By JAMES KERR.
Failure in any enterprise often rouses to fresh effort. You fall in order
to rise again. You are thrown down that you may rise higher. Failure may
thus carry in its bosom a rich harvest of good. In men of spirit, who are
not easily cowed, it acts as a spur to exertion. Every time such a man is
thrown down, and, like the fabled Titan, touches mother earth, he rises
again with renewed strength. Many a great orator has failed ignominiously
in his first attempt; but if he has the right stuff in him he is not
disheartened. Like the late Lord Beaconsfield, he says indignantly: “The
time will come when you will hear me!” He says it, and he keeps his
word. We have a similar instance in M. Thiers, the French historian and
statesman. When as a young man he made his _debut_ in the Chamber of
Deputies, his speech was not a success. He felt that he had failed. On
returning home he said to his friends, “I have been beaten; but never
mind, I am not cast down, I am making my first essay in arms. Beaten
to-day, beaten to-morrow; it is the fate of the soldier and the orator.
In the tribune, as under fire, defeat is as useful as a victory. We begin
again!” Such was the spirit of the man, such his indomitable resolution;
and we all know that his efforts were at last crowned with complete
success.
Failure, disappointment, and difficulties to be surmounted, doubtless
contribute an element of strength to the character. We thus learn to
persevere in a difficult task. Speaking of the failures, delays, and
obstacles met with at the siege of Troy, Shakspere puts these words into
the mouth of Agamemnon—
“Which are, indeed, naught else
But the protractive trials of the great Jove,
To find persistive constancy in man.”
Trials, misfortunes and difficulties of every kind, if properly met, are
a means of discipline. In the struggle with them we are made stronger.
They brace the mind, and give it firmness. A disposition naturally gentle
requires this tonic to prepare it for the rougher duties of life. Many
can say that the disappointments and trials they have met with have given
a firmness to their temper which was much needed, and have been of the
greatest service to them.
I have never known any one who had difficulties to contend with in his
youth, and who wrestled with them successfully, who was not thankful
for them later in life. They felt that these difficulties, resisted and
overcome, helped to mould their character and make them stronger and
better men than they would otherwise have been.
We read in the letters of Thomas Erskine, of Linlathen, as follows: “A
friend of mine once repeated to me a sentence which he thought utter
nonsense, but to me it seemed to have a meaning. _What were rocks made
for, my brethren? Even that mariners might avoid them._ There was a gain
in having avoided rocks, which there would not be if rocks had never
existed.”
In the same manner we may say, What was evil made for? Even that we may
avoid it. There is a gain in having avoided and resisted evil, which
there would not be if evil had never existed.
The trials and troubles of life afford an education to which no other is
equal. We have not the finest type of character in the monk and the nun,
who lead a life of seclusion far away from the evil of the world. Their
virtues are only negative. It is not among those who are shut up within
stone walls and jealously guarded, that you obtain the noblest type of
character. On the contrary, it is among those who have had to struggle
with evil in all its forms in the strife and conflict of life. In this
way virtue is strengthened, and a character formed nobler than a life of
mere innocence could impart.
It is seen that in those places where there is the greatest amount of
vice, there are also to be found many examples of the greatest virtue.
It is said that nowhere are there such good people as in London, and
the reason assigned is that nowhere are there so many bad people. The
Londoner lives in the midst of temptations which have to be avoided and
resisted—thus the habit of virtue and of self-control is formed. Those
who are good, in spite of manifold temptations to evil, are likely to be
very good. Their virtue will be of a more robust type than that of those
who are immured in nunneries, and who are kept innocent by temptation
being removed out of their way.
There are two ways of dealing with mankind. You may remove them from
every temptation, and thus keep them innocent in outward act. Or you
may place them in the midst of temptations, trusting to their power of
resisting them. You wish, for example, to guard a man from the habit of
drunkenness. You shut him up within stone walls, where the very smell of
drink is unknown; or you place him in a lonely island, where there is no
beverage to be had stronger than pure water.
In this way you get rid of the temptation, but you sacrifice the man. You
make of him a nonentity. Others, not less wise, would pursue a different
course. They would leave him a free agent in the world, with all its
trials and temptations. The probability is he would defend himself from
the danger; for, after all, even in the most drink-loving nations, it is
only a small proportion of the population that give way to this vice.
This latter method has the advantage, instead of sacrificing the man, of
improving him. It contributes an element of strength to his character,
and trains him to be a brave soldier in the battle of life.
There is much in this avoidance of evil and keeping it in check. It is
the great means available for the development of our moral nature. What
exercise is to the body, resistance to evil is to the mind.