And well they may be! Our pleasure
testifies how closely we are knitted together. We cannot be satisfied
with a separated consciousness, but demand that the consciousness of
all shall respond to our own. A glorious infirmity then! And the
peculiar sweetness which praise brings is grounded in the
consciousness of our weakness. In certain regions of my life, it is
true, goodness has become fairly natural; and there of course praise
strikes me as ill-adjusted and distasteful. I do not like to have my
manners praised, my honesty, or my diligence. But there are other
tracts where I know I am still in the stage of conscious effort. In
this extensive region, aware of my feebleness and hearing an inward
call to greater heights, it will always be cheering to hear those
about me say, "Well done!" Of course in saying this they will
inevitably hint that I have not yet reached an end, and their praises
will displease unless I too am ready to acknowledge my incompleteness.
But when this is acknowledged, praise is welcome and invigorating. I
suspect we deal in it too little. If imagination were more active, and
we were more willing to enter sympathetically the inner life of our
struggling and imperfect comrades, we should bestow it more liberally.
Occasion is always at hand. None of us ever quite passes beyond the
deliberate, conscious, and praise-deserving line.
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