CONTENTMENT.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 19505, 13 June 1925, Page 19

CONTENTMENT.

Written for tho Otago Daily Times.

By tho Rkv. D. Gaudxt/u Miller, Napier.

Contentment is neither acquiescence nor fatalism. It is a certain quality of mind that allows nothing to disturb tlie inner calm of the soul. Men who arc ••content” are masters of their fate. The most valuable asset a man can possess is the "garrisoned'’ mind. Wasn't it Dr Johnson who said, “Keep your friendships in repair’"/ Well, I have been ''repairing'’ an old friendship this week. For some mouths past 1 have beer, intending to spe.M by first leisure hour with a certain book. As usual, when a leisure hour did present itsdl, I either found romething else to do or 1 wasn’t in the propel mood. The booklover knows that the best books respond onlv to certain moods. It is futile, for instance, to read “I’ickwick” when your mood is suited for “Bepys.” The hour and tho mood came the oilier day, and I picked up with anticipation my ild friend, “Tho Private Papers of Henry Ryccroft.” Tho hour was packed with reminiscences, I thought, as 1 scanned tho familiar pages, ot the author, George Gissiug. that .strange and wayward man of letters. His life had many sordid episodes, yet through them all the tire of his gciiiiLS burned. I recalled my first introduction to tho, works of Gissiug. My thoughts carried me back to college days, especially to my room, which combined tho uses of situaE-room, bed-room, and study. I recalled how at 2 o clock one morning I “spouted’’ Hissing to a coffeeroom waiter who, in his desire for selfbotterment, had found his way to my room. Enough 1 The re-reading of tho friendly book, strangely enough, recalled to me the rather placid word “Contentment.” It is a word that no one would have connected with tho life of Gissing. lot he possessed contentment —or war, it, the other way about? —to a remarkable degree. Many people, I am afraid, don’t stop to think what contentment really is. Hero arc two extracts from “The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft,” which show what I mean : I see the winding way by which I went from Oxford street, at the foot of Totten-, ham Court road to Leicester Square, and somewhere in the labyripth {I think of it ■ as always foggy and gas-litfi was a shop with piss and puddings in the window, puddings and pics kept hot by steam rising through .perforated metal. How many a time have I stood there, raging with hunger, unable to purchase even one pennyworth of food, ... I sec that alloy hidden on the west side of Tottenham Court road, where, after living in a back bedroom on the top floor, I had to exchange for the front cellar. _ There was a difference, if I remember rightly, of sixpence a week, and sixpence in those days was a very groat consideration. Why, it meant a couple of meals! The front cellar was stone-floored; its furniture was a table, a chair, a washstand and a bed; the window, which of course, had never been cleaned since it was put in. received light through a flat grating in the alley above. Hero I lived, hero I wrote. Yes, “literary work” was done at that filthy deal table, on which, by the bye, lay my Horner, ray Shakespeare, and tho few other books I then possessed. . . .1 recall a tragiccomical incident of life at the British Museum, Once, on going down into tho , lavatory to wash rny hands, I became aware of a notice newly set up above- the row of basins. It, ran somehow like this, "Readers are requested to boar in mind that these basins are to bo used only for casual ablutions.” Oh, the significance of that inscription! Had I not myself more than once been glad to use this soap and water more largely than the sense of the authorities contemplated? _ I laughed heartily at the notice, but it meant so much. Oh, my ambitions my hopes! How surprised and indignant 1 should have felt had I known of anyone who pitted me. It ' is wonderful to think of all that youth can endure. The second extract is culled from the pages preceding the end of his wanderings, when he had laid down tho pen for ever: How many a time after long labour in some piece of writing brought at last to a conclusion, have I laid down the pen with a sigh of thankfulness. The work was full of faults, but I had wrought einccrely, had done what time and circumstances and my own nature permitted. Even so may it be with me in my last hour. May I look back on life as a long task duly completed--a piece of biography, faulty enough, but good as I could make it —and witli no thought but one of contentment welcomo the repose to follow when I havo breathed the word “Finis.” You see at onoo that contentment is not acquiescence, nor is it fatalism, and certainly not laziness. It is a state of mind exhibiting self-sufficiency. ‘T have learned,” said the great Apostle, “In whatever state I am therein to bo content.” Not that that means complacency, for tho Apostlo was never complacent. Indeed, ho was volcanic. 1 can imagine him upsetting many committee meetings —tho first and last resort of tho placid. No, with Paul, as with all men who in their scorn and discontent have added to lile's values, contentment simply meant that nothing outside of himself was ever allowed to disturb tho inner calm of his soul. He had a sufficiency within himself that refused to bow to the terrors of tho prison, tho bone-leather whip of the Roman scourgor, the ugly tbroateiiings of the mob, or even to self-adulation. In a real sense men who are “content” are masters of their own fate. But the question arises : “What produces this self-sufficiency'.'” Paul fives the answer when he tells us that the most valuable asset a man can possess is the garrisoned mind. “And the peace of God, which passeih nil understanding, shall guard [garrison] your hearts and your thoughts in Christ Jesus.” Garrisoned by the peace of God! Can you imagine any man so defended being" afraid of anything that the world of men could do to him? The troubles and anxieties and tragedies of life to such a man are as tire storm-whipped sea, which seem so devastating, and yet the depths are absolutely unruffled. I don't say that, Gissing experienced this inner contentment. There are only a few choice souls in the world who have entered securely into tho “peace defence.” Wha!t all of us can do is to cease measuring ourselves by ourselves or even by others. That sort of thing only breeds envy, chagrin, discontent and the inevitable loss of moral power. Rather let the background of our' lives bo the “Divine Presence,” in tho light of which wo shall gain the true perspective of life, and that contentment shall bo ours which reveals itself in godliness.