One such investigation into our own condition when annoyed will help to cure us of being angry; for there is no use in trying to correct all the mistakes or worrying over the neglects of others, even of the children of our own bodies. Other people, “the same as us,” have to learn by their mistakes, and often do learn by some success that we considered manifestly impossible.
As we could not be wisdom and conscience to the whole world, Providence has kindly given us enough to do in taking care of our own actions.
When Mosenthal was organist at Calvary Church, the brides used to give him directions about just what pieces they wanted played at their weddings; Mosenthal would say, “Ah! that is a beautiful selection,” or “A magnificent march!” As he said, “I listen to all the lovely ladies’ orders—then I play what I think best—and it always goes all right.” He did not make rows by trying to convince excited girls that the “Mikado” would not be just the thing for the church, or to persuade nice mammas without musical education that “Traumerei” would not do for a wedding. It was not necessary to lie, only to give what approval could be given and then to “gae his ain gait.” Most people are not really much set in their own ways, they only seem to be. They have an idea (or they think they have one—an idea is a rare and precious possession) and they want to “get it off.” Let them; why should you make the explosion dangerous by confining it? Maybe they were only trying to argue with themselves, and, having got rid of the idea, they are content, if their self-love is not roused in defense of it. Like the codfish which deposits her eggs and has no more care about them, they are quite content to leave the results to Nature.
There was a tract called the “Oiled Feather,” which was very popular in England forty years ago. Sam, a wagoner, has a bottle of oil with a feather stuck in the cork, and, when a barn-door sticks or harness creaks or a king-bolt binds, instead of using force, he always brings out his oil bottle and feather. His friend has not learned the usefulness of gentle methods and gets into all sorts of trouble, until he sees that the Oiled Feather principle applies to horses and to people and to difficulties, as well as to things.
“Est modus in rebus”—which means that “there is a way in things” just as much as in people: get into key with it and all will go smoothly. Did you ever try to split trap-rock with a hammer? You may batter all day at one side and you will only knock off chips, spoil your hammer, and hurt your hands: but, when you have found the right spot, a tap knocks it in pieces. That tap is the “open sesame” to which alone the stone will yield. You may storm at it all day with your “open millet” or “open wheat,” but its heart can be reached only by its own word. So the stony heart of the world can be broken only by the Master Word of Love.
Now, if you have made what is said in Chapter XXVII your own, you do not need all this; for you know that, as long as you arouse antagonism in others, you can be annoyed and irritated by others, but not one moment longer. The punching-bag can neither dent nor be dented: if it is so made that it injures no one, it turns out that no one injures it, no matter how roughly he strikes it.
When your lovelight shines in darkness, not only will your own path be bright, but you will be a guide and a comforter to others, and they will follow you.