MARITAL WORRIES
I now approach a difficult part of my subject, yet I do it without
trepidation, fear, or worry as to results. There are, to my mind, a
few fundamental principles to be considered and observed, and each
married couple must learn to fight the battle out for themselves.
Undoubtedly, to most married people, the ideal relationship is where
each is so perfectly in accord with the other--they think alike,
agree, are as one mentally--that there are no irritations, no
differences of opinion, no serious questions to discuss.
Others have a different ideal. They do not object to differences,
serious, even, and wide. They are so thorough believers in the
sanctity of the individuality of each person--that every individual
must live his own life, and thus learn his own lessons, that what they
ask is a love large enough, big enough, sympathetic enough, to embrace
all differences, and in confidence that the "working out" process will
be as sure for one as the other, to rest, content and serene in each
other's love in spite of the things that otherwise would divide them.
This mental attitude, however, requires a large faith in God, a
wonderful belief in the good that is in each person, and a forbearing
wisdom that few possess. Nevertheless, it is well worth striving
for, and its possession is more desirable than many riches. And how
different the outlook upon life from that of the marital worrier.
When a couple begin to live together, they have within themselves
the possibilities of heaven or of hell. The balance between the two,
however, is very slight. There is only a foot, or less, in difference,
between the West and the East on the Transcontinental Divide. I have
stood with one foot in a rivulet the waters of which reached the
Pacific, and the other in one which reached the Atlantic. The marital
divide is even finer than that. It is all in the habit of mind. If one
determines that he, she, will guide, boss, direct, control the other,
one of two or three things is sure to occur.
I. The one mind _will_ control the other, and an individual will live
some one else's life instead of its own. This is the popular American
notion of the life of the English wife. She has been trained during
the centuries to recognize her husband as lord and master, and she
unquestionably and unhesitatingly obeys his every dictate. Without at
all regarding this popular conception as an accurate one, nationally,
it will serve the purpose of illustration.
II. The second alternative is one of sullen submission. If one hates
to "row," to be "nagged," he, she, submits, but with a bad grace,
consumed constantly with an inward rebellion, which destroys love,
leads to cowardly subterfuges, deceptions, and separations.
III. The third outcome is open rebellion, and the results of this are
too well known to need elucidation--for whatever they may be, they
are disastrous to the peace, happiness, and content of the family
relationship.
Yet to show how hard it is to classify actual cases in any formal way,
let me here introduce what I wrote long ago about a couple whom I
have visited many times. It is a husband and wife who are both
geniuses--far above the ordinary in several lines. They have
money--made by their own work--the wife's as well as the husband's,
for she is an architect and builder of fine homes. While they have
great affection one for another, there is a constant undertone of
worry in their lives. Each is too critical of the other. They worry
about trifles. Each is losing daily the sweetness of sympathetic and
joyous comradeship because they do not see eye to eye in all things.
Where a mutual criticism of one's work is agreed upon, and is mutually
acceptable and unirritating, there is no objection to it. Rather
should it be a source of congratulation that each is so desirous of
improving that criticism is welcomed. But, in many cases, it is a
positive and injurious irritant. One meets with criticism, neither
kind nor gentle, out in the world. In the home, both man and woman
need tenderness, sympathy, comradeship--and if there be weaknesses
or failures that are openly or frankly confessed, there should be
the added grace and virtue of compassion without any air of pitying
condescension or superiority. By all means help each other to mend, to
improve, to reach after higher, noble things, but don't do it by
the way of personal criticism, advice, remonstrance, fault-finding,
worrying. If you do, you'll do far more harm than good in ninety-nine
cases out of every hundred. Every human being instinctively, in such
position, consciously or unconsciously, places himself in the attitude
of saying: "I am what I am! Now recognize that, and leave me alone!
My life is mine to learn its lessons in my own way, just the same as
yours is to learn your lessons in your way." This worrying about, and
of each other has proven destructive of much domestic happiness, and
has wrecked many a marital barque, that started out with sails set,
fair wind, and excellent prospects.
Don't worry about each other--_help_ each other by the loving sympathy
that soothes and comforts. Example is worth a million times more than
precept and criticism, no matter how lovingly and wisely applied,
and few men and women are wise enough to criticise and advise
_perpetually_, without giving the recipient the feeling that he is
being "nagged."
Granted that, from the critic's standpoint, every word said may be
true, wise, and just. This does not, by any means, make it wise to
say it. The mental and spiritual condition of the recipient _must_ be
considered as of far more importance than the condition of the giver
of the wise exhortations. The latter is all right, he doesn't need
such admonitions; the other does. The important question, therefore,
should be: "Is he ready to receive them?" If not, if the time is
unpropitious, the mental condition inauspicious, better do, say,
nothing, than make matters worse. But, unfortunately, it generally
happens that at such times the critic is far more concerned at
unbosoming himself of his just and wise admonitions than he is as to
whether the time is ripe, the conditions the best possible, for the
word to be spoken. The sacred writer has something very wise and
illuminating to say upon this subject. Solomon says: "A word spoken in
due season, how good is it!" Note, however, that it must be spoken "in
due season," to be good. The same word spoken out of season may be,
and often is, exceedingly bad. Again he says: "A word fitly spoken
is like apples of gold in pictures of silver." But it must be _fitly_
spoken to be worthy to rank with apples of gold.