The Secret of Artlessness

“Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth.” — Matt. vi. 3.

THE virtue here commended is artlessness — unconsciousness of self. In a human soul it is a quality supremely beautiful. I do not think it is supremely beautiful in a bird of the air. The song of the lark charms me, and the singer is unconscious of his song; yet I never say I should like to be a lark. Why so? Because the lark is not only unconscious of himself; he is unconscious of me. The artlessness which I admire in my brother-man is not the absence of a motive; it is the absence of an individual motive. I should not appreciate a gift if the giver were unconscious of its value; that would take away the charm. I do not want him to forget the value of the gift, but to forget his own value. I want him to see mc in his mirror — to be so filled with

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interest in me as to l)e unaware that he is passing himself by. There is an unconsciousness of self which comes from emptiness, and it belongs to the undeveloped mind. But the unconsciousness of self which / desire is one which comes from deeper fulness. I would become artless through love. They tell us that self-consciousness mars a photograph. Yes; but how am I to get free from it? Shall I try, when the impression is being taken, to sink into a reverie — to dull the pulses of my own heart? Then the impression also will be dull, bereft of the spirit. But if I want to be off guard, there is a more excellent way — let me think of another! The art of love makes us artless. I have read of Moses, ‘’ he wist not that the skin of his face shone.” Doubtless the unconsciousness was the reason of the shining; but how did he get this unconsciousness? Did he fall asleep? Did he become apathetic? Did he try to feel himself a poor creature? All the reverse. He had been upon a mount of glory. He had gazed on the Divine beauty. He had been attracted to an Other. He had seen the sun, and had forgot his own candle — forgot, even, to extinguish it. He had lost himself, not in darkness, but in light.

In that light let me lose myself, O Lord! Be mine the artlessness of love — rof love to Thee! If in Thy light I shall see light, I shall be unconscious of all beside. Not in death, not in apathy, not even in self-depreciation, would I forget myself, but only in Thee. Take me to the Mount, O Lord, take me to the Mount! Bathe me in the radiance of love! Let the sight of Thee hide me from my own soul. It is not that I want to feel my righteousness to be “filthy rags;” that itself would be a thought about self. I want to forget my righteousness altogether — to think nothing about it, either good or bad. Not by depression but by elevation would I lose my pride. Not by soiling my garment in the mire would I become oblivious of its existence. I would forget it by gazing an another garment — the spotless robe of Thy Christ. With Thee, with Him, would I stand upon the Mount until my own plain and my own valley alike disappear. When I reach the hilltop of Thy love I shall be artless as a child.