“Then,” I replied, a sudden light breaking in on my mind, “I doubt whether what you suppose to be your duty can be your duty. If it were, I do not think it would make you so miserable. At least—I may be wrong, but I venture to think so.”
“What is a man to go by, then? If he thinks a thing is his duty, is he not to do it?”
“Most assuredly—until he knows better. But it is of the greatest consequence whether the supposed duty be the will of God or the invention of one’s own fancy or mistaken judgment. A real duty is always something right in itself. The duty a man makes his for the time, by supposing it to be a duty, may be something quite wrong in itself. The duty of a Hindoo widow is to burn herself on the body of her husband. But that duty lasts no longer than till she sees that, not being the will of God, it is not her duty. A real duty, on the other hand, is a necessity of the human nature, without seeing and doing which a man can never attain to the truth and blessedness of his own being. It was the duty of the early hermits to encourage the growth of vermin upon their bodies, for they supposed that was pleasing to God; but they could not fare so well as if they had seen the truth that the will of God was cleanliness. And there may be far more serious things done by Christian people against the will of God, in the fancy of doing their duty, than such a trifle as swarming with worms. In a word, thinking a thing is your duty makes it your duty only till you know better. And the prime duty of every man is to seek and find, that he may do, the will of God.”
“But do you think, sir, that a man is likely to be doing what he ought not, if he is doing what he don’t like?”
“Not so likely, I allow. But there may be ambition in it. A man must not want to be better than the right. That is the delusion of the anchorite—a delusion in which the man forgets the rights of others for the sake of his own sanctity.”
“It might be for the sake of another person, and not for the person’s own sake at all.”
“It might be; but except it were the will of God for that other person, it would be doing him or her a real injury.”
We were coming gradually towards what I wanted to make the point in question. I wished him to tell me all about it himself, however, for I knew that while advice given on request is generally disregarded, to offer advice unasked is worthy only of a fool.
“But how are you to know the will of God in every case?” asked Joe.
“By looking at the general laws of life, and obeying them—except there be anything special in a particular case to bring it under a higher law.”