Thoughts of a fool
champagne-saturated baron is spoken of as being exhilarated. Again,
who can make as plain as day the difference between hypocrisy and the
keeping up of appearances; or between a stuck-up woman and one having
a proud, haughty bearing. The latter I am sure could make clear to
me when a potato is not a potato. It is a fool’s privilege to ask
questions, and the wise may answer them in terms the scoffer cannot
understand.
Mary goes into symbolical gustatory raptures over beef steak and green
onions, while she does not care a single kitchen whiff for the names
with which these solid dainties have been labeled. The real joy lies in
the juicy steak and the succulent green onions which she masticates
so vigorously. Had our ape-like progenitors of the long ago named the
juicy steak and green onions loneliness and barrenness respectively,
Mary would have gone into raptures just as readily. She would have
ruminated the loneliness and barrenness of it all, while “darning” all
thoughts of steak and onions!
If “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” is there any
explanation to be had of the case in hand? Though if a rose, called
a skunk-cabbage, would smell as sweet, would a skunk-cabbage,
though called a rose, cease to present its pungent challenge to our
olfactories? If we were all skunk-cabbages would we delight in enjoying
our own odors? Of one thing only am I sure in this connection, that a
potato is a potato--sometimes.
BUZZ-SAWS, SHORTCAKE, AND RIGHTS
To a man and his wife a child was born. As they were legally married,
I suppose the child had a right to be born. The infant had a head and
all the members which belong to a well-regulated head. It had two legs,
and each leg had a foot; on each foot there were five toes. It also had
two arms with hands attached to them, and each hand had five fingers. I
suppose he had a right to everything he had.
The parents named the boy Eugene McCaren Bumphrey, and I cannot see why
they should not have the right to name him Bumphrey, or any other name,
if they had so chosen.
No wise man will deny that Eugene had the right to life, to his name,
and to his fingers.
Nevertheless when in the course of time he went to work, Eugene lost
three fingers off his right hand while employed at the saw-mill. He
didn’t know much about the taking ways of a circular saw when its buzz
is in active business.
The wise men have not yet informed us whether, in taking Eugene’s
fingers, the saw also took his right to the fingers. Now, if the saw
took the fingers and left Eugene the right, what good is the right
to Eugene? He cannot manipulate the right in such a way as to make
it serve in the stead of the missing digits. If, on the other hand
(although really the left hand has nothing to do with the case), the
saw, in taking the fingers took the rights also, what use can the saw
make of the rights to Eugene’s fingers?
Another question for the wise to decide is (that same saw having at
various times dismembered other people), when in the course of its
human acquirements it will have accumulated flesh of sufficient variety
that it will have in the aggregation a whole human being, has it, or
has it not, also acquired the right of a whole human being, namely,
life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; and if it did, then what
particular human being will come within the purview of these joint (if
for a time disjointed) rights?
The wise man may not be able to point out the individual who would in
such fashion become the Slave of the Saw, but we must surely insist
that the saw’s right is not that which we have in the Declaration of
Independence, and is called natural rights, but it acquired its rights
by conquest. That may be; but where did Eugene get his rights to his
fingers in the first place? And do we by conquest acquire not only
the thing we capture, but the rights that it is claimed go with the
acquisition?
It must be fine to be wise enough to solve such a riddle, yet there
are many who do it off-hand, or, as in this case, off-finger.
We have been assured by the abnormally wise that each of us has
the right to life. In that case he who takes his brother’s life is
justified, for he cannot take that life dissociated from the rights
that go with it, and if he has taken the right along with the life,
then he has a right to take it.
A mere fool has life, and does not require any right to life so long as
life remains in him. And what in the name of all that is wise will any
one do with the right to live when he has not life to live with?
If a fool is overboard and striving to keep afloat until help arrives,
he is concerned about preserving his life, and has neither time nor
strength in such a contingency to be striving to save his right to
live. Quite otherwise with the wise man. He will not trouble to save
his life at all. His sole purpose will be to preserve his right to
life, and he will insist on it even as he gasps his last gasp.
Really I cannot muster up a very high regard for the right to life
after one has become a “demnition moist body.”
Recently some of our wisest insisted on a “sane” celebration of
Independence Day. By this they mean that fewer firecrackers should be
exploded. Of course they will sneer at a fool who suggests that it were
the part of sanity to omit from the program of that holiday our raucous
insistence on the doctrine of natural rights. We won no rights from
Great Britain when we set up national housekeeping on our own hook.
The mother country had none that we could win. We did not fight our
Revolutionary War in order to gain any rights. Our revolt was a denial
of rights. We denied that King George had any of the rights cited in
our catalogue of denials called our Declaration of Independence.
There is a most important difference between our denial of the right
of the other fellow to aggress, and our putting a chip on our own
shoulder, calling it by the name of “rights” in order to terrify the
invader.
When I was down at the farm last year, my uncle brought in some peaches
on Saturday night. My cousin and I ate them, not knowing that they
were especially consecrated to the purpose of Sunday peach shortcake.
Uncle was wroth when he learned that his plans had been frustrated, as
he is “powerful fond o’ shortcake.” He said that he had planted “them
peaches, and had the right to say what was to be done with ’em, and
didn’t like the idea of a passel of silly gals that oughter have better
sense nebbin’ in.” He had all the rights after we had devoured his
peaches that he had ever had, and I never thought to ask him why he did
not have Jane make a shortcake of the rights, for I know we did not eat
any when we feasted on his peaches.
When the wise speak of the non-interference with speech, press,
assembly, and the like, they refer to these liberties as rights. Yet
the thought of so thinking of them would never have occurred to any
one had no invasion of these liberties ever been undertaken under the
name of “rights.”
Free speech and kindred liberties are not dependent on the doctrine of
rights, but, on the contrary, are assailed only in that name. We are
on firm ground when we demand to be shown by what right our liberties
are abridged. The invader cannot show us how his rights to invade were
established, or whence derived. We are secure against his claim of
rights by denying them. Once we acquiesce in his plea, and oppose it by
asserting contrary rights, we may in turn be called upon to show the
origin of the rights we claim, and I warrant even the wisest of us will
stumble at that task.
Does the bird need any declaration of her rights to fly? I know she
needs wings, and if I should pluck one of the wings she would then be
unable to fly. But should our wise legislative assembly declare that a
bird has no right to fly, will that cause her wings to wither, or what
will happen to her?
A fool does not claim the right to laugh at the wise. It is enough to
know that the wise have no rights against being the subjects of the
laughter of fools.
IN WONDERLAND
In the pottery, by the wheel sits the potter, molding pots from the
clay which is before him. It is a work of pleasure with him, for,
after admiring the pots for a while, he puts them back in the clay
pile to be reshaped into new pots. How marvelously the potter works
the unending variety of the pots. The pots are alive; they never are
at a standstill--always on the go; they are not to-day what they were
yesterday, and to-morrow they will be again different.
Life, the potter, is an artist. He molds his pots in various shapes and
endless designs. I understand that he is always at work. We have no
certain knowledge when he began, neither do we know when he will end.
The designs are infinite, from the common thistle to the most delicate
flower; from the tiniest blade of grass to the most majestic oak.
The marvelous ways of life, the unending change in all his creation,
challenges attention. From the smallest to the largest works of art in
this workshop of life a constant change goes on. And how deftly, too,
the constant waste is repaired--the steady drain compensated. There
is not much difficulty in the absorption and repair of waste by units
which move not from place to place. The rain and sunshine comes to
the plant to assist in its repair; if those be denied, it withers and
decays. Some forms of vegetation apparently assist themselves; many
plants lift their heads to the sun, others set wiles to ensnare; some
decoy by fragrant perfumes, others by pleasant juices. Their needs are
satisfied by the mere lifting of their heads and the absorption of a
few insects.
In the animal world the organic units move from place to place and the
change is more apparent. Each comes into being small and weak, but
complete. It gathers and absorbs to itself parts of other organisms
till it reaches perfectness, then dies. It dissolves itself to be
absorbed by others. In the animal, from the tiniest amœba to the most
complicated form, the repair requires effort and exertion. The more
complex an organism the greater the effort required of it. A worm is
satisfied to eat of the earth on the spot where it is. Birds have to
travel miles in order to get away from climatic conditions. The more
complex the organism the more it needs to assert itself. When we come
to man, the most complicated animal of them all, his conscious effort
is required in repairing his waste.
Scientists tell us that by waste and absorption we have new bodies
every seven years; that is, in seven years the old body is wasted away,
but by constant repair--the building up of new tissues--new bodies are
created.
Man needs air, sunshine, water, food, and shelter. Air and sunshine
are around about him; for food, water, clothing, and shelter his
exertion against nature is ceaseless. He must be active, he must be
creative, to satisfy his constant needs. His capital to start on is
a head, hands, and feet. The head plans, the feet take him to the
place of action, and with the hands he makes tools and executes and
carries out the ideas formulated by the brain. He prepares his food,
shelter, clothing, and means of locomotion. Any defect in either of
these natural tools renders him unable to satisfy his wants. Unless
charitably inclined comrades of his species provide for the idiot, the
cripple, the paralytic, and repair the waste for them, they must perish.
Life, therefore, means work, and the joy of work is the joy of life.
We see this in animal and human development. To be active, to create,
to meet the constant need--these are titles to survival. Nevertheless,
there is a tendency on the part of the more active to be kindly to the
laggard. Even the drone is tolerated long before he is driven from the