the long conflict for supremacy between what the Apostle calls “the
old and the new man.” Both of them are in him still and his problem is
to realize the “new man” and bring it to fulness of life. Many people
who are striving for the better life come to this second step and stay
there all their days; and this is the reason why so many lives which
are rightly directed still give the impression of imperfection, and
why they do not seem to contribute much--though often more than we
think--to the ennobling of human relationships.
There remains the third step of spiritual growth, which, once fairly
taken, leads to the complete interpretation of life. It is the stage
of practical activity, the participating in the creation of a spiritual
kingdom. Sometimes it has been likened to the taking part in a great
work of architecture, sometimes to the enlistment in an active war.
Nothing less than this life of unselfish service can bring to the
individual true content. So long as one lives for himself and is
considering, even in the highest and noblest way, his own self-culture,
there lingers in him some taint of his original selfishness, or, at
best, he but half sees his way. As Goethe has expressed it: “While one
strives, he errs.” This self-directed effort must, at last, cease.
Nothing is more untrue, nothing is more fundamentally disheartening,
than the maxim of Lessing which so many have admired, according to
which endless effort after truth is to be preferred to the possession
of the truth. One might as well say that endless thirst, or endless
cold, was more acceptable than the finding of a refreshing fountain or
the warmth of the quickening sun.
Here then, in this attitude of life, removed from religious or
philosophical restlessness, is the path to continuous inward peace
and power. It leads, first of all, to humility and to freedom from
self-complacency. It is possible to hold to this path through the
midst of all natural ills; it is the best way that life has to offer.
What the happiness is which one then finds is hard to communicate to
another. It comes of ceasing to think first of all of oneself. It has,
as Rothe says, “no private business to transact.” It does its work
tranquilly, with absolute certainty that, though the issue of its
work may be unrecognized, still it is secure. This way of life brings
with it courage, and this courage manifests itself, not in feverish
excitement, but in an outward habit of composure which testifies to
inward and central stability. Such a life trusts its way and its
destiny. Outward experiences and the judgments of other men have no
power to move it. It is, perhaps, not essential that in the education
of youth these truths should be urgently pressed, for they may easily
appear visionary and in such a matter all appearance of obscurity and
unreality is to be deplored. God permits only high-minded souls, like
von Klinger, fully to attain this way of life.
We need not discuss whether all this should be called idealism--a name
which would drive many clever people from its acceptance. Whatever
it may be named, it is a faith which has brought to those who have
confidently given themselves to it greater inward peace than is found
in any more familiar creed. It needs but slight observation of life or
of history to be convinced of this. And yet, I fear, most of my readers
may be more inclined to say with King Agrippa: “Almost thou persuadest
me,” little as Agrippa profited by the success he attained.
A German poet sums up the richness of this spiritual peace, which men
like von Klinger exhibit, in lines which I thus slightly adapt:
“_Outward life is light and shadow,
Mingled wrong and struggling right,
But within the outward trouble
Shines a healing, inward light._
_Not to us may come fulfilment,
Not below our struggles cease,
Yet the heavenly vision gives us,
Even here, an inward peace._”
III. GOOD HABITS
III. GOOD HABITS
The most important experience which, sooner or later, meets every
thoughtful person, both in his own intellectual development and in
his observation of others, is this,--that every act, and, indeed,
every definite thought, leaves behind it an inclination which is like
a material influence, and which makes the next similar thought, or
act, easier, and the next dissimilar thought, or act, more difficult.
This is the curse of evil conduct,--that it ever brings forth more
evil conduct; and this too is the sure and chief reward of good
conduct,--that it strengthens the tendency to good and makes permanent
what has been gained. Here is the solemn and tragic fact which lies
behind all human life,--that what we have once done we can never
change. There it remains, just as it happened, little as we may be
inclined to believe, or to admit, that it is there. And hence it is
that history truly written is no entertaining drama, ending in general
reconciliation and embrace, but a tragedy which describes the movement
of destiny.
If, then, one begins thus to take life seriously, he will soon observe
that its main problem does not concern its thought or its faith,
still less any outward confession which may leave the soul within
quite undisturbed. The real problem of life is simply and solely one
of habit, and the end of all education should be to train people to
inclinations toward good. To choose discreetly between good and evil is
not always practicable, for human passions are sometimes too strong;
but what may be developed is a prompt and spontaneous instinct for the
good; and the ideal of human life is one in which all that is good has
become sheer habit, and all that is bad is so contrary to nature, that
it gives one even a physically perceptible and painful shock. Failing
this, all that one calls virtue or piety is but a series of those good
intentions with which the path to evil, as to good, may be paved.
What, then, are the most important of good habits? I propose to name a
few, not in any systematic fashion; for of systems of morals the modern
world seems to have had more than enough, and it is much more likely to
give some attention to purely practical suggestions based on practical
experience.
The first and chief rule seems to be this,--that one should try rather
to cultivate good habits than merely negatively to escape from bad
ones. It is much easier in the inner life, as in the outer, to attack
positively than to repel defensively; for in aggressive conduct every
success brings joy, while in mere resistance much of one’s effort seems
to have no positive result. The main point to be gained is the habit of
prompt resolution, directed immediately toward action. What Voltaire
said of the history of nations is in large degree true of human life:
“I have noticed that destiny in every case depends upon the act of a
moment.”
The second principle of good habits is fearlessness. Perhaps this is
not possible to acquire in a high degree without a strong religious
faith. This I will not discuss. It is, at any rate, certain that fear
is not only the least agreeable of human emotions, so that one should
at any cost conquer it, but that it is also the most superfluous. For
fear does not prevent the approach of that which is feared; it only
exhausts beforehand the strength which one needs to meet the thing he
fears. Most of the things which we fear to meet are not in reality so
terrible as they appear to be when looked at from afar. When they meet
us, they can be borne. The imagination is inclined to picture evils as
more permanent and persistent than they are really to be. If, as one’s
trouble approached, he should say to himself: “This is likely to last
about three days,” one would in many cases be justified by the event,
and, at any rate, would proceed to meet the trouble with a better
courage. On the whole, the best defence against fear which philosophy
can provide is the conviction that every fear is a symptom of some
wrong condition in ourselves. If one search for that weakness and rid
himself of it, then, for the most part, fear will vanish also.
Beyond this philosophical defence from fear, however, lie certain
spiritual conditions of courage. The chief of these is determining for
oneself what are the best blessings of life. First of all, one must
acquire as soon as possible the habit of preferring the better things
to the worse. He must especially abandon the expectation of possessing
at the same time different things which are contradictory of each
other. Here is the secret of failure in many a career. In my opinion,
a man may not only freely choose his aims in life, but he may attain
all those aims which he seriously and wholly desires, provided that
for the sake of this desire he is ready to surrender all other desires
which are inconsistent with it. The best possessions one can have in
life, and the things which, with reasonable sagacity, are the easiest
to get, are these: firm moral principles, intellectual discipline,
love, loyalty, the capacity for work and the enjoyment of it, spiritual
and physical health, and very moderate worldly possessions. No other
blessings can be compared with these, and some other possessions are
inconsistent with these--for instance, great wealth, great worldly
honor and power, habitual self-indulgence. These are the things which
people commonly most desire, and which they very often attain, but they
must always be attained through the surrender of the better things.
One must, therefore, promptly and unhesitatingly determine to surrender
the desire for wealth, honor, and luxury, and to take in their place
other possessions. Without this determination, there can be no
religious or philosophical basis of spiritual education. What seems
to be spiritual development ends in unreality, vacillation, at last
hypocrisy. It must be confessed that even the best of men are, as a
rule, but half-hearted in making this fundamental resolution. They
give up under compulsion one or another fragment of their desires. Few
are sagacious enough to foresee the choice which sooner or later must
be made, and free themselves while they are still young from their
prolonged perplexity by one quick and sublime decision.
A further obstacle to any worthy life is the desire for praise, or for
pleasure. The man who is dominated by either of these motives is simply
a slave of the opinions or tastes of others. Both of these desires must
be, without compromise, expelled, and sympathy, which one has always
at his command, must take their place. For, if the lower desires have
been cast out and no higher impulses enter, then we have simply an
unendurable emptiness in life. “When the unclean spirit,” says the
Gospel, “is gone out of a man, he walketh through dry places, seeking
rest, and findeth none.... Then goeth he, and taketh with himself seven
other spirits more wicked than himself, and they enter in and dwell
there: and the last state of that man is worse than the first.”
Thus, at any cost, and even for the sake of one’s own soul, one must
make it his habit to cultivate love for others, not first of all
inquiring whether they deserve that love or not--a question which
is often too hard to answer. For without love life is without joy,
especially when one has outgrown his youth. Lacking love, we sink into
indifference, and indifference passes easily into aversion, and one’s
aversions so poison life that life is no better than death.
Further, our dislikes must be directed, not against people, but
against things. Good and evil are too much mingled in persons to be
justly distinguished, and each unjust judgment reacts upon those who
have permitted themselves to be unjust and embitters their lives.
Therefore, permit neither your philosophy nor your experience to crowd
out of your life the power to love. Dismiss the preliminary question
of another’s right to be loved. Love is the only way of keeping one’s
inner life in peace, and of maintaining an interest in people and
in things. Without it, both people and things become by degrees an
annoyance and affront. Thus love is, at the same time, the highest
worldly wisdom. One who loves is always, though unconsciously, wiser
than one who does not. If you incline to say with the poet:
“_This is my creed and this will ever be,
To love and hate as others may treat me!_”
live for a while by this creed, and you will learn soon enough how much
of hate and how little of love you are likely to receive.
In all the points thus far indicated, and especially in the last, there
is no place for half-way conduct. There must be a complete and absolute
decision, with no petty and clever computations of consequences. And in
addition to these more decisive rules of habit, there are many smaller
ones which go to reinforce and make practicable the larger principles.
For instance, there is the Gospel command: “Let the dead bury their
dead.” The dead are the best people to do this work. If one refrain
from controversy about what is past and gone, then one may give himself
to tasks of positive construction, and not merely to that destructive
work which, even if it be essential, should be subordinate. Many a
memorial has been dedicated to those who destroy which should have been
reserved for those who fulfil.
And yet, one must not let himself be cheated. He must not even be
thought to be easily duped. He must let the would-be clever people know
that he reads their thoughts and knows what they are seeking. One may,
as I have already said, read such thoughts quite thoroughly if one be
no longer blinded by any selfishness of his own.
Apart from this degree of self-defence, which is so far necessary,
the better plan in general is to see the good side of people and
to take for granted that there is good in them. Then it not only
happens that they often make the effort to be good and become actually
better through one’s appreciation of them, but it also happens that
one is saved from a personal experience of regret or distress. For
intercourse with persons whom one recognizes as bad, demoralizes one’s
own nature, and in the case of sensitive persons may go so far as to
have even a physical effect. What is bad needs no severity of criticism
or of reproach. In most cases it needs only to be brought to the light.
Then, even if the man protest that he is not bad, his conscience
judges him. Therefore, when one must blame others, he should proceed
with great calmness, speak of the matter without disguise and without
glossing, but simply and without passion. Passionate reproaches seldom
do good, and good people who lack sympathy are apt to be very trying.
There is a kind of virtuous character not unfamiliar in some Protestant
circles which to those who differ from its convictions seems to have
no capacity for love. It is especially aggravating to young people, so
that they often prefer the company of the vicious to that of moral but
cold-blooded friends.
Finally, it may not appear possible for you to be equally friendly with
everybody. Well, then, discriminate among people, but always in favor
of the humble, the poor, the simple, the uneducated, the children, even
the animals and plants. Never, on the other hand, if you desire a quiet
mind, seek the favor of important people, and never expect gratitude
for condescension to the humble, but count the love they have for you
as precious as you do your love for them.
There are many other of these lesser instances of good habits which I
might still further mention, and if my reader should recall them, he
is not to regard them as unrecognized by me. I only invite him, in the
first place, to put to practical use my list as thus far suggested. As
he does so, let him notice--as he soon must notice--that it is much
more to his purpose to begin practically with one good habit than to
begin by making a complete catalogue of all. The real difficulty in
this cultivation of good habits--indeed the only difficulty--is in
ridding the heart of its natural selfishness. For selfishness is the
practical obstacle to good habits, though it may pretend to believe in
them. No one who understands himself will deny that there is in every
one a curious tendency to moral degeneration. It is often something
that literally borders on depravity. Now, this inclination to evil is
to be conquered only by a superior force; and the whole problem, both
of philosophy and of religion,--a problem as old as the world and yet
new with each individual,--is summed up in the question: “Where shall I
find this superior force which shall make me inclined to goodness and
shall renew that spiritual health which is essential for the right
conduct of life?”
To this question, there are still given many different answers. Dante,
in the famous twenty-seventh canto of the Purgatorio, says:
“_When underneath us was the stairway all
Run o’er, and we were on the highest step,
Virgilius fastened upon me his eyes,
And said_:
* * * * *
_By intellect and art I here have brought thee._”[2]
By the guidance of reason, then, the traveller has been led to the Holy
Mountain, where at last he hears his guide say:
“_Take thine own pleasure for thy guide henceforth;
Beyond the steep ways and the narrow art thou._”
And yet--and here we notice a marked inconsistency in the great
mediæval poet and philosopher--it is an angel who bears these mortal
souls across the sea and brings them to the foot of this mountain,
and another angel repeatedly restrains them from returning on their
way, even when they have passed the Gate of Grace; and by the diamond
threshold, beyond which none may pass without his bidding, sits a third
angel, to whom one may approach only by a miracle of God’s grace. In
all this journey, then, the “intellect and art” which accompany the
traveller play, we must confess, a very limited rôle.
This great question, however, of the moral dynamic is, for the moment,
not my theme, and its answer is, I doubt not, to be finally reached
only by the way of personal experience. Only this is to be said, once
more, that one’s self-discipline begins with the discipline of the
will. First of all comes the definite resolution to pursue one worthy
end of life with singleness of mind and to turn from all that is
opposed to it. Given this decision of the will, and there follows the
capacity to act. And this search is not in vain, when one determines
to make it a universal and an unreserved search, and to recognize
the power that is attained as the only possible proof that the right
way has been found. Whatever brings with it no sense of supporting,
calming, ethical power is not true, and whatever does contribute this
power must, at least, have some degree of truth in it. In the future,
any philosophy of life which proposes to be more effective than our
present philosophy must meet this test. All else leads astray.
“_Why is it that we shrink away
When death, our friend, draws near some day?
We see the shadowy presence stand,
But not the gift within the hand!
So shrinks from love the human heart
As though, like death, love came to part,
For where love enters, self must die
And life find love its destiny.
O death of self! Pass like the night,
And waken us from death to light!_”
IV. THE CHILDREN OF THIS WORLD ARE WISER THAN THE CHILDREN OF LIGHT
IV. THE CHILDREN OF THIS WORLD ARE WISER THAN THE CHILDREN OF LIGHT
I do not question the truth of this text, but I cannot fail to observe
in it the most familiar defence of worldly wisdom against the spirit
of idealism. The objection to idealism which we most commonly hear is
this, that it is well enough in theory, but that it does not work in
practice; and if it be really true that worldly wisdom and idealism are
irreconcilable, then most people must hold to the first. They have to
live on this earth, and to deal with life as it is; they must accept
the inevitable, even though it costs them a moment of deep regret to
abandon their idealism. This world calls for worldly wisdom; another
world may be blessed with light--on this stone of stumbling many a life
which has already overcome the common temptation of selfishness is
still wrecked and lost.
The first thing that strikes us, then, in this dangerous text is its
high appreciation of what it calls the children of this world. Indeed,
these people are never so severely handled by Christ as are the priests
and the devout Pharisees of his time. Such sayings as: “The publicans
and the harlots go into the kingdom of God before you,” are not uttered
against the children of this world. The children of this world know
what they want and pursue the end they set before themselves with
energy and persistence, putting away all that stands between them and
it; and this the children of light, at least in their earlier stages
of development, seldom do. Still further, the children of this world
are not wholly impervious to the higher motives of life. Their hearts
are not the rock where the good seed falls in vain. They are merely
the soil which is choked by other growth, where the seed takes root
but cannot prosper. The children of this world may at any rate claim
that it is not they who have built the crosses and scaffolds for the
servants of the truth.
We must not then think of the children of this world as absolutely
bad or as unappreciative of the excellent. On the contrary, they are
generally better than they pretend to be, and among them are many
persons who are, as it were, hypocrites reversed; who conceal, that is
to say, their best thoughts. What they lack is commonly the courage
to be good. They do not have a sufficiently substantial confidence
in the moral order of the world to guide them in the struggle for
existence. And, in fact, this assurance of the moral order does
not at first sight appear to be justified. On the contrary, one who
deserts the wisdom of the world must anticipate, first of all, that
he will be deserted by the world and that he will not improbably pass
the greater part of his life in uncertainty whether he has chosen the
better path. Such is the testimony of all who have practically followed
this path and have not merely heard of it or preached about it. Thus,
the children of this world are simply the people who prefer to travel
the common and well-known road. The unfamiliar path may appear to
them in theory very beautiful and sublime, but they do not find it a
practicable path to follow.
It is still more difficult to say who are the children of light. It is
true that the Gospels sometimes mention them, but what is the meaning
of the light of which the Gospels speak? Whence comes it, and how does
it shine into the life of men? Here we touch at once the greatest of
human problems. Whence come we? Whither do we go? What is our destiny?
All that can be said in plain words of the children of light is this:
that they are seeking that which is beyond reality, and are receptive
to the suggestions of the ideal world. The children of light are
those who supremely desire something better than to eat and drink and
to-morrow die. This is the motive which most stirs their hearts and
wills, and out of this desire comes to them by degrees, first, faith,
and then conviction.
This way to the light is in a certain degree indicated in the Gospel
of Matthew: “Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God”;
and it is more precisely described in the Gospel of Luke: “If thy
whole body be full of light, the whole shall be full of light”--a
passage whose exact meaning no one has clearly determined. Beyond such
evidence as this one can hardly go; for, if we do, the children of
this world, who know nothing of such experiences and regard them as
extravagances or worse, will at the best turn away like Felix and the
Athenians, saying: “We will hear thee again of this matter”; having no
more inclination than Felix to be further drawn into such disturbing
and unprofitable discussions. The dreams of the children of light, they
will say, lead to nothing and had better be forgotten.