THE MEASURE OF VALUES
This is a very utilitarian age. Start almost any subject, propose almost any scheme, adventure, or investment, and the question is asked, "Will it pay?" The multitude are cautious; the lower stratum, the unsuccessful--the poor and the oppressed--are envious and often bitter and resentful; the successful are often reckless, dissipated, and proud.
I am not writing an essay on Economics, but on Ethics and Psychology; on the character, value, and use of the resources _within_ ourselves; our _real possessions_. Here only may be found _actual values_.
I am not considering the "hereafter," as to "rewards and punishments"; what gods, devils, angels, or men may do _to us_, here or hereafter; but what we may (if we choose) do _for ourselves_.
This question is practical to the last degree. Put the question, "does it pay?" and I answer: It pays like nothing else on earth; it is the only thing that is independent of time, place, or circumstance.
It concerns man's _actual possessions_, of which nothing in "the three worlds" can ever dispossess him. I know of nothing so beneficent, in any concept of God or Nature, Providence or Destiny, as this birthright and opportunity of man, to build character, and _be_ what he chooses to be.
He who knows his power, realizes his opportunity and utilizes his resources, may build a Palace of the Soul, in which he may dwell, literally, in a "kingdom of heaven." And because God is the Architect, and Man the Contractor and Builder, working strictly to the "plans" and the designs, "that house shall stand." It is founded on the "Rock of Ages."
Did anyone ever know or see a noble character that was not built by the Individual himself, by personal effort, by self-control, by self-denial, by justice and kindness to others; often in the face of Poverty; often in spite of wealth; often in the face of sickness, pain and deformity; perhaps deaf and dumb and blind; and yet, like Helen Keller, the soul triumphant and glorified?
To-day, as I write, I went to the Crematory to see the dissolution of a poor, twisted, deformed, and tortured body of a woman past fifty, in which had dwelt a soul so serene, cheerful, and patient, that the beatitudes clustered around her, like doves in a garden of roses. It required no stretch of the imagination to determine what society she had entered.
"Like seeks like," and each "goes to his own place." Her motive, the day-star of her life, was the Mother-Love for an only son. In spite of poverty and pain, she must reward him for love and loyalty, by being bright and cheerful and by belittling her own discomfort to save him sorrow.
Her reward was the growth of the soul that has now risen to its great reward, and dearer and sweeter than all this to the Mother-heart, was to see and realize the growth, the tenderness, and the beautifying of the soul of the Son.
Did it pay? I can almost hear her shouting for joy as she joins the anthem of the Invisible Choir of Helpers that welcome her just over the border.
She prayed many times, even the last time I saw her, before the great change, "If it be possible, let this cup pass from me." I could only say, "Wait just a little longer," with the assurance that every shadow of darkness shall be transformed into dazzling light, and every drop of bitterness into the nectar of the Gods. She was almost deaf and blind, but you should have heard the sweetness in her voice and seen the radiance in her face. I did not know that the end was so near.
To the son, the sweetest sound on earth was that mother's voice, but, though silent for a thousand years, he would not recall her to one moment of the old torture. His sorrow for _himself_ is swallowed up and glorified in his joy for her release.
And what is all this but a lesson in practical psychology, the growth of the soul?
Does it pay? Ask that Mother; ask that Son now. "How do you know?" How do you know anything, except as you see, or experience it?
Character reveals itself. It cannot long hide itself. When the check goes to the bank the resources are there. The Bank of God, and of Nature, and of Compensation, and Eternal Justice, cannot fail. Its resources are infinite.
Independent of time, place, or circumstance, I said: Intrinsic, Inalienable.
Take another illustration almost at random. A cultured soul, winning its way alone, and at great disadvantage.
In the middle of the tenth century lived Farabi, or Alfarabi. He did not confine himself to the Koran, but fathomed the most useful and interesting sciences. He visited Sifah Doulet, the Sultan of Syria. The Sultan was surrounded by the learned who were conversing with him on the sciences.
Farabi entered the salon where they were assembled and remained standing till the Emperor desired that he should be seated; at which the philosopher, by a freedom rather astonishing, went and sat on the end of the Sultan's sofa. The Prince, surprised at his boldness, called one of his officers and commanded him, in a tongue not generally known, to put out the intruder. The philosopher heard him, and replied in the same tongue, "O Signor! he who acts so hastily is subject to repent." The Prince was no less astonished by his reply than by his manner and assurance.
Wishing to know more of him, he began a conference among his philosophers, in which Farabi disputed with so much eloquence and energy that he reduced all the doctors to silence. Then the Sultan ordered music, and when the musicians entered, Farabi accompanied them upon the lute with so much delicacy as to win the admiration of all present. He then drew out, at the Sultan's request, a piece of his own composition, and sang it with his own accompaniment, and had the audience first in laughter, and then in tears--and to complete his Magic, changed to another piece and put them all asleep.
The Sultan in vain urged Farabi to remain near his person, and offered him a high position in his household.
Voluminous writings of Farabi are preserved in the library at Leyden.
"A tale of the Arabian Nights," you may say, and yet it is historic. It reveals the fact that resources, character, and wisdom, in the end triumph and surmount all obstacles. They are intrinsic and permanent values.
They may remain unknown or unappreciated by others, but they are none the less riches to him who possesses them.
It was during this same tenth century in which Alfarabi lived, that there existed at Baghdad a Society composed of Mohammedans, Jews, Christians, and Atheists, for the purpose of Philosophical discussions and scientific investigation; and it was doubtless under this influence that Alfarabi was educated and enabled to cope with the philosophers of the world. Here in Arabia was the highest culture known at the time, in Medicine and all the Arts and Sciences, while the Ecclesiastics were inaugurating the dark ages elsewhere, to eventually spread over the whole of Europe.
Here and there have always appeared individuals superior to their age and time; men who dug to the foundations of knowledge, built character, accumulated resources, and left their impress upon all subsequent time.
Nor has this accumulation of real knowledge been derived from books and schools, though these resources have not been neglected.
Real culture of the Individual has always consisted in the realization of the latent powers of man, in bringing these to light, in learning by experience how to use them. Hence arise self-knowledge, self-control, and a higher evolution.
It is not a mere technical, intellectual acquirement, the ability to define principles and formulate propositions. It rather consists in testing them out in actual experience; first by self-analysis to become familiar with the real self, its capacities and powers, its motives and aims in life; and having grasped and adjusted all these, then to start consciously, deliberately, determinedly, and intelligently, on "the road to the South," on the upward climb toward the Light.
"Possessions," with the great majority of individuals, mean something outward, in space and time; what we have, and, for the time hold, rather than what we are. The average idea of enjoyment is something altogether superficial and transient. It is found, or supposed to be found, in variety of sensations, emotions and feelings; in ringing the changes on these, till vitality fails, disillusion or satiety supervenes, and old age or death closes the play. Often the appetite remains, when vitality fails, and Faust rejuvenated, would run the same gauntlet again. The pity of it is that thousands of these victims of either satiety or Tantalus seem never to dream that there are other values, or anything else, or better, in life.
And yet there is not one of these faculties, capacities and powers that is useless, or, in itself, evil or degrading. They are, one and all, resources of the Individual Intelligence; tools for the day's work; materials for the building of the Temple; whereas, they most frequently are made the motive and the aim of life. They are means to a higher end, and not the end itself.
Without the latent passions, emotions, and feelings, man would be a mere mechanism. If all were mind, or mere intellect, there could be neither the creation nor the appreciation of beauty. Every work of art would be soulless; music might amuse the intellect by intricate chords and variations, like a colorless kaleidoscope, but it could never touch the heart nor elevate the soul.
Music and art, in the highest sense, through consonant vibrations in us, open the doors and windows of the soul, put us in touch and tune with the Infinite, and _then_, the real harmony begins. We live for the time in another world and return with a sigh and recover the bated breath, as though we had seen a vision beyond words. Music is an agent, a talisman, a means to an end. It strikes in us chords that lie at the foundation, the combinations that unlock the doors, and the "Imprisoned Splendor" wings in and out like the doves of Hesperides.
Blunt the passions, the feelings and the emotions by over-indulgence, by vice and dissipation, and the royal guests desert the banquet hall, the doors of the soul creak on their hinges; and in place of the "music of the spheres" you have a devil's dance, and the orgies of despair!
_Does it pay?_ It all depends on _use_. Here lie the resources, the real possessions of man. Here lies the "Parable of the Talents."
Look at the profusion, the prodigality, the beneficence of Nature, Flowers and Fruit, Beauty and Bloom and Fragrance everywhere. Where there is no eye to see, no hand to pluck, Mother Nature delights in profusion, seemingly because she is made that way and cannot help it. And yet, in this little Rose-garden of ours--the Human Soul -we tramp down the flowers, plant loathsome weeds and poisons that kill and degrade and besot us, set up the tables of the money-changers, drive out the doves of Hesperides, and turn the temple into a shambles for wild beasts. "Nothing pays." "Let us curse God and--die!"
Is there not something after all in the _Measure of Values_, and in the inexorable _Law of Use_?
And who _constrains_ us but _ourselves_?
Can God and Nature be so prodigal, noting even the sparrows fall, and yet disregard the children of men?
What our resources are we can never imagine till we draw upon and begin to utilize them as others have done throughout the ages.
The "average sinner," seemingly to justify or excuse his own failure, will not believe that any have ever achieved. _But there they stand_ all down the ages! Ecclesiastics help the deception and keep up the illusion by calling it _Miracle_ or "Special Providence," and so prevent man from entering his birthright, _to possess it_; and so we sell our birthright for a mess of pottage. It is like the dissipated, poverty-stricken spendthrift, who shuts his eyes and refuses to believe that any, by industry, economy, integrity and hard work have secured a competency. And so he cries, "Come on, boys! let's have another drink, and then rob this bond-holder, who has more than his share."
The Measure of Values, and the Law of Use _hold everywhere_, in every department of human life; and the question, "Does it pay?" is practical and scientific to the last degree, and no one can answer but ourselves. As we answer will be the results, and nothing but ourselves can change them.
We must realize that the human body, the organism of man, with all its faculties, capacities and powers, is but an _instrument_ of the Individual Intelligence; and that every experience in life, every episode in our career, is like a day's work; perfecting the instrument for more and better work, if used rightly; till we advance from height to height of being; to larger and still larger and more glorious fields of work and experience.
There would seem to be no limit to this evolution, this upward and onward journey of the human soul. The more good work done, the larger the capacity and the broader the field opening before us. "From height to height the spirit walks."
The primary endowment of man is Life and conscious Intelligence, with the power to use both.
This would seem to be the only gratuity, and whether we regard it as a blessing or a curse, depends on how we regard and use them.
The great majority in all time, through ignorance or recklessness, seem to have misused them.
Hence sickness, disease, deformity, and degradation.
It is a wonderful thing--this Law of Normal Use--from which health, harmony, comfort, joy, growth, and development result, while misuse and abuse degrade and destroy.