"I
have told you nothing about
man
that is not true." You must pardon me if I repeat that remark now and then in
these letters; I want you to take seriously the things I am telling you, and
I feel that if I were in your place and you in mine, I should need that reminder
from time to time, to keep my credulity from flagging.
For
there is nothing about man
that is not strange to an immortal.
He looks at nothing as we look
at it, his sense of proportion
is quite different from ours,
and his sense of values is
so widely divergent from ours,
that with all our large intellectual
powers it is not likely that
even the most gifted among
us would ever be quite able
to understand it.
For
instance, take this sample:
he has imagined a heaven, and
has left entirely out of it
the supremest of all his delights,
the one ecstasy that stands
first and foremost in the heart
of every individual of his
race -- and of ours -- sexual
intercourse!
It
is as if a lost and perishing
person in a roasting desert
should be told by a rescuer
he might choose and have all
longed-for things but one,
and he should elect to leave
out water!
His
heaven is like himself: strange,
interesting, astonishing, grotesque.
I give you my word, it has
not a single feature in it
that he actually values. It
consists -- utterly and entirely
-- of diversions which he cares
next to nothing about, here
in the earth, yet is quite
sure he will like them in heaven.
Isn't it curious? Isn't it
interesting? You must not think
I am exaggerating, for it is
not so. I will give you details.
Most
men do not sing, most men cannot
sing, most men will not stay
when others are singing if
it be continued more than two
hours. Note that.
Only
about two men in a hundred
can play upon a musical instrument,
and not four in a hundred have
any wish to learn how. Set
that down.
Many
men pray, not many of them
like to do it. A few pray long,
the others make a short cut.
More
men go to church than want
to.
To
forty-nine men in fifty the
Sabbath Day is a dreary, dreary
bore.
Of
all the men in a church on
a Sunday, two-thirds are tired
when the service is half over,
and the rest before it is finished.
The
gladdest moment for all of
them is when the preacher uplifts
his hands for the benediction.
You can hear the soft rustle
of relief that sweeps the house,
and you recognize that it is
eloquent with gratitude.
All
nations look down upon all
other nations.
All
nations dislike all other nations.
All
white nations despise all colored
nations, of whatever hue, and
oppress them when they can.
White
men will not associate with "niggers," nor
marry them.
They
will not allow them in their
schools and churches.
All
the world hates the Jew, and
will not endure him except
when he is rich.
I
ask you to note all those particulars.
Further.
All sane people detest noise.
All
people, sane or insane, like
to have variety in their life.
Monotony quickly wearies them.
Every
man, according to the mental
equipment that has fallen to
his share, exercises his intellect
constantly, ceaselessly, and
this exercise makes up a vast
and valued and essential part
of his life. The lowest intellect,
like the highest, possesses
a skill of some kind and takes
a keen pleasure in testing
it, proving it, perfecting
it. The urchin who is his comrade's
superior in games is as diligent
and as enthusiastic in his
practice as are the sculptor,
the painter, the pianist, the
mathematician and the rest.
Not one of them could be happy
if his talent were put under
an interdict.
Now
then, you have the facts. You
know what the human race enjoys
and what it doesn't enjoy.
It has invented a heaven out
of its own head, all by itself:
guess what it is like! In fifteen
hundred eternities you couldn't
do it. The ablest mind known
to you or me in fifty million
aeons couldn't do it. Very
well, I will tell you about
it.
1.
First of all, I recall to your
attention the extraordinary
fact with which I began. To
wit, that the human being,
like the immortals, naturally
places sexual intercourse far
and away above all other joys
-- yet he has left it out of
his heaven! The very thought
of it excites him; opportunity
sets him wild; in this state
he will risk life, reputation,
everything -- even his queer
heaven itself -- to make good
that opportunity and ride it
to the overwhelming climax.
From youth to middle age all
men and all women prize copulation
above all other pleasures combined,
yet it is actually as I have
said: it is not in their heaven;
prayer takes its place.
They
prize it thus highly; yet,
like all their so-called "boons," it
is a poor thing. At its very
best and longest the act is
brief beyond imagination --
the imagination of an immortal,
I mean. In the matter of repetition
the man is limited -- oh, quite
beyond immortal conception.
We who continue the act and
its supremest ecstasies unbroken
and without withdrawal for
centuries, will never be able
to understand or adequately
pity the awful poverty of these
people in that rich gift which,
possessed as we possess it,
makes all other possessions
trivial and not worth the trouble
of invoicing.
2.
In man's heaven everybody
sings! The man who did
not sing on earth sings there;
the man who could not sing
on earth is able to do it there.
The universal singing is not
casual, not occasional, not
relieved by intervals of quiet;
it goes on, all day long, and
every day, during a stretch
of twelve hours. And everybody
stays; whereas in the earth
the place would be empty in
two hours. The singing is of
hymns alone. Nay, it is of one hymn
alone. The words are always
the same, in number they are
only about a dozen, there is
no rhyme, there is no poetry: "Hosannah,
hosannah, hosannah, Lord God
of Sabaoth, 'rah! 'rah! 'rah!
siss! -- boom! ... a-a-ah!"
3.
Meantime, every person is playing
on a harp -- those millions
and millions! -- whereas not
more than twenty in the thousand
of them could play an instrument
in the earth, or ever wanted
to.
Consider
the deafening hurricane of
sound -- millions and millions
of voices screaming at once
and millions and millions of
harps gritting their teeth
at the same time! I ask you:
is it hideous, is it odious,
is it horrible?
Consider
further: it is a praise service;
a service of compliment, of
flattery, of adulation! Do
you ask who it is that is willing
to endure this strange compliment,
this insane compliment; and
who not only endures it, but
likes it, enjoys it, requires
if, commands it? Hold
your breath!
It
is God! This race's god, I
mean. He sits on his throne,
attended by his four and twenty
elders and some other dignitaries
pertaining to his court, and
looks out over his miles and
miles of tempestuous worshipers,
and smiles, and purrs, and
nods his satisfaction northward,
eastward, southward; as quaint
and nave a spectacle as has
yet been imagined in this universe,
I take it.
It
is easy to see that the inventor
of the heavens did not originate
the idea, but copied it from
the show-ceremonies of some
sorry little sovereign State
up in the back settlements
of the Orient somewhere.
All
sane white people hate noise;
yet they have tranquilly accepted
this kind of heaven -- without
thinking, without reflection,
without examination -- and
they actually want to go to
it! Profoundly devout old gray-headed
men put in a large part of
their time dreaming of the
happy day when they will lay
down the cares of this life
and enter into the joys of
that place. Yet you can see
how unreal it is to them, and
how little it takes a grip
upon them as being fact, for
they make no practical preparation
for the great change: you never
see one of them with a harp,
you never hear one of them
sing.
As
you have seen, that singular
show is a service of praise:
praise by hymn, praise by prostration.
It takes the place of "church." Now
then, in the earth these people
cannot stand much church --
an hour and a quarter is the
limit, and they draw the line
at once a week. That is to
say, Sunday. One day in seven;
and even then they do not look
forward to it with longing.
And so -- consider what their
heaven provides for them: "church" that
lasts forever, and a Sabbath
that has no end! They quickly
weary of this brief hebdomadal
Sabbath here, yet they long
for that eternal one; they
dream of it, they talk about
it, they think they
think they are going to enjoy
it -- with all their simple
hearts they think they think
they are going to be happy
in it!
It
is because they do not think
at all; they only think they
think. Whereas they can't think;
not two human beings in ten
thousand have anything to think
with. And as to imagination
-- oh, well, look at their
heaven! They accept it, they
approve it, they admire it.
That gives you their intellectual
measure.
4.
The inventor of their heaven
empties into it all the nations
of the earth, in one common
jumble. All are on an equality
absolute, no one of them ranking
another; they have to be "brothers";
they have to mix together,
pray together, harp together,
Hosannah together -- whites,
niggers, Jews, everybody --
there's no distinction. Here
in the earth all nations hate
each other, and every one of
them hates the Jew. Yet every
pious person adores that heaven
and wants to get into it. He
really does. And when he is
in a holy rapture he thinks
he thinks that if he were only
there he would take all the
populace to his heart, and
hug, and hug, and hug!
He
is a marvel -- man is! I would
I knew who invented him.
5.
Every man in the earth possesses
some share of intellect, large
or small; and be it large or
be it small he takes pride
in it. Also his heart swells
at mention of the names of
the majestic intellectual chiefs
of his race, and he loves the
tale of their splendid achievements.
For he is of their blood, and
in honoring themselves they
have honored him. Lo, what
the mind of man can do! he
cries, and calls the roll of
the illustrious of all ages;
and points to the imperishable
literatures they have given
to the world, and the mechanical
wonders they have invented,
and the glories wherewith they
have clothed science and the
arts; and to them he uncovers
as to kings, and gives to them
the profoundest homage, and
the sincerest, his exultant
heart can furnish -- thus exalting
intellect above all things
else in the world, and enthroning
it there under the arching
skies in a supremacy unapproachable.
And then he contrived a heaven
that hasn't a rag of intellectuality
in it anywhere!
Is
it odd, is it curious, is it
puzzling? It is exactly as
I have said, incredible as
it may sound. This sincere
adorer of intellect and prodigal
rewarder of its mighty services
here in the earth has invented
a religion and a heaven which
pay no compliments to intellect,
offer it no distinctions, fling
it no largess: in fact, never
even mention it.
By
this time you will have noticed
that the human being's heaven
has been thought out and constructed
upon an absolute definite plan;
and that this plan is, that
it shall contain, in labored
detail, each and every imaginable
thing that is repulsive to
a man, and not a single thing
he likes!
Very
well, the further we proceed
the more will this curious
fact be apparent.
Make
a note of it: in man's heaven
there are no exercises for
the intellect, nothing for
it to live upon. It would rot
there in a year -- rot and
stink. Rot and stink -- and
at that stage become holy.
A blessed thing: for only the
holy can stand the joys of
that bedlam. |