A Fleece of Gold; Five Lessons from the Fable of Jason and the Golden Fleece — Reading Notes

anley was a teacher; at fourteen Demosthenes was known as an orator; at fifteen Robert Burns was a great poet, Rossini composed an opera, and Liszt was a wizard in music. At the age of sixteen Victor Hugo was known throughout France; at seventeen Mozart had made a name in Germany, and Michael Angelo was a rising star in Italy. At eighteen Marcus Aurelius was made a consul; at nineteen Byron was the "amazing genius" of his time; at twenty Raphael had finished some of his most famous paintings, Faraday was attracting the attention of his country, and two years later was admitted to the Royal Institution of Great Britain. At twenty-one Alexander the Great conquered the Persians, Beethoven was entrancing the world with his music, and William Wilberforce was in Parliament. At twenty-two William Pitt had entered Parliament, while William of Orange had received from Charles V command of an army. At twenty-three William E. Gladstone had denounced the Reform Bill at Oxford, and two years afterward became First Junior Lord of the Treasury, and Livingstone was exploring the continent. At twenty-four Sir Humphrey Davy was Professor of Chemistry in the Royal Institution, Dante, Ruskin, and Browning had become famous writers. At twenty-five Hume had written his treatise on Human Nature, Galileo was lecturer of science at the University of Pisa, and Mark Antony was the "hero of Rome." At twenty-six Sir Isaac Newton had made his greatest discoveries; at twenty-seven Don John of Austria had won Lepanto, and Napoleon was commander-in-chief of the army of Italy. At twenty-eight Æschylus was the peer of Greek tragedy, at twenty-nine Maurice of Saxony the greatest statesman of the age, and at thirty Frederick the Great was the most conspicuous character of his day. At the same age Richelieu was Secretary of State, and Cortez little older when he gazed on the "golden Cupolas" of Mexico. These are a few of the splendid names that illumine the pages of history across the sea.

But the young man has been no less potent in the affairs of our own Nation, which has always been conspicuous for its production of truly great men. The story is told that when one of England's great men was visiting Henry Clay, and the two were riding over the country, the distinguished guest inquired of his host, "What do you raise on these hills and in these beautiful valleys?" "Men," was Clay's reply; and the English patriot declared that this was the greatest crop to enrich a country. We boast that we have given the world a full quota of really great young men, some of them like Jason embarking on the sea of adventure while the dew of extreme youth is still on their brow. If we wend our way back through the grand procession of events of but a single century we will find extreme youth marking out the lines of progress and directing the course of the nation in politics, in literature and religion.

We would see William Prescott, a boy of twelve, diligently at work in the Boston Athenaeum, or Jonathan Edwards at thirteen entering Yale College, and while yet of a tender age shining in the horizon of American literature; while the same age finds H. W. Longfellow writing for the Portland _Gazette_. At fourteen John Quincy Adams was private secretary to Francis H. Dana, American Minister to Russia; at fifteen Benjamin Franklin was writing for the _New England Courant_, and at an early age became a noted journalist. Benjamin West at sixteen had painted "The Death of Socrates," at seventeen George Bancroft had won a degree in history, Washington Irving had gained distinction as a writer. At eighteen Alexander Hamilton was famous as an orator, and one year later became a lieutenant-colonel under Washington. At nineteen Washington himself was a major, Nathan Hale had distinguished himself in the Revolution, Bryant had written "Thanatopsis," and Bayard Taylor was engaged in writing his first book, "Views Afoot." At twenty Richard Henry Stoddard had found a place in the leading periodicals of his day, John Jacob Astor was in business in New York, and Jay Gould was president and general manager of a railroad. At twenty-one Edward Everett was professor of Greek Literature at Harvard, and James Russell Lowell had published a whole volume of his poems; at twenty-two Charles Sumner had attracted the attention of some of the famous men of his day, William H. Seward had entered upon a brilliant political career, while Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry D. Thoreau occupied a conspicuous place in literature. At twenty-three James Monroe was a member of the Executive Council, and one year later was elected to Congress; at twenty-four Thomas A. Edison and Richard Jordan Gatling were inventors. At twenty-five John C. Calhoun made the famous speech that gave him a seat in the Legislature, George William Curtis had traversed Italy, Germany, and the Orient and soon after became known by his books of travel. At twenty-six Thomas Jefferson occupied a seat in the House of Burgesses, John Quincy Adams was minister to The Hague; at twenty-seven Patrick Henry was known as the "Orator of Nature," and Robert Y. Hayne was speaker in the Legislature of South Carolina. At twenty-eight Edward Everett Hale had found a place in the hearts and minds of the people, and at twenty-nine John Jay, youngest member of the Continental Congress, was chosen to draw up the address to the British Nation.

These illustrious ones, who before their thirtieth year had written their names on the immortal banner of their country, are only a few which adorn the pages of our early history. Others of like purport might be added indefinitely both from the early and the later life of our country. And there has been no time when the young man played so important a rôle in human affairs as he does to-day in the dawn of the twentieth century, when the heart and the mind, philanthropy and literature, virtue and truth, science and art, capital and labor are the principal factors in the world's progress. To refer to but a single instance in this period of our national life, there is no greater statesman and patriot than our beloved President, Theodore Roosevelt,--a young man to whom we are proud to point as a true type of American greatness and American manhood. Assuming control of the Nation at such a critical moment in her history, when so many dangerous rocks lay in her course, tremendous, indeed, was the responsibility thrust upon him. But by his inherent principle of rule, his unquenchable patriotism, his indomitable purpose, and the imperiousness of his will, founded on a rich scholarship and a broad policy, he has spelled triumph out of difficulty, and his name will go down in twentieth-century history an example of illustrious young manhood.

The young man is emphatically the _ruling element_ in politics to-day. It is estimated that a sufficient number of young men come of age every four years to control the issue of the Presidential election. Constituting about one-half of the present voting population, they hold far more than the balance of political power. It was Goethe who said that the destiny of any nation at any given time depends on the opinions of the young men who are under twenty-five years of age. And William E. Gladstone affirmed that the sum of the characters of this element constitute the character and strength of any country.

And when we consider the young man in his relation to all the aspects of life--civic, commercial, industrial, and social--we must recognize him as the _ruling element_. Like Jason, the young man of to-day is the hero to invade the empire of thought and action in quest of the Fleece of Gold.

"Lives of great men all remind us, We can make our lives sublime; And departing leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time."

"They Passed Through."

To live content with small means: To seek elegance rather than luxury, and Refinement rather than fashion; To be worthy, not respectable, Wealthy, not rich; To study hard, think quietly, Talk gently, act frankly; To listen to stars and birds, to Babes and sages, with open heart; To bear all cheerfully, do all bravely, Await occasions, hurry never,-- In a word, to let the spiritual, Unbidden and unconscious, Grow up through the common-- This is to be my symphony.

In every land and in every age since the curtain first rose on the world's great drama men have been in quest of the Fleece of Gold. The onward progress of the race since our rude forefathers from the leaves of the tree formed their clothes, and in the somber depths of the primeval forest constructed their habitation, is due to an insatiable desire to possess the coveted prize. Hanging before man's gaze in the consecrated borders of his existence, it has inspired him to greater usefulness. He has built ships and traversed the seas, invented machines, reared cities, and established laws. In science and art and literature he has vied with his fellow-man and given a mighty impulse to civilization, all for the Fleece of Gold--success.

The world worships at the shrine of success. It regards it as man's greatest attribute. And whether we find it in secular affairs, substantiated by material grandeur, or in the mysterious realms of the inner life characterized by the serene consciousness of truth, it must ever be the goal of human aspiration.

It is the thought of some day having their efforts crowned that causes men hotly to pursue the phantom or the reality of their lives. This aspiration keeps the torch of hope ablaze in the midnight darkness, and the spirits buoyed under the noon-day glare, while men forge on to the goal. The surging throngs of a great city, the active hands and brains in the bee-hives of industry and the many places of business, the vast army of seekers after knowledge in the schools and colleges throughout the land, the men of fame in the halls of Congress molding the affairs of the Nation, the countless army tilling the fields under the open sky, the legions in the dark caves of earth searching for treasure--all are seeking to enter the golden gate of success.

Said Mr. A. B. Farquhar in a baccalaureate address to the students of McDonough College: "Success colors everything. It is the essence of all excellencies, the latent power which compels the favor of fortune and subjugates fate. The world worships success regardless of how acquired; makes it a standard for judging men, an indispensable credential for all approval. If a man succeeds he is held to be wise, even though mediocre; if he fails, whatever his learning and intrinsic merit, little regard is paid to him. Success gilds and glorifies a multitude of blunders and littlenesses, and people are thought merely to exist who do not keep themselves on the road leading to it. In view of all this, it is no wonder that we see all humanity looking earnestly toward success and moving with eager step in search of it.

"Success is essentially the accomplishment of one's desires and purposes, the realization of one's ideals. But this definition does not necessarily imply a high state of being. As I sit by my window writing, the hoarse cry of a rag-man and the mournful strains of a hand-organ come to my ears. That able-bodied Greek, who is so lavish with his 'music,' and the rag-man, who is buying what the other is distributing freely, both are in quest of the same thing--'success.'"

Alas! the world too often measures success by false standards--worships the Golden Fleece, forgetting the high purpose it might be made to serve; so dazzled by means that ends become oblivious. The spirit of the age is to pay homage to great riches. The finely attired custodian of a money bag too often is regarded as an exponent of success. On this point we should guard ourselves, first ascertaining if the gorgeous equipage is the "genuine fleece," or only a sham intended to deceive. A mansion on a valuable corner lot does not constitute the "golden quality," nor does a million dollars in bank epitomize its character. Its language is not spoken in the dialect of Wall Street or of wheat pits. Gold, grain, stocks, and bonds and estates too often mean the perversion of those qualities most valuable to human life. Realty is not the prime issue of life, but _reality_. If that which a man gets in his pay envelope, however lucrative that may be, constituted his only reward, his effort would be miserably compensated.

The man who has spent his life like a scaraboid beetle rolling up money, without due regard for the common virtues of life, has not left "footprints on the sands of time," but only a zigzag trail along the highway over which he has journeyed. He has not achieved success in that he has accumulated riches without a corresponding accumulation of "wealth." To seek a purely selfish and material success is to defeat the very purpose of one's existence--"life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." In the very conquest for this baser type a man blights his sensibilities, minifies his present enjoyment, and destroys his prospect for a full measure of happiness by and by. With but one interest his happiness is insecure; for when that fails or ceases to satisfy he has nothing on which to rely. Midas craves for gold, and when he gets it his senses become as metallic as the object of his affection. Therefore, if we are of this type, simply seeking the Golden Fleece for what it will net us in dollars and cents, we are not on the road leading to success. For success does not consist in the acquisition of the material, so much as in a mental discipline that seeks objectively to subordinate intrinsic value.

We must confess, however, that the age in which we live is one of brick and mortar; that materialism and not æstheticism reigns over us. The book-keeper's pen has usurped the office of the artist's brush and the carpenter's chisel that of the sculptor. Intrinsic worth and dividend-paying value holds sway, and even the gift-horse is looked in the mouth while the priceless motive that prompted its giving is forgotten.

The commercial spirit which pervades the atmosphere of modern times is disintegrating the sublimer side of human life. The gilded god of materialism is lavishing its blessings in the realm of science and invention and commercial enterprise, at the expense of aestheticism, till to-day there are thousands of artisans to every artist. We have an abundance of stone masons, but few Phidiases or Angelos; hundreds of organ grinders, but few Beethovens or Webers or Bachs; a full quota of men engrossed in the cold calculus of business, but a scarcity of Homers or Dantes or Virgils.

Speaking of this material aspect of our epoch and how it is likely to be regarded in the future, when the paradise of ideal living is regained, a modern writer says: "Will not the intense preoccupation of material production, the hurry and strain of our cities, the draining of life into one channel, at the expense of breadth, richness, and beauty, appear as mad as the Crusades, and perhaps of a lower type of madness? Could anything be more indicative of a slight but general insanity than the aspect of the crowd on the streets of Chicago?" Why is it that the poems that have lived for centuries, and the masterpieces of the world's great painters and sculptors are not being equaled in the dawn of the twentieth century? The answer lies in the widespread devotion to realism instead of idealism. The immortals have joined the mortals in search for the Fleece of Gold. And Wordsworth's oft-quoted lines were never more applicable to us than now:

The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending we lay waste our powers.

All the capital in the universe does not stand for success unless there is set over against it the wealth of soul which Marcus Aurelius, that great apostle of plain living and high thinking, ever set forth as an antidote to the treadmill grind of commercial life. Shakespeare struck the keynote of this lofty conception of life, and pronounced a never-dying eulogy upon the supreme dignity of character when he said:

"Who steals my purse steals trash; ... But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed."

Wealth of soul is incomparably better than all that can be obtained from pomp and luxury. Charlemagne is said to have worn in his crown a nail taken from the cross on which the Savior was crucified. He wore it among the jewels of his diadem as a reminder that there existed a tenderer relation in life than kingdoms and material splendor. Thus in the crown of our success, if we would make it truly great, we must place the sublimer elements of our being. As the ivy softens the roughness of the mountain side and the unsightly ruin, so will the aesthetic mellow and subdue the intense commercialism with which we are surrounded. Without this quality our success becomes like the fabled apples on the brink of the Dead Sea--fair without, but ashes within.

If the avenue to success lay in one direction only--that of accumulating a fortune, little incentive would be felt by those in the lower walks of life. Moreover, if it were possible for all men to become millionaires, the very organization of human society would become disrupted; for who then would till the soil, run the factories, clean the streets? Nature has been wise in the distribution of her talents. Anticipating the havoc of endowing all mankind with equal powers, she established a wide diversity in the range of human ability. To one she has given the gift of sagacity to achieve success in the world of trade; to another mechanical skill to create the ideals of inventive genius into reality; to another the highly artistic sense, and withholding these higher attributes from still others, she has chosen to endow them with a wealth of muscular force that the physical requirements of organized human effort might be made effective. So that any way we choose to look at this question we must concede that temporal wealth does not constitute the broadest idea of success, nor is capable in itself of producing it.

Even failure may be an element of a glorious success. The volcano that pours its vengeance upon the fair plantation below, leaving wreck and ruin in its path, bestows a wealth of sulphur which plays an important part in the world of commerce. The same frost that kills the harvest of a season also destroys the locust, preserving the harvests of a century. The death of the cocoon is the production of the silk, and the failure of the caterpillar the birth of the butterfly. If the boy Newton had not failed utterly on the farm, he would never have been started in college to become the mighty man of science. The fall of Rome meant the rise of the German Empire. "All men," says Frederick Arnold, "need through errors attain to truth, through struggles to victory, through regrets to that sorrow which is a very source of life. Men must rise in an ever-ascending scale, like the ladder of St. Augustine, by which men, through stepping-stones of their dead selves rise to higher things; or those steps of Alciphron, which crumbled away into nothingness as fast as each foot-fall left them." Thus our very failures we may overrule and convert into stepping-stones to success. Lifted to a loftier sphere, to a nobler experience, we are apt to receive greater benefit than though we escaped disappointment and rejoiced in easy fruition.