The Cap and Gown

by Charles Reynolds Brown

But this fragment of truth is only a fragment. A man who is righteous to a certain extent because it pays is not a high type. The one who is honest because honesty is the best policy is not very honest—put him in a situation where honesty involves personal sacrifice and one could not bank on his honesty. The man who is intent upon furnishing the world so much uprightness in exchange for a certain amount of advancement which he hopes to gain can scarcely be said to be in the moral field at all. He is merely doing a little business with the Lord,—so much character for so much success. It may all be as purely a commercial transaction, when analyzed down to its roots, as the buying of a suit of clothes. His gifts to benevolence when scrutinized are seen to be only shrewd “investments.” Increased material prosperity is a form of reward, but it is not the highest form, and it does not furnish a praiseworthy source of motive.

We find those who look for their reward in the appreciation of others. We all like to have the esteem of our fellows and we ought to like it. That queer stick who is always flinging out sneers about popularity, who insists that he does not care a straw what people think about him, cares more than any of us. He has an idea that by this strange course he will be talked about more and be regarded more highly for his oddity than he would be if he shaped up his life in a more rational way.

Reputation is not character; it may be only the uncertain shadow cast by character, but it can be, for all that, a pleasant and a healing shadow. One of the wisest of men said, “A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches.” A good name is simply what people say about a man. The appreciation and the esteem which right living wins is a legitimate form of reward.

But this also is liable to be distorted. Jesus saw certain people making this form of reward the object of supreme desire. He warned his disciples against that course. “Take heed that you do not your alms before men to be seen of them. When thou doest thine alms sound not a trumpet before thee as the hypocrites do, that they may have glory of men. Verily I say unto you, they have their reward.” These men rendered their generous service with showy ostentation, blowing their horns as they went. They did it that they might have glory of men and they had glory of men—they got the dividends they desired.

“And when thou prayest thou shalt not be as the hypocrites: they love to pray standing on the street corners that they may be seen of men. Verily I say unto you, they have their reward.” They prayed on the street corners that they might be seen of men and they were seen of men—they got what they prayed for.

The desire for esteem is not a satisfactory source of motive. The boy who cannot do his duty unless he is praised and petted for it afterward is a poor specimen—he is likely to become a vain, self-conscious little prig. The man who cannot perform unless he is in the lime-light, hearing the plaudits of the many, is made of poor stuff—he is lath and plaster, where there should be sound material. All such speedily lose the finer qualities out of whatever measure of righteousness they seem to possess. When a man goes straight along about his business, intent upon doing his own piece of work well and succeeds in such a way that the gratitude, esteem, and appreciation of his fellows come, he scarcely knows how, he finds this a beautiful and enduring source of satisfaction. But here as everywhere the law of indirection operates—he that saves his popularity by aiming for it loses it; he that loses all thought of it by investing his life in useful service finds it.

There are men who think of the highest form of reward as standing in the approval of one’s own conscience and in the sense of having the favor of God. The throne of judgment where I must stand and give account is not away yonder among the clouds—it is in here where I am. It is within my own heart where God is—where my God is. It is here that I meet him now and must meet and face him ever.

And no quantity of outward success, no full, warm tide of popular esteem will supply the lack of moral self-respect within. If any man knows that his heart is not right before God, that his purposes are not true, that his aspirations are low, then no amount of material success or popular applause will give him tranquillity of spirit. And, conversely, where there is honesty of purpose, where a man may look himself in the face with unsparing candor and know that he is entitled to respect, this fact of itself brings a peace which passeth all understanding. This inner sense of worth and peace is from on high and it becomes a fine form of reward.

There are ugly distortions of it. The Pharisee who went into the temple to pray felt very comfortable in his own mind. We saw it in his strut as he walked down the aisle. We noticed it in the way he stood, when he prayed thus with himself, “God, I thank thee, that I am not as other men are, extortioners, unjust, adulterers.” He named the lowest, meanest men he could think of. It would not be hard to outrun such men morally, but such a race as it was the Pharisee had won it. “I thank thee that I am not as other men are, or even as this publican.” It was fortunate that the publican chanced to be there; it added a cubit of self-complacency to the Pharisee to have the publican present. “I fast twice in the week; I give a tenth of all that I possess,” the Pharisee continued. He had been doing right for the sake of the self-satisfaction which would result—and he had his reward. I do not know of a man in history who seemed to have more of it. He was comfortable to “the thirty-third and last degree” in that feeling of self-approval which clothed him as with a garment.

But what a narrow, self-centered life it produces where this becomes the chief form of reward for which a man strives! “I will speak this kind word and do this generous deed and stand firm in the path of duty, because of the warm feelings of self-approval which will steal upon my heart,” such a man cries. It is better to have the approval of one’s conscience than not to have it; it is better to strive for inner peace and satisfaction than to have one’s eye constantly on material success or popular applause. But where this becomes the object of supreme interest it is a disappointing and a narrowing form of reward.