<p>One young man of my acquaintance, who has inherited some acres, told me
that he thought he should live as I did, <i>if he had the means</i>. I
would not have any one adopt <i>my</i> mode of living on any account; for,
beside that before he has fairly learned it I may have found out another
for myself, I desire that there may be as many different persons in the
world as possible; but I would have each one be very careful to find out
and pursue <i>his own</i> way, and not his father's or his mother's or his
neighbor's instead. The youth may build or plant or sail, only let him not
be hindered from doing that which he tells me he would like to do. It is
by a mathematical point only that we are wise, as the sailor or the
fugitive slave keeps the polestar in his eye; but that is sufficient
guidance for all our life. We may not arrive at our port within a
calculable period, but we would preserve the true course.</p>
<p>Undoubtedly, in this case, what is true for one is truer still for a
thousand, as a large house is not proportionally more expensive than a
small one, since one roof may cover, one cellar underlie, and one wall
separate several apartments. But for my part, I preferred the solitary
dwelling. Moreover, it will commonly be cheaper to build the whole
yourself than to convince another of the advantage of the common wall; and
when you have done this, the common partition, to be much cheaper, must be
a thin one, and that other may prove a bad neighbor, and also not keep his
side in repair. The only co-operation which is commonly possible is
exceedingly partial and superficial; and what little true co-operation
there is, is as if it were not, being a harmony inaudible to men. If a man
has faith, he will co-operate with equal faith everywhere; if he has not
faith, he will continue to live like the rest of the world, whatever
company he is joined to. To co-operate in the highest as well as the
lowest sense, means <i>to get our living together</i>. I heard it proposed
lately that two young men should travel together over the world, the one
without money, earning his means as he went, before the mast and behind
the plow, the other carrying a bill of exchange in his pocket. It was easy
to see that they could not long be companions or co-operate, since one
would not <i>operate</i> at all. They would part at the first interesting
crisis in their adventures. Above all, as I have implied, the man who goes
alone can start today; but he who travels with another must wait till that
other is ready, and it may be a long time before they get off.</p>
<p><br/></p>
<p>But all this is very selfish, I have heard some of my townsmen say. I
confess that I have hitherto indulged very little in philanthropic
enterprises. I have made some sacrifices to a sense of duty, and among
others have sacrificed this pleasure also. There are those who have used
all their arts to persuade me to undertake the support of some poor family
in the town; and if I had nothing to do—for the devil finds
employment for the idle—I might try my hand at some such pastime as
that. However, when I have thought to indulge myself in this respect, and
lay their Heaven under an obligation by maintaining certain poor persons
in all respects as comfortably as I maintain myself, and have even
ventured so far as to make them the offer, they have one and all
unhesitatingly preferred to remain poor. While my townsmen and women are
devoted in so many ways to the good of their fellows, I trust that one at
least may be spared to other and less humane pursuits. You must have a
genius for charity as well as for anything else. As for Doing-good, that
is one of the professions which are full. Moreover, I have tried it
fairly, and, strange as it may seem, am satisfied that it does not agree
with my constitution. Probably I should not consciously and deliberately
forsake my particular calling to do the good which society demands of me,
to save the universe from annihilation; and I believe that a like but
infinitely greater steadfastness elsewhere is all that now preserves it.
But I would not stand between any man and his genius; and to him who does
this work, which I decline, with his whole heart and soul and life, I
would say, Persevere, even if the world call it doing evil, as it is most
likely they will.</p>
<p>I am far from supposing that my case is a peculiar one; no doubt many of
my readers would make a similar defence. At doing something—I will
not engage that my neighbors shall pronounce it good—I do not
hesitate to say that I should be a capital fellow to hire; but what that
is, it is for my employer to find out. What <i>good</i> I do, in the
common sense of that word, must be aside from my main path, and for the
most part wholly unintended. Men say, practically, Begin where you are and
such as you are, without aiming mainly to become of more worth, and with
kindness aforethought go about doing good. If I were to preach at all in
this strain, I should say rather, Set about being good. As if the sun
should stop when he had kindled his fires up to the splendor of a moon or
a star of the sixth magnitude, and go about like a Robin Goodfellow,
peeping in at every cottage window, inspiring lunatics, and tainting
meats, and making darkness visible, instead of steadily increasing his
genial heat and beneficence till he is of such brightness that no mortal
can look him in the face, and then, and in the meanwhile too, going about
the world in his own orbit, doing it good, or rather, as a truer
philosophy has discovered, the world going about him getting good. When
Phaeton, wishing to prove his heavenly birth by his beneficence, had the
sun's chariot but one day, and drove out of the beaten track, he burned
several blocks of houses in the lower streets of heaven, and scorched the
surface of the earth, and dried up every spring, and made the great desert
of Sahara, till at length Jupiter hurled him headlong to the earth with a
thunderbolt, and the sun, through grief at his death, did not shine for a
year.</p>
<p>There is no odor so bad as that which arises from goodness tainted. It is
human, it is divine, carrion. If I knew for a certainty that a man was
coming to my house with the conscious design of doing me good, I should
run for my life, as from that dry and parching wind of the African deserts
called the simoom, which fills the mouth and nose and ears and eyes with
dust till you are suffocated, for fear that I should get some of his good
done to me—some of its virus mingled with my blood. No—in this
case I would rather suffer evil the natural way. A man is not a good <i>man</i>
to me because he will feed me if I should be starving, or warm me if I
should be freezing, or pull me out of a ditch if I should ever fall into
one. I can find you a Newfoundland dog that will do as much. Philanthropy
is not love for one's fellow-man in the broadest sense. Howard was no
doubt an exceedingly kind and worthy man in his way, and has his reward;
but, comparatively speaking, what are a hundred Howards to <i>us</i>, if
their philanthropy do not help us in our best estate, when we are most
worthy to be helped? I never heard of a philanthropic meeting in which it
was sincerely proposed to do any good to me, or the like of me.</p>
<p>The Jesuits were quite balked by those Indians who, being burned at the
stake, suggested new modes of torture to their tormentors. Being superior
to physical suffering, it sometimes chanced that they were superior to any
consolation which the missionaries could offer; and the law to do as you
would be done by fell with less persuasiveness on the ears of those who,
for their part, did not care how they were done by, who loved their
enemies after a new fashion, and came very near freely forgiving them all
they did.</p>
<p>Be sure that you give the poor the aid they most need, though it be your
example which leaves them far behind. If you give money, spend yourself
with it, and do not merely abandon it to them. We make curious mistakes
sometimes. Often the poor man is not so cold and hungry as he is dirty and
ragged and gross. It is partly his taste, and not merely his misfortune.
If you give him money, he will perhaps buy more rags with it. I was wont
to pity the clumsy Irish laborers who cut ice on the pond, in such mean
and ragged clothes, while I shivered in my more tidy and somewhat more
fashionable garments, till, one bitter cold day, one who had slipped into
the water came to my house to warm him, and I saw him strip off three
pairs of pants and two pairs of stockings ere he got down to the skin,
though they were dirty and ragged enough, it is true, and that he could
afford to refuse the <i>extra</i> garments which I offered him, he had so
many <i>intra</i> ones. This ducking was the very thing he needed. Then I
began to pity myself, and I saw that it would be a greater charity to
bestow on me a flannel shirt than a whole slop-shop on him. There are a
thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the
root, and it may be that he who bestows the largest amount of time and
money on the needy is doing the most by his mode of life to produce that
misery which he strives in vain to relieve. It is the pious slave-breeder
devoting the proceeds of every tenth slave to buy a Sunday's liberty for
the rest. Some show their kindness to the poor by employing them in their
kitchens. Would they not be kinder if they employed themselves there? You
boast of spending a tenth part of your income in charity; maybe you should
spend the nine tenths so, and done with it. Society recovers only a tenth
part of the property then. Is this owing to the generosity of him in whose
possession it is found, or to the remissness of the officers of justice?</p>
<p>Philanthropy is almost the only virtue which is sufficiently appreciated
by mankind. Nay, it is greatly overrated; and it is our selfishness which
overrates it. A robust poor man, one sunny day here in Concord, praised a
fellow-townsman to me, because, as he said, he was kind to the poor;
meaning himself. The kind uncles and aunts of the race are more esteemed
than its true spiritual fathers and mothers. I once heard a reverend
lecturer on England, a man of learning and intelligence, after enumerating
her scientific, literary, and political worthies, Shakespeare, Bacon,
Cromwell, Milton, Newton, and others, speak next of her Christian heroes,
whom, as if his profession required it of him, he elevated to a place far
above all the rest, as the greatest of the great. They were Penn, Howard,
and Mrs. Fry. Every one must feel the falsehood and cant of this. The last
were not England's best men and women; only, perhaps, her best
philanthropists.</p>
<p>I would not subtract anything from the praise that is due to philanthropy,
but merely demand justice for all who by their lives and works are a
blessing to mankind. I do not value chiefly a man's uprightness and
benevolence, which are, as it were, his stem and leaves. Those plants of
whose greenness withered we make herb tea for the sick serve but a humble
use, and are most employed by quacks. I want the flower and fruit of a
man; that some fragrance be wafted over from him to me, and some ripeness
flavor our intercourse. His goodness must not be a partial and transitory
act, but a constant superfluity, which costs him nothing and of which he
is unconscious. This is a charity that hides a multitude of sins. The
philanthropist too often surrounds mankind with the remembrance of his own
castoff griefs as an atmosphere, and calls it sympathy. We should impart
our courage, and not our despair, our health and ease, and not our
disease, and take care that this does not spread by contagion. From what
southern plains comes up the voice of wailing? Under what latitudes reside
the heathen to whom we would send light? Who is that intemperate and
brutal man whom we would redeem? If anything ail a man, so that he does
not perform his functions, if he have a pain in his bowels even—for
that is the seat of sympathy—he forthwith sets about reforming—the
world. Being a microcosm himself, he discovers—and it is a true
discovery, and he is the man to make it—that the world has been
eating green apples; to his eyes, in fact, the globe itself is a great
green apple, which there is danger awful to think of that the children of
men will nibble before it is ripe; and straightway his drastic
philanthropy seeks out the Esquimau and the Patagonian, and embraces the
populous Indian and Chinese villages; and thus, by a few years of
philanthropic activity, the powers in the meanwhile using him for their
own ends, no doubt, he cures himself of his dyspepsia, the globe acquires
a faint blush on one or both of its cheeks, as if it were beginning to be
ripe, and life loses its crudity and is once more sweet and wholesome to
live. I never dreamed of any enormity greater than I have committed. I
never knew, and never shall know, a worse man than myself.</p>
<p>I believe that what so saddens the reformer is not his sympathy with his
fellows in distress, but, though he be the holiest son of God, is his
private ail. Let this be righted, let the spring come to him, the morning
rise over his couch, and he will forsake his generous companions without
apology. My excuse for not lecturing against the use of tobacco is, that I
never chewed it, that is a penalty which reformed tobacco-chewers have to
pay; though there are things enough I have chewed which I could lecture
against. If you should ever be betrayed into any of these philanthropies,
do not let your left hand know what your right hand does, for it is not
worth knowing. Rescue the drowning and tie your shoestrings. Take your
time, and set about some free labor.</p>
<p>Our manners have been corrupted by communication with the saints. Our
hymn-books resound with a melodious cursing of God and enduring Him
forever. One would say that even the prophets and redeemers had rather
consoled the fears than confirmed the hopes of man. There is nowhere
recorded a simple and irrepressible satisfaction with the gift of life,
any memorable praise of God. All health and success does me good, however
far off and withdrawn it may appear; all disease and failure helps to make
me sad and does me evil, however much sympathy it may have with me or I
with it. If, then, we would indeed restore mankind by truly Indian,
botanic, magnetic, or natural means, let us first be as simple and well as
Nature ourselves, dispel the clouds which hang over our own brows, and
take up a little life into our pores. Do not stay to be an overseer of the
poor, but endeavor to become one of the worthies of the world.</p>
<p>I read in the Gulistan, or Flower Garden, of Sheik Sadi of Shiraz, that
"they asked a wise man, saying: Of the many celebrated trees which the
Most High God has created lofty and umbrageous, they call none azad, or
free, excepting the cypress, which bears no fruit; what mystery is there
in this? He replied, Each has its appropriate produce, and appointed
season, during the continuance of which it is fresh and blooming, and
during their absence dry and withered; to neither of which states is the
cypress exposed, being always flourishing; and of this nature are the
azads, or religious independents.—Fix not thy heart on that which is
transitory; for the Dijlah, or Tigris, will continue to flow through
Bagdad after the race of caliphs is extinct: if thy hand has plenty, be
liberal as the date tree; but if it affords nothing to give away, be an
azad, or free man, like the cypress."</p>
<p>COMPLEMENTAL VERSES<br/>
<br/>
The Pretensions of Poverty<br/>
<br/>
Thou dost presume too much, poor needy wretch,<br/>
To claim a station in the firmament<br/>
Because thy humble cottage, or thy tub,<br/>
Nurses some lazy or pedantic virtue<br/>
In the cheap sunshine or by shady springs,<br/>
With roots and pot-herbs; where thy right hand,<br/>
Tearing those humane passions from the mind,<br/>
Upon whose stocks fair blooming virtues flourish,<br/>
Degradeth nature, and benumbeth sense,<br/>
And, Gorgon-like, turns active men to stone.<br/>
We not require the dull society<br/>
Of your necessitated temperance,<br/>
Or that unnatural stupidity<br/>
That knows nor joy nor sorrow; nor your forc'd<br/>
Falsely exalted passive fortitude<br/>
Above the active. This low abject brood,<br/>
That fix their seats in mediocrity,<br/>
Become your servile minds; but we advance<br/>
Such virtues only as admit excess,<br/>
Brave, bounteous acts, regal magnificence,<br/>
All-seeing prudence, magnanimity<br/>
That knows no bound, and that heroic virtue<br/>
For which antiquity hath left no name,<br/>
But patterns only, such as Hercules,<br/>
Achilles, Theseus. Back to thy loath'd cell;<br/>
And when thou seest the new enlightened sphere,<br/>
Study to know but what those worthies were.<br/>
T. CAREW<br/></p>
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