Recently an old man, over eighty years of age, lay on his death-bed. He
could no longer keep possession of the wealth he had accumulated. In a few
hours he must leave it to the world from which he had taken it and kept it
so many years. He had not been a generous man. He had loved money. He
loved to get it and loved to keep it, and if he could have carried his
wealth with him, whither he was going with that unknown guide, Death,
there is no doubt but that he would have done so. He had given nothing to
the world while he lived and he would not have given anything when he
died, only that he was obliged to do so. This is the only charity of a
great many people.
When death comes, then the hand of avarice must open. Nothing can be
carried through the grave. So the old man must at last release his hold
upon his gains. He must leave his loved dollars to somebody. He had
gathered them for himself, not for others. He had thought only of himself
when he gathered them, and now, when he was to part with them, he did not
know what disposition to make of them. The lawyer was present at his
bedside; the minister was also with him.
The will had been drawn. He had bequeathed certain sums to public
charities and remembered the church. Life was almost gone. He hesitated
yet to give up the control of his money to others. The pen was placed in
his dying fingers for him to affix his name to the will. But he had waited
too long. He died with the name unwritten, the pen unused in his dead
hand.
Not voluntarily did he part with a cent of his fortune. His millions will
now be divided by the law.
Is there in the bare possession of money the happiness that men desire,
that men dream of, that men _want_? Is a dollar the highest goal of human
effort, the crown of human endeavor? Is this dollar, the insignia of
fortune, the true sign of good fortune? We believe not. The man who works
for this and nothing else, is the slave of avarice; as hard, as cruel, as
merciless a tyrant as ever cursed the earth.
Let every man strive for independence. Let man be rewarded well for his
labor. Let every hand keep busy, but let there be a desire higher than
money, a dream nobler than of gain, a want above the possession of riches.
There is a better charity than that unwilling gift which death compels us
to make; it is to help the world while we live. There are two ways of
doing this: by giving back a part of what we take,—that is one way and a
good way—and by taking less from others, that is another way and a better
way. The help that men need to-day is justice. Thousands are poor that one
may be rich. Thousands toil that one may live in idleness. Thousands are
in want that one may live in luxury. Thousands have not a dollar that one
may have millions. This is not right, not fair, not just. Men must take
less while they go through life.
It is not enough that a man on his deathbed give a college a million, a
public library a million, a public park a million. _He should have no
millions to give._ He should live a more just life and help others by
trying to get less for himself. The public bequest is the popular
atonement for large fortunes, but such atonement does not efface the
sufferings of poverty and want they entail.
We say to the rich, do not wait until you die before you try to help your
fellow-men. Help them while you are living. When a man has made money he
should make a noble use of it, or he wrongs himself and the world.
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Where the cross has been planted only superstitions have grown.
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Religion is no more the parent of morality than an incubator is the mother
of a chicken.
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Unless some people change their habits before they die, there will be a
lot of dirty angels in the next world, if there is any next world.