atmosphere of anxiety about what may or may not be said of us; to be
continually dwelling upon the personal impression we are making on
others; to be forever thinking of ourselves and never enlarging our
vision to the greatness of humanity; to dwell upon the littleness of
some people and forget the nobleness of others; these are the things that
belittle us and keep our souls from growing. It matters not who or what
are our enemies from without, so long as we keep free from those within.
And when it comes to that, if we attend diligently to shutting the door
on those within ourselves, we shall have no time for recognizing our foes
from without. We need the spirit of serenity and sweetness and patience
with our fellow-creatures; and to practice all these virtues. We need
more toleration for the opinions and the expressions of opinion from
others. We need to cultivate broader views; to remember the difference in
environment among women; to remind ourselves that heredity and training
in one part of the country may differ widely from the same things in
another section; and to educate ourselves up to a standard where we can
see that another woman is not necessarily wrong because she cannot see
things in just the same light, nor believe just the same way that we do.
One of the greatest things any movement can do for women is to develop
their sense of proportion. As the individual develops and broadens her
sympathies by doing for others, the small personal side of life fades
into the background; the weightier interests of humanity are grasped by
degrees, and the better qualities of womanhood come out in bolder relief.
In this evolution we are growing up to a point where petty jealousies
will never be recognized and small enmities will have no place.
Self-development and a new sort of self-possession is what we need.
“Human nature is so constituted,” some one says, “that it cannot see
one person rising above his fellows without experiencing the pangs of
jealousy. No sooner does one of us rise, either by force of our own
abilities or by a combination of outside circumstances, than do some whom
we had once called friends set to work to pull us down, to belittle our
influence and to malign our motives. Human nature cannot stand success
in other people.” Some human nature cannot, perhaps. But there are as
many kinds of human nature as there are people in the world. We talk
as if human nature was one solid lump of which everybody is fashioned,
and consequently we must all be alike at heart—as a bushel of peas.
Thank God there are more kindly natures in the world than unkindly, and
a hundred good friends who rejoice at our success to one who gives it
grudging favor. The world is a much better place than we give it credit
for being. The trouble is we make more fuss over the one enemy than we do
over five hundred friends, staunch and true. There is lots of lovable,
kindly, faithful, generous human nature lying around loose. It is easy to
forgive our enemies by forgetting that we have them. It is easy to make
good cheer for others by keeping it first in our own hearts. The selfish
inlooking soul is never happy; the broad-visioned worker for humanity may
always be so. Which shall we choose?
Let us look out and not in; let us forget the annoyances of life and
recognize only the kindness and nobleness of humanity; let us give
generously of ourselves, seeking nothing in return.
We worry too much about what somebody has said or may say against us.
Some petty criticism which should be beneath our notice keeps many a
woman tossing on a restless pillow half the night.
Said a white sister for whom old Aunt Hannah was washing:
“Aunt Hannah, did you know that you have been accused of stealing?”
“Yes, I hearn about it,” said Aunt Hannah, and went on with her washing.
“Well, you won’t rest under it, will you?” said the sister.
Aunt Hannah raised herself up from her work, with a broad smile on her
face, and looking up full at the white sister, said:
“De Lord knows I ain’t stole nuthin’, and I knows I ain’t, an’ life’s too
short for me to be provin’ and ’splainin’ all de time; so I jest goes on
my way rejoicin’. Dey know dey ain’t tellin’ the truf, and dey’ll feel
ashamed and quit after awhile. If I can please de Lord dat is enough for
me.”
Let us remember this, and be satisfied with pleasing the Lord. And let us
not be too critical of others. Says Marcus Aurelius:
“How much trouble he avoids who does not look to see what his neighbor
says, or does, or thinks, but only to what he does himself, that it may
be just and pure.”
There is always danger of forming ourselves into a mutual
admiration society, and nothing is more of a hindrance to progress.
Self-satisfaction is fatal to self-development. And here our enemies may
have been all actual benefit to us, in order that we might not think
more of ourselves than we ought to have done.
Somebody once sent me a printed motto which I keep over my working-desk,
and read often. I do not know who, seeing it, recognized in it a message
for me, but I pass it along to you. It is called “The Foot Path to
Peace,” and is signed by Henry Van Dyke, whose writings show such a
wonderful appreciation of nature as God’s best minister. It reads as
follows:
“To be glad of life because it gives you the chance to love and to work
and to play and to look up at the stars; to be satisfied with your
possessions but not contented with yourself until you have made the best
of them; to despise nothing in the world except falsehood and meanness,
and to fear nothing except cowardice; to be governed by your admirations
rather than by your disgusts; to covet nothing that is your neighbor’s
except his kindness of heart and gentleness of manners; to think
seldom of your enemies, often of your friends and every day of Christ,
and to spend as much time as you can with body and spirit in God’s
out-of-doors—these are little guide posts on the foot path to peace.”
There is a whole sermon in it. “To be governed by your admirations
rather than by your disgusts”—how many of us do this? Think what a
different atmosphere we should breathe, how much pleasanter our outlook
on life if we made this our rule. Again, “think seldom of your enemies,
often of your friends and daily of Christ,”—there is another “guide post
on the foot path to peace” which it is worth our while to linger over and
study. It is too easy to think often of our enemies, to poison our lives
and vitiate our whole moral atmosphere by dwelling upon their faults.
The truth is they are not worth our thinking about—unless we can do so
kindly and helpfully. We take our hosts of friends as a matter of course
and seldom congratulate ourselves that we have so many and such excellent
ones; but our one enemy! Alas! we let him or her sully our spirit
with all uncharitableness. She is not worth it. A high, clean soul is
infinitely better.
Let us walk together in the foot path to peace. We can find it if we
will; we can make for ourselves all these little guide posts along the
way. And we shall be much the better women and much better fitted for
life.
We have always before us the individual problem. We can solve it, not
in crowds nor in co-operation, but by wrestling with all cowardice and
meanness and narrowness and pettiness, and by looking up “to the stars”
and beyond them. Let us try.
Above all, let us love one another, and not hesitate to say the loving
word. Flattery is poison, but sincere approbation is a wholesome
stimulant. Let us speak the simple truth. A foolish reserve often makes
us withhold it. It seals the lips to the expression of the heart. It is
like locking the gate of a garden where roses bloom. Let their beauty and
perfume be freely given. True love never harms; it helps and ennobles.
For love is the fulfilling of the law. “Love your enemies.”
VI
ON MRS. GUMMIDGE
“Yes,” sighed that immortal woman, “I’m a lone, lorn creetur’ and not
only everything goes contrary with me, but I go contrary with everything.
I’d better die and be a riddance.” We all know Mrs. Gummidges. They exist
to-day in the family, in public life, in literature. Worse yet, there are
Mrs. Gummidges of both sexes.
If you venture some remarks during a discussion which call forth praise
from all the rest, Mrs. Gummidge looks superior; she regrets that you
should have been guilty of misstatement; or she notes a discrepancy
between what you say to-day and some other thing you said last year; and
how came you to fall into error when the magazines or the newspapers have
given such frequent opportunities for you to keep right? And after making
you feel too small and insignificant even to have an opinion of your
own, much less to express it, she remarks that she does not suppose other
people notice your errors, and that she only mentioned it because her own
critical acumen forced her to.
“Mrs. Gummidge’s was rather a fretful disposition,” says little David,
“and she whimpered sometimes more than was comfortable for other parties
in so small an establishment. I was very sorry for her, but there were
moments when I thought how much more agreeable it would be if Mrs.
Gummidge had a convenient apartment of her own to retire to, and had
stayed there until her spirits revived.” Alas! but our Mrs. Gummidge,
if she had such an apartment, would refuse to seek its solitude and
there bury or nurse her griefs; for she belongs to that class who
are gregarious. She insists that her whole world shall share in her
discomforts, bear her woes, carry her burdens.
Mrs. Gummidge, in short, was the queen of pessimists. True, after
being a lone, lorn creetur’ for many years she developed after the
most surprising fashion into a cheerful, busy worker. But so does any
confirmed pessimist when he or she realizes that there is honest, earnest
work cut out for his or her hand and no other. Those who discourse the
most fluently of the anguish and bitter woe of life are seldom those who
have felt the iron of sorrow in their own souls. They have more often
been soured by little disappointments, tormented by the pin-pricks of
a superficial existence; they know little of the heavy griefs which
discipline the soul.
We have been taught to believe that in the wise economy of nature nothing
superfluous has been created. But it certainly seems as if pessimism, as
a confirmed and habitual state of mind, is a quality of which the world
has no need. You and I have no right to drag our “lone-and-lorn-ness”
before our little public and make other people miserable when we might
make them happy. The confirmed pessimist is as much in need of missionary
work as ever was the wild Hottentot or the Fiji Islander. I learned a
hymn in childhood which was calculated to impress upon the juvenile mind
the power of a spoken word by showing how a word once spoken is gone from
us forever, but will go on for ages exerting a positive influence. The
logic of this hymn may have been far-fetched, but I think if people were
more generally brought up on it there would be a noticeable diminution
in the amount of useless talking done in the world.
What right have we to say words that shall depress or discourage the
hopes of other women? Hundreds of women lead lonely lives at home because
they are so busy with material things that they have no time for “high
thinking.” What right have we to utter careless words which shall fail
to raise their standards and quicken their desire for higher living? The
prophets of old felt that they had a message to bear to humanity and
their hearts burned within them until they uttered it. So ought all good
and earnest women to feel; and we may at least be sure we send forth no
depressing or unhealthy influences. “Of one thing I am sure,” says a
writer who has brought comfort to many women, “that I have never written
anything without a prayer in my heart that somewhere or somehow a human
soul might be the better for it. After all, we only hold the pen. The
dear God guides.” And this may apply to all of us, if we will.
I like Margaret Deland’s definition of happiness as “thinking straight
and seeing clear, and having a true perception of the value of things,”
but before reaching this high mental standpoint we must have many a
bonfire of what is narrow and feeble in us. A well-ordered home and a
mind filled with noble thoughts—what better equipment can we have for
the discouragement of Gummidge-ism? Perhaps the multiplication of these
is responsible for the fact that we are gradually outgrowing the old
habit of criticising each other, and learning to see and love the good
qualities in other women; we are even mastering that more difficult task
of learning to shut our eyes to their shortcomings in the remembrance
that none of us is perfect and that even we ourselves have our
limitations. And so we learn the great lesson of forbearance and charity,
and we become able to take our friends at their best.
The woman who is truly refined or who is attaining unto real culture will
not air her grievances in public places. There is a type of the feminine
gender that delights in holding forth on the subject of her family or
her neighborhood troubles in the street cars, and who enjoys the more or
less sympathetic attention of her fellow-passengers. But nobody would
be guilty of describing her as “truly cultured and refined.” There is
a kind of culture that is better than the ability to appreciate Charles
Lamb, or even to follow one’s favorite authors in delicious dreams where
eternity is entered and the fortunate aspirant is admitted to the society
of the Olympians. Very true, it cannot be acquired by cramming with
the lyrical or dramatic endings of Shakespeare’s lines, or the styles
of great artists whose names are difficult to spell and terrifying to
pronounce. It is something deeper, less selfish and more productive of
good to the world around us.
It is in our power to make our lives a beneficence to those who come
within our circle. Whether we will or no, the club movement is proving
such a beneficence. Let us resolve that we will enlarge our vision, that
we will broaden our sphere, that we will deepen our love to humanity,
that we will be true to our best selves.
Let us see to it that our hearts beat true; that they beat with sympathy
and love and sisterly charity; that they beat with high hope for the
future and a growing desire to help, and not hinder the work of making
the world a better place. God gives his prophets now as of old a message
to his people. Life with too many women is a treadmill. They need all
the stimulus they can get. If we realize how the things we say and the
things we do as individuals affect others, we should try at least to
guard our lips. We little think of the wounded souls near us ready to
drop the burden of life because of the dreary lack of a friendly word; we
are not conscious of the bereaved heart within our own radius, perhaps
dumb with despair; we do not realize that eager hearts are waiting
silently for some message of love and comfort; and so we are careless
and blind and cynical; and so we neglect our opportunities to be “God’s
messengers.”
In our anxiety to avoid being a “mush of concession,” as Emerson puts
it, let us not be that most uncomfortable person, the Chronic Objector.
I suppose it is true that sometimes we are pessimistic from physical
causes. Young people are usually inclined to morbid speculations. I
remember the sensation when I was young. I thought it came from a deep
appreciation of life’s mysteries; in reality it was the need of spring
medicine and liver pills. At a very early age I sought to give vent
to pent-up gloom and despair in blank verse patterned after Milton
at his best; but I committed the folly of repeating the first stanzas
to my older brother, who ridiculed me so unmercifully that my poetic
pessimism was nipped in the bud. Blushing with mortification I sought to
distract his mind from my poetry by playing at “see-saw” with him; but
he persisted, when his end of the board was uppermost, in screaming out
my beloved though gloomy stanzas in a derisive tone. It was very hard to
bear. But the world owes him a debt of gratitude—and so do I.
None of us is so humble that cheerful optimism is not in some sort a
duty. Not that we should go to extremes; and the out-and-out optimist is
seldom a good observer. But we should not indulge ourselves in sarcasm,
nor gloomy forebodings, nor in saying things that may be stumbling blocks
in the way of weaker sisters.
How much better to live a self-contained life—to maintain a steady
poise of character so that we shall be able to enjoy to the fullest the
winter’s work and the summer’s play. To be mistresses of ourselves, to
be calm and serene under all provocation, to be restful in ourselves and
therefore to others, to keep the love of God in our hearts simply and
humbly is to make of life a well-spring of joy, and to make of ourselves
a blessing and an inspiration to those around us. There are so many tired
souls, so many discouraged hearts, so many narrow-visioned ones, so many
weak ones that need the sunshine and courage and light and strength—how
dare we indulge ourselves in weakness or in discouragement?
When we are all through with life and the affairs of this world are only
a scroll of the past, if we shall find that a pathway has been smoothed
for somebody or a burden lightened for some one else; if we shall find
that even one sorrowing, heavy-hearted woman found comfort and the
source of all comfort from any word or any effort of ours, shall we then
ask—“Was it worth while?”
Let us make a little set of rules that can be easily learned and less
easily lived by. First, then, that we will seek the peace and the
strength that come from Mother Nature—for that is the sort that will make
better women of us.
That we will make our lives henceforth more profitable than ever.
That we will begin by doing everything required of us whether it happens
to be agreeable or not.
That we will make all days brighter for everybody because of our presence.
That we will seek out the poor, the unacquainted, the shabby and retiring
people and make them glad they belong to the same world as we do.
That we will, in everything, be true to ourselves; for then it shall
follow, as night follows day, that we cannot be untrue to any other woman.
That we will learn the gentle art of saying nothing uncharitable of any
person, no matter how great the provocation.
That the spirit of the right life means a broader charity, a greater
tolerance and a more universal, practical love for humanity; and that if
we are not learning all these we are missing our opportunity.
We might as well finish up with Saint Paul: “And now abideth faith, hope,
charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.” Good for
Saint Paul; old bachelor though he was, he had the requisites necessary
to make a good all-round woman himself. And were he alive to-day, he
wouldn’t say a thing about silence in the churches, either.
VII
ON MENTAL ATTITUDES
The charge is made against American women, and it is too true, that we
lack repose of manner. How can we show that in our manner which we lack
in our natures? And how can we possess repose of the soul when we never
allow ourselves a minute to catch up with ourselves, to commune with
the silent forces of nature, to inhale the strength and calmness and
courage that we might exhale again in the fragrance which we call, in
the rare instances when we behold it in others, repose of manner? Life
for the most of us is an insane scramble to catch up with things—and not
half the time do we know or care whether they are things worth catching
up with; nor are we satisfied if we succeed for a moment in reaching
them. Once in a while the futility of the chase comes over us in a brief
gleam of reason, but others around us are hurrying through life after
the unattainable, and we forget and scramble on, too, in unconscious
emulation of the old Scotch saying, “The de’il take the hindmost.”
If our whole existence is made up of excitement—no matter whether we
term it that or disguise it under the name of endless activity, how
shall we establish that serenity of soul without which the real nature
cannot expand, nor the reality of noble womanhood become the guiding
principle of life? Those feverish mentalities who demand front seats
at the great pageant of life with a constant change of scenes, do not
know true serenity. They are infected with the malaria of inefficiency
and crave excitement as an ague patient craves a quieting draft. They
miss the delight of relaxation and have no conception of the joys of
quiet leisure. Self-communion is unknown to them and they are utter
strangers to themselves. They are in a whirl that sucks them ever onward
and downward. Serenity is an unknown word to them and they know it not,
either at home or abroad; while to be alone with their own thoughts is a
discomfort they cannot endure.
Emerson says our real life is in the silent moments, and many of us have
realized this during the vacation season, when we have stumbled upon
serenity in country byways, by the seashore or in the solitude of city
homes, when “everybody” has gone away. Stevenson declares that gentleness
and cheerfulness are the greatest virtues, and above all other morality.
There are thousands of women who do not know how to rest, who cannot
enjoy the silent moments. Blessed be she who knows that the inner life
does not receive its highest pleasure from the doing of things; who finds
definite joy in accessions of serenity, whether these come in the silent
hours when the grate fire is dying, or during the mid-day rest or in the
pauses in conversation.
What should we do if we were suddenly isolated? Be oppressed with
intolerable loneliness at first, no doubt; and then we should begin to
think. I sometimes think it would be a blessed thing if every woman were
obliged to go into retreat occasionally, as the good Catholics do. The
silence of a quiet room where she could be undisturbed and could spend
a few days in thinking out the problems of life, even if she were not
spiritually inclined enough to seek a higher communion, would be of
inestimable benefit to the average woman. There is such a thing as too
much of attrition with other human beings. A stone that rolls ever about
restlessly in the rushing waters of a strong current becomes polished off
to look and feel like every other stone in its neighborhood. So we lose
our individuality and come to have no atmosphere of our own.
There are women who can never endure their own company for the space
of half an hour. Their one desire is to avoid themselves—to hide from
themselves in the company of others. Of such we are not talking, although
they are not utterly hopeless; since it would not be impossible that
loneliness or isolation from their kind should develop the habit of
thinking, even in them. But to the woman who wants to be individual,
who wants to be an inspiration and a help to others—if she only had
time—I would urge the appropriation of just a little bit of time every
day or every night for getting acquainted with her real self, for the
cultivation of her power of thought.
In this way we may minister to the inner needs of the soul, develop love
and patience and the helpful instinct which makes of women what God
meant them to be: His messengers to humankind. Just as the observance
of the Sabbath is a wise thing from a physiological point of view, so is
self-communion and its breathing-spaces a blessing to the intellectual
world.
Not that we should cease our activities utterly, or take time for morbid
contemplation of our own peculiarities or tendencies. There is a great
deal of work to be done, and work that seems to be meant for our own
hands and no other. Only we must learn to discriminate between actual
service and aimless work that accomplishes nothing, even for ourselves.
And service should enrich the giver before all others, should it not?
Again, serenity is not idleness. The most effective workers are those
who are never flurried and hurried, who do not lose their balance in the
turmoil of every-day living, nor rush about in fussy excitement. We must
be sure to do something—much, for others, and we shall find our days
crowded full as they grow shorter by the almanac; but it is our own fault
if we get flustered and worried, if we allow our activities to destroy
our serenity of soul or hamper the inner life.
This atmosphere of poise in which the nicely adjusted balance of our
powers may be maintained is a habit—a mode of life. It is often a matter
of temperament, but it may be acquired and nobody needs it more than she
who is born without it. Some are blessed by the fairy godmother with
happier dispositions than others. Still there is no despair for any of
us; if we have not the temperament which makes for happiness, it is our
first business to acquire it. Why go through this world perpetually
disgruntled when the world will concede so much to a smile?
Let us then develop this sort of spiritual capital as the main necessity
of life. Let us not toil unprofitably nor become engulfed in activity
for its own sake. Let us measure out for ourselves only just so much of
play as we can do well without losing our balance or frittering ourselves
away uselessly. It will take more self-denial for some of us than to go
the other way. It is always easier drifting with the tide than resisting
it—even though it be towards the whirlpool.