By the Christmas Fire | Page 3

better than the
receivers of stolen goods. How could it be otherwise with the
descendants of a long line of freebooters? How are we to uphold the
family fortunes if we forsake the means by which they were obtained?
Are we not fated by our very constitutions to continue a predatory
life?"
There are lovers of peace and of justice to whom such considerations
appeal with tragic force. They feel that moral ideals have arisen only to
mock us, and to put us into hopeless antagonism to the world in which
we live. In the rude play of force, many things have been developed
that are useful in our struggle for existence. But one faculty has

developed that is destined to be our undoing,--it is Conscience. Natural
history does not give any satisfactory account of it. It runs counter to
our other tendencies. It makes us miserable just when we are getting the
advantage of others. Now, getting the advantage of others we had
understood was the whole of the exciting game of life. To plot for this
has marvelously sharpened human wit. But Conscience, just at the
critical moment, cries "For shame!" It is an awkward situation. Not
only the rules of the game, but the game itself, is called in question.
As a consequence, many conscientious persons lose all the zest of
living. The existing world seems to them brutal, its order, tyranny; its
morality, organized selfishness; its accepted religion, a shallow
conventionality. In such a world as this, the good man stands like a
gladiator who has suddenly become a Christian. He is overwhelmed
with horror at the bloody sports, yet he is forced into the arena and
must fight. That is his business, and he cannot rise above it.
I cannot, myself, take such a gloomy view of the interesting little planet
on which I happen to find myself. I take great comfort in the thought
that the world is still unfinished, and that what we see lying around us
is not the completed product, but only the raw material. And this
consolation rises into positive cheer when I learn that there is a chance
for us to take a hand in the creative work. It matters very little at this
stage of the proceedings whether things are good or bad. The question
for us is, What is the best use to which we can put them? We are not to
be bullied by facts. If we don't like them as they are, we may remould
them nearer to our heart's desire. At least we may try.
Here is my bayonet. A scientific gentleman, seeing it lying on my
hearth, might construct a very pretty theory about its owner. A bayonet
is made to stab with. It evidently implies a stabber. To this I could only
answer, "My dear sir, do not look at the bayonet, look at me. Do I strike
you as a person who would be likely to run you through, just because I
happen to have the conveniences to do it with? Sit down by the fire and
we will talk it over, and you will see that you have nothing to fear.
What the Birmingham manufacturer designed this bit of steel for was
his affair, not mine. When it comes to design, two can play at that game.

What I use this for, you shall presently see."
Now, here we have the gist of the matter. Most of the gloomy
prognostications which distress us arise from the habit of attributing to
the thing a power for good or evil which belongs only to the person. It
is one of the earliest forms of superstition. The anthropologist calls it
"fetichism" when he finds it among primitive peoples. When the same
notion is propounded by advanced thinkers, we call it "advanced
thought." We attribute to the Thing a malignant purpose and an
irresistible potency, and we crouch before it as if it were our master.
When the Thing is set going, we observe its direction with awe-struck
resignation, just as people once drew omens from the flight of birds.
What are we that we should interfere with the Tendencies of Things?
The author of "The Wisdom of Solomon" gives a vivid picture of the
terror of the Egyptians when they were "shut up in their houses, the
prisoners of darkness, and fettered with the bonds of a long night, they
lay there exiled from eternal providence." Everything seemed to them
to have a malign purpose. "Whether it were a whistling wind, or a
melodious noise of birds among the spreading branches, or a pleasing
fall of water running violently, or a terrible sound of stones cast down,
or a running that could not be seen of skipping beasts, or a roaring
voice of most savage