Thoughts of a fool
spontaneous. It is not by “trying,” but by “letting,” that happiness
is realized. Little children love without restraint, and they are and
remain happy until a perverted education prompts them to suppress love.
To love! To love freely without analysis or question. Love and the
capacity to love increases until it is all-embracing. He who loves,
loves even when hated, is true to the love law. If I love you because
you love me, that is barter, not love. My love will then depend on the
extent of your love for me.
If you love God because of the desire to go to Heaven, the conception
you have of Heaven determines the extent of your love. As you really
cannot conceive Heaven, you really do not love him at all. Anything
worth having cannot be bought, therefore you get it for nothing. Love
that can be bought is not worth the price. The most precious thing
in life is the love of my mother. I received it gratuitously and
undeservingly, giving pain in return. I love with all my being, even
if the torments of Hell would be its reward. I love, because I love to
love.
Love does not come by talking about it, not any more than a corn-field
comes into being by talking about it. Suppose all the gardeners of the
city would talk and pray flowers, how many flowers will you have? How
unreasonable you are to expect love to come that way. This is the law
of propagation: a seed must be sown in order that an object may grow
and multiply.
The blockade is effective, and I admit that I do not know how we shall
raise it, for they who make it so can supply you arguments by the ton
that it is wise as well. And the world is with the blockaders.
The miscreant who cries “Stop thief!” when running from his pursuers
has this sort of blockader wisdom. Who, indeed, would think of seeking
the thief at the very head of the chase? Likewise it is that they who
most earnestly preach to us to love our neighbors are the most diligent
in preventing us from giving expression to that impulse.
They who so loudly preach this--does their love evince any semblance
of it in their treatment of their fellows? Is it love that proclaims
that the husbandman must pay “duty” for the use of the earth? Is the
love he preaches back of such a claim? It is the wolf in the covering
of a peaceable lamb. Love is the landlord’s mask. It is fair to look
upon, and he employs the blockading forces of church and state to lull
us with his false pretenses of love. And it is the chief business of
society to justify the mask.
But a velvet glove covers the mailed fist. It is a part of the garish
masquerade. And so we do not see the iron hand beneath its false
exterior. We are soothed by the very insistence of kindliness which
the velvet glove denotes. And so we do not recognize the force that
inheres in the armor that it conceals. Else would we discern the
challenge and meet it. It’s a clever game, there’s no denying. And
right well do the blockaders play it. The blockade is not maintained,
they assure us, for our hurt, but for our protection. How dearly we
love our protectors; and how well they know that when we discover that
the mystic inscription on their banner means force that we too will
employ force. But no one sees through the deception save here and there
a fool.
Any scheme of society that requires force to maintain its stability
must fail. Society professes to be the defender of right and justice.
More than half of mankind accepts this protestation without cavil. Yet
I am the only fool!
There’s not a land title in all the world that is free from taint of
force and fraud. Not one. For no one can claim title from the maker.
And there is no other valid title to ownership. And they who defend
land titles are accessory to fraud. This is a stern indictment, though
writ by a fool. This army of fraud is the force that prevents the
interflow of love that would make all the world a paradise were it free.
Your heart cries for a chance to live and love. It is dying to love and
your wisdom stands in the way. How long, I ask you, do you think that
Life will consent to let you suppress love?
Has not history taught you that when fools awake, stretch, and shake
themselves, the wise look foolish? I see that you do not understand.
One of the blockaders said to me not long ago that he could trace his
title back to the original conqueror. He does not see the danger in the
admission that his titles are of conquest, for I may some day feel like
contending with him on that basis for his holding. When we no longer
acquiesce in titles by conquest they will fall. And with the fall we
will not need to meet force and fraud by force and fraud.
There is no love in bond-love. There is no freedom in love short of all
freedom.
OSTRACIZED
Walking along the street one day, my mind occupied with the urgency of
getting money that I might be successful, I came upon an object prone
upon the sidewalk. “Some drunken old woman,” I muttered to myself, as I
passed slowly on. After having taken a few steps I stopped, seemingly
compelled to look back upon the woman; I saw that she was struggling to
get up on her feet. She had seen my action, and now as her eyes rested
upon me, she stretched forth her arms and said:
“Sister, help me to get up, and I will make you free.”
My sympathies went out to her at once; a desire came over me to help
her, not because of her promise to make me free, as I was not aware
that I was otherwise than free. We have freedom all over this great
country of ours. Nevertheless, I was conscious of a hesitation, due
doubtless to a fear that my yielding to compassion in giving a helping
hand would be ruinous to my career.
“What will the people say,” thought I. “They will surely laugh and guy
me.” With this thought I was about to proceed on my way, when the woman
called out:
“I am not drunk, child; I am only weak from being knocked about so
much.” Her voice won me, it being rich, melodious, and soothing. I
stepped toward her and at once assisted her to arise.
“For this kind act I will reward you. I will tell you the history of my
life,” she said. I know now that I did wrong in listening to her. As I
look over the past I can see that it was she who arrested what might
have proved a successful career. My evil nature managed to get the
better of me. I gave her my arm and walked her away from the crowd, as
though we were very intimate.
“I hate crowds,” she said; “they are always so stupid that they are not
accountable for their actions. They have eyes, yet do not see; ears
they have, but hear not; minds they have, but think not. I hope you are
not one of the kind to be found in that crowd.”
She paused, focused her big, brilliant eyes on me, and continued:
“My story is this: When I was very young and handsome I fell in love
with a young prince, and he with me. His father, the King, did not
oppose the match, so in due time we were united. My prince was the
handsomest and most accomplished in the world, learned, and a master
of sciences. For miles people came to hear his lectures. He was sought
by the sick; the lame he made to walk and the blind to see. His
fame spread from one end of the world to the other. Beloved by all
was he. We were happy, the prince and I. Our children--you should
have seen them! Words do not exist to portray them. The interruption
to our happiness was due to the jealousy of a neighboring couple
who were wrought up with envy because of the serene content I was
enjoying. So one dark night, there being a violent storm, they crept
into our house and imprisoned the prince. Thereupon they installed
themselves--her husband as the prince, and herself as the princess. My
beautiful children banished, and I know not where they are now. The
imposters claim that their children are the children of royalty. I am
broken-hearted!”
“It is strange,” I said, “that a thing like that could happen and I
should not hear of it.”
“The people know it not,” she said, “they cannot even suspect it, since
things go on in our household as of yore.”
“The pretender to my husband’s estate gives lectures with grand
display. The crowds who hear him applaud these deliverances. Their lack
of lucidity invests them with an air of wondrous wisdom. So bitterly
have they inflamed the people against us that I am the target of stones
and revilement whenever I assert myself.”
I begged her to tell me the names of herself and husband. Her name was
Truth, she said, and that of her husband was Wisdom. Their children
were Happiness, Justice, Art, Love, Progress. Falsehood and Deception
were the usurpers.
“That story of yours is a strange one indeed, madam,” I said, “but I
have the impression that Wisdom will be found at the university.”
“That’s what they all say,” she said, “but I have sought him there, and
found him not. My husband’s teachings are universal, not university.
There the people have the privilege only of contributing. They who are
debarred provide the food, shelter, and raiment for them who do not
toil.
“The buildings are tainted by the sweat and blood of the
disinherited, who ‘built but enter not in.’ It is the home of
dissected half-truths--acrobatic intellectuality. They chew over the
indigestible, unnourishable yesterday, to be vomited and injected into
others tomorrow.”
“Surely the university is better than no education,” I interposed.
“Education! The university has corrupted the very word. Instead of
‘drawing out’ or educing the powers of the student by the process
of unfoldment and expansion of the faculties of mind and body, the
university’s education means that some exterior influence is exerted on
something to make it act, do, or think, contrary to the natural bent of
the real self.
“When you say ‘educated dog,’ it means a dog that can turn somersaults,
walk on two legs, and do things foreign to the real nature of dogs.
An educated elephant is one that can waltz, stand on one leg, and
drink whiskey. An educated horse is one that can waltz, keep time
to music--accomplishments which were not intended for it by nature.
An educated horse is unreliable at the plow or other horse work. An
educated man is one taught to live that which is not himself. His
education deals largely with clothing, manner of walk, how to sit
at the table and eat. To talk about things you don’t like and look
pleasant; act as if you enjoyed it, although you are bored. It unfits
man for the work nature intended for him. He then becomes a helpless
creature, living on the good will of others. No, my child, Wisdom is
not in the university.”
At this I said, “I can tell you where Art can be found. Perhaps she
knows where her father is. We have a beautiful art conservatory here;
it is the home of art, where all the doings in the art world must be
brought and their merits discovered and approved or tagged officially
inartistic. There is much learning in the critics’ heads, so they tell
me.”
“It is true, my child,” she said, “that Art is Wisdom’s child. She
is our first born, and was closest to my husband’s heart. She is the
pleasure and the happiness of those who know her, and is closely
associated with all that brings joy to man. But Art is not where you
suppose her to be. This curiosity shop, filled with statues, copies
and imitations from the Mediæval and Greek, is a bedizened prostitute
posing as my daughter Art.
“Art is life itself. It must come as an expression from within the
man. His environment and his whole life must be expressed therein.
The Mediæval and Greek art express this. The pictures and the statues
that were carved, the bronzes that were hammered, had places in the
buildings; those buildings had space in the old city, which as a united
whole expressed the life of those people. To call an abstract or carved