Chapter 16
"I see a Spirit by thy side, Purple-winged and eagle-eyed, Looking like a heavenly guide.
Though he seems so bright and fair, Ere thou trust his proffered care, Pause a little, and beware!
If he bid thee dwell apart, Tending some ideal smart In a sick and coward heart;
In self-worship wrapped alone, Dreaming thy poor griefs are grown More than other men have known;
Though his words seem true and wise, Soul, I say to thee, Arise, He is a Demon in disguise!"
It is a phase in which one feels his own peculiar sorrow as the most unendurable of all. Perhaps it is--but one _must_ abandon that point of view. "That way madness lies." His life may be desolate, but he must not allow himself to meditate on that conviction. It is moral as well as mental disaster, and as life is a divine responsibility, not to be evaded because things in general go wrong, one has no right to live in less than his best expression every day and hour. In darkness and desolation, even, one may find a spiritual exaltation. Such a period in life may be like that of the seed, isolated and buried in the ground--that it may germinate and grow; that it may spring up in leaf and flower and fruit, and reach out to life and light with multiplied forces in the transfiguration of new power. A period that seems empty and devoid of stimulus may be, after all, that of highest potency. When nothing crystallizes into events, all the elements are plastic to the impress of spiritual energy. "Cast thyself into the will of God." This is the crucible from which is distilled the alembic of power. One may stamp the image of noblest achievement upon this plastic period. It is the time in which to create on the spiritual side.
To live in poise, and beauty, and harmony is the finest of all the fine arts. It is, in itself, the occupation of life. "I am primarily engaged to myself," said Emerson, "to be a public servant of the gods; to demonstrate to all men that there is good will and intelligence at the heart of things, and ever higher and yet higher leadings. These are my engagements. If there be power in good intention, in fidelity, and in toil, the north wind shall be purer, the stars in heaven shall glow with a kindlier beam, that I have lived."
It is in the will of God that perfect serenity and joy shall be found. "In His will is our peace," says Dante. The acceptance of this profound truth is the absolute key to all harmony and happiness. When sorrow is felt as a dark cloud, a crushing weight, the energies are paralyzed; but when one can rise above this inertia and cease questioning that which he regards as a mysterious and--in all humility--undeserved calamity; when he can simply accept it as an expression of the divine action that is moulding the soul, and thus leave it all in peace of spirit; when, forgetting the past, he can press onward to the things that are before,--then, indeed, does he receive of the true ministry of pain.
"Every consecration made in the darkness is reaching out toward the light, and in the end it must come into the light, strong in the strength which it won in its life and struggle in the dark."
There is a great renewal and regeneration of life in the actual realization of Saint Paul's admonition as to forgetting the things that are behind to press onward to those before. One should force himself, simply by an act of will and by his rational convictions of the beauty and value of life, to let go past experiences that chain him to sorrow, and, instead, link himself in that magnetism of spiritual apprehension possible to achieve, to the enchantment and power of the future. Even the most tragic sorrows lose their hold over one if he will reflect that these, as well as his joys, are alike expressions of the divine will. "Seek you," said a devout Catholic priest, "the secret of union with God? There is none other than to avail yourselves of all that He sends you. You have but to accept all that He sends, and let it do its work in you.... No created mind or heart can teach you what this divine action will do in you; you will learn it by successive experiences. Your life unceasingly flows into this incomprehensible abyss, where we have but to love and accept as best that which the present moment brings, with perfect confidence in this divine action which of itself can only work you good."
When the divine action comes in the guise of joy and happiness, one is swift to give thanks. But when it comes in the guise of pain, shall he not also see in it the expression of God's will, and accept it with that absolute confidence in the wisdom and beneficence of the divine action that is, in itself, peace and sweetness? For it is a "light affliction which is but for a moment," and the promise is ours that it "worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." And this is not merely nor mostly a religious enthusiasm; it is the only practical working basis on which one whom experiences touch deeply can live at all. Without this philosophy sorrow would undermine the health and paralyze all the energy that should express itself in achievements. But the secret of joy is hidden in pain.
"For what God deigns to try with sorrow He means not to decay to-morrow; But through that fiery trial last When earthly ties and bonds are past."
An experience that receives this test must hold deep significance. Let one accept it,--not only with patience and trust, but triumphantly, radiantly, as in the exquisite realization of the divine words: "For ye have need of patience, that after ye have done the will of God, ye shall receive the promise." And the promise is sure if the conditions have been fulfilled. It is only a question of time. Even heaven itself is but "the perfect sight of Christ," and why shall not this radiant vision flash upon us, now and here in the earthly life, and make heaven of every day? It is not merely by the change called death that we enter into the spiritual world. The turn of thought, the thrill of love and sacrifice and generous outgoing, carries one, at any instant, into the heavenly life. It is only the qualities that find there their native atmosphere which give beauty, depth, and significance to this human life. It is only as one lives _divinely_ that he lives at all,--only as one recognizes "the perfect sight of the Christ" that he recognizes the full scope of his responsibility and enters on his truest experiences.
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[Sidenote: Conduct and Beauty.]
Matthew Arnold dwells often upon "our need for conduct, our need for beauty;" and he finds the springs of the supply to be, not in the "strenuous" life, always at high pressure and extreme tension, but in the thoughtful leisure, in the serenity of repose, in the devotion to poetry and art. "How," he questions, "are poetry and eloquence to exercise the power of relating the modern results of natural science to man's instinct for conduct, his instinct for beauty? And here again I answer that I do not know _how_ they will exercise it, but that they can and will exercise it I am sure. I do not mean that modern philosophical poets and modern philosophical moralists are to come and relate for us, in express terms, the results of modern scientific research to our instinct for conduct, our instinct for beauty. But I mean that we shall find, as a matter of experience, if we know the best that has been thought and uttered in the world, we shall find that the art and poetry and eloquence of men who lived, perhaps, long ago, who had the most limited natural knowledge, who had the most erroneous conceptions about many important matters,--we shall find that this art, and poetry, and eloquence, have, in fact, not only the power of refreshing and delighting us, they have also the power,--such is the strength and worth, in essentials, of their author's criticism of life,--they have a fortifying, and elevating, and quickening, and suggestive power, capable of wonderfully helping us to relate the results of modern science to our need for conduct, our need for beauty."
Life has a tendency to become far too "strenuous" with the best one can do, even; and the need is not for greater pressure of intensity, but for greater receptivity of intellectual and spiritual refreshment; for a calmer trust and a loftier faith.
The joy of faith in its inspiration and emotion is wonderfully renewed from the Divine Word. "The Lord shall be unto thee an everlasting light, and thy God thy glory." The gospels are full of these positive and radiant assurances that invest faith with the most absolute joy of confidence and positiveness of trust. These assurances meet the eye and enter the heart with the certainty of a personal message, directly given from God. And it is in this realm of the higher thought, of that culture of the soul which is the true object and aim of the temporary life on earth, that the relief from the too strenuous pressure of affairs must be found. The human soul is so constituted that it cannot live unless it breathes its native air of inspiration and joy and divineness. It is stifled in the "strenuous" lower life, its energies are paralyzed unless it seek renewal at the divine springs. It is this strenuousness of latter-day life, unrelieved by love and by prayer; unrelieved by the spiritual luxury of loving service and outgoing thought; this strenuous attitude, intent on getting and greed and gain and personal advantage, that, at last, ends in the discords and the crimes, the despair and the suicides, whose records fill the daily press. The cure for all these ills is to be found only in the higher life of conduct and of beauty. "Thou shalt show me the way of life: Thou shalt make me full of joy with Thy countenance." Here, and here alone, is the cure, the relief, the leading into peace and serenity and exaltation. It is not that the "fierce energy" of life is in excess, but that its application is in wrong and unmeaning directions. Let the soul find its true refreshment and infinitely sustaining tide of energy in God, and immediately "old things have passed away," and "all have become new," and life is full of exhilaration and joy. "Every day we ought to renew our purpose, saying to ourselves: This day let us make a sound beginning, for what we have hitherto done is naught." Every day is a new and definite re-entrance upon life. Nor is it worth while to linger too much on the mistakes, the errors of yesterday. True, the consequences of errors and mistakes linger in life until they are worked out; but the working out is, after all, only a question of time and of unfaltering persistence in the upward way, and thus a new foundation of life is laid: "old things have passed away and all things have become new." It is in the serene and joyous exaltation of life alone that one truly lives; in that sweetness of mutual trust and generous aims and over-flowing love that radiates its joy and beauty to all with whom it comes in contact, and which is perpetually fed and perpetually renewed by the constant communion of the soul with God.
On the New Year's eve of 1902 there was a wonderful phenomenon transpiring in the stellar universe, which continued during several weeks. That night was one of the utmost beauty. The air was as clear as crystal, and the constellation of Orion gleamed and sparkled like a colossal group of diamonds against an azure background. The entire sky was a scene of unparalleled grandeur and magnificence. The superb constellations of Orion and Ursa Major (familiarly known as the "Dipper") blazed with an intense brilliancy that seemed the very incarnation and concentration of electric vitality. Five of the stars in Ursa Major were then receding from our atmosphere at the rate of twenty thousand miles a second; the other two were approaching; and the phenomenon of these weeks was in the changing aspect of that constellation which the astronomers hold will require some two thousand years to complete. Then will Ursa Major, as seen from the earth, be entirely changed. Such facts as these, and the speculation they suggest, offer to us a new basis for the contemplation of life. If it require a period of two thousand years to produce the appreciable change of grouping in a constellation whose stars are moving at the rate of twenty thousand miles a second, this fact indicates to us the infinite spaces and the unlimited time in which the universe moves onward in its appointed path.
With the individual life, as with the star,--it is the direction in which it is moving that determines the results. In this truth lies infinite encouragement. Let one set his feet in the upward way, and keep steadfastly to his aim; let him keep unfaltering faith with his ideals,--and his success in whatever direction he is moving, his ultimate achievement of every aim he follows, is assured. It becomes simply a question of time when the entire aspect of his life shall be changed even as that of constellations in their appointed course.
It is in this manner alone that one may control his life,--not by the working of an instantaneous miracle, but by absolute fidelity to a definite ideal of progressive change.
"Quicksand years that whirl me I know not whither, Your schemes, politics, fail, lines give way, substances mock and elude me, Only the theme I sing, the great and strong-poss'd soul, eludes not, One's self must never give way--that is the final substance--that out of all is sure, Out of politics, triumphs, battles, life, what at last finally remains? When shows break up what but one's self is sure?"
The "quicksand years" whirl away many things. Schemes dissolve and vanish; new combinations constantly arise; every day is, indeed, a new beginning, and
"Every morn is the world made new."
But a purpose that remains unchanged amid all the shifting scenery of perpetual new environments must eventually fulfil itself. The stars in their courses fight for it. The celestial laws insure its final goal.
"Out of politics, triumphs, battles, life, what at last finally remains? When shows break up, what but one's self is sure?"
One has this sure self only in proportion as he relates his life to the divine life. The only permanence is to be found in the currents of divine energy, infinite and exhaustless.
There are many ways of watching the New Year in; but the somewhat unique personal experience of welcoming it on that eve of 1902, gazing at the vast expanse of the brilliant skies through the windows of a sleeping-car, had its claim to beauty and sacredness. The rush of the train gave a sense of almost floating out into the ethereal spaces. There was a detachment from earth that hardly comes even in the sacred service of the church on that mystic midnight of a New Year. One seemed alone with the infinite Powers, and a new and deeper trust in the Giver of all Good was inspired. The beautiful lines of Whittier came to memory:--
"I know not what the future hath Of marvel and surprise, Assured alone that life and death His mercy underlies."
Thus might one remember and dream while flying on under the New Year's skies, and realize anew that any trend of thought is inevitably creating its future. Auto-suggestion is the most potent of forces, and the assertion that "as a man thinketh so is he," is literally true. As he thinketh, so he _shall_ be, also; and he can thus think himself into new conditions and attract to himself new forces. He has the power to keep his feet set in this upward pathway, and so sure as is the destiny of the stars and the constellations on their course through the heavenly spaces, so sure is his own arrival at the point toward which he is moving, and his achievement of the supreme end he holds steadfastly in view. Thus life will be to him no period of mere "quicksand years," but, instead, a series of advancing realization and beautiful states. Ideals may be swiftly realized by the accelerated energy of concentration and prayer, and the secret of transformation from defeat and denial to the perfect hour of triumph and happiness lies, for each one, within his own keeping.
"One's self must never give way--that is the final substance."
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[Sidenote: The Divine Panorama.]
"Do we not all wish that we could live our lives over again in the light of our present experience?" remarked Rev. Doctor Charles Gordon Ames; "but this is just what God lets us do."
Here, in a word, was that divine panorama of the completeness of life revealed; the part of it lived in this present phase of experience being infinitely less in its relation, compared to the whole, than is one day in its relation to the longest life possible on earth. One day out of seventy, eighty, ninety years, would not seem so much; yet this entire period of even the longest life on earth, in its relative proportion to the life of all the eternities, is far less than is one day out of a lifetime in its proportional relation to Immortality. This spiritual panorama suggests its infinite energy of hope; it reinforces courage; it reveals in the most impressive manner the significance of living. For it is the tendency which always determines the result.
There can hardly be a question but that distrust of conditions is a fatal element in all effort and achievement. Depression might, indeed, well take its place among the seven deadly sins that Dante names. There are serious errors whose effect is less disastrous than is that of habitual depression of spirits. Mental power is one's working capital, and the degree of power depends, absolutely, on the quality of thought, or, as the phrase goes, on "the state of mind." Conditions determine events, but conditions are plastic to thought. On them one may stamp the impress. If he persist in regarding himself as a victim to fate and his life as a sacrifice and burnt offering, he can very soon work this conception into actuality. He can--indeed he will, and he inevitably must--become that which he continually sees himself, in mental vision. But if he will take his stand, with poise and serenity, on spiritual truth; if he will amend his life according to spiritual laws; if he will accept failure as merely a stepping-stone to ultimate success,--as "the triumph's evidence,"--ill fortune can establish no dominant power over his life. That things have gone wrong is only, after all, a proof that they _may_ go right. The consequences of error or mistake warn one not to make the same error or mistake again; and therefore the consequences, however unpleasant or sad at the moment, are really educative in their nature, and their very trial or pain becomes, if truly recognized, a friendly and redemptive power. Then, too, time is a variable factor. It is degree, not duration, that it means. The consequences of an error may be accepted and annulled swiftly. Intensity of feeling will condense a year, an eternity, even, into an hour. And the "new day," days in which, as Doctor Ames so charmingly wrote,--
"--God sets for you A fair clean page to write anew The lesson blotted hitherto,"--
a new day may be a new lifetime as well as that "next life" beyond the change we call death.
How wonderfully Emerson unfolds the magic possible to a day. "One of the illusions," he says, "is that the present hour is not the critical, decisive hour. _Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year._ No man has learned anything rightly, until he knows that every day is Doomsday. There are days which are the carnival of the year. The angels assume flesh, and repeatedly become visible. The imagination of the gods is excited, and rushes on every side into forms. Yesterday not a bird peeped; the world was barren, peaked, and pining: to-day 't is inconceivably populous; creation swarms and meliorates."
The speculative idea that immortality is an achievement rather than a gift is not new, but whenever it is formulated, as in a recent sermon by Rev. Doctor Parkhurst, it startles many people and arouses antagonism, so far as it is not truly understood. Yet it has its deepest aspects of spiritual truth, and it is the idea constantly, persistently, and most impressively taught by Saint Paul throughout the entire gospels. We are constantly besought to _lay hold_ on the eternal life; to press forward toward immortal things; to be renewed in the spirit; to "put on the new man, which after God is created in righteousness and true holiness; to follow Him, who is the Life, the Truth, the Way." The entire teaching of the gospels is one forcible system of active and unfaltering endeavor in the growing achievement of spirituality, which determines Immortality. It is the exact accountant--measure for measure. So much spirituality, so much immortality. Nor does this assertion partake in the slightest degree of the nature of a metaphysical problem, to be comprehended only by the theologian and the philosopher. It is the most simple, clear, and direct of propositions. We all accept Saint Paul's assertion that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of heaven. So far as one lives only in the processes of the physical life he is not living the life of those spiritual energies which alone lay hold on immortality. There is a certain degree of intelligent consciousness that is inseparable from this physical life; an intelligence that buys and sells, and bargains and calculates on the physical plane, and is sufficient to produce a certain rational status of life. There are not wanting individuals who never rise above this plane. They may, and often do, acquire possessions and even power on the limited plane of the outward life; they may even have some formal and ceremonial religious observances which they mistake for Christianity, but which are the framework ready and able to inspire them if filled with the spirit, but which, to them, remain empty and dead. The man whose body, simply, occupies his church pew on Sunday, and who on Monday proceeds to cheat his neighbor, is not, we will all agree, the man who has really entered into the true privileges offered by the Church. The sacrament of Sunday must become the consecration of Monday. Unless this be true the man has not _laid hold_ on Immortality. So we see that this lower plane of considerable intelligence and consciousness, related exclusively to the visible and the tangible, must be eliminated from our conceptions of Immortality. There is nothing at all in this that can possibly survive death. Doctor John Fiske gives a fine and comprehensive definition of that degree of achievement which is above the level of death when he says:--
"In the highest of creatures the Divine immanence has acquired sufficient concentration and steadiness to survive the dissolution of the flesh, and assert an individuality untrammelled by the limitations which in the present life everywhere persistently surround it."
Here we have the initial truth. The acquirement of "sufficient concentration and steadiness to survive the dissolution of the flesh,"--_and_ "to assert an individuality untrammelled by the limitations of the present life,"--when man has progressed so far as this, then, and then alone, has he _achieved_ immortality. He has laid hold on its initial phase. For immortality is infinite beyond conception. It is as infinite as space, and as the idea of God. To have achieved enough of this "concentration and steadiness"--which is merely another phrase for spirituality--to survive death, is no more achieving immortality, in its wholeness and completeness, than learning the alphabet is the achievement of scholarship in its infinite resources. It cannot be conceived of as complete, but, instead, as an endless chain of infinite possibilities, of ever new and ever widening vistas.