{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_20861/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_20861","id":"gutenberg_20861","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/20861","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Friendship"],"text":"Produced by Al Haines\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nFRIENDSHIP\n\n_By_ HUGH BLACK\n\n\n\n_With an Introductory Note by_\n\nW. ROBERTSON NICOLL, D.D.\n\n\n\nChicago--New York--Toronto\n\nFLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY\n\nLondon--Edinburgh\n\n\n\n\nCopyright, 1898, 1903, by\n\nFLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY\n\n\n\n\nTo MY FRIEND\n\nHECTOR MUNRO FERGUSON\n\nAND TO MANY OTHER FRIENDS WHO HAVE MADE LIFE RICH\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n_Equidem, ex omnibus rebus, quas mihi aut Fortuna aut Natura tribuit,\nnihil habeo quod cum amicitia Scipionis possum, comparare._\n\nCICERO.\n\n\n\n\n  _Intreat me not to leave thee,\n  And to return from following after thee:\n  For whither thou guest, I will go;\n  And where thou lodgest, I will lodge;\n  Thy people shall be my people,\n  And thy God my God:\n  Where thou diest, will I die,\n  And there will I be buried:\n  The Lord do so to me, and more also,\n  If aught but death part thee and me._\n\n  BOOK OF RUTH.\n\n\n\n\nAPPRECIATION\n\nBY SIR WM. ROBERTSON NICOLL, D.D.\n\nMr. Hugh Black's wise and charming little book on Friendship is full of\ngood things winningly expressed, and, though very simply written, is\nthe result of real thought and experience.  Mr. Black's is the art that\nconceals art.  For young men, especially, this volume will be a golden\npossession, and it can hardly fail to affect their after lives.  Mr.\nBlack says well that the subject of friendship is less thought of among\nus now than it was in the old world.  Marriage has come to mean\ninfinitely more.  Communion with God in Christ has become to multitudes\nthe primal fact of life.  Nevertheless the need for friendship\nremains.--\"British Weekly.\"\n\n\n\n\n_Friendship is to be valued for what there is in it, not for what can\nbe gotten out of it.  When two people appreciate each other because\neach has found the other convenient to have around, they are not\nfriends, they are simply acquaintances with a business understanding.\nTo seek friendship for its utility is as futile as to seek the end of a\nrainbow for its bag of gold.  A true friend is always useful in the\nhighest sense; but we should beware of thinking of our friends as\nbrother members of a mutual-benefit association, with its periodical\ndemands and threats of suspension for non-payment of dues._\n\nTRUMBULL.\n\n\n\n\nContents\n\n\nI\n\nTHE MIRACLE OF FRIENDSHIP\n\n\nII\n\nTHE CULTURE OF FRIENDSHIP\n\n\nIII\n\nTHE FRUITS OF FRIENDSHIP\n\n\nIV\n\nTHE CHOICE OF FRIENDSHIP\n\n\nV\n\nTHE ECLIPSE OF FRIENDSHIP\n\n\nVI\n\nTHE WRECK OF FRIENDSHIP\n\n\nVII\n\nTHE RENEWING OF FRIENDSHIP\n\n\nVIII\n\nTHE LIMITS OF FRIENDSHIP\n\n\nIX\n\nTHE HIGHER FRIENDSHIP\n\n\n\n\nThe Miracle of Friendship\n\n\n  But, far away from these, another sort\n  Of lovers linked in true heart's consent;\n  Which loved not as these for like intent,\n  But on chaste virtue grounded their desire,\n  Far from all fraud or feigned blandishment;\n  Which, in their spirits kindling zealous fire,\n  Brave thoughts and noble deeds did evermore aspire.\n\n  Such were great Hercules and Hylas dear,\n  True Jonathan and David trusty tried;\n  Stout Theseus and Pirithoeus his fere;\n  Pylades and Orestes by his side;\n  Mild Titus and Gesippus without pride;\n  Damon and Pythias, whom death could not sever;\n  All these, and all that ever had been tied\n  In bands of friendship, there did live forever;\n  Whose lives although decay'd, yet loves decayed never.\n\n  SPENSER, The Faerie Queene.\n\n\n\nThe Miracle of Friendship\n\nThe idea, so common in the ancient writers, is not all a poetic\nconceit, that the soul of a man is only a fragment of a larger whole,\nand goes out in search of other souls in which it will find its true\ncompletion.  We walk among worlds unrealized, until we have learned the\nsecret of love.  We know this, and in our sincerest moments admit this,\neven though we are seeking to fill up our lives with other ambitions\nand other hopes.\n\nIt is more than a dream of youth that there may be here a satisfaction\nof the heart, without which, and in comparison with which, all worldly\nsuccess is failure.  In spite of the selfishness which seems to blight\nall life, our hearts tell us that there is possible a nobler\nrelationship of disinterestedness and devotion.  Friendship in its\naccepted sense is not the highest of the different grades in that\nrelationship, but it has its place in the kingdom of love, and through\nit we bring ourselves into training for a still larger love.  The\nnatural man may be self-absorbed and self-centred, but in a truer sense\nit is natural for him to give up self and link his life on to others.\nHence the joy with which he makes the great discovery, that he is\nsomething to another and another is everything to him.  It is the\nhigher-natural for which he has hitherto existed.  It is a miracle, but\nit happens.\n\nThe cynic may speak of the now obsolete sentiment of friendship, and he\ncan find much to justify his cynicism.  Indeed, on the first blush, if\nwe look at the relative place the subject holds in ancient as compared\nwith modern literature, we might say that friendship is a sentiment\nthat is rapidly becoming obsolete.  In Pagan writers friendship takes a\nmuch larger place than it now receives.  The subject bulks largely in\nthe works of Plato, Aristotle, Epictetus, Cicero.  And among modern\nwriters it gets most importance in the writings of the more\nPagan-spirited, such as Montaigne.  In all the ancient systems of\nphilosophy, friendship was treated as an integral part of the system.\nTo the Stoic it was a blessed occasion for the display of nobility and\nthe native virtues of the human mind.  To the Epicurean it was the most\nrefined of the pleasures which made life worth living.  In the\nNicomachean Ethics, Aristotle makes it the culminating point, and out\nof ten books gives two to the discussion of Friendship.  He makes it\neven the link of connection between his treatise on Ethics and his\ncompanion treatise on Politics.  It is to him both the perfection of\nthe individual life, and the bond that holds states together.\nFriendship is not only a beautiful and noble thing for a man, but the\nrealization of it is also the ideal for the state; for if citizens be\nfriends, then justice, which is the great concern of all organized\nsocieties, is more than secured.  Friendship is thus made the flower of\nEthics, and the root of Politics.\n\nPlato also makes friendship the ideal of the state, where all have\ncommon interests and mutual confidence.  And apart from its place of\nprominence in systems of thought, perhaps a finer list of beautiful\nsayings about friendship could be culled from ancient writers than from\nmodern.  Classical mythology also is full of instances of great\nfriendship, which almost assumed the place of a religion itself.\n\nIt is not easy to explain why its part in Christian ethics is so small\nin comparison.  The change is due to an enlarging of the thought and\nlife of man.  Modern ideals are wider and more impersonal, just as the\nmodern conception of the state is wider.  The Christian ideal of love\neven for enemies has swallowed up the narrower ideal of philosophic\nfriendship.  Then possibly also the instinct finds satisfaction\nelsewhere in the modern man.  For example, marriage, in more cases now\nthan ever before, supplies the need of friendship.  Men and women are\nnearer in intellectual pursuits and in common tastes than they have\never been, and can be in a truer sense companions.  And the deepest\nexplanation of all is that the heart of man receives a religious\nsatisfaction impossible before.  Spiritual communion makes a man less\ndependent on human intercourse.  When the heaven is as brass and makes\nno sign, men are thrown back on themselves to eke out their small\nstores of love.\n\nAt the same time friendship is not an obsolete sentiment.  It is as\ntrue now as in Aristotle's time that no one would care to live without\nfriends, though he had all other good things.  It is still necessary to\nour life in its largest sense.  The danger of sneering at friendship is\nthat it may be discarded or neglected, not in the interests of a more\nspiritual affection, but to minister to a debased cynical\nself-indulgence.  There is possible to-day, as ever, a generous\nfriendship which forgets self.  The history of the heart-life of man\nproves this.  What records we have of such in the literature of every\ncountry!  Peradventure for a good man men have even dared to die.\nMankind has been glorified by countless silent heroisms, by unselfish\nservice, and sacrificing love.  Christ, who always took the highest\nground in His estimate of men and never once put man's capacity for the\nnoble on a low level, made the high-water mark of human friendship the\nstandard of His own great action, \"Greater love hath no man than this,\nthat a man lay down his life for his friends.\"  This high-water mark\nhas often been reached.  Men have given themselves to each other, with\nnothing to gain, with no self-interest to serve, and with no keeping\nback part of the price.  It is false to history to base life on\nselfishness, to leave out of the list of human motives the highest of\nall.  The miracle of friendship has been too often enacted on this dull\nearth of ours, to suffer us to doubt either its possibility or its\nwondrous beauty.\n\nThe classic instance of David and Jonathan represents the typical\nfriendship.  They met, and at the meeting knew each other to be nearer\nthan kindred.  By subtle elective affinity they felt that they belonged\nto each other.  Out of all the chaos of the time and the disorder of\ntheir lives, there arose for these two souls a new and beautiful world,\nwhere there reigned peace, and love, and sweet content.  It was the\nmiracle of the death of self.  Jonathan forgot his pride, and David his\nambition.  It was as the smile of God which changed the world to them.\nOne of them it saved from the temptations of a squalid court, and the\nother from the sourness of an exile's life.  Jonathan's princely soul\nhad no room for envy or jealousy.  David's frank nature rose to meet\nthe magnanimity of his friend.\n\nIn the kingdom of love there was no disparity between the king's son\nand the shepherd boy.  Such a gift as each gave and received is not to\nbe bought or sold.  It was the fruit of the innate nobility of both: it\nsoftened and tempered a very trying time for both.  Jonathan withstood\nhis father's anger to shield his friend: David was patient with Saul\nfor his son's sake.  They agreed to be true to each other in their\ndifficult position.  Close and tender must have been the bond, which\nhad such fruit in princely generosity and mutual loyalty of soul.\nFitting was the beautiful lament, when David's heart was bereaved at\ntragic Gilboa, \"I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan: very\npleasant hast thou been unto me: thy love to me was wonderful, passing\nthe love of women.\"  Love is always wonderful, a new creation, fair and\nfresh to every loving soul.  It is the miracle of spring to the cold\ndull earth.\n\nWhen Montaigne wrote his essay on Friendship, he could do little but\ntell the story of his friend.  The essay continually reverts to this,\nwith joy that he had been privileged to have such a friend, with sorrow\nat his loss.  It is a chapter of his heart.  There was an element of\nnecessity about it, as there is about all the great things of life.  He\ncould not account for it.  It came to him without effort or choice.  It\nwas a miracle, but it happened.  \"If a man should importune me to give\na reason why I loved him, I can only answer, because it was he, because\nit was I.\"  It was as some secret appointment of heaven.  They were\nboth grown men when they first met, and death separated them soon.  \"If\nI should compare all my life with the four years I had the happiness to\nenjoy the sweet society of this excellent man, it is nothing but smoke;\nan obscure and tedious night from the day that I lost him.  I have led\na sorrowful and languishing life ever since.  I was so accustomed to be\nalways his second in all places and in all interests, that methinks I\nam now no more than half a man, and have but half a being.\"  We would\nhardly expect such passion of love and regret from the easy-going,\ngenial, garrulous essayist.\n\nThe joy that comes from a true communion of heart with another is\nperhaps one of the purest and greatest in the world, but its function\nis not exhausted by merely giving pleasure.  Though we may not be\nconscious of it, there is a deeper purpose in it, an education in the\nhighest arts of living.  We may be enticed by the pleasure it affords,\nbut its greatest good is got by the way.  Even intellectually it means\nthe opening of a door into the mystery of life.  Only love\n_understands_ after all.  It gives insight.  We cannot truly know\nanything without sympathy, without getting out of self and entering\ninto others.  A man cannot be a true naturalist, and observe the ways\nof birds and insects accurately, unless he can watch long and lovingly.\nWe can never know children, unless we love them.  Many of the chambers\nof the house of life are forever locked to us, until love gives us the\nkey.\n\nTo learn to love all kinds of nobleness gives insight into the true\nsignificance of things, and gives a standard to settle their relative\nimportance.  An uninterested spectator sees nothing; or, what is worse,\nsees wrongly.  Most of our mean estimates of human nature in modern\nliterature, and our false realisms in art, and our stupid pessimisms in\nphilosophy, are due to an unintelligent reading of surface facts.  Men\nset out to note and collate impressions, and make perhaps a scientific\nstudy of slumdom, without genuine interest in the lives they see, and\ntherefore without true insight into them.  They miss the inwardness,\nwhich love alone can supply.  If we look without love we can only see\nthe outside, the mere form and expression of the subject studied.  Only\nwith tender compassion and loving sympathy can we see the beauty even\nin the eye dull with weeping and in the fixed face pale with care.  We\nwill often see noble patience shining through them, and loyalty to\nduty, and virtues and graces unsuspected by others.\n\nThe divine meaning of a true friendship is that it is often the first\nunveiling of the secret of love.  It is not an end in itself, but has\nmost of its worth in what it leads to, the priceless gift of seeing\nwith the heart rather than with the eyes.  To love one soul for its\nbeauty and grace and truth is to open the way to appreciate all\nbeautiful and true and gracious souls, and to recognize spiritual\nbeauty wherever it is seen.\n\nThe possibility at least of friendship must be a faith with us.  The\ncynical attitude is an offence.  It is possible to find in the world\ntrue-hearted, leal, and faithful dealing between man and man.  To doubt\nthis is to doubt the divine in life.  Faith in man is essential to\nfaith in God.  In spite of all deceptions and disillusionments, in\nspite of all the sham fellowships, in spite of the flagrant cases of\nself-interest and callous cruelty, we must keep clear and bright our\nfaith in the possibilities of our nature.  The man who hardens his\nheart because he has been imposed on has no real belief in virtue, and\nwith suitable circumstances could become the deceiver instead of the\ndeceived.  The great miracle of friendship with its infinite wonder and\nbeauty may be denied to us, and yet we may believe in it.  To believe\nthat it is possible is enough, even though in its superbest form it has\nnever come to us.  To possess it, is to have one of the world's\nsweetest gifts.\n\nAristotle defines friendship as one soul abiding in two bodies.  There\nis no explaining such a relationship, but there is no denying it.  It\nhas not deserted the world since Aristotle's time.  Some of our modern\npoets have sung of it with as brave a faith as ever poet of old.  What\nsplendid monuments to friendship we possess in Milton's _Lycidas_ and\nTennyson's _In Memoriam_!  In both there is the recognition of the\nspiritual power of it, as well as the joy and comfort it brought.  The\ngrief is tempered by an awed wonder and a glad memory.\n\nThe finest feature of Rudyard Kipling's work and it is a constant\nfeature of it, is the comradeship between commonplace soldiers of no\nhigh moral or spiritual attainment, and yet it is the strongest force\nin their lives, and on occasion makes heroes of them.  We feel that\ntheir faithfulness to each other is almost the only point at which\ntheir souls are reached.  The threefold cord of his soldiers, vulgar in\nmind and common in thought as they are, is a cord which we feel is not\neasily broken, and it is their friendship and loyalty to each other\nwhich save them from utter vulgarity.\n\nIn Walt Whitman there is the same insight into the force of friendship\nin ordinary life, with added wonder at the miracle of it.  He is the\npoet of comrades, and sings the song of companionship more than any\nother theme.  He ever comes back to the lifelong love of comrades.  The\nmystery and the beauty of it impressed him.\n\n  O tan-faced prairie-boy,\n  Before you came to camp came many a welcome gift,\n  Praises and presents came and nourishing food,\n      till at last among the recruits\n  _You_ came, taciturn, with nothing to give--we\n      but looked on each other,\n  When lo! more than all the gifts of the world you gave me.\n\nAfter all, in spite of the vulgar materialism of our day, we do feel\nthat the spiritual side of life is the most important, and brings the\nonly true joy.  And friendship in its essence is spiritual.  It is the\nfree, spontaneous outflow of the heart, and is a gift from the great\nGiver.\n\nFriends are born, not made.  At least it is so with the higher sort.\nThe marriage of souls is a heavenly mystery, which we cannot explain,\nand which we need not try to explain.  The method by which it is\nbrought about differs very much, and depends largely on temperament.\nSome friendships grow, and ripen slowly and steadily with the years.\nWe cannot tell where they began, or how.  They have become part of our\nlives, and we just accept them with sweet content and glad confidence.\nWe have discovered that somehow we are rested, and inspired, by a\ncertain companionship; that we understand and are understood easily.\n\nOr it may come like love at first sight, by the thrill of elective\naffinity.  This latter is the more uncertain, and needs to be tested\nand corrected by the trial of the years that follow.  It has to be\nfound out whether it is really spiritual kinship, or mere emotional\nimpulse.  It is a matter of temper and character.  A naturally reserved\nperson finds it hard to open his heart, even when his instinct prompts\nhim; while a sociable, responsive nature is easily companionable.  It\nis not always this quick attachment, however, which wears best, and\nthat is the reason why youthful friendships have the character of being\nso fickle.  They are due to a natural instinctive delight in society.\nMost young people find it easy to be agreeable, and are ready to place\nthemselves under new influences.\n\nBut whatever be the method by which a true friendship is formed,\nwhether the growth of time or the birth of sudden sympathy, there\nseems, on looking back, to have been an element of necessity.  It is a\nsort of predestined spiritual relationship.  We speak of a man meeting\nhis fate, and we speak truly.  When we look back we see it to be like\ndestiny; life converged to life, and there was no getting out of it\neven if we wished it.  It is not that we made a choice, but that the\nchoice made us.  If it has come gradually, we waken to the presence of\nthe force which has been in our lives, and has come into them never\nhasting but never resting, till now we know it to be an eternal\npossession.  Or, as we are going about other business, never dreaming\nof the thing which occurs, the unexpected happens; on the road a light\nshines on us, and life is never the same again.\n\nIn one of its aspects, faith is the recognition of the inevitableness\nof providence; and when it is understood and accepted, it brings a\ngreat consoling power into the life.  We feel that we are in the hands\nof a Love that orders our ways, and the knowledge means serenity and\npeace.  The fatality of friendship is gratefully accepted, as the\nfatality of birth.  To the faith which sees love in all creation, all\nlife becomes harmony, and all sorts of loving relationships among men\nseem to be part of the natural order of the world.  Indeed, such\nmiracles are only to be looked for, and if absent from the life of man\nwould make it hard to believe in the love of God.\n\nThe world thinks we idealize our friend, and tells us that love is\nproverbially blind.  Not so: it is only love that sees, and thus can\n\"win the secret of a weed's plain heart.\"  We only see what dull eyes\nnever see at all.  If we wonder what another man sees in his friend, it\nshould be the wonder of humility, not the supercilious wonder of pride.\nHe sees something which we are not permitted to witness.  Beneath and\namongst what looks only like worthless slag, there may glitter the pure\ngold of a fair character.  That anybody in the world should be got to\nlove us, and to see in us not what colder eyes see, not even what we\nare but what we may be, should of itself make us humble and gentle in\nour criticism of others' friendships.  Our friends see the best in us,\nand by that very fact call forth the best from us.\n\nThe great difficulty in this whole subject is that the relationship of\nfriendship should so often be one-sided.  It seems strange that there\nshould be so much unrequited affection in the world.  It seems almost\nimpossible to get a completely balanced union.  One gives so much more,\nand has to be content to get so much less.  One of the most humiliating\nthings in life is when another seems to offer his friendship lavishly,\nand we are unable to respond.  So much love seems to go a-begging.  So\nfew attachments seem complete.  So much affection seems unrequited.\n\nBut are we sure it is unrequited?  The difficulty is caused by our\ncommon selfish standards.  Most people, if they had their choice, would\nprefer to be loved rather than to love, if only one of the alternatives\nwere permitted.  That springs from the root of selfishness in human\nnature, which makes us think that possession brings happiness.  But the\nglory of life is to love, not to be loved; to give, not to get; to\nserve, not to be served.  It may not be our fault that we cannot\nrespond to the offer of friendship or love, but it is our misfortune.\nThe secret is revealed to the other, and hid from us.  The gain is to\nthe other, and the loss is to us.  The miracle is the love, and to the\nlover comes the wonder of it, and the joy.\n\n\n\n\nThe Culture of Friendship\n\n\nHow were Friendship possible?  In mutual devotedness to the Good and\nTrue: otherwise impossible, except as Armed Neutrality, or hollow\nCommercial League.  A man, be the Heavens ever praised, is sufficient\nfor himself; yet were ten men, united in Love, capable of being and of\ndoing what ten thousand singly would fail in.  Infinite is the help man\ncan yield to man.\n\nCARLYLE, Sartor Resartus.\n\n\n\nThe Culture of Friendship\n\nThe Book of Proverbs might almost be called a treatise on Friendship,\nso full is it of advice about the sort of person a young man should\nconsort with, and the sort of person he should avoid.  It is full of\nshrewd, and prudent, and wise, sometimes almost worldly-wise, counsel.\nIt is caustic in its satire about false friends, and about the way in\nwhich friendships are broken.  \"The rich hath many friends,\" with an\neasily understood implication concerning their quality.  \"Every man is\na friend to him that giveth gifts,\" is its sarcastic comment on the\nordinary motives of mean men.  Its picture of the plausible, fickle,\nlip-praising, and time-serving man, who blesseth his friend with a loud\nvoice, rising early in the morning, is a delicate piece of satire.  The\nfragile connections among men, as easily broken as mended pottery, get\nillustration in the mischief-maker who loves to divide men.  \"A\nwhisperer separateth chief friends.\"  There is keen irony here over the\nquality of ordinary friendship, as well as condemnation of the\ntale-bearer and his sordid soul.\n\nThis cynical attitude is so common that we hardly expect such a shrewd\nbook to speak heartily of the possibilities of human friendship.  Its\nobject rather is to put youth on its guard against the dangers and\npitfalls of social life.  It gives sound commercial advice about\navoiding becoming surety for a friend.  It warms [Transcriber's note:\nwarns?] against the tricks, and cheats, and bad faith, which swarmed in\nthe streets of a city then, as they do still.  It laughs, a little\nbitterly, at the thought that friendship can be as common as the eager,\ngenerous heart of youth imagines.  It almost sneers at the gullibility\nof men in this whole matter.  \"He that maketh many friends doeth it to\nhis own destruction.\"\n\nAnd yet there is no book, even in classical literature, which so exalts\nthe idea of friendship, and is so anxious to have it truly valued, and\ncarefully kept.  The worldly-wise warnings are after all in the\ninterests of true friendship.  To condemn hypocrisy is not, as is so\noften imagined, to condemn religion.  To spurn the spurious is not to\nreject the true.  A sneer at folly may be only a covert argument for\nwisdom.  Satire is negative truth.  The unfortunate thing is that most\nmen, who begin with the prudential worldly-wise philosophy, end there.\nThey never get past the sneer.  Not so this wise book.  In spite of its\ninsight into the weakness of man, in spite of its frank denunciation of\nthe common masquerade of friendship, it speaks of the true kind in\nwords of beauty that have never been surpassed in all the many\nappraisements of this subject.  \"A friend loveth at all times, and is a\nbrother born for adversity.  Faithful are the wounds of a friend.\nOintment and perfume rejoice the heart, so doth the sweetness of a\nman's friend by hearty counsel.  Thine own friend and thy father's\nfriend forsake not.\"  These are not the words of a cynic, who has lost\nfaith in man.\n\nTrue, this golden friendship is not a common thing to be picked up in\nthe street.  It would not be worth much if it were.  Like wisdom it\nmust be sought for as for hid treasures, and to keep it demands care\nand thought.  To think that every goose is a swan, that every new\ncomrade is the man of your own heart, is to have a very shallow heart.\nEvery casual acquaintance is not a hero.  There are pearls of the\nheart, which cannot be thrown to swine.  Till we learn what a sacred\nthing a true friendship is, it is futile to speak of the culture of\nfriendship.  The man who wears his heart on his sleeve cannot wonder if\ndaws peck at it.  There ought to be a sanctuary, to which few receive\nadmittance.  It is great innocence, or great folly, and in this\nconnection the terms are almost synonymous, to open our arms to\neverybody to whom we are introduced.  The Book of Proverbs, as a manual\non friendship, gives as shrewd and caustic warnings as are needed, but\nit does not go to the other extreme, and say that all men are liars,\nthat there are no truth and faithfulness to be found.  To say so is to\nspeak in haste.  There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother,\nsays this wisest of books.  There is possible such a blessed\nrelationship, a state of love and trust and generous comradehood, where\na man feels safe to be himself, because he knows that he will not\neasily be misunderstood.\n\nThe word friendship has been abased by applying it to low and unworthy\nuses, and so there is plenty of copy still to be got from life by the\ncynic and the satirist.  The sacred name of friend has been bandied\nabout till it runs the risk of losing its true meaning.  Rossetti's\nversicle finds its point in life--\n\n  \"Was it a friend or foe that spread these lies?\"\n  \"Nay, who but infants question in such wise?\n  'T was one of my most intimate enemies.\"\n\nIt is useless to speak of cultivating the great gift of friendship\nunless we make clear to ourselves what we mean by a friend.  We make\nconnections and acquaintances, and call them friends.  We have few\nfriendships, because we are not willing to pay the price of friendship.\n\nIf we think it is not worth the price, that is another matter, and is\nquite an intelligible position, but we must not use the word in\ndifferent senses, and then rail at fate because there is no miracle of\nbeauty and joy about our sort of friendship.  Like all other spiritual\nblessings it comes to all of us at some time or other, and like them is\noften let slip.  We have the opportunities, but we do not make use of\nthem.  Most men make friends easily enough: few keep them.  They do not\ngive the subject the care, and thought, and trouble, it requires and\ndeserves.  We want the pleasure of society, without the duty.  We would\nlike to get the good of our friends, without burdening ourselves with\nany responsibility about keeping them friends.  The commonest mistake\nwe make is that we spread our intercourse over a mass, and have no\ndepth of heart left.  We lament that we have no stanch and faithful\nfriend, when we have really not expended the love which produces such.\nWe want to reap where we have not sown, the fatuousness of which we\nshould see as soon as it is mentioned.  \"She that asks her dear five\nhundred friends\" (as Cowper satirically describes a well-known type)\ncannot expect the exclusive affection, which she has not given.\n\nThe secret of friendship is just the secret of all spiritual blessing.\nThe way to get is to give.  The selfish in the end can never get\nanything but selfishness.  The hard find hardness everywhere.  As you\nmete, it is meted out to you.\n\nSome men have a genius for friendship.  That is because they are open\nand responsive, and unselfish.  They truly make the most of life; for\napart from their special joys, even intellect is sharpened by the\ndevelopment of the affections.  No material success in life is\ncomparable to success in friendship.  We really do ourselves harm by\nour selfish standards.  There is an old Latin proverb,[1] expressing\nthe worldly view, which says that it is not possible for a man to love\nand at the same time to be wise.  This is only true when wisdom is made\nequal to prudence and selfishness, and when love is made the same.\nRather it is never given to a man to be wise in the true and noble\nsense, until he is carried out of himself in the purifying passion of\nlove, or the generosity of friendship.  The self-centred being cannot\nkeep friends, even when he makes them; his selfish sensitiveness is\nalways in the way, like a diseased nerve ready to be irritated.\n\nThe culture of friendship is a duty, as every gift represents a\nresponsibility.  It is also a necessity; for without watchful care it\ncan no more remain with us than can any other gift.  Without culture it\nis at best only a potentiality.  We may let it slip, or we can use it\nto bless our lives.  The miracle of friendship, which came at first\nwith its infinite wonder and beauty, wears off, and the glory fades\ninto the light of common day.  The early charm passes, and the soul\nforgets the first exaltation.  We are always in danger of mistaking the\ncommon for the commonplace.  We must not look upon it merely as the\ngreat luxury of life, or it will cease to be even that.  It begins with\nemotion, but if it is to remain it must become a habit.  Habit is fixed\nwhen an accustomed thing is organized into life; and, whatever be the\ngenesis of friendship, it must become a habit, or it is in danger of\npassing away as other impressions have done before.\n\nFriendship needs delicate handling.  We can ruin it by stupid\nblundering at the very birth, and we can kill it by neglect.  It is not\nevery flower that has vitality enough to grow in stony ground.  Lack of\nreticence, which is only the outward sign of lack of reverence, is\nresponsible for the death of many a fair friendship.  Worse still, it\nis often blighted at the very beginning by the insatiable desire for\npiquancy in talk, which can forget the sacredness of confidence.  \"An\nacquaintance grilled, scored, devilled, and served with mustard and\ncayenne pepper, excites the appetite; whereas a slice of old friend\nwith currant jelly is but a sickly, unrelishing meat.\" [2]  Nothing is\ngiven to the man who is not worthy to possess it, and the shallow heart\ncan never know the joy of a friendship, for the keeping of which he is\nnot able to fulfil the essential conditions.  Here also it is true that\nfrom the man that hath not, is taken away even that which he hath.\n\nThe method for the culture of friendship finds its best and briefest\nsummary in the Golden Rule.  To do to, and for, your friend what you\nwould have him do to, and for, you, is a simple compendium of the whole\nduty of friendship.  The very first principle of friendship is that it\nis a mutual thing, as among spiritual equals, and therefore it claims\nreciprocity, mutual confidence and faithfulness.  There must be\nsympathy to keep in touch with each other, but sympathy needs to be\nconstantly exercised.  It is a channel of communication, which has to\nbe kept open, or it will soon be clogged and closed.\n\nThe practice of sympathy may mean the cultivation of similar tastes,\nthough that will almost naturally follow from the fellowship.  But to\ncultivate similar tastes does not imply either absorption of one of the\npartners, or the identity of both.  Rather, part of the charm of the\nintercourse lies in the difference, which exists in the midst of\nagreement.  What is essential is that there should be a real desire and\na genuine effort to understand each other.  It is well worth while\ntaking pains to preserve a relationship so full of blessing to both.\n\nHere, as in all connections among men, there is also ample scope for\npatience.  When we think of our own need for the constant exercise of\nthis virtue, we will admit its necessity for others.  After the first\nflush of communion has passed, we must see in a friend things which\ndetract from his worth, and perhaps things which irritate us.  This is\nonly to say that no man is perfect.  With tact, and tenderness and\npatience, it may be given us to help to remove what may be flaws in a\nfine character, and in any case it is foolish to forget the great\nvirtues of our friend in fretful irritation at a few blemishes.  We can\nkeep the first ideal in our memory, even if we know that it is not yet\nan actual fact.  We must not let our intercourse be coarsened, but must\nkeep it sweet and delicate, that it may remain a refuge from the coarse\nworld, a sanctuary where we leave criticism outside, and can breathe\nfreely.\n\n_Trust_ is the first requisite for making a friend.  How can we be\nanything but alone, if our attitude to men is one of armed neutrality,\nif we are suspicious, and assertive, and querulous, and over-cautious\nin our advances?  Suspicion kills friendship.  There must be some\nmagnanimity and openness of mind, before a friendship can be formed.\nWe must be willing to give ourselves freely and unreservedly.\n\nSome find it easier than others to make advances, because they are\nnaturally more trustful.  A beginning has to be made somehow, and if we\nare moved to enter into personal association with another, we must not\nbe too cautious in displaying our feeling.  If we stand off in cold\nreserve, the ice, which trembled to thawing, is gripped again by the\nblack hand of frost.  There may be a golden moment which has been lost\nthrough a foolish reserve.  We are so afraid of giving ourselves away\ncheaply--and it is a proper enough feeling, the value of which we learn\nthrough sad experience--but on the whole perhaps the warm nature, which\nacts on impulse, is of a higher type, than the over-cautious nature,\never on the watch lest it commit itself.  We can do nothing with each\nother, we cannot even do business with each other, without a certain\namount of trust.  Much more necessary is it in the beginning of a\ndeeper intercourse.\n\nAnd if trust is the first requisite for making a friend, _faithfulness_\nis the first requisite for keeping him.  The way to have a friend is to\nbe a friend.  Faithfulness is the fruit of trust.  We must be ready to\nlay hold of every opportunity which occurs of serving our friend.  Life\nis made up to most of us of little things, and many a friendship\nwithers through sheer neglect.  Hearts are alienated, because each is\nwaiting for some great occasion for displaying affection.  The great\nspiritual value of friendship lies in the opportunities it affords for\nservice, and if these are neglected it is only to be expected that the\ngift should be taken from us.  Friendship, which begins with sentiment,\nwill not live and thrive on sentiment.  There must be loyalty, which\nfinds expression in service.  It is not the greatness of the help, or\nthe intrinsic value of the gift, which gives it its worth, but the\nevidence it is of love and thoughtfulness.\n\nAttention to detail is the secret of success in every sphere of life,\nand little kindnesses, little acts of considerateness, little\nappreciations, little confidences, are all that most of us are called\non to perform, but they are all that are needed to keep a friendship\nsweet.  Such thoughtfulness keeps our sentiment in evidence to both\nparties.  If we never show our kind feeling, what guarantee has our\nfriend, or even ourself, that it exists?  Faithfulness in deed is the\noutward result of constancy of soul, which is the rarest, and the\ngreatest, of virtues.  If there has come to us the miracle of\nfriendship, if there is a soul to which our soul has been drawn, it is\nsurely worth while being loyal and true.  Through the little occasions\nfor helpfulness, we are training for the great trial, if it should ever\ncome, when the fabric of friendship will be tested to the very\nfoundation.  The culture of friendship, and its abiding worth, never\nfound nobler expression than in the beautiful proverb,[3] \"A friend\nloveth at all times, and is a brother born for adversity.\"\n\nMost men do not deserve such a gift from heaven.  They look upon it as\na convenience, and accept the privilege of love without the\nresponsibility of it.  They even use their friends for their own\nselfish purposes, and so never have true friends.  Some men shed\nfriends at every step they rise in the social scale.  It is mean and\ncontemptible to merely use men, so long as they further one's personal\ninterests.  But there is a nemesis on such heartlessness.  To such can\nnever come the ecstasy and comfort of mutual trust.  This worldly\npolicy can never truly succeed.  It stands to reason that they cannot\nhave brothers born for adversity, and cannot count on the joy of the\nlove that loveth at all times; for they do not possess the quality\nwhich secures it.  To act on the worldly policy, to treat a friend as\nif he might become an enemy, is of course to be friendless.  To\nsacrifice a tried and trusted friend for any personal advantage of gain\nor position, is to deprive our own heart of the capacity for friendship.\n\nThe passion for novelty will sometimes lead a man to act like this.\nSome shallow minds are ever afflicted by a craving for new experiences.\nThey sit very loosely to the past.  They are the easy victims of the\nuntried, and yearn perpetually for novel sensations.  In this matter of\nfriendship they are ready to forsake the old for the new.  They are\nalways finding a swan in every goose they meet.  They have their reward\nin a widowed heart.  Says Shakespeare in his great manner,--\n\n  The friends thou hast and their adoption tried\n  Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel,\n  But do not dull thy palm with entertainment\n  Of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade.\n\n\nThe culture of friendship must pass into the consecration of\nfriendship, if it is to reach its goal.  It is a natural evolution.\nFriendship cannot be permanent unless it becomes spiritual.  There must\nbe fellowship in the deepest things of the soul, community in the\nhighest thoughts, sympathy with the best endeavors.  We are bartering\nthe priceless boon, if we are looking on friendship merely as a luxury,\nand not as a spiritual opportunity.  It is, or can be, an occasion for\ngrowing in grace, for learning love, for training the heart to patience\nand faith, for knowing the joy of humble service.  We are throwing away\nour chance, if we are not striving to be an inspiring and healthful\nenvironment to our friend.  We are called to be our best to our friend,\nthat he may be his best to us, bringing out what is highest and deepest\nin the nature of both.\n\nThe culture of friendship is one of the approved instruments of culture\nof the heart, without which a man has not truly come into his kingdom.\nIt is often only the beginning, but through tender and careful culture\nit may be an education for the larger life of love.  It broadens out in\never-widening circles, from the particular to the general, and from the\ngeneral to the universal--from the individual to the social, and from\nthe social to God.  The test of religion is ultimately a very simple\none.  If we do not love those whom we have seen, we cannot love those\nwhom we have not seen.  All our sentiment about people at a distance,\nand our heart-stirrings for the distressed and oppressed, and our\nprayers for the heathen, are pointless and fraudulent, if we are\nneglecting the occasions for service lying to our hand.  If we do not\nlove our brethren here, how can we love our brethren elsewhere, except\nas a pious sentimentality?  And if we do not love those we have seen,\nhow can we love God whom we have not seen?\n\nThis is the highest function of friendship, and is the reason why it\nneeds thoughtful culture.  We should be led to God by the joy of our\nlives as well as by the sorrow, by the light as well as by the\ndarkness, by human intercourse as well as by human loneliness.  He is\nthe Giver of every good gift.  We wound His heart of love, when we sin\nagainst love.  The more we know of Christ's spirit, and the more we\nthink of the meaning of God's fathomless grace, the more will we be\nconvinced that the way to please the Father and to follow the Son is to\ncultivate the graces of kindliness and gentleness and tenderness, to\ngive ourselves to the culture of the heart.  Not in the ecclesiastical\narena, not in polemic for a creed, not in self-assertion and\ndisputings, do we please our Master best, but in the simple service of\nlove.  To seek the good of men is to seek the glory of God.  They are\nnot two things, but one and the same.  To be a strong hand in the dark\nto another in the time of need, to be a cup of strength to a human soul\nin a crisis of weakness, is to know the glory of life.  To be a true\nfriend, saving his faith in man, and making him believe in the\nexistence of love, is to save his faith in God.  And such service is\npossible for all.  We need not wait for the great occasion and for the\nexceptional opportunity.  We can never be without our chance, if we are\nready to keep the miracle of love green in our hearts by humble service.\n\n  The primal duties shine aloft like stars.\n  The charities that soothe and heal and bless,\n  Are scattered at the feet of man like flowers.\n\n\n\n[1] _Non simul cuiquam conceditur, amare et sapere_.\n\n[2] Thackeray, _Roundabout Papers_.\n\n[3] Proverbs xvii. 17, R. V. margin.\n\n\n\n\nThe Fruits of Friendship\n\n\nTwo are better than one; because they have a good reward for their\nlabor.  For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to\nhim that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him\nup.  And if one prevail against him, two shall withstand him; and a\nthreefold cord is not quickly broken.--ECCLESIASTES.\n\n\n  O friend, my bosom said,\n  Through thee alone the sky is arched,\n  Through thee the rose is red,\n  All things through thee take nobler form\n  And look beyond the earth,\n  And is the mill-round of our fate,\n  A sun-path in thy worth.\n  Me too thy nobleness has taught\n  To master my despair;\n  The fountains of my hidden life\n  Are through thy friendship fair.\n\n  EMERSON.\n\n\n\nThe Fruits of Friendship\n\nIn our utilitarian age things are judged by their practical value.  Men\nask of everything, What is its use?  Nothing is held to be outside\ncriticism, neither the law because of its authority, nor religion\nbecause of its sacredness.  Every relationship in life also has been\nquestioned, and is asked to show the reason of its existence.  Even\nsome relationships like marriage, for long held to be above question,\nare put into the crucible.\n\nOn the whole it is a good spirit, though it can be abused and carried\nto an absurd extreme.  Criticism is inevitable, and ought to be\nwelcomed, provided we are careful about the true standard to apply.\nWhen we judge a thing by its use, we must not have a narrow view of\nwhat utility is.  Usefulness to man is not confined to mere material\nvalues.  The common standards of the market-place cannot be applied to\nthe whole of life.  The things which cannot be bought cannot be sold,\nand the keenest valuator would be puzzled to put a price on some of\nthese unmarketable wares.\n\nWhen we seek to show what are the fruits of friendship, we may be said\nto put ourselves in line with the critical spirit of our age.  But even\nif it were proven that a man could make more of his life materially by\nhimself, if he gave no hostages to fortune, it would not follow that it\nis well to disentangle oneself from the common human bonds; for our\n_caveat_ would here apply, that utility is larger than mere material\ngain.\n\nBut even from this point of view friendship justifies itself.  Two are\nbetter than one; for they have a good reward for their labor.  The\nprinciple of association in business is now accepted universally.  It\nis found even to pay, to share work and profit.  Most of the world's\nbusiness is done by companies, or partnerships, or associated endeavor\nof some kind.  And the closer the intimacy between the men so engaged,\nthe intimacy of common desires and common purposes, and mutual respect\nand confidence, and, if possible, friendship, the better chance there\nis for success.  Two are better than one from the point of view even of\nthe reward of each, and a threefold cord is not quickly broken, when a\nsingle strand would snap.\n\nWhen men first learned, even in its most rudimentary sense, that union\nis strength, the dawn of civilization began.  For offence and for\ndefence, the principle of association early proved itself the fittest\nfor survival.  The future is always with Isaac, not with Ishmael--with\nJacob, not with Esau.  In everything this is seen, in the struggle of\nraces, or trade, or ideas.  Even as a religious method to make an\nimpact on the world, it is true.  John of the Desert touched here a\nlife, and there a life; Jesus of Nazareth, seeking disciples, founding\na society, moved the world to its heart.\n\nIt is not necessary to labor this point, that two are better than one,\nto a commercial age like ours, which, whatever it does not know, at\nleast knows its arithmetic.  We would say that it is self-evident, that\nby the law of addition it is double, and by the law of multiplication\ntwice the number.  But it is not so exact as that, nor so self-evident.\nWhen we are dealing with men, our ready-reckoner rules do not work out\ncorrectly.  In this region one and one are not always two.  They are\nsometimes more than two, and sometimes less than two.  Union of all\nkinds, which may be strength, may be weakness.  It was not till Gideon\nweeded out his army, once and twice, that he was promised victory.  The\nfruits of friendship may be corrupting, and unspeakably evil to the\nlife.  The reward of the labor of two may be less than that of one.\nThe boy pulling a barrow is lucky if he get another boy to shove\nbehind, but if the boy behind not only ceases to shove, but sits on the\nbarrow, the last end is worse than the first.  A threefold cord with\ntwo of the strands rotten is worse than a single sound strand, for it\ndeceives into putting too much weight on it.\n\nIn social economics it is evident that society is not merely the sum of\nthe units that compose it.  Two are better than one, not merely because\nthe force is doubled.  It may even be said that two are better than\ntwo.  Two together mean more than two added singly; for a new element\nis introduced which increases the power of each individually.  When the\nman Friday came into the life of Robinson Crusoe, he brought with him a\ngreat deal more than his own individual value, which with his lower\ncivilization would not be very much.  But to Robinson Crusoe he\nrepresented society, and all the possibilities of social polity.  It\nmeant also the satisfaction of the social instincts, the play of the\naffections, and made Crusoe a different man.  The two living together\nwere more than the two living on different desert islands.\n\nThe truth of this strange contradiction of the multiplication table is\nseen in the relationship of friends.  Each gives to the other, and each\nreceives, and the fruit of the intercourse is more than either in\nhimself possesses.  Every individual relationship has contact with a\nuniversal.  To reach out to the fuller life of love is a divine\nenchantment, because it leads to more than itself, and is the open door\ninto the mystery of life.  We feel ourselves united to the race and no\nlonger isolated units, but in the sweep of the great social forces\nwhich mould mankind.  Every bond which binds man to man is a new\nargument for the permanence of life itself, and gives a new insight\ninto its meaning.  Love is the pledge and the promise of the future.\n\nBesides this cosmic and perhaps somewhat shadowy benefit, there are\nmany practical fruits of friendship to the individual.  These may be\nclassified and subdivided almost endlessly, and indeed in every special\nfriendship the fruits of it will differ according to the character and\ncloseness of the tie, and according to the particular gifts of each of\nthe partners.  One man can give to his friend some quality of sympathy,\nor some kind of help, or can supply some social need which is lacking\nin his character or circumstances.  Perhaps it is not possible to get a\nbetter division of the subject than the three noble fruits of\nfriendship which Bacon enumerates--peace in the affections, support of\nthe judgment, and aid in all actions and occasions.\n\n\nFirst of all there is the _satisfaction of the heart_.  We cannot live\na self-centred life, without feeling that we are missing the true glory\nof life.  We were made for social intercourse, if only that the highest\nqualities of our nature might have an opportunity for development.  The\njoy, which a true friendship gives, reveals the existence of the want\nof it, perhaps previously unfelt.  It is a sin against ourselves to let\nour affections wither.  This sense of incompleteness is an argument in\nfavor of its possible satisfaction; our need is an argument for its\nfulfilment.  Our hearts demand love, as truly as our bodies demand\nfood.  We cannot live among men, suspicious, and careful of our own\ninterests, and fighting for our own hand, without doing dishonor and\nhurt to our own nature.  To be for ourselves puts the whole world\nagainst us.  To harden our heart hardens the heart of the universe.\n\nWe need sympathy, and therefore we crave for friendship.  Even the most\nperfect of the sons of men felt this need of intercourse of the heart.\nChrist, in one aspect the most self-contained of men, showed this human\nlonging all through His life.  He ever desired opportunities for\nenlargement of heart--in His disciples, in an inner circle within the\ncircle, in the household of Bethany.  \"Will ye also go away?\" He asked\nin the crisis of His career.  \"Could ye not watch with Me one hour?\" He\nsighed in His great agony.  He was perfectly human, and therefore felt\nthe lack of friendship.  The higher our relationships with each other\nare, the closer is the intercourse demanded.  Highest of all in the\nthings of the soul, we feel that the true Christian life cannot be\nlived in the desert, but must be a life among men, and this because it\nis a life of joy as well as of service.  We feel that, for the founding\nof our life and the completion of our powers, we need intercourse with\nour kind.  Stunted affections dwarf the whole man.  We live by\nadmiration, hope, and love, and these can be developed only in the\nsocial life.\n\nThe sweetest and most stable pleasures also are never selfish.  They\nare derived from fellowship, from common tastes, and mutual sympathy.\nSympathy is not a quality merely needed in adversity.  It is needed as\nmuch when the sun shines.  Indeed, it is more easily obtained in\nadversity than in prosperity.  It is comparatively easy to sympathize\nwith a friend's _failure_, when we are not so true-hearted about his\nsuccess.  When a man is down in his luck, he can be sure of at least a\ncertain amount of good-fellowship to which he can appeal.  It is\ndifficult to keep a little touch of malice, or envy, out of\ncongratulations.  It is sometimes easier to weep with those who weep,\nthan to rejoice with those who rejoice.  This difficulty is felt not\nwith people above us, or with little connection with us, but with our\nequals.  When a friend succeeds, there may be a certain regret which\nhas not always an evil root, but is due to a fear that he is getting\nbeyond our reach, passing out of our sphere, and perhaps will not need\nor desire our friendship so much as before.  It is a dangerous feeling\nto give way to, but up to a certain point is natural and legitimate.  A\nperfect friendship would not have room for such grudging sympathy, but\nwould rejoice more for the other's success than for his own.  The\nenvious, jealous man never can be a friend.  His mean spirit of\ndetraction and insinuating ill-will kills friendship at its birth.\nPlutarch records a witty remark about Plistarchus, who was told that a\nnotorious railer had spoken well of him.  \"I'll lay my life,\" said he,\n\"somebody has told him I am dead, for he can speak well of no man\nliving.\"\n\nFor true satisfaction of the heart, there must be a fount of sympathy\nfrom which to draw in all the vicissitudes of life.  Sorrow asks for\nsympathy, aches to let its griefs be known and shared by a kindred\nspirit.  To find such, is to dispel the loneliness from life.  To have\na heart which we can trust, and into which we can pour our griefs and\nour doubts and our fears, is already to take the edge from grief, and\nthe sting from doubt, and the shade from fear.\n\nJoy also demands that its joy should be shared.  The man who has found\nhis sheep that was lost calls together his neighbors, and bids them\nrejoice with him because he has found the sheep that was lost.  Joy is\nmore social than grief.  Some forms of grief desire only to creep away\ninto solitude like a wounded beast to its lair, to suffer alone and to\ndie alone.  But joy finds its counterpart in the sunshine and the\nflowers and the birds and the little children, and enters easily into\nall the movements of life.  Sympathy will respond to a friend's\ngladness, as well as vibrate to his grief.  A simple generous\nfriendship will thus add to the joy, and will divide the sorrow.\n\nThe religious life, in spite of all the unnatural experiments of\nmonasticism and all its kindred ascetic forms, is preeminently a life\nof friendship.  It is individual in its root, and social in its fruits.\nIt is when two or three are gathered together that religion becomes a\nfact for the world.  The joy of religion will not be hid and buried in\na man's own heart.  \"Come, see a man that told me all that ever I did,\"\nis the natural outcome of the first wonder and the first faith.  It\nspreads from soul to soul by the impact of soul on soul, from the\noriginal impact of the great soul of God.\n\nChrist's ideal is the ideal of a Kingdom, men banded together in a\ncommon cause, under common laws, serving the same purpose of love.  It\nis meant to take effect upon man in all his social relationships, in\nthe home, in the city, in the state.  Its greatest triumphs have been\nmade through friendship, and it in turn has ennobled and sanctified the\nbond.  The growth of the Kingdom depends on the sanctified working of\nthe natural ties among men.  It was so at the very start; John the\nBaptist pointed out the Christ to John the future Apostle and to\nAndrew; Andrew findeth his own brother Simon Peter; Philip findeth\nNathanael; and so society through its network of relations took into\nits heart the new message.  The man who has been healed must go and\ntell those who are at home, must declare it to his friends, and seek\nthat they also should share in his great discovery.\n\nThe very existence of the Church as a body of believers is due to this\nnecessity of our nature, which demands opportunity for the interchange\nof Christian sentiment.  The deeper the feeling, the greater is the joy\nof sharing it with another.  There is a strange felicity, a wondrous\nenchantment, which comes from true intimacy of heart, and close\ncommunion of soul, and the result is more than mere fleeting joy.  When\nit is shared in the deepest thoughts and highest aspirations, when it\nis built on a common faith, and lives by a common hope, it brings\nperfect peace.  No friendship has done its work until it reaches the\nsupremest satisfaction of spiritual communion.\n\nBesides this satisfaction of the heart, friendship also gives\n_satisfaction of the mind_.  Most men have a certain natural diffidence\nin coming to conclusions and forming opinions for themselves.  We\nrarely feel confident, until we have secured the agreement of others in\nwhom we trust.  There is always a personal equation in all our\njudgments, so that we feel that they require to be amended by\ncomparison with those of others.  Doctors ask for a consultation, when\na case becomes critical.  We all realize the advantage of taking\ncounsel.  To ask for advice is a benefit, whether we follow the advice\nor no.  Indeed, the best benefit often comes from the opportunity of\ntesting our own opinion and finding it valid.  Sometimes the very\nstatement of the case is enough to prove it one thing or the other.  An\nadvantage is reaped from a sympathetic listener, even although our\nfriend be unable to elucidate the matter by his special sagacity or\nexperience.  Friends in counsel gain much intellectually.  They acquire\nsomething approaching to a standard of judgment, and are enabled to\nclassify opinions, and to make up the mind more accurately and\nsecurely.  Through talking a subject over with another, one gets fresh\nside-lights into it, new avenues open up, and the whole question\nbecomes larger and richer.  Bacon says, \"Friendship maketh daylight in\nthe understanding, out of darkness and confusion of thoughts: neither\nis this to be understood only of faithful counsel, which a man\nreceiveth from his friend; but before you come to that, certain it is,\nthat whosoever hath his mind fraught with many thoughts, his wits and\nunderstanding do clarify and break up in the communicating and\ndiscoursing with another; he tosseth his thoughts more easily; he\nmarshalleth them more orderly; he seeth how they look when they are\nturned into words; finally he waxeth wiser than himself; and that more\nby an hour's discourse than by a day's meditation.\"\n\nWe must have been struck with the brilliancy of our own conversation\nand the profundity of our own thoughts, when we shared them with one,\nwith whom we were in sympathy at the time.  The brilliancy was not\nours; it was the reflex action which was the result of the communion.\nThat is why the effect of different people upon us is different, one\nmaking us creep into our shell and making us unable almost to utter a\nword; another through some strange magnetism enlarging the bounds of\nour whole being and drawing the best out of us.  The true insight after\nall is love.  It clarifies the intellect, and opens the eyes to much\nthat was obscure.\n\nBesides the subjective influence, there may be the great gain of honest\ncounsel.  A faithful friend can be trusted not to speak merely soft\nwords of flattery.  It is often the spectator who sees most of the\ngame, and, if the spectator is at the same time keenly interested in\nus, he can have a more unbiased opinion than we can possibly have.  He\nmay have to say that which may wound our self-esteem; he may have to\nspeak for correction rather than for commendation; but \"Faithful are\nthe wounds of a friend.\"  The flatterer will take good care not to\noffend our susceptibilities by too many shocks of wholesome\ntruth-telling; but a friend will seek our good, even if he must say the\nthing we hate to hear at the time.\n\nThis does not mean that a friend should always be what is called\nplain-spoken.  Many take advantage of what they call a true interest in\nour welfare, in order to rub gall into our wounds.  The man who boasts\nof his frankness and of his hatred of flattery, is usually not\nfrank--but only brutal.  A true friend will never needlessly hurt, but\nalso will never let slip occasions through cowardice.  To speak the\ntruth in love takes off the edge of unpleasantness, which so often is\nfound in truth-speaking.  And however the wound may smart, in the end\nwe are thankful for the faithfulness which caused it.  \"Let the\nrighteous smite me; it shall be a kindness: and let him reprove me; it\nshall be an excellent oil, which shall not break my head.\"\n\nIn our relations with each other, there is usually more advantage to be\nreaped from friendly encouragement, than from friendly correction.\nTrue criticism does not consist, as so many critics seem to think, in\ndepreciation, but in appreciation; in putting oneself sympathetically\nin another's position, and seeking to value the real worth of his work.\nThere are more lives spoiled by undue harshness, than by undue\ngentleness.  More good work is lost from want of appreciation than from\ntoo much of it; and certainly it is not the function of friendship to\ndo the critic's work.  Unless carefully repressed, such a spirit\nbecomes censorious, or, worse still, spiteful, and has often been the\nmeans of losing a friend.  It is possible to be kind, without giving\ncrooked counsel, or oily flattery; and it is possible to be true,\nwithout magnifying faults, and indulging in cruel rebukes.\n\n\nBesides the joy of friendship, and its aid in matters of counsel, a\nthird of its noble fruits is the direct _help_ it can give us in the\ndifficulties of life.  It gives strength to the character.  It sobers\nand steadies through the responsibility for each other which it means.\nWhen men face the world together, and are ready to stand shoulder to\nshoulder, the sense of comradeship makes each strong.  This help may\nnot often be called into play, but just to know that it is there if\nneeded is a great comfort, to know that if one fall the other will lift\nhim up.  The very word friendship suggests kindly help and aid in\ndistress.  Shakespeare applies the word in _King Lear_ to an inanimate\nthing with this meaning of helpfulness,--\n\n  Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel;\n  Some _friendship_ will it lend you 'gainst the tempest.\n\nSentiment does not amount to much, if it is not an inspiring force to\nlead to gentle and to generous deeds, when there is need.  The fight is\nnot so hard, when we know that we are not alone, but that there are\nsome who think of us, and pray for us, and would gladly help us if they\nget the opportunity.\n\nComradeship is one of the finest facts, and one of the strongest forces\nin life.  A mere strong man, however capable, and however singly\nsuccessful, is of little account by himself.  There is no glamour of\nromance in his career.  The kingdom of Romance belongs to David, not to\nSamson--to David, with his eager, impetuous, affectionate nature, for\nwhom three men went in the jeopardy of life to bring him a drink of\nwater; and all for love of him.  It is not the self-centred,\nself-contained hero, who lays hold of us; it is ever the comradeship of\nheroes.  Dumas' Three Musketeers (and the Gascon who made a greater\nfourth), with their oath, \"Each for all, and all for each,\" inherit\nthat kingdom of Romance, with all that ever have been tied in bands of\nlove.\n\nRobertson of Brighton in one of his letters tells how a friend of his\nhad, through cowardice or carelessness, missed an opportunity of\nputting him right on a point with which he was charged, and so left him\ndefenceless against a slander.  With his native sweetness of soul, he\ncontents himself with the exclamation, \"How rare it is to have a friend\nwho will defend you thoroughly and boldly!\"  Yet that is just one of\nthe loyal things a friend can do, sometimes when it would be impossible\nfor a man himself to do himself justice with others.  Some things,\nneedful to be said or done under certain circumstances, cannot be\nundertaken without indelicacy by the person concerned, and the keen\ninstinct of a friend should tell him that he is needed.  A little\nthoughtfulness would often suggest things that could be done for our\nfriends, that would make them feel that the tie which binds us to them\nis a real one.  That man is rich indeed, who possesses thoughtful,\ntactful friends, with whom he feels safe when present, and in whose\nhands his honor is secure when absent.  If there be no loyalty, there\ncan be no great friendship.  Most of our friendships lack the\ndistinction of greatness, because we are not ready for little acts of\nservice.  Without these our love dwindles down to a mere sentiment, and\nceases to be the inspiring force for good to both lives, which it was\nat the beginning.\n\nThe aid we may receive from friendship may be of an even more powerful,\nbecause of a more subtle, nature than material help.  It may be a\nsafeguard against temptation.  The recollection of a friend whom we\nadmire is a great force to save us from evil, and to prompt us to good.\nThe thought of his sorrow in any moral break-down of ours will often\nnerve us to stand firm.  What would my friend think of me, if I did\nthis, or consented to this meanness?  Could I look him in the face\nagain, and meet the calm pure gaze of his eye?  Would it not be a blot\non our friendship, and draw a veil over our intercourse?  No friendship\nis worth the name which does not elevate, and does not help to nobility\nof conduct and to strength of character.  It should give a new zest to\nduty, and a new inspiration to all that is good.\n\nInfluence is the greatest of all human gifts, and we all have it in\nsome measure.  There are some to whom we are something, if not\neverything.  There are some, who are grappled to us with hoops of\nsteel.  There are some, over whom we have ascendency, or at least to\nwhom we have access, who have opened the gates of the City of Mansoul\nto us, some we can sway with a word, a touch, a look.  It must always\nbe a solemn thing for a man to ask what he has done with this dread\npower of influence.  For what has our friend to be indebted to us--for\ngood or for evil?  Have we put on his armor, and sent him out with\ncourage and strength to the battle?  Or have we dragged him down from\nthe heights to which he once aspired?  We are face to face here with\nthe tragic possibilities of human intercourse.  In all friendship we\nopen the gates of the city, and those who have entered must be either\nallies in the fight, or treacherous foes.\n\nAll the fruits of friendship, be they blessed or baneful, spring from\nthis root of influence, and influence in the long run is the impress of\nour real character on other lives.  Influence cannot rise above the\nlevel of our lives.  The result of our friendship on others will\nultimately be conditioned by the sort of persons we are.  It adds a\nvery sacred responsibility to life.  Here, as in other regions, a good\ntree bringeth forth good fruit, but a corrupt tree bringeth forth evil\nfruit.\n\n\n\n\nThe Choice of Friendship\n\n\nIf thou findest a good man, rise up early in the morning to go to him,\nand let thy feet wear the steps of his door.\n\nTHE APOCRYPHAL BOOK OF ECCLESIASTICUS.\n\n\n  Whereof the man, that with me trod\n  This planet, was a noble type,\n  Appearing ere the times were ripe,\n  That friend of mine who lives with God.\n\n  TENNYSON.\n\n\n\nThe Choice of Friendship\n\nOur responsibility for our friendships is not confined to making sure\nthat our influence over others is for good.  We have also a duty to\nourselves.  As we possess the gift of influence over others, so we in\nturn are affected by every life which touches ours.  Influence is like\nan atmosphere exhaled by each separate personality.  Some men seem\nneutral and colorless, with no atmosphere to speak of.  Some have a bad\natmosphere, like the rank poisonous odor of noxious weeds, breeding\nmalaria.  If our moral sense were only keen and true, we would\ninstinctively know them, as some children do, and dread their company.\nOthers have a good atmosphere; we can breathe there in safety, and have\na joyful sense of security.  With some of these it is a local delicate\nenvironment, sweet, suggestive, like the aroma of wild violets: we have\nto look, and sometimes to stoop, to get into its range.  With some it\nis like a pine forest, or a eucalyptus grove of warmer climes, which\nperfumes a whole country side.  It is well to know such, Christ's\nlittle ones and Christ's great ones.  They put oxygen into the moral\natmosphere, and we breathe more freely for it.  They give us new\ninsight, and fresh courage, and purer faith, and by the impulse of\ntheir example inspire us to nobler life.\n\nThere is nothing so important as the choice of friendship; for it both\nreflects character and affects it.  A man is known by the company he\nkeeps.  This is an infallible test; for his thoughts, and desires, and\nambitions, and loves are revealed here.  He gravitates naturally to his\ncongenial sphere.  And it affects character; for it is the atmosphere\nhe breathes.  It enters his blood and makes the circuit of his veins.\n\"All love assimilates to what it loves.\"  A man is moulded into\nlikeness of the lives that come nearest him.  It is at the point of the\nemotions that he is most impressionable.  The material surroundings,\nthe outside lot of a man, affects him, but after all that is mostly on\nthe outside; for the higher functions of life may be served in almost\nany external circumstances.  But the environment of other lives, the\ncommunion of other souls, are far more potent facts.  The nearer people\nare to each other, and the less disguise there is in their\nrelationship, the more invariably will the law of spiritual environment\nact.\n\nIt seems a tragedy that people, who see each other as they are, become\nlike each other; and often it is a tragedy.  But the law carries as\nmuch hope in it as despair.  If through it evil works havoc, through it\nalso good persists.  If we are hindered by the weakness of our\nassociates, we are often helped by their goodness and sweetness.\nContact with a strong nature inspires us with strength.  Some one once\nasked Kingsley what was the secret of his strong joyous life, and he\nanswered, \"I had a friend.\"  If every evil man is a centre of\ncontagion, every good man is a centre of healing.  He provides an\nenvironment in which others can see God.  Goodness creates an\natmosphere for other souls to be good.  It is a priestly garment that\nhas virtue even for the finger that touches it.  The earth has its\nsalt, and the world has its light, in the sweet souls, and winsome\nlives, and Christ-like characters to be found in it.  The choice of\nfriends is therefore one of the most serious affairs in life, just\nbecause a man becomes moulden into the likeness of what he loves in his\nfriend.\n\nFrom the purely selfish standard, every fresh tie we form means giving\na new hostage to fortune, and adding a new risk to our happiness.\nApart from any moral evil, every intimacy is a danger of another blow\nto the heart.  But if we desire fulness of life, we cannot help\nourselves.  A man may make many a friendship to his own hurt, but the\nisolated life is a greater danger still.  _Societas est mater\ndiscordiarum_, which Scott in his humorous pathetic account of the\nlaw-suits of Peter Peebles _versus_ Plainstanes in \"Redgauntlet,\"\ntranslates, Partnership oft makes pleaship.  Every relationship means\nrisk, but we must take the risk; for while nearly all our sorrows come\nfrom our connection with others, nearly all our joys have the same\nsource.  We cannot help ourselves; for it is part of the great\ndiscipline of life.  Rather, we need knowledge, and care, and\nforethought to enable us to make the best use of the necessities of our\nnature.  And foremost of these for importance is our choice of friends.\n\nWe may err on the one side by being too cautious, and too exclusive in\nour attachments.  We may be supercilious, and disdainful in our\nestimate of men.  Contempt always blinds the eyes.  Every man is\nvulnerable somewhere, if only like Achilles in the heel.  The true\nsecret of insight is not contempt, but sympathy.  Such disdain usually\nmeans putting all the eggs into one basket, when a smash spells ruin.\n\nThe other extreme is the attitude, which easily makes many friends,\nwithout much consideration of quality.  We know the type of man, who is\nfriendly with everybody, and a friend of none.  He is Hail fellow well\nmet! with every passing stranger, a boon companion of every wayfarer.\nHe takes up with every sort of casual comrade, and seeks to be on good\nterms with everybody.  He makes what is called, with a little contempt,\ngood company, and is a favorite on all light occasions.  His affections\nspread themselves out over a large expanse.  He is easily consoled for\na loss, and easily attracted by a new attachment.  And as he deals, so\nis he dealt with.  Many like him; few quite trust him.  He makes many\nfriends, and is not particular about their quality.  The law of\nspiritual environment plays upon him with its relentless force.  He\ngives himself away too cheaply, and opens himself to all sorts of\ninfluence.  He is constantly laying himself in the way of temptation.\nHis mind takes on the opinions of his set: his character assimilates\nitself to the forces that act on it.  The evil example of some of his\nintimates gradually breaks down the barriers of past training and\nteaching.  The desire to please a crowd means that principle is let\nslip, and conscience ceases to be the standard of action.  His very\nfriends are not true friends, being mostly of the fair-weather quality.\n\nThough it may seem difficult to avoid either of these two extremes, it\nwill not do to refuse to choose at all, and leave things to chance.  We\ndrift into many of our connections with men, but the art of seamanship\nis tested by sailing not by drifting.  The subject of the choice of\nfriendship is not advanced much by just letting them choose us.  That\nis to become the victim, not the master of our circumstances.  And\nwhile it is true that we are acted on as much as we act, and are chosen\nas much as we choose, it is not permitted to any one merely to be\npassive, except at great cost.\n\nAt the same time in the mystery of friendship we cannot say that we\nwent about with a touchstone testing all we met, till we found the ore\nthat would respond to our particular magnet.  It is not that we said to\nourselves, Go to, we will choose a friend, and straightway made a\ndistinct election to the vacant throne of our heart.  From one point of\nview we were absolutely passive.  Things arranged themselves without\neffort, and by some subtle affinity we learned that we had gained a\nfriend.  The history of every true friendship is the brief description\nof Emerson, \"My friends have come to me unsought; the great God gave\nthem to me.\"  There was an element of necessity in this, as in all\ncrises of life.\n\nDoes it therefore seem absurd and useless to speak about the choice of\nfriendship at all?  By no means, because the principles we set before\nourselves will determine the kind of friends we have, as truly as if\nthe whole initiative lay with us.  We are chosen for the same reason\nfor which we would choose.  To try to separate the two processes is to\nmake the same futile distinction, on a lower scale, so often made\nbetween choosing God and being chosen by Him.  It is futile, because\nthe distinction cannot be maintained.\n\nBesides, the value of having some definite principle by which to test\nfriendship is not confined to the positive attachments made.  The\nnecessity for a system of selection is largely due to the necessity for\nrejection.  The good and great intimacies of our life will perhaps come\nto us, as the wind bloweth, we cannot tell how.  But by regulating our\ncourse wisely, we will escape from hampering our life by mistakes, and\nweakening it with false connections.  We ought to be courteous, and\nkind, and gentle with all, but not to all can we open the sanctuary of\nour heart.\n\nWe have a graduated scale of intimacy, from introduction, and nodding\nacquaintance, and speaking acquaintance, through an endless series of\nkinds of intercourse to the perfect friendship.  In counting up our\ngains and our resources, we cannot give them all the same value,\nwithout deceiving ourselves.  To expect loyalty and devotion from all\nalike is to court disappointment.  Most misanthropical and cynical\nestimates of man are due to this mingled ignorance and conceit.  We\ncannot look for undying affection from the crowd we may happen to have\nentertained to dinner, or have rubbed shoulders with at business\nresorts or at social gatherings.  Many men in life, as many are\ndepicted in literature, have played the misanthrope, because they have\ndiscovered through adversity how many of their associates were\nfair-weather friends.  In their prosperity they encouraged toadying and\nsycophancy.  They liked to have hangers-on, who would flatter, and when\nthe east wind blows they are indignant that their circle should prefer\nto avoid it.\n\nShakespeare's Timon of Athens is a typical misanthrope in his virtuous\nindignation at the cat-like love of men for comfort.  In his prosperity\ncrowds of glass-faced flatterers bent before him, and were made rich in\nTimon's nod.  He wasted his substance in presents and hospitality, and\nbred a fine race of parasites and trencher-friends.  When he spent all\nand began to be in want, no man gave unto him.  The winter shower drove\naway the summer flies.  He had loved the reputation for splendid\nliberality, and lavish generosity, and had sought to be a little god\namong men, bestowing favors and receiving homage, all of which was only\na more subtle form of selfishness.  When the brief day of prosperity\npassed, men shut their doors against the setting sun.  The smooth and\nsmilling crowd dropped off with a shrug, and Timon went to the other\nextreme of misanthropy, declaimed against friendship, and cursed men\nfor their ingratitude.  But after all he got what he had paid for.  He\nthought he had been buying the hearts of men, and found that he had\nonly bought their mouths, and tongues, and eyes.\n\n\"He that loves to be flattered is worthy of the flatterer.\"  For moral\nvalue there is not much to choose between them.  Rats are said to\ndesert the sinking ship, which is not to be wondered at in rats.  The\nchoice of friendship does not mean the indiscriminate acceptance of all\nwho are willing to assume the name of friend.  A touch of east wind is\ngood, not only to weed out the false and test the true, but also to\nbrace a man to the stern realities of life.  When we find that some of\nour intimates are dispersed by adversity, instead of raving against the\nworld's ingratitude like Timon, we should be glad that now we know whom\nexactly we can trust.\n\nAnother common way of choosing friends, and one which also meets with\nits own fitting reward, is the selfish method of valuing men according\nto their usefulness to us.  To add to their credit, or reputation, some\nare willing to include anybody in their list of intimates.  For\nbusiness purposes even, men will sometimes run risks, by endangering\nthe peace of their home and the highest interests of those they love;\nthey are ready to introduce into their family circle men whom they\ndistrust morally, because they think they can make some gain out of the\nconnection.\n\nAll the stupid snobbishness, and mean tuft-hunting so common, are due\nto the same desire to make use of people in some way or other.  It is\nan abuse of the word friendship to apply it to such social scrambling.\nOf course, even tuft-hunting may be only a perverted desire after what\nwe think the best, a longing to get near those we consider of nobler\nnature and larger mind than common associates.  It may be an\ninstinctive agreement with Plato's definition of the wise man, as ever\nwanting to be with him who is better than himself.  But in its usual\nform it becomes an unspeakable degradation, inducing servility, and\nlick-spittle humility, and all the vices of the servile mind.  There\ncan never be true friendship without self-respect, and unless soul\nmeets soul free from self-seeking.  If we had higher standards for\nourselves, if we lived to God and not to men, we would also find that\nin the truest sense we would live with men.  We need not go out of our\nway to ingratiate ourselves with anybody.  Nothing can make up for the\nloss of independence and native dignity of soul.  It is not for a man,\nmade in the image of God, to grovel, and demean himself before his\nfellow creatures.\n\nAfter all it defeats itself; for there can only be friendship _between\nequals_.  This does not mean equals in what is called social position,\nnor even in intellectual attainments, though these naturally have\nweight, but it means equality which has a spiritual source.  Can two\nwalk together, except they be agreed?  Nor does it mean identity, nor\neven likeness.  Indeed, for the highest unity there must be difference,\nthe difference of free beings, with will, and conscience, and mind\nunhampered.  We often make much of our differences, forgetting that\nreally we differ, and _can_ differ, only because we agree.  Without\nmany points of contact, there could be no divergence from these.\nArgument and contradiction of opinion are the outcome of difference,\nand yet for argument there is needed a common basis.  We cannot even\ndiscuss, unless we meet on some mental ground common to both\ndisputants.  So there may be, nay, for the highest union there must be,\na great general conformity behind the distinctions, a deep underlying\ncommon basis beneath the unlikeness.  And for true union of hearts,\nthis equality must have a spiritual source.  If then there must be some\nspiritual affinity, agreement in what is best and highest in each, we\ncan see the futility of most of the selfish attempts to make capital\nout of our intercourse.  Our friends will be, because they must be, our\nequals.  We can never have a nobler intimacy, until we are made fit for\nit.\n\nAll connections based on selfishness, either on personal pleasure or on\nusefulness, are accidental.  They are easily dissolved, because, when\nthe pleasure or the utility ceases, the bond ceases.  When the motive\nof the friendship is removed, the friendship itself disappears.  The\nperfect friendship is grounded on what is permanent, on goodness, on\ncharacter.  It is of much slower growth, since it takes some time to\nreally find out the truly lovable things in a life, but it is lasting,\nsince the foundation is stable.\n\nThe most important point, then, about the choice of friendship is that\nwe should know what to reject.  Countless attractions come to us on the\nlower plane.  A man may be attracted by what his own conscience tells\nhim to be unworthy.  He may have slipped gradually into companionship\nwith some, whose influence is even evil.  He may have got, almost\nwithout his own will, into a set which is deteriorating his life and\ncharacter.  He knows the fruits of his weakness, in the lowering of the\nmoral tone, in the slackening grip of the conscience, in the looser\nflow of the blood.  He has become pliant in will, feeble in purpose,\nand flaccid in character.  Every man has a duty to himself to be his\nown best self, and he can never be that under the spell of evil\ncompanionship.\n\nSome men mix in doubtful company, and say that they have no Pharisaic\nexclusiveness, and even sometimes defend themselves by Christ's\nexample, who received sinners and ate with them.  The comparison\nborders on blasphemy.  It depends on the purpose, for which sinners are\nreceived.  Christ never joined in their sin, but went to save them from\ntheir sin; and wickedness could not lift its head in His presence.\nSome seek to be initiated into the mysteries of iniquity, in idle or\nmorbid curiosity, perhaps to write a realistic book, or to see life, as\nit is called.  There is often a prurient desire to explore the tracts\nof sin, as if information on such subjects meant wisdom.  If men are\nhonest with themselves, they will admit that they join the company of\nsinners, for the relish they have for the sin.  We must first obey the\nmoral command to come out from among them and be separate, before it is\npossible for us to meet them like Christ.  Separateness of soul is the\nlaw of holiness.  Of Christ, of whom it was said that this man\nreceiveth sinners, it was also said that He was separate from sinners.\nThe knowledge of wickedness is not wisdom, neither is the counsel of\nsinners prudence.  Most young men know the temptation here referred to,\nthe curiosity to learn the hidden things, and to have the air of those\nwho know the world.\n\nIf we have gone wrong here, and have admitted into the sanctuary of our\nlives influences that make for evil, we must break away from them at\nall costs.  The sweeter and truer relationships of our life should arm\nus for the struggle, the prayers of a mother, the sorrow of true\nfriends.  This is the fear, countless times, in the hearts of the folks\nat home when their boy leaves them to win his way in the city, the\ndeadly fear lest he should fall into evil habits, and into the clutches\nof evil men.  They know that there are men whose touch, whose words,\nwhose very look, is contamination.  To give them entrance into our\nlives is to submit ourselves to the contagion of sin.\n\nFriends should be chosen by a higher principle of selection than any\nworldly one, of pleasure, or usefulness, or by weak submission to the\nevil influences of our lot.  They should be chosen for character, for\ngoodness, for truth and trustworthiness, because they have sympathy\nwith us in our best thoughts and holiest aspirations, because they have\ncommunity of mind in the things of the soul.  All other connections are\nfleeting and imperfect from the nature of the case.  A relationship\nbased on the physical withers when the first bloom fades: a\nrelationship founded on the intellectual is only a little more secure,\nas it too is subject to caprice.  All purely earthly partnerships, like\nall earthly treasures, are exposed to decay, the bite of the moth and\nthe stain of the rust; and they must all have an end.\n\nA young man may get opposing advice from two equally trusted\ncounsellors.  One will advise him to cultivate the friendship of the\nclever, because they will afterward occupy places of power in the\nworld: the other will advise him to cultivate the friendship of the\ngood, because if they do not inherit the earth, they aspire to the\nheavens.  If he knows the character of the two counsellors, he will\nunderstand why they should look upon life from such different\nstandpoints; and later on he will find that while some of his friends\nwere both clever and good, not one of the purely intellectual\nfriendships remains to him.  It does not afford a sufficient basis of\nagreement, to stand the tear and wear of life.  The basis of friendship\nmust be community of soul.\n\nThe only permanent severance of heart comes through lack of a common\nspiritual footing.  If one soul goes up the mountain top, and the other\nstays down among the shadows, if the two have not the same high\nthoughts, and pure desires, and ideals of service, they cannot remain\ntogether except in form.  Friends need not be identical in temperament\nand capacity, but they must be alike in sympathy.  An unequal yoke\nbecomes either an intolerable burden, or will drag one of the partners\naway from the path his soul at its best would have loved to tread.\n\n  If you loved only what were worth your love,\n  Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you.\n\nIf we choose our friends in Christ, neither here, nor ever, need we\nfear parting, and will have the secure joy and peace which come from\nhaving a friend who is as one's own soul.\n\n\n\n\nThe Eclipse of Friendship\n\n\n  For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime,\n  Young Lycidas, and hath not left his pew.\n\n    *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n  Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more\n  For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead.\n  Sunk though he be beneath the watery flow.\n  So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,\n  And yet anon repairs his drooping head,\n  And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore\n  Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:\n  So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high,\n  Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves.\n\n  MILTON.\n\n\n\nThe Eclipse of Friendship\n\nAs it is one of the greatest joys of life when a kindred soul is for\nthe first time recognized and claimed, so it is one of the bitterest\nmoments of life when the first rupture is made of the ties which bind\nus to other lives.  Before it comes, it is hard to believe that it is\npossible, if we ever think of it at all.  When it does come, it is\nharder still to understand the meaning of the blow.  The miracle of\nfriendship seemed too fair, to carry in its bosom the menace of its\nloss.  We knew, of course, that such things had been, and must be, but\nwe never quite realized what it would be to be the victims of the\ncommon doom of man.\n\nIf it only came as a sudden pain, that passes after its brief spasm of\nagony, it would not be so sore an affliction; but when it comes, it\ncomes to stay.  There remains a place in our hearts which is tender to\nevery touch, and it is touched so often.  We survive the shock of the\nmoment easier than the constant reminder of our loss.  The old familiar\nface, debarred to the sense of sight, can be recalled by a stray word,\na casual sight, a chance memory.  The closer the intercourse had been,\nthe more things there are in our lives associated with him--things that\nwe did together, places that we visited together, thoughts even that we\nthought together.\n\nThere seems no region of life where we can escape from the suggestions\nof memory.  The sight of any little object can bring him back, with his\nway of speaking, with his tricks of gesture, with all the qualities for\nwhich we loved him, and for which we mourn him now.  If the intimacy\nwas due to mere physical proximity, the loss will be only a vague sense\nof uneasiness through the breakdown of long-continued habit; but, if\nthe two lives were woven into the same web, there must be ragged edges\nleft, and it is a weary task to take up the threads again, and find a\nnew woof for the warp.  The closer the connection has been, the keener\nis the loss.  It comes back to us at the sight of the many things\nassociated with him, and, fill up our lives with countless distractions\nas we may, the shadow creeps back to darken the world.\n\nSometimes there is the added pain of remorse that we did not enough\nappreciate the treasure we possessed.  In thoughtlessness we accepted\nthe gift; we had so little idea of the true value of his friendship; we\nloved so little, and were so impatient:--if only we had him back again;\nif only we had one more opportunity to show him how dear he was; if\nonly we had another chance of proving ourselves worthy.  We can hardly\nforgive ourselves that we were so cold and selfish.  Self-reproach, the\nregret of the unaccepted opportunity, is one of the commonest feelings\nafter bereavement, and it is one of the most blessed.\n\nStill, it may become a morbid feeling.  It is a false sentimentalism\nwhich lives in the past, and lavishes its tenderness on memory.  It is\ndifficult to say what is the dividing line between healthy sorrow and\nmorbid sentiment.  It seems a natural instinct, which makes the\nbereaved care lovingly for the very grave, and which makes the mother\nkeep locked up the little shoes worn by the little feet, relics hid\nfrom the vulgar eye.  The instinct has become a little more morbid,\nwhen it has preserved the room of a dead mother, with its petty\ndecorations and ornaments as she left them.  Beautiful as the instinct\nmay be, there is nothing so dangerous as when our most natural feeling\nturns morbid.\n\nIt is always a temptation, which grows stronger the longer we live, to\nlook back instead of forward, to bemoan the past, and thus deride the\npresent and distrust the future.  We must not forget our present\nblessings, the love we still possess, the gracious influences that\nremain, and most of all the duties that claim our strength.  The loving\nwomen who went early in the morning to the sepulchre of the buried\nChrist were met with a rebuke, \"Why seek ye the living among the dead?\"\nThey were sent back to life to find Him, and sent back to life to do\nhonor to His death.  Not by ointments and spices, however precious, nor\nat the rock-hewn tomb, could they best remember their Lord; but out in\nthe world, which that morning had seemed so cold and cheerless, and in\ntheir lives, which then had seemed not worth living.\n\nChristianity does not condemn any natural human feeling, but it will\nnot let these interfere with present duty and destroy future\nusefulness.  It does not send men to search for the purpose of living\nin the graves of their dead hopes and pleasures.  Its disciples must\nnot attempt to live on the relics of even great incidents, among\ncrucifixes and tombs.  In the Desert, the heart must reach forward to\nthe Promised Land, and not back to Egypt.  The Christian faith is for\nthe future, because it believes in the God of the future.  The world is\nnot a lumber room, full of relics and remembrances, over which to\nbrood.  We are asked to remember the beautiful past which was ours, and\nthe beautiful lives which we have lost, by making the present beautiful\nlike it, and our lives beautiful like theirs.  It is human to think\nthat life has no future, if now it seems \"dark with griefs and graves.\"\nIt comes like a shock to find that we must bury our sorrow, and come\ninto contact with the hard world again, and live our common life once\nmore.  The Christian learns to do it, not because he has a short\nmemory, but because he has a long faith.  The voice of inspiration is\nheard oftener through the realities of life, than through vain regrets\nand recluse dreams.  The Christian life must be in its degree something\nlike the Master's own life, luminous with His hope, and surrounded by a\nbracing atmosphere which uplifts all who even touch its outer fringe.\n\n\nThe great fact of life, nevertheless, is death, and it must have a\npurpose to serve and a lesson to teach.  It seems to lose something of\nits impressiveness, because it is universal.  The very inevitableness\nof it seems to kill thought, rather than induce it.  It is only when\nthe blow strikes home, that we are pulled up and forced to face the\nfact.  Theoretically there is a wonderful unanimity among men,\nregarding the shortness of life and the uncertainty of all human\nrelationships.  The last word of the wise on life has ever been its\nfleetingness, its appalling changes, its unexpected surprises.  The\nonly certainty of life is its uncertainty--its unstable tenure, its\ninevitable end.  But practically we go on as if we could lay our plans,\nand mortgage time, without doubt or danger; until our feet are knocked\nfrom under us by some sudden shock, and we realize how unstable the\nequilibrium of life really is.  The lesson of life is death.\n\nThe experience would not be so tragically universal, if it had not a\ngood and necessary meaning.  For one thing it should sober us, and make\nour lives full of serious, solemn purpose.  It should teach us to\nnumber our days that we may apply our hearts to wisdom.  The man, who\nhas no place for death in his philosophy, has not learned to live.  The\nlesson of death is life.\n\nOn the whole, however, it is not our own liability to death which\noppresses us.  The fear of it to a brave man, not to speak of a man of\nfaith, can be overcome.  It is the fear of it _for others_ whom we\nlove, which is its sting.  And none of us can live very long without\nknowing in our own heart's experience the reality, as well as the\nterror, of death.  This too has its meaning for us, to look at life\nmore tenderly, and touch it more gently.  The pathos of life is only a\nforced sentiment to us, if we have not felt the pity of life.  To a\nsensitive soul, smarting with his own loss, the world sometimes seems\nfull of graves, and for a time at least makes him walk softly among men.\n\nThis is one reason why the making of new friends is so much easier in\nyouth than later on.  Friendship comes to youth seemingly without any\nconditions, and without any fears.  There is no past to look back at,\nwith much regret and some sorrow.  We never look behind us, _till we\nmiss something_.  Youth is satisfied with the joy of present\npossession.  To the young friendship comes as the glory of spring, a\nvery miracle of beauty, a mystery of birth: to the old it has the bloom\nof autumn, beautiful still, but with the beauty of decay.  To the young\nit is chiefly hope: to the old it is mostly memory.  The man who is\nconscious that he has lost the best of his days, the best of his\npowers, the best of his friends, naturally lives a good deal in the\npast.\n\nSuch a man is prepared for further losses; he has adjusted himself to\nthe fact of death.  At first, we cannot believe that it can happen to\nus and to our love; or, if the thought comes to us, it is an event too\nfar in the future to ruffle the calm surface of our heart.  And yet, it\nmust come; from it none can escape.  Most can remember a night of\nwaiting, too stricken for prayer, too numb of heart even for feeling,\nvaguely expecting the blow to strike us out of the dark.  A strange\nsense of the unreality of things came over us, when the black wave\nsubmerged us and passed on.  We went out into the sunshine, and it\nseemed to mock us.  We entered again among the busy ways of men, and\nthe roar of life beat upon our brain and heart,\n\n  Yet in these ears, till hearing dies,\n  One set slow bell will seem to toll,\n  The passing of the sweetest soul\n  That ever looked with human eyes.\n\n\nWas it worth while to have linked our lives on to other lives, and laid\nourselves open to such desolation?  Would it not be better to go\nthrough the world, without joining ourselves too closely to the\nfleeting bonds of other loves?  Why deliberately add to our\ndisabilities?  But it is not a disability; rather, the great purpose of\nall our living is to learn love, even though we must experience the\npains of love as well as the joys.  To cut ourselves off from this lot\nof the human would be to impoverish our lives, and deprive ourselves of\nthe culture of the heart, which, if a man has not learned, he has\nlearned nothing.  Whatever the risks to our happiness, we cannot stand\nout from the lot of man, without ceasing to be men in the only true\nsense.\n\nIt is not easy to solve the problem of sorrow.  Indeed there is no\nsolution of it, unless the individual soul works out its own solution.\nMost attempts at a philosophy of sorrow just end in high-sounding\nwords.  Explanations, which profess to cover all the ground, are as\nfutile as the ordinary blundering attempts at comfort, which only charm\nache with sound and patch grief with proverbs.  The sorrow of our\nhearts is not appreciably lessened by argument.  Any kind of\nphilosophy--any wordy explanation of the problem--is at the best poor\ncomfort.  It is not the problem which brings the pain in the first\ninstance: it is the pain which brings the problem.  The heart's\nbitterness is not allayed by an exposition of the doctrine of\nprovidence.  Rachel who weeps for her children, the father whose little\ndaughter lies dead at home, are not to be appeased in their anguish by\na nicely-balanced system of thought.  Nor is surcease of sorrow thus\nbrought to the man to whom has come a bereavement, or a succession of\nbereavements, which makes him feel that all the glory and joy of life,\nits friendship and love and hope, have gone down into the grave, so\nthat he can say,\n\n  Three dead men have I loved,\n  And thou wert last of the three.\n\n\nAt the same time, if it be true that there is a meaning in friendship,\na spiritual discipline to educate the heart and train the life, it must\nalso be true that there is equally a meaning in the eclipse of\nfriendship.  If we have enough faith to see death to be good, we will\nfind out for ourselves why it is good.  It may teach us just what we\nwere in danger of forgetting, some omission in our lives, which was\nmaking them shallow and poor.  It may be to one a sight into the\nmystery of sin; to another a sight into the mystery of love.  To one it\ncomes with the lesson of patience, which is only a side of the lesson\nof faith; to another it brings the message of sympathy.  As we turn the\nsubject toward the light, there come gleams of color from different\nfacets of it.\n\nAll life is an argument for death.  We cannot persist long in the\neffort to live the Christian life, without feeling the need for death.\nThe higher the aims, and the truer the aspirations, the greater is the\nburden of living, until it would become intolerable.  Sooner or later\nwe are forced to make the confession of Job, \"I would not live alway.\"\nTo live forever in this sordidness, to have no reprieve from the doom\nof sin, no truce from the struggle of sin, would be a fearful fate.\n\nTo the Christian, therefore, death cannot be looked on as evil; first,\nbecause it is universal, and it is universal because it is\nGod-ordained.  In St. Peter's, at Rome, there are many tombs, in which\ndeath is symbolized in its traditional form as a skeleton, with the\nfateful hourglass and the fearful scythe.  Death is the rude reaper,\nwho cruelly cuts off life and all the joy of life.  But there is one in\nwhich death is sculptured as a sweet gentle motherly woman, who takes\nher wearied child home to safer and surer keeping.  It is a truer\nthought than the other.  Death is a minister of God, doing His\npleasure, and doing us good.\n\nAgain, it cannot be evil because it means a fuller life, and therefore\nan opportunity for fuller and further service.  Faith will not let a\nman hasten the climax; for it is in the hands of love, as he himself\nis.  But death is the climax of life.  For if all life is an argument\nfor death, then so also all death is an argument for life.\n\nJowett says, in one of his letters, \"I cannot sympathize in all the\ngrounds of consolation that are sometimes offered on these melancholy\noccasions, but there are two things which have always seemed to me\nunchangeable: first, that the dead are in the hands of God, who can do\nfor them more than we can ask or have; and secondly, with respect to\nourselves, that such losses deepen our views of life, and make us feel\nthat we would not always be here.\"  These are two noble grounds of\nconsolation, and they are enough.\n\nDeath is the great argument for immortality.  We cannot believe that\nthe living, loving soul has ceased to be.  We cannot believe that all\nthose treasures of mind and heart are squandered in empty air.  We will\nnot believe it.  When once we understand the meaning of the spiritual,\nwe see the absolute certainty of eternal life; we need no arguments for\nthe persistence of being.\n\nTo appear for a little time and then vanish away, is the outward\nbiography of all men, a circle of smoke that breaks, a bubble on the\nstream that bursts, a spark put out by a breath.\n\nBut there is another biography, a deeper and a permanent one, the\nbiography of the soul.  Everything that _appears_ vanishes away: that\nis its fate, the fate of the everlasting hills as well as of the vapor\nthat caps them.  But that which does not appear, the spiritual and\nunseen, which we in our folly sometimes doubt because it does not\nappear, is the only reality; it is eternal and passeth not away.  The\nmaterial in nature is only the garb of the spiritual, as speech is the\nclothing of thought.  With our vulgar standards we often think of the\nthought as the unsubstantial and the shadowy, and the speech as the\nreal.  But speech dies upon the passing wind; the thought alone\nremains.  We consider the sound to be the music, whereas it is only the\nexpression of the music, and vanishes away.  Behind the material world,\nwhich waxes old as a garment, there is an eternal principle, the\nthought of God it represents.  Above the sounds there is the music that\ncan never die.  Beneath our lives, which vanish away, there is a vital\nthing, spirit.  We cannot locate it and put our finger on it; that is\nwhy it is permanent.  The things we can put our finger on are the\nthings which appear, and therefore which fade and die.\n\nSo, death to the spiritual mind is only _eclipse_.  When there is an\neclipse of the sun it does not mean that the sun is blotted out of the\nheavens: it only means that there is a temporary obstruction between it\nand us.  If we wait a little, it passes.  Love cannot die.  Its forms\nmay change, even its objects, but its life is the life of the universe.\nIt is not death, but sleep: not loss, but eclipse.  The love is only\ntransfigured into something more ethereal and heavenly than ever\nbefore.  Happy to have friends on earth, but happier to have friends in\nheaven.\n\nAnd it need not be even eclipse, except in outward form.  Communion\nwith the unseen can mean true correspondence with all we have loved and\nlost, if only our souls were responsive.  The highest love is not\nstarved by the absence of its object; it rather becomes more tender and\nspiritual, with more of the ideal in it.  Ordinary affection, on a\nlower plane, dependent on physical attraction, or on the earthly side\nof life, naturally crumbles to dust when its foundation is removed.\nBut love is independent of time or space, and as a matter of fact is\npurified and intensified by absence.  Separation of friends is not a\nphysical thing.  Lives can be sundered as if divided by infinite\ndistance, even although materially they are near each other.  This\ntragedy is often enough enacted in our midst.\n\nThe converse is also true; so that friendship does not really lose by\ndeath: it lays up treasure in heaven, and leaves the very earth a\nsacred place, made holy by happy memories.  \"The ruins of Time build\nmansions in Eternity,\" said William Blake, speaking of the death of a\nloved brother, with whose spirit he never ceased to converse.  There\nare people in our homes and our streets whose highest life is with the\ndead.  They live in another world.  We can see in their eyes that their\nhearts are not here.  It is as if they already saw the land that is\nvery far off.  It is only far off to our gross insensate senses.\n\nThe spiritual world is not outside this earth of ours.  It includes it\nand pervades it, finding a new centre for a new circumference in every\nloving soul that has eyes to see the Kingdom.  So, to hold commerce\nwith the dead is not a mere figure of speech.  Heaven lies about us not\nonly in our infancy, but all our lives.  We blind ourselves with dust,\nand in our blindness lay hold feverishly of the outside of life,\nmistaking the fugitive and evanescent for the truly permanent.  If we\nonly used our capacities we would take a more enlightened view of\ndeath.  We would see it to be the entrance into a more radiant and a\nmore abundant life not only for the friend that goes first, but for the\nother left behind.\n\nSpiritual communion cannot possibly be interrupted by a physical\nchange.  It is because there is so little of the spiritual in our\nordinary intercourse that death means silence and an end to communion.\nThere is a picture of death, which, when looked at with the ordinary\nperspective, seems to be a hideous skull, but when seen near at hand is\ncomposed of flowers, with the eyes, in the seemingly empty sockets of\nthe skull, formed by two fair faces of children.  Death at a distance\nlooks horrible, the ghastly spectre of the race; but with the near\nvision it is beautiful with youth and flowers, and when we look into\nits eyes we look into the stirrings of life.\n\nLove is the only permanent relationship among men, and the permanence\nis not an accident of it, but is of its very essence.  When released\nfrom the mere magnetism of sense, instead of ceasing to exist, it only\nthen truly comes into its largest life.  If our life were more a life\nin the spirit, we would be sure that death can be at the worst but the\neclipse of friendship.  Tennyson felt this truth in his own experience,\nand expressed it in noble form again and again in _In Memoriam_--\n\n  Sweet human hand and lips and eye,\n  Dear heavenly friend that canst not die;\n\n  Strange friend, past, present, and to be;\n  Loved deeplier, darklier understood;\n  Behold I dream a dream of good,\n  And mingle all the world with thee.\n\n  Thy voice is on the rolling air;\n  I hear thee where the waters run;\n  Thou standest in the rising sun,\n  And in the setting thou art fair.\n\nIt is not loss, but momentary eclipse, and the final issue is a clearer\nperception of immortal love, and a deeper consciousness of eternal life.\n\nThe attitude of mind, therefore, in any such bereavement--sore as the\nfirst stroke must be, since we are so much the creatures of habit, and\nit is hard to adjust ourselves to the new relationship--cannot be an\nattitude merely of resignation.  That was the extent to which the\nimperfect revelation of the Old Testament brought men.  They had to\nrest in their knowledge of God's faithfulness and goodness.  The limit\nof their faith was, \"The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away.\"  But\nto resignation we can add joy.  \"Not dead, but sleepeth,\" said the\nMaster of death and life to a sorrowing man.\n\nFor one thing it must mean the hallowing of memory.  The eclipse of\nlove makes the love fairer when the eclipse passes.  The loss of the\noutward purifies the affection and softens the heart.  It brings out\ninto fact what was often only latent in feeling.  Memory adds a tender\nglory to the past.  We only think of the virtues of the dead: we forget\ntheir faults.  This is as it should be.  We rightly love the immortal\npart of them; the fire has burned up the dross and left pure gold.  If\nit is idealization, it represents that which will be, and that which\nreally is.\n\nWe do not ask to forget; we do not want the so-called consolations\nwhich time brings.  Such an insult to the past, as forgetfulness would\nbe, means that we have not risen to the possibilities of communion of\nspirit afforded us in the present.  We would rather that the wound\nshould be ever fresh than that the image of the dear past should fade.\nIt would be a loss to our best life if it would fade.  There is no\nsting in such a faith.  Such remembrance as this, which keeps the heart\ngreen, will not cumber the life.  True sentiment does not weaken, but\nbecomes an inspiration to make our life worthy of our love.  It can\nsave even a squalid lot from sordidness; for however poor we may be in\nthe world's goods, we are rich in happy associations in the past, and\nin sweet communion in the present, and in blessed hope for the future.\n\n\n\n\nThe Wreck of Friendship\n\n\n  They parted--ne'er to meet again!\n  But never either found another\n  To free the hollow heart from paining--\n  They stood aloof, the scars remaining,\n  Like cliffs which had been rent asunder,\n  A dreary sea now rolls between;\n  But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,\n  Shall wholly do away, I ween,\n  The marks of that which once hath been.\n\n  COLERIDGE, Christabel.\n\n\n\nThe Wreck of Friendship\n\nThe eclipse of friendship through death is not nearly so sad as the\nmany ways in which friendship may be wrecked.  There are worse losses\nthan the losses of death; and to bury a friendship is a keener grief\nthan to bury a friend.  The latter softens the heart and sweetens the\nlife, while the former hardens and embitters.  The Persian poet Hafiz\nsays, \"Thou learnest no secret until thou knowest friendship; since to\nthe unloving no heavenly knowledge enters.\"  But so imperfect are our\nhuman relationships, that many a man has felt that he has bought his\nknowledge too dearly.  Few of us go through the world without some\nscars on the heart, which even yet throb if the finger of memory touch\nthem.  In spite of all that has been said, and may be said in praise of\nthis golden friendship, it has been too often found how vain is the\nhelp of man.  The deepest tragedies of life have been the failure of\nthis very relationship.\n\nIn one way or other the loss of friendship comes to all.  The shores of\nlife are strewn with wrecks.  The convoy which left the harbor gaily in\nthe sunshine cannot all expect to arrive together in the haven.  There\nare the danger of storms and collisions, the separation of the night,\nand even at the best, if accidents never occur, the whole company\ncannot all keep up with the speed of the swiftest.\n\nThere is a certain pathos in all loss, but there is not always pain in\nit, or at least it is of varied quality and extent.  Some losses are\nnatural and unavoidable, quite beyond our control, the result of\nresistless change.  Some loss is even the necessary accompaniment of\ngain.  The loss of youth with all its possessions is the gain of\nmanhood and womanhood.  A man must put away childish things, the speech\nand understanding and thought of a child.  So the loss of some\nfriendship comes as a part of the natural course of things, and is\naccepted without mutilating the life.\n\nMany of our connections with people are admittedly casual and\ntemporary.  They exist for mutual convenience through common interest\nat the time, or common purpose, or common business.  None of the\npartners asks for more than the advantage each derives from the\nconnection.  When it comes to an end, we let slip the cable easily, and\nsay good-bye with a cheery wave.  With many people we meet and part in\nall friendliness and good feeling, and will be glad to meet again, but\nthe parting does not tear our affections by the roots.  When the\nbusiness is transacted the tie is loosed, and we each go our separate\nways without much regret.\n\nAt other times there is no thought of gain, except the mutual advantage\nof conversation or companionship.  We are pleasant to each other, and\nenjoy the intercourse of kindred tastes.  Most of us have some pleasant\nrecollections of happy meetings with interesting people, perhaps on\nholiday times, when we felt we would be glad to see them again if\nfortune turned round the wheel again to the same place; but, though\nhardly ever did it come about that an opportunity of meeting has\noccurred, we do not feel that our life is much the poorer for the loss.\n\nAlso, we _grow_ out of some of our friendships.  This is to be\nexpected, since so many of them are formed thoughtlessly, or before we\nreally knew either ourselves or our friends.  They never meant very\nmuch to us.  Most boyish friendships as a rule do not last long,\nbecause they are not based on the qualities which wear well.  Schoolboy\ncomradeships are usually due to propinquity rather than to character.\nThey are the fruit of accident rather than of affinity of soul.  Boys\ngrow out of these as they grow out of their clothes.  Now and again\nthey suffer from growing pains, but it is more discomfort than anything\nelse.\n\nIt is sad to look back and realize how few of one's early\ncompanionships remain, but it is not possible to blame either party for\nthe loss.  Distance, separation of interest, difference of work, all\noperate to divide.  When athletics seemed the end of existence,\nfriendship was based on football and baseball.  But as life opens out,\nother standards are set up, and a new principle of selection takes its\nplace.  When the world is seen to be more than a ball-ground, when it\nis recognized to be a stage oh which men play many parts, a new sort of\nintimacy is demanded, and it does not follow that it will be with the\nsame persons.  Such loss as this is the condition which accompanies the\ngain of growth.\n\nThere is more chance for the permanence of friendships formed a little\nlater.  It must not be too long after this period, however; for, when\nthe generous time of youth has wholly passed, it becomes hard to make\nnew connections.  Men get over-burdened with cares and personal\nconcerns, and grow cautious about making advances.  In youth the heart\nis responsive and ready to be generous, and the hand aches for the\ngrasp of a comrade's hand, and the mind demands fellowship in the great\nthoughts that are beginning to dawn upon it.  The closest friendships\nare formed early in life, just because then we are less cautious, more\nopen to impressions, and readier to welcome self-revelations.  After\nmiddle life a man does not find it easy to give himself away, and keeps\na firmer hand on his feelings.  Whatever are the faults of youth, it is\nunworldly in its estimates as a rule, and uncalculating in its thoughts\nof the future.\n\nThe danger to such friendship is the danger of just letting it lapse.\nAs life spreads out before the eager feet, new interests crop up, new\nrelations are formed, and the old tie gets worn away, from want of\nadding fresh strands to it.  We may believe the advice about not\nforsaking an old friend because the new is not comparable to him, but\nwe can neglect it by merely letting things slip past, which if used\nwould be a new bond of union.\n\nAs it is easier for some temperaments to make friends, it is easier for\nsome dispositions to keep them.  Little faults of manner, little\noccasions of thoughtlessness, or lack of the little courtesies, do more\nto separate people than glaring mistakes.  There are some men so built\nthat it is difficult to remain on very close terms with them, there are\nso many corners to knock against.  Even strength of character, if\nunmodified by sweetness of disposition, adds to the difficulty of\npulling together.  Strong will can so easily develop into self-will;\ndecision can become dogmatism; wit, the salt of conversation, loses its\nsavor when it becomes ill-natured; a faculty for argument is in danger\nof being mere quarrelsomeness.\n\nThe ordinary amenities of life must be preserved among friends.  We can\nnever feel very safe with the man whose humor tends to bitter speaking\nor keen sarcasm, or with the man who flares up into hasty speech at\nevery or no provocation, or with the man who is argumentative and\nassertive,--\n\n  Who 'd rather on a gibbet dangle\n  Than miss his dear delight to wrangle.\n\nThere are more breaches of the peace among friends through sins of\nspeech, than from any other cause.  We do not treat our friends with\nenough respect.  We make the vulgar mistake of looking upon the common\nas if it were therefore cheap in nature.  We ought rather to treat our\nfriend with a sort of sacred familiarity, as if we appreciated the\nprecious gift his friendship is.\n\nEvery change in a man's life brings a risk of letting go something of\nthe past, which it is a loss to part with.  A change of work, or a\nchange of residence, or entrance into a larger sphere, brings a certain\nengrossment which leads to neglect of the richest intercourse in the\npast life.  To many a man, even marriage has had a drop of bitterness\nin it, because it has somehow meant the severing of old and sacred\nlinks.  This may be due to the vulgar reason of wives' quarrels, the\nresult of petty jealousy; but it may be due also to pre-occupation and\na subtle form of selfishness.  The fire needs to be kept alive with\nfuel.  To preserve it, there must be forethought, and care, and love\nexpended as before.\n\nFriendship may lapse through the _misfortune of distance_.  Absence\ndoes not always make the heart grow fonder.  It only does so, when the\nheart is securely fixed, and when it is a heart worth fixing.  More\noften the other proverb is truer, that it is out of sight out of mind.\nIt is so easy for a man to become self-centred, and to impoverish his\naffections through sheer neglect.  Ties once close get frayed and\nstrained till they break, and we discover that we have said farewell to\nthe past.  Some kind of intercourse is needed to maintain friendship.\nThere is a pathos about this gradual drifting away of lives, borne from\neach other, it sometimes seems, by opposing tides, as if a resistless\npower separated them,\n\n  And bade betwixt their souls to be\n  The unplumbed, salt, estranging sea.\n\n\nOr friendship may lapse through the _fault of silence_.  The misfortune\nof distance may be overcome by love, but the fault of silence crushes\nout feeling as the falling rain kills the kindling beacon.  Even the\nestrangements and misunderstandings which will arise to all could not\nlong remain, where there is a frank and candid interchange of thought.\nHearts grow cold toward each other through neglect.  There is a\nsuggestive word from the old Scandinavian _Edda_, \"Go often to the\nhouse of thy friend; for weeds soon choke up the unused path.\"  It is\nhard to overcome again the alienation caused by neglect; for there\ngrows up a sense of resentment and injured feeling.\n\nAmong the petty things which wreck friendships, none is so common and\nso unworthy as money.  It is pitiable that it should be so.  Thackeray\nspeaks of the remarkable way in which a five-pound note will break up a\nhalf-century's attachment between two brethren, and it is a common\ncynical remark of the world that the way to lose a friend is to lend\nhim money.  There is nothing which seems to affect the mind more, and\ncolor the very heart's blood, than money.  There seems a curse in it\nsometimes, so potent is it for mischief.  Poverty, if it be too\noppressive grinding down the face, may often hurt the heart-life; but\nperhaps oftener still it only reveals what true treasures there are in\nthe wealth of the affections.  Whereas, we know what heartburnings, and\nrivalries, and envyings, are occasioned by this golden apple of\ndiscord.  Most of the disputes which separate brethren are about the\ndividing of the inheritance, and it does seem to be the case that few\nfriendships can survive the test of money.\n\n  Neither a borrower, nor a lender be;\n  For loan oft loses both itself and friend.\n\nThere must be something wrong with the friendship which so breaks down.\nIt ought to be able to stand a severer strain than that.  But the inner\nreason of the failure is often that there has been a moral degeneracy\ngoing on, and a weakening of the fibre of character on one side, or on\nboth sides.  The particular dispute, whether it be about money or about\nanything else, is only the occasion which reveals the slackening of the\nmorale.  The innate delicacy and self-respect of the friend who asks\nthe favor may have been damaged through a series of similar\nimportunities, or there may have been a growing hardness of heart and\nselfishness in the friend who refuses the request.  Otherwise, if two\nare on terms of communion, it is hard to see why the giving or\nreceiving of this service should be any more unworthy than any other\nhelp, which friends can grant to each other.  True commerce of the\nheart should make all other needful commerce possible.  Communion\nincludes communism.  To have things in common does not seem difficult,\nwhen there is love in common.\n\nFriendship has also been wrecked by outside means, by the evil of\nothers, through the evil speaking, or the envy, or the whispering\ntongues that delight in scandal.  Some mean natures rejoice in sowing\ndiscord, carrying tales with just the slightest turn of a phrase, or\neven a tone of the voice, which gives a sinister reading to an innocent\nword or act.  Frankness can always prevent such from permanently\nwrecking friendship.  Besides, we should judge no man, still less a\ntrusted friend, by a report of an incident or a hasty word.  We should\njudge our friend by his record, by what we know of his character.  When\nanything inconsistent with that character comes before our notice, it\nis only justice to him to at least suspend judgment, and it would be\nwisdom to refuse to credit it at all.\n\nWe sometimes wonder to find a friend cold and distant to us, and\nperhaps we moralize on the fickleness and inconstancy of men, but the\nreason may be to seek in ourselves.  We cannot expect the pleasure of\nfriendship without the duty, the privilege without the responsibility.\nWe cannot break off the threads of the web, and then, when the mood is\non us, continue it as though nothing had happened.  If such a breakage\nhas occurred, we must go back and patiently join the threads together\nagain.  Thoughtlessness has done more harm in this respect than\nill-will.  If we have lost a friend through selfish neglect, the loss\nis ours, and we cannot expect to take up the story where we left off\nyears ago.  There is a serene impudence about the treatment some mete\nout to their friends, dropping them whenever it suits, and thinking to\ntake them up when it happens once more to suit.  We cannot expect to\nwalk with another, when we have gone for miles along another way.  We\nwill have to go back, and catch him up again.  If the fault has been\nours, desire and shame will give our feet wings.\n\nThe real source of separation is ultimately a spiritual one.  We cannot\nwalk with another unless we are agreed.  The lapse of friendship is\noften due to this, that one has let the other travel on alone.  If one\nhas sought pleasure, and the other has sought truth; if one has\ncumbered his life with the trivial and the petty, and the other has\nfilled his with high thoughts and noble aspirations; if their hearts\nare on different levels, it is natural that they should now be apart.\nWe cannot stay behind with the camp-followers, and at the same time\nfight in the van with the heroes.  If we would keep our best friends,\nwe must go with them in sympathy, and be able to share their thoughts.\nIn the letters of Dean Stanley, there is one from Jowett to Stanley,\nwhich brings out this necessity.  \"I earnestly hope that the\nfriendship, which commenced between us many years ago, may be a\nblessing to last us through life.  I feel that if it is to be so we\nmust both go onward, otherwise the tear and wear of life, and the\n'having travelled over each other's minds,' and a thousand accidents\nwill be sufficient to break it off.  I have often felt the inability to\nconverse with you, but never for an instant the least alienation.\nThere is no one who would not think me happy in having such a friend.\"\n\nIt is not, however, so much the equal pace of the mind which is\nnecessary, as the equal pace of the spirit.  We may think about a very\nbrilliant friend that he will outstrip us, and outgrow us.  The fear is\nnatural, but if there be spiritual oneness it is an unfounded fear.\n\n  Yet oft, when sundown skirts the moor,\n  An inner trouble I behold,\n  A spectral doubt which makes me cold,\n  That I should be thy mate no more.\n\nBut love is not dependent on intellect.  The great bond of union is not\nthat both parties are alike in mind, but that they are akin in soul.\nMere intellect only divides men further than the ordinary natural and\nartificial distinctions that already exist.  There are endless\ninstances of this disuniting influence to be seen, in the contempt of\nlearning for ignorance, the derisive attitude which knowledge assumes\ntoward simplicity, the metropolitan disdain for provincial Galilee, the\n_rabies theologica_ which is ever ready to declare that this people\nthat knoweth not the law is accursed.  It is love, not logic, which can\nunite men.  Love is the one solvent to break down all barriers, and\nlove has other grounds for its existence than merely intellectual ones.\nSo that although similarity of taste is another bond and is perhaps\nnecessary for the perfect friendship, it is not its foundation; and if\nthe foundation be not undermined, there is no reason why difference of\nmental power should wreck the structure.\n\nHowever it happen that friends are separated, it is always sad; for the\nloss of a friendship is the loss of an ideal.  Sadder than the pathos\nof unmated hearts is the pathos of severed souls.  It is always a pain\nto find a friend look on us with cold stranger's eyes, and to know\nourselves dead of hopes of future intimacy.  It is a pain even when we\nhave nothing to blame ourselves with, much more so when we feel that\nours is the fault.  It would not seem to matter very much, if it were\nnot such a loss to both; for friendship is one of the appointed means\nof saving the life from worldliness and selfishness.  It is the\ngreatest education in the world; for it is education of the whole man,\nof the affections as well as the intellect.  Nothing of worldly success\ncan make up for the want of it.  And true friendship is also a moral\npreservative.  It teaches something of the joy of service, and the\nbeauty of sacrifice.  We cannot live an utterly useless life, if we\nhave to think for, and act for, another.  It keeps love in the heart,\nand keeps God in the life.\n\nThe greatest and most irretrievable wreck of friendship is the result\nof a moral breakdown in one of the associates.  Worse than the\nseparation of the grave is the desolation of the heart by\nfaithlessness.  More impassable than the gulf of distance with the\nestranging sea, more separating than the gulf of death, is the great\ngulf fixed between souls through deceit and shame.  It is as the sin of\nJudas.  Said a sorrowful Psalmist, who had known this experience, \"Mine\nown familiar friend in whom I trusted, which did eat of my bread, hath\nlifted up his heel against me.\"  And another Psalmist sobs out the same\nlament, \"It was not an enemy that reproached me, then I could have\nborne it, but it was thou, a man mine equal, my guide and mine\nacquaintance.  We took sweet counsel together, and walked into the\nhouse of God in company.\"  The loss of a friend by any of the common\nmeans is not so hard, as to find a friend faithless.  The trustful soul\nhas often been disillusioned thus.  The rod has broken in the hand that\nleaned on it, and has left its red wound on the palm.  There is a\ndeeper wound on the heart.\n\nThe result of such a breakdown of comradeship is often bitterness, and\ncynical distrust of man.  It is this experience which gives point to\nthe worldling's sneer, Defend me from my friends, I can defend myself\nfrom my enemies.  We cannot wonder sometimes at the cynicism.  It is\nlike treason within the camp, against which no man can guard.  It is a\nstab in the back, a cowardly assassination of the heart.  Treachery\nlike this usually means a sudden fall from the ideal for the deceived\none, and the ideal can only be recovered, if at all, by a slow and\ntoilsome ascent, foot by foot and step by step.\n\nFailure of one often leads to distrust of all.  This is the terrible\nresponsibility of friendship.  We have more than the happiness of our\nfriend in our power; we, have his faith.  Most men who are cynical\nabout women are so, because of the inconstancy of one.  Most sneers at\nfriendship are, to begin with at least, the expression of individual\npain, because the man has known the shock of the lifted heel.  Distrust\nworks havoc on the character; for it ends in unbelief of goodness\nitself.  And distrust always meets with its own likeness, and is paid\nback in its own coin.  Suspicion breeds suspicion, and the conduct of\nlife on such principles becomes a tug-of-war in which Greek is matched\nwith Greek.\n\nThe social virtues, which keep the whole community together, are thus\nclosely allied to the supreme virtue of friendship.  Aristotle had\nreason in making it the _nexus_ between his Ethics and his Politics.\nTruth, good faith, honest dealing between man and man, are necessary\nfor any kind of intercourse, even that of business.  Men can do nothing\nwith each other, if they have not a certain minimum of trust.  There\nhave been times when there seems to be almost an epidemic of\nfaithlessness, when the social bond seems loosened, when men's hands\nare raised against each other, when confidence is paralyzed, and people\nhardly know whom to trust.\n\nThe prophet Micah, who lived in such a time, expresses this state of\ndistrust: \"Trust ye not any friend, put ye no confidence in a familiar\nfriend.  A man's enemies are of his own household.\"  This means\nanarchy, and society becomes like a bundle of sticks with the cord cut.\nThe cause is always a decay of religion; for law is based on morality,\nand morality finds its strongest sanction in religion.  Selfishness\nresults in anarchy, a reversion to the Ishmaelite type of life.\n\nThe story of the French Revolution has in it some of the darkest pages\nin the history of modern civilization, due to the breakdown of social\ntrust.  The Revolution, like Saturn, took to devouring her own\nchildren.  Suspicion, during the reign of terror, brooded over the\nheads of men, and oppressed their hearts.  The ties of blood and\nfellowship seemed broken, and the sad words of Christ had their horrid\nfulfilment, that the brother would deliver up the brother to death, and\nthe father the child, and the children rise up against the parents and\ncause them to be put to death.  There are some awful possibilities in\nhuman nature.  In Paris of these days a man had to be ever on his\nguard, to watch his acts, his words, even his looks.  It meant for a\ntime a collapse of the whole idea of the state.  It was a panic, worse\nthan avowed civil war.  Friendship, of course, could have little place\nin such a frightful palsy of mutual confidence, though there were, for\nthe honor of the race, some noble exceptions.  The wreck of friendship\nthrough deceit is always a step toward social anarchy; for it helps to\nbreak down trust and good faith among men.\n\nThe wreck of friendship is also a blow to religion.  Many have lost\ntheir faith in God, because they have lost, through faithlessness,\ntheir faith in man.  Doubt of the reality of love becomes doubt of the\nreality of the spiritual life.  To be unable to see the divine in man,\nis to have the eyes blinded to the divine anywhere.  Deception in the\nsphere of love shakes the foundation of religion.  Its result is\natheism, not perhaps as a conscious speculative system of thought, but\nas a subtle practical influence on conduct.  It corrupts the fountain\nof life, and taints the whole stream.  Despair of love, if final and\ncomplete, would be despair of God; for God is love.  Thus, the wreck of\nfriendship often means a temporary wreck of faith.  It ought not to be\nso; but that there is a danger of it should impress us with a deeper\nsense of the responsibility attached to our friendships.  Our life\nfollows the fortunes of our love.\n\n\n\n\nThe Renewing of Friendship\n\n\nPerhaps we may go further, and say that friends, whose friendship has\nbeen broken off, should not entirely forget their former intercourse;\nand that just as we hold that we ought to serve friends before\nstrangers, so former friends have some claims upon us on the ground of\npast friendship, unless extraordinary depravity were the cause of our\nparting.--ARISTOTLE.\n\n\n\nThe Renewing of Friendship\n\nIt is a sentiment of the poets and romancers that love is rather helped\nby quarrels.  There must be some truth in it, as we find the idea\nexpressed a hundred times in different forms in literature.  We find it\namong the wisdom of the ancients, and it remains still as one of the\nconventional properties of the dramatist, and one of the accepted\ntraditions of the novelist.  It is expressed in maxim and apothegm, in\nplay and poem.  One of our old pre-Elizabethan writers has put it in\nclassic form in English:--\n\n  The falling out of faithful friends is the renewing of love.\n\n\nIt is the chief stock-in-trade of the writer of fiction, to depict the\nmisunderstandings which arise between two persons, through the sin of\none, or the folly of both, or the villainy of a third; then comes the\nmeans by which the tangled skein is unravelled, and in the end\neverything is satisfactorily explained, and the sorely-tried characters\nare ushered into a happiness stronger and sweeter than ever before.\nFriends quarrel, and are miserable in their state of separation; and\nafterward, when the friendship is renewed, it is discovered that the\nbitter dispute was only a blessing in disguise, as the renewal itself\nwas an exquisite pleasure, and the result has been a firmer and more\nstable relationship of love and trust.\n\nThe truth in this sentiment is, of course, the evident one, that a man\noften only wakens to the value of a possession when he is in danger of\nlosing it.  The force of a current is sometimes only noted when it is\nopposed by an obstacle.  Two persons may discover, by a temporary\nalienation, how much they really care for each other.  It may be that\npreviously they took things for granted.  Their affection had lost its\nfirst glitter, and was accepted as a commonplace.  Through some\nmisunderstanding or dispute, they broke off their friendly\nrelationship, feeling sure that they had come to an end of their\nregard.  They could never again be on the same close terms; hot words\nhad been spoken; taunts and reproaches had passed; eyes had flashed\nfire, and they parted in anger--only to learn that their love for each\nother was as real and as strong as ever.  The very difference revealed\nthe true union of hearts that had existed.  They had been blind to the\nstrength of their mutual regard, till it was so painfully brought to\ntheir notice.  The love is renewed with a more tender sense of its\nsacredness, and a more profound feeling of its strength.  The\ndissensions only displayed the union; the discord drove them to a\nfuller harmony.  This is a natural and common experience.\n\nBut a mistake may easily be made by confusing cause and effect.  \"The\ncourse of true love never did run smooth\"--but the obstacles in the\nchannel do not _produce_ the swiftness and the volume of the stream;\nthey only _show_ them.  There may be an unsuspected depth and force for\nthe first time brought to light when the stream strikes a barrier, but\nthe barrier is merely the occasion, not the cause, of the revelation.\nTo mistake the one for the other, may lead to a false and stupid\npolicy.  Many, through this mistake, act as though dissension were of\nthe very nature of affection, and as if the one must necessarily react\non the other for good.  Some foolish people will sometimes even produce\ndisagreement for the supposed pleasure of agreeing once more, and\nquarrel for the sake of making it up again.\n\nRather, the end of love is near at hand, when wrangling can live in its\npresence.  It is not true that love is helped by quarrels, except in\nthe small sense already indicated.  A man may quarrel once too often\nwith his friend, and a brother offended, says the proverb, is harder to\nbe won than a strong city, and such contentions are like the bars of a\ncastle.  It is always a dangerous experiment to wilfully test\naffection, besides being often a cruel one.  Disputing is a shock to\nconfidence, and without confidence friendship cannot continue.  A state\nof feud, even though a temporary one, often embitters the life, and\nleaves its mark on the heart.  Desolated homes and lonely lives are\nwitnesses of the folly of any such policy.  From the root of bitterness\nthere cannot possibly blossom any of the fair flowers of love.  The\nsurface truth of the poets' sentiment we have acknowledged and\naccounted for, but it is only a surface truth.  The best of friends\nwill fall out, and the best of them will renew their friendship, but it\nis always at a great risk, and sometimes it strains the foundations of\ntheir esteem for each other to shaking:\n\n  And blessings on the falling out\n    That all the more endears,\n  When we fall out with those we love\n    And kiss again with tears!\n\nBut in any serious rupture of friendship it can only be a blessing when\nit means the tears of repentance, and these are often tears of blood.\nIn all renewing there must be an element of repentance, and however\ngreat the joy of having regained the old footing, there is the memory\nof pain, and the presence of regret.  To cultivate contention as an\nart, and to trade upon the supposed benefit of renewing friendship, is\na folly which brings its own retribution.\n\nThe disputatious person for this reason never makes a good friend.  In\nfriendship men look for peace, and concord, and some measure of\ncontent.  There are enough battles to fight outside, enough jarring and\njostling in the street, enough disputing in the market-place, enough\ndiscord in the workaday world, without having to look for contention in\nthe realm of the inner life also.  There, if anywhere, we ask for an\nend of strife.  Friendship is the sanctuary of the heart, and the peace\nof the sanctuary should brood over it.  Its chiefest glory is that the\ndust and noise of contest are excluded.\n\nIt must needs be that offences come.  It is not only that the world is\nfull of conflict and controversy, and every man must take his share in\nthe fights of his time.  We are born into the battle; we are born for\nthe battle.  But apart from the outside strife, from which we cannot\nseparate ourselves, and do not desire to separate ourselves if we are\ntrue men, the strange thing is that it looks as if it must needs be\nthat offences come even among brethren.  The bitterest disputes in life\nare among those who are nearest each other in spirit.  We do not\nquarrel with the man in the street, the man with whom we have little or\nno communication.  He has not the chance, nor the power, to chafe our\nsoul, and ruffle our temper.  If need be, we can afford to despise, or\nat least to neglect him.  It is the man of our own household, near us\nin life and spirit, who runs the risk of the only serious dissensions\nwith us.  The man with whom we have most points of contact presents the\ngreatest number of places where difference can occur.  Only from\ncircles that touch each other can a tangent strike off from the same\npoint.  A man can only make enemies among his friends.  A certain\namount of opposition and enmity a man must be prepared for in this\nworld, unless he live a very invertebrate life.  Outside opposition\ncannot embitter, for it cannot touch the soul.  But that two who have\nwalked as friends, one in aim and one in heart, perhaps of the same\nhousehold of faith, should stand face to face with hard brows and\ngleaming eyes, should speak as foes and not as lovers of the same love,\nis, in spite of the poets and romancers, the bitterest moment of life.\n\nThere are some we cannot hurt even if we would; whom all the venom of\nour nature could not touch, because we mean nothing to them.  But there\nare others in our power, whom we can stab with a word, and these are\nour brethren, our familiar friends, our comrades at work, our close\nassociates, our fellow laborers in God's vineyard.  It is not the crowd\nthat idly jostle us in the street who can hurt us to the quick, but a\nfamiliar friend in whom we trusted.  He has a means of ingress barred\nto strangers, and can strike home as no other can.  This explains why\nfamily quarrels, ruptures in the inner circle, Church disputes, are so\nbitter.  They come so near us.  An offended brother is hard to win,\nbecause the very closeness of the previous intimacy brings a rankling\nsense of injustice and the resentment of injured love.  An injury from\nthe hand of a friend seems such a wanton thing; and the heart hardens\nitself with the sense of wrong, and a separation ensues like the bars\nof a castle.\n\nIt must needs be that offences come, but woe unto him by whom they\ncome.  The strife-makers find in themselves, in their barren heart and\nempty life, their own appropriate curse.  The blow they strike comes\nback upon themselves.  Worse than the choleric temperament is the\npeevish, sullen nature.  The one usually finds a speedy repentance for\nhis hot and hasty mood; the other is a constant menace to friendship,\nand acts like a perpetual irritant.  Its root is selfishness, and it\ngrows by what it feeds on.\n\nWhen offences do come, we may indeed use them as opportunities for\ngrowth in gracious ways, and thus turn them into blessings on the lives\nof both.  To the offended it may be an occasion for patience and\nforgiveness; to the offender, an occasion for humility and frank\nconfession; and to both, a renewing of love less open to offence in the\nfuture.  There are some general counsels about the making up of\ndifferences, though each case needs special treatment for itself, which\nwill easily be found if once the desire for concord be established.\nChrist's recipe for a quarrel among brethren is: \"If thy brother shall\ntrespass against thee, go and tell him his fault between thee and him\nalone; if he shall hear thee, thou hast gained thy brother.\"\n\nMuch of our dissension is due to misunderstanding, which could be put\nright by a few honest words and a little open dealing.  Human beings so\noften live at cross purposes with each other, when a frank word, or a\nsimple confession of wrong, almost a look or a gesture, would heal the\ndivision.  Resentment grows through brooding over a fancied slight.\nHearts harden themselves in silence, and, as time goes on, it becomes\nmore difficult to break through the silence.  Often there are strained\nrelations among men, who, at the bottom of their hearts, have sincere\nrespect for each other, and smouldering affection also, which only\nneeds a little coaxing of the spark to burst out again into a dancing\nflame.  There is a terrible waste of human friendship, a waste of power\nwhich might be used to bless all our lives, through our sinful\nseparations, our selfish exclusiveness, our resentful pride.  We let\nthe sweetest souls we have met die without acknowledging our debt to\nthem.  We stand aside in haughty isolation, till the open grave opens\nour sealed hearts--too late.  We let the chance of reconciliation pass\ntill it is irrevocable.  Most can remember a tender spot in the past\nsomewhere, a sore place, a time when discord entered with another they\nloved, and\n\n  Each spake words of high disdain\n  And insult to his heart's best brother.\n\nAnd in some cases, as with the friends in Coleridge's great poem, the\nparting has been eternal, and neither has ever since found another such\nfriend to fill the life with comfort, and free the hollow heart from\npaining.\n\nThere is more evil from such a state of discord than the mere loss it\nis to both; it influences the whole heart-life, creating sometimes\nbitterness, sometimes universal suspicion, sometimes cynicism.  Hatred\nis contagious, as love is.  They have an effect on the whole character,\nand are not confined to the single incident which causes the love or\nthe hate.  To hate a single one of God's creatures is to harden the\nheart to some extent against all.  Love is the centre of a circle,\nwhich broadens out in ever-widening circumference.  Dante tells us in\n_La Vita Nuova_ that the effect of his love for Beatrice was to open\nhis heart to all, and to sweeten all his life.  He speaks of the\nsurpassing virtue of her very salutation to him in the street.  \"When\nshe appeared in any place, it seemed to me, by the hope of her\nexcellent salutation, that there was no man mine enemy any longer; and\nsuch warmth of charity came upon me that most certainly in that moment\nI would have pardoned whomsoever had done me an injury; and if any one\nshould then have questioned me concerning any matter, I could only have\nsaid unto him 'Love,' with a countenance clothed in humbleness.\"  His\nlove bred sweetness in his mind, and took in everything within the\nblessed sweep of its range.  Hatred also is the centre of a circle,\nwhich has a baneful effect on the whole life.  We cannot have\nbitterness or resentment in our mind without its coloring every thought\nand affection.  Hate of one will affect our attitude toward all.\n\nIf, then, we possess the spirit to be reconciled with an offended or an\noffending brother, there are some things which may be said about the\ntactics of renewing the broken tie.  There is needed a certain tactful\nconsiderateness.  In all such questions the grace of the act depends as\nmuch on the _manner_ of it, as on the act itself.  The grace of the\nfairest act may be hurt by a boorish blemish of manner.  Many a\ngraceful act is spoiled by a graceless touch, as a generous deed can be\nruined by a grudging manner.  An air of condescension will destroy the\nvalue of the finest charity.  There is a forgiveness which is no\nforgiveness--formal, constrained, from the teeth and lips outward.  It\ndoes not come as the warm breath which has had contact with the blood\nof the heart.  The highest forgiveness is so full and free, that it is\nforgetfulness.  It is complete as the forgiveness of God.\n\nIf there is something in the method of the approach, there is perhaps\nmore in the time of it.  It ought to be chosen carefully and\nconsiderately; for it may be that the other has not been prepared for\nthe renewal by thought and feeling, as the man who makes the advances\nhas been.  No hard and fast rule can be formulated when dealing with\nsuch a complex and varied subject as man.  So much depends on temper\nand character.  One man taken by surprise reveals his true feeling;\nanother, when taken off his guard, is irritated, and shuts up his heart\nin a sort of instinctive self-defence.  The thoughtfulness of love will\nsuggest the appropriate means, but some emphasis may rightly be given\nto the phrase in Christ's counsel, \"between thee and him alone.\"  Let\nthere be an opportunity for a frank and private conversation.  To\nappeal to an estranged friend before witnesses induces to special\npleading, making the witnesses the jury, asking for a verdict on either\nside; and the result is that both are still convinced they have right\non their side, and that they have been wronged.\n\nIf the fault of the estrangement lies with us, the burden of confession\nshould rest upon us also.  To go to him with sincere penitence is no\nmore than our duty.  Whether the result be successful or not, it will\nmean a blessing for our own soul.  Humility brings its own reward; for\nit brings God into the life.  Even if we have cause to suspect that the\noffended brother will not receive us kindly, still such reparation as\nwe can make is at least the gate to reconciliation.  It may be too\nlate, but confession will lighten the burden on our own heart.  Our\nbrother may be so offended that he is harder to be won than a strong\ncity, but he is far more worth winning; and even if the effort be\nunsuccessful, it is better than the cowardice which suffers a bloodless\ndefeat.\n\nIf, on the other hand, the fault was not ours, our duty is still clear.\nIt should be even easier to take the initiative in such a case; for\nafter all it is much easier to forgive than to submit to be forgiven.\nTo some natures it is hard to be laid under an obligation, and the\ngenerosity of love must be shown by the offended brother.  He must show\nthe other his fault gently and generously, not parading his forgiveness\nlike a virtue, but as if the favor were on his side--as it is.  Christ\nmade forgiveness the test of spirituality.  If we do not know the grace\nof forgiveness, we do not know how gracious life may be.  The highest\nhappiness is not a matter of possessions and material gains, but has\nits source in a heart at peace; and thus it is that the renewing of\nfriendship has a spiritual result.  If we are revengeful, censorious,\njudging others harshly, always putting the worst construction on a word\nor an act, uncharitable, unforgiving, we certainly cannot claim kinship\nwith the spirit of the Lord Jesus.  St. Paul made the opposite the very\ntest of the spiritual man: \"Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault,\nye which are spiritual restore such an one in the spirit of meekness.\"\n\nIf we knew all, we would forgive all.  If we knew all the facts, the\nthings which produced the petulance, the soreness which caused the\nirritation, we would be ready to pardon; for we would understand the\ntemptation.  If we knew all, our hearts would be full of pitiful love\neven for those who have wronged us.  They have wronged themselves more\nthan they can possibly wrong us; they have wounded a man to their own\nhurt.  To think kindly once more of a separated friend, to soften the\nheart toward an offending brother, will bring the blessing of the\nPeace-maker, the blessing of the Reconciler.  The way to be sure of\nacting this part is to pray for him.  We cannot remain angry with\nanother, when we pray for him.  Offence departs, when prayer comes.\nThe captivity of Job was turned, when he prayed for his friends.\n\nIf we stubbornly refuse the renewing of friendship, it is an offence\nagainst religion also.  Only love can fulfil the law of Christ.  His is\nthe Gospel of reconciliation, and the greater reconciliation includes\nthe lesser.  The friends of Christ must be friends of one another.\nThat ought to be accepted as an axiom.  To be reconciled to God carries\nwith it at least a disposition of heart, which makes it easy to be\nreconciled to men also.  We have cause to suspect our religion, if it\ndoes not make us gentle, and forbearing, and forgiving; if the love of\nour Lord does not so flood our hearts as to cleanse them of all\nbitterness, and spite, and wrath.  If a man is nursing anger, if he is\nletting his mind become a nest of foul passions, malice, and hatred,\nand evil wishing, how dwelleth the love of God in him?\n\nIf we cannot, at need, even humiliate ourselves to win our brother, it\nis difficult to see where our religion comes in, especially when we\nthink what humiliation Christ suffered, that He might reconcile us to\nGod, and make us friends again with our heavenly Father, and renew our\nbroken love.  Whatever be our faith and works, and however correct be\nour creed and conduct, if we are giving place to anger, if we are\nstiffening ourselves in strife and disdain, we are none of His, who was\nmeek and lowly of heart.  We may come to the Sanctuary with lips full\nof praises and eyes full of prayers, with devotion in our hearts and\ngifts in our hand, but God will spurn our worship and despise our\ngifts.  It is not a small matter, this renewing of friendship, but is\nthe root of religion itself, and is well made the very test of\nspiritual-mindedness.  \"If thou bring thy gift to the altar, and there\nrememberest that thy brother hath aught against thee, leave there thy\ngift before the altar, and go thy way; first be reconciled to thy\nbrother, and then come and offer thy gift.\"  Misunderstandings and\nestrangements will arise, occasions will come when it seems as if not\neven love and forbearance can avoid a quarrel, but surely Christ has\ndied in vain if His grace cannot save us from the continuance of strife.\n\nSuch renewing of love, done with this high motive, will indeed bring an\nadded joy, as the poets have declared.  The very pain will give zest to\nthe pleasure.  We will take the great gift of friendship with a new\nsense of its beauty and sacredness.  We will walk more softly because\nof the experience, and more than ever will tremble lest we lose it.\nFor days after the reconciliation, we will go about with the feeling\nthat the benediction of the peace-makers rests on our head and clings\nround our feet.\n\nBut more than any personal joy from the renewed friendship, we will\nhave the smile of God on our life.  We will know that we have done what\nis well pleasing in His sight.  Sweeter than the peace which comes from\nbeing at one with men, is the peace which comes from being at one with\nGod.  It settles on the soul like the mist on the mountains, enveloping\nand enswathing it.  It comes to our fevered life as a great calm.  Over\nthe broken waters there hovers the golden glory of God's eternal peace.\n\nAnd more even than all that, we will have gained a new insight into the\nlove of the Father, and into the sacrifice of the Son.  We will\nunderstand a little more of the mystery of the Love which became poor,\nwhich gladly went into the wilderness to seek and to save the lost.\nThe cross will gain new and rich significance to us, and all the world\nwill be an arena in which is enacted the spectacle of God's great love.\nThe world is bathed in the love of God, as it is flooded by the blessed\nsun.  If we are in the light and walk in love, our walk will be with\nGod, and His gentleness will make us great.  There is intended an ever\nfuller education in the meaning, and in the life of love, until the\nassurance reaches us that nothing can separate us from love.  Even\ndeath, which sunders us from our friends, cannot permanently divide us.\nIn the great Home-coming and Reunion of hearts, all the veils which\nobscure feeling will be torn down, and we shall know each other better,\nand shall love each other better.\n\nBut every opportunity carries a penalty; every privilege brings with it\na warning.  If we will not live the life of love, if we harden our\nheart against a brother offended, we will find in our need even the\ngreat and infinite love of God shut against us, harder to be won than a\nstrong city, ribbed and stockaded as the bars of a castle.  To the\nunforgiving there is no forgiveness.  To the hard, and relentless, and\nloveless, there is no love.  To the selfish, there is no heaven.\n\n\n\n\nThe Limits of Friendship\n\n\nIf thy brother, the son of thy mother, or thy son, or thy daughter, or\nthe wife of thy bosom, or thy friend which is as thine own soul, entice\nthee secretly, saying, Let us go and serve other gods, thou shalt not\nconsent unto him, nor hearken unto him, but thine hand shall be first\nupon him to put him to death, and afterward the hand of all the people;\nbecause he hath sought to thrust thee away from the Lord thy God.\n\nDEUTERONOMY.\n\n\n  Yet each will have one anguish--his own soul,\n  Which perishes of cold.\n\nMATTHEW ARNOLD.\n\n\n\nThe Limits of Friendship\n\nFriendship, at its very best and purest, has limits.  At its beginning,\nit seems to have no conditions, and to be capable  of endless\ndevelopment.  In the first flush of new-born love it seems almost an\ninsult to question its absolute power to meet every demand made upon\nit.  The exquisite joy of understanding, and being understood, is too\nkeen to let us believe, that there may be a terminal line, beyond which\nwe may not pass.  Friendship comes as a mystery, formless, undefined,\nwithout set bounds; and it is often a sore experience to discover that\nit is circumscribed, and limited like everything human.  At first to\nspeak of it as having qualifications was a profanation, and to find\nthem out came as a disillusionment.\n\nYet the discovery is not all a loss.  The limitless is also the vague,\nand it is well to know the exact terms implied in a relationship.  Of\ncourse we learn through experience the restrictions on all intimacy,\nand if we are wise we learn to keep well within the margin; but many a\ndisappointment might have been saved, if we had understood the inherent\nlimitations of the subject.  These are the result of personality.  Each\npartner is after all a distinct individual, with will, and conscience,\nand life apart, with a personal responsibility which none can take from\nhim, and with an individual bias of mind and heart which can never be\nleft out of account.\n\nAs is to be expected, some of the limits of friendship are not\nessential to the relation, but are due to a _defect_ in the relation,\nperhaps an idiosyncrasy of character or a peculiarity of temper.  Some\nof the limits are self-imposed, and arise from mistake of folly.  A\nfriend may be too exacting, and may make excessive demands, which\nstrain the bond to the breaking point.  There is often a good deal of\nselfishness in the affection, which asks for absorption, and is jealous\nof other interests.  Jealousy is usually the fruit, not of love, but of\nself-love.  Life is bigger than any relationship, and covers more\nground.  The circles of life may intersect, and part of each be common\nto the other, but there will be an area on both sides exclusive to\neach; and even if it were possible for the circles to be concentric, it\ncould hardly be that the circumference of the two could be the same;\none would be, almost without a doubt, of larger radius than the other.\nIt is not identity which is the aim and the glory of friendship, but\nunity in the midst of difference.  To strive at identity is to be\ncertain of failure, and it deserves failure; for it is the outcome of\nselfishness.  A man's friend is not his property, to be claimed as his\nexclusive possession.  Jealousy is an ignoble vice, because it has its\nroots in egotism.  It also destroys affection, since it is an evidence\nof want of trust, and trust is essential to friendship.\n\nThere are physical limits to friendship, if nothing else.  There are\nmaterial barriers to be surmounted, before human beings really get into\ntouch with each other, even in the slightest degree.  The bodily\norgans, through which alone we can enter into communication, carry with\nthem their own disabilities.  The senses are at the best limited in\ntheir range, and are ever exposed to error.  Flesh stands in the way of\na complete revelation of soul.  Human feet cannot enter past the\nthreshold of the soul's abode.  The very means of self-revelation is a\nself-concealment.  The medium, by which alone we know, darkens, if it\ndoes not distort, the object.  Words obscure thought, by the very\nprocess through which alone thought is possible for us; and the fleshly\nwrappings of the soul hide it, at the same time that they make it\nvisible.\n\nAnd if there are physical limits to friendship, there are greater\nmental limits.  The needs of living press on us, and drive us into\ndifferent currents of action.  Our varied experience colors all our\nthought, and gives a special bias to our mind.  There is a personal\nequation which must always be taken into account.  This is the charm of\nintercourse, but it is also a limitation.  We do not travel over the\nsame ground; we meet, but we also part.  However great the sympathy, it\nis not possible completely to enter into another man's mind, and look\nat a subject with his eyes.  Much of our impatience with each other,\nand most of our misunderstandings, are caused by this natural\nlimitation.  The lines along which our minds travel can at the best be\nasymptotic, approaching each other indefinitely near, but never quite\ncoinciding.\n\nThe greatest limit of friendship, of which these other are but\nindications, is the spiritual fact of the separate personality of each\nhuman being.  This is seen most absolutely in the sphere of morals.\nThe ultimate standard for a man is his own individual conscience, and\nneither the constraint of affection, nor the authority of numbers, can\natone for falseness there.  One of the most forceful illustrations of\nthis final position of all religion is to be found, in the passage of\nterrific intensity from the Book of Deuteronomy, which we have\ntranscribed as a preface to this chapter.  The form of the passage of\ncourse gets its coloring from the needs of the time and the temper of\nthe age.  The Book of Deuteronomy is so sure that the law of God is\nnecessary for the life of Israel, and that departure from it will mean\nnational ruin, that it will shrink from nothing needed to preserve the\ntruth.  Its warnings against being led away to idolatry are very\ninstant and solemn.  Every precaution must be taken; nothing must be\nallowed to seduce them from their allegiance, not the most sacred ties,\nnor the most solemn authority.  No measure of repression can be too\nstern.  In that fierce time it was natural that apostasy should be\nthought worthy of death; for apostasy from religion meant also treason\nto the nation: much more those who used their influence to seduce men\nto apostasy were to be condemned.  The passage is introduced by the\nassertion that if even a prophet, a recognized servant of God,\nattesting his prophecy with signs and wonders, should solicit them to\nleave the worship of Jehovah, in spite of his sacred character, and in\nspite of the seeming evidence of miracles, they must turn from him with\nloathing, and his doom should be death.  And if the apostasy should\nhave the weight of numbers and a whole city go astray, the same doom is\ntheirs.  If the tenderest relationship should tempt the soul away, if a\nbrother, or son, or daughter, or wife, or friend, should entice to\napostasy, the same relentless judgment must be meted out.\n\nThe fact that this stern treatment is advocated in this Book, which is\nfull of the most tender consideration for all weak things, shows the\nneed of the time.  Deuteronomy has some of the most beautiful\nlegislation in favor of slaves and little children and birds and\ndomestic animals, some of it in advance of even our modern customs and\npractices, permeated as these are by Christian sentiment.  And it is in\nthis finely sensitive Book that we find such strong assertion of the\nparamount importance of individual responsibility.\n\nThe influence of a friend or near relative is bound to be great.  We\nare affected on every side, and at every moment, by the environment of\nother lives.  There is a spiritual affinity, which is the closest and\nmost powerful thing in the world, and yet in the realm of morals it has\ndefinite limits set to it.  At the best it can only go a certain\nlength, and ought not to be allowed to go further than its legitimate\nbounds.  The writer of Deuteronomy appreciated to the full the power\nand attraction of the near human relationships.  We see this from the\nway he describes them, adding an additional touch of fondness to each,\n\"thy brother the son of thy mother, the wife of thy bosom, thy friend\nwho is as thine own soul.\"  But it sets a limit to the place even such\ntender ties should be allowed to have.  The most intimate of relatives,\nthe most trusted of friends, must not be permitted to abrogate the\nplace of conscience.  Affection may be perverted into an instrument of\nevil.  There is a higher moral law than even the law of friendship.\nThe demands of friendship must not be allowed to interfere with the\ndictates of duty.  It is not that the moral law should be blindly\nobeyed, but because in obeying it we are choosing the better part for\nboth; for as Frederick Robertson truly says, \"the man who prefers his\ndearest friend to the call of duty, will soon show that he prefers\nhimself to his dearest friend.\"  Such weak giving in to the supposed\nhigher demand of friendship is only a form of selfishness.\n\nFriendship is sometimes too exacting.  It asks for too much, more than\nwe have to give, more than we ever ought to give.  There is a tyranny\nof love, making demands which can only be granted to the loss of both.\nSuch tyranny is a perversion of the nature of love, which is to serve,\nnot to rule.  It would override conscience, and break down the will.\nWe cannot give up our personal duty, as we cannot give up our personal\nresponsibility.  That is how it is possible for Christ to say that if a\nman love father, or mother, or wife more than Him, he is not worthy of\nHim.  No human being can take the place of God to another life; it is\nan acted blasphemy to attempt it.\n\nThere is a love which is evil in its selfishness.  Its very exclusive\nclaim is a sign of its evil root.  The rights of the individual must\nnot be renounced, even for love's sake.  Human love can ask too much,\nand it asks too much when it would break down the individual will and\nconscience.\n\n  The hands that love us often are the hands\n  That softly close our eyes and draw us earthward.\n  We give them all the largesse of our life--\n  Not this, not all the world, contenteth them,\n  Till we renounce our rights as living souls.\n\nWe cannot renounce our rights as living souls without losing our souls.\nNo man can pay the debt of life for us.  No man can take the burden of\nlife from us.  To no man can we hand over the reins unreservedly.  It\nwould be cowardice, and cowardice is sin.  The first axiom of the\nspiritual life is the sacredness of the individuality of each.  We must\nrespect each other's personality.  Even when we have rights over other\npeople, these rights are strictly limited, and carry with them a\ncorresponding duty to respect their rights also.  The one intolerable\ndespotism in the world is the attempt to put a yoke on the souls of\nmen, and there are some forms of intimacy which approach that\ndespotism.  To transgress the moral bounds set to friendship is to make\nthe highest forms of friendship impossible; for these are only reached\nwhen free spirits meet in the unity of the spirit.\n\nThe community of human life, of which we are learning much to-day, is a\ngreat fact.  We are all bound up in the same bundle.  In a very true\nsense we stand or fall together.  We are ever on our trial as a\nsociety; not only materially, but even in the highest things, morally\nand spiritually.  There is a social conscience, which we affect, and\nwhich constantly affects us.  We cannot rise very much above it; to\nfall much below it, is for all true purposes to cease to live.  We have\nrecognized social standards which test morality; we have common ties,\ncommon duties, common responsibilities.\n\nBut with it all, in spite of the fact of the community of human life,\nthere is the other fact of the singleness of human life.  We have a\nlife, which we must live _alone_.  We can never get past the ultimate\nfact of the personal responsibility of each.  We may be leaves from the\nsame tree of life, but no two leaves are alike.  We may be wrapped up\nin the same bundle, but one bundle can contain very different things.\nEach of us is colored with his own shade, separate and peculiar.  We\nhave our own special powers of intellect, our own special experience,\nour own moral conscience, our own moral life to live.  So, while it is\ntrue that we stand or fall together, it is also true--and it is a\ndeeper truth--that we stand or fall alone.\n\nIn this crowded world, with its intercourse and jostling, with its\nnetwork of relationships, with its mingled web of life, we are each\nalone.  Below the surface there is a deep, and below the deep there is\na deeper depth.  In the depth of the human heart there is, and there\nmust be, solitude.  There is a limit to the possible communion with\nanother.  We never completely open up our nature to even our nearest\nand dearest.  In spite of ourselves something is kept back.  Not that\nwe are untrue in this, and hide our inner self, but simply that we are\nunable to reveal ourselves entirely.  There is a bitterness of the\nheart which only the heart knoweth; there is a joy of the heart with\nwhich no stranger can intermeddle; there is a bound beyond which even a\nfriend who is as our own soul becomes a stranger.  There is a Holy of\nHolies, over the threshold of which no human feet can pass.  It is safe\nfrom trespass, guarded from intrusion, and even we cannot give to\nanother the magic key to open the door.  In spite of all the complexity\nof our social life, and the endless connections we form with others,\nthere is as the ultimate fact a great and almost weird solitude.  We\nmay fill up our hearts with human fellowship in all its grades, yet\nthere remains to each a distinct and separated life.\n\nWe speak vaguely of the mass of men, but the mass consists of units,\neach with his own life, a thing apart.  The community of human life is\nbeing emphasized to-day, and it is a lesson which bears and needs\nrepetition, the lesson of our common ties and common duties.  But at\nthe same time we dare not lose sight of the fact of the singleness of\nhuman life, if for no other reason than that, otherwise we have no\nmoral appeal to make on behalf of those ties and duties.  In the region\nof morals, in dealing with sin, we see how true this solitude is.\nThere may be what we can truly call social and national sins, and men\ncan sin together, but in its ultimate issue sin is individual.  It is a\ndisintegrating thing, separating a man from his fellows, and separating\nhim from God.  We are alone with our sin, like the Ancient Mariner with\nthe bodies of his messmates around him, each cursing him with his eye.\nIn the last issue, there is nothing in the universe but God and the\nsingle human soul.  Men can share the sinning with us; no man can share\nthe sin.  \"And the sin ye do by two and two, ye must pay for one by\none.\"  Therefore in this sphere of morals there must be limits to\nfriendship, even with the friend who is as our own soul.\n\nFriendship is a very real and close thing.  It is one of the greatest\njoys in life, and has noble fruits.  We can do much for each other:\nthere are burdens we can share: we can rejoice with those who do\nrejoice, and weep with those who weep.  Through sympathy and love we\nare able to get out of self; and yet even here there are limits.  Our\nhelplessness in the presence of grief proves this fundamental\nsingleness of human life.  When we stand beside a friend before the\nopen grave, under the cloud of a great sorrow, we learn how little we\ncan do for him.  We can only stand speechless, and pray that the great\nComforter may come with His own divine tenderness and enter the\nsanctuary of sorrow shut to feet of flesh.  Mourners have indeed been\nsoothed by a touch, or a look, or a prayer, which had their source in a\npitiful human heart, but it is only as a message of condolence flashed\nfrom one world to another.  There is a burden which every man must\nbear, and none can bear for him: for there is a personality which, even\nif we would, we cannot unveil to human eyes.  There are feelings sacred\nto the man who feels.  We have to \"dree our own weird,\" and live our\nown life, and die our own death.\n\nIn the time of desolation, when the truth of this solitude is borne in\non us, we are left to ourselves, not because our friends are unfeeling,\nbut simply because they are unable.  It is not their selfishness which\nkeeps them off, but just their frailty.  Their spirit may be willing,\nbut the flesh is weak.  It is the lesson of life, that there is no stay\nin the arm of flesh, that even if there is no limit to human love,\nthere is a limit to human power.  Sooner or later, somewhere or other,\nit is the experience of every son of man, as it was the experience of\nthe Son of Man, \"Behold the hour cometh, and now is come, that ye My\nfriends shall be scattered every man to his own, and shall leave Me\nalone.\"\n\nHuman friendship must have limits, just because it is human.  It is\nsubject to loss, and is often to some extent the sport of occasion.  It\nlacks permanence: misunderstandings can estrange us: slander can\nembitter us: death can bereave us.  We are left very much the victims\nof circumstances; for like everything earthly it is open to change and\ndecay.  No matter how close and spiritual the intercourse, it is not\npermanent, and never certain.  If nothing else, the shadow of death is\nalways on it.  Tennyson describes how he dreamed that he and his friend\nshould pass through the world together, loving and trusting each other,\nand together pass out into the silence.\n\n  Arrive at last the blessed goal,\n  And He that died in Holy Land\n  Would reach us out the shining hand,\n  And take us as a single soul.\n\nIt was a dream at the best.  Neither to live together nor to die\ntogether could blot out the spiritual limits of friendship.  Even in\nthe closest of human relations when two take each other for better for\nworse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, they may be\nmade one flesh, but never one soul.  Singleness is the ultimate fact of\nhuman life.  \"The race is run by one and one, and never by two and two.\"\n\nIn religion, in the deepest things of the spirit, these limits we have\nbeen considering are perhaps felt most of all.  With even a friend who\nis as one's own soul, we cannot seek to make a spiritual impression,\nwithout realizing the constraint of his separate individuality.  We\ncannot break through the barriers of another's distinct existence.  If\nwe have ever sought to lead to a higher life another whom we love, we\nmust have been made to feel that it does not all rest with us, that he\nis a free moral being, and that only by voluntarily yielding his heart\nand will and life to the King, can he enter the Kingdom.  We are forced\nto respect his personality.  We may watch and pray and speak, but we\ncannot save.  There is almost a sort of spiritual indecency in\nunveiling the naked soul, in attempting to invade the personality of\nanother life.  There is sometimes a spiritual vivisection which some\nattempt in the name of religion, which is immoral.  Only holier eyes\nthan ours, only more reverent hands than ours, can deal with the spirit\nof a man.  He is a separate individual, with all the rights of an\nindividual.  We may have many points of contact with him, the contact\nof mind on mind, and heart on heart; we may even have rights over him,\nthe rights of love; but he can at will insulate his life from ours.\nHere also, as elsewhere when we go deep enough into life, it is God and\nthe single human soul.\n\nThe lesson of all true living in every sphere is to learn our own\nlimitations.  It is the first lesson in art, to work within the\nessential limitations of the particular art.  But in dealing with other\nlives it is perhaps the hardest of all lessons, to learn, and submit\nto, our limitations.  It is the crowning grace of faith, when we are\nwilling to submit, and to leave those we love in the hands of God, as\nwe leave ourselves.  Nowhere else is the limit of friendship so deeply\ncut as here in the things of the spirit.\n\n  No man can save his brother's soul,\n    Nor pay his brother's debt.\n\n\nHuman friendship has limits because of the real greatness of man.  We\nare too big to be quite comprehended by another.  There is always\nsomething in us left unexplained, and unexplored.  We do not even know\nourselves, much less can another hope to probe into the recesses of our\nbeing.  Friendship has a limit, because of the infinite element in the\nsoul.  It is hard to kick against the pricks, but they are meant to\ndrive us toward the true end of living.  It is hard to be brought up by\na limit along any line of life, but it is designed to send us to a\ndeeper and richer development of our life.  Man's limitation is God's\noccasion.  Only God can fully satisfy the hungry heart of man.\n\n\n\n\nThe Higher Friendship\n\n\nLove Him, and keep Him for thy Friend, who, when all go away, will not\nforsake thee, nor suffer thee to perish at the last.\n\nTHOMAS A KEMPIS.\n\n\n\n        Hush, I pray you!\n  What if this friend happen to be--God!\n\nBROWNING.\n\n\n\nThe Higher Friendship\n\nLife is an education in love.  There are grades and steps in it,\noccasions of varying opportunity for the discipline of love.  It comes\nto us at many points, trying us at different levels, that it may get\nentrance somehow, and so make our lives not altogether a failure.  When\nwe give up our selfishness and isolation, even in the most rudimentary\ndegree, a beginning is made with us that is designed to carry us far,\nif we but follow the leading of our hearts.  There is an ideal toward\nwhich all our experience points.  If it were not so, life would be a\nhopeless enigma, and the world a meaningless farce.  There must be a\nspiritual function intended, a design to build up strong and true moral\ncharacter, to develop sweet and holy life, otherwise history is a\ndespair, and experience a hopeless riddle.  All truly great human life\nhas been lived with a spiritual outlook, and on a high level.  Men have\nfelt instinctively that there is no justification for all the pain, and\nstrife, and failure, and sorrow of the world, if these do not serve a\nhigher purpose than mere existence.  Even our tenderest relationships\nneed some more authoritative warrant than is to be found in themselves,\neven in the joy and hope they bring.  That joy cannot be meant as an\nempty lure to keep life on the earth.\n\nAnd spiritual man has also discovered that the very breakdown of human\nties leads out to a larger and more permanent love.  It is sooner or\nlater found that the most perfect love cannot utterly satisfy the heart\nof man.  All our human intercourse, blessed and helpful as it may be,\nmust be necessarily fragmentary and partial.  A man must discover that\nthere is an infinite in him, which only the infinite can match and\nsupply.  It is no disparagement of human friendship to admit this.  It\nremains a blessed fact that it is possible to meet devotion, which\nmakes us both humble and proud; humble at the sight of its noble\nsacrifice, proud with a glad pride at its wondrous beauty.  Man is\ncapable of the highest heights of love.  But man can never take the\nplace of God, and without God life is shorn of its glory and divested\nof its meaning.\n\nSo the human heart has ever craved for a relationship, deeper and more\nlasting than any possible among men, undisturbed by change, unmenaced\nby death, unbroken by fear, unclouded by doubt.  The limitations and\nlosses of earthly friendship are meant to drive us to the higher\nfriendship.  Life is an education in love, but the education is not\ncomplete till we learn the love of the eternal.  Ordinary friendship\nhas done its work when the limits of friendship are reached, when\nthrough the discipline of love we are led into a larger love, when a\ndoor is opened out to a higher life.  The sickness of heart which is\nthe lot of all, the loneliness which not even the voice of a friend can\ndispel, the grief which seems to stop the pulse of life itself, find\ntheir final meaning in this compulsion toward the divine.  We are\nsometimes driven out not knowing whither we go, not knowing the purpose\nof it; only knowing through sheer necessity that here we have no\nabiding city, or home, or life, or love; and seeking a city, a home, a\nlife, a love, that hath foundations.\n\nWe have some training in the love of friends, as if only to prove to us\nthat without love we cannot live.  All our intimacies are but broken\nlights of the love of God.  They are methods of preparation for the\ngreat communion.  In so far even that our earthly friendships are helps\nto life, it is because they are shot through with the spiritual, and\nthey prepare us by their very deficiencies for something more\npermanent.  There have been implanted in man an instinct, and a need,\nwhich make him discontented, till he find content in God.  If at any\ntime we are forced to cease from man, whose breath is in his nostrils,\nit is that we may reach out to the infinite Father, unchanging, the\nsame yesterday, to-day, and forever.  This is the clamant, imperious\nneed of man.\n\nThe solitude of life in its ultimate issue is because we were made for\na higher companionship.  It is just in the innermost sanctuary, shut to\nevery other visitant, that God meets us.  We are driven to God by the\nneeds of the heart.  If the existence of God was due to a purely\nintellectual necessity; if we believed in Him only because our reason\ngave warrant for the faith; it would not matter much whether He really\nis, and whether we really can know Him.  But when the instincts of our\nnature, and the necessities of the heart-life demand God, we are forced\nto believe.  In moments of deep feeling, when all pretence is silenced,\na man may be still able to question the _existence_ of God, but he does\nnot question his own _need_ of God.  Man, to remain man, must believe\nin the possibility of this relationship with the divine.  There is a\nlove which passeth the love of women, passeth the love of comrades,\npasseth all earthly love, the love of God to the weary, starved heart\nof man.\n\nTo believe in this great fact does not detract from human friendship,\nbut really gives it worth and glory.  It is because of this, that all\nlove has a place in the life of man.  All our worships, and\nfriendships, and loves, come from God, and are but reflections of the\ndivine tenderness.  All that is beautiful, and lovely and pure, and of\ngood repute, finds its appropriate setting in God; for it was made by\nGod.  He made it for Himself.  He made man with instincts, and\naspirations, and heart-hunger, and divine unrest, that He might give\nthem full satisfaction in Himself.  He claims everything, but He gives\neverything.  Our human relationships are sanctified and glorified by\nthe spiritual union.  He gives us back our kinships, and friendships,\nwith a new light on them, an added tenderness, transfiguring our common\nties and intimacies, flooding them with a supernal joy.  We part from\nmen to meet with God, that we may be able to meet men again on a higher\nplatform.  But the love of God is the end and design of all other\nloves.  If the flowers and leaves fade, it is that the time of ripe\nfruit is at hand.  If these adornments are taken from the tree of life,\nit is to make room for the supreme fruitage.  Without the love of God\nall other love would be but deception, luring men on to the awful\ndisillusionment.  We were born for the love of God; if we do not find\nit, it were better for us if we had never been born.  We may have\ntasted of all the joys the world can offer, have known success and the\ngains of success, been blessed with the sweetest friendships and the\nfiercest loves; but if we have not found this the chief end of life, we\nhave missed our chance, and can only have at the last a desolated life.\n\nBut if through the joy or through the sorrow of life, through love or\nthe want of it, through the gaining of friends or the loss of them, we\nhave been led to dower our lives with the friendship of God, we are\npossessed of the incorruptible, and undefiled, and that passeth not\naway.  The man who has it has attained the secret cheaply, though it\nhad to be purchased with his heart's blood, with the loss of his dream\nof blessedness.  When the fabric of life crumbled to its native dust,\nand he rose out of its wreck, the vision of the eternal love came with\nthe thrill of a great revelation.  It was the entrance into the\nmystery, and the wonder of it awed him, and the joy of it inspired him,\nand he awakened to the fact that never again could he be _alone_ to all\neternity.\n\nCommunion with God is the great fact of life.  All our forms of\nworship, all our ceremonies and symbols of religion, find their meaning\nhere.  There is, it is true, an ethic of religion, certain moral\nteachings valuable for life: there are truths of religion to be laid\nhold of by the reason: there are the consolations of religion to\ncomfort the heart: but the root of all religion is this mystical union,\na communion with the Unseen, a friendship with God open to man.\nReligion is not an acceptance of a creed, or a burden of commandments,\nbut a personal secret of the soul, to be attained each man for himself.\nIt is the experience of the nearness of God, the mysterious contact\nwith the divine, and the consciousness that we stand in a special\nindividual relationship with Him.  The first state of exaltation, when\nthe knowledge burst upon the soul, cannot, of course, last; but its\neffect remains in inward peace, and outward impulse toward nobler life.\n\nMen of all ages have known this close relationship.  The possibility of\nit is the glory of life: the fact of it is the romance of history, and\nthe true reading of history.  All devout men that have ever lived have\nlived in the light of this communion.  All religious experience has had\nthis in common, that somehow the soul is so possessed by God, that\ndoubt of His existence ceases; and the task of life becomes to keep\nstep with Him, so that there may be correspondence between the outer\nand the inner conditions of life.  Men have known this communion in\nsuch a degree that they have been called pre-eminently the Friends of\nGod, but something of the experience which underlies the term is true\nof the pious of all generations.\n\nTo us, in our place in history, communion with God comes through Jesus\nChrist.  It is an ineffable mystery, but it is still a fact of\nexperience.  Only through Jesus do we know God, His interest in us, His\ndesire for us, His purpose with us.  He not only shows us in His own\nexample the blessedness of a life in fellowship with the Father, but He\nmakes it possible for us.  United to Jesus, we know ourselves united to\nGod.  The power of Jesus is not limited to the historical impression\nmade by His life.  It entered the world as history; it lives in the\nworld as spiritual fact to-day.  Luther's experience is the experience\nof all believers, \"To me it is not simply an old story of an event that\nhappened once; for it is a gift, a bestowing, that endures forever.\"\nWe offer Christ the submission of our hearts, and the obedience of our\nlives; and He offers us His abiding presence.  We take Him as our\nMaster; and He takes us as His friends.  \"I call you no longer\nservants,\" He said to His disciples, \"but I have called you friends.\"\nThe servant knoweth not what his Master doeth, his only duty is to\nobey; a friend is admitted to confidence, and though he may do the same\nthing as a servant, he does not do it any longer unreasoningly, but,\nhaving been taken into counsel, he knows why he is doing it.  This was\nChrist's method with His disciples, not to apportion to each his task,\nbut to show them His great purpose for the world, and to ask for their\nservice and devotion to carry it out.\n\nThe distinction is not that a servant pleases his master, and a friend\npleases himself.  It is that our Lord takes us up into a relationship\nof love with Himself, and we go out into life inspired with His spirit\nto work His work.  It begins with the self-surrender of love; and love,\nnot fear nor favor, becomes the motive.  To feel thus the touch of God\non our lives changes the world.  Its fruits are joy, and peace, and\nconfidence that all the events of life are suffused, not only with\nmeaning, but with a meaning of love.  The higher friendship brings a\nsatisfaction of the heart, and a joy commensurate to the love.  Its\nreward is itself, the sweet, enthralling relationship, not any\nadventitious gain it promises, either in the present, or for the\nfuture.  Even if there were no physical, or moral, rewards and\npunishments in the world, we would still love and serve Christ _for His\nown sake_.  The soul that is bound by this personal attachment to Jesus\nhas a life in the eternal, which transfigures the life in time with a\ngreat joy.\n\nWe can see at once that to be the friend of God will mean peace also.\nIt has brought peace over the troubled lives of all His friends\nthroughout the ages.  Every man who enters into the covenant, knows the\nworld to be a spiritual arena, in which the love of God manifests\nitself.  He walks no longer on a sodden earth and under a gray sky; for\nhe knows that, though all men misunderstand him, he is understood, and\nfollowed with loving sympathy, in heaven.  It was this confidence in\nGod as a real and near friend, which gave to Abraham's life such\ndistinction, and the calm repose which made his character so\nimpressive.  Strong in the sense of God's friendship, he lived above\nthe world, prodigal of present possessions, because sure of the future,\nwaiting securely in the hope of the great salvation.  He walked with\nGod in sweet unaffected piety, and serene faith, letting his character\nripen in the sunshine, and living out his life as unto God not unto\nmen.  To know the love of God does not mean the impoverishing of our\nlives, by robbing them of their other sweet relations.  Rather, it\nmeans the enriching of these, by revealing their true beauty and\npurpose.  Sometimes we are brought nearer God through our friends, if\nnot through their influence or the joy of their love, then through the\ndiscipline which comes from their very limitations and from their loss.\nBut oftener the experience has been that, through our union with the\nFriend of friends, we are led into richer and fuller intercourse with\nour fellows.  The nearer we get to the centre of the circle, the nearer\nwe get to each other.  To be joined together in Christ is the only\npermanent union, deeper than the tie of blood, higher than the bond of\nkin, closer than the most sacred earthly relationship.  Spiritual\nkinship is the great nexus to unite men.  \"Who are My brethren?\" asked\nJesus, and for answer pointed to His disciples, and added, \"Whosoever\nshall do the will of My Father in heaven the same is My mother and\nsister and brother.\"\n\nWe ought to make more of our Christian friendships, the communion of\nthe saints, the fellowship of believers.  \"They that feared God spake\noften one with another,\" said the prophet Malachi in one of the darkest\nhours of the church.  What mutual comfort, and renewed hope, they would\nget from, and give to, each other!  Faith can be increased, and love\nstimulated, and enthusiasm revived by intercourse.  The supreme\nfriendship with Christ therefore will not take from us any of our\ntreasured intimacies, unless they are evil.  It will increase the\nnumber of them, and the true force of them.  It will link us on to all\nwho love the same Lord in sincerity and truth.  It will open our heart\nto the world of men that Jesus loved and gave His life to save.\n\nThis friendship with the Lord knows no fear of loss; neither life, nor\ndeath, nor things present, nor things to come can separate us.  It is\njoy and strength in the present, and it lights up the future with a\ngreat hope.  We are not much concerned about speculations regarding the\nfuture; for we know that we are in the hands of our Lover.  All that we\ncare to assert of the future is, that Christ will in an ever fuller\ndegree be the environment of all Christian souls, and the effect of\nthat constant environment will fulfil the aspiration of the apostle,\n\"We shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is.\"  Communion\nproduces likeness.  This even now is the test of our friendship with\nthe Lord.  Are we assimilating His mind, His way of looking at things,\nHis judgments, His spirit?  Is the Christ-conscience being developed in\nus?  Have we an increasing interest in the things which interest Him,\nan increasing love of the things that He loves, an increasing desire to\nserve the purposes He has at heart?  \"Ye are My friends if ye do\nwhatsoever I command you,\" is the test by which we can try ourselves.\n\nFellowship with Him, being much in His company, thinking of Him,\nseeking to please Him, will produce likeness, and bring us together on\nmore intimate terms.  For, as love leads to the desire for fuller\nfellowship; so fellowship leads to a deeper love.  Even if sometimes we\nalmost doubt whether we are really in this blessed covenant of\nfriendship, our policy is to go on loving Him, serving Him, striving to\nplease Him; and we will yet receive the assurance, which will bring\npeace; He will not disappoint us at the last.  It is worth all the care\nand effort we can give, to have and to keep Him for our friend who will\nbe a lasting possession, whose life enters into the very fibre of our\nlife, and whose love makes us certain of God.\n\nWe ought to use our faith in this friendship to bless our lives.  To\nhave an earthly friend, whom we trust and reverence, can be to us a\nsource of strength, keeping us from evil, making us ashamed of evil.\nThe dearer the friend and the more spiritual the friendship, the keener\nwill be this feeling, and the more needful does it seem to keep the\ngarments clean.  It must reach its height of intensity and of moral\neffectiveness in the case of friendship with God.  There can be no\nmotive on earth so powerful.  If we could only have such a friendship,\nwe see at once what an influence it might have over our life.  We can\nappreciate more than the joy, and peace, and comfort of it; we can feel\nthe power of it.  To know ourselves ever before a living, loving\nPresence, having a constant sense of Christ abiding in us, taking Him\nwith us into the marketplace, into our business and our pleasure, to\nhave Him as our familiar friend in joy and sorrow, in gain and loss, in\nsuccess and failure, must, in accordance with all psychological law, be\na source of strength, lifting life to a higher level of thought, and\nfeeling, and action.  Supposing it were true and possible, it would\nnaturally be the strongest force in the world, the most effective\nmotive that could be devised: it would affect the whole moral outlook,\nand make some things easy now deemed impossible, and make some things\nimpossible now to our shame too easy.  Supposing this covenant with God\nwere true, and we knew ourselves to have such a Lover of our soul, it\nwould, as a matter of course, give us deeper and more serious views of\nhuman life, and yet take away from us the burden and the unrest of life.\n\nUnless history be a lie, and experience a delusion, it _is_ true.  The\nworld is vocal with a chorus of witness to the truth of it.  From all\nsorts and conditions of men comes the testimony to its reality--from\nthe old, who look forward to this Friend to make their bed in dying;\nfrom the young, who know His aid in the fiery furnace of temptation;\nfrom the strong, in the burden of the day and the dust of the battle,\nwho know the rest of His love even in the sore labor; from the weak,\nwho are mastered by His gracious pity, and inspired by His power to\nsuffer and to bear.  Christ's work on earth was to make the friendship\nof God possible to all.  It seems too good to be true, too wondrous a\ncondescension on His part, but its reality has been tested, and\nattested, by generations of believers.  This covenant of friendship is\nopen to us, to be ours in life, and in death, and past the gates of\ndeath.\n\nThe human means of communication is prayer, though we limit it sadly.\nPrayer is not an act of worship merely, the bending of the knee on set\noccasions, and offering petitions in need.  It is an attitude of soul,\nopening the life on the Godward side, and keeping free communication\nwith the world of spirit.  And so, it is possible to pray always, and\nto keep our friendship ever green and sweet: and God comes back upon\nthe life, as dew upon the thirsty ground.  There is an interchange of\nfeeling, a responsiveness of love, a thrill of mutual friendship.\n\n  You must love Him, ere to you\n  He shall seem worthy of your love.\n\nThe great appeal of the Christian faith is to Christian experience.\nLoving Christ is its own justification, as every loving heart knows.\nLife evidences itself: the existence of light is its own proof.  The\npower of Christ on the heart needs no other argument than itself.  Men\nonly doubt when the life has died out, and the light has waned, and\nflickered, and spent itself.  It is when there is no sign of the spirit\nin our midst, no token of forces beyond the normal and the usual, that\nwe can deny the spirit.  It is when faith is not in evidence that we\ncan dispute faith.  It is when love is dead that we can question love.\nThe Christian faith is not a creed, but a life; not a proposition, but\na passion.  Love is its own witness to the soul that loves: communion\nis its own attestation to the spirit that lives in the fellowship.  The\nman who lives with Jesus knows Him to be a Lover that cleaves closer\nthan a brother, a Friend that loveth at all times, and a Brother born\nfor adversity.\n\nIt does not follow that there is an end of the question, so far as we\nare concerned, if we say that we at least do not know that friendship,\nand cannot love Him.  Some even say it with a wistful longing, \"Oh,\nthat I knew where I might find Him.\"  It is true that love cannot be\nforced, that it cannot be made to order, that we cannot love because we\nought, or even because we want.  But we can bring ourselves into the\npresence of the lovable.  We can enter into Friendship through the door\nof Discipleship; we can learn love through service; and the day will\ncome to us also when the Master's word will be true, \"I call you no\nlonger servant, but I call you friend.\"  His love will take possession\nof us, till all else seems as hatred in comparison.  \"All lovers blush\nwhen ye stand beside Christ,\" says Samuel Rutherford; \"woe unto all\nlove but the love of Christ.  Shame forevermore be upon all glory but\nthe glory of Christ; hunger forevermore be upon all heaven but Christ.\nI cry death, death be upon all manner of life but the life of Christ.\"\n\nTo be called _friends_ by our Master, to know Him as the Lover of our\nsouls, to give Him entrance to our hearts, is to learn the meaning of\nliving, and to experience the ecstasy of living.  The Higher Friendship\nis bestowed without money and without price, and is open to every heart\nresponsive to God's great love.\n\n  'T is only heaven that is given away,\n  'T is God alone may be had for the asking.","title":"Friendship","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":36161}