An old man sits at the end of his life, with money piled up on
all sides of him. Years ago he was working hard. All his
ability was strained to the utmost pushing back those who strove
to pass him on the road up the golden mountain.
He enjoyed the conflict, he enjoyed the sight of beaten rivals.
His delight was in work, in ACQUISITION. His growing surplus
added new zest to his life. He pitied "the poor fool" who wasted
time at anything save money-making.
But he is at the top of the heap of money now. He looks about,
and none compete with him. A few strugglers--too far away to be
heard--strive for a little of his useless accumulation. Legal
sharpers struggle and get a little, and in return keep away those
who try to climb up near him.
The interest has gone out of life. Where he used to see
competitors, he now sees only old memories. The old associates
have gone--it is even too late to help them--and he will soon go,
too.
He looks out over the land, and sees, when it is too late, all
that he has missed while he thought he was doing the thing most
important.
He has made a hundred millions of dollars, but not one human
friend.
He can hire almost any man to do anything. But there is not
enough money in the world to hire any one to miss him sincerely
when he is gone.
Such a man as this--an actual individual, with wealth far
exceeding one hundred millions--has insured his life for half a
million. To those who asked "why" he replied: "I want some
insurance company to be sorry when I die. No one else will be
sorry." Possibly he thought he was joking. But there was truth
in what he said.
The man who piles up money builds a solid wall that shuts out the
world from him. Sycophants climb over the wall--but their
flattery and fawning grow tiresome. Old age and cessation of
strong feeling cause the mind to see clearly--and hypocrisy no
longer deceives in the old, pleasant way.
The most depressing fact in the old man's life is the
hopelessness of trying to change. His mind has worked so long in
one direction that it can no longer work in any other. He would
like, perhaps, to begin now and live as others live, but he
cannot do it.
There are men whose great wealth is earned WITH PART OF THEIR
ABILITY, leaving them force and strength for other things. Such
a man was Peter Cooper.
But the man most frequently seen in America is the man who
accumulates money for money's sake. His is a sad heart when he
looks over the past and ahead into the short future.
If he has children, he has hardly known them--and HIS MONEY
has separated them from each other.
When his son was a little child the rich man made himself think
that he was piling up the money for that boy. What became of
that boy?
Ask the Keeley Cure, the public gambling houses, Monte Carlo, the
divorce court--and the other "resources" of the sons of the very
rich.
Thousands envy him, and he knows it. But there is little in
being envied when old age makes a lonely life unbearable, and
when the next striking event in his career will be a funeral.
There are hundreds of thousands of men with their thoughts fixed
absolutely on money making. They hate what threatens money.
They love those who sympathize with money. They live, work,
vote, talk, marry and cheat their friends for money.
If they fail--as most of them do--they die unhappy. If they
succeed, money cheats THEM, and for all their devotion gives
them nothing.
"For what shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world,
and lose his own soul?"
The man wastes his soul who devotes its forces only to
accumulating wealth.