THE HARMFUL EFFECTS OF SERVILE EMPLOYMENTS. THE POSSIBLE PRACTICE AND
EXHIBITION OF SINCERE HUMILITY BY RELIGIOUS PERSONS.
_April 7, 1867._
107. I have been waiting these three days to know what you would say
to my last questions; and now you send me two pamphlets of Combe's to
read! I never read anything in spring-time (except the Ai, Ai, on the
"sanguine flower inscribed with woe"); and, besides, if, as I gather
from your letter, Combe thinks that among well-educated boys there
would be a percentage constitutionally inclined to be cobblers, or
looking forward with unction to establishment in the oil and tallow
line, or fretting themselves for a flunkey's uniform, nothing that he
could say would make me agree with him. I know, as well as he does,
the unconquerable differences in the clay of the human creature: and I
know that, in the outset, whatever system of education you adopted, a
large number of children could be made nothing of, and would
necessarily fall out of the ranks, and supply candidates enough for
degradation to common mechanical business: but this enormous
difference in bodily and mental capacity has been mainly brought about
by difference in occupation, and by direct maltreatment; and in a few
generations, if the poor were cared for, their marriages looked after,
and sanitary law enforced, a beautiful type of face and form, and a
high intelligence, would become all but universal, in a climate like
this of England. Even as it is, the marvel is always to me, how the
race resists, at least in its childhood, influences of ill-regulated
birth, poisoned food, poisoned air, and soul neglect. I often see
faces of children, as I walk through the black district of St. Giles's
(lying, as it does, just between my own house and the British Museum),
which, through all their pale and corrupt misery, recall the old "Non
Angli," and recall it, not by their beauty, but by their sweetness of
expression, even though signed already with trace and cloud of the
coming life,--a life so bitter that it would make the curse of the
137th Psalm true upon our modern Babylon, though we were to read it
thus, "Happy shall _thy children_ be, if one taketh and dasheth them
against the stones."
108. Yes, very solemnly I repeat to you that in those worst treated
children of the English race, I yet see the making of gentlemen and
gentlewomen--not the making of dog-stealers and gin-drinkers, such as
their parents were; and the child of the average English tradesman or
peasant, even at this day, well schooled, will show no innate
disposition such as must fetter him forever to the clod or the
counter. You say that many a boy runs away, or would run away if he
could, from good positions to go to sea. Of course he does. I never
said I should have any difficulty in finding sailors, but I shall in
finding fishmongers. I am at no loss for gardeners either, but what
am I to do for greengrocers?
109. The fact is, a great number of quite necessary employments are,
in the accuratest sense, "Servile;" that is, they sink a man to the
condition of a serf, or unthinking worker, the proper state of an
animal, but more or less unworthy of men; nay, unholy in some sense,
so that a day is made "holy" by the fact of its being commanded, "Thou
shalt do no _servile_ work therein." And yet, if undertaken in a
certain spirit, such work might be the holiest of all. If there were
but a thread or two of sound fiber here and there left in our modern
religion, so that the stuff of it would bear a real strain, one might
address our two opposite groups of evangelicals and ritualists
somewhat after this fashion:--"Good friends, these differences of
opinion between you cannot but be painful to your Christian charity,
and they are unseemly to us, the profane; and prevent us from learning
from you what, perhaps, we ought. But, as we read your Book, we, for
our part, gather from it that you might, without danger to your own
souls, set an undivided example to us, for the benefit of ours. You,
both of you, as far as we understand, agree in the necessity of
humility to the perfection of your character. We often hear you, of
Calvinistic persuasion, speaking of yourselves as 'sinful dust and
ashes,'--would it then be inconsistent with your feelings to make
yourselves into 'serviceable' dust and ashes? We observe that of late
many of our roads have been hardened and mended with cinders; now, if,
in a higher sense, you could allow us to mend the roads of the world
with _you_ a little, it would be a great proof to us of your
sincerity. Suppose, only for a little while, in the present difficulty
and distress, you were to make it a test of conversion that a man
should regularly give Zaccheus's portion, half his goods, to the
poor, and at once adopt some disagreeable and despised, but thoroughly
useful, trade? You cannot think that this would finally be to your
disadvantage; you doubtless believe the texts, 'He that giveth to the
poor lendeth to the Lord,' and 'He that would be chief among you, let
him be your servant.' The more you parted with, and the lower you
stooped, the greater would be your final reward, and final exaltation.
You profess to despise human learning and worldly riches; leave both
of these to _us_; undertake for us the illiterate and ill-paid
employments which must deprive you of the privileges of society and
the pleasures of luxury. You cannot possibly preach your faith so
forcibly to the world by any quantity of the finest words, as by a few
such simple and painful acts; and over your counters, in honest retail
business, you might preach a gospel that would sound in more ears than
any that was ever proclaimed over pulpit cushions or tabernacle rails.
And, whatever may be your gifts of utterance, you cannot but feel
(studying St. Paul's Epistles as carefully as you do) that you might
more easily and modestly emulate the practical teaching of the silent
Apostle of the Gentiles than the speech or writing of his companion.
Amidst the present discomforts of your brethren you may surely, with
greater prospect of good to them, seek the title of Sons of
Consolation, than of Sons of Thunder, and be satisfied with Barnabas's
confession of faith, (if you can reach no farther,) who, 'having land,
sold it, and brought the money and laid it at the Apostles' feet.'
110. "To you, on the other hand, gentlemen of the embroidered robe,
who neither despise learning nor the arts, we know that sacrifices
such as these would be truly painful, and might at first appear
inexpedient. But the doctrine of self-mortification is not a new one
to you; and we should be sorry to think--we would not, indeed, for a
moment dishonor you by thinking--that these melodious chants, and
prismatic brightnesses of vitreous pictures, and floral graces of
deep-wrought stone, were in any wise intended for your own poor
pleasures, whatever profane attraction they may exercise on more
fleshly-minded persons. And as you have certainly received no definite
order for the painting, carving, or lighting up of churches, while the
temple of the body of so many poor living Christians is so pale, so
mis-shapen, and so ill-lighted; but have, on the contrary, received
very definite orders for the feeding and clothing of such sad
humanity, we may surely ask you, not unreasonably, to humiliate
yourselves in the most complete way--not with a voluntary, but a
sternly _in_voluntary humility--not with a show of wisdom in
will-worship, but with practical wisdom, in all honor, to the
satisfying of the flesh; and to associate yourselves in monasteries
and convents for the better practice of useful and humble trades. Do
not burn any more candles, but mould some; do not paint any more
windows, but mend a few where the wind comes in, in winter time, with
substantial clear glass and putty. Do not vault any more high roofs,
but thatch some low ones; and embroider rather on backs which are
turned to the cold, than only on those which are turned to
congregations. And you will have your reward afterwards, and attain,
with all your flocks thus tended, to a place where you may have as
much gold, and painted glass, and singing, as you like."
Thus much, it seems to me, one might say with some hope of acceptance,
to any very earnest member of either of our two great religious
parties, if, as I say, their faith could stand a strain. I have not,
however, based any of my imaginary political arrangements on the
probability of its doing so; and I trust only to such general good
nature and willingness to help each other, as I presume may be found
among men of the world; to whom I should have to make quite another
sort of speech, which I will endeavor to set down the heads of, for
you, in next letter.