Living the Radiant Life: A Personal Narrative

by George Wharton James

The same thing is said of Walt Whitman. When he was in the Government's employ at Washington, with a salary of one hundred and twenty dollars a month, he took forty dollars of this for his own use and spent the other eighty dollars to provide comforts and luxuries for the poor soldier boys in the hospitals. I have heard old soldiers tell of the way they used to feel when he appeared. "It was like the coming of a young Santa Claus." He carried a pack on his back which he would drop by the side of a bed and reaching out his friendly hand, with a radiant smile would say: "Well, how is it with you to-day?" and then, if the soldier were a stranger, he would ask: "Do you use tobacco?" If the man said, "No," he would reply, "That's good." If on the other hand he said, "Yes," Walt's reply would be the same, and he would dive down into his pack and bring out a little tobacco, which he would give with a few kind and cheery words to the poor bed-ridden soldier. If the invalid didn't use tobacco there was a book, a game, or something else that would bring cheer and forgetfulness. Thus he would pass up and down the wards, radiating brightness and good cheer on every hand. There is no wonder that as he passed outside every eye followed him, every heart felt an instinctive "God bless you," and every voice called out, "Come again, soon."

There surely are enough conditions in Nature to help the soul that wants to be cheerful and radiate cheerfulness. Every morning the sun arises with radiating light, brightness and beauty, illuminating and glorifying even the darkest and dullest of the things of earth. The stars shine nightly in all their sincere and calm beauty, radiating the assurance of Infinite power and perpetual care.

In radiant Nature, the butterfly skims the air in its light and fascinating flight, attracting the eye and charming with its exquisite coloring. The dew of morning, receiving the golden rays of the sun, makes the grass and trees appear as if blossoming in millions of diamonds, each a globe of radiating, scintillating brightness and beauty. The birds sing day and night, rain or shine, in sunshine or storm, radiating their cheerfulness and constant optimism. The trees awaken to the caressing touch of the sun and rustle to and fro, speaking in unmistakable language their joy of mere living, and glistening back and forth their appreciation of the gift of warmth and brightness. The flowers grow as freely in the wilds as in the cultivated gardens of man—blossoming evidences of Nature's power to produce gorgeous and resplendent color, perfection in beauty of form and exquisite deliciousness in odor. Even the snail crawls along expressive of delight in the morning, and the worm comes forth from the clod to express its appreciation.

I have watched the mountains with their snow-crowned, virgin-pure peaks soaring into the blue of the heavens and the massive rocks of the mighty canyons of the West basking restfully in the glorious light of day, and even these majestic rock-giants spoke the unmistakable language of joy, and called upon men to be cheerful.

We find exactly the same spirit and influence, if we will but look for it, in mankind. Too often we see but the sordidness, the greed, the selfishness, the cruelty, the rapacity of men, yet we all know that this is but one side, and it is not the reality, it is only the shadow of the real man, that the real man is kind, sympathetic, helpful, generous, true-hearted, and pure. If we fix our eyes upon one tiny spot the size of a dollar that is speckled or black, we can soon shut out all the brightness, beauty, and sweetness outside. I well remember one of the sentimental songs that was current in my boyhood days. It probably had as much of the mock sentiment as any other of these songs, but two lines of the refrain I have never forgotten, and whenever I hear one speaking of the unkindness of humanity, I feel like quoting them:

But speak not so untruly,

There are kind hearts everywhere.

In spite of the strenuousness of our modern life, as we look around upon the social settlements, the orphan asylums, and the thousands of men and women who adopt helpless orphans, the prisoners' aid societies, where business men actually make a point of finding their help, where possible, from those who have served a term in prison or the penitentiary, and the thousand and one other institutions which show that the Golden Rule is actively in operation in the hearts of men and women—I say these things make me happy and cheerful, and I feel like singing for joy, that innate beauty is as much in evidence, and more, in the hearts and minds of men as it is in Nature.

So I want cheerfulness to be the constant habit of my mind and soul. I do not wish to be cheerful occasionally or semi-occasionally. I would prefer to be a man of one mood and that mood, with its variations, to be a mood of habitual cheerfulness. I regard a cheerful disposition as one of the most precious possessions. It is like a pair of spectacles that have the power of luminosity within themselves. It sees clearly enough but lightens up the darkest and most dreary spots of earth. Cheerfulness is not only a duty, but a philosophy, a religion, a wisdom. The cheerful man is the perpetually wise optimist. A cheerless or gloomy man is the perpetually unwise pessimist. And years ago I learned to test all philosophies and religions by practical life. No philosophy, no religion was good that could not satisfy every-day life. Optimism never fails at any time, but pessimism is worse than a broken reed to lean upon.

Take the pessimists you know, and I can pretty nearly stake my life upon it you will find nearly all of them dyspeptics, with poor circulation, shivering on a cold morning with their hands in their pockets, complaining that they were not awakened early enough, finding fault because the breakfast was not served just right, railing at the car service, ranting about the rottenness of men in public life. They seem to take a pride in believing, as did Dickens' Mantalini in Nicholas Nickleby, that "We are all going to the demnition bow-wows." What a contrast there is between this man and the Cheeryble Brothers of the same book, those great and simple-hearted human reservoirs of cheerfulness and optimism, radiating sweetness, happiness, content, wherever they went, blessing and benefiting every heart willing to accept the sweetness and purity of theirs.