Part 21

The vice of selfishness displays itself in many ways. In an extreme form it is termed avarice, and shows itself in an insatiable desire to gather wealth. As heat changes the hitherto brittle metal into the elastic, yielding, yet deadly Damascus blade, so, when the demon of avarice finds lodgment in the heart of man, it changes all his better nature. It may find him delighting to do good and relieving the wants of others; it leaves him one whose whole energy and power are turned to the advancement of self alone. This is the grand center to which all his efforts tend. There is no length to which an avaricious man will not go in his mad career. In order that wealth may be his he will run almost any risks, stand any privation, and will sacrifice not only his own comfort and happiness, but that also of his friends and associates, or even of his own family circle. His mind is never expanded beyond the circumference of the almighty dollar. He thinks not of his immortal soul, his accountability to God, or of his final destiny. Selfishness in its worst form has complete possession of his heart. It is the ruling principle of his life. One strange feature about this form of selfishness is that it ultimately defeats its own ends. Its possessor is an Ishmael in the community. He passes to the grave without tasting the sweets of friendship or the comforts of life. Striving for wealth in order that he may have wherewith to procure happiness, he ends with the sacrifice of all the means of enjoyment in order that he may augment his wealth more rapidly.

The closing hours of a life of selfishness must be clouded with many painful thoughts. Chances for doing good passed unimproved. In order that some slight personal advantage might be gained kindly feelings were suppressed. The heart, which was intended to beat with compassion for others, has become contracted to a narrow circle, and life, that inestimable gift of Providence, instead of drawing to its close a rounded and complete whole, has been stinted and dwarfed, and passes on to the other world but illy prepared for the great changes wrought by the hand of death.

Obstinacy and contention are common qualities, most appearing in and best becoming a mean and illiterate soul. They arise not so much from a conscious defect of voluntary power, as foolhardiness is not seldom the disguise of conscious timidity. Obstinacy must not be confounded with perseverance; for obstinacy presumptuously declines to listen to reason, but perseverance only continues its exertion while satisfied that good judgment sustains its course. There are few things more singular than that obstinacy which, in matters of the highest importance to ourselves, often prevents us from acknowledging the truth that is perfectly plain to all.

There is something in obstinacy which differs from every other passion. Whenever it fails it never recovers, but either breaks like iron or crumbles sulkily away like a fractured arch. Most other passions have their periods of fatigue and rest, their suffering and their care; but obstinacy has no resources, and the first wound is mortal. Narrowness of mind is often the cause of obstinacy; we do not easily believe beyond what we see. Hence it is that the more extensive one's knowledge of mankind becomes, the less inclined is he to the vice of obstinacy; and an obstinate disposition, instead of denoting a mind of superior ability, always denotes a dwarfed, ignorant, and selfish disposition. An obstinate, ungovernable self-sufficiency plainly points out to us that state of imperfect maturity at which the graceful levity of youth is lost and the solidity of experience not yet acquired.

Obstinacy is not only a result of a narrow, illiberal judgment, but it is a barrier to all improvements. It casts the mind in a mold, and as utterly prevents it from expanding as though it were a material substance encased in iron. A stubborn mind conduces as little to wisdom, or even to knowledge, as a stubborn temper to happiness. Whosoever perversely resolves to adhere to plans or opinions, be they right or be they wrong, because they have adopted them, raises an impassable bar to information. The wiser we are the more we are aware of the extent of our ignorance. Those who have but just entered the vestibule of the temple of knowledge invariably feel themselves much wiser than those who meekly worship in the inner sanctuary. Positiveness is much more apt to accompany the statement of the superficial observer than him whose experience has been vast and profound. Sir Isaac Newton, who might have spoken with authority, felt as a child on the shore of the great sea of human knowledge. Doubtless many of his followers feel as though far out on the tossing waves; for they act as if their opinion could by no possibility be wrong.

Sometimes obstinacy is confounded with firmness, and under this misnomer is practiced as a virtue. But the line between obstinacy and firmness is strong and decisive. Firmness of purpose is one of the most necessary sinews of character, and one of the best instruments of success. Without it, genius wastes its efforts in a maze of inconsistencies. Firmness, while not suffering itself to be easily driven from its course, recognizes the fact that it is only perfection that is immutable, but that for things imperfect change is the way to perfect them. It gets the name of obstinacy when it will not admit of a change for the better. Firmness without knowledge can not be always good. In things ill it is not virtue, but an absolute vice. It is a noble quality; but unguided by knowledge or humility, it falls into obstinacy, and so loses the traits whereby we before admired it.

Society is often dragged down to low standards by two or three who propose, in every case, to fight every thing and every idea of which they are not the instigators. There is nothing harder for a man with a strong will than to make up his mind not always to have his own way; to submit, in many cases, rather than to quarrel with his neighbors. One must certainly make up his mind to lose much of happiness who is not willing to give way at times to the wishes of others. We must learn to turn sharp corners quietly, or we shall be constantly hurting ourselves.

But we must not, in decrying obstinacy, overlook the fact that, while it certainly is a great vice and frequently the cause of great mischief, yet it has closely allied with it the whole line of masculine virtues, constancy, fidelity, and fortitude, and that in their excess all the virtues easily fall into it. Yet it is ever easy to determine the line of demarkation where these virtues end and obstinacy begins. The smallest share of common sense will suffice to detect it, and there is little doubt that few people pass this boundary without being conscious of the fault. The business of constancy chiefly is bravely to stand by and stoutly to suffer those inconveniences which are not otherwise possible to be avoided. But constancy does not adhere to an opinion merely for the sake of having its own way, wherein it differs from obstinacy.

There are situations in which the proper opinions and modes of action are not evident. In such cases we must maturely reflect ere we decide; we must seek for the opinions of those wiser and better acquainted with the subject than ourselves; we must candidly hear all that can be said on both sides; then, and then only, can we in such cases hope to determine wisely. But the decision once so deliberately adopted we must firmly sustain, and never yield but to the most unbiased conviction of our former errors. But when such conviction is secured, it is the part of true manliness to acknowledge it, and of true wisdom to make the required change. There is no principle of constancy or of perseverance or of fortitude that requires us to continue in our former course when convinced that it is wrong.

There is nothing which wings its flight so swiftly as calumny; nothing which is uttered with more ease; nothing which is listened to with more readiness, or dispersed more widely. Slander soaks into the mind as water soaks into low and marshy places, where it becomes stagnant and offensive. Slander is like the Greek fire, which burned unquenched beneath the water; or, like the weeds which, when you have extirpated them in one place, are sprouting vigorously in another; or, it is like the wheel which catches fire as it goes, and burns with fiercer conflagration as its own speed increases.

The tongue of slander is never tired; in one form or another it manages to keep itself in constant employment. Sometimes it drips honey and sometimes gall. It is bitter now, and then sweet. It insinuates or assails directly, according to circumstances. It will hide a curse under a smooth word and administer poison in the phrases of love. Like death, it "loves a shining mark," and is never so available and eloquent as when it can blight the hopes of the noble-minded, soil the reputation of the pure, and break down or destroy the character of the brave and strong.

No soul of high estate can take delight in slander. It indicates lapse, tendency toward chaos, utter depravity. It proves that somewhere in the soul there is a weakness—a waste, evil nature. Education and refinement are no proof against it. They often serve only to polish the slanderous tongue, increase its tact, and give it suppleness and strategy.

He that shoots at the stars may hurt himself, but not endanger them. When any man speaks ill of us we are to make use of it as a caution, without troubling ourselves at the calumny. He is in a wretched case that values himself upon the opinions of others, and depends upon their judgment for the peace of his life. The contempt of injurious words stifles them, but resentment revives them. He that values himself upon conscience, not opinion, never heeds reproaches. When ill-spoken of take it thus: If you have not deserved it you are none the worse; if you have, then mend. Flee home to your own conscience, and examine your own heart. If you are guilty it is a just correction; if not guilty it is a fair instruction; make use of both; so shall you distill honey out of gall, and out of an open enemy create a secret friend.

That man who attempts to bring down and depreciate those who are above him does not thereby elevate himself. He rather sinks himself, while those whom he traduces are benefited rather than injured by the slander of one so base as he. He who indulges in slander is like one who throws ashes to the windward, which come back to the same place and cover him all over. To be continually subject to the breath of slander will tarnish the purest virtue as a constant exposure to the atmosphere will obscure the luster of the finest gold; but in either the real value of both continues the same, although the currency may be somewhat impeded. Dirt on the character, if unjustly thrown, like dirt on the clothes, should be let alone awhile until it dries, and then it will rub off easily enough. Slander, like other poisons, when administered in very heavy doses, is often thrown off by the intended victim, and thus relieves where it was meant to kill. Dirt sometimes acts like fuller's earth—defiling for the moment, but purifying in the end.

How small a matter will start a slanderous report! How frequently is the honesty and integrity of a man disposed of by a smile or a shrug! How many good and generous actions have been sunk in oblivion by a distrustful look, or stamped with the imputation of proceeding from bad motives by a mysterious and seasonable whisper! A mere hint, a significant look, a mysterious countenance, directing attention to a particular person, is often amply sufficient to start the tongue of slander.

Never does a man portray his own character more vividly than in his manner of portraying another's. There is something unsound about the man whom you have never heard say a good word about any mortal, but who can say much of evil of nearly all he is acquainted with. Never speak evil of another, even with a cause. Remember we all have our faults, and if we expect charity from the world we must be charitable ourselves. Most persons have visible faults, and most are sometimes inconsistent; upon these faults and mistakes petty scandal delights to feast. And even where free from external blemishes envy and jealousy can start the bloodhound of suspicion—create a noise that will attract attention, and many may be led to suppose there is game where there is nothing but thin air.

A word once spoken can never be recalled; therefore it is prudent to think twice before we speak, especially when ill is the burden of our talk. Give no heed to an infamous story handed you by a person known to be an enemy to the one he is defaming; neither condemn your neighbor unheard, for there are always two sides of a story. Hear no ill of a friend, nor speak any of an enemy. Believe not all you hear, nor report all you believe. Be cautious in believing ill of others, and more cautious in reporting it.

There is seldom any thing uttered in malice which returns not to the heart of the speaker. Believe nothing against another but on good authority, nor report what may hurt another, unless it be a greater hurt to others to conceal it. It is a sign of bad reputation to take pleasure in hearing ill of our neighbors. He who sells his neighbor's credit at a low rate makes the market for another to buy his at the same rate. He that indulges himself in calumniating or ridiculing the absent plainly shows his company what they may expect from him after he leaves them.

Deal tenderly with the absent. Say nothing to inflict a wound on their reputation. They may be wrong and wicked, yet your knowledge of it does not oblige you to disclose their character, except to save others from injury. Then do it in a way that bespeaks a spirit of kindness for the absent offender. Evil reports are often the results of misunderstanding or of evil designs, or they proceed from an exaggerated or partial disclosure of facts. Wait, learn the whole story before you decide; then believe what the evidence compels you to, and no more. But even then take heed not to indulge the least unkindness, else you dissipate all the spirit of prayer for them, and unnerve yourself for doing them good.

On many a mind and many a heart there are sad inscriptions deeply engraved by the tongue of slander, which no effort can erase. They are more durable than the impression of the diamond on the glass, for the inscription on the glass may be destroyed by a blow, but the impression on the heart will last forever. Let not the sting of calumny sink too deeply in your soul. He who is never subject to slander is generally of too little mental account to be worthy of it. Remember that it is always the best fruits that the birds pick at, that wasps light on the finest flowers, and that slanderers are like flies, that overlook all a man's good parts in order to light upon his sores. Know that slander is not long-lived, provided that your conduct does not justify them, and that truth, the child of time, erelong will appear to vindicate thee.

Few characteristics are more unfortunate in their effects on the character of their possessor than irritability, few more repulsive and annoying to those with whom circumstances bring him in contact. Irritable people are always unjust, always exacting, always dissatisfied. They claim every thing of others, yet receive their best efforts with petulance and disdain. This habit has an unfortunate tendency of growth, until it renders a person wholly incapable of conferring happiness upon others. As the morning fog renders the most familiar objects uncouth in appearance, so it distorts the imagination and disorders the mental faculties, so that truth can not be distinguished from falsehood or friendship from enmity.

It is one great spring-source of envy and discontent, poisoning the fountain of life; it is a moral Upas-tree, scattering ruin and desolation on every side. Its origin is not difficult to trace; activity and energy are its correctives. Those who habitually occupy their minds about things serviceable to others and to themselves are seldom peevish or irritable; but those whose powers are enervated by inertia, whose mental pabulum is fiction generated in a disordered fancy, become misanthropic or grumblers, and speedily give way to incessant fault-finding, as annoying as it is unjust. Did irritable people know or could they feel the effect of their conduct upon others, they would doubtless seek to refrain from the habit; but the possessor of such a turn of mind is as selfish as he is unjust, and cares for no one but himself. For others he cares nothing. While he claims the greatest deference for himself, he will not defer to the wishes of others in the slightest degree.

The personal sin of fretting is almost as extensive as any other evil, and if not universal, it is at least very general. It is as vain and useless a habit as any one can harbor. It is a direct violation of the law of God, and its direful effects are fearful to contemplate. Nothing so warps a man's nature, sours his disposition, and, sooner or later, breaks up the friendly relationship of the domestic circle. It is sinful in its beginning, sinful in its progress, and disastrous in its results. Such a spirit in the family, in the school or Church is sure to become contagious, and result in great injury.

A fretting, irritable disposition will not fail of finding frequent opportunities for indulgence. It is not particular as to time, place, or cause. Occasions literally multiply as the habit increases in strength. Nothing seems to go right with its possessor. Instead of conquering circumstances they control and conquer him. Fretting weakens one's self-respect, dissipates the regards of others, and breaks asunder the bonds of affection. If a scolder should, through deception and ignorance of his true character, be for a time loved, still the canker is there, the mine is sapped, and, sooner or later, the affections will be sundered. Such a habit too frequently indulged in has drawn the best of husbands into dissipation, rendered the most affectionate of wives miserable, and estranged members of the same family circle. It ruins all the relationships of life, it is a most pernicious disposition, a dreadful inheritance.

It is ever the disposition of human nature to pattern more easily after the evils by which we are surrounded than the good. There is also an unfortunate disposition on our part to criticise the faults of those around us which displease us. Did we always do this in a spirit of true kindness it were well; but a confirmed grumbler is at heart so thoroughly selfish that the spirit of charity is utterly foreign to his complaints. Instead of earnest endeavor to discover and pattern after the perfection of those by whom they are surrounded, they seem bent only on learning the faults of others, and to take positive pleasure in making them public. Such a spirit only displays our own weakness; it shows to all keen observers that we have not patience enough to bear with our neighbor's weakness. It defeats its own ends, and instead of exposing the faults of our neighbors, serves only to call attention to our own irritable, peevish, unlovable disposition.

It is an unfailing sign of moral weakness to be constantly giving way to fitful outbreaks of ill-temper. Fools, lunarians, the weak-minded, and the ignorant are irascible, impatient, and possess an ungovernable disposition; great hearts and wise are calm, forgiving, and serene. To hear one perpetual round of complaint and murmuring, to have every pleasant thought scared away by this evil spirit, is a sore trial. It is, like the sting of a scorpion, a perpetual nettle destroying your peace, rendering life a burden. Its influence is deadly, and the purest and sweetest atmosphere is contaminated into a deadly miasma wherever this evil genius prevails. It has been truly said that, while we ought not to let the bad temper of others influence us, it would be as reasonable to spread a blister upon the skin and not expect it to draw, as to think a family not suffering because of the bad temper of any of its inmates. One string out of tune will destroy the music of an instrument otherwise perfect, so if all the members of a family do not cultivate a kind and affectionate disposition there will be discord and every evil work.

To say the least, such a disposition is a most unfortunate one. It bespeaks littleness of soul and ignorance of mankind. It is far wiser to take the more charitable view of our fellow-men. Life takes its hue in a great degree from the color of our own minds. If we are frank and generous the world treats us kindly. If, on the contrary, we are suspicious, men learn to be cold and cautious toward us. Let a person get the reputation of being touchy, and every body is under more or less restraint in his or her presence. The people who fire up easily miss a deal of happiness. Their jaundiced tempers destroy their own comfort as well as that of their friends. They always have some fancied slight to brood over. The sunny, serene moments of less selfish dispositions never visit them. True wisdom inculcates the necessity of self-control in all instances. Much may be affected by cultivation. We should learn to command our feelings, and act prudently in all the ordinary concerns of life. This will better prepare us to meet sudden emergencies with calmness and fortitude.

Envy is the daughter of Pride, the author of murder and revenge, the beginner of secret sedition, and the perpetual tormentor of virtue. Envy is the slime of the soul, a venom, a poison or quicksilver, which consumeth the flesh and dryeth up the marrow of the bones. It is composed of odious ingredients, in which are found meanness, vice, and malice, in about equal proportions. It wishes the force of goodness to be strained, and that the measure of happiness be abated. It laments over prosperity, pines at the visit of success, is sick at the sight of health. Like death, it loves a shining mark; like the worm, it never runs but to the fairest fruits; like a cunning bloodhound, it singles out the fattest deer in the flock.

Envy is no less foolish than it is detestable. It is a vice which keeps no holiday, but is always in the wheel and working out its own disquiet. It loves darkness rather than light, because its deeds are evil. Scorpions can be made to sting themselves to death when confined within a circle of fire. Even such is envy; for when surrounded on all sides by the brightness of another's prosperity it speedily destroys itself. He whose heart is imbued with the spirit of envy loseth much of the pleasures of life. The envious man is in pain upon all occasions which ought to give him pleasure.