Great is the god Commonplace, and his prophets of the accredited order
of the "Common, ornary Kusses" are legion. They are of both sexes and
of every race, age and condition. Consent to render homage to their
Deity by confessing by word and deed that every man is as good as
another and better too, and they will continue to smile openly; but, in
secret, they will prey upon you. Their capable emissaries go around
with measuring line and shears, alert to discover, and ready to reduce
to the proper dimensions anyone who shall dare to outgrow their
prescribed proportions. You can never know when you are safe from
their incursions.
The dignified old man who sits next you at your hotel table seeming to
be entirely preoccupied by the discussion of his dinner, may only be
biding his time, waiting an excuse to deliver you over to their
insatiable maw, to be dealt with according to the rules of their
society. Or, perhaps the lady who in the first flush of your
acquaintance quite dazzles you with her fluent chat upon multitudinous
topics, suddenly, upon finding you unguardedly expressing opinions not
approved by the high priests of mediocrity, lets fall her mask, and
shows herself to your astonished gaze a secret emissary, a determined
servant of their most ancient and established order. "Thus far," so
far as we can accompany you, "shalt thou go and no farther" at your
peril. Woe to the soul that yields a ready obedience to the master's
voice, that is ever calling to all who can hear: "Come up higher." The
sash with which he would gird up his loins, "the latchet" with which he
tightens his sandals that he may run more swiftly the race set before
him, the staff upon which he would lean shall all be turned by these
demon worshippers into scourges. He shall be "beaten with many
stripes," for so it hath been ordained from long time, until the pain
of his wounded heart and hurt brain shall deaden his sensibilities so
that he can no more hear the voice nor see the helping hand.
Defy, resist, and the limp, sprawling, accommodating God becomes a
sinuous, hydracrested, overpowering dragon, stopping at nothing to "put
you where you belong"--his favorite battle cry--himself judge, jury and
executioner. This he has not the power to do unless he can prove to
you that you "belong" where he seeks to place you, for his veins are
full of mud. He is of the "earth earthy," and in the rarified
atmosphere of noble ambition and great achievements, he is utterly
blind and of no account. Take heart, then, O aspiring soul! "Prove
all things; hold fast that which is good." Render unto every true
principle that which is its due; but beware how you worship or lean
upon teachers, leaders who, beneath their proudly-worn garb, and
insignia of leadership, may be all the time wearing the robes of the
high priests of the god Commonplace.