THERE IS GOOD IN ALL. Yes! we all believe it: not a man in the depth
of his vanity but will yield assent. But do you not all, in practice,
daily, hourly deny it? A beggar passes you in the street: dirty, ragged,
importunate. “Ah! he has a _bad_ look,” and your pocket is safe. He
starves--and he steals. “I thought he was _bad_.” You educate him in
the State Prison. He does not improve even in this excellent school.
“He is,” says the gaoler, “thoroughly _bad_.” He continues his course of
crime. All that is bad in him having by this time been made apparent
to himself, his friends, and the world, he has only to confirm the
decision, and at length we hear when he has reached his last step. “Ah!
no wonder--there was never any _Good_ in him. Hang him!”
Now much, if not all this, may be checked by a word.
If you believe in Good, _always appeal to it._ Be sure whatever there is
of Good--is of God. There is never an utter want of resemblance to the
common Father. “God made man in His own image.” “What! yon reeling,
blaspheming creature; yon heartless cynic; yon crafty trader; yon
false statesman?” Yes! All. In every nature there is a germ of eternal
happiness, of undying Good. In the drunkard's heart there is a memory of
something better--slight, dim: but flickering still; why should you not
by the warmth of your charity, give growth to the Good that is in him?
The cynic, the miser, is not all self. There is a note in that sullen
instrument to make all harmony yet; but it wants a patient and gentle
master to touch the strings.
You point to the words “There is _none_ good.” The truths do not oppose
each other. “There is none good--_save one._” And He breathes in all.
In our earthliness, our fleshly will, our moral grasp, we are helpless,
mean, vile. But there is a lamp ever burning in the heart: a guide to
the source of Light, or an instrument of torture. We can make it either.
If it burn in an atmosphere of purity, it will warm, guide, cheer us. If
in the midst of selfishness, or under the pressure of pride, its flame
will be unsteady, and we shall soon have good reason to trim our light,
and find new oil for it.
There is Good in All--the impress of the Deity. He who believes not in
the image of God in man, is an infidel to himself and his race. There is
no difficulty about discovering it. You have only to appeal to it. Seek
in every one the _best_ features: mark, encourage, educate _them._ There
is no man to whom some circumstance will not be an argument.
And how glorious in practice, this faith! How easy, henceforth, all
the labours of our law-makers, and how delightful, how practical the
theories of our philanthropists! To educate the _Good_--the good in
_All_: to raise every man in his own opinion, and yet to stifle all
arrogance, by showing that all possess this Good. _In_ themselves, but
not _of_ themselves. Had we but faith in this truth, how soon should
we all be digging through the darkness, for this Gold of Love--this
universal Good. A Howard, and a Fry, cleansed and humanized our prisons,
to find this Good; and in the chambers of all our hearts it is to be
found, by labouring eyes and loving hands.
Why all our harsh enactments? Is it from experience of the strength of
vice in ourselves that we cage, chain, torture, and hang men? Are none
of us indebted to friendly hands, careful advisers; to the generous,
trusting guidance, solace, of some gentler being, who has loved us,
despite the evil that is in _us_--for our little Good, and has nurtured
that Good with smiles and tears and prayers? O, we know not how like we
are to those whom we despise! We know not how many memories of kith and
kin the murderer carries to the gallows--how much honesty of heart the
felon drags with him to the hulks.
There is Good in All. Dodd, the forger, was a better man than most of
us: Eugene Aram, the homicide, would turn his foot from a worm. Do
not mistake us. Society demands, requires that these madmen should be
rendered harmless. There is no nature dead to all Good. Lady Macbeth
would have slain the old king, Had he not resembled her father as he
slept.
It is a frequent thought, but a careless and worthless one, because
never acted on, that the same energies, the same will to great vices,
had given force to great virtues. Do we provide the opportunity? Do we
_believe_ in Good? If we are ourselves deceived in any one, is not all,
thenceforth, deceit? if treated with contempt, is not the whole world
clouded with scorn? if visited with meanness, are not all selfish? And
if from one of our frailer fellow-creatures we receive the blow,
we cease to believe in women. Not the breast at which we have drank
life--not the sisterly hands that have guided ours--not the one voice
that has so often soothed us in our darker hours, will save the sex: All
are massed in one common sentence: all bad. There may be Delilahs: there
are many Ruths. We should not lightly give them up. Napoleon lost France
when he lost Josephine. The one light in Rembrandt's gloomy life was his
sister.
And all are to be approached at some point. The proudest bends to some
feeling--Coriolanus conquered Rome: but the husband conquered the
hero. The money-maker has influences beyond his gold--Reynolds made an
exhibition of his carriage, but he was generous to Northcote, and had
time to think of the poor Plympton schoolmistress. The cold are not all
ice. Elizabeth slew Essex--the queen triumphed; the woman _died._
There is Good in All. Let us show our faith in it. When the lazy whine
of the mendicant jars on your ears, think of his unaided, unschooled
childhood; think that his lean cheeks never knew the baby-roundness
of content that ours have worn; that his eye knew no youth of fire--no
manhood of expectancy. Pity, help, teach him. When you see the trader,
without any pride of vocation, seeking how he can best cheat you, and
degrade himself, glance into the room behind his shop and see there his
pale wife and his thin children, and think how cheerfully he meets
that circle in the only hour he has out of the twenty-four. Pity his
narrowness of mind; his want of reliance upon the God of Good; but
remember there have been Greshams, and Heriots, and Whittingtons; and
remember, too, that in our happy land there are thousands of almshouses,
built by the men of trade alone. And when you are discontented with the
great, and murmur, repiningly, of Marvel in his garret, or Milton in his
hiding-place, turn in justice to the Good among the great. Read how John
of Lancaster loved Chaucer and sheltered Wicliff. There have been Burkes
as well as Walpoles. Russell remembered Banim's widow, and Peel forgot
not Haydn.
Once more: believe that in every class there is Good; in every man,
Good. That in the highest and most tempted, as well as in the lowest,
there is often a higher nobility than of rank. Pericles and Alexander
had great, but different virtues, and although the refinement of the
one may have resulted in effeminacy, and the hardihood of the other in
brutality, we ought to pause ere we condemn where we should all have
fallen.
Look only for the Good. It will make you welcome everywhere, and
everywhere it will make you an instrument to good. The lantern of
Diogenes is a poor guide when compared with the Light God hath set in
the heavens; a Light which shines into the solitary cottage and the
squalid alley, where the children of many vices are hourly exchanging
deeds of kindness; a Light shining into the rooms of dingy warehousemen
and thrifty clerks, whose hard labour and hoarded coins are for wife
and child and friend; shining into prison and workhouse, where sin and
sorrow glimmer with sad eyes through rusty bars into distant homes and
mourning hearths; shining through heavy curtains, and round sumptuous
tables, where the heart throbs audibly through velvet mantle and silken
vest, and where eye meets eye with affection and sympathy; shining
everywhere upon God's creatures, and with its broad beams lighting up
a virtue wherever it falls, and telling the proud, the wronged, the
merciless, or the despairing, that there is “Good in All.”