RADIANCIES OF CHEERFULNESS
I want to be cheerful and to radiate cheerfulness at all times, under
all circumstances, in all conditions and places. I want to do this
because I want to do it. Not because it is my duty, or because I shall
make some one else unhappy if I do not, but merely and simply because
there is a great joy in the fact of cheerfulness itself.
I have a friend into whose presence I never come without feeling the
radiant cheerfulness of his nature. His face lights up with a beautiful
smile, his hand is immediately stretched out and my hand grasped with a
cordial clasp; kind words come to his lips with a sincerity that one can
never question, and in the most unaffected, genuine, and simple manner
he radiates the cheerfulness and gladness of his own soul.
Did you never meet with such people who were always bright and sunny,
who always gave forth a cheery word, always radiated optimism?
Everything they say or do makes you feel with Browning:
God's in His heaven;
All's right with the world.
And all this is done without any flattery or conscious effort on their
part to make you feel good. Some of the severest rebukes I have ever
received were from this man of whom I have spoken, and yet they were
given in such a sweet, gentle manner and with such perfect sincerity
that not only was there no irritation aroused, but a sense of gratitude
implanted that I had such a real, sincere friend.
I do not wonder that men demand cheerfulness in others. It seems
somewhat heartless to put up a notice in your office, as I have seen in
many offices, "I have troubles enough of my own. Tell yours to the
janitor," or as another version has it, "Don't tell your troubles to me,
I have enough of my own," yet it speaks of a fact that is all too
universal, namely, that each person does have his own large share of
burdens which sometimes seem as if they would swamp him.
As Dr. Gulick once wrote:
There is probably not one person in the world but has tragedy enough
and pain enough straight along to warrant--yes, absolutely to
warrant--pretty complete discouragement. And I imagine that there is
no person who is so perfectly adjusted by nature, so entirely
balanced in health, that there are not times when it is necessary to
hold himself by deliberate will power--to forget how he has been
hurt, to turn aside from some ugly thing in a friend's character, to
turn aside from the bad in his own character, for every one of us
has that which is bad in his character. Our characters are ugly
enough in part so that, if we were to dwell constantly on that part,
the prospect would seem pretty disheartening and justifiably so.
All this has to be remembered in our association with men and women. And
when we remember, why should we not wish, instead of adding to their
burdens, to lighten or help remove them?
That cheerfulness is possible in this world of woe and trial, there can
be no question, because every now and again, each of us has met with
some person who radiated this quality at all times. And we know that in
our own experience, when we have willed to be cheerful and to radiate
cheerfulness to others, we have accomplished far more in that line than
we otherwise should have done.
Only the other day I picked up a trade journal and in it was a short
letter from one business man about another business man who had recently
passed away. Let me quote a part of it:
Away back in the '80's I met him under the following circumstances.
I was then in Chicago and although an invalid was well enough to
assist my brother a little in his office work.
One day a stranger came in who received an especially cordial
greeting from both my brother and his partner. It proved to be Harry
W. Sommers.
He was, for a short time, a daily visitor and when he came in there
seemed to come with him a glow of sunshine.
It made the same impression upon me as it does sometimes, after a
long period of rain and cloudiness, when the sun, in all its
brightness, suddenly bursts forth.
One day he came to bid my brother good-by, and although it is
twenty-one years ago, the wave of his hand, the cheery smile and the
hearty good-by, as he looked toward me, still linger in my memory.
Many a time since has he come into my mind, although I never saw him
afterward, accompanied with the thought that were there more Harry
Sommerses in this world, it would be a brighter and far happier
place to dwell.
I would far rather leave a legacy like that behind me than to leave an
immense fortune over which my heirs would quarrel and go to law and
engender ill feelings and then possibly spend in an injurious manner.
It is said of Sister Dora, the noble-hearted woman who gave her life to
the iron workers of the "Black Country" in England, that as she went to
and fro in the wards of the hospitals, her presence was like a glad
burst of sunshine to the poor sick men and women to whom she ministered.
Though they were rough, uncouth, even profane and wicked, she never
failed in her courtesy and bright cheerfulness, and the result was that
patients under her control regained their health far more rapidly than
those who were subjected to the depressing influences of moody,
cheerless, censorious persons.
The same thing is said of Walt Whitman. When he was in the Government's
employ at Washington, with a salary of one hundred and twenty dollars a
month, he took forty dollars of this for his own use and spent the
other eighty dollars to provide comforts and luxuries for the poor
soldier boys in the hospitals. I have heard old soldiers tell of the way
they used to feel when he appeared. "It was like the coming of a young
Santa Claus." He carried a pack on his back which he would drop by the
side of a bed and reaching out his friendly hand, with a radiant smile
would say: "Well, how is it with you to-day?" and then, if the soldier
were a stranger, he would ask: "Do you use tobacco?" If the man said,
"No," he would reply, "That's good." If on the other hand he said,
"Yes," Walt's reply would be the same, and he would dive down into his
pack and bring out a little tobacco, which he would give with a few kind
and cheery words to the poor bed-ridden soldier. If the invalid didn't
use tobacco there was a book, a game, or something else that would bring
cheer and forgetfulness. Thus he would pass up and down the wards,
radiating brightness and good cheer on every hand. There is no wonder
that as he passed outside every eye followed him, every heart felt an
instinctive "God bless you," and every voice called out, "Come again,
soon."
There surely are enough conditions in Nature to help the soul that wants
to be cheerful and radiate cheerfulness. Every morning the sun arises
with radiating light, brightness and beauty, illuminating and glorifying
even the darkest and dullest of the things of earth. The stars shine
nightly in all their sincere and calm beauty, radiating the assurance of
Infinite power and perpetual care.
In radiant Nature, the butterfly skims the air in its light and
fascinating flight, attracting the eye and charming with its exquisite
coloring. The dew of morning, receiving the golden rays of the sun,
makes the grass and trees appear as if blossoming in millions of
diamonds, each a globe of radiating, scintillating brightness and
beauty. The birds sing day and night, rain or shine, in sunshine or
storm, radiating their cheerfulness and constant optimism. The trees
awaken to the caressing touch of the sun and rustle to and fro, speaking
in unmistakable language their joy of mere living, and glistening back
and forth their appreciation of the gift of warmth and brightness. The
flowers grow as freely in the wilds as in the cultivated gardens of
man--blossoming evidences of Nature's power to produce gorgeous and
resplendent color, perfection in beauty of form and exquisite
deliciousness in odor. Even the snail crawls along expressive of delight
in the morning, and the worm comes forth from the clod to express its
appreciation.
I have watched the mountains with their snow-crowned, virgin-pure peaks
soaring into the blue of the heavens and the massive rocks of the mighty
canyons of the West basking restfully in the glorious light of day, and
even these majestic rock-giants spoke the unmistakable language of joy,
and called upon men to be cheerful.
We find exactly the same spirit and influence, if we will but look for
it, in mankind. Too often we see but the sordidness, the greed, the
selfishness, the cruelty, the rapacity of men, yet we all know that this
is but one side, and it is not the reality, it is only the shadow of the
real man, that the _real_ man is kind, sympathetic, helpful, generous,
true-hearted, and pure. If we fix our eyes upon one tiny spot the size
of a dollar that is speckled or black, we can soon shut out all the
brightness, beauty, and sweetness outside. I well remember one of the
sentimental songs that was current in my boyhood days. It probably had
as much of the mock sentiment as any other of these songs, but two lines
of the refrain I have never forgotten, and whenever I hear one speaking
of the unkindness of humanity, I feel like quoting them:
But speak not so untruly,
There are kind hearts everywhere.
In spite of the strenuousness of our modern life, as we look around upon
the social settlements, the orphan asylums, and the thousands of men and
women who adopt helpless orphans, the prisoners' aid societies, where
business men actually make a point of finding their help, where
possible, from those who have served a term in prison or the
penitentiary, and the thousand and one other institutions which show
that the Golden Rule is actively in operation in the hearts of men and
women--I say these things make me happy and cheerful, and I feel like
singing for joy, that innate beauty is as much in evidence, and more, in
the hearts and minds of men as it is in Nature.
So I want cheerfulness to be the constant habit of my mind and soul. I
do not wish to be cheerful occasionally or semi-occasionally. I would
prefer to be a man of one mood and that mood, with its variations, to be
a mood of habitual cheerfulness. I regard a cheerful disposition as one
of the most precious possessions. It is like a pair of spectacles that
have the power of luminosity within themselves. It sees clearly enough
but lightens up the darkest and most dreary spots of earth. Cheerfulness
is not only a duty, but a philosophy, a religion, a wisdom. The cheerful
man is the perpetually wise optimist. A cheerless or gloomy man is the
perpetually unwise pessimist. And years ago I learned to test all
philosophies and religions by practical life. No philosophy, no religion
was good that could not satisfy every-day life. Optimism never fails at
any time, but pessimism is worse than a broken reed to lean upon.
Take the pessimists you know, and I can pretty nearly stake my life
upon it you will find nearly all of them dyspeptics, with poor
circulation, shivering on a cold morning with their hands in their
pockets, complaining that they were not awakened early enough, finding
fault because the breakfast was not served just right, railing at the
car service, ranting about the rottenness of men in public life. They
seem to take a pride in believing, as did Dickens' Mantalini in
_Nicholas Nickleby_, that "We are all going to the demnition bow-wows."
What a contrast there is between this man and the Cheeryble Brothers of
the same book, those great and simple-hearted human reservoirs of
cheerfulness and optimism, radiating sweetness, happiness, content,
wherever they went, blessing and benefiting every heart willing to
accept the sweetness and purity of theirs.
Pessimism is not a working theory of life. It is the substitution of
gloomy, deep-blue spectacles for the beautiful luminous ones. As Dr.
Gulick says:
Pessimism is negative, denial, believing that the evil is more than
the good, that life is not worth while; it is a dampening down of
life. Pessimism tends to its own annihilation, because it takes away
life's motives, life's vigor, life's power.
On the other hand, optimism cheers, encourages, brightens, beautifies,
glorifies, blesses, helps. And I long ago learned that that man, that
woman, who succeeds in helping and benefiting and blessing mankind is
essentially an optimist.
The other day I saw the act of an optimist. He and a friend were seated
in a street car. It was Saturday night, the car was crowded, and by and
by two well-dressed men got in, one of them with an unmistakable look of
refinement, the other somewhat coarse looking. Both had evidently been
drinking heavily. The more refined and elder of the two could barely
stand upright, as the car whirled around the curves. The optimist looked
up, saw the state of affairs, and in the sweetest, gentlest manner arose
and extended his hand and bade the elderly gentleman take his seat.
There was no look of reproach or disgust, and yet I know that he was a
rigid abstainer and strong temperance worker and one who hated every
form of indulgence in alcoholic liquors. The companion of the man who
had taken the seat, began to talk in the ordinary mumbling, rambling,
effusive style of the drunkard, and the other without either impatience
or any sign of disapproval, quietly entered into the conversation, and I
speak only the fact when I state that without any preaching or
fault-finding, his few earnest, sincere, optimistic words so won the
heart of that large, coarse-looking, drunken man that he seemed
absolutely sobered and responded to the higher call of the soul.
This is what optimism and cheerfulness do for mankind, hence I want to
radiate it more and more.
Mark Twain was full of this spirit of radiating cheerfulness. In one of
his darkest hours in San Francisco, before he had gained name or fame,
things had gone wrong and a lady friend passing along a street saw him
standing beside a lamp-post with a cigar-box under his arm. "Cigars?"
she asked. "Where are you going in such a hurry?" "I'm m-o-o-v-i-n-g,"
drawled Mark, at the same time displaying the contents of the box which
consisted of a pair of socks, a pipe, and two paper collars. Even in his
darkest hours he was able to look out upon the bright side, and out from
those hours of gloom came some of the brightest pieces of wit and
cheerful philosophy to irradiate and bless the entire world.
If I were an employer of labor and could get the right men and women to
do the work, I would employ a half dozen for my factory or workshop to
teach my employees to be cheerful, to laugh and sing at their work. It
would be a good paying investment. I would get a great deal more work
out of my employees and of a great deal better quality. A hearty laugh
is better than a bottle of medicine; a volume of Mark Twain or Marshall
Wilder, better than a library of pessimistic philosophy of high sounding
phrases.
Cheerfulness takes the jolts out of the rutty road of life. It is an
extra pair of springs to the wagon. It is an automobile shock-absorber.
It resists the encroachments of the grouch and bids the blue devils
avaunt!
The old-fashioned methods of kings having a clown to keep them and their
court laughing during meal time was a profound piece of philosophy and
wisdom, for the stomach's sake, if for no other reason. The folly of the
clown caused laughter, promoted genial humor which increased the flow of
all the digestive juices and thus contributed to good digestion and
perfect assimilation. The uncheerful father or mother who sits down to
the table like a thundercloud and suppresses the bright, happy
exuberance of childhood ought to be taken down to the dentist and pumped
full of laughing-gas until he or she would laugh for a week. I would
make such people laugh until their sides ached and they had to go to bed
to get over it, and every time a frown or gloomy look came over the face
I would have somebody lift a warning finger (but also a laughing face)
and threaten them with another week's dose of laughing-gas.
"But," says the gloomy one, "life has gone wrong with me. How can I be
cheerful when I am out of work and sick and have no friends?" Your case
is hard, my friend. I recognize it with sympathy, but let me tell you
this, that every grouchy look and word will make it harder for you to
get work, and will put friendship further away from you. Even as a
business proposition, it does not pay. _Make yourself laugh_ and be
cheerful, whether you can be or not, for very few men are willing to
surround themselves with those who appear to be gloomy, depressed and
grouchy. Learn the lesson that it does no good to indulge in self-pity.
Whatever the adverse circumstances of life may be, face them like a man.
Years ago I had learned this lesson of refusal to pity myself, and I
then wrote:
"I want to radiate a spirit that refuses to pity itself for any of its
woes, its afflictions, its misfortunes, its sorrows. There is no
weakness so weak as the weakness of self-pity; there is nothing so
spiritually debilitating as to brood over one's own sorrows. It is a
kind of melancholy selfishness; it neither helps one's self nor others;
it is depressing to all concerned. I happened to read to-day in a
popular novel a sentence that most truthfully expresses what I believe
upon this subject: 'The most absolutely selfish thing in the world is to
give way to depression, to think of one's troubles at all, except of how
to overcome them. I spend many delightful hours thinking of the pleasant
and beautiful things of life. I decline to waste a single second even in
considering the ugly ones.'
"It is just as easy to form a habit of dwelling upon the sweet and good
and beautiful and happy things of life as upon the bitter and evil and
ugly and unhappy things. Brooding enlarges whatever it exercises itself
upon, whether it be good or evil, joy or woe. So brood on the good
things, cast out the others, and so live that you radiate this joy and
determination not to recognize the evil and unpleasant things.
"Self-pity takes the backbone out of one. It robs one of his manhood,
his courage, his daring to go on and face all the difficulties before
him. It is self-pity that makes the suicide. He looks at his woes, his
difficulties, until he cannot bear them, and so goes and takes the big
plunge into the dark.
"Brother, sister, quit your self-pitying. There is another side to the
darkness. Look up, not down. Remember that, in the words of Robert
Browning, 'God's in His heaven, all's right with the world.' So I have
long resolved to radiate cheerfulness as much when I am _down_, as when
I am _up_--when misfortune glowers upon me, as when fortune smiles. It
is so easy to interpret our material good as a proof of God's favor, and
our material ill as a sign that He is displeased with us. Those who went
to Jesus and asked, when the tower of Siloam fell and killed eighteen:
'Were they not sinners above all others because this thing happened to
them?' are not without their myriads of counterparts in the world
to-day. When a man strikes a new gusher in an oil region, or a good
flow of water in a desert country, or his grainfield gives him seventy
bushels to the acre, it is easy enough to believe that Providence is
smiling upon him, and, therefore, his faith is strong and unquenchable.
I have enough of that kind of faith. I can radiate that without an
effort or thought. But I desire above all things to radiate a like sure
and definite faith when my neighbor strikes a gusher and I do not; when
my _enemy_ finds a fine flow of water and _my_ crops are being
parched--I want as strong a sense of contentment when Fortune _smiles
upon the other fellow_, as when it smiles upon me."
This leads to another practical radiance. It is that of absolute
certainty that things do not _happen_. There is no such thing as a
"happenstance" in the world.
"Nothing happens," is a word often on my inner lips. There is no evil,
no wrong, no misfortune to the man who consciously lives with power ever
surrounding him. In our short-sightedness, we dream, we think of evil,
or ill, or wrong, or misfortune, but if our faith's eyes were always
open, we should see nothing but good--and that all circumstances are
good in their ultimate results upon us.
Some years ago I met a lady who possessed this spirit of radiant
cheerfulness, and yet she was in a sanitarium and had undergone several
severe surgical operations.
In conversation with her, I learned that some years before she had found
herself afflicted with a tumor in her breast. The surgeon said that
nothing but the knife would remove it. This seemed almost like a
sentence to death, and my friend and her husband, children, and friends
were deeply saddened by the necessity. They all went through a period of
deep gloom, of darkness, of despondency. Then there came to her the idea
that it was contrary to Nature that she and her loved ones should waste
their time, energy, and strength in such repining and sorrow. She
remembered the words, "Be careful for nothing, but in everything by
prayer and supplication make your requests known unto God," and then
there came to her the joy of the promise that followed: "And the peace
of God which passeth all understanding shall keep your hearts and minds"
in what is sure to be the spirit of peace and love.
So she began to look upon the duty of cheerfulness. She soon saw that it
was the only path for her to walk in. The operation was performed. It
was serious, and for three years she and her loved ones had to struggle
hard to be cheerful and optimistic. But the results more than repaid for
the efforts expended, for, when at the end of the three years, the
tumor again appeared, even more serious in character, and she had to go
to the hospital again, she found that, after the first few dark hours, a
great peace stole over her whole being, and as a result of her cheerful
radiancy, her husband and children were "adorably cheerful and loving."
She has since said:
"I went to the hospital feeling sure that I could find peace in
suffering, pleasure in pain, contentment through it all. When I was put
upon the operating table this sense of peace and content and lack of
fear enabled me to take the anesthetic easily, and after the operation
was over, when the pain was terrible, to fight my battle with a happy
heart. I faltered a little once or twice when the pain seemed to pile
mountains high during the first few days, but when my nurse found that I
meant to make the best of everything, she took hold in the right way
with a spirit of determination to help me, so it was not long before I
really seemed to rise, by means of the very mountains of pain that at
first appeared as if they would overwhelm me, to summits of joy, content
and satisfaction I could not have known without them.
"As I looked out of the windows, the trees seemed to be putting forth
their leaves in richest beauty all _for me_. The birds--the robins and
bluebirds--seemed to come and sing _for me_. The air grew daily more
balmy and sweet, and as I contemplated these things, I found even the
tremendous noises of switching cars and the disagreeable sounds of the
engine, combined with the racket of the wagons that came rattling over
the cobble-stones, came to be quite bearable. Peace and joy were in my
heart. I was content, full, satisfied."
And she certainly looked it. She was a radiating reservoir of these
glorious and uplifting qualities. How could she be otherwise? So, with
this woman's experience in mind I again urge you to be cheerful. Be
happy. Acquire _the habit of the effort_. It soon grows easy. Believe
implicitly in the power of Good--and that the apparently bad is contrary
to Nature's laws and wishes (being a result of some transgression or
ignorance), and that whatever happens is good, for it works out for the
best in the end.
And now, to conclude, or as our preacher friends say, "one more word."
In my radiancy or cheerfulness, I want to remember to radiate all the
time and to all people. It is easy enough to be cheerful in the presence
of our superiors and with our companions and equals. But I notice that
it is a very different matter with many people to be cheerful with those
whom society and the world call their inferiors--the elevator boy, the
bell boy, the valet, the chambermaid, the clerk, the stenographer, the
laborer, the coachman, in other words, all those whom we call
"servants." Many people feel that they are not under any obligation to
be cheerful to them, but, oh, what a joy they miss, what a privilege
they throw away. Why not especially radiate cheerfulness to the fullest
possible extent to those who have less of this world's goods than
ourselves? Why not help them bear the burdens of life by your radiant
optimism? Let your cheerfulness be real, sincere, honest, manly. Try to
concern yourself in their interests and understand somewhat of the
battles they have to fight. It does not take up much time or require
much effort. It is the _spirit_ of the thing that is felt and that
counts. So, be cheerful at all times and radiate your cheerfulness to
all sorts and conditions of men. Thus you will go through the world
leaving a blessed path of sweetness, brightness, and sunshine behind you
which will illuminate, cheer, and bless all who walk therein.