Not long ago I read the following gloomy bit of pessimism from the pen
of a man bright enough to know better than to add to the mental malaria
of the world. He said:
Life is a hopeless battle in which we are foredoomed to defeat. And
the prize for which we strive "to have and to hold"--what is it? A
thing that is neither enjoyed while had, nor missed when lost. So
worthless it is, so unsatisfying, so inadequate to purpose, so false to
hope and at its best so brief, that for consolation and compensation we
set up fantastic faiths of an aftertime in a better world from which no
confirming whisper has ever reached us out of the void. Heaven is a
prophecy uttered by the lips of despair, but Hell is an inference from
history.
This is morbid and unwholesome talk which can do no human being any
good to utter, or listen to.
But it can depress and discourage the weak and struggling souls, who
are striving to make the best of circumstances, and it can nerve to
suicide the hand of some half-crazed being, who needed only a word of
encouragement and cheer to brace up and win the race.
This is the unpardonable sin--to talk discouragingly to human souls,
hungering for hope.
When the man without brains does it, he can be pardoned for knowing no
better.
When the man with brains does it, he should be ashamed to look his
fellow mortals in the eyes.
It is a sin ten times deeper dyed than giving a stone to those who ask
for bread.
It is giving poison to those who plead for a cup of cold water.
Fortunately the remarks above quoted contain not one atom of truth!
The writer may speak for himself, but he has no right to speak for
others.
It is all very well for a man who is marked with smallpox to say his
face has not one unscarred inch on the surface of it. But he has no
premises to stand upon when he says there is not a face in the world
which is free from smallpox scars.