiness and departs with it.
But the purified gladness of which I speak is not dependent on these
accidents. It is the mark of the ripest wisdom, and is based on the
conviction, gained through experience, that life is worth living, that
the victory is assured, and that the ends we pursue are of such
excellence as to be incapable of ultimate defeat.
The moral ideal would embrace the whole of life. In its sight nothing is
petty or indifferent. It touches the veriest trifles and turns them
into shining gold. We are royal by virtue of it, and like the kings in
the fairy tale, we may never lay aside our crowns.
The moral order never is, but is ever becoming. It grows with our
growth.
We call him a hero who maintains himself, single-handed, against
superior numbers. We call him a master-horseman who sits a fiery and
vicious steed, guiding him at will. And in like manner, we call him a
moral hero who conquers the enemies within his own breast--and we admire
and revere the soul which can ride its own passions and force them into
obedience to the dictates of reason.
The legend of St. Christopher, who undertook to carry the Christ-child
on his shoulders across a stream, is applicable in a wider sense to us
all. The deeper he entered into the water the heavier became the burden
which he had assumed so lightly in the beginning, until it pressed upon
him like a mountain, and he threatened to succumb beneath its weight.
Such likewise is the case of him who, in the sanguine days of youth, has
assumed the moral task of reforming himself, or others. The deeper he
enters into the stream of life the heavier becomes the burden, and there
is no salvation for him unless his strength increases in proportion as
the load increases.
Do not court temptation. You cannot know whether you will be strong
enough to resist it. But prepare yourself to deal valiantly with those
temptations that are sure to come to you unsought, especially if you are
a “live” man.
The marks of evil upon the soul are like the lines left by the glaciers
of the ice-age on the ancient rocks. The glaciers have retreated, the
ice-age has past, a warmer climate has succeeded, but the marks remain.
Morality does not mope in corners, is not sour or gloomy. It loves to
convert our meanest wants into golden occasions for fellowship and happy
communion.
The moral ideal seeks to influence and interpenetrate the most ordinary
affairs of private life.
The moral view of politics teaches us to hold the idea of country
superior to the utilities of party, to exact worthiness of public
servants, and to place the common good above the interests of particular
classes.
The moral view of commerce bids the merchant put conscience into his
wares and dealings and keep steadily in sight the larger purposes of
human welfare.
The moral view of the professions leads their representatives to
subordinate the claims of ambition and of material gain to the enduring
interests of science, of justice, and to all the permanent social
interests that are confided to their keeping.
The purpose of man’s life is not happiness, but worthiness. Happiness
may come as an accessory; we dare never make it the end.
We shall find men who are in the best sense successful in the miserable
tenements of the poor.
An exalted type of morality is achieved by him who renounces in spirit
the opportunities which he lacks, who accepts his limitations, and who,
under the most trying circumstances, does not remit his efforts, no
matter how insignificant may be their result, to promote the good.
An exalted type of morality is displayed by aged men who, with weakened
frames and energies impaired, are yet resolved to die in harness.
An exalted type of morality is displayed by those who, cut off from the
opportunities of culture, and from most of the pleasures and comforts of
existence, yet nourish, under the ashes of disappointed hopes, the
feeblest remaining spark of the spiritual life, because they believe it
to be a spark from an imperishable fire, even from that undying flame
which burns at the heart of things, and which is destined to grow
brighter and brighter as time rolls on.
There was once a teacher who had many pupils. Some of these he placed in
a garden and bade them cultivate flowers, and said to them: “Fail not to
bring your fairest flowers to me.” But they became so much absorbed in
the delights of the garden, as to forget entirely the master who had
placed them there.
Others of his pupils he admitted to his library, and gave them access to
many volumes rich in learning, and bade them ponder these stores of
wisdom and bring the fruit of their reflections to him. But they also
became wholly engrossed in their occupations.
And, again, there was a third company of pupils, whom he selected to be
the dispensers of the hospitalities of his household. He bade them
preside over his feasts, and entertain the guests as they arrive--“Only
forget not,” he said, “to bring the guests at last to me.” But these,
too, became wholly interested in their pleasures, and forgot the master
and his charge.
But there were other pupils, whom, for an inscrutable reason, the master
appointed to the hardest sort of service. He made them door-keepers to
admit others into the festive halls, while they themselves were
compelled to remain without in the cold. He commanded them to be hewers
of wood and drawers of water, and to carry heavy burdens all day long.
But, behold! these poor drudges constantly thought of him. The very
repulsiveness of their tasks made them think of him. Loyalty to their
master alone kept them faithful to their tasks. And so those who seemed
at the greatest distance from him were really nearest to him in their
thoughts. They could bring him, it is true, neither flower nor book,
they could only tell him of the heavy loads they had borne, of the hard
labour they had performed in the service of his entire household, and
of their implicit obedience to his will.
In the great Academies of the Middle Ages there were four faculties,
from at least one of which a student must graduate before he could claim
the title of Doctor, or “Learned One.” So likewise in the great
university of life there are four faculties, each having at its head a
great professor. The name of one professor is Poverty; of another,
Sickness; of another, Sorrow; of the last, Sin. In one of these
faculties we must be inscribed; the searching examination of one of
these teachers we must pass before we can obtain our degree as Learned
in the Art of Life.
Of most persons it may, perhaps, be said, without exaggeration, that
they have a feeling of duty rather than a knowledge of it. When a
certain situation presents itself they tend to act in a certain way,
but they cannot clearly state the principle or rule which determines
their action. The business of the moral teacher is to clarify, to
classify, and to enrich the content of the conscience.
We cannot demonstrate the existence of disinterested motives. The sole
fact that we demand unselfishness in action assures us that the standard
of enlightened self-interest is false. And, indeed, if we consult the
opinions of men where they are least likely to be warped by sophistry,
we shall find that disinterestedness is the universal criterion by which
moral worth is measured. If we suspect the motive we condemn the act.
LOVE AND MARRIAGE
Love is the expansion of two natures in such fashion that each includes
the other, each is enriched by the other.
Love is an echo in the feelings of a unity subsisting between two
persons which is founded both on likeness and on complementary
differences. Without the likeness there would be no attraction; without
the challenge of the complementary differences there could not be the
closer interweaving and the inextinguishable mutual interest which is
the characteristic of all deeper relationships.
In the companionship of marriage our worth is tested. In that close and
intimate relationship faults are inexorably laid bare, and virtues
become doubly resplendent.
The fairest tribute that can be paid to a wife by a husband is that the
love she inspires becomes stronger and deeper in the lapse of time; that
nearness serves to heighten respect, and familiarity to enhance
affection; and that each year, as it passes, but adds another gem to her
crown as a wife and mother.
The spiritual quality of love transfigures the passions, transforms the
fleeting fancy into a constant and growing attachment, the passing
romance into a story without end the interest of which never flags.
Unity of life is the keynote of love; the continuous blending of two
into one lends to love its noble beauty, its divine significance.
Marriage is fundamentally holy because it is the foundation of homes.
All the humanities have their origin in the home. All the virtues draw
from it their nourishment. The human race is distinguished from the rest
of the creation by the possession of homes.
The home is not built of brick and stone. It is a “temple not raised
with hands.” A man may live in a palace, furnished with all that wealth
can afford or luxury invent. He may have at his command books, servants,
troops of friends, and yet there may be a void in his life which tells
him that he is homeless.
And what is the home feeling--if we consider the partners of the wedded
life for a moment, apart from their offspring? It is the blessed sense
of safety that comes to him who feels that he is rooted in another’s
affection, the sense of mutual protection, of mutual care and kindness,
in sickness and in health, in good and in evil fortune, in life and
close to the gates of death. Where the wife is, there is the home; and
where the husband is, on land or sea. Oh, what a glad feeling it is to
have one’s own hearth! As the hearth gives warmth to the house, so
marriage supplies an undiminishing inner warmth to those who partake of
its blessings in the right spirit.
Marriage is the fountain upon which the tree of humanity depends for its
life. If the fountain be pure, the tree will flourish and bear wholesome
fruit. If the fountain be poisoned the tree must perish.
The god of Love is a jealous god. This does not mean that love should be
wholly concentrated upon one person, but rather that the god of Love is
jealous of anything in the heart that is not akin to love--jealous of
hate, jealous of meanness, jealous of low and sordid aims.
The love of husband and wife is an epitome of every other kind of love.
There is included in it something of the same feeling that brothers and
sisters entertain for each other. There is a maternal element in the
wife’s feeling for the husband, and something of the fatherly spirit in
the attitude of the husband toward the wife. And there is besides
something more which is inexplicable and ineffable.
There are fundamental differences which distinguish the sexes in their
mental and moral make-up, and marriage is designed to bring about the
correlation of these differences, the mutual adaptation and
reconciliation of them in a higher unity.
The present tendency to accentuate the qualities in which the sexes are
alike is a temporary reaction against unjust discrimination in the past
in favour of men. The differences are more important than the
similarities, and ere long they will again receive the preponderant
attention which is due to them.
One of the finest results of the further development of the human race
will be the increasing differentiation of the sexes, leading to ever
new, ever more complex, ever more exquisite reciprocal adjustments in
the organisation of the wedded life.
The modern advocates of the elevation of women seem to be fundamentally
mistaken in so far as they rely on the use of force--political or
economic--for the attainment of their ends. Woman has secured her
elevation in the past, and has immensely contributed toward moralising
the human race, by precisely the opposite method; namely, by teaching
men that there are certain rights which they must respect, though these
rights cannot be enforced; that there are certain rights which men must
respect on penalty of losing their self-respect.
It is the voice of tradition, the voice of humanity, the conscience of
mankind pregnant with implicit truths which it may be impossible ever to
make wholly explicit, that speaks from the lips of wives and mothers.
This I take to be the service which the wife can render the husband--she
teaches him to submit to a law which is not sanctioned by force; and, in
matters of the intellect, as well as of the character, she is his critic
and his guide--not by a formulated code, but by the things she approves
of or disapproves of.
The wife is just the one woman in the world who best performs for her
husband these high offices. She helps him to decipher his soul, to gain
self-knowledge--the most difficult kind of knowledge, to discover what
qualities are latent in him; she reads his defects in the light of his
possible excellence; she spurs him on to his best performance; sustains
him by her faith when he fails; and when he succeeds and gains the
world’s applause helps him to rate it at its proper worth, and to aspire
toward aims that rise beyond the common approbation. And the husband, in
turn, renders a corresponding service to the wife.
Only those who are linked together in the lifelong companionship of
monogamic marriage can thus serve one another. Apart from the interests
of offspring, the spiritual interests of the wedded pair themselves
demand that the union shall be a permanent one.
We are not married on our wedding-day; on that day we do but begin to be
married. The true marriage is an endless process, the perpetual
interlinking of two souls while life lasts.
A woman should be a home-keeper, but she should also go out from her
home. She should take part in the struggle of society to create new and
better conditions in politics, in social life, in religion. The real
home-keeper should be in touch with the larger life of the world, in
order that she may bring the breath of larger interests into her life,
in order that she may open the windows of her house and let in the fresh
breezes of the intellectual world around her. The finest, highest
conception of a modern mother is that of one who trains the growing
generation to take their places in the new world which is at present in
the making, and how can she do this unless she herself carries the new
world in her heart, is receptive to the great ideas that are struggling
to be, and comprehends them?
Marriage is an estate in which we seek to help each other to solve the
total problem of our lives. The attraction of the sexes, seen in the
light of this conception, is glorified and transfigured. Marriage is an
estate in which we charge ourselves, not only with the comfort and the
happiness of another, but with the problem of the total spiritual
destiny of another. And because we live in our influence, because our
life is strongest and purest where our influence is most penetrating,
therefore in the estate of marriage it is possible for us to attain a
depth of spiritual development such as can be achieved in no other human
relationship whatsoever.
HIGHER LIFE
Let us earnestly strive to ascertain in what direction our strength
lies, in order that we may become still stronger, and at what points we
are weak, in order that we may fortify them, to the end that we may
obey, however partially, the greatest of the commandments, “Be ye
therefore perfect.”
In general, the higher life may be characterised as the life which
postpones the private to the public good, which is swayed by principles
rather than impulses, and which bears testimony to the reality of the
supreme ideals.
Man is like a tree, with the mighty trunk of intellect, the spreading
branches of imagination, and the roots of the lower instincts that bind
him to the earth. The moral life, however, is the fruit he bears; in it
his true nature is revealed.
It is the prerogative of man that he need not blindly follow the law of
his natural being, but is himself the author of a higher moral law, and
creates it even in acting it out.
The higher life includes not only such virtues as personal purity,
truthfulness, and a forgiving spirit toward enemies, but also embraces
our obligations toward the State. No one can be, in the full sense, a
good man who is not a good citizen.
There is a difficulty in the way of teaching the higher life, due to the
fact that only those who have begun to lead it can understand the
meaning of it. Nevertheless, all men can be induced to begin to lead it.
Though they seem blind, their eyes can be opened so as to see. Deep
down in every human heart is the seed of a diviner life, which only
needs the quickening influence of right conditions to germinate.
It may be impossible for a man by merely willing it to add wings to his
body, but it is possible for any man, by merely willing it, to add wings
to his soul. This perennial miracle of the moral nature is capable of
happening at any time.
An ideal is a port toward which we resolve to steer. We may not reach
it. The mere fact that our goal is definitely located does not suffice
to conduct us thither. But surely we shall thus stand a better chance of
making port in the end than if we drift about aimlessly, the sport of
winds and tides, without having decided in our own minds in what
direction we ought to bend our course.
The moral law is the expression of our inmost nature, and when we live
in consonance with it we feel that we are living out our true being.
The authority of conscience is founded on human nature itself. The
imperative, which we cannot disown, comes from within. The distinction
between right and wrong is as aboriginal as that between the true and
the false. But whence shall we derive the strength to do the right and
shun the wrong? What feelings are there which, in default of the hope of
happiness and the fear of punishment in another world, and apart from
the penalties of human legislation, shall sustain us in the struggle
against evil? I believe that the fear of self-condemnation and the
desire for self-respect can, by appropriate training, be so
strengthened as to serve our purpose. For what man is there among all
our friends and acquaintances whose opinion we have reason so greatly to
dread as the opinion of the man within the man--our own self, namely,
sitting in judgment upon us?
Among those who acknowledge the obligation of the moral law there are
two classes--the class of moral bondmen and the class of moral freemen.
Among the former belong those who recognise the particular moral
commandments, but fail to recognise the unifying principle from which
they flow; who see the satisfactions of which morality deprives them and
the pains which it imposes, but fail to see the superior satisfactions
to which obedience opens the way, and the ineffable peace that comes
after the pain. Duty is a burden and a bondage to those who fix their
attention only upon the negative aspect of it. It is a source of
exaltation, despite the sufferings with which it is complicated, to
those who firmly keep in view the positive aspect of it.
The “great occasions,” morally speaking, are those that add to our
strength by the very magnitude of the calls they make upon us, and that
flatter our self-esteem by the dramatic incidents which are apt, at such
critical moments, to attend the struggle against evil; but it cannot be
too forcibly stated that the higher life, as a rule, must be led on the
level of everyday existence, where the temptations to be resisted are
commonplace and the petty details of duty seem to deprive the effort we
put forth of all dignity and grandeur. Whether, under such
circumstances, we shall be able to save our souls alive depends
entirely on our point of view, on our bearing in mind that no detail of
conduct is petty if it serves to exemplify a great principle.
In seeking for the highest good I cannot separate my quest so far as it
concerns myself from the same quest so far as it concerns others. On the
way to the highest goal I must take my fellow-beings with me. For the
higher life--the germ of which exists in every man--is adequately
represented by no man. The one represents more adequately some
particular aspect of it, another a different aspect of it. It follows,
therefore, that no one can love the higher life unless he seeks to
promote it in others as well as in himself. All the so-called duties
flow from the principle of the unity and interdependence of humanity in
their effort toward the attainment of their goal.
The supreme ethical rule may be stated as follows: So act as to elicit
the latent spiritual possibilities in others, and thereby in thyself.
The aim definitely in view should be to influence others. Not one’s own
interests, not even one’s own spiritual interests, should be in the
foreground of consciousness. Yet we can in no wise draw out what is best
in others without constantly renewing ourselves, making ourselves better
fitted to exercise regenerative influence, and thus attaining the
highest mental and moral growth of which we are capable. This, it seems
to me, is the true harmonising of opposites, this the point of view that
reconciles the ever-conflicting claims of individualism and altruism.
Not the good of self as a thing apart is the aim, nor the good of others
as a thing apart, but a higher, overarching good, to promote which is
alike the highest good of self and others.
As light is light when it strikes on objects, so life is life when it
smites on other life. We live truly in our radiations. We grow and
develop in proportion as we help others to grow and develop.
The question of paramount importance, therefore, to be kept ever before
the mind, is this: How, as a matter of fact, am I influencing the
persons with whom I am in contact? How, as an employer, am I influencing
my employés? How, as a citizen, am I influencing my fellow-citizens? How
does the effect of my personality tell on wife and children and friends?
Am I supremely interested in getting the best results out of the people
with whom I am in touch? Am I helping them to make the most of
themselves?
There are certain obvious marks of the higher life. One is Purity. This
does not mean that the senses shall be suppressed, but that the inferior
part of our nature shall be taken up into the superior, the senses
wedded to the soul.
A second mark of the higher life is Serenity, and there is perhaps no
surer sign by which exalted natures can be known. To be serene under all
circumstances whatsoever, even in moments of imminent peril, in times of
sudden reversal of fortune, of grievous personal loss or of public
calamity, is the unmistakable badge of moral ripeness. But is it
possible to preserve one’s serenity in the supreme trials of life? It is
possible, I should answer, if we have formed the habit of asking on
every occasion. What is it right to do now? The habit of fixing our
attention on how we are to conduct ourselves, on what, in a given
situation and quite apart from our feelings, it is right to do, steadies
the pulse, clears the eye and preserves the tranquillity of the soul.
And there is always something which it is right to do, even in the most
desperate circumstances, if it be only to maintain our dignity as human
beings, to keep up the drooping spirits of those around us, and to
assist our weaker brethren to the last.