but mingles with those aspirations which flow into the illimitable
future. As in the vast city we seek some enclosure of our own--some
place of shelter for our heads, of sympathy for our hearts; so,
respecting the destiny of the soul. In spite of all our philosophy, we
cannot be satisfied with the conception of a mere immaterial essence
floating hither and thither in immensity. The intellect looks eagerly
forward to a boundless and excursive state; but the affections, the
sentiments, yearn for some locality--some spot of residence and repose.
We cannot help cherishing the conception of a place where our friends
are grouped together, and whither we shall go, though to be united in
wider and more glorious relations. And, knowing no better name for it,
with eyes of hope and tearful rapture, we look up and call it "Home."
THE ALLIES OF THE TEMPTER.
DISCOURSE VI.
THE ALLIES OF THE TEMPTER.
He that is not with me is against me.--MATTHEW xii. 30.
One of the discourses of the preceding series was devoted to a
consideration of the vices--especially the three prominent vices--of
great cities. I propose at the present time to speak of the
_Influences_, more or less direct, by which these and kindred evils are
encouraged. Vice, and moral corruption of any kind, no doubt has its
roots in the gross hearts and in the perverted appetites of men. But the
most superficial observer must see that these are nourished not merely
by their native soil, but by the social atmosphere which spreads around.
Of course character constitutes the man, and, however this may be
affected by circumstances, it enfolds the consciousness of an original
personality acting upon and through and in spite of its conditions.
Nevertheless, the ingredients of this very personality are assimilated
out of these conditions, and it is difficult to limit or define the
subtile elements that blend in the deepest currents of a man's nature.
It is, at least, a simple truism that he differs in one state of society
from what he is in another. And, therefore, among the forces which help
make up his moral condition, we must calculate the social forces. His
virtues are not all self-sustained, and his vices draw nutriment from
fine and remote channels. It would be an interesting process to analyze
our own habits and temper and cast of thought, and find how much of this
is involved with our physical relations. The air we breathe, the house
in which we dwell, the very way in which it fronts the sun, the degrees
of light and of shade that fall upon us with the flying hours, all weave
their delicate influences into the tissues of our being. And how much
that we do not suspect comes to us, day by day, in social intercourse,
in the bearing of friends, in the tone and air of conversation, in the
mere magnetism of the parlor or the street! How much to strengthen or
to weaken us; to clear or to cloud our moral atmosphere; to make us
fresh and decisive, or to slowly sap our virtue! But it is a more solemn
task to compute the influences that proceed _from_ us, and to discover
how, unknown to ourselves, we are swaying the circles of other lives.
Why, the mightiest forces go silently. You do not see the gases that
compose the vital air. You do not feel the aroma that steals along
loaded with poison, or wafts a blessing through the sick man's window.
You do not hear the electric pulse that beats in the summer light and in
the drop of dew. Neither can you estimate the mysterious attraction that
plays all through this network of social relations, nor the energy of
good or of evil with which it is charged not merely from your words and
deeds, but from the still reservoir of your example.
When I look around at the prevalent vices of the city, then, and at its
various forms of corruption, I am not willing to rest with the mere
assertion, that all this is the fruit of personal sin and folly on the
part of those who have yielded to temptation. It _is_ the fruit of
personal sin and folly. And we, perhaps, in our serene respectabilities,
shrink back and wonder at it. It _is_ strange--is it not?--that the
young, the fair, the gifted, should yield themselves to that arch-deceit
which has allured and ruined men for six thousand years? Is it not the
same old guilt, the same sophistry and foolishness, here in New York,
that it always has been? Did it not bear the same Circean cup through
the halls of Nineveh and Babylon, and fling Caesars and Alexanders to the
ground? Did it not wear the same seductive smile and harlot tinsel when
it walked the streets of Tyre, and reclined in the decorated chambers of
Egypt? And will not its votaries find now, as then, that it entices with
the embrace of death and the fascination of hell? Why should they thus
float upon the very rim of this great whirlpool, and not notice the
groans that come up from its depths; and see that its phosphoric
illusion is mixed with fiery flakes of torment and the foam of despair?
It is indeed wonderful that so many should be thus deluded over and
over again; so many noble energies thrown away, so many sanctions
trampled upon, so many bright hopes quenched for ever. It is wonderful
that any being made in the form of man, should cast down his
prerogatives and wallow like the beast. Sufficient evidence of sin and
folly in those who do this, to be sure; but in what way do these
allurements present themselves? What are the resources and entrenchments
of these vices, by which they act upon human appetite and passion? You
point me to brilliant windows and gay apartments; to sparkling glasses,
and shining heaps, and shapes of painted shame. "These," you say, "are
the forms which the Tempter assumes. Under smiling features and fair
garlands, he hides at first that hideousness which in due time is
revealed to his victims. From the lighted vestibules which open so
easily to the touch, and where all seems only a coronation of youthful
pleasure and natural joy, the feet of men slide downward into those
abysses which are hidden from the public gaze, and over whose depths the
blackness of darkness broods." And all this, again, is true. These are
the ways in which the Tempter works. But is there nothing but this to
explain the power which evil has upon men, in the midst of the great
city? These manifold allurements, these haunts of infamy and shambles of
destruction--I see them standing upon strange foundations. I see them
propped by these very influences to which I have alluded; influences of
social condition and individual example. They would not be so
formidable, they would not stand so long, were it not that
respectability in its daily walk and conversation; and social culture in
thousands of homes; and even justice in its lofty seat; lend them
support. "He that is not with me is against me," said Jesus; and, taking
this proverb as a rule, a good many people may be surprised to find
that, in one way and another, they are _Allies_ of the Tempter.
The allies of the Tempter, I propose to speak of now--not the forms of
Temptation, which I have already illustrated. Nor do I intend to dwell
upon those _direct_ conditions of moral evil, out of which vice and
crime grow as spontaneously as weeds out of a damp and neglected
soil--those wide seed fields of _ignorance_ and abject _poverty_ which
lie around us. But the more remote and indirect causes it may be
profitable for us to consider; and to these I now proceed.
I observe, then, in the first place, that the Tempter has one Ally in
_Public Sanction_. There are sources of vice and crime that are
permitted and encouraged by _Law_. I hardly need specify the prominent
instance to which I allude. But I am not aware of a more enormous public
inconsistency than what is termed "the License System"--the system of
permitting the sale of intoxicating drinks in a degree, and of
restricting them in a degree. For, by this method, either a moral wrong
is committed, or else a civil one. If these drinks are an individual and
public injury; if they distribute the seeds of disease, crime, death,
and every form of social misery; then what right have we in any respect
to set upon them the solemn sanction of a Law? If, on the other hand,
they are a benefit to mankind; a good gift of Providence, as some seem
to think; why should we hamper their circulation? Why should we allow
one man the privilege of distributing such a blessing, and forbid
another who, no doubt, is equally zealous for the public good?
But this very system is a confession by public opinion, in its most
authentic form of expression, that the sale of intoxicating drinks is an
evil. "Only," we are told, "as it is a prevalent and deep-seated evil,
it must be _regulated_." But how can we regulate an irregularity? How
can you regulate an obstruction that is involved with the springs of a
machine, or the works of a clock? The only possible method obvious to
common sense, would be to remove the obstruction; and it would be
thought the most foolish speculation conceivable for one to spend his
ingenuity in contriving some way to keep the obstruction where it is,
and yet to keep the clock going as it ought. If it moved regularly, the
matter referred to would not be an obstruction; and if it did not, the
contrivance to keep it there would be a help to the obstruction. Now, I
consider this great vice of Intemperance a decided obstruction in the
clock-work of an individual man, or the more general mechanism of
society. It transforms a great many faces into bad dial-plates, disturbs
the pendulum of public order, makes people go much too fast, and renders
them liable to strike at all times. Now, if a man, or a community, can
be made to go just as well with it as without it, we certainly need no
legislation, for there _is_ no obstruction. On the other hand, if it is
essentially an irregularity, the only rational method is to get rid of
its accessories altogether. To enact some way in which the irregularity
shall work, is to confirm and sanction the irregularity. And the
license-system--for I wish to be plain and specific here--confirms and
sanctions the agents of intemperance. It indicates a way in which the
irregularity may work.
And not only is vice thus aided by the Law. The existence of such a
sanction engenders either an error or a moral wrong. For it indicates
that the sale of intoxicating drinks is a public benefit, which is
false; or, on the other hand, that it is lawful to uphold an evil. The
same principle carried out by individuals, would excuse almost any
fault. The man who steals a loaf of bread may contend that it is a
necessary expedient; and he who fills an empty purse at his neighbor's
expense, only endeavors to regulate an irregularity.
But suppose we make the system a strict one, what process should be
employed? Probably you would say--"break up all these filthy and low
haunts; all these places where the habitually intemperate, the degraded,
the wretchedly poor congregate; and let these beverages be sold only in
respectable places and to respectable people." But is this really the
best plan? On the contrary, it seems quite reasonable to maintain that
it is better to sell to the intemperate than to the sober--to the
degraded than to the respectable--for the same reason that it is better
to burn up an old hulk than to set fire to a new and splendid ship. I
think it worse to put the first glass to a young man's lips, than to
crown with madness an old drunkard's life-long alienation--worse to wake
the fierce appetite in the depths of a generous and promising nature,
than to take the carrion of a man, a mere shell of imbecility, and soak
it in a fresh debauch. Therefore, if I were going to say where the
License should be granted in order to show its efficacy, I would
say--take the worst sinks of intemperance in the city, give them the
sanction of the Law, and let them run to overflowing. But shut up the
gilded apartments where youth takes its first draught, and
respectability just begins to falter from its level. Close the ample
doors through which enters the long train of those who stumble to
destruction and reel into quick graves, and let the flood overwhelm only
the maimed and battered conscripts that remain. Besides, it is better to
see vice as it really is, than as it sometimes appears. The danger of
intemperance is when it assumes this very garb of respectability, and
sits in the radiant circle of fashion attended by wit and beauty and
social delight. Let us see the Tempter, not as he seems when he throws
out his earliest lures, in festal garments and with roses around his
brow; but as he looks when fairly engaged in his work, showing his
genuine expression. Let us see this vice of intemperance in its
_results_, as they teem and darken here in the midst of our city life.
Lay bare its channel--let us see to its very depths--where it flows over
the wrecks of human happiness, and over dead men's bones. Lay bare its
festering heaps of disease, its madness, its despair, its domestic
desolation, its reckless sweep over all order and sanctity; and thus,
tracing it from its sources under glittering chandeliers and in fonts of
crystal, we shall be able to say--"this is the real element which exists
and does its work, by public connivance and with the sanction of Law!"
If you ask me then, whether I think that a statute of absolute
prohibition would stop this flowing curse, I reply that at least it
would put the influence of authority on the right side. It would lend it
the force of consistent endeavor. As it is, it would be far better if
the public sanction had no expression; for now it only confirms and
guarantees the evil. Its power is exerted not in the right, but in the
wrong direction. It is an ally of the tempter. For the spirit of
everlasting Justice and Benevolence, speaking as it were by the mouth of
Jesus, says--"He that is not with me is against me."
But I observe, in the second place, that the forces of temptation in the
city are nourished by _public neglect_. In individual experience it will
be found, I think, that sins of _omission_ are more numerous and are
worse than sins of _commission_. If we examine our lives closely, we
shall discover that our moral indebtedness comes even less from what we
have done, than from what we ought to have done. And this individual
experience has a counterpart in social conditions. How many evils among
us grow up under the shadow of inoperative laws--laws which have a voice
and nothing else--nay, hardly a voice, so seldom are they heard even to
speak. They appear to have been enacted merely as a compliment to
decency, and they remain in the statute-book as "idle as painted ships
upon a painted ocean." The dens of debauch keep open doors night and
day; the saloons of profligacy send out their cards of invitation; the
gambler rattles his triumphant dice; but excursive policemen never see,
and vigilant magistrates never hear! Some provision of nature has
imparted a very singular quality to the optic powers of the one, and the
auditory nerves of the other. The laws against this vice, or that
custom, stand fixed and silent; and as for putting them in operation,
one would as soon think of pulling up so many grave-stones. They _are_
the grave-stones of a dead public sentiment--the stumbling-blocks of a
blind justice, that too often shakes hands with the very guilt which it
professes to condemn. I do not, by any means, believe that everything is
to be accomplished by law. I do not believe that the profoundest results
are to be accomplished by it. But, if it possesses any efficacy at all,
it consists in its power to repress open and shameless wrong; and where
any such wrong _is_ open and shameless, public neglect is the cause, and
such public neglect, therefore, is an Ally of the Tempter. And let us
consider the enormity of such evils. In every great city there are some
omissions of executive duty, which, though grievous to be borne, are
noticed with good humor. But there are moral swamps, sending up their
foul steam to pollute the common light; there are kennels of
uncleanness, running with the waste of human lives, sweeping along with
the death-gurgle of human souls; there is a dry-rot of impurity
infecting the town-air, withering the dearest sanctities of society and
of home--and over this kind of evil we cannot be facetious. Think how
much is risked here, and how much is lost! Domestic happiness,
reputation, honor, health, order, the prospects of the young, the peace
of the old--Fathers, the hopes of your sons! Mothers, the interests of
your daughters! and, though speaking may have little effect, say whether
we ought not to speak, and to speak indignantly, of the neglect which
lets these evils spread with deadly luxuriance, and winks at them as
though they were harmless?
But, my friends, what do we mean by "public sanction," or "public
neglect?" There are some convenient synonyms which help us to cover up
our personal responsibility--help us to transfer our own sense of duty
to a vague secondary agent, and keep peace with our own consciences.
And yet they are only _synonyms_, after all. Now this term "public" is
but another word for the aggregate of our personal obligations, and does
not for a single moment rid us of our share in the general influence.
The real point of my present topic is this--you and I and every other
individual involved in this network of social relations, are helping or
weakening the force of these prevalent evils. And it may arouse us to
some decision of conduct to consider how the most respectable--those who
would shrink with horror from these foul customs--are, nevertheless,
Allies of the Tempter. And I might state, as a comprehensive
proposition, that every man _is_ an Ally of the Tempter, who does not
put forth a conscious and positive moral energy; who does not habitually
throw his example and his influence in the right direction. It is not
enough that he abstains from wrong himself--that he is chaste, and
temperate, and upright, and unimpeached. For perhaps the most hopeless
people, morally speaking, are those people who, according to their own
confession, "have never done any harm." There is a good prospect for
those who are trying to grow better, however they may slip and flounder.
There is hope, on the other hand, for the desperately wicked--for the
very violence of one extreme precipitates the other; and sometimes the
best and purest souls have been swept by a thunder-shower of sin. But
those who rest upon the fact that they "have never done any harm," by
being so easily contented show but little moral vitality. There is no
aspiration in their natures. They seem to have no particular mission in
the universe; for, if they have never done any harm, they have done
little else. They are poorly fitted for this earth, which demands the
effort of all our faculties; poorly fitted for heaven, whose inhabitants
would not make harmlessness their chief characteristic. Their residence
and their paradise might be a great exhausted receiver, where there is
no gravitation to draw them down, and no air to send them up. But, in
truth, these people deceive themselves. Every man exerts a _positive_
influence, and cannot, if he would, be a mere negation in the world. In
the great conflict of good and evil there is no middle ground. There
are no compromises in God's government, and neutral men are the devil's
allies. "He that is not with me, is against me."
Let us see, then, how possible it is that _we_ may contribute to the
force of evil in the City. In other words, let us inquire--in what way
do respectable and harmless people, as they deem themselves, become
Allies of the Tempter?
In the first place, by their _customs_. And, chief of all, by the custom
of an intense and inconsiderate selfishness. How many there are who
require no other sanction for what they do than "that pleases me," or
"this gratifies me!" It is wonderful what a mighty agent _self_ is,
estimated by its own standards. It is the hero of every exploit, the
centre of every event, and the oracle of all opinions. It interprets the
purpose of the universe; it finds out exactly what the world was made
for. At least, a good many, apparently, have ascertained that the world
was made for them, and that they were sent into it to get what
gratification they can. And it appears sadly out of tune to them, if it
does not serve this end. In anything they do, therefore, they consider
only selfish consequences. They do not apprehend the universe in its
great harmony. They do not trace out its web of mutual relations--a
braid of light held in the hand of Infinite Love. They do not know the
sympathy that shoots in the crystal, and shimmers in the aurora, and
beats in the heart of the ocean, and makes the silent music that rolls
from sphere to sphere along the glittering scale of heaven. If they did,
they would discover, perhaps, that the social world is constructed upon
the same plan; and man cannot be an alien from the common humanity
however hard he may try. Yes: concerning any custom, you have not only
yourself to consider, but the bearings of its influence throughout this
tissue of hearts and minds with which you are involved. You cannot
isolate yourself from your responsibilities. You cannot shut yourself
within comfortable walls, and say--"Here is the limit of my obligations,
and here I will do as I please!" You may _say_ this, but you do not rid
yourself of these claims. Through imperceptible aqueducts your influence
runs abroad; and what you do, and what you are, contributes particles of
disease or health to the social atmosphere that envelopes all. I look
around, then, upon the vices and even the crimes of the City, and I say
that some of them find root in the customs of the respectable and the
fashionable. Profligacy, which we shrink from in its open profession,
and which appears abominable in its avowed haunts, finds encouragement
wherever the libertine receives the smile of beauty, and the guilt of
the meanest sort of a man is excused on account of an agreeable manner.
Thus the poison of the snake, and the blight of his venom on many a
reputation and many a womanly heart, is all forgotten in the
drawing-room, because of the fascination of his hiss and the glitter of
his skin. Again, the Tempter has an Ally in the world of Traffic,
wherever bad things are stamped with respectable names--when, for
instance, swindling is called "smartness," and robbery "per-centage."
Among people of less note in the world these matters are named
"cheating" and "stealing," and some of them may take punishment the more
reluctantly because they cannot perceive the difference. And, still
again, I think that a little use of intoxicating drinks is like the
little matter that kindles a great fire, and that there would not be so
much intemperance if there were not so many "temperate" drinkers. The
sluices of the grog-shop are fed from the wine-glasses in the parlor;
and there is a lineal descent from the gentleman who hiccups at his
elegant dinner-table to the sot who makes a bed of the gutter.