The Sabbath, said the Teacher, was made for Man, and not man for the
Sabbath.
The bearin’s of which, as Dickens would say, is in its application.
Any Institution was made for Man, and not Man for the Institution.
The college, for instance. No, friend Procrustes, whilst we appreciate
your zeal to make a record for yourself as President, yet we would
remind you that we are sending our boy to your University for the good
He can get out of it, and not for the benefit He can be to it. He is not
there for you to find out how far He falls short of your standards, nor
what glory He can add to his Alma Mater; He is there for You to find out
what’s in Him, and to develop that. We don’t care a hang about your
grand old traditions and things, except as they help you in being the
making of our particular pup.
The Church was made for Man, and not Man for the Church. And if your
meeting-house is just occupied in keeping itself up, parson, why, close
it up and start a hennery, and help Hoover. We don’t care about how much
money you raise, nor how beautiful are your vestments, nor how high your
theology, nor how numerous your membership, nor how gay your stained
glass. Are you helping friend Man? Are you making him sober,
industrious, clean, and honest? Are you developing in him a civic
conscience? Or are you simply being good—so good you’re good for
nothing? Come, produce! Or quit!
The House was made for Man, Ma, and not Man for the House. Let the boys
play marbles in the dining-room, and the girls have their beaux in the
parlor, and grandpa smoke his pipe in the kitchen, and everybody raid
the ice-box at 11 p. m. if they want to; what better use can carpets be
put to than that children’s knees should wear them out a-gleemaking, and
what are sofas for if not for spooning, and kitchen-warmth and cheer if
not for old folk homing? Use the old home up, and get a better
product—of love and laughter and undying memories.
Books were made for Man, and not Man for Books. Use ’em. Thumb ’em. Mark
’em. Go to bed with ’em. Carry ’em on trains. And don’t own books that
cannot be carried down through the Valley of Every-day as the soul’s
lunch-basket.
The most perfect Ornament is that which is of the most perfect Service
to Man. No cane is so beautiful as the one grandfather wore smooth on a
thousand walks; no chair so lovely as that one mother consecrated by
many a night of rocking the baby; no table so priceless as that one
where father used to write; no pipe so pretty as the one he smoked; no
dress so charming as that one that still has the wrinkles in it worn
there by the little girl gone—gone forever into heaven, or womanhood.
It’s the human touch that beautifies. Nothing can be warmly beautiful
that is not, or was not, useful.
And Democracy is beautiful because it exists for the welfare of the
People that compose it, and not for the glory of the Dynasty that rules
it.
The State was made for Man, and not Man for the State.