That we will learn the gentle art of saying nothing uncharitable of any person, no matter how great the provocation.
That the spirit of the right life means a broader charity, a greater tolerance and a more universal, practical love for humanity; and that if we are not learning all these we are missing our opportunity.
We might as well finish up with Saint Paul: “And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.” Good for Saint Paul; old bachelor though he was, he had the requisites necessary to make a good all-round woman himself. And were he alive to-day, he wouldn’t say a thing about silence in the churches, either.
VII
ON MENTAL ATTITUDES
The charge is made against American women, and it is too true, that we lack repose of manner. How can we show that in our manner which we lack in our natures? And how can we possess repose of the soul when we never allow ourselves a minute to catch up with ourselves, to commune with the silent forces of nature, to inhale the strength and calmness and courage that we might exhale again in the fragrance which we call, in the rare instances when we behold it in others, repose of manner? Life for the most of us is an insane scramble to catch up with things—and not half the time do we know or care whether they are things worth catching up with; nor are we satisfied if we succeed for a moment in reaching them. Once in a while the futility of the chase comes over us in a brief gleam of reason, but others around us are hurrying through life after the unattainable, and we forget and scramble on, too, in unconscious emulation of the old Scotch saying, “The de’il take the hindmost.”
If our whole existence is made up of excitement—no matter whether we term it that or disguise it under the name of endless activity, how shall we establish that serenity of soul without which the real nature cannot expand, nor the reality of noble womanhood become the guiding principle of life? Those feverish mentalities who demand front seats at the great pageant of life with a constant change of scenes, do not know true serenity. They are infected with the malaria of inefficiency and crave excitement as an ague patient craves a quieting draft. They miss the delight of relaxation and have no conception of the joys of quiet leisure. Self-communion is unknown to them and they are utter strangers to themselves. They are in a whirl that sucks them ever onward and downward. Serenity is an unknown word to them and they know it not, either at home or abroad; while to be alone with their own thoughts is a discomfort they cannot endure.
Emerson says our real life is in the silent moments, and many of us have realized this during the vacation season, when we have stumbled upon serenity in country byways, by the seashore or in the solitude of city homes, when “everybody” has gone away. Stevenson declares that gentleness and cheerfulness are the greatest virtues, and above all other morality. There are thousands of women who do not know how to rest, who cannot enjoy the silent moments. Blessed be she who knows that the inner life does not receive its highest pleasure from the doing of things; who finds definite joy in accessions of serenity, whether these come in the silent hours when the grate fire is dying, or during the mid-day rest or in the pauses in conversation.
What should we do if we were suddenly isolated? Be oppressed with intolerable loneliness at first, no doubt; and then we should begin to think. I sometimes think it would be a blessed thing if every woman were obliged to go into retreat occasionally, as the good Catholics do. The silence of a quiet room where she could be undisturbed and could spend a few days in thinking out the problems of life, even if she were not spiritually inclined enough to seek a higher communion, would be of inestimable benefit to the average woman. There is such a thing as too much of attrition with other human beings. A stone that rolls ever about restlessly in the rushing waters of a strong current becomes polished off to look and feel like every other stone in its neighborhood. So we lose our individuality and come to have no atmosphere of our own.
There are women who can never endure their own company for the space of half an hour. Their one desire is to avoid themselves—to hide from themselves in the company of others. Of such we are not talking, although they are not utterly hopeless; since it would not be impossible that loneliness or isolation from their kind should develop the habit of thinking, even in them. But to the woman who wants to be individual, who wants to be an inspiration and a help to others—if she only had time—I would urge the appropriation of just a little bit of time every day or every night for getting acquainted with her real self, for the cultivation of her power of thought.