From this survey of Glory, according to common acceptance, and of its
influence as a motive of conduct, I advance to the third and concluding
head,--What are True Fame and Glory, and who are the men most worthy
of honor? The answer is already implied, if not expressed, in much of
the discussion through which we have passed; but it may not be without
advantage to dwell upon it more at length.
From the vicious and barbarous elements entering into past conceptions
of Glory, it is evident that there must be a surer and higher standard.
A degraded public opinion naturally fails to appreciate excellence
not in harmony with its own prejudices, while it lavishes regard upon
conduct we would gladly forget. Genius, too, in all ages, (such is the
melancholy story of Humanity,) has stooped to be sycophant, apologist,
or friend of characters never to be mentioned without disgust.
Historian, poet, and philosopher, false to every sacred office, have
pandered to the praise of those who should have been gibbeted to
the condemnation of mankind. Lucan, the youthful poet of Freedom,
offers in his "Pharsalia" the incense of adulation to the monster
Nero; Quintilian, the instructor, pauses in his grave "Institutes of
Oratory" to speak of the tyrant Domitian as _most holy_; Paterculus,
the historian, extols Tiberius and Sejanus; Seneca, the philosopher,
condescends, in his treatise on Consolation, to flatter the imbecile
Claudius; while, not to multiply instances in modern times, Corneille,
the grandest poet of France, prefaced one of his tragedies with a
tribute to the crafty tyrant Mazarin; and our own English Dryden lent
his glowing verse to welcome and commemorate a heartless, unprincipled
monarch and a servile court.
Others, while refraining from eulogy, unconsciously surrender to
sentiments and influences, the _public opinion_, of the age in which
they Live,--investing barbarous characters and scenes, the struggles
of selfishness and ambition, and even the movements of conquering
robbers, with colors too apt to fascinate or mislead. Not content with
that candor which should guide our judgment alike of the living and the
dead, they yield sympathy even to injustice and wrong, when commended
by genius or elevated by success, and especially if coupled with the
egotism of a vicious patriotism. Not feeling practically the vital
truth of Human Brotherhood, and the correlative duties it involves,
they are insensible to the true character and the shame of transactions
by which it is degraded or assailed, and in their estimate depart from
that standard of Absolute Right which must be the only measure of true
and permanent Fame.
Whatever may be temporary applause, or the expression of public
opinion, it may be asserted without fear of contradiction, _that no
true and permanent Fame can be_ _founded except in labors which
promote the happiness of mankind_. If these are by Christian means,
with disinterested motives, and with the single view of doing good,
they become that rare and precious virtue whose fit image is the
spotless lily of the field, brighter than Solomon in all his Glory.
Earth has nothing of such surpassing loveliness. Heaven may claim the
lustre as its own. Such labors are the natural fruit of obedience to
the great commandments. Reason, too, in harmony with these laws, shows
that the true dignity of Humanity is in the moral and intellectual
nature, and that the labors of Justice and Benevolence, directed by
intelligence and abasing that part which is in common with beasts, are
the highest forms of human conduct.
In determining the praise of actions, four elements may be regarded:
_first_, the difficulties overcome; _secondly_, the means employed;
_thirdly_, the motives; and, _fourthly_, the extent of good
accomplished. If the difficulties are petty, or the means employed
low, vulgar, barbarous, there can be little worthy of highest regard,
although the motives are pure and the results beneficent. If the
motives are selfish, if a desire of power or wealth or Fame intrude
into the actions, they lose that other title to regard springing from
beauty and elevation of purpose, even if the conduct be mistaken or
weak, and the results pernicious. Horne Tooke claimed for himself no
mean epitaph, when he asked for himself after death the praise of
good intentions. Still further,--if little or no good arises, and the
actions fail to be ennobled by high and generous motives, while the
means employed are barbarous and unchristian, and the difficulties
overcome are trivial, then surely there is little occasion for
applause, although worldly success or the bloody eagle of victorious
battle attend them.
Here we encounter the question, What measure of praise shall be
accorded to war, or to the profession of arms? Thus far, great generals
and conquerors have attracted the largest share of admiration. They
swell the page of history. For them is inspiring music, the minute-gun,
the flag at half-mast, the trophy, the monument. Fame is a plant whose
most luxuriant shoots have grown on fields of blood. Are these vigorous
and perennial, or are they destined to perish and fall to earth beneath
the rays of the still ascending sun?
There are not a few who will join with Milton in his admirable judgment
of martial renown:--
"They err who count it glorious to subdue
By conquest far and wide, to overrun
Large countries, and in field great battles win,
Great cities by assault. What do these worthies
But rob and spoil, burn, slaughter, and enslave
Peaceable nations, neighboring or remote,
Made captive, yet deserving freedom more
Than those, their conquerors, who leave behind
Nothing but ruin, wheresoe'er they rove,
And all the flourishing works of peace destroy?"[217]
[217] Paradise Regained, Book III. 71-80.
This interesting testimony finds echo in another of England's
remarkable characters, Edmund Waller,--himself poet, orator, statesman,
man of the world,--who has left on record his judgment of True Glory,
in a valedictory poem, written at the age of eighty, when the passions
of this world no longer obscured the clear perception of duty. At an
earlier period of life he had sung of war. Mark the change in this
swan-like note, which might disenchant even the eloquence of Cicero,
covetous of Fame:--
"Earth praises conquerors for shedding blood;
Heaven, those that love their foes and do 'em good.
It is terrestrial honor to be crowned
For strewing men, like rushes, on the ground:
True Glory 'tis to rise above them all,
Without the advantage taken by their fall.
He that in fight diminishes mankind
Does no addition to his stature find;
But he that does a noble nature show,
Obliging others, still does higher grow:
For virtue practised such an habit gives
That among men he like an angel lives;
Humbly he doth, and without envy, dwell,
Loved and admired by those he does excel.
* * * * *
Wrestling with Death, these lines I did indite;
No other theme could give my soul delight.
O that my youth had thus employed my pen,
Or that I now could write as well as then!"[218]
[218] Of the Fear of God, Canto 2.
Well does the poet give the palm to moral excellence! But it is from
the lips of a successful soldier, cradled in war, the very pink
of warlike heroism, that we are taught to appreciate the Fame of
literature, which, though less elevated than that from disinterested
beneficence, is truer and more permanent than any bloody Glory. I
allude to Wolfe, conqueror of Quebec, who has attracted a larger
share of romantic interest than any other of the gallant generals in
English history. We behold him, yet young in years, at the head of
an adventurous expedition, destined to prostrate the French empire
in Canada,--guiding and encouraging the firmness of his troops in
unaccustomed difficulties,--awakening their personal attachment by
his kindly suavity, and their ardor by his own example,--climbing
the precipitous steeps which conduct to the heights of the strongest
fortress on the American continent,--there, under its walls, joining
in deadly conflict,--wounded,--stretched upon the field,--faint
from loss of blood,--with sight already dimmed,--his life ebbing
rapidly,--cheered at last by the sudden cry, that the enemy is
fleeing in all directions,--and then his dying breath mingling with
the shouts of victory. An eminent artist has portrayed this scene of
death in a much admired picture. History and Poetry have dwelt upon
it with peculiar fondness. Such is the Glory of arms! Happily there
is preserved to us a tradition of this day which affords the gleam
of a truer Glory. As the commander, in his boat, floated down the
current of the St. Lawrence, under cover of night, in the enforced
silence of a military expedition, to effect a landing at an opportune
promontory, he was heard repeating to himself, in subdued voice, that
poem of exquisite charm,--then only recently given to mankind, now
familiar as a household word wherever the mother tongue of Gray is
spoken,--the "Elegy in a Country Churchyard." Strange and unaccustomed
prelude to the discord of battle! As the ambitious warrior finished the
recitation, he said to his companions, in low, but earnest tone, that
he "would rather be the author of that poem than take Quebec."[219]
He was right. The Glory of that victory is already dying out, like a
candle in the socket. The True Glory of the poem still shines with
star-bright, immortal beauty.
[219] Grahame, History of the United States, Vol. IV. pp. 51, 52.
Passing from these testimonies, I would observe for a moment the nature
of Military Glory. Its most conspicuous element is courage, placed by
ancient philosophers among the four cardinal virtues: Aristotle seems
to advance it foremost. But plainly, of itself, it is neither virtue
nor vice. It is a quality in man possessed in common with a large
number of animals. It becomes virtue, when exercised in obedience to
the higher sentiments, with Justice and Benevolence as its objects. It
is of humbler character, if these objects are promoted by Force, or
by _the beast in man_. It is unquestionably vice, when, divorced from
Justice and Benevolence, it lends itself to the passion for wealth,
power, or Glory.
It is easy to determine that courage, though of the lion or tiger, when
employed in an unrighteous cause, cannot be the foundation of true and
permanent Fame. Mardonius and his Persian hosts in Greece, Cæsar and
his Roman legions in Britain, Cortés and his conquering companions
in Mexico, Pizarro and his band of robbers in Peru, the Scandinavian
Vikings in their adventurous expeditions of piracy, are all condemned
without hesitation. Nor can applause attend hireling Swiss, or Italian
chieftains of the Middle Ages, or bought Hessians of the British
armies, who sold their spears and bayonets to the highest bidder. And
it is difficult to see how those, in our own day, following _the trade
of arms_, careless of the cause in which it is employed, can hope for
better sympathy. An early English poet, of mingled gayety and truth,
Sir John Suckling, himself a professor of war, makes the soldier
confess the recklessness of his life:--
"I am a man of war and might,
And know thus much, that I can fight,
Whether I am i' th' wrong or right,
Devoutly."[220]
[220] A Soldier: Works, Vol. I. p. 82.
In such a spirit no True Glory can be achieved. And is not this
plainly the spirit of the soldier, regarded as a "machine" only,
and acting in unquestioning obedience to orders? No command of
Government, or any human power, can sanctify wrong; nor can rules of
military subordination, or prejudices of an unchristian patriotism,
dignify conduct in violation of heaven-born sentiments. The inspiring
inscription at Thermopylæ said, "O stranger, tell the Lacedæmonians
that we lie here _in obedience to their commands_";[221] but the three
hundred Lacedæmonians who there laid down their lives were stemming, in
those narrow straits, the mighty tide of Xerxes, as it rolled in upon
Greece.
[221] Simonides, apud Herod. Hist., Lib. VIII. c. 229.
To all defenders of freedom or country the heart goes forth with
cordial, spontaneous sympathy. May God defend the right! Their cause,
whether in victory or defeat, is invested with the interest which from
the time of Abel has attached to all who suffer from the violence of a
brother-man. But their unhappy strife belongs to the DISHONORABLE
BARBARISM of the age,--like the cannibalism of an earlier period,
or the slavery of our own day.
Not questioning the right of self-defence, or undertaking to consider
the sanctions of the _Institution_ of War as an established Arbiter
of Justice between nations, or its necessity in our age, all may join
in regarding it as an _unchristian institution_, and a _melancholy
necessity_, offensive in the sight of God, and hostile to the best
interests of men. A field of battle is a scene of execution _according
to the laws of war_,--without trial or judgment, but with a thousand
Jack Ketches in the odious work.[222] And yet the acts of hardihood
and skill here displayed are entitled "brilliant"; the movements
of the executioners in gay apparel are praised as "brilliant"; the
destruction of life is "brilliant"; the results of the _auto da fé_
are "brilliant"; the day of this mournful tragedy is enrolled as
"brilliant"; and Christians are summoned to commemorate with _honor_ a
scene which should rather pass from the recollection of men.
[222] A brilliant writer, who never fails to exalt war, recognizes
the parallel between the soldier and the executioner; but he
finds the soldier so noble as to ennoble even the work of the
executioner, when called to perform it.--Joseph de Maistre, Les
Soirées de Saint-Pétersbourg, Tom. II. pp. 4-13.
The example even of martial Rome may here teach us one great lesson.
Recognizing the fellowship of a common country, conflicts between
citizens were condemned as _fratricidal_. _Civil_ war was branded as
_guilt_ and _crime_. The array of opposing forces, drawn from the bosom
of the same community, knit together by the same political ties, was
pronounced _impious_, even where they appeared under such cherished
names as Pompey and Cæsar:--
"_Impia_ concurrunt Pompeii et Cæsaris arma."[223]
As the natural consequence, victories in these fraternal feuds were
held to be not only unworthy of praise, but never to be mentioned
without blame. Even if countenanced by _justice_ or dire _necessity_,
they were none the less mournful. _No success over brethren of the
same country could be the foundation of honor._ And so firmly was
this principle embodied in the very customs and institutions of
Rome, that no _thanksgiving_ or religious ceremony was allowed by
the Senate in commemoration of such success; nor was the _triumph_
permitted to the conquering chief whose hands were red with the blood
of fellow-citizens. Cæsar forbore even to send a herald of his unhappy
victories, and looked upon them with _shame_.[224]
[223] Lucan, Pharsalia, Lib. VII. 196.
[224] See Illustrations at the end of this Oration.
As we recognize the commanding truth, that God "hath made of one
blood all nations of men," and that all his children are brethren,
the distinctions of country disappear, ALL WAR BECOMES
FRATRICIDAL, and victory is achieved only by shedding a brother's
blood. The soul shrinks from contemplation of the scene, and, while
refusing to judge the act, confesses its unaffected sadness.
"The pomp is darkened, and the day o'ercast."
It was natural that ancient Heathen, strangers to the sentiment of
Human Brotherhood, should limit their regard to the narrow circle
of country,--as if there were magical lines within which strife and
bloodshed are shame and crime, while beyond this pale they are great
Glory. Preparing for battle, the Spartans sacrificed to the Muses,
anxious for the countenance of these divinities, to the end that their
deeds might be fitly described, and deeming it a heavenly favor that
witnesses should behold them. Not so the Christian. He would rather
pray that the recording angel would blot with tears all recollection of
the fraternal strife in which he was sorrowfully engaged.
This conclusion, however repugnant to the _sentiment_ of Heathenism or
the _practice_ of Christian nations, stands on the Brotherhood of Man.
Because this truth is imperfectly recognized, the Heathen distinction
between _civil_ war and _foreign_ war is yet maintained. To the
Christian, every fellow-man, whether remote or near, whether of our own
country or of another, is "neighbor" and "brother"; nor can any battle,
whether between villages or towns or states or countries, be deemed
other than _shame_,--like the civil wars of Rome, which the poet aptly
said could bear no _triumphs_:--
"Bella geri placuit _nullos habitura triumphos_."[225]
[225] Lucan, Pharsalia, Lib. I. 12.
The same mortification and regret with which we regard the hateful
contest between brothers of one household, kinsmen of one ancestry,
citizens of one country, must attend every scene of strife; for are we
not _all_, in a just and Christian sense, brethren of one household,
kinsmen of one ancestry, citizens of one country,--the world? The
inference is irresistible, that no success in arms against fellow-men,
no triumph over brothers, flesh of our flesh and bone of our bone,
no destruction of the life which God has given to his children, no
assault upon his sacred image in the upright form and countenance of
man, no effusion of human blood, _under whatever apology of necessity
vindicated_, can be the foundation of Christian Fame.
Adverse to the prejudices of mankind as such conclusion may be, it
must find sympathy in the refined soul and the inner heart of man,
while it is in harmony with those utterances, in all ages, testifying
to the virtue whose true parent is Peace. The loving admiration,
so spontaneously offered to the Christian graces which adorned the
Scipios, hesitates at those scenes of blood which gave to them the
unwelcome eminence of "the two thunderbolts of war." The homage
freely accorded to forbearance, generosity, or forgiveness, when seen
in the spectral glare of battle, is a tacit rebuke to the hostile
passions whose triumphant rage constitutes the Glory of arms. The
wail of widows and orphans, and the sorrows of innumerable mourners
refusing to be comforted, often check the gratulations of success.
Stern warriors, too, in the paroxysm of victory, by unwilling tears
vindicate humanity and condemn their own triumphs. More than one, in
the dread extremities of life, has looked back with regret upon his
career of battle, or perhaps, like Luxembourg of France, confessed that
he would rather remember a cup of cold water given to a fellow-creature
in poverty and distress than all his victories, with their blood,
desolation, and death. Thus speaks the heart of man. No true Fame can
flow from the fountain of tears.
The achievements of war and the characters of conquerors have been
exposed by satire, under whose sharp touch we see their unsubstantial
renown.
"Heroes are much the same, the point's agreed,
From Macedonia's madman to the Swede."
Nobody has done this more plainly than Rabelais, who, in an age when
Peace was only a distant vision, gave expression to those sentiments,
often vague and undefined, which have their origin in the depths of the
human soul. In the Life of Pantagruel, that strange satire, compounded
of indecency, humor, effrontery, and learning, one of the characters,
after being very merry in hell, talking familiarly with Lucifer, and
penetrating to the Elysian Fields, recognizes some of the world's great
men, but changed after a very extraordinary manner. Alexander the Great
is mending and patching old breeches and stockings, and thus obtains
a very poor living. Achilles is a maker of hay-bundles; Hannibal, a
kettle-maker, and seller of egg-shells. All the knights of the Round
Table are poor day-laborers, employed to row over the rivers Cocytus,
Phlegethon, Styx, Acheron, and Lethe, when, according to Rabelais, "my
lords the devils have a mind to recreate themselves upon the water,
as on like occasion one hires the boatmen at Lyons, the gondoliers of
Venice, or oars of London,--but with this difference, that these poor
knights have for their fare only a bob or flirt on the nose, and in the
evening a morsel of coarse, mouldy bread."[226] Such is the wretched
contrast between the judgment of earth and that other judgment, which
cannot be arrested when earth has passed away.
[226] Pantagruel, Book II. ch. 30.
Whatever the voice of poets, moralists, satirists, and even of
soldiers, it is certain that the Glory of arms still exercises no mean
influence over the human mind. The "red planet Mars" is still in the
ascendant. The Art of War, which a French divine has happily termed
"the baleful art of teaching men to exterminate one another,"[227] is
yet held, even among Christians, an honorable pursuit; and the animal
courage which it stimulates and develops is prized as transcendent
virtue. It will be for another age and a higher civilization to
appreciate the more exalted character of Beneficence as an Art,--the
art of extending happiness and all good influences, by word or deed,
to the largest number of mankind,--while, in blessed contrast with the
misery, degradation, and wickedness of war, shines resplendent the True
Grandeur of Peace. All then will be willing to join with the early poet
in saying,--
"Though louder Fame attend the martial rage,
'Tis greater Glory to reform the age."[228]
[227] "L'art militaire, c'est à dire, l'art funeste d'apprendre
aux hommes à s'exterminer les uns les autres."--Massillon, Oraison
Funèbre de Louis le Grand.
[228] Waller, Of Queen Catharine, on New Year's Day, 1683.
Then shall the soul thrill with a nobler heroism than that of battle,
while peaceful Industry, with untold multitudes of cheerful and
beneficent laborers, takes the place of War and its works,--while
Literature, full of comfort and sympathy for the heart of man, rejoices
in happiest empire,--while Science, with extensive sceptre, advances
the bounds of knowledge and power, adding unimaginable strength to
the hands of men, opening immeasurable resources in the earth, and
revealing new secrets and harmonies in the skies,--while Art, elevated
and refined, lavishes fresh images of beauty and grace,--while
Charity, in streams of milk and honey, diffuses itself through all the
habitations of the world.
Does any one ask for signs of this coming era? The increasing knowledge
and beneficence of our own day, the broad-spread sympathy with human
suffering, the widening thoughts of men, the longings of the heart for
a higher condition on earth, the unfulfilled promises of Christian
Progress, are the auspicious auguries of this Happy Future. Not to the
Great Navigator alone, but to all now toiling for the new and glorious
future, may be addressed the inspiring verses of the German poet:--
"Steer, bold mariner, on! albeit witlings deride thee,
And the steersman drop idly his hand at the helm;
Ever, ever to westward! there must the coast be discovered,
If it but lie distinct, luminous lie in thy mind.
Trust to the God that leads thee, and follow the sea that is silent;
Did it not yet exist, now would it rise from the flood.
Nature with Genius stands united in league everlasting;
What is promised by one surely the other performs."[229]
[229] Schiller, Columbus.
As early voyagers over untried realms of waste, we have already
observed the signs of land. The green twig and fresh red berry have
floated by our bark; the odors of the shore fan our faces; nay, we
descry the distant gleam of light, and hear from the more earnest
watchers, as Columbus heard, after midnight, from the mast-head of the
Pinta, the joyful cry of _Land! Land!_ and, lo! a New World breaks upon
our morning gaze.
A new order of heroes and of great men will then be recognized, while
the history of the Past will be reviewed, to re-judge the Fame awarded
or withheld. There are many, having high place in the world's praise,
from whom a righteous Future will avert the countenance, so that they
will know at last the neglect which has thus far been the lot of better
men; but there are others, little regarded during life, sleeping in
humble or unknown earth, who shall become the favorites of True Glory.
At Athens there was an altar dedicated to the Unknown God. The time is
at hand, when the company of good men whose lives are without record or
monument will find at length an altar of praise.
Then will be cherished, not those who, from accident of birth, or
by selfish struggle, have succeeded in winning the attention of
mankind,--not those who have commanded armies in barbarous war,--not
those who have exercised power or swayed empire,--not those who have
made the world tributary to their luxury and wealth,--not those who
have cultivated knowledge, regardless of their fellow-men. Not present
Fame, nor war, nor power, nor wealth, nor knowledge, alone, can secure
an entrance to this true and noble Valhalla. Here will be gathered
those only who have toiled, each in his vocation, for the welfare of
the race. Mankind will remember those only who have remembered mankind.
Here, with the apostles, the prophets, and the martyrs, shall be
joined the glorious company of the world's benefactors,--the goodly
fellowship of truth and duty,--the noble army of statesmen, orators,
poets, preachers, scholars, men in all walks of life, who have striven
for the happiness of others. If the soldier finds a place in this
sacred temple, it will be not _because_, but _notwithstanding_, he was
a soldier.
* * * * *
"_God alone is great!_" Such was the admired and triumphant exclamation
with which Massillon opened his funeral discourse on the deceased
monarch of France, called in his own age Louis _the Great_. It is in
the attributes of God that we find the elements of true greatness. Man
is great by the godlike qualities of Justice, Benevolence, Knowledge,
and Power. And as Justice and Benevolence are higher than Knowledge
and Power, so are the just and benevolent higher than those who are
intelligent and powerful only. Should all these qualities auspiciously
concur in one person on earth, then might we look to behold a mortal,
supremely endowed, reflecting the image of his Maker. But even
Knowledge and Power, without those higher attributes, cannot constitute
true greatness. It is by his Goodness that God is most truly known;
so also is the Great Man. When Moses said unto the Lord, "Show me thy
Glory," the Lord answered, "I will make all my Goodness pass before
thee."[230]
[230] Exodus, xxxiii. 18, 19.--It was a saying of Heathen
Antiquity, that to help a mortal was to be a God to a mortal, and
this is the way to everlasting Glory: "Deus est mortali juvare
mortalem, et hæc ad æternam Gloriam via."--Plin., Nat. Hist., II. 7.
It will be easy to distinguish between those merely memorable in the
world's annals and those truly great. Reviewing the historic names
to which flattery or a false appreciation of character has awarded
this title, we find its painful inaptitude. Alexander, drunk with
victory and with wine, whose remains, after early death at the age
of thirty-two, were borne through conquered Asia on a funeral car
glittering with massive gold and wonderful in magnificence, was not
truly great. Cæsar, ravager of distant lands, and trampler upon the
liberties of his own country, with an unsurpassed combination of
intelligence and power, was not truly great. Louis the Fourteenth of
France, magnificent spendthrift monarch, prodigal of treasure and of
blood, always panting for renown, was not truly great. Peter of Russia,
organizer of material prosperity in his vast empire, murderer of his
own son, despotic, inexorable, unnatural, savage, was not truly great.
Frederic of Prussia, heartless and consummate general, skilled in the
barbarous art of war, who played the game of robbery with human lives
for dice, was not truly great. There is little of true grandeur in
any such career. None of the Beatitudes showered upon them a blessed
influence. They were not poor in spirit, or meek, or merciful, or pure
in heart. They were not peacemakers. They did not hunger and thirst
after Justice. They did not suffer persecution for Justice's sake.
It is men like these, that the good Abbé St. Pierre, in works deserving
well of mankind, has termed _Illustrious_, in contradistinction to
_Great_. Their influence was extensive, their power mighty, their names
famous; but they were barbarous, selfish, and inhuman in aim, with
little of love to God and less to man.
There is another and a higher company that thought little of praise or
power, whose lives shine before men with those good works which glorify
their authors. There is Milton, poor and blind, but "bating not a jot
of heart or hope,"--in an age of ignorance the friend of education,
in an age of servility and vice the pure and uncontaminated friend of
freedom, tuning his harp to those magnificent melodies which angels
might stoop to hear, and confessing his supreme duties to Humanity in
words of simplicity and power. "I am long since persuaded," was his
declaration, "that, to say or do aught worth memory and imitation,
no purpose or respect should sooner move us than simply the love of
God and of mankind."[231] There is Vincent de Paul, of France, once a
captive in Algiers. Obtaining freedom by happy escape, this fugitive
slave devoted himself with divine success to works of Christian
benevolence,--the establishment of hospitals, visiting those in prison,
the spread of amity and peace. Unknown, he repairs to the galleys at
Marseilles, and, touched by the story of a poor convict, takes the
heavy chains upon himself, that this fellow-man may leave to visit his
wife and children; and then, moved by the sorrows of France bleeding
with war, hurries to her powerful minister, the Cardinal Richelieu,
and on his knees entreats,--"Give us peace! have pity upon us! give
peace to France!"[232] There is Howard, the benefactor of those on
whom the world has placed its brand,--whose charity, like that of the
Frenchman, inspired by the single desire of doing good, illumined
the gloom of the dungeon as with angelic presence. "A person of more
ability," he says, in sweet simplicity, "with my knowledge of facts,
would have written better; but the object of my ambition was not the
Fame of an author. _Hearing the cry of the miserable, I devoted my time
to their relief._"[233] And, lastly, there is Clarkson, who, while yet
a pupil of the University, commenced those life-long labors against
slavery and the slave-trade which embalm his memory. Writing an essay
on the subject as a college exercise, his soul warmed with the task,
and, at a period when even the horrors of "the middle passage" did
not excite condemnation, he entered the lists, the stripling champion
of the Right. He has left a record of the moment when this supreme
duty flashed upon him. He was horseback, on his way from Cambridge to
London. "Coming in sight of Wade's Mill, in Hertfordshire," he says, "I
sat down disconsolate on the turf by the roadside, and held my horse.
Here a thought came into my mind, that, if the contents of the Essay
were true, _it was time some person should see these calamities to
their end_."[234] Pure and noble impulse to a beautiful career!
[231] Of Education: Prose Works, Vol. I. p. 273.
[232] Biographie Universelle: Art. _Vincent de Paul_.
[233] Howard's State of the Prisons, p. 469.
[234] Clarkson's History of the Abolition of the African
Slave-Trade, Vol. I. p. 171.
Such are exemplars of True Glory. Without rank, office, or the sword,
they accomplished immortal good. While on earth, they labored for their
fellow-men; and now, sleeping in death, by example and works they
continue the same sacred office. To all, in every sphere or condition,
they teach the universal lesson of magnanimous duty. From the heights
of their virtue, they call upon us to cast out the lust of power,
of office, of wealth, of praise, of a fleeting popular favor, which
"a breath can make, as a breath has made,"--to subdue the constant,
ever-present suggestions of self, in disregard of neighbors, near
or remote, whose welfare should never be forgotten,--to check the
madness of party, which so often, for the sake of success, renounces
the very objects of success,--and, finally, to introduce into our
lives those sentiments of _Conscience_ and _Charity_ which animated
them to such labors. Nor should these be holiday virtues, marshalled
on great occasions only. They must become part of us, and of our
existence,--present on every occasion, small or great,--in those daily
amenities which add so much to the charm of life, as also in those
grander duties which require an ennobling self-sacrifice. The former
are as flowers, whose odor is pleasant, though fleeting; the latter are
like the costly spikenard poured from the box of alabaster upon the
head of the Lord.
To the supremacy of these principles let us all consecrate our best
purposes and strength. So doing, we must reverse the very poles of
worship in the past. Thus far men have bowed down before stocks,
stones, insects, crocodiles, golden calves,--graven images, of ivory,
ebony, or marble, often of cunning workmanship, wrought with Phidian
skill, but all _false gods_. Their worship in the future must be the
true God, our Father, as he is in heaven, and in the _beneficent_
labors of his children on earth. Then farewell to the Siren song of a
worldly ambition! Farewell to the vain desire of mere literary success
or oratorical display! Farewell to the distempered longing for office!
Farewell to the dismal, blood-red phantom of martial renown! Fame
and Glory may continue, as in times past, the reflection of public
opinion,--but of an opinion sure and steadfast, without change or
fickleness, illumined by those two eternal suns of Christian truth,
love to God and love to man.
All things will bear witness to the change, while the busy forms
of wrong and outrage disappear like evil spirits at the dawn. Then
shall the happiness of the poor and lowly have uncounted friends. The
cause of those in prison shall find fresh voices, the education of the
ignorant kindly supporters, the majesty of Peace other vindicators, the
sufferings of the slave new and gushing floods of sympathy. Then, at
last, shall the Brotherhood of Man stand confessed, filling the souls
of all with more generous life, prompting to deeds of beneficence,
conquering the Heathen prejudices of country, color, and race, guiding
the judgment of the historian, animating the verse of the poet and
the eloquence of the orator, ennobling human thought and conduct, and
inspiring those good works by which alone we attain the summits of
True Glory. Good Works! Such even now is the Heavenly Ladder on which
angels are ascending and descending, while weary Humanity, on pillows
of stone, slumbers heavily at its feet.