Part 54

“A person out of such a home,” said Virginia, “would not have enough to struggle against. I don’t like people who are just perfect, and have nothing to overcome.”

“We will never reach perfection,” they said; and they all, save Henry, agreed with me that the greatest joy in life was working for, rather than achieving our desires.

“But when we reach perfection,” he said, “we won’t wish for it any more.”

I refused to argue that problematic point.

I said: “Be sure the strong and good man will always find something still to fight and overcome.”

We spoke now of how disobedience might be a virtue, of the rebels in wars for freedom, and the child who would refuse to obey his parents, if they ordered him to do what he thought bad; the thief’s child, for example.

I said: “The framework is for the house—not for itself—and if it doesn’t suit the house, it must be pulled down.”

Now we had an amusing talk on conventions, in which Henry objected to full-dress suits, bouillon cups and polite lies. But I showed them how good and necessary were conventions properly used, since they saved us weighty discussions on trivial matters. I said it was a good thing we didn’t have to waste time and energy deciding what we would eat for breakfast each day.

“But,” said Henry, “if some day I don’t care to eat oatmeal for breakfast, I don’t want to feel obliged.”

“No,” I said; “don’t be a slave to convention.”

I went on: “If all things were right, then conformity would be good—though uninteresting—but in this growing world we need reformers who smash and reform things, whenever conformity becomes deformity.”

You notice that Alfred spoke more at this meeting. I had told him that if he did not help us along, and show what he meant and thought, he was not living up to our idea of completeness and work in unison.

FOURTEENTH MEETING

I read Henry’s paper:

“A good man will bring those with whom he comes in contact into harmonious relations with himself. It is not enough to have a good heart. Many people are always meaning to do good, but never do it. It is the actions that count; for we said: ‘Art (good) is self-expression and self-fulfilment.’

“Many things which we call virtues are only substitutes for love and sympathy, which we are outgrowing. The principal ones are justice, honesty, conformity, obedience and pity.

“Men have not perfect sympathy, but often do things at the expense of others. Therefore man, realizing his weakness, has made for himself a set of laws.”

I objected to his use of the word “pity” along with the other substitutes. We had another short talk on the subject.

Virginia said: “I would rather commit suicide than be pitied.”

“Then,” I answered, “since we do not wish to be pitied, we could not, with perfect sympathy, do so unto others.”

Virginia went on: “When a person who has some trouble or loss makes a great fuss over it, I must say I don’t think very well of him.”

“We expect people to bear life bravely,” I said, “and to help them do it, to do it altogether. A man who is prevented from helping by his own pity is like a man who, when he saw another blind, put out his own eyes in sorrow, instead of leading the blind.”

I said I wanted to speak of a subject that seemed especially to interest Virginia. I meant patriotism, but patriotism in a large and unusual sense. What were their ideas on this subject? Virginia implied that patriotism was not good, “because whenever you are patriotic for your own country, you have to be patriotic against other countries. You seem to be praising and helping your own at the expense of others.”

“That,” I said, “is just the trouble with the false view of patriotism, and that view has grown out of wars and conquests. For, naturally, whenever people fought for their country, they had to fight against another. But I see patriotism—and any loyalty or faithfulness—in a larger relation. Think for a moment what the word patriotism really means, in its verbal root, and you will see how it grows, how it begins at home, and ends by including the world. What does it mean?”

Henry remembered that it came from a word meaning “Father.”

“Yes,” I said, “it meant, originally, loyalty to our fathers, to our family; and so you must see what it would finally mean.”

“Because,” asked Ruth, “we are related to the whole world?”

“Yes,” I answered, “we are related to the whole world, we are children of all the nations; but most of all, of course, children of our fathers; so that, beginning at the centre, we shall spread to all sides, yet not lose the centre. The definite thing, the love for this land, this home, will come first, and include all the others. We will be patriotic for our Father, the world.”