Christian Love,
or the Influence of Religion upon Temper
By John Angell James, 1828
THE KINDNESS OF LOVE
"Love is kind."
It is a decisive proof and a striking display of the
excellence of the Christian religion, that it enjoins not only the loftier
and more rigid excellencies of the human character—but those also which are
delicately amiable and tender; not only the masculine virtues—but the
feminine graces; in short, that it not only prepares its possessor to be a
patriot on the great theater of his country, or a spectacle of heroic
martyrdom to God, to angels, and to men—but a sympathizing friend in the
social and domestic circles. Love can either expand its benevolence to the
claims of the whole human family—or concentrate its emotions, for a time, in
one individual object of pity or affection.
"Love is kind." KINDNESS means a disposition to
please—a concern, manifested by our conduct, to promote the comfort of our
race. Pity commiserates their sorrows; mercy relieves their
needs and mitigates their woes; but kindness is a general attention
to their comfort. It is thus described and distinguished by a celebrated
writer on English synonyms—"The terms affectionate and fond,
characterize feelings. Kind, is an epithet applied to outward
actions, as well as inward feelings; a disposition is affectionate or fond;
a behavior is kind. A person is affectionate, who has the object of
his regard strongly in his mind, who participates in his pleasures and in
his pains, and is pleased with his society. A person is kind, who
expresses a tender sentiment, or does any service in a pleasant manner.
Relatives should be affectionate to each other; we should be kind to all who
stand in need of our kindness." Kindness, then, appears to be an
affectionate behavior. This is what the apostle means when he admonishes us
to "be kindly affectioned one to another."
Let us view
the KIND MAN in contrast with some other
characters.
A kind man is the opposite of the rigid, severe,
and censorious person, who will make no allowance for the infirmities
or inexperience of others; but judges harshly, reproves sternly, and speaks
severely, of all who do not come up to his standard.
Kindness, on the contrary—makes all reasonable allowances—frames the best
excuses it can, consistently with truth and holiness—speaks of the
offender in a way of mitigation, and to him in a way of
compassion—does not publish nor exaggerate his faults—and endeavors to find
out some redeeming qualities to set off against his failings.
A kind man is the opposite of a proud and
overbearing one. The latter is ever
seeking an opportunity to display his superiority, and make you feel your
inferiority; and cares not how much your feelings are hurt by this offensive
exhibition of his consequence. Kindness, if conscious, as it sometimes must
be, of its superiority, takes care that those who are below it shall not
feel a painful sense of their inferiority. Without sacrificing its dignity,
it will conceal as much as possible its pre-eminence, or unite it with such
affability as shall render it by no means unpleasant.
Kindness is opposed to coldness and selfishness
of disposition. There are people who,
though neither cruel, nor injurious, nor really hard-hearted—are yet so
cold, and distant, and retiring, and repulsive—that they can neither be
approached nor moved. They look upon the scenes around them with the fixed
and beamless eye, the chilliness and quiescence of the statue—for they have
no interest in the concerns of the world. But kindness is the visible
expression of a feeling and merciful heart; it is the goings-forth of a
tender and susceptible mind; it claims kindred with the human race; it is
all ear to listen—all heart to feel—all eye to examine and to weep—all hand
and foot to relieve; it invites the sufferer with kind words, and does not
send him away empty.
Kindness is opposed to a vain and ostentatious
liberality. "When you give a gift to
someone in need, don't shout about it as the hypocrites do—blowing trumpets
in the synagogues and streets to call attention to their acts of charity! I
assure you, they have received all the reward they will ever get. But when
you give to someone, don't tell your left hand what your right hand is
doing. Give your gifts in secret, and your Father, who knows all secrets,
will reward you." Matthew 6:2-4.
Some will be charitable if they may have spectators of
their good deeds, who shall go and proclaim their charities. They spoil the
action by their mode of performing it—for they will, in the most indelicate
manner, make the object of their bounty feel a painful sense of
obligation—they will state the exact amount, almost in monetary value, of
the favors they have conferred; and then go away and give such publicity to
their doings, that the beneficiary is almost everywhere sure to hear of what
has been done for him.
Kindness will on the other hand conceal as much as
possible that it is actually conferring a favor; will do everything to cause
it to descend lightly upon the spirit of the recipient; and would, if
circumstances allowed, gladly extend relief from behind a veil which hides
the giver, and does everything to prevent the sense of obligation from being
either painful or oppressive.
Kindness is opposed to the benevolence of partiality,
prejudice, and caprice. There are
not a few who are lavish in their fondness towards people of their own
family, friends and party—or upon those who happen to be their favorites for
the time. But for any outside their own circle of family and partisans, or
of their select friends—they have none of the charities of life. Their
benevolent regards are purely sectarian or absolutely capricious. But true
kindness is a clear perennial spring, rising up from a heart replete with
universal philanthropy, holding on its way, unimpeded by prejudices or
partialities, and distributing its benefits alike upon all that it meets
with in its course.
Having thus contrasted kindness with some characteristics
to which it is opposed, let us now consider the manner in which it acts.
Kindness expresses itself in WORDS that are calculated to
please. As not only our words, but the tones
of our voice are indicative of our thoughts and feelings, it is of
consequence for us to be careful, both as to what we say, and how
we say it. Half of the quarrels which disturb the peace of society
arise from unkind words, and not a few from unkind tones. We
should sedulously avoid a sour, morose, chiding mode of speech, and adopt a
soothing, conciliatory, and affectionate style of address. A surly tone is
calculated to wound or offend; and love, which carries the law of kindness
upon its lips, will consequently avoid it. A snappish, petulant, scolding
address, is in the highest degree repulsive and dissonant in the communion
of society. We may not have, it is true, the music of sound in our
speech—but it is our own fault if we have not the music of love. We
need not employ grimace, fawning flattery, hollow and unmeaning
compliment—but we may be courteous and affectionate; and we ought to "let
our speech be seasoned with salt, that it may minister grace to the
hearers." Every word and every modulation of the voice that is likely to
offend, should be studiously avoided, and will be avoided by
kindness—which extends also to
ACTIONS. It is anxious not to give
offense by anything which it does; it is most delicately tender in
reference to the feelings of its object, and would not unnecessarily crush
the wing of an insect, much less inflict a wound on a rational mind. There
are people who, in a spirit of selfish independence, care not whom they
please or whom they offend, But love is as anxious not to offend—as it is
solicitous about its own gratification. Its neighbor's comfort is as dear to
it as its own. It calculates, deliberates, weighs the tendency of actions,
and when by incaution, or pure misfortune, it has occasioned distress, it
hastens by every practicable means to heal the wound.
Kindness not only abstains from actual injury—but it is
active in conferring benefits —watches
for an opportunity to please—is ever ready to afford its assistance when
appealed to—and is not satisfied unless it can do something to increase the
general stock of comfort. Kindness accommodates itself to men's habits,
partialities, or prejudices. Kindness adapts itself, in things indifferent
and lawful, to their modes of acting, and does not wantonly oppose their
desires, when such resistance would occasion them distress. A stiff
uncomplying behavior, which consults nothing but its own desires, and which
will not sacrifice the least punctilio of its own habits to give pleasure,
has not a particle of beneficence about it. Such an individual is like a
person in a crowd, who will walk with his arms stretched out, or with
annoying weapons in his hand.
Kindness extends of course to little things, as
well as to great ones. The happiness or
misery of life does not consist so much in the 'transport of joy', or the
'anguish of affliction', as in feelings of an inferior kind—which, though
less violent, are more frequent than those strong emotions. Hence it is in
our power to make others miserable in life; not perhaps, by deeds of cruelty
or injustice, which we dare not or cannot commit—but by indulging in
unaccommodating dispositions towards them—by vexing them with acts of
unkindness, which will neither blast our reputation, nor put in peril our
property, liberty, or life.
And it is also in our power to make them happy, not so
much by signal and material services, which are seldom called for at our
hands—as by the inferior offices of little benevolences. The daily and
almost hourly reciprocity of little acts of good or ill will, which we have
an opportunity of performing, go a great way to the making up of good or bad
neighborship. There are those who, in the greater expressions of Christian
mercy, are really humane; whose benevolence at the same time has not learned
to stoop to little things. They are compassionate—but they lack kindness.
They would relieve a starving beggar—but they would not put themselves in
ever so small a degree out of their way to accommodate in trivial matters a
near neighbor.
Kindness is universal in its objects.
We have known individuals who could never do enough for some objects of
their regard—but they are by no means people of diffusive kindness. And
perhaps, if we examine, we shall find that their benevolence has a great
mixture of selfishness in it—for it is exercised only towards those from
whom they expect an ample return. It is the kindness of barter—not of love.
It is so much of their giving put out at interest—not given away to the
needy. They either have had, or expect to have, value received for all they
do. But love is universal in its aspect; it is ever ready to do a kind
office for anyone that either solicits or needs its assistance. Its language
is, "Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters." It has a kind
look, word, and act—for everybody. Nor are its enemies denied the assistance
of its efforts.
Such is the generous spirit of the Christian religion, as
appears from the passages quoted in a preceding chapter. Such is the
refined, the sublime morality of the New Testament. Yes, these are the
principles on which kindness acts—it extends its beneficence to the very man
that has treated it with ridicule and scorn—with cruelty, insult, and
oppression. This is its duty and its inclination. In imitation of the dying
Savior, who gave his last prayer to his murderers, it says, "Father, forgive
them, for they know not what they do!" We have known many, who will endure
any hardship, make any exertion, bear any sacrifice for their family
and friends, for whom they can never do enough. But toward their
enemies, they are unkind, implacable, and resentful. The man who has injured
them, they can never forgive; for him they have no kindness—but hold him in
contempt, aversion, and neglect. But Christianity requires a higher and more
unselfish virtue than this—for it commands us to be kind to our enemies.
What a fascinating character is the man of distinguished
kindness! He is invested with indescribable loveliness—he may not have the
glory in which the patriot, the hero, or the martyr is enshrined; but he is
adorned in no common degree with the beauties of holiness. He carries about
with him the majesty of goodness, if not the dominion of greatness. The
light of his countenance is the warm sunshine, to which the grief-stricken
turn from their dark retreats, to bask in its glow. And his gentle words are
like soft melody to chase away the evil thoughts from the bosom of
melancholy, and to hush to peace the troubled reflections of the distempered
mind. As he moves along his career, distributing the inexpensive but
efficient expressions of his regards, it is amid the blessing of those that
were ready to perish, and the notes of the widow's heart, which he has
turned to joy. When he comes unexpectedly into the company of his friends,
every countenance puts on the appearance of delight, and it appears as if a
beneficent person had come among them to bless the party; as he looks round
on the circle, with the smile of kindliness that has found an abiding place
upon his brow, he presents the brightest resemblance to be found in our
selfish world, of the entrance of the Savior among his disciples when he
said, "Peace be unto you!" and breathed upon them the Holy Spirit.
Although he neither seeks nor wishes an equivalent in
return for his many acts of benevolence, his gentle spirit receives back, in
a full tide, the streams of consolation which had ebbed from his own heart
to fill the empty channels of his neighbor's happiness. Who can be unkind to
him—who is kind to all? What heart is so hard, what mind is so cruel,
what spirit is so diabolical—as to wound him, who never appears among his
race, but as a ministering angel? There is a magic in his tears to melt to
sympathy the stubborn soul of cruelty itself, which has a tear for no one
else. There is no less a magic in his smiles, so far to relax and soften the
hard features of envy, as to reflect for a moment the sunshine of his joy.
While he lives, every man is his admirer—and when he dies, every man is his
mourner. While he is on earth, his name has a home in every heart—and when
he is gone, he has a monument in every memory—and this is the description of
his character—the record of his praise—love is kind!
|