THE ALCHEMY OF INFLUENCE
IF events change men, much more persons. No
man can meet another on the street without making some mark upon him. We say we
exchange words when we meet; what we exchange is souls. And when intercourse is
very close and very frequent, so complete is this exchange that recognisable
bits of the one soul begin to show in the other's nature, and the second is
conscious of a similar and growing debt to the first. This mysterious
approximating of two souls who has not witnessed? Who has not watched some old
couple come down life's pilgrimage hand in hand with such gentle trust and joy
in one another that their very faces wore the self-same look? These were not
two souls; it was a composite soul. It did not matter to which of the two you
spoke, you would have said the same words to either. It was quite indifferent
which replied, each would have said the same. Half a century's reflecting
had told upon them: they were changed into the same image. It is the Law of
Influence that we become like those whom we habitually admire: these had
become like because they habitually admired. Through all the range of
literature, of history, and biography this law presides. Men are all mosaics of
other men. There was a savour of David about Jonathan and a savour of
Jonathan about David. Jean Valjean, in the masterpiece of Victor Hugo, is
Bishop Bienvenu risen from the dead. Metempsychosis is a fact. George
Eliot's message to the world was that men and women make men and women. The
Family, the cradle of mankind, has no meaning apart from this. Society itself
is nothing but a rallying point for these omnipotent forces to do their work.
On the doctrine of Influence, in short, the whole vast pyramid of humanity is
built.
But it was reserved for Paul to make the supreme
application of the Law of Influence. It was a tremendous inference to make, but
he never hesitated. He himself was a changed man: he knew exactly what had done
it; it was Christ On the Damascus road they met, and from that hour his life
was absorbed in His. The effect could not but follow--on words, on deeds, on
career, on creed. The "impressed forces" did their vital work. He became like
Him whom he habitually loved. "So we all," he writes, "reflecting as a mirror
the glory of Christ are changed into the same image."
Nothing could be more simple, more intelligible,
more natural, more supernatural. It is an analogy from an everyday fact Since
we are what we are by the impacts of those who surround us, those who surround
themselves with the highest will be those who change into the highest. There
are some men and some women in whose company we are always at our best. While
with them we cannot think mean thoughts or speak ungenerous words. Their mere
presence is elevation, purification, sanctity. All the best stops in our nature
are drawn out by their intercourse, and we find a music in our souls that was
never there before. Suppose even that influence prolonged through a
month, a year, a lifetime, and what could not life become? Here, even on
the common plane of life, talking our language, walking our streets, working
side by side, are sanctifiers of souls; here, breathing through common play, is
Heaven; here, energies charged even through a temporal medium with a virtue of
regeneration. If to live with men, diluted to the millionth degree with the
virtue of the Highest, can exalt and purify the nature, what bounds can be set
to the influence of Christ? To live with Socrates--with unveiled face--must
have made one wise; with Aristides, just. Francis of Assisi must have made one
gentle; Savonarola, strong. But to have lived with Christ? To have lived with
Christ must have made one like Christ; that is to say, A
Christian.
As a matter of fact, to live with Christ
did produce this effect. It produced it in the case of Paul. And during
Christ's lifetime the experiment was tried in an even more startling form. A
few raw, unspiritual, uninspiring men, were admitted to the inner circle of His
friendship. The change began at once. Day by day we can almost see the first
disciples grow. First there steals over them the faintest possible adumbration
of His character, and occasionally, very occasionally, they do a thing, or say
a thing that they could not have done or said had they not been living there.
Slowly the spell of His Life deepens. Reach after reach of their nature is
overtaken, thawed, subjugated, sanctified. Their manners soften, their words
become more gentle, their conduct more unselfish As swallows who have found a
summer, as frozen buds the spring, their starved humanity bursts into a fuller
life. They do not know how it is, but they are different men. One day they find
themselves like their Master, going about and doing good. To themselves it is
unaccountable, but they cannot do otherwise. They were not told to do it, it
came to them to do it. But the people who watch them know well how to account
for it--"They have been," they whisper, "with Jesus." Already even, the mark
and seal of His character is upon them-- "They have been with Jesus."
Unparalleled phenomenon, that these poor fishermen should remind other men of
Christ! Stupendous victory and mystery of regeneration that mortal men should
suggest to the world, God!
There is something almost melting in the
way His contemporaries, and John especially, speak of the Influence of Christ.
John lived himself in daily wonder at Him; he was overpowered, overawed,
entranced, transfigured. To his mind it was impossible for any one to come
under this influence and ever be the same again. "Whosoever abideth in Him
sinneth not," he said. It was inconceivable that he should sin, as
inconceivable as that ice should live in a burning sun, or darkness co-exist
with noon. If any one did sin, it was to John the simple proof that he could
never have met Christ. "Whosoever sinneth," he exclaims, "hath not seen Him,
neither known Him." Sin was abashed in this Presence. Its roots
withered. Its sway and victory were for ever at an end.
But these were His contemporaries. It was easy
for them to be influenced by Him, for they were every day and all the
day together. But how can we mirror that which we have never seen? How can all
this stupendous result be produced by a Memory, by the scantiest of all
Biographies, by One who lived and left this earth eighteen hundred years ago?
How can modern men to-day make Christ, the absent Christ, their most constant
companion still? The answer is that Friendship is a spiritual thing. It is
independent of Matter, or Space, or Time. That which I love in my friend is not
that which I see. What influences me in my friend is not his body but his
spirit. It would have been an ineffable experience truly to have lived at that
time--
"I think when I
read the sweet story of old,
How when Jesus was here among men,
He took little children like lambs to His fold,
I should like to have been with him then.
''I wish that His hand had been laid on my head,
That His arms had been thrown around me,
And that I had seen His kind look when He said,
Let the little ones come unto Me."
And yet, if Christ were to come into the world
again few of us probably would ever have a chance of seeing Him. Millions of
her subjects, in this little country, have never seen their own Queen. And
there would be millions of the subjects of Christ who could never get within
speaking distance of Him if He were here. Our companionship with Him, like all
true companionship, is a spiritual communion. All friendship, all love, human
and Divine, is purely spiritual. It was after He was risen that He influenced
even the disciples most. Hence in reflecting the character of Christ it is no
real obstacle that we may never have been in visible contact with Himself.
There lived once a young girl whose perfect grace
of character was the wonder of those who knew her. She wore on her neck a gold
locket which no one was ever allowed to open. One day, in a moment of unusual
confidence, one of her companions was allowed to touch its spring and learn its
secret. She saw written these words-- "Whom having not seen, I love."
That was the secret of her beautiful life. She had been changed into the Same
Image.
Now this is not imitation, but a much deeper
thing. Mark this distinction. For the difference in the process, as well as in
the result, may be as great as that between a photograph secured by the
infallible pencil of the sun, and the rude outline from a schoolboy's chalk.
Imitation is mechanical, reflection organic. The one is occasional, the other
habitual. In the one case, man comes to God and imitates Him; in the other, God
comes to man and imprints Himself upon him. It is quite true that there is an
imitation of Christ which amounts to reflection. But Paul's term includes all
that the other holds, and is open to no mistake.
"Make Christ your most constant companion"--this
is what it practically means for us. Be more under His influence than under any
other influence. Ten minutes spent in His society every day, ay, two minutes if
it be face to face, and heart to heart, will make the whole day different.
Every character has an inward spring, let Christ be it. Every action has a
key-note, let Christ set it. Yesterday you got a certain letter. You sat down
and wrote a reply which almost scorched the paper. You picked the cruellest
adjectives you knew and sent it forth, without a pang, to do its ruthless work.
You did that because your life was set in the wrong key. You began the day with
the mirror placed at the wrong angle. To-morrow, at daybreak, turn it towards
Him, and even to your enemy the fashion of your countenance will be changed.
Whatever you then do, one thing you will find you could not do--you could not
write that letter. Your first impulse may be the same, your judgment may be
unchanged, but if you try it the ink will dry on your pen, and you will rise
from your desk an unavenged but a greater and more Christian man. Throughout
the whole day your actions, down to the last detail, will do homage to that
early vision. Yesterday you thought mostly about yourself. To-day the poor will
meet you, and you will feed them. The helpless, the tempted, the sad, will
throng about you, and each you will befriend. Where were all these people
yesterday? Where they are to-day, but you did not see them. It is in reflected
light that the poor are seen. But your soul to-day is not at the ordinary
angle. "Things which are not seen" are visible. For a few short hours you live
the Eternal Life. The eternal life, the life of faith, is simply the life of
the higher vision. Faith is an attitude-- a mirror set at the right angle.
When to-morrow is over, and in the evening you
review it, you will wonder how you did it. You will not be conscious that you
strove for anything, or imitated anything, or crucified anything. You will be
conscious of Christ; that He was with you, that without compulsion you were yet
compelled, that without force, or noise, or proclamation, the revolution was
accomplished. You do not congratulate yourself as one who has done a mighty
deed, or achieved a personal success, or stored up a fund of "Christian
experience" to ensure the same result again. What you are conscious of is "the
glory of the Lord." And what the world is conscious of, if the result be a true
one, is also "the glory of the Lord." In looking at a mirror one does not see
the mirror, or think of it, but only of what it reflects. For a mirror never
calls attention to itself except when there are flaws in it.
That this is a real experience and not a vision,
that this life is possible to men, is being lived by men to-day, is simple
biographical fact. From a thousand witnesses I cannot forbear to summon one.
The following are the words of one of the highest intellects this age has
known, a man who shared the burdens of his country as few have done, and who,
not in the shadows of old age, but in the high noon of his success, gave this
confession--I quote it with only a few abridgments--to the world:--
`I want to speak to-night only a little, but that
little I desire to speak of the sacred name of Christ, who is my life, my
inspiration, my hope, and my surety. I cannot help stopping and looking back
upon the past. And I wish, as if I had never done it before, to bear witness,
not only that it is by the grace of God, but that it is by the grace of God as
manifested in Christ Jesus, that I am what I am. I recognize the sublimity and
grandeur of the revelation of God in His eternal fatherhood as one that made
the heavens, that founded the earth, and that regards all the tribes of the
earth, comprehending them in one universal mercy; but it is the God that is
manifested in Jesus Christ, revealed by His life, made known by the inflections
of His feelings, by His discourse, and by His deeds--it is that God that I
desire to confess to-night, and of whom I desire to say, "By the love of God in
Christ Jesus I am what I am."
`If you ask me precisely what I mean by that, I
say, frankly, that more than any recognized influence of my father or my mother
upon me; more than the social influence of all the members of my father's
household; more, so far as I can trace it, or so far as I am made aware of it,
than all the social influences of every kind, Christ has had the formation of
my mind and my disposition. My hidden ideals of what is beautiful I have drawn
from Christ. My thoughts of what is manly, and noble, and pure, have almost all
of them arisen from the Lord Jesus Christ. Many men have educated themselves by
reading Plutarch's Lives of the Ancient Worthies, and setting before themselves
one and another of these that in different ages have achieved celebrity; and
they have recognized the great power of these men on themselves. Now I do not
perceive that poet, or philosopher, or reformer, or general, or any other great
man, ever has dwelt in my imagination and in my thought as the simple Jesus
has. For more than twenty-five years I instinctively have gone to Christ to
draw a measure and a rule for everything. Whenever there has been a necessity
for it, I have sought--and at last almost spontaneously--to throw myself into
the companionship of Christ; and early, by my imagination, I could see Him
standing and looking quietly and lovingly upon me. There seemed almost to drop
from His face an influence upon me that suggested what was the right thing in
the controlling of passion, in the subduing of pride, in the overcoming of
selfishness; and it is from Christ, manifested to my inward eye, that I have
consciously derived more ideals, more models, more influences, than from any
human character whatever.
`That is not all. I feel conscious that I have
derived from the Lord Jesus Christ every thought that makes heaven a reality to
me, and every thought that paves the road that lies between me and heaven. All
my conceptions of the progress of grace in the soul; all the steps by which
divine life is evolved; all the ideals that overhang the blessed sphere which
awaits us beyond this world --these are derived from the Saviour. The life that
I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God.
`That is not all. Much as my future includes all
these elements which go to make the blessed fabric of earthly life, yet, after
all, what the summer is compared with all its earthly products --flowers, and
leaves, and grass--that is Christ compared with all the products of Christ in
my mind and in my soul. All the flowers and leaves of sympathy; all the twining
joys that come from my heart as a Christian--these I take and hold in the
future, but they are to me what the flowers and leaves of summer are compared
with the sun that makes the summer. Christ is the Alpha and Omega, the
beginning and the end of my better life.
`When I read the Bible, I gather a great deal
from the Old Testament, and from the Pauline portions of the New Testament; but
after all, I am conscious that the fruit of the Bible is Christ. That is what I
read it for, and that is what I find that is worth reading. I have had a hunger
to be loved of Christ. You all know, in some relations, what it is to be hungry
for love. Your heart seems unsatisfied till you can draw something more toward
you from those that are dearest to you. There have been times when I have had
an unspeakable heart-hunger for Christ's love. My sense of sin is never strong
when I think of the law; my sense of sin is strong when I think of love--if
there is any difference between law and love. It is when drawing near the Lord
Jesus Christ, and longing to be loved, that I have the most vivid sense of
unsymmetry, of imperfection, of absolute unworthiness, and of my sinfulness.
Character and conduct are never so vividly set before me as when in silence I
bend in the presence of Christ, revealed not in wrath, but in love to me. I
never so much long to be lovely, that I may be loved, as when I have this
revelation of Christ before my mind.
`In looking back upon my experience, that part of
my life which stands out, and which I remember most vividly, is just that part
that has had some conscious association with Christ. All the rest is pale, and
thin, and lies like clouds on the horizon. Doctrines, systems, measures,
methods-- what may be called the necessary mechanical and external part of
worship; the part which the senses would recognize--this seems to have withered
and fallen off like leaves of last summer; but that part which has taken hold
of Christ abides'
Can anyone hear this life-music, with its
throbbing refrain of Christ, and remain unmoved by envy or desire? Yet till we
have lived like this we have never lived at all.
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