The Elements of Character by Mary G. Chandler

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Possibly the ground may be taken that we should forgive our own personal
enemies, but not the enemies of the Lord, against whom the reformer
directs his wrath. But is the arm of the Lord shortened that he cannot
avenge his own wrongs? and who among mortals is so pure or so strong
that he may dare to say, the Lord has need of him for a champion?

It is deemed just that a soldier should suffer severe punishment if he
act without orders, taking upon himself the authority of a commanding
officer. How much more is he worthy of condemnation who puts himself
in place of God, and under pretence of doing him service, presumes to
transgress his explicit commands.

We are prone to fancy that when we are fond of talking about any object
we are fond of the object itself; but this by no means follows of
course. We may delight in talking about philanthropy while our hearts
are burning with hatred, or about temperance while intoxicated with
passion, or about abolitionism while we have no respect for the liberty
of those around us, and no comprehension of that liberty wherewith
Christ makes his children free; and all this because we are working from
the blind impulses of an unregenerate spirit. When the spirit becomes
regenerate,--taught of God,--it perceives the unity of virtue, and can
never again regard it as a dismembered fragment. Then it knows, that
to do wrong that good may come of it is striving to cast out Satan by
Beelzebub,--an effort that must surely fail. Then it feels that evil is
really overcome only by good. How different will be the reformatory zeal
of this state of the spirit from that which preceded it. Formerly, no
sooner was the subject of reform mentioned than the neck stiffened
and the head tossed itself backward with the excitement of pride and
combativeness, while the tongue poured forth whatever phrases anger
might suggest. Now, how different is the attitude and expression, as
with words of gentleness and love it strives to draw others to perceive
the beauty of purity and justice. Formerly, the whole effort of the mind
was to compel others to come into agreement with itself; now, it strives
to win them into harmony with God. Once, it believed that indignation
could be righteous; now, it knows that anger and heavenly mindedness
dwell far apart; and, if they approach each other, one must perish.

If we would train character into genuine goodness, we should observe
whether evil in ourselves or others offends us because it is contrary
to our own ideas, or because it is opposed to the will of God. If the
former be the case, we shall find ourselves angry; if the latter, we
shall be sorrowful. No one can be angry from love to God. Anger is
in its very nature egotistic and selfish, and has in it nothing of
holiness. Penitence for sin is ever meek and humble, and so is regret
for the sins of others. The moment we find ourselves angry, either
for our own sins or for the sins of others, we may be sure there is
something wrong in our state, and we should stop at once to analyze
our feelings, and find where the trouble lies. If we do this
conscienciously, we shall be sure to find some selfish or worldly
passion at the root of the matter. We shall find that something else
than love to God excited our indignation.

If we find ourselves indulging, habitually and with satisfaction in any
one sin, we may be sure that we have not true hatred for any sin;
for sin is hateful because it is contrary to the infinite wisdom and
goodness of God. If we abhor it for this reason, we shall abhor all sin;
and if we find ourselves hating some sins and loving others, we may be
sure that we hate those which are repugnant to our own tastes, and love
those which are in conformity with them. Thus our measure of sin is in
ourselves, and not in God; and we are putting ourselves in place of
God,--worshipping the idol self, instead of our Father in heaven.

The Lord was very explicit in his teachings regarding the necessity of
the denial of self; but this is the last thing in which we are willing
to obey him. We profess to be willing and eager to do a great deal of
good; but when conscience tells us that we must do the will of God every
moment of our lives, we turn away with a sorrowful countenance; for
there are many things in which we wish to follow our own wills without
stopping to consult the will of God, and we wish to believe that we can
do this and yet be quite virtuous enough to insure salvation. While the
natural man is strong within us, we are ever striving to serve God and
mammon; but when the spiritual man is born, we are willing to give up
all else and follow the Lord. Then, we feel that we cannot be truly
virtuous, because we are, in some points, very scrupulous, while in
others we are very indifferent; for we perceive that goodness is the
harmonious development of the whole Character into accordance with the
will of God.

So long as we labor for ourselves we shall be, at best, only special
reformers, and cultivators of special virtues; but when we are ready to
deny ourselves, and to do the will of God, all sin will become abhorrent
to us, and we shall grow in grace daily until we become perfected in
that symmetrical form of man, which is the image and likeness of God;
and every faculty of the heart and of the head will then be baptized
into the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

THE HUMAN TRINITY.

"It is this trinity of man,--for man is the image of his God, in whom
is the essential Trinity,--under which his whole character must be
studied."--KINMONT.

Man being created in the image and likeness of God, we must of necessity
find in him a finite organization corresponding with the infinite
organization of the Creator. In the Infinite Divine Trinity there are
the Divine Goodness or Love, the Divine Truth or Wisdom, and the
Divine Operation or the manifestation of the other two in and upon the
universe: in other words, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. In the
human, finite trinity, we have, corresponding with these, Affection,
Understanding, and Use, or external life. Divinity being the embodiment
of infinite order, its parts act in a sequence of absolute perfection;
that is, absolute love by means of absolute wisdom exhibits itself in
absolute use. Speaking with exactness, the word sequence is out of place
in this connection, because with the Divinity, love, wisdom, and
operation are simultaneous; but he has separated them in his ultimate
manifestations, and we are obliged to separate them in our analysis,
in order that they may in any degree come within the compass of human
comprehension.

Man, in his primeval innocence, was a genuine image and likeness of
the All-perfect Divinity; perfect after the same manner, but on a
lower plane. There was then no antagonism between the creature and the
Creator; and the finite naturally and joyfully obeyed the infinite; for
in obedience to the will of the Heavenly Father it found sustenance for
the soul as manifestly as in meat and drink for the body. The progress
of time saw the creature turn from the love of God to the love of
self,--from seeking the truth of God to seeking out its own vain
imaginations, and from performing the orderly uses of a life of charity
to all the disorderly indulgencies of selfish passion. Instead of
worshipping the living God, man now invented idols representing his own
evil passions, and bowed before them in adoring admiration; for the
attributes wherewith he clothed them were fitting forces to stimulate
his progress along the pathway he had chosen, where life was made
hideous by the lowering shadows of rapine and murder.

The first Church, represented by Adam and Eve, is the general type of
every Church that has followed it, and of every unregenerate individual
in those Churches. Instead of looking to God as the source of all
wisdom, there is ever the desire to eat of, or make our own, the fruit
of the tree of knowledge, that we may know of _ourselves_ good from
evil; and that we may do of ourselves what seems to us right; and
instead of penitence for sin and an endeavor after reformation, there is
a striving to conceal our unfaithfulness. The covering assumed by those
who, in Scripture, stand as the parents of mankind, is the perpetual
type of the subterfuges we all invent to hide our disobedience from our
God, from our neighbors, nay, even from ourselves. The primal image and
likeness of God has become so defaced, distorted, and broken, that it is
often hard to find a remnant still testifying to its Divine origin. Let
us rise up from among these shattered fragments, and contemplate for a
while the means of bringing the poor, fallen human nature into harmony
with the divine;--let us develop, if we can, a system that may aid us
in training our faculties, so that the Affections shall be pure, the
Understanding wise, and Life the harmonious exponent of both.

In the attempt to restore our being to its original symmetry, the
intellectual part of the nature must not be cultivated at the expense of
the affectional, nor should the affectional be suffered to run riot with
the intellectual. Love must be wise, and wisdom must be affectionate, or
life will fail of its end. External morality has no reliable foundation
unless it be built on morality of thought and affection. Apart from
these, it is either the result of a happy organization that demands no
disorderly indulgence, or it is the figleaf garment of deceit, put on by
those who strive to seem rather than to be.

In the just training of Character, if we first learn to understand the
capacities and relations of Affection, Thought, and Life, and look
within our own natures until we learn to comprehend how everything
pertaining to our being belongs to one of these departments, we shall
better appreciate the difficulties to be overcome before we shall be
willing to make everything that we do the honest outbirth of everything
that we are. Pretence and hypocrisy, subterfuge and falsehood, will then
disappear, and life will become the adequate expression of symmetrical
Character.

The intellectual part of our being may be better understood if divided
into two departments, viz., Thought and Imagination,--the subjective and
the objective. Thought can be lifted up into the Affections, and made
manifest in Life only through the medium of the Imagination. Thought is
at first a pure abstraction, a subjective idea,--something entirely
within the mind, and having no relation to conduct,--a seed sown, but
not germinated; and while it remains thus it has no influence upon the
Affections. If, however, it germinate, the next step in its existence is
to become an objective idea; and now it has lost its abstract quality
and become an image. In its first state it is neither agreeable nor
disagreeable to the mind, but so soon as it takes a distinctive form it
becomes either pleasing or displeasing, and is either cast away and
forgotten, or retained arid expanded by the Affections, whose office it
is to cause Thought to become a vital reality, ready to show itself in
the external life so soon as a fitting occasion calls for its
manifestation.

Thought is like water. Sometimes it glides over the mind as over a
bed of rock; neither softening nor fertilizing; but when it is made
a possible reality by the Imagination, and a vital reality by the
Affections, it is now like a stream, flowing through rich farms and
gardens, fertilizing wherever it comes; and again, like waterfalls,
furnishing power to set ideas in motion, that shall give nutriment and
warmth to the souls of millions.

The Lord, when he would condense religion into its narrowest compass,
commands us to love the Heavenly Father with the whole heart and
soul and mind and strength. Can this signify anything else than that
Affection, Imagination, and Thought, in their whole strength, or brought
down into the ultimates of life, must be consecrated to the Divine
Creator of them all? So St. Paul, when he would sum up the whole
Christian system in a single phrase, exclaims: "Faith, Hope, Charity.
The greatest of these is Charity." Faith here expresses the religion of
Thought, Hope the religion of the Imagination, and Charity the
religion of the Affections, which is greatest of all because it is the
vitalization of the other two.

Every act that we voluntarily perform, whether good or evil, first
entered the mind as an abstract Thought; it was then shaped by the
Imagination until it became a definite idea; next, it was claimed as a
child by the Affections; and lastly, it was by the Affections made to
come out into a use of love or an abuse of hate.

Many thoughts die in the mind without passing through all these stages.
We sometimes hear a sermon that fills our Thoughts as we listen, and yet
we forget it all as we turn away from the church door; for it went no
deeper than our Thoughts. At another time, what we hear goes with us to
our homes, haunts us through the week, and perhaps is made a standard
whereby to measure the virtues or the vices of our neighbors; possibly
even, we try ourselves by its rule, and our consciences are roused to
pierce us with the sharp pang of remorse. All this, however, brings no
change over our lives. Here Thought has passed into Imagination, has
become a reality to the mind; but as yet the Affections do not warm
towards it, and so it dies in the second stage of existence. Yet, again,
we listen to the voice of the preacher, and his words abide in the soul
until they quicken our Affections, and as we muse the fire burns. Then
are our eyes lightened to perceive how all that we have heard may become
realized in life; and warmed by the heavenly flame that has descended
upon our altar, our souls kindle with charity, and we go forth to
realize the hope that is within us in works of angelic use.

This process of the mind is not confined to the religious part of our
being. It goes on perpetually in our intellectual no less than our moral
nature. Our success in using whatever we learn in every department,
the wisdom or the folly of everything we do, whether relating to
intellectual, to religious, or to practical life, depends on the
faithfulness with which we apply these three powers to whatever is
presented to them.

Look in upon the assembled members of a school, of any grade from
primary to collegiate, and you will see one set of pupils with stolid
faces conning their tasks, as if they were indeed tasks in the hardest
sense of the term, and then reciting them word for word, in a monotonous
tone, as if their voices came from automata, and not from living
throats. These are they who study only with their Thoughts, and whose
Imaginations and Affections are untouched by all that passes through
their minds. Scattered among the preceding another class may be found,
with quickly glancing eyes, who seem all alive to everything they
study, who recite with earnest tones, and whose faces are bright with
expression. Here the Imagination is at work, and everything the mind
seizes upon stands there at once a living picture. These are the
brilliant scholars, who carry off all the prizes, and win all
admiration. There is still a third class, of a calmer aspect. Its
members may not shine so brightly, but there is more warmth in their
rays. They will not learn so much nor so rapidly as those of the second
class, but their whole being is permeated by what they know. They are
constantly studying the relations of the things that they learn to each
other and to life; and are endeavoring to form themselves in accordance
with the rationality they thus acquire; for their Affections have
fastened themselves upon it, and it is therefore becoming a part of
their being.

When these three classes of pupils become men and women, and go
forth into the various walks of life, the first, if they attempt any
handicraft, are the botchers and bunglers, who bring little more than
their hands to anything that they do; and who, therefore, do nothing
well. They are the dead weights of society, that must be helped through
life by their more active neighbors. If they are scholars, they are
collectors of facts, which they pile up in their memories as a miser
heaps his gold, for no end but the pleasure of heaping. They make
physicians without resource, lawyers without discernment, preachers who
dole out divinity in its baldest and heaviest forms.

Those of the second class are always better in theory than in practice;
for with them zeal ever runs before knowledge. They will delight in
telling how a thing should be done, but will find it very difficult
to do it themselves. A blacksmith of this class will tell with great
exactness how a horse should be shod, but if trusted to perform that
office, ten to one the poor animal will go limping from his hands. So a
carpenter of the same class will be full of plans and fancies that he
will wish to carry out for the benefit of his employers; but his work,
when completed, though perhaps elegant and ornamental, will probably be
inappropriate in appearance, and not adapted to the use for which it
was intended. From this class come inventors of machines that are never
heard of after they get into the patent-office, schemers and speculators
whose plans end in ruin, boon companions, brilliant talkers, sparkling
orators, elegant and ornate poets who sing blithely for their own day
and generation, preachers and statesmen who are ever led away by Utopian
and millennial dreams; in short, men who may shine while they live, but
are seldom remembered when they die.

The third class are men of mark in whatever walk of life they are found;
--men to be relied upon for whatever they may undertake. They are men
who can produce in Life what their Understandings know and imagine;
or, rather, who know how to select from their stores of Thought and
Imagination whatever may be realized in Life. If they are mechanics,
their work is the best of its kind, and precisely adapted to the use
for which it was intended; if they are machinists, their inventions
are those that ameliorate the condition of society; if merchants or
speculators, they do not run after bubbles; if devoted to intellectual
pursuits, they are divines whose thoughts thrill the souls of men
for centuries, founders of new schools of philosophy, lawgivers, and
statesmen who are remembered with gratitude as the fathers of nations,
poets whose words are destined to live so long as the language in which
they write is spoken,--nay, who shall cause their language to be
studied ages after all who spoke it have passed from the face of the
earth.

The women who belong to these several classes are characterized in like
manner, though their more retired lives prevent them from displaying
their traits so conspicuously. Those of the first class are dress-makers
whose work never fits, milliners whose bonnets look as if they were
not intended for the wearers, servants who do nothing rightly unless the
eye of their mistress is upon them, teachers whose pupils are taught
as if they were beings without life or reason; and in their highest
relations, as wives and mothers, they are those with whom nothing goes
as it should, whose daily lives are but a succession of mistakes and
catastrophies, whose husbands never find a comfortable home to which
they may return for repose after a day of toil, whose children are
"dragged up, not brought up."

In the second class are servants who have a quick perception of what is
to be done, and who make all that is directly apparent to the eye
look well, but a closer observation shows many an unswept corner and
neglected duty; dress-makers and milliners whose work is ornamental,
tasteful, and becoming, though the ornamentation is apt to be too great
for the value of the material, and the work will now and then come
in pieces for lack of being thoroughly finished; teachers who infuse
brightness and quickness into their scholars, but whose instructions are
more showy than solid. In their housekeeping they understand "putting
the best foot foremost," and making a great deal of ornament where there
may be but little of anything else; but they lack the practical skill
that makes a housekeeper successful in the essentials that constitute
comfort. They will seek to make their children accomplished ladies and
gentlemen, who will be agreeable in society, rather than well-trained
men and women, capable of meeting the duties and emergencies of life.

The third class of women are the reliable ones, wherever they may be
found. They do everything they attempt well, because there is a sense of
fitness and propriety in them which is disturbed by things badly done,
and which gives them an almost intuitive faith, that if a thing is worth
doing at all, it is worth doing well. They are not eye-servants, but
faithful in all things. Thoroughness pervades whatever they do, in all
departments of life. They are not satisfied with making a dress or a
bonnet that is becoming, unless it is well finished and appropriate.
They are the thorough teachers who are willing to have their schools
examined every day in the year, who seek to know the capacities of their
pupils, and to educate them accordingly. They are the mothers whose
children are obedient and trained for the uses of life no less than for
its pleasures; the wives whose husbands are happy in their homes if they
are capable of being happy anywhere.

When we contemplate these three classes of human beings, we perceive
that only one of them can be said to lead successful lives. Two classes,
and both of them painfully numerous, fail. The question rises to the
mind with fearful solemnity, were they created for this end,--created
to fail? Can we for a single moment believe that a Father of infinite
justice and mercy ever created one individual among his children, an
accountable being, neither insane nor idiotic, and yet so imperfect that
he _must_ fail? Surely it were blasphemy to hold such an act possible.
Infinitely various are the works of his hand in the forms of humanity,
as in every other department of the universe, but even so manifold are
the varieties and degrees of service which he prepares for every one
to do. There is a place and a use for every one, and whoever fails of
finding a place and a use fails, not because he was created incompetent,
but because he refuses to cultivate the powers wherewith he is endowed.
Indolence and selfishness, the moth and rust of Character, are corroding
and devouring the delicate organization of the internal man, which can
retain the wholeness and brightness of its powers only by constant use.
We are weak and useless, not because we were created to be so, but
because we do not listen to the voice of conscience when it tells us to
serve the Lord with _all_ our strength, in the very place where we now
are, and at the very time that now is. It is not because the power of
growth is not in them that our talents do not multiply, but because we
fold them in a napkin of indifference, and bury them in the earth of our
lower nature. Understanding and Affection are within us all, and if they
do not develop into a life of use, into a Character that will fit us for
heaven,--and this is what we should always keep before our minds as the
only genuine success,--it is because we have not striven as we might
and ought.

Understanding and Affection are within us all, differing, not in kind,
but only in degree; and they are constantly at work, involuntarily if we
do not voluntarily assume their control. In the little child they work
as involuntarily as the heart beats and the lungs respire; but so soon
as the child is old enough to begin to know the difference between right
and wrong, the action of these powers should begin to be voluntary;
should begin to be under the guidance of conscience.

Some persons call these powers into voluntary action from motives of
mere worldly wisdom. Every one does so who places some object before
himself, and cultivates his powers with a special view to attain
perfection therein. The pickpocket, the gambler, the housebreaker, must
do it before they can attain skill in their depravity. The worldling
does it who follows an honorable profession with all his heart and soul
and mind and strength, seeking only such rewards as Mammon bestows upon
his votaries. Whether all these are to be successful in attaining the
rewards they seek, is a matter of entire uncertainty; for Providence
permits or withholds worldly success in a way that we cannot anticipate,
nor but imperfectly understand. We may bear the heavy yoke of Mammon
until it wear into the very marrow of our bones, and yet gain nothing
but poverty and disgrace. They, however, who by a voluntary action of
the powers endeavor to become perfected in the stature of Christian men
and women,--who seek first the kingdom of heaven and its righteousness,
using all things of this world only as rounds of that ladder whose
summit is in the heavens, even while its base rests upon the earth, are
sure of the reward they seek; and the yoke that they bear will grow more
light and easy with each revolving year.

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