STUDENTS' COLUMN.
CONDUCTED BY J. H. FUSSELL.
Does Universal Brotherhood imply condoning the faults of others, or, on the other hand, condemning them?
"No one can intelligently pursue the path of Brotherhood without frequent and heavy condemnation of acts, and of persons as revealed in their acts."
"Judge no man."
"Judge the act, not the person."
Is there a reconciliation between the three policies thus indicated? In trying to follow the path of Brotherhood and promote the best interests of our fellows, we make a series of critical judgments. Seeing a cause about to come into operation, we make a judgment as to whether its effects will promote Brotherhood. The usual "causes" are the acts of persons; we judge whether their effects will be satisfactory; deciding No, we condemn such acts, saying, "I regard Smith as acting against the interests of Brotherhood." That is not to say "The motive of Smith in those acts is self-interest." The chief point to be observed in my attitude is that I shall not injure Smith's evolution. Our final judgment concerning most things is compound, and the factors that enter into it are two. These are (1) MY self-originated judgment, (2) the judgment of others, expressed in words, or, more potently, silently, and in the last case subtly infusing itself into my mind and blending with my own proper judgment. The resultant of these two factors is my final judgment. The judgment that Smith arrives at respecting his acts is, therefore, a blend of his opinion and of my opinion respecting their tendency, and it is none the less true even if after consideration of my opinion he rejects it and leaves his own, as he thinks, unmodified. But suppose I strongly think that Smith acts from motives of self-interest. I have made a judgment respecting Smith as well as his acts. Am I wrong? Not necessarily. My mind will become a mirror wherein Smith may see himself and reform. It will induce a self-examination that must be beneficial in tendency. But if my judgment to that effect respecting Smith is consciously or unconsciously colored with personal feeling, that is, if I consciously or unconsciously feel that Smith's self-interestedly based actions may interfere with my personal interests or comfort, then that feeling of potential or actual anger or irritation will tend, not only to darken my judgment but that of Smith, and to excite similar detrimental emotions in him.
No human being can avoid making such judgments as to another. The right counsel of perfection would be, not to avoid them, for the higher we go the more numerous are the people we have to help, and, therefore, preliminarily to judge that intelligent help may be given; but to aim at the exclusion of the personal self from the judgment, making it as lofty as possible. To judge should be to sympathize, that is, to feel like. To judge Smith is to understand him, that is, for a moment to feel as he feels. To compare what I have thus sympathetically ascertained to be his feeling with my ideal of the highest feeling of a judgment on Smith.
Let us throw away fear; learn to know ourselves and others, and unhesitatingly compare with an ideal. That men act wrongly is always from ignorance of even their own real welfare. No judgment should, therefore, contain anger, irritation, or any similar feeling. Bearing that in mind as an ideal, criticism and judgment become duties.
T. N.
Universal Brotherhood does not necessarily imply either of these. For the purposes of this question we may define Brotherhood as acting towards others in such a way as to help them in their life and development, at the same time regarding them as inseparable units of humanity. Now there may be and are times in the lives of all of us when the condoning of a fault, i. e., the pardon or overlooking of a fault, may be the greatest help. Then again there are times when the outspoken condemnation of a fault—not of a person—may be the one thing needed to help that person.
But Brotherhood is not sentimentality, it is justice as well as compassion, it is that love for the real inner man that is not afraid of hurting the personal man when this is for the sake of principle and actuated by true love. The sentimental condoning of a fault does not help and those who follow a sentimental idea of Brotherhood too often swing to the other extreme and indulge in wholesale and unfounded condemnation, not simply of a fault, but of persons.
Brotherhood is not extreme in either direction. The middle path is the path of Brotherhood, this above all is the path of principle—the path of the principle of love and the principle of justice. If we apply to our conduct the injunction: "do unto others as ye would they should do unto you," we shall not go far wrong.
True it is that our responsibility increases as our knowledge increases and as the knowledge of the physician and surgeon may require him to amputate a limb or give temporary pain in order to save the patient's life, so every true man is a physician and surgeon, first in his own life and then in the lives of others. On the other hand, the true physician will often draw away the mind of the patient from his sickness or disease, and how often can we not help a failing brother by apparently ignoring a fault and calling out the nobler side of the nature!
If we are true to the better side of our own natures we shall soon learn in what true Brotherhood consists. But no one can be a true Brother to another who is afraid to apply the knife to his own failings, or who is not honest in his own endeavors. We students may make mistakes in our acts of Brotherhood, but if we keep in the light of the soul and keep our motives pure the realization of Brotherhood will not be far distant.
J. H. Fussell.
Whence arises the sense of duty? In what does it originate?
It is above all things requisite that the expression of great ethical or moral or religious principles should be universally applicable. That is to say, they should take the simplest form. Most of our religious divisions are the result of an endeavour to make a local or special condition a standard to which all must conform. Great moral principles are as adaptable and as elastic (and no more) in their own sphere, as great physical principles. The laws of gravitation, cohesion, and the other great forces set duties for material objects to which the perfection of their evolution enables them to respond. But circumstances alter cases. A piece of ice will fall to the ground if dropped; if released at the bottom of a pail of water it will rise to the top; no further. The duty of the ice in one case is to fall; in the other, to rise.
In the region of the soul duty is understood usually to be the sense of moral obligation.
We are told that duty is what we owe. It is to be remembered that when we have done all we are unprofitable servants. The talent hid in a napkin was duteously safe. But there is a higher duty to Him who gathers where He has not scattered. What is due is, in fact, greater than what we owe. The educative and evolutionary quality of our experience depends upon this. And it is here that the distinction between the higher and lower duty may be found. It is a principle in chancery law that he who seeks equity must do equity. Similarly those who desire to ascend or progress must fulfil all the lower stages of growth and be free of what they owe before they can undertake the rendering of their due. Renunciation also begins here. The old story of the servant, forgiven a large debt, and turning on his fellow and debtor illustrates this. The ceremonial law of the Jews for example, was an educative force in the direction of insuring the recognition of those in authority, crude symbols of the divine. Our modern taxes and tariffs have precisely the same educative effect as the tithes and offerings of old, the modern method reaching a more practical result.
There is a Principle or Power in the Universe which provides for all creatures. It is generally known as Providence. It is called God and Karma and the Law. When men consciously ally themselves with this Power they also become Providers. They learn that it is more blessed to give than to receive. They also learn which is the river, the water or the banks that confine the water. The promptings of evolution, of the Kumara, the immortal One that ensouls a man and makes him divine, carry him forward along the line of least resistance. It is the business of the river to reach the ocean, not to break down the banks. All this implies action, and the formation of character. While Fohat is in manifestation, duty means to act, to do. To do justice, to love mercy, to walk humbly before the inner god. To love that Holy One with all the heart and mind and strength, and to see in one's brothers the same object of devotion is to conform to the will of the Higher Self. Duty on the lower levels of life is a means for the development of the lower manas or brain mind.
Ben Madighan.
Let us dissect away certain overgrowths which obscure this point. Obedience to duty is often only conscious, half conscious, or unconscious fear of the consequences of neglect. A child who has burned his finger thereafter dreads the flame, and the dread persists when the memory of the burn has died out of his practical consciousness. Many honest people do not steal because they retain an unconscious memory of the disgrace attending a revealed theft in childhood or in a previous incarnation. Fear, hope of reward or commendation, these two, whether conscious or existing in their effects as the fixed habit of performance, must be eliminated as inspirers of action before we can see how much remains. It is possible that with most of us not much of the pure golden sense of duty would remain in the bottom of the crucible.
Actions whose performance is a duty are not always unpleasant. For instance, to eat is a duty, because at a proper time the Law, manifesting as hunger, demands it.
The Law arises twofold; outwardly it manifests as circumstance, presenting at every moment a tangled maze of paths of which any one may be selected; internally as the impulsion to select one particular path of these many. In his spiritual thought, the inner man has already traversed that path. In outer fact it remains for the terrestrial man to imitate in the concrete. The sense of duty is the reflection in the outer consciousness of this picture of action existing in the inner, which picture, in the inner world, is action. It may be dimly or brightly mirrored, the sense of duty weak or strong; its concrete imitation may be effected or not, duty done or not.
Herbert Coryn.
YOUNG FOLKS' DEPARTMENT.
A CHRISTMAS STORY.
BY M. S. L.
It was a big toy shop in West Twenty-third Street. There were crowds of people hurrying by, for to-morrow would be Christmas Day and all those who had children to love were busy buying presents. The shop windows looked very gay indeed.
There were all sorts of toys you could imagine. Lots of new mechanical toys, steam engines that ran on a real track, dancing bears and a cat which played the fiddle. In the middle of the window was a tiny fir tree all lit up with colored lights and its boughs covered with gay ornaments. Santa Claus was there, too, and on his back he carried a pack from which came a stream of candy and toys.
All these things pleased the little boys and girls very much. There were a number of them out shopping with their parents. The boys admired the mechanical toys, but the little girls went straight to the other shop window where there were oh, such a lot of dolls! China dolls and wax dolls; dolls from Germany and dolls from France; dolls that could say "Mamma," "Papa," and others that could even sing a little song and say "Now I lay me." The finest doll was a young lady who had just arrived from Paris. Mademoiselle Fifine had brought with her a trunk of fine costumes and some of these were spread out beside her in the window, to the great admiration of the other dolls. There were pink silk frocks and blue satin ones; hats and bonnets trimmed with real lace and ostrich feathers, and, in fact, all sorts of nice clothes for evening wear and morning wear, and all occasions.
Away down in a corner of the big window were two little dolls that nobody noticed at all, and this was strange, for they were really very pretty; but I suppose they were unnoticed in such a crowd of fashionable dolls. One of these two was a little lady straight from Japan, and the other was a New York District Messenger Boy. The Japanese doll was dressed in a lovely gown of purple silk all covered with yellow butterflies. Her hair was done up in a shining black coil on the back of her head and was all stuck through with tiny jewelled pins. In her tiny hand she carried a paper fan. The little messenger boy stood very proudly beside her. He wore a suit of dark blue clothes and on his head was a little cap such as the New York boys wear; he carried a black book in his hand and looked very alert, as though he were just about to deliver a telegram to you.
These two from the corner of the window all day had watched the people passing up and down the busy street. That is, the Japanese doll had watched the passers by, but the Messenger Boy had watched her more than anything else. He thought she was the oddest and prettiest little lady he had ever seen; her eyes were so black and shiny, her cheeks so rosy and her tiny mouth just like a round red cherry. And then she sat up so gracefully and held her fan with such an air! "She isn't a bit stiff," thought the Messenger Boy, "I believe I will try to make friends with her." So he cleared his throat and said "ahem!" The Japanese Lady gave a tiny jump. You see, she was so surprised! Then she gave a shy look at the Messenger Boy and twirled her little fan. She saw that the Messenger Boy was about to speak to her and this pleased her very much, for the other dolls in the window had treated her with contempt and snubbed her because she was a foreigner. Even the French Doll had refused to be friendly, and this was rather odd, because she was also a foreigner. But she said the Japanese Doll was outlandish and had no style about her. The Japanese Lady was too polite to make any rude remarks in answer, so she had just remained silent.
She now began talking to the Messenger Boy and they soon became fast friends. So satisfied were they with each other's society that they quite forgot the rude dolls.
It began to grow late in the afternoon and now very few children passed by. But there were more big people than before; they passed into the shop and soon the dolls began to go from the window. Mademoiselle Fifine went and most of the pretty dolls followed. Nobody seemed to want the Japanese Lady or the Messenger Boy, but they did not mind that at all, for they were quite content to be together. The Japanese Lady had described to the Boy all the beautiful things she had seen in far away Japan, while the Boy had told her in return of some of the wonderful sights to be seen in the big city. They grew very confidential, and at length their affection became so firm that they vowed to remain true friends as long as they were dolls, which was another way of saying as long as they lived.
I have said that almost all the children had gone home because it was getting late, and now the electric lamps were lighted, but there were still four little girls who were looking in the gay window on Twenty-third Street. Two of them were nicely dressed and their bright faces peeped out from warm furs. They looked so full of joy that it made your own face beam in return. Their nurse was with them and they were out doing their Christmas shopping.
"We've bought most all the presents we mean to give to-morrow, and now we can each spend our very own two dollars," said Bessie.
"Yes," answered her sister Alice, "Wasn't it nice in Uncle Frank to give us each two dollars to spend. It's much nicer to buy your own present, I think."
They were looking in the window of the toy shop as they spoke and both little girls at once spied our two friends in the comer of the window.
"I am going to buy that dear little Japanese doll," said Bessie.
"And I want that cute little Messenger Boy," said Alice.
The Japanese Lady and the Messenger Boy looked very happy at this, for they thought it would be very nice to go to live with two such dear little sisters. So they smiled and nodded at Bessie and Alice, but the little girls never saw it. This was not strange, for they had never heard that all the dolls come to life on Christmas Eve.
Now all the time the two small sisters had been admiring the dolls, there were two other children who were looking at them just as eagerly, but who were very different in appearance from Bessie and Alice. For these children were very poor indeed and did not expect to have any doll at all on Christmas morning. They lived away down in East Fourteenth Street with their big sister. Their mother and father were dead and the only one they had to take care of them was this good big sister who loved her two little sisters very dearly and did all she could for them. They all lived together in two little rooms, and Maggie, who was ten, did all the housekeeping, while Annie, who was eight, helped her as much as she could. They had just been to the great department store where the big sister worked and had left some supper for her, because this night she would have to work until half-past eleven.
They were now on their way home, but although they were very cold and shivered through the thin garments they wore, they had to stop to see the beautiful dolls.
"Oh, jest look at this little doll in the purple dress, ain't she grand! See the little yeller butterflies all over her! I wisht I could have her for Chrissmus," said Maggie.
"I'd ruther have the little boy in the blue suit," answered Annie. "He looks jest like a fair messenger boy. Ain't he cute?"
And the two children pressed their faces against the window in profound admiration of the wonderful dolls. After a while they moved away.
In the meanwhile Bessie and Alice with their nurse had entered the toy shop. After admiring the various things each purchased the doll she liked best. These were carefully done up by the salesman and the two children started for home.
They were at the corner of Broadway and about to cross for a cable car when Bessie caught sight of our two little Fourteenth Street children.
"Oh, nursie, do let us see those two poor little girls. They don't look as though they were going to have any Christmas at all!"
"Never mind them, Miss Bessie, it's time you were home."
But Bessie would not be persuaded and Alice seconded her. "Mother likes to have us kind to our poor little brothers and sisters," said she, "please nurse, let us speak to those little girls." So the nurse rather reluctantly consented and the two children hurried and soon caught up with Annie and Maggie.
"How do you do," said Bessie, all out of breath. "Please, wouldn't you like to have a Christmas present? We are going to have a whole lot of presents to-morrow and we bought these with our very own money. Please take mine," and she thrust her package into surprised little Maggie's arms.
"And please do take my present," said Alice, going to Annie. "Indeed, I will have a lot more," and she handed her package to the astonished little girl.
"We wish you a happy Christmas," said the little girls in one voice, and before Maggie and Annie could speak, they had both hurried away.
To say that our children were astonished, hardly expresses it. They hugged their bundles and stood on the sidewalk staring after the two little girls as though bewildered. Maggie was the first to recover.
"Oh, aint it too good to be true, we'll have a real Chrissmus, now, won't we?" What kind little girls them was, wasn't they? They wasn't a bit stuck up!"
"No, indeed!" answered Annie. "I'm so s'prised I don't know what to do."
But it was growing cold and the two children were forced to hurry along. They did not say much as they hastened through the crowded streets but their hearts were dancing with joy. When they at last reached home they rushed up the long tenement stairs and stopped in the hall before their door. "Let's go to bed right now without opening our bundles," said Maggie, "and then to-morrow morning we can wake up and have a s'prise jest like we wuz rich children!" Annie agreed to this and the two children were soon fast asleep in their small bed in the cold dark room.
On Christmas morning two children in a beautiful home on Madison Avenue were dancing around their nursery full of happiness over the lovely presents that had been made ready for them during the night. They had so many gifts that they never missed the two presents they had given to the poor little sisters the night previous, until suddenly Bessie clasped Mademoiselle Fifine in her arms and said:
"Oh, you dear French dollie, you are very beautiful, but I do not think you are nicer than the sweet little Japanese doll I saw in the shop window last night!" How Mademoiselle Fifine would have liked to turn up her tiny aristocratic nose at this, but she couldn't.
And Alice said, "Do you know, sister, it seems to me that this is the loveliest Christmas we have ever had."
"I think it must be because we know that somewhere in this city there are two little girls who are having a Christmas treat because of us."
"It is quite true what mother taught us, that 'It is more blessed to give than to receive.'"
Down in East Fourteenth Street two little sisters had slept all night cuddled close together for warmth. Bright and early they waked up on Christmas morning and Maggie's first words were:
"Annie, do you know I dremt that the little Japanese doll we saw in the toy store wus in my bundle."
"That's queer, for I dremt that the messenger boy was in my package!"
Then Maggie got her package and sat up in bed, carefully undoing the wrappings of paper, until, at last, smiling before her lay the little Japanese Lady!
And Alice opened her parcel, and, when the last paper had carefully been removed, there was the Messenger Boy all ready to say "How do you do!"
How very happy our two little girls were! They got out of bed very softly, so as not to disturb big sister, who was very tired from her night's work, and they danced around the cold room, hugging their dollies and kissing each other and the dollies indiscriminately.
"This is the very bestest Chrissmus I ever had," said Maggie, at last.
"I only hope the two little rich girls have as nice a one," added Annie.
"I'm very glad we came here, aren't you?" softly called out the Messenger Boy to the Japanese Lady.
"Yes, indeed," replied she. "I'm sure these dear little girls will love us very much."
"And we are not separated," said the Messenger Boy.
The Japanese Lady did not reply to this, but she smiled very sweetly and twirled her little fan.