A vigorous temper is not altogether an evil. Men who are easy as

Charles Spurgeon, the great preacher of the nineteenth century, declared with fiery clarity: “A vigorous temper is not altogether an evil. Men who are easy as an old shoe are generally of little worth.” These words strike like a hammer against complacency, for they remind us that passion, even when fierce, is better than lifeless indifference. The vigorous temper, though it may at times blaze too hot, is the sign of a soul alive, awake, and unwilling to drift like dead wood upon the waters of life.

The meaning of this saying is twofold. First, Spurgeon warns against confusing gentleness with weakness. A man who is “easy as an old shoe,” who never resists, never rises, never burns with conviction, may be pleasant to wear upon the feet of society, but he leaves no mark upon the world. Such a life is comfortable but forgettable. On the other hand, the man with a vigorous temper may be sharp, may sometimes err in heat, but he is a man capable of standing for truth, of resisting wrong, of fighting for justice. It is better, Spurgeon teaches, to be flawed with fire than perfect in apathy.

The origin of this wisdom lies in Spurgeon’s own ministry. Known as the “Prince of Preachers,” he spoke with thunderous zeal, never softening his words to please the ears of the lukewarm. He himself possessed a vigorous temper, which stirred both admiration and controversy. To some he was too bold, too uncompromising. Yet his very fire shook thousands awake from the slumber of complacency, proving his point: had he been “easy as an old shoe,” he would never have roused the spirit of his age.

History also confirms his words. Consider the prophet Jeremiah, mocked and beaten for his relentless warnings to Jerusalem. His temper was fierce, his words like burning coals, and though men despised him, he spoke the truth that no one wished to hear. Without his fire, his people would have been left without warning before disaster struck. Or think of Winston Churchill, whose vigorous temper and stubborn defiance roused a weary Britain to resist tyranny in its darkest hour. Had he been “easy,” pliable, and compliant, Europe might have fallen wholly into chains.

Yet Spurgeon’s wisdom does not glorify uncontrolled rage. He does not say that temper itself is good, but that a vigorous temper, guided by conscience and purpose, can be a weapon of immense good. Fire can destroy, but fire can also forge. Anger unchecked breeds cruelty, but passion channeled toward justice becomes the driving force of reform, courage, and lasting change. Thus, the lesson is balance: to despise lifeless apathy, but to discipline passion until it burns bright without burning blind.

O children of tomorrow, learn this: do not be content to be “easy as an old shoe.” Do not drift quietly through life, leaving no mark, no legacy, no voice raised for what is true. Instead, let your heart burn with conviction. Be willing to offend when truth demands it, to resist when wrong presses in, to act when others sit idle. You may stumble, you may be misunderstood, but in your striving you will prove of worth, far more than those who avoid all struggle and so achieve nothing.

Therefore, the teaching is clear: embrace the vigorous temper within you. Hone it, master it, guide it toward the service of others and the defense of truth. Reject the false peace of comfort that leaves the world unchanged. Better to be fiery and flawed than to be passive and purposeless. For it is the passionate, the stubborn, the bold who carve the path of history, while the “old shoes” are left forgotten in the dust.

Thus Spurgeon’s words endure as a charge to every generation: a little fire in the soul is no evil—indeed, it may be the very spark that keeps the world alive.