Self-Reflection
“The life was the light of men.” — John I. 4.
It is only in man that life becomes Light — conscious of itself. Every creature has something which it recognises; but man alone recognises life. Everything else looks outside. The bee fixes its eye on the flower; the bird directs its gaze to the plumage of its mate. But man turns the lantern inside and surveys his own dwelling. I am the only creature upon earth that has ever seen the house in which it lives. Bird and beast look out of the window; have the power to turn my back to the window and examine the room. It is not that my house is more wonderful than the other houses. I have always felt that instinct is more marvellous than reason. The house of the bee ought to excite its wonder as much as my house
IN excites mine. The defect does not lie in the house, but in the tenant. The bee has a mirror as well as I; I see not how, otherwise, it could make its cells. But the mirror in the bee’s dwelling has a covering over it; it is a piece of furniture hid from the eye of its possessor. Afy peculiarity is that I have lifted the covering. I have discovered that there is a piece of furniture called a mirror. I do not know where the mirror came from any more than the bee does; I do not even know that it is made of different glass from that of the bee. But I do know that, first among the denizens of earth, I have seen vay own reflection, and that to me — a product of the eleventh hour, life has become Light.
I thank Thee, O Lord, for the gift of self-reflection. I thank Thee that on creation’s sixth morning there was revealed a looking-glass. That looking-glass is Thy most solemn gift to me. It is more solemn than sight, more solemn than hearing, more solemn than the power of motion. In that glass I see what Jacob saw — a man that wrestled with me till the breaking of the day. I am never so shrunk in sinew as when I have gazed into my looking-glass; the mirror of conscience makes me halt upon my thigh. Often I regret that this gift is mine; conscience makes a coward of me. I would fain get back the covered mirror of the bee. I long for the lark’s mindless carol, for the nightingale’s careless song. I sometimes try to break my mirror in the franticness to get free. Do not let me break it, O Lord! Forbid that other man to let me go! Tell him to haunt me with his presence! In every un-Christly deed let me see myself! In every unholy thought let me confront myself! In every unkind word let me reflect myself! When I do a mean thing, show me that other man! When I slander in secret and have no fear of detection, show me that other man! When the night has hid my sin, show me that other man! Bid him wrestle till my pride is lamed; bid him struggle till my strength is tamed; bid him hold me till my heart is shamed! Whatever other furniture I lose, may I never consent to part with the mirror in my soul!