One of the great discourses of Phillips Brooks had for its theme the lesson of not laying too much stress on the recognition of one's motives or on any return of sympathetic consideration. "Let me not think," said Doctor Brooks, "that I get nothing from the man who misunderstands all my attempts to serve him, and who scorns me when I know that I deserve his sympathy. Ah! it would be sad enough if only the men who understood us and were grateful to us when we gave ourselves to them had help to give us in return. The good reformer whom you try to help in his reform, and who turns off from you contemptuously because he distrusts you, seeing that your ways are different from his, he does not make you happy,—he makes you unhappy; but he makes you good, he leads you to a truer insight, a more profound unselfishness. And so (it is the old lesson), not until goodness becomes the one thing that you desire, not until you gauge all growth and gain by that, not until then can you really know that the law has worked, the promise has been fulfilled. With what measure you gave yourself to him, he has given himself—the heart of himself,—which is not his favor, not his love, but his goodness, the real heart of himself to you. For the rest you can easily wait until you both come to the better world, where misconceptions shall have passed away, and the outward forms and envelopes of things shall correspond perfectly with their inner substances forever."
In the last analysis one comes to realize that happiness is a condition depending solely on the relation of his soul to God; that neither life, nor death, nor principalities, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any living creature can separate him from it, because happiness and the love of God are one and identical, and it is not in the power of this world to give, or to take away, this sense of absolute oneness with the Divine life that comes when man gives himself, his soul and body, his hopes and aspirations and ideals, in complete consecration to the will of God.
For this alone is the Life Radiant. It may not be ease or pleasure, but it is that ceaseless joy of the soul that may be the daily experience of every human being. And to gain the deep inner conviction of this sublime truth is worth whatever it may cost of tears or trial. It is the threshold of joy. It is the initiation into a higher spiritual state which one may gain in his progress while on earth as well as in heaven. In fact, no one is really fitted for the highest privileges and sweetness he may crave until he has learned to live well, to live joyfully, without them. No one is fitted for joy until he can live well without joy. It is the law and the prophets.
One may tread,—not the "whole round of creation," as Browning phrases it, but a minor segment of it, at least, and come back with added and more profound conviction that happiness is a condition of the spirit; that "the soul is ceaselessly joyful;" that the incidents and accidents of the outward life cannot mar nor lessen that sense of higher peace and joy and harmony which is the atmosphere of any true spiritual life. One may recognize and affirm this truth by spiritual intuition, and he may then be led through many phases of actual tests in actual life; he may for a time lose his hold on it and come to say that happiness is a thing that depends on so many causes outside one's own control; that illness, death, loss of friends, adverse circumstances, failures and trials of all kinds, may come into his experience, and that one is at the mercy of all these vicissitudes. Can the individual be happy, he will ask, when all that made happiness is taken away? Can he be happy if he has lost all his worldly goods? or if death has taken those nearest and dearest to him? or if the separations of life, far harder to bear than those of death, have come to him? And yet, until he has learned to answer these questions with the most triumphant affirmative, he has not learned the measure nor sounded the depth of a true and noble order of Happiness. The difference is that of being safely on board a great steamer when wind and wave are tempest-tossed, or of being helpless in the raging waters. The storm may be precisely the same; the tempest may rage as it will, but safe and secure in the cabin or stateroom, the voyager does not mind its fury. And truly may this analogy be held in life. It is possible to emerge from the winds and waves; to enter so entirely into the sense of security in the Divine; to hold so absolutely the faith in the Divine leading, that even in the midst of trial and loss and deprivation and sorrow, one shall come to know, through his own experience, that "the soul is ceaselessly joyful." For it is one thing to accept a truth theoretically, or believe it intuitively, and another to prove it through experience that shall test the quality of faith and conviction. Learning this supreme truth of life through outward experiences as well as through inner revelation is a victory of the will that may even make itself an epoch, a landmark, in spiritual progress.
It is the complete recognition of that invincible aid given to the soul through the "ever-present" aid of the Holy Ghost, the Comforter.
"Jesus, the Christ, this one perfect character, has come into the world and lived in it; filling all the moulds of action, all the terms of duty, and love, with His own divine manners, works, and charities," wrote Doctor Horace Bushnell. "All the conditions of our life are raised thus by the meaning He has shown to be in them and the grace He has put upon them. The world itself is changed and is no more the same that it was; it has never been the same since Jesus left it. The air is charged with heavenly odors, and a kind of celestial consciousness, a sense of other worlds, is wafted on us in its breath. It were easier to untwist all the beams of light in the sky, separating and expunging one of the colors, than to get the character of Jesus, which is the real gospel, out of the world."
The one deepest need of the world to-day; the one deepest need of each individual, is the more actual realization of the personality of Christ. The perspective of nineteen hundred years only brings more vividly before the mind, more close to the spiritual apprehension, the personal holiness of Jesus, and enforces the truth that shall redeem humanity,—the practical possibility of the increasing achievement of this personal holiness for every man and woman. "Because I live ye shall live also," He said. But what is it to live? Certainly, something far above and beyond mere existence. Life, in its true sense, is to know God. This is the life eternal. No one can "know God" save in just the degree to which he lives God's life,—the divine life,—and in the degree to which he is living the divine life does he live the life eternal. The life eternal may be lived to-day as well as after death, in some vague eternity. The life eternal is simply the life of spiritual qualities. It is the life in which truth, honor, integrity, sacrifice, patience, and love abound, and in which all that is selfish and false is cast out. Now, however exalted a definition of the present, daily life this may seem to be, it is in no sense an impossible one. The more exalted is one's standard for the perpetual quality of his life, the more stimulating it becomes. The exalted ideal inspires; the low standard depresses. An invincible energy sweeps instantly through the atmosphere to sustain him who allies himself with his noblest ideals. A force that disintegrates and baffles sweeps down upon him who abandons his nobler ideals, and substitutes for them the mere selfish, the commonplace, or the base. The "Choose ye this day whom ye will serve" is no merely abstract phrase or trick of rhetoric. Every hour is an hour of destiny. Every hour is an hour of choice. Legions of angels are in the unseen world surrounding humanity. Not one thought, one aspiration, one prayer, is unheard and unnoted. No conditions or circumstances are sordid or material unless he whom they invest make them so by sordid and material thought; by turning away from that life of the spirit whose very reality is made and is tested by these circumstances. "All the conditions of life are raised," says Doctor Bushnell, in the extract quoted above, "by the meaning He has shown to be in them, and the grace He has put upon them." Might not one, with profit, dwell for a moment upon this statement?
There is a current sweeping through latter-day life and reflecting itself largely in miscellaneous literature, to the effect that what the writers are pleased to call "success in life" is achieved by self-reliance; that a man must believe in himself; and the final triumph is illustrated as that of the man who begins as an errand boy at two dollars a week and ends as a multi-millionaire. Between these two points in space the arc of success subtends, according to this order of literature, and the word is: make a million, or a hundred millions of dollars,—honestly if you can, dishonestly if you must, but, at all events, the point is to "arrive." Now there is both a most demoralizing fallacy and a strong and valuable truth mixed up in these exhortations. "Trust thyself," said Emerson; "every heart vibrates to that iron string."
"I thank whatever gods there be
For my unconquerable soul,"
sings William Ernest Henley, and he closes with the ringing lines,—