_All beings are ends;_ _no_ creatures are _means_. All beings have
not equal rights, neither have all men; but _all have rights_. The
_Life Process_ is the _End_—_not man_, nor any other animal
temporarily privileged to weave a world’s philosophy. Nonhuman
beings were not made for human beings any more than human beings
were made for nonhuman beings. Just as the sidereal spheres were
once supposed by the childish mind of man to be unsubstantial
satellites of the earth, but are known by man’s riper
understanding to be worlds with missions and materialities of their
own, and of such magnitude and number as to render terrestrial
insignificance frightful, so the billions that dwell in the seas,
fields, and atmospheres of the earth were in like manner imagined by
the illiterate children of the race to be the mere trinkets of men,
but are now known by all who can interpret the new revelation to be
beings with substantially the same origin, the same natures,
structures, and occupations, and the same general rights to life and
happiness, as we ourselves.
In their phenomena of life the inhabitants of the earth display
endless variety. They swim in the waters, soar in the skies, squeeze
among the rocks, clamber among the trees, scamper over the plains,
and glide among the grounds and grasses. Some are born for a summer,
some for a century, and some flutter their little lives out in a
day. They are black, white, blue, golden, all the colours of the
spectrum. Some are wise and some are simple; some are large and some
are microscopic; some live in castles and some in bluebells; some
roam over continents and seas, and some doze their little day-dream
away on a single dancing leaf. But they are all the children of a
common mother and the co-tenants of a common world. Why they are
here in this world rather than some place else; why the world in
which they find themselves is so full of the undesirable; and
whether it would not have been better if the ball on which they ride
and riot had been in the beginning sterilised, are problems too deep
and baffling for the most of them. But since they are here, and
since they are too proud or too superstitious to die, and are
surrounded by such cold and wolfish immensities, what would seem
more proper than for them to be kind to each other, and helpful, and
dwell together as loving and forbearing members of One Great Family?
Act toward others as you would act toward a part of your own self.
This is _The Great Law_, the all-inclusive gospel of social
salvation. It is the rule of social rectitude and perfection which
has been held up in greater or less perfection in all ages by the
sages and prophets of the human species.
Hear Confucius, the giant of Mongolia, and the idol and law-giver of
one-third of mankind:
‘What you do not like when done to yourself do not do to others.’
And again he says:
‘Do not let a man practise to those beneath him that which he
dislikes in those above him.’
Over and over again the illustrious master repeats these precepts to
his disciples and countrymen.
In the Mahabharata, the great epic of the Sanskrit, written by
Indian moralists in various ages, and representing the accumulated
wisdom of one of the most marvellous of all peoples, we find these
words:
‘Treat others as thou wouldst thyself be treated.’
‘Do nothing to thy neighbour which thou wouldst not hereafter have
thy neighbour do to thee.’
‘A man obtains a rule of action by looking upon his neighbour as
himself.’
These same truths were also taught by Jesus, that godlike Galilean,
the great teacher and saviour of the Western world:
‘Love thy neighbour as thyself.’
‘Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.’
Oh that these words were etched in fire, and stamped in scorching
characters on the dull, cold hearts of this world!
Act toward others as you would act toward a part of your own self.
Look upon and treat others as you do your own hands, your own eyes,
your very heart and soul—with infinite care and compassion—as
suffering and enjoying members of the same Great Being with
yourself. This is the spirit of the ideal universe—the spirit of
your own being. It is this alone that can redeem this world, and
give to it the peace and harmony for which it longs. Yes,
‘So many gods, so many creeds,
So many paths that wind and wind,
While just the art of being kind
Is all the sad world needs.’
Oh the madness, and sorrow, and unbrotherliness of this mal-wrought
world! Oh the poor, weak, poisoned, monstrous natures of its
children! Who can look upon it all without pain, and sympathy, and
consternation, and tears? What an opportunity for philanthropy, if
the ‘All-mighty One’ of our traditions would only set about it!
Yes, do as you would be done by—and _not_ to the dark man and the
white woman alone, but to the sorrel horse and the gray squirrel as
well; _not_ to creatures of your own anatomy only, but to all
creatures. You cannot go high enough nor low enough nor far enough
to find those whose bowed and broken beings will not rise up at the
coming of the kindly heart, or whose souls will not shrink and
darken at the touch of inhumanity. Live and let live. Do more. Live
and _help_ live. _Do to beings below you as you would be done by
beings above you_. Pity the tortoise, the katydid, the wild-bird,
and the ox. Poor, undeveloped, untaught creatures! Into their dim
and lowly lives strays of sunshine little enough, though the fell
hand of man be never against them. They are our fellow-mortals. They
came out of the same mysterious womb of the past, are passing
through the same dream, and are destined to the same melancholy end,
as we ourselves. Let us be kind and merciful to them.
‘Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods?
Draw near them, then, in being merciful;
Sweet mercy is nobility’s true badge.’
Let us be true to our ideals, true to the spirit of Universal
Compassion—whether we walk with the lone worm wandering in the
twilight of consciousness, the feathered forms of the fields and
forests, the kine of the meadows, the simple savage on the banks of
the gladed river, the political blanks whom men call wives, or the
outcasts of human industry.
Oh this poor world, this poor, suffering, ignorant, fear-filled
world! How can men be blind or deranged enough to think it is a good
world? How can they be cold and satanic enough to be unmoved by the
groans and anguish, the writhing and tears, that come up from its
unparalleled afflictions?
But _the world is growing better_. And in the Future—in the long,
long ages to come—it will be redeemed! The same spirit of sympathy
and fraternity that broke the black man’s manacles and is to-day
melting the white woman’s chains will to-morrow emancipate the
working man and the ox; and, as the ages bloom and the great wheels
of the centuries grind on, the same spirit shall banish Selfishness
from the earth, and convert the planet finally into one unbroken and
unparalleled spectacle of Peace, Justice, and Solidarity.