Part 7

I do not join in the condemnation with which the moralists usually meet this view of life. I deny only the conclusions which are drawn from such a view. I recognize the honest purpose of these modern philosophers. They represent, at least, a sincere love of truth; they are hostile to all mere phrases. The spirit of the modern world looks for a happiness which is not mere philosophical composure, but which has objective results. It demands a kind of contentment in which every human being may have a share. In all this, the spirit of the age is wholly right, and this demand for objective happiness which it utters is a note which has not been heard for two thousand years. I, too, desire happiness; but I know that one who would find the way to happiness must, first of all, and without hesitation, throw overboard all the false idols which have tempted him to worship them. As he dismisses the prejudices which birth, or circumstances, or habits, have created, he takes one step after another toward true happiness. As the Emperor Maximilian of Mexico, one of the least fortunate persons of our day, rightly said: “The abandoning of an untruth, or of a prejudice, brings with it forthwith a sensation of joy.” Here, then, is our guide along this darkened road, which without some such guidance we could not find at all.

“The happy life lies straight before our eyes,-- We see it, but we know not how to prize.”

First of all, then, we must admit that happiness does not consist in the sense of virtue alone. This idol of the incorruptible Robespierre will not serve us. For virtue in its completeness dwells in no human heart. One must have but a meagre conception of virtue, or else a very limited intellectual capacity, who finds himself always self-contented. Even the vainest of men are not in reality contented; their vanity itself is in large degree only a sense of uncertainty about their worth, so that they need the constant endorsement of others to satisfy them. The maxim says that a good conscience makes a soft pillow, and he who has this unfailing sense of duty done no doubt has happiness; but I have not, as yet, fallen in with such a man. My impression is that there is not one of us who has ever, even for a single day, done his whole duty. Beyond this, I need not go. If one of my readers says to me: “I am the man who has thus done his duty,”--well, he may be quite right, but I do not care for that man’s nearer acquaintance. The farther a man advances in the doing of his duty, so much the more his conscience and perception grow refined. The circle of his duties widens continually before him, so that he understands the Apostle Paul, when, with perfect sincerity, and without false humility, he speaks of himself as the “chief of sinners.”

Are, then, I ask again, philanthropy and the good deeds--public and private--which it suggests, the secret of happiness? Love is a great word, and the Apostle is altogether justified when in the familiar passage of his letters he says that among the many things which perish, love abides. But when in the same passage he says that it is possible to speak with the tongues of angels, and give all one’s goods to feed the poor, and even give one’s body to be burned, and yet not have love,--then we comprehend without further explanation what he means by love. For love is a part of God’s own being, which does not originate in the hearts of men. One who possesses it knows well enough that it is not his own. Even the pale human reflection of this Divine love brings happiness, but it is a temporary happiness; and always with the perilous uncertainty of a love which anticipates return, so that the happiness depends upon the will of others. He, then, who yields his heart absolutely to others, and stakes his happiness on their affection, may some day find the terrible words of the Jewish prophet true: “Cursed be the man that trusteth in man, and maketh flesh his arm, and whose heart departeth from the Lord.” All this may be one day a spiritual experience, which may convert his love into hate. That apotheosis of hate which marks the talk of many a social agitator in our day is but the evidence of those bitter disillusions of affection which millions have been called to feel.

Is, then, happiness to be found in work? Work is certainly one great factor of human happiness--indeed, in one sense, the greatest; for without work all happiness which is not mere intoxication is absolutely denied. In order to get the capacity for happiness, one must obey the commands: “Six days shalt thou labor,” and “In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread.” Of all seekers for happiness, the most foolish are those who evade these two conditions. Without work no man can be happy. In this negative statement the saying is absolutely true. And yet, it is a greater error to suppose that work is in itself happiness, or to believe that every work leads to happiness. It is not alone our imagination that pictures another ideal, so that one can hardly imagine a heaven, or an earthly paradise, as devoted to unremitting work; it is also true--and it is much more to be remembered--that only a fool can be wholly contented with the work that he does. One might even say that the wisest see most clearly the incompleteness of their work, so that not one of them has been able, at the end of his day’s work, to say of it: “Behold, it is very good.” This mere praise of work, then, is, for the most part, only a sort of a spur, or whip, with which one urges himself, or others, to the tasks of life; so that even those who take pride in describing themselves as “working-people” are much concerned to reduce as far as possible their working day. If work were essentially the same as happiness, these people would be seeking to prolong as much as possible the hours of work.

Of all seekers for happiness, however, the most extraordinary are those who look for it in the philosophy of pessimism; yet of these there are not a few, and by no means of the baser sort. There is, however, almost always associated with the creed of pessimism a certain false impression of one’s own importance. It has an appearance of magnanimity to throw overboard all one’s hopes, and to believe that everything, oneself included, is bad. For this, at least, is true, that if all are bad, he who sees that it is so, and admits it, is, after all, the least bad; and if he is sincerely contented that others should regard him as bad, he may be not far from the way to something better. Yet, pessimism as a permanent habit of mind is, for the most part, only a mantle of philosophy through which, when it is thrown back, there looks out the face of vanity;--a vanity which is never satisfied and which withholds one forever from a contented mind.

Finally, of all people who seek for happiness, the most unhappy are those who seek it in mere conformity to religious creeds. There are many such people in our day, and they find themselves in the end bitterly disappointed. For all church organizations are inclined to promise more than they can assure, and are like nets to catch all manner of fish. In a passage from the works of the late Professor Gelzer, he remarks that, for most church-going people, worship is nothing more than “appearing at Court once a week to present one’s respects to the throne.” He adds that there is the same formal service of man also; for one sometimes does this service, or, as the Bible says, “Hath wrought a good work upon me,” only for the better maintenance in the future of one’s own self-esteem.

I shall not contradict what so distinguished a man out of his rich experience has said on this subject. Yet, for my own part, I must still believe that if a human soul worships God even in the most irrational way, and recognizes its dependence on Him, God will not forsake that soul. I must believe, still further, that the feeblest and most superstitious expressions of religion bring to one who, even with occasional sincerity, persists in them, more happiness than the most brilliant philosophy of atheism can offer. Yet this blessing bestowed upon simple souls by the patience of God is not to be attained in its fulness by those who are capable of larger insight. Such persons have the duty laid on them to free the Christian Religion from the lukewarmness which for two thousand years has afflicted it. Theirs is the duty of dissatisfaction with the forms and formulas of the Church. No mere science of religion should content them; for such a science alone never brought happiness to man, and still offers to a people who do not really understand its teachings, stones instead of bread. So long as people seek contentment in these ways, their path to happiness must abound in disappointments; and these disappointments become the harder to bear because people, as a rule, do not dare to confess either to themselves, or to others, that they are thus disappointed. They must pretend to themselves that they are satisfied because they see no path which may lead them back to happiness and peace.

Such, then, are some of the ways by which, with slight modifications and combinations, the human race through all its history has sought for happiness; and if we do not recognize these ways in history, we may find them all with more or less distinctness in our own experience. And yet by no one of these ways has the race found the happiness it seeks. What, then, I ask once more, is the path to this end?

The first and the most essential condition of true happiness, I answer, is a firm faith in the moral order of the world. If one lack this, if it be held that the world is governed by chance or by those changeless laws of nature which in their dealings with the weak are merciless, or if, finally, one imagine the world controlled by the cunning and power of man,--then there is no hope of personal happiness. In such an order of the world, there is nothing left for the individual but to rule, or to be ruled; to be either the anvil or the hammer; and it is hard to say which of the two would be to an honorable man the more unworthy lot.

In national life especially, this view of the world leads to constant war and preparation for war, and the text-book of politics becomes The Prince of Machiavelli. From such a condition of war the only possible, though partial, deliverance would be through some vast governmental control, ruling with iron force and comprehending in itself all civilized peoples. Such a State would, at least, make war between States impossible, as it was impossible in the Roman Empire of the Cæsars, and as Napoleon I. dreamed that it might be impossible in Europe. Every right-minded man must inwardly protest against a view which thus robs man in his person of his will and in his politics of his freedom; and history also teaches, in many incidents, the emptiness and folly of such a view. There are some persons who believe that they are forced to accept this social creed, because the conception of the world as a moral order does not seem to them sufficiently proved. To such persons, I can only repeat that which is written above the entrance to Dante’s hell:

“Through me the way is to the city dolent; Through me the way is to eternal dole; Through me the way among the people lost.

* * * * *

All hope abandon, ye who enter in!”

I go on to say, however, that formal proof of this moral order of the world is impossible. The ancient Hebrews believed that one could not look upon the face of God and live, and Christianity, in its turn, offers us no formal proof of the character of God. The only path that leads to the proof of God is that which is followed in the Sermon on the Mount: “Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.” Here is a proof which any one may test whose heart is pure; while from those who merely reason about God’s order of the world He hides Himself, and no man may rend by force the veil that covers Him.

If, then, one begins simply to live as in a moral world, his path to happiness lies plainly before him. The door is open and no man can shut it. Within his heart there is a certain stability, rest, and assurance, which endure and even gather strength amid all outward storms. His heart becomes, as the Psalmist says, not froward or fearful, but “fixed.” The only peril from which he now has to guard himself is the peril of regarding too seriously the changeful impressions and events of each day. His desire must be to live resolutely in one even mood, and to look for his daily share of conscious happiness not in his emotions, but in his activity. Then for the first time he learns what work really is. It is no more to him a fetish, to be served with anxious fear; it is no longer an idol through which he worships himself; it is simply the natural and healthy way of life, which frees him not only from the many spiritual evils which are produced by idleness, but also from numberless physical evils which have the same source. Happy work is the healthiest of human conditions. Honest sweat on the brow is the source of permanent and self-renewing power and of light-heartedness; and these together make one really happy. Indeed, the later discoveries of medical science are teaching us that physical health is secured only by a high degree of power of resistance against enemies which life cannot avoid. But this power of resistance--as one may soon discover--is not a merely physical capacity; it is quite as much a moral quality and in large part the product of moral effort. Here, then, are two secrets of happiness which are fundamentally inseparable: Life directed by faith in the permanent moral order of the world, and Work done in that same faith. Beyond these two, and one other which I shall mention later, all other ways of happiness are secondary, and indeed all else comes of its own accord, according to one’s special needs, if only one holds firmly to these primary sources of spiritual power.

I go on to mention a few of these subordinate rules for happiness which may be deduced from the experience of life. They are mere maxims of conduct to which many others might be added.

We need, for instance, to be at the same time both brave and humble. That is the meaning of the strange word of the Apostle: “When I am weak, then am I strong.” Either quality alone does more harm than good.

Again, one must not make pleasure an end, for pleasure comes of its own accord in the right way of life, and the simplest, the cheapest, and the most inevitable pleasures are the best.

Again, one can bear all troubles, except two: worry and sin.

Further, all that is really excellent has a small beginning. The good does not show its best at once.

Finally, all paths which it is best to follow, are entered by open doors.

There are, it must be added, some difficulties and problems which thoughtful people should take into account in their intercourse with others. One must not hate other people, or, on the other hand, idolize them, or take their opinions, demands, and judgments too seriously. One must not sit in judgment on others, or, on the other hand, submit himself to their judgment. One must not court the society of those who think much of themselves. Indeed, I may say in general that, except in certain callings, one should not cultivate acquaintance with great people, or fine people, with the rich, or the fashionable, but so far as possible, without repelling them, should avoid their company. Among the best sources of happiness is the enjoyment found in small things and among humble people; and many a bitter experience is avoided by the habit of an unassuming life. The best way to have permanent peace with the world is not to expect much of it; not to be afraid of it; so far as one can without self-deception see the good in it; and to regard the evil as something powerless and temporary which will soon defeat itself.

In short, I may in conclusion say, that one must not take this life too seriously. As soon as we live above it, much of it becomes unimportant, and if the essentials are secure we must not care too much for the subordinate. Many of the best people suffer from this magnifying of trifles, and especially from their dependence on other people’s opinions; and this lack of proportion makes for such people each day’s work much more difficult than it would otherwise be.

I have said that these practical rules might be indefinitely multiplied. But they are all, as I have also said, in reality superfluous. For if the soil of the heart is fertilized, as I have already described, then these fruits of life grow out of it spontaneously, and serve the special needs of the individual. The essential question concerns the soil itself, without which not one of these practical fruits can grow. Thus I may say in general that I take no great interest in what people call systems of morals, or in the rules of conduct which they prescribe. A system of morals either issues spontaneously from a habit of mind, which in its turn issues from a view of life, attained even through the death of one’s old self; or else such a system is nothing but a series of beautiful maxims, pleasant to hear, good to record in diaries and calendars, but incapable of converting the human heart.

I do not care to multiply the material for these collections of maxims. I shall only add one last and solemn truth. It is this,--that under the conditions of human life unhappiness also is necessary. Indeed, if one cared to state it in a paradox, he might say that unhappiness is essential to happiness. In the first place, as the experience of life plainly shows, unhappiness is inevitable, and one must in one way or another reconcile himself to it. The most to which one can attain in this human lot is perfect adjustment to one’s destiny; that inward and permanent peace which, as Isaiah says, is like an “overflowing stream.” It is this peace and this alone which Christ promises to his disciples, and it is this, and no outward satisfaction, which the Apostle Paul expects for his fellow-Christians, when, at the end of his unpeaceful life, he prays that “the peace of Christ may rule” in their hearts.

Thus, for real happiness the outward issue of events may come to have no high importance. Stoicism endeavored to solve the problem of happiness by developing insensibility to pain, but its endeavor was vain. The problem of happiness is to be solved in quite another way. One must accept his suffering and unhappiness, and adjust himself to them. And to this end one is, first of all, helped by considering what unhappiness implies, and by living consistently above the sway of momentary feeling. For unhappiness does us good in no less than three ways,--ways which are cumulative in their effect. It is, in the first place, a punishment, the natural consequence of our deeds. It is, thus considered, a part of those deeds themselves, and therefore must follow them as surely as a logical consequence follows its premise. Unhappiness is, secondly, a cleansing process, waking us to greater seriousness and greater receptivity to truth. Thirdly, unhappiness recalls us to self-examination and fortifies us by disclosing what is our own strength, and what is God’s strength. By no other experience does one attain that spiritual courage which is far removed from self-confidence and very near to humility. In a word, it must be said that the deeper life of man and that noble bearing which we remark in some people, and which no one, whatever be his station, can falsely assume, are attained only through faithful endurance of misfortune. That word of the Apostle Paul, “We glory in tribulations,” is, like many of his sayings, absolutely unintelligible to any one who has not experienced what renewal of power and what profound happiness may be discovered through misfortune itself. It is a form of happiness which one never forgets if he has once really experienced it.

This, then, is the riddle of life which perplexes many a man and turns him from the right way,--that good people do not get the good things which might seem to them their due.