Editorials from the Hearst Newspapers | Page 6

than another, one is more irresponsibly moved to laughter or anger--that constitutes his personality.
Remove our imperfections and we should all be alike--smooth off all agglomerations of matter on all sides and everything would be spherical.
What would be the use of keeping so many of us if we were all perfect, and therefore all alike? One talks through his nose, one has a deep voice. But shall kind Providence provide two sets of wings for nose talkers and chest talkers? Why not make the two into one good talker and save one pair of wings?
Why not, in fact, keep just one perfect sample, and let all the rest placidly drift back to nothingness? Or, better, why not take all the goodness that there is in all the men and women that ever were and melt it all down into one cosmic human being? ----
The rain drops, the mist and the sprays of Niagara all go back to the ocean in time. Possibly we all go back at the end to the sea of divine wisdom, whence we were sent forth to do, well or badly, our little work down here:
Future punishment? We think not.
One drop of water revives the wounded hero--another helps to give wet feet and consumption to a little child. It all depends on circumstances.
Both drops go back to the ocean. There is no rule that sends the good drop to heaven and the other to boil forever and ever in a sulphur pit. ----
Troubles beset us when we think of a future state and our reason quarrels always with our longings. We all want--in heaven--to meet Voltaire with his very thin legs. But we cannot believe that those skinny shanks are to be immortal. We shall miss the snuff and the grease on Sam Johnson's collar. If an angel comes up neat and smiling and says "Permit me to introduce myself --I am the great lexicographer," we shall say "Tell that to some other angel. The great Samuel was dirty and wheezy, and I liked him that way."
And children. The idea of children in heaven flying about with their little fluffy wings is fascinating. But would eternal childhood be fair to them? If a babe dies while teething, shall it remain forever toothless? How shall its mother know it if it is allowed to grow up?
Listen to Heine--that marvellous genius of the Jewish race:
"Yes, yes! You talk of reunion in a transfigured shape. What would that be to me? I knew him in his old brown surtout, and so I would see him again. Thus he sat at table, the salt cellar and pepper caster on either hand. And if the pepper was on the right and the salt on the left hand he shifted them over. I knew him in a brown surtout, and so I would see him again."
Thus he spoke of his dead father. Thus many of us think and speak of those that are gone. How foolish to hope for the preservation of what is imperfect!
How important to have FAITH, and to feel that reality will surpass anticipation, and that whatever IS will be the best thing for us and satisfy us utterly.

THREE WATER DROPS CONVERSE
Three drops of water, stranded in a crevice on the side of an inland mountain, talked in this way:
First Drop--"They say there is an ocean whence we came and to which we shall return."
Second Drop--"They say we three drops are made in the image of that ocean; that as far as we go, which is not far, we are miniature oceans."
Third Drop--"Bosh and nonsense. There is no ocean. It is all superstition. Before we were born here, from the mist, what were we? When we evaporate in a few minutes what becomes of us? You two drops make me feel sorry for you. I know that when I cease reflecting that white cloud up there, that ends ME. I have no delusions about oceans or going back to anything." ----
You know what happened. The cloud formed into rain and our three drops were washed into a tiny trickling stream. The thin stream of rain ran into a brook, the brook into a river. Soon the three drops were back in the ocean--possibly without knowing it.
Shall we some day go rolling back to the ocean of cosmic wisdom whence we came?
Is it possible that man is indeed made in the image of God, as drops are made in the ocean's image--the individual men, like the individual drops, being sent forth to do necessary cosmic work through the universe, going back to the ocean after each errand is done, and so going back and forth, forever and ever?
That would not be such a mean destiny, we should say. It would certainly be a very democratic form of cosmic government. ----
Inferior men,