One may be honest, sincere, generous, and, in the main, kind, and yet be difficult to live with because of the absence of the so-called lesser virtues. We must have the elemental virtues as foundations of character, but they are not enough. As a Bible writer puts it, it is “the little foxes that spoil the vineyards.” The “little foxes” are the little faults which arise within us almost unnoticed, and which grow upon us with added years. Some of these faults cause people to want to avoid us and seek the company of those who are pleasanter to have about. To want to be liked is a laudable desire when one does not sacrifice anything higher for it. To aim to be a person whose presence brings gladness to others is not only your right, but your duty. There is a cheap popularity which those who seek it are willing to purchase at any cost. That is not what I am talking about. I will name some of the little faults which often spoil an otherwise admirable character.
Unnecessary criticism of others. I say unnecessary criticism. All honor and praise to the one who can speak the word of admonishment or reproof when it ought to be spoken and in the right spirit and the right manner; who can give warning or suggestion at the proper time and place and in a tactful way. We all need more friends who are not afraid to tell us of our faults with the high motive of aiding us to overcome them; who will even run the risk of losing our friendship in order that they may help us to be true to our best selves. But how much of the fault-finding in the world does any good or is intended to do any good? Is it not true that much of it merely gives vent to irritability on the part of the fault-finder? The next time you are tempted to find fault, ask yourself two questions: First, will it do any good? Next, am I doing it in the right spirit? Unless these two questions can be answered in the affirmative, then silence is golden. Moreover, criticism should, whenever possible, be tempered with praise. We can take much from one who recognizes the good in us and who knows that our virtues far outweigh our failings.
Another of the little foxes is fretfulness, grumbling, nagging, call it what you will. We all recognize it when we come in contact with it and probably we have been shocked at times to discover it in ourselves. This fault grows rapidly in the atmosphere of loving tolerance. It never would have an opportunity to develop in us if we were not surrounded by those who love us, make excuses for us, and put up with us. Strangers would not submit to it and we should not think of asking them to do so. It is a subtle danger, that creeps on us so stealthily that often we are not aware of its approach. It may come at first from some disordered physical state. The happy, healthy child does not whine, the ailing child usually does; too often this is the beginning of an irritability that pursues its victim through life.
We Americans are a nervous, excitable people, partly, perhaps, because of climatic conditions. A stimulating climate fosters a tendency to disorders of the nervous system. We should, therefore, be on our guard against this type of sin that doth so easily beset us. Our physical condition is usually more within our control than we are willing to admit. The girl who keeps late hours, takes little exercise, and eats injudiciously is morally responsible for her irritable condition, for the remedy is in her own hands. Can you not remember some time when you retired at night feeling ill-used and unappreciated, filled with the thought that life was full of trials and crosses and that your lot was particularly unhappy—only to wake up the next morning in a glorious world where your condition in life seemed a very fortunate one? It is not necessary to adduce arguments to prove that one of your first duties is to keep yourself every day and every hour of your life in the best possible physical condition. You can conquer only by making it a matter of conscience. Alternating work and rest, sufficient recreation and amusement, and always some change after prolonged labor are necessary to keep one in good physical condition. As a result, you find yourself in possession of a serenity and a self-control which forbid irritability.
Have you a quick, hot temper? You cannot live amicably with others until you have learned to control it. A display of temper is the flash of lightning, the burst of flame. It is all over in an instant, yet, in a fit of temper what may one not say or do? He is “beside himself,” we say—that is, he is no longer himself, but some one else outside of himself. Have you ever, in a burst of temper, wounded those you love best in all the world? Have you said or done things that you feared had lost you the respect of some one whose good opinion was of priceless value to you? Have you given utterance to words that you would give years of your life to recall? If so, worse, almost, than anything else, is the fact that you have lost your own self-respect. What is more undignified, more ridiculous than one who has lost control of himself and is saying and doing things to-day of which he will bitterly repent to-morrow? Remember that nothing can more easily cost you the respect of others than a display of temper. Thereafter you are marked as one who lacks balance, dignity, power.
“If wishing could bring them back,
If wishing could bring them back—
The wrathful words that flew away
To mar the joy of another’s day—
If wishing could bring them back!”