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that their opponents might not have the political credit of passing them. English history presents many instances of the vicious effects of factional jealousy but none more momentous and far-reaching than the enforced celibacy of Queen Elizabeth. In the language of Mr. J. R. Green, "whatever womanly tenderness she had, wrapped itself around Leicester; but a marriage with Leicester was impossible; and every other union, could she even have been bent to one, was denied to her by the political difficulties of her position.” It would, of course, be idle to speculate in detail as to what English politics and life would have been during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries if Elizabeth could have married and borne an heir to the throne, and the long incubus of the Stuart kings and Stuart Pretenders had been avoided. But it is at least safe to assume that the development toward liberal institutions would have been easier and smoother and much bloodshed and misery would have been spared.

It may be conceded that in the attitude of the individual towards public affairs and in his social and family relations, a certain amount of jealousy is legitimate, but the egoistic principle as a rule gains undue ascendancy, warping the reason and souring the heart. Extended illustration of the subversion of the patriotic spirit by overgrown self-love, is, of course, unnecesary. How large a part of the history of universal politics is a narrative of machination for personal aggrandizement! It may be of interest to recall a single modern instance in our country—the jealous attitude manifested by Salmon P. Chase while a member of Lincoln's cabinet. Intelligent men of the present day readily sympathize with the dismay of the trained Northern statesmen upon first encountering the man of imperfect education, slender public experience, uncouth exterior, and unpolished language. Among the highest claims of William H. Seward to fame and lasting gratitude is the fact that he promptly realized that he had come in contact with a great natural genius and that thenceforth appreciation and cordial coöperation never halted. The record of Chase's great public services, on the other hand, is seriously sullied by envious personal aspiration that prevented him from taking anything approaching Lincoln's just measure. Chase's sparsely disguised contempt for his chief, his attitude of personal disloyalty finally passing into actual intrigue for the presidential succession, severely taxed even Lincoln's wonderful magnanimity and materially impaired his own usefulness.

In the parental-filial relation the element of competition is commonly absent; indeed there is usually community, if not identity, of interest. But wherever rivalry does arise between a parent and child, we may look for its ordinary emotional concomitant, sicklying over or absolutely extinguishing “natural love and affection.” The garrulous and pedantic Anatomist of Melancholy remarks that "the jealousy of some fathers is very eminent to their sons and heirs; for though they love them dearly, being children, yet now coming towards man's estate they may not well abide them; the son and heir is commonly sick of the father, and the father again may not brook his eldest son, inde simultates, plerumque contentiones et inimicitiae. . . . How jealous was our Henry the Fourth of King Richard the Second, so long as he lived, after he was deposed? and of his own son Henry in his latter days? which the prince well perceiving, came to visit his father in his sickness in a watchet velvet gown, full of eyelet holes, and with needles sticking in them (as an emblem of jealousy), and so pacified his suspicious father, after some speeches and protestations, which he had used to that purpose.”

As to jealousy between brothers and sisters and friend and friend, there is a world of significance in the saying of Rochefoucault: “In our friends' misfortunes there is something secretly pleasant to us.” This attitude of mind is founded not at all upon resentment of injustice to ourselves, but it involves injustice to others. The great instinct of competition has bred a propensity, in proportion as one covets success, to hate those who succeed better and to rejoice in their calamity, if eventually they fall.

It is interesting that this element supplies the first touch of genuine human nature in the Hebrew Scriptures: "And the Lord had respect unto Abel, and to his offering; but unto Cain, and to his offering he had not respect: and Cain was very wroth, and his countenance fell.” The Cain and Abel legend has been practically paralleled in countless instances in all phases of life. Nowhere has inter-fraternal jealousy been more marked than under democratic institutions where brothers and sisters start with equal artificial opportunity and one outstrips the other either because of superior talent or better luck.

In democracies social standing roughly indicates and measures general success in life, and is the object of a stress of competition in which the number of rivals is limited only by the broadest lines of class. Marriages between children of men who had the luck to “strike pay gravel in drifting on Poverty Flat," and descendants of members of the Order of Cincinnati have become too common to excite serious comment. The daughter of an American shopkeeper is the wife of the Viceroy of India. Whether we consider the strife of millionaire hostesses to entertain an emperor's brother, or a lesser nobleman, on his travels, or the pitifully petty bickerings of suburban hostesses at a golf club, it is obvious that American life is characterized by constant struggle for social predominance that, underneath a veneer of civility, makes the attitude of heart suggestive of the amenities between the big fishes and the little fishes in the sea. This essentially unChristian spirit invades even what has been called the House of God. Without going to the cynical extreme of saying that churches of to-day are merely social clubs, one must recognize that they are influential social centres and effective instrumentalities for social advancement, as well as organizations for moral betterment and philanthropic work. This unlovely passion, the concomitant of evolution, very appreciably infuses the element of hatred into an institution that should be ruled solely by the law of love.

In speaking of jealousy in a child our language was exonerative of the manifestation of a natural passion. This is not at all inconsistent with moral condemnation of the same


sentiment in persons of sufficient maturity for introspection and self-mastery. In his essay on “Nature” John Stuart Mill says: “The truth is that there is hardly a single point of excellence belonging to human character, which is not decidedly repugnant to the untutored feelings of human nature.

· Allowing everything to be an instinct which anybody has ever asserted to be one, it remains true that nearly every respectable attribute of humanity is the result not of instinct, but of a victory over instinct; and that there is hardly anything valuable in the natural man except capacities—a whole world of possibilities, all of them dependent upon eminently artificial discipline for being realized.”

All of the so-called "virtues” are artificial productsveracity, respect for other peoples' lives and for the rights of property, monogamy, etc. Rules of conduct, both positive and negative, which gradually have come to be denoted by abstract names and the observance of which has been ingrained in human character, are generalizations of experience of what is for the common good. One of the most instructive examples is furnished by the present sentiment towards gambling. Less than a century ago devout doctors of divinity did not scruple to conduct lotteries for the endowment of enterprises of religion, morality, and education. The practice of gambling has been found so practically demoralizing and disastrous that nowadays private gambling ranks as a vice and public gambling as a crime. The vice of intemperate egoism with its inevitable tendency towards hatred and mental beclouding, the vice which Dryden has not extravagantly termed “the tyrant of the mind,” has never received adequate treatment by moralists. It is of course regarded as an unlovely trait and a weakness of character; but, judged by its effect both upon the subject and upon social and public life, jealousy should be taken very seriously, and its indulgence rendered disgraceful in like manner as stealing or lying. This general attitude, of course, could not be produced in a day or by a few sermons; it could, however, be gradually cultivated as has been the view now prevailing towards other sentiments and practices which pass as vicious.

As shallow and false as the saying that love is impossible without jealousy, would be the contention that jealousy could not be uprooted from the average soul without impairing its zeal in the competitions of life. Its extirpation would not dwarf, but would promote the growth of the sturdy virtues. The greatest encouragement for the hope of general reformation is furnished by the substantial number of persons whose disposition renders them exceptions to the prevailing rule. In the humblest and in average walks of life will occasionally be found men and women who sincerely rejoice in others' success. Most frequently non-jealous persons are of neutral and unambitious temperament; sometimes they are gifted with positive traits, and through unusual qualities of heart are capable of generous rivalry. Other men are exempt from jealousy or control jealousy through superior mental endowment. It is a significant fact that of the very greatest men of all time—the men whose greatness was not specialized but many-sided—two, at least, Julius Cæsar and Benjamin Franklin, were notably free from jealousy and its sequent tendency towards resentment and revenge. It is not sufficient or satisfactory to say that such men could not have been jealous because there was nobody worthy of their jealousy. Other men, not as great but still extraordinarily able and clever, have manifested jealousy of the bitterest type; witness Pope's “Dunciad” directed principally against men whom he should only have despised; witness Disraeli's characterization of Gladstone as a declaimer "intoxicated with the exuberance of his own verbosity.” The jealousies of great men and able men have been altogether too notorious; but it is believed that jealousy has been subdued by persons of that class oftener and in greater proportion than by men of slender mental equipment. To men of manysided, broadly philosophical temperament jealousy should appear the most contemptible, because it is the most wantonly inconsequential of vices. To become angry with a man when he has not harmed you, when, on the contrary, he may have befriended and aided you, because nature or fortune has favored him more than you, is Bedlam logic. The

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