unavoidable of all human feelings; for life is a battle, and the fear
that naturally arises in the presence of battle no man can banish; he
can but subdue it by uplifting his point of view. Whether this can
be done through the ancient Stoic or the modern Kantian philosophy,
we will leave to one side; I have no intention of making any one
dissatisfied with these paths. But I do wish to say that there is
a surer and shorter path, requiring less education and strength of
character, and open, not merely to an aristocracy of philosophical
culture, but to every one. If this had not been so, if Christianity
had not lifted the poor and the humble up out of the dust, a “gentry
morality” would long ago have come into exclusive mastery in the world,
as it was in a fair way of doing at the time Christianity was born.
In our day there are two common conceptions of Christianity, both
of them overpassing the mark: one of them makes of it a sentimental
lamblike bliss that finds its pleasurable sensations solely “in
Christ”; the other considers it a fearful vale of tears, an unending
succession of trials and sorrows. But Christianity is not so; its path
is really much easier than any other; for it not only demands, it
also creates, brave people--brave people who, free from complaining,
free from overmuch seeking of even rightful pleasures, free from any
cowardly flight from the world, in the very midst of the world hold up
unshaken the banner of righteousness and never despair of its victory.
This is the spirit that we most need to-day; and this is the sure mark
of a genuine Christian. If we will, we can be wholly without fear,
not only before the forces of nature, which all stand in God’s higher
power, but also before the cares of daily life, and before men, who may
do nothing hostile without God’s permission. Firmly to trust in God
in all he does or allows, even if one is ill, or troubled, or almost
in despair of any good outcome of a matter, that it is to serve God;
and in comparison with this, all your other church “services” possess
a distinctly subordinate worth. And so Luther, too, himself endowed
with this bravery in high degree, says thus: “The reason knows no
means of making the heart contented and trustful, in those times of
need when all the good things the world can give shall fail. But when
Christ comes, the outward adversities, indeed, he lets remain, but the
personality he strengthens; he makes the weak heart unterrified, and
the trembling heart he makes bold; and he turns the restless conscience
into one that is peaceful and still. And, therefore, such a man is
comforted, courageous, and joyous in those very matters in which all
the world else stands terrified; that is, in death, in terror for sin,
and in all the times of need when the world can no longer help with its
good things and its consolations. Then there will be a real and lasting
peace, ever enduring and invincible so long as the heart shall hold to
Christ.”
Then add to this that God is faithful and lets no one be tried beyond
his strength; yes, even before the greatest of physical and moral
dangers he often holds his hands over our eyes, so that we see them
only when past.
To be sure, all this is inconceivable to those who have not themselves
experienced in evil days that even in misfortune’s blackest hour a
calm, bright, yes, even blithe spirit can yet abide deep within the
heart inclined to God; and men of such experience, therefore, often
endure incredible things, and then, at the slightest gleam of the
sun, quickly again lift themselves up anew, bodily and spiritually
strengthened from within; while other men are submerged in the waters.
It can not be denied, however, that we learn a right courage only by
degrees and in days of sorrow; and it is generally only through such
days that we attain to the right conception of life and grow into a
larger mould. So true is this that perhaps no human being of any real
worth has ever yet gone through life without many sorrows, sorrows
that the Scriptures often and quite rightly compare to a refining fire
that can be made thoroughly hot only when there is much precious metal
present; but then it brings all the gold within a man to light. He who
is not willing to suffer renounces the greatest gifts of God, and rests
satisfied with smaller things, needlessly: for even in the greatest
trouble he has no need to fear; so long as he does fear, there is still
within him something wrong that must out.
With fear, anger also disappears; and anger in most cases is only fear
in disguise. The angry are not courageous, they are afraid; you may
nearly always count upon that with entire certainty. For example,
the restless zealots and agitators who think their mission is to save
Christianity from its death-bed through the might of their zeal and
hate--such “wrathful saints” are but a kindred variety with those
timid, sweetish people who are forever accommodating themselves to
things, particularly to things that are grand and aristocratic; for the
demeanor of both these classes springs from the one same source, their
fear.
But what most distresses men, often even those who are well advanced
on the road of the Christian life, is the feeling of a constantly
recurring weakness such as we know from the epistles of the bravest of
all the apostles, and such as each one of us indeed knows from his own
experience; with this almost universal singularity, that such spells
of weakness are often wont to come on when quite unlooked for, and
sometimes just after the best days of the inner life; and then they can
bow down the soul to a genuine despair.
As to this, the first thing to say, for the comfort of those thus bowed
down, is that whatever is strong and powerful in the world always bears
within it I know not what of rough and undivine. This we may ourselves
observe in the case of men of exuberant force; involuntarily, we never
have, concerning them, the feeling that they especially please God.
Christianity, we may be sure, is in no way planned upon the model of
such giants and demi-gods.
Besides, it is not hard to perceive the educative purpose in this
feeling of weakness. Pride and its sister vanity can be torn out, root
and branch, only after a long-unbroken succession of hard buffetings
has issued in a deep and lasting humility. Through this purgatory, from
end to end, the proud and the vain must pass at some time in their
lives, if anything is to be made of them. For “though the Lord be high,
yet hath he respect unto the lowly; but the proud he knoweth afar off;”
to the proud he assuredly never comes nigh. If, then, this sense of
weakness is concerned with spiritual growth itself, there is surely no
reason that we should be disheartened. Rather, it is a consolation,
in such inner doubts over the weakness of our faith, that when the
Galatians had slipped back into an unspiritual and petty conception
of religion, the Apostle Paul could, nevertheless, assure them, “Ye
are all the children of God by faith in Christ Jesus.” So long as
one’s faith has not entirely ceased, this time of weakness is only a
transient phase, and often bears more fruit than more resplendent days
do. And finally, the weakness may actually become a source of strength;
the feeling of one’s own power, flattering as it may be to one’s
pride, is rather a hindrance than a furtherance in the path of true
inner progress, and the most courageous men are not they who have the
greatest confidence in themselves, but they who have sure recourse to a
power that far transcends all powers.
When once this inward courage finds place in a well-tried man, then an
unassailable peace and joy, as the Scriptures promise, enter into the
soul till now often tossed by the waves of anguish and at times indeed
entirely bereft of hope. But henceforth it “shall dwell in a peaceable
habitation, and in sure dwellings, and in quiet resting places.”
A good life, quite purged of dross, is surely the highest of all things
attainable; yet, to those who are “comforted,” it is just this that
springs from an existence full, indeed, of ever-changing joys and
sorrows, but where no joy estranges one from God and no sorrow any
longer breeds impatience, for both joy and sorrow are received from
the same hand, as are the sunshine and the rain; and thankfully, for
both are inseparable elements in life. And their lives henceforth bear
blessing to others.
But, as far as compatible with the true well-being of a man guided by
God, his outward happiness also is far higher, and stands upon a surer
basis than is possible in any other conception of life. Yes, for such a
man all things again and again work together for good, even when he has
suffered seeming failure.
Such are the asseverations of the Bible; and are we to think that they
were meant only for the human beings of an age long vanished? Or may we
also apply them to our own use still to-day? Surely we may, if the God
of that day is still the God of this; and that is but a matter of test.
And we may hope it will, more commonly than hitherto, be put to the
test again, when all other attempts to regain a calm contentment and
a cheerful, healthy spirit of labor have suffered wreck, and when
a nervous humanity longs for real tranquillity again, and craves
some better bulwark against the increasing weariness of existence
than a merely materialistic conception of life affords. Then will
religion--and without any external compelling Authority, which can
never again in any manner be reëstablished--then will religion regain
anew its place in the life of the nations; whereas, now, it has often
become nothing but a pleasant play upon the feelings of leisurely or
(in a worldly sense) happy people, while to such as really need it to
deliver them in distress and sorrow, it is, through prejudice, closed.
Many of these latter, however, and perhaps at no very distant day,
will come to these old water-springs, now all but choked with rubbish;
though such an idea is far enough from their thoughts as yet. But,
wheresoever they may have tried, nowhere else can they still their
thirst for a tranquil philosophy of life. For what the old chronicler
said of Israel is true to-day: “The days will arise when there shall be
no true God, no law, and no priest to show the way; and in those times
there shall be no peace to him that goes out, nor to him that comes
in; for there will be great vexations upon all the inhabitants of the
earth; nation will break nation, and city city, and God will vex them
with all adversity.”
But as for you, you who find yourself upon the sure path of salvation
and peace, “be comforted, be strong, let not your hands be slack: for
your work shall be rewarded.”
III. ON THE KNOWLEDGE OF MEN
III. ON THE KNOWLEDGE OF MEN
Perhaps no one has ever seriously doubted that the ability to know and
to pass an accurate judgment on men closely concerns our practical
life; but whether a knowledge of human nature brings much happiness is
a question on which opinions have always differed. While some declare
that we really love men only so long as we do not know them, others
(like the duke in Goethe’s “Tasso”) believe that it is only so long as
we do not know men that we stand in fear of them; yet Goethe himself
seems partly to retreat from this conception in another expression of
his, where he says that while nothing is more interesting, indeed, than
to learn to know men, yet one must take care not to know oneself.
For our part, we believe at the outset that all knowledge of human
nature, even one’s own, can be but superficial, and that the real
depths of the soul, and especially the limits of its possibilities for
good and evil, God alone can fully know. But besides this, strange as
it may sound at first, the knowledge of men rests upon a basis of
pessimism joined with a considerable degree of love for human kind.
If any one looks upon humanity as something great and superior (not
so much in promise as in actual performance), he will, if he have
some measure of wisdom, find himself in the end disillusioned by his
life experiences. On the other hand, it is just as much a matter of
experience, with those who have known mankind most perfectly, that they
(Christ himself at the head) have always been friends to humanity; for
though they do not look upon man as quite free and nobly born, yet they
believe him destined to freedom and nobility of life. This gives them
their power to love him, in spite of his faults; yes, we may go so far
as to say, on account of his faults, just for the reason that love, in
this world at least, feels within it an impelling necessity to pity, to
save, to do good.
To understand men, therefore, we must first make sure that we love
them, and we must be, to a very considerable degree, independent of
them so far as our necessities go; for there must be as great an
absence of self-interest as possible on our part. Whoever desires to
get much out of men for his own advantage will always be blinded by
his interests, and whoever finds men necessary to himself will always
fear them. But the man who wishes to do something for them rather than
receive something from them, can alone really learn to know what they
are, and can tolerate that knowledge, even in its worst features,
without hating men; every one else, who is not a weakling, easily
falls into such a hatred of human kind. A thorough judge of men,
without love, would in fact be intolerable; the aversion against such
persons, who assert they are judges of men but who are at the same
time haters of men, is a very natural one, for it is based on a law of
self-defence. And so, you are not to use your knowledge of human nature
as something on which to construct the edifice of your own happiness;
but it is only in order that you may be the better able to further the
happiness of others that you are to desire to learn how rightly to
judge them. If you have any other purpose, you will never come to any
considerable attainments in this art.
The first step in the knowledge of human nature, so far as it is at all
attainable, is (quite contrary to Goethe’s view) self-knowledge and
self-improvement; the second step is the resolve to learn to know men
for their sake and not one’s own. But even so, we are not to expect a
perfect knowledge of so complicated a being as man; he does not even
succeed in understanding himself, or at the best gets only a partial
insight late in life; and then, too, no one individual is quite like
another. Rather, we must content ourselves with a certain number of
the results of experience; some of these we will try, later on, to set
before the reader.
The real secret of knowing human nature lies in possessing a pure heart
innocent of self-conceit; such people gradually acquire a keenness
of vision that pierces all the outer wrappings. The difficulty of
understanding men does not spring from the subtleties of a science of
“psychology,” but only from the difficulty of forgetting one’s own
self. We do not get to know men from whom we have something to hope or
to fear.
Even the prophetic gift is nothing else than a direct, intense insight
into human affairs,--their causes and effects. Such power resides in
every man who in large measure has set himself free from himself. But
self-seeking is like a veil of mist to hinder this power of vision,
which would otherwise be present.
An intercourse with men that rests upon a correct judgment of them is
therefore learned, not so much by frequent association with the men
themselves (as many believe), as through fellowship with God. If we
have this, then for the first time we begin to look upon men, both
the good and the evil, more with the just eyes of God; while, without
trust in Him, we must always rely more or less on men and so suffer the
disillusionments that will always follow.
In men, especially of the better sort, there is furthermore a necessity
that they shall worship something. Those who are not able to worship
anything transcendental throw a halo of fancy about certain men, and in
this self-deception not only lose all ability really to understand men,
but also work harm to those they reverence--if these are yet living and
are themselves poor judges of men. Wherever belief in God is lacking,
hero-worship, with all its detriments to the inner and outer freedom of
humanity, is unavoidable.
Every one can test this for himself. Whenever he finds himself fully
at peace with God, he at once becomes more indifferent toward men in
that very particular in which men are ordinarily most valued; for he no
longer cares for them for the sake of gaining some advantage. Indeed,
if the desire of conferring advantage upon them did not remain, he
feels that he could easily do without them altogether. For this reason
all ancient and mediæval monachism, as well as all modern pessimism,
are always somewhat suspicious in motive; for back of them lurks, for
the most part, either chagrin at not receiving, or disinclination to
give. Others, too, feel that this is so and are therefore, on the
whole, none too well disposed to men who thus hold aloof.
For there is nothing that men have a more instinctive discernment and
a greater aversion for than for self-seeking. Even the simplest, even
little children, yes, even animals, quickly find the selfish out, in
spite of all the pretence with which they surround themselves. Whoever
would acquire a strong influence over men must give up thoughts of
self-advantage. That is the surest way. For this reason children often
like grandparents more than parents, because they feel that in their
love is less of self; the parents are too much wrapped up in their
own concerns. Even the worst pessimists seek love, and no egotist is
earnest at bottom in his praise of egotism. But they despair of men’s
ability to be other than selfish, and they may be taught otherwise
only by repeated deeds; the mere phrases of love have long been
familiar to them, and they estimate them at about their correct value.
It does no good, therefore, to speak to them much of love; that will
only be misunderstood. At the most, speak of friendliness and public
benevolence; it seems to be less, yet is really more.
This spirit, then, is absolutely necessary if you would live in the
world without disgust at it; therefore acquire this spirit at any cost.
To understand the nature of any individual it is important to know
his derivation. Women in especial follow, almost without exception,
the character of their family, sons as a rule that of the mother or
the mother’s father, daughters oftener the paternal side. The proverb
that “the apple falls not far from its stem” indicates, therefore,
a strong presumption. Only, we often do not know the derivation
sufficiently well, and besides, with God’s mercy, a man can even
break away from a bad ancestry. As a matter of fact, there are no
“hereditary encumbrances” that can not be shaken off by God’s mercy
and man’s will. The assumption of such an unalterable fate is one of
the greatest sacrileges a man can make himself guilty of. On the other
hand, in the same limited sense, a certain aristocratic tendency is
warranted. Noteworthy individual characteristics, such as courage,
proper self-confidence, a natural fearlessness of men, fineness of
taste in all the matters of life, do not develop, as a rule, in the
first generation after breaking the yoke of slavery and oppression;
for these are largely transmitted qualities. For this reason the great
pioneers of political and spiritual freedom rarely spring from the
lowest stratum of the people, but from a middle stratum already trained
in these things, or even, often enough, from aristocracy itself. It
is, therefore, a great misfortune, almost a transgression against
one’s posterity, when a highly cultured man marries below his plane of
culture; for thus he takes a step back again.
In this connection, there is due to oneself and to others a certain
right which parents and teachers often forget. No one can easily
change his whole natural disposition; one can much more easily bring
that disposition to a higher perfection in its own kind. That is to
say, the phlegmatic man can attain to the noble calm of wisdom, the
sanguine man to a self-sacrificing activity for others, the choleric
man to a strong championship for whatever is great. A false estimate
of this natural temperament, or attempts to break it, usually lead
to deplorable half-results, where something complete might have been
attained.
We rightly learn to understand people only in their activities, the
men at their work, the women in their house affairs; best in their
difficulties and sorrows, least in social intercourse, especially at
hotels and summer resorts. The acquaintances made there often turn out
disappointing afterward. It is, generally speaking, an unwholesome
feature of human intercourse nowadays. People become acquainted with
one another, and yet not acquainted, when they live and eat together
day after day. One can not keep aloof altogether without appearing
supercilious, and one can not be too intimate without the risk of
making connections that would otherwise have been avoided.
It is easiest to know people by what they regard as their real aim
in life; if this aim is power or pleasure, they are not wholly to be
trusted.
In his later years, the outlines of a man’s character ordinarily come
out much more clearly than in his earlier. Real piety reveals itself in
the patient bearing of the manifold burdens of age, fictitious piety
in impatience and in a religion that becomes more and more formal.
Avarice, envy, covetousness, anger, the love of honor and praise, and
even, at times, the desire of secret, sensual pleasure, come with
elementary, unmistakable force to light as the ruling passions of life;
and the man pronounces his own judgment in the sight of his fellows.
Rarely does any one, like Augustus, carry a rôle through to the end,
and even this great actor was not successful. On the other hand, no one
can read Cromwell’s last prayer and think him a hypocrite, unless he is
one himself.
And finally, sorrows play their part in revealing human nature. In
any great sorrow the thoughts of men are disclosed. Envy comes to
light to rejoice; generosity, to help; and indifference, to pass by
on the other side. Whoever has had no thorough experience of this in
person, does not know men. In the first part of life, when experience
is still small, the greatest danger in one’s attitude to men is that
of considering them of too much importance; in the second, that of
becoming too indifferent to them.
There is yet another and quite different source of the knowledge of
human nature, but a source not to be desired for any one not already
acquainted with it; I mean the power possessed by the nervously
disordered. In such cases there is a very clear physical intuition
as to the kind of nature there is in other people, of whom the one
may have as quieting and refreshing an influence upon the sick man as
clear, cool water, while the other only excites and frets. Such is
the knowledge of men the Bible ascribes to those “possessed of evil
spirits.” But these are diseased conditions which ought not to be, and
which should not be needlessly meddled with.
* * * * *
Experience has established some of the following principles in the art
of reading men:
As with courtesy, so it is with a man’s probity; if it is genuine,
it shows itself in his conduct in the small things. Probity in small
matters springs from a moral foundation, while probity on the large
scale is often only habit or prudence and gives no clew as to a man’s
real character.
Vanity and the lust for honors are always a bad symptom, for both rest
at bottom upon a self-condemnation which tries to supply the missing
inner contentment by outward show or the approving judgment of others.
Thoroughgoing pessimists are always vain. By their pessimism they
give us to understand more or less clearly that they themselves would
really be an exception to this base human rabble if they could count on
understanding their nature.
An overmodest nature, especially if given to self-irony, is never to be
trusted; in most cases a strong dose of vanity and the love of praise
hides behind. Truly modest men usually speak neither good nor bad of
themselves, and do not want people to concern themselves about them.
Vain persons, on the other hand, by the apparently modest method of
self-depreciation, often seek to draw attention to themselves, or to
catch out-and-out compliments.