Nonsenseorship | Page 5

return
in comfort to a peaceful existence.
Florid literature is the compensation for humdrummery. If we are ever
completely shut off from a chance to see or read about a little
evil-doing we shall probably be moved to go out and cut loose on our
own. So far we have not felt the necessity. We have been willing to let
D'Artagnan do it.
Even so arduous an abstinence as prohibition may be made endurable
through fictional substitutes. After listening to a drinking chorus in a
comic opera and watching the amusing antics of the chief comedian
who is ever so inebriated we are almost persuaded to stay dry.
Prohibition is perhaps the climax of censorship. It has the advantage
over other forms of suppression in that at least it represents a sensible
point of view. Yet, we are not converted. There are things in the world
far more important than hard sense.
One of the officials of the Anti-Saloon League gave out a statement the
other day in which he endeavored to show all the benefits provided by
prohibition. But he did it with figures. There was a column showing the
increase of accounts in savings banks and another devoted to the
decrease of inmates in hospitals, jails and almshouses. From a
utilitarian point of view the figures, if correct, could hardly fail to be
impressive, but little has been said by either side about the spiritual
aspects of rum. Unfortunately there are no statistics on that, and yet it is
the one phase of the question which interests us. Some weeks ago we
happened to observe a letter from a man who wrote to one of the
newspapers protesting against the proposed settlement in Ireland on the
ground that, "It's so damned sensible." We have somewhat the same
feeling about prohibition. It is a movement to take the folly out of our
national life and there is no quality which America needs so sorely.
If enforcement ever becomes perfect this will be a nation composed
entirely of men who wear rubbers, put money in the bank, and go to
bed at ten. That fine old ringing phrase, "This is on me," will be gone

from the language. Conversation will be wholly instructive, for in fifty
years the last generation capable of saying, "Do you remember that
night--?" will have been gathered to its fathers.
Of course, there is no denying the shortsightedness of the forces of rum.
They cannot escape their responsibility for having aided in the advent
of Prohibition. They were slow to see the necessity of some form of
curtailment and limitation of the traffic. Such moves as they did make
were entirely wrong-headed. For instance, we had ordinances providing
for the early closing of cafés. Instead of that we should have had laws
forbidding anybody to sell liquor except between the hours of 8 P.M.
and 5 A.M. Daytime drinking was always sodden, but something is
necessary to make night worth while. Man is more than the beasts, and
he should not be driven into dull slumber just because the sun has set.
The invention of electricity, liquor, cut glass mirrors, and cards made
man the master of his environment rather than its slave. Now that
liquor is gone all the other factors are mockery. Card playing has
become merely an extension of the cruel and logical process of the
survival of the fittest. The fellow with the best hand wins, instead of the
one with the best head. Nobody draws four cards any more or stands
for a raise on an inside straight. The thing is just cut-throat and
scientific and wholly mercenary.
The kitty is gone. Nobody cares to come in to a common fund for the
purchase of mineral water and cheese sandwiches. And with the
passing of the kitty the most promising development of co-operation
and communism in America has gone. It was prophetic of a more
perfectly organized society. In the days of the kitty the fine Socialistic
ideal of, "From each according to his abilities; to each according to his
needs," was made specific and workable. And the inspiring romantic
tradition of Robin Hood was also carried over into modern life. The
kitty robbed only the rich and left the poor alone.
But now none of us will contribute unquestionably to the material
comfort of others. Each must keep his money for the savings bank.
Perhaps, something of the old friendly rivalry may be revived. In a

hundred years it may be that men will meet around a table and that one
will say to the other, "What have you got?"
"I've got $9,876.32 in first mortgages and gilt-edged securities."
"That's good. You win."
But somehow or other we doubt it.
Another mistake which was made in the policy of compromising with