--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Jordan, William George collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 11 number: 10 published: 1908-08 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'William George Jordan, "Self-Control. III. The Red Tape of Duty," *Improvement Era* 11, no. 10 (August 1908): 751–754.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera11010unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera11010unse start_page: 751 end_page: 754 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1908-08) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera11010unse publication_year: 1908 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1908, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Self-Control. III. The Red Tape of Duty SELF-CONTROL* BY WILLIAM GEORGE JORDAN, 111.— THE RED TAPE OF DUTY. Duty is the most over- lauded word in the whole vocabulary of life. Duty is the cold, bare anatomy of righteousness. Duty looks at life as a debt to be paid; love sees life as a debt to be collected. Duty is ever paying assessments; love is constantly counting its premiums. Duty is forced, like a pump; love is spontaneous, like a foun- tain. Duty is prescribed and formal; it is part of the red tape of life. It means running on moral rails. It is good enough as a beginning; it is poor as a finality. The boy who ''stood on the burning deck," and who committed suicide on a technical point of obedience, has been held up to the school children of this century as a model of faithfulness to duty. The boy was the victim of the blind adherence to the red tape of duty. He was placing the whole responsibility for his acts on some one outside himself. He was helplessly waiting for instruc- tion in the hour of emergency when he should have acted for him- self. His act v/as an empty sacrifice. It was a useless throwing away of a human life. It did no good to the father, to the boy, to the ship cr to the nation. The captain who goes down with his sinking vessel, when he has done everything in his power to save others, and when he can save his own life without dishonor, is the victim of a false sense of duty. He is cruelly forgetful of the loved ones on shore that he is * From Self-Control; its Kingship and Majesty. Copyright 1889 and 1905 by Fleming H. Revell Company. 752 IMPROVEMENT ERA. sacrificing. His death means a spectacular exit from life, the cow- ardly fear of an investigating committee, or a brave man's loyal yet misguided, sense of duty. A human life, with its wondrous possibilities, is t ^o sacred an individual trust to be thus lightly thrown into eternity. They tell us of the "sublime nobleness" of the Roman soldier of Pompeii, whose skeleton was found centuries afterward, imbedded in the once molten lava which swept down upon the doomed city. He was still standing at one of the gates at his post of duty still grasping a sword in his crumbling fingers. His was a morbid faithfulness to discipline from which a great convulsion of Nature released him. An automaton would have stood there just as long, just as boldly, just as uselessly. The man who gives one hour of his life to loving, consecrated service to humanity is doing higher, better, truer work in the world than an army of Roman sentinels paying useless tribute to the red tape of duty. There is in this interpretation of duty no sympathy with the man who deserts his post when needed; it is but a protest against losing the essence, the realness of true duty in worshiping the mere form. Analyze, if you will, any of the great historic instances of loyalty to daty, and whenever they ring true you will find the presence of the real element that made the act almost divine. It — was duty, plus love. It was no mere sense of duty that made Grace Darling risk her life in the awful storm of sixty years ago, when she set out in the darkness of night, on a raging sea, to rescue the survivors of the wreck of The Forfarshire. It was the sense of duty, warmed and vivified by a love of humanity, it was heroic courage of a heart filled with divine pity and sym- pathy. Duty is a hard, mechanical process for making men do things that love would make easy. It is a poor understudy to love. It is not a high enough motive with which to inspire humanity. Duty is the body to which love is the soul. Love, in the divine alchemy of life, transmutes all duties into privileges all responsibilities into joys. The workman who drops his tools at the stroke of twelve, as suddenly as if he had been struck by lightning, may be doing his SELF-CONTROL. 753 duty, — but he is doing nothing more. No man has made a great success of his life or a fit preparation for immortaUty by doing merely his duty. He mast do that— and more. If he puts love into his work, the "more" will be easy. The nurse may watch faithfully at the bedside of a sick child as a duty. But to the mother's heart the care of the little one, in the battle against death, is never a duty; the golden mantle of love thrown over every act makes the word "duty" have a jarring sound, as if it were the voice of desecration. When a child turns out badly in later years, the parent may say, "Well, I always did my duty by him." Then it is no wonder the boy turned out wrong. "Doing his duty by his son," too often implies merely food, lodging, clothes and education supplied by the father. Why a public institution would give that! What the boy needed most was deep draughts of love; he needed to live in an atmosphere of sweet sympathy, counsel and trust. The parent should ever be an unfailing refuge, a constant resource and inspir- ation, not a mere larder or hotel, orwardrobe or school that fur- nishes these necessities free. The empty boast of mere parental duty is one of the dangers of modern society. Christianity stands forth as the one religion based on love, not duty. Christianity sweeps. all duties into one word, — love. Love is the one great duty enjoined by the Christian religion. What duty creeps to laboriously, love reaches in a moment on the wings of a dove. Duty is not lost, condemned or destroyed in Christianity; it is dignified, purified and exalted, and all its rough ways are made smooth by love. The supreme instance of generosity in the world's history is not the giving of millions by someone of great name; it is the giv- ing of a mite by a widow whose name does not appear. Behind the widow's mite was no sense of duty; it was the full, free and perfect gift of a heart filled with love. In the Bible "duty" is mentioned but five times; "love" hundreds. In the conquest of any weakness in our mental or moral make- up; in the attainment of any strength; in our highest and truest relation to ourselves and to the world, let us ever make "love" our watchword; not mere "duty." If we desire to live a life of truth and honesty, to make our 754 IMPROVEMENT ERA. word as true as our bond, let us not expect to keep ourselves along the narrow line of truth under the constant lash of the whip of duty. Let us begin to love the truth, to fill our mind and life with the strong white light of sincerity and sterling honesty. Let us love the truth so strongly that there will develop within us, without our conscious effort, an ever-present horror of a lie. If we desire to do good in the world, let us begin to love hu- manity, to realize more truly the great dominant note that sounds in every mortal, despite all the discords of life, the great natural bond of unity that makes all men brothers. Then jealousy, malice, envy, unkind words and cruel misjudging will be eclipsed and lost in the sunshine of love. The greatest triumph of the nineteenth century, is not its marvelous progress in invention; its strides in education ; its conquests of the dark regions of the world : the spread of a higher mental tone throughout the earth; the wondrous in- crease in material comfort and wealth, — the greatest triumph of the century is not any nor all of these ; it is the sweet atmosphere of Peace that is covering the nations; it is the growing closer and closer of the peoples of the earth. Peace is but the breath, the perfume, the life of love. Love is the wondrous angel of life that rolls away all the stones of sorrow and suffering from the pathway of duty. [to be continued.] SUNSET. Roll, roll, roll! Wild waves of old ocean, roll! Embosomed and hot on your heaving breast, On the silvery sheen of your billowy crest. The feverish sun as he sinks to rest, Burns like a red, red coal. Theo. E. Curti: Salt Lake City, Utah.