As the English chaplain entered her cell in the military prison inBrussels that October morning， to prepare her for death， EdithCavell uttered two sentences that have been preserved in bronzeand granite： “I realise that patriotism is not enough. I must haveno hatred or bitterness toward anyone.” Four years later， herbody was removed to England and memorial services were held inWestminster Abbey. Today， a granite statue stands opposite theNational Portrait Gallery in London—a statue of one of England’simmortals. “I realise that patriotism is not enough. I must haveno hatred or bitterness toward anyone.”
One sure way to forgive and forget our enemies is to becomeabsorbed in some cause infinitely bigger than ourselves. Then theinsults and the enmities we encounter won’t matter because wewill be oblivious of everything but our cause.
As an example， let’s take an intensely dramatic event that wasabout to take place in the pine woods of Mississippi back in 1918.
A lynching！ Laurence Jones， a coloured teacher and preacher，was about to be lynched. A few years ago， I visited the school thatLaurence Jones founded—the Piney Woods Country School—andI spoke before the student body. That school is nationally knowntoday， but the incident I am going to relate occurred long beforethat. It occurred back in the highly emotional days of the FirstWorld War. A rumour had spread through central Mississippithat the Germans were arousing the Negroes and inciting them to rebellion. Laurence Jones， the man who was about to be lynched，was， as I have already said， a Negro himself and was accused ofhelping to arouse his race to insurrection. A group of white men—
pausing outside the church—had heard Laurence Jones shoutingto his congregation： “Life is a battle in which every Negro mustgird on his armour and fight to survive and succeed.”
“Fight！” “Armour！” Enough！ Galloping off into the night， theseexcited young men recruited a mob， returned to the church， puta rope round the preacher， dragged him for a mile up the road，stood him on a heap of faggots， lighted matches， and were readyto hang him and burn him at the same time， when someoneshouted： “Let’s make the blankety-blank-blank talk before heburns. Speech！ Speech！” Laurence Jones， standing on the faggots，spoke with a rope around his neck， spoke for his life and hiscause. He had been graduated from the University of Iowa in1907. His sterling character， his scholarship and his musicalability had made him popular with both the students and thefaculty. Upon graduation， he had turned down the offer of a hotelman to set him up in business， and had turned down the offer ofa wealthy man to finance his musical education. Why? Becausehe was on fire with a vision. Reading the story of Booker T.
Washington’s life， he had been inspired to devote his own life toeducating the poverty-stricken， illiterate members of his race. Sohe went to the most backward belt he could find in the South—aspot twenty-five miles south of Jackson， Mississippi. Pawning hiswatch for ＄1.65， he started his school in the open woods with astump for a desk. Laurence Jones told these angry men who werewaiting to lynch him of the struggle he had had to educate theseunschooled boys and girls and to train them to be good farmers，mechanics， cooks， housekeepers. He told of the white men whohad helped him in his struggle to establish Piney Woods Country School—white men who had given him land， lumber， and pigs，cows and money， to help him carry on his educational work.
When Laurence Jones was asked afterward if he didn’t hatethe men who had dragged him up the road to hang him and burnhim， he replied that he was too busy with his cause to hate—tooabsorbed in something bigger than himself. “I have no time toquarrel，” he said， “no time for regrets， and no man can force meto stoop low enough to hate him.”
As Laurence Jones talked with sincere and moving eloquence ashe pleaded， not for himself but his cause， the mob began to soften.
Finally， an old Confederate veteran in the crowd said： “I believethis boy is telling the truth. I know the white men whose names hehas mentioned. He is doing a fine work. We have made a mistake.
We ought to help him instead of hang him.” The Confederateveteran passed his hat through the crowd and raised a gift of fiftytwo dollars and forty cents from the very men who had gatheredthere to hang the founder of Piney Woods Country School—theman who said： “I have no time to quarrel， no time for regrets， andno man can force me to stoop low enough to hate him.”
Epictetus pointed out nineteen centuries ago that we reapwhat we sow and that somehow fate almost always makes us payfor our malefactions. “In the long run，” said Epictetus， “everyman will pay the penalty for his own misdeeds. The man whoremembers this will be angry with no one， indignant with no one，revile no one， blame no one， offend no one， hate no one.”
Probably no other man in American history was ever moredenounced and hated and double-crossed than Lincoln. YetLincoln， according to Herndon’s classic biography， “never judgedmen by his like or dislike for them. If any given act was to beperformed， he could understand that his enemy could do it justas well as anyone. If a man had maligned him or been guilty of personal ill-treatment， and was the fittest man for the place，Lincoln would give him that place， just as soon as he would giveit to a friend… I do not think he ever removed a man because hewas his enemy or because he disliked him.”
Lincoln was denounced and insulted by some of the very menhe had appointed to positions of high power—men like McClellan，Seward， Stanton， and Chase. Yet Lincoln believed， according toHerndon， his law partner， that “No man was to be eulogised forwhat he did; or censured for what he did or did not do，” because“all of us are the children of conditions， of circumstances， ofenvironment， of education， of acquired habits and of hereditymoulding men as they are and will forever be.”