Fears Born of Real Offense

In addition to the false fears that destroy the effectiveness of men (Many of which are vainly imagined and are without substance), it must also be admitted that there are fears which are not false—that some fears have their foundation in fact; for example, the fears of a man whose life is filled with wrong, and who knows it, and who vainly tries to quite his fears of consequences. Not all who carry such fears are known to us. Some walk our streets, and live long, and never rise above their fears—and “die many times before their deaths” as Shakespeare wrote of those who die a thousand deaths. There are the fears of man who hates and fears his neighbor; the fears of the man who must perform rationalization of justifying his own misconduct; the fears of a man who must forever explain to himself why he has done what he has done; the fears of him who must endlessly try to answer his conscience, try to put it to sleep at night, wrestle with it through the dark hours, and find it still gnawing at him, with no peace, when daylight comes. There are the fears of men who try to distrust all other men, because they distrust themselves; and there are the inevitable fears of those who defy law and set out upon evil purposes, alone or in bad company, which course is followed by the haunting fear of being apprehended. Such are the fears that come from guilt of conscience, real and not imagined—fears which come as just punishment to the transgressor, whose way is hard, and whose life, regardless of the boldness of his front, and regardless of his seeming unconcern for consequences, is, nevertheless, a life that can never be at ease—a life that daily pays a fearful price. If there, be those who carry with them fears that are not imagines, but which are born of real offense, they had better face the facts and take the consequences, make restitution, and offer an honest repentance, relying on justice and hoping for mercy—and begin again the rediscovery of peace, after having offered the only acceptable payment—an humble “and a contrite hearts.”