This, therefore, is the individuality I would radiate. I would have the Hindoo, the Hottentot, the Hopi, the Roman Catholic, the Mormon, the Chinaman, the Methodist all feel that I revere and respect their individuality even as I revere and respect my own. But, further—and here is the important thing—I would so radiate that they will respect and revere mine as I respect theirs. When the Methodist says either in words or acts, "I am a Methodist and therefore you should be one," he violates the law of individuality as of moral freedom. So with the Hopi, the Catholic, the Hindoo.
I would have it clear, therefore, that individualism is not "toleration." What is there in my exercise of a God-given right and duty to be myself that should call for the assumption of my fellow being that HE will "tolerate" these rights? Therefore, I do not want to be "tolerant" to my fellows. I would radiate the individualism which goes ahead and thinks and acts according to the dictates of personal conscience. It is all very well to say that we should learn from the combined wisdom of the ages. I am not so sure of much of it, after all! I accept the astronomy of to-day, but by no means believe our astronomers have said the last word, any more than I believe that the great and humble Newton said the last word when he declared that man had gained the summit in the art of telescope making. Just four years after he made that foolish assertion John Dolland invented the achromatic telescope which has revolutionized the astronomical science of the world by adding infinitely to the astronomer's seeing power.
Nothing in human life is yet complete. There is no absolute truth carried out to its ultimate. When numbers were first discovered our forefathers thought they had gone as far as it was possible, in discovering that two and two make four. Then geometry was discovered and Euclid changed the arithmetic of the world, and the teachers said we had gone as far as it was possible. Then algebra was discovered and the world found out the teachers were wrong in limiting the science of arithmetic. Yet foolish people would not learn from the folly of the past. They wisely and sagely declared that now, at last, the ultimate had been reached. But Newton comes along and with his "Calculus" opens up new worlds in arithmetical science. NOW we have got it all, declares the teacher of fixed truth. Yet in the year of Our Lord, one thousand nineteen hundred and six, there comes a Japanese, and in his Handbook of Chess demonstrates as great an advance in arithmetical science as Newton did in his Calculus. We are yet children. We shall ever be learning so long as we are human. The knowledge we have so far gained is vast, apparently, when compared with the knowledge held in the Dark Ages, but, as compared with what there is yet stored away for us to know, I verily believe it is so insignificant, so slight, so small, so puny, so infinitesimal, as to excite the pity and the contempt of any superior beings who look down upon us and see us strutting in our doctor's mortar-boards and gowns in our assumed wisdom.
God forbid that any arrogant pretension of mine should ever prevent one truth from entering a human soul. I want to radiate my acceptance of all there is, but my expectance for the large more that is yet to come.
CHAPTER VI
CONFLICTING RADIANCIES
There are few, if any, human beings in the world who radiate only evil, or, on the other hand, only good. Man is a human being, not divine. Humanity implies a lower stage than divinity, and whether what we call evil be but manifestations of the imperfect and incomplete, or deliberate wrong choice for which one is personally responsible, we are all compelled to admit that there are few people with whom we meet who radiate toward us and all others only that which is good. Sometimes these "not good" radiancies have no immoral intent in them, though they produce bad results.
For instance, it is a well-known fact that many a man is driven to drunkenness by an unhappy home life, yet probably no member of the household has the deliberate intention of producing such a result. It may be that he is equally to blame for the conditions in his home, for all are imperfect, yet if the appetite for drink has been formed, or environment supplies great temptation, the complaints, taunts, or anger of his unhappy family do not increase his powers of resistance, but rather weaken them. There are men, also, who frankly confess to a reckless impulse to do wrong whenever they come under any very depressing influence. It may be true that some peculiarity of temperament renders them liable to be thrown out of mental balance. There may be inherent weakness, or hereditary tendency, which renders them unusually susceptible to depressing radiancies, but the results are just as deplorable.
Doubtless many a woman, too, warped and twisted out of normal conditions by disappointment, ill-treatment, and mental suffering, becomes a tongue-lasher, goes to the bad, or commits suicide, when different influences and environment would have saved her from such consequences. There may not seem to be any immorality in the nagging of a husband, or a wife, or a parent, yet the persistent nagging of some person, whose intent was only good, has produced direful effects in various ways.
These and a thousand other tendencies of the human being point to our present imperfection or subjugation to error, out of which we must rise.
I know a poet. His words have thrilled millions to a nobler and better life. His pen has never incited to a mean or ignoble thought or action; it has always written high and noble truth—peace, good will to men, the dignity of labor, the joy of helping, the blessing of purity, the never-failing help of God—and yet in his personal life he sometimes radiates the degradation of drunkenness and the awfulness of impurity.
I know a writer. He is one of the most brilliant men of his State. His knowledge is profound. He devotes more time, unselfishly, to the good of his adopted city and State than any other man I know. His work is untiring in its fervid zeal for the preservation of historic landmarks that without his efforts would possibly have disappeared; and also for a museum for the accumulation of evidences of past civilization. Yet he radiates a vindictive jealousy and fierce hatred of those whom he does not like that makes even his friends afraid of him and fearful lest they incur his anger.
Shelley, Byron, Poe, Bret Harte, Leigh Hunt, Landor—and thousands of others, including the Psalmist David, the Hebrew king whom God loved—radiated grand, sublime, divine truths, yet they also radiated weakness and moral wrong.
What should be our mental attitude toward those who give such conflicting radiancies? Shall we ignore the evil and see only the good? How can we? How dare we?
Shall we ignore the good and see only the evil?
Again I ask, How can we? How dare we?
There are good people, I know, who do both of these, to me, impossible things. I want to do neither. I will do neither if I can possibly help it. I will not stultify my own sense of right and wrong by ignoring what I deem to be wrong in another. I will reprobate it, for myself, and earnestly strive to be kept free from it, but, at the same time, I will see the good in all its beauty and power and will glorify it and accept it, and thank God that so much good does exist.
The whole question thus resolves itself to me: Shall I refuse to accept the good of certain men because they do many evil things? Shall I refuse to accept good except from those who are perfect? If so, from whom shall I gain good? From you, reader? Are you perfect? If you take that position you had better drop this book, here and now, for you cannot receive good from me, for too sadly do I know that neither the book nor its writer is perfect. Joaquin Miller perfectly expresses this thought in the introductory lines to his poem on Byron:
In men whom men condemn as ill,
I find so much of goodness still,
In men whom men account divine,
I find so much