In childhood, the Master of Life exalts Life. A baby in its mother's
arms is the fullest expression of Divinity.
It was Christmas time; that season of the year when, for a brief
period, the world permits the children to occupy the place in the
affairs and thoughts of men that is theirs by divine right.
In the birth of that babe in Bethlehem, the Giver of Life placed the
seal of his highest approval upon childhood and decreed that, until
the end of time, babies should be the true rulers of mankind and the
lawful heirs of heaven. And it is so, that the power of Mary's babe,
from his manger cradle throne, has been more potent on earth in the
governments of men than the strength of many emperors with their armed
hosts.
It is written large in Nature's laws that mankind should be governed
by love of children. The ruling purpose and passion of the race can
be, with safety, nothing less than the purpose and passion of all
created things--of even the trees and plants--the purpose to reproduce
its kind--the passion for its offspring. The world should be ruled by
boys and girls.
But Mammon has usurped the throne of Life. His hosts have trampled the
banners of loyal love in the dust. His forces have compelled the
rightful rulers of the world to abdicate. But, even as gross
materialism has never succeeded in altogether denying Divinity, so,
for a few days each year, at Christmas time, childhood asserts its
claims and compels mankind to render, at least a show, of homage.
Poor, blind, deceived and betrayed, old world; to so fear a foolish
and impotent anarchism that spends its strength in vain railings
against governments while you pay highest honors and present your
choicest favors to those traitors who filch your wealth of young life
under pretense of loyal service. The real anarchists, old world, are
not those who loudly vociferate to the rabble on the street corners
but those who, operating under the laws of your approval, betray their
country in its greatest need--its need of children. The real
anarchists, old world, are those whose banners are made red by the
blood of babies; who fatten upon the labor of their child slaves; and
who seek to rule by the slaughter of children even as that savage of
old whose name in history is hated by every lover of the race.
Regicides at heart, they are, for they kill, for a price, the God
ordained rulers of mankind. A child is nearer, by many years, to God
than the grown up rebel who traitorously holds his own mean interests
superior to the holy will of Life as vested in the sacred person of a
boy or girl.
To prate, in empty swelling words, of the sacredness of life, the
power of religion, the dignity of state, the importance of commercial
interests and the natural wealth of the nation, while ignoring the
sacredness, power, dignity, importance, and wealth of childhood, is
evidence of a criminal thoughtlessness.
Children and Life are one. They are the product, the producers, and
the preservers of Life. They exalt Life. They interpret Life. Without
them Life has no meaning. The child is no more the possession of its
parents than the parents are the property of the child. Children are
the just creditors of the human race. Mankind owes them everything.
They owe mankind nothing. A baby has no debts.
Nor is the passion for children satisfied only in bearing them. A
woman who does not love _all_ babies is unsafe to trust with one
of her own flesh. A man who does not love _all_ children is unfit
to father offspring of his own blood. One need not die to orphan a
child. One need only refuse to care for it. One need only place other
interests first. Men and women who desire to become parents will not
go unsatisfied in a world that is so full of boys and girls for whom
there are neither fathers nor mothers.
The Master of Life said: "Except ye become as little children." His
false disciple--world--teaches: "Except ye become grown up." But the
laws of Life are irrevocable. If a man, heeding the world, grows up to
possess the earth, his holdings, at the last, are reduced--if he be
one of earth's big men--to six feet of it, only; while the man who
never grows up inherits a heaven that the false kings of earth know
not.
When the man left his work, at close of the day before Christmas, he
was as eager as he had been that Saturday when he faced the crisis of
his life. With every sense keenly alive, he plunged into the throng of
belated shoppers that filled the streets and crowded into the gaily
decked stores until it overflowed into the streets again. Nearly
everyone was carrying bundles and packages for it was too late, now,
to depend upon the overworked delivery wagons. In almost every face,
the Christmas gladness shone. In nearly every voice, there was that
spirit of fellowship and cheery good will that is invoked by Christmas
thoughts and plans. Through the struggling but good natured crowd, the
man worked his way into a store and, when he forced his way out again,
his arms, too, were full. For a moment he waited on the corner for a
car then, with a look of smiling dismay at the number of people who
were also waiting, he turned away, determined to walk. He felt, too,
that the exercise in the keen air would be a relief to the buoyant
strength and gladness that clamored for expression.
As he swung so easily along the snowy pavement, with the strength of
his splendid manhood revealed in every movement and the cleanness of
his heart and mind illuminating his countenance, there were many among
those he met who, while they smiled in sympathy with his spirit,
passed from their smiles to half sighs of envy and regret.
With the impatient haste of a boy, the man dashed up the steps of his
boarding house and ran up stairs to his room; chuckling in triumph
over his escape from the watchful eyes of the little daughter of the
house. For the first time since his boyhood the man was to have the
blessed privilege of sharing the Christmas cheer of a home.
When the evening meal was over and it was time for his little playmate
to go to sleep, he retired again to his room, almost as excited, in
his eager impatience for the morning, as the child herself. Safe
behind his closed door, he began to unwrap his Christmas packages and
parcels that he might inspect again his purchases and taste, by
anticipation, the pleasure he would know when on the morrow the child
would discover his gifts. Very carefully he cut the strings from the
last and largest package and, tenderly removing the wrappings,
revealed a doll almost as tall as the little girl herself. It was as
large, at least, as a real flesh and blood baby.
The wifeless, homeless, man who has never purchased a doll for some
little child mother has missed an educational experience of more value
than many of the things that are put in text books to make men wise.
Rather awkwardly the man held the big doll in his arms, smoothing its
dress and watching the eyes that opened and closed so lifelike;
cautiously he felt for and found that vital spot which if pressed
brought forth a startling: "papa--mama."
As the dear familiar words of childhood sounded in the lonely bachelor
room, the man felt a queer something grip his heart. Tenderly he laid
the doll upon his big bed and stood for a little looking down upon it;
a half-serious, half-whimsical, expression on his face but in his eyes
a tender light. Then, adjusting his reading lamp, he seated himself
and attempted to busy his strangely disturbed mind with a book. But
the sentences were meaningless. At every period, his eyes turned to
that little figure on the bed, with its too lifelike face and hair and
form while the thoughts of the author he was trying to read were
crowded out by other thoughts that forced themselves upon him with a
persistency and strength that would not be denied.
The weeks following the testing of the man had been to him very
wonderful weeks. He seemed to be living in a new world, or, rather,
for him, the same old world was wonderfully enriched and glorified.
Never had he felt his manhood's strength stirring so within him. Never
had his mind been so alert, his spirit so bold. He moved among men
with a new power that was felt by all who came in touch with him;
though no one knew what it was. He was conscious of a fuller mastery
of his work; a clearer grasp of the world events. As one, climbing in
the mountains, reaches a point higher than he has ever before attained
and gains thus a wider view of the path he has traveled, of the
surrounding country, and of the peak that is the object of his climb
as well, so this man, in his life climb, had reached a higher point
and therefore gained a wider outlook. It is only when men stay in the
lowlands of self interest or abide in the swamps of self indulgence
that their views of life are narrowly circumscribed. Let a man master
himself but once and he stands on higher ground, with wider outlook,
with keener vision, and clearer atmosphere.
The man had always seen Life in its relation to himself; he came, now,
to consider his own life in its relation to all Life; which point of
view has all the difference that lies between a low valley and the
mountain peaks that shut it in. He felt his relation, too, not alone
to all human life but to all created things. With everything that
lived he felt himself kin. With the very dray horses on the street,
dragging with patient courage their heavily loaded trucks; with the
stray dog that dodged in and out among the wheels and hoofs of the
crowded traffic; even with the sparrow that perched for a moment on
the ledge outside the window near his desk, he felt a kinship that was
new and strange. Had they not all, he reflected, horse and dog and
sparrow and man--had they not all one thing in common--Life? Was not
Life the one thing supreme to each? Were they not, each one, a part of
the whole? Was not the supreme object of every life, of all life, to
live? Is the life of a man, he asked himself, more mysterious than the
life of a horse? Can science--blind, pretentious, childish
science--explain the life of a dog with less uncertainty than it can
explain the life of a man? Or can the scientist make a laboratory
sparrow more easily than he can produce a laboratory man? With the
very trees that lined the streets near where he lived, he felt a
kinship for they, too, within their trunks and limbs, had life--they,
too, were parts of the whole even as he was a part--they, too,
belonged even as he belonged.
Thus the man saw Life from a loftier height than he had ever before
attained. Thus he sensed, as never before, the bigness, the fullness,
the grandness, the awfulness, of Life. And so the man became very
humble with a proud humbleness. He became very proud with a humble
pride. He became even as a child again.
And then, standing thus upon this new height that he had gained, the
man looked back into the ages that were gone and forward into the ages
that were to come and so saw himself and his age a link between the
past and the future; linking that which had been to that which was to
be. All that Life had ever been--the sum of all since the unknown
beginning--was in the present. In the present, also, was all that Life
could ever be, even unto the unknown end. Within his age and within
himself he felt stirring all the mighty forces that, since the
beginning, had wrought in the making of man. Within his age and within
himself he felt the forces that would work out in the race results as
far beyond his present vision as his age was beyond the ages of the
most distant past.
Since the day when he had first realized his manhood, the working out
of his dreams had been to the man the supreme object of his life. He
had put his life, literally, into his work. For his work he had lived.
But that Christmas eve, when his mind and heart were so filled with
thoughts of childhood and those new emotions were aroused within him,
he saw that the supreme thing in his life must be Life itself. He saw
that not by putting his life into his work, would he most truly live,
but by making his work contribute to his life. He realized that the
greatest achievements of man are but factors in Life--that the one
supreme, dominant, compelling, purpose of Life is to _live_--to
_live_--to _live_--to express itself in Life--that the only
adequate expression of Life _is_ Life--that the passion of Life
is to pass itself on--from age to age, from generation to generation,
in a thousand thousand forms, in a thousand thousand ages, in a
thousand thousand peoples, Life had passed itself on--was even then
passing itself on--seeking ever fuller expression of itself; seeking
ever to perfect itself; seeking ever to produce itself. He saw that
the things that men do come out of their lives even as the plants come
out of the soil into which the seed is dropped; and, that, even as the
dead and decaying plant goes back into the earth from which it came,
to enrich and renew the ground, so man's work, that comes out of his
life, is reabsorbed again into his life to enrich and renew it. He
realized, now, that the object of his life must be not his work but
Life itself--that his effort must be not to do but to be--that he must
accomplish not a great work but a great Life.
It was inevitable that the man should come to see, also, that the
supreme glory of his manhood's strength was in this: the reproduction
of his kind. The man life that ran so strongly in his veins, that
throbbed so exultantly in his splendid body, that thrilled so keenly
in his nerves--the man life that he had from his parents and from
countless generations before--the life that made him kin to all his
race and to all created things--this life he must pass on. This was
the supreme glory of his manhood: that he could pass it on--that he
could give it to the ages that were to come.
From the heights which he attained that Christmas eve, the man laughed
at the empty, swelling, words of those who talk about the sacredness
of work--who prattle as children about leaving a great work when they
are gone--who gibber as fools about contributing a great work to the
world.
If the men of a race will perfect the manhood strength of the race; if
they will exalt their manhood power; if they will fulfill the mission
of life by perfecting and producing ever more perfect lives; if they
will endeavor to contribute to the ages to come stronger, better, men
than themselves; why, the work of the world will be done--even as the
plant produces its flowers and fruit, the work of the world will be
done. In the exaltation of Life is the remedy for the evils that
threaten the race. The reformations that men are always attempting in
the social, religious, political, and industrial world are but
attempts to change the flavor or quality of the fruit when it is
ripening on the tree. The true remedy lies in the life of the tree; in
the soil from which it springs; in the source from which the fruit
derives its quality and flavor. In the appreciation of Life, in the
passion of Life, in the production of Life, in the perfection of Life,
in the exaltation of Life, is the salvation of human kind. For this,
and this alone, man has right to live--has right to his place and part
in Life.
All this the man saw that Christmas eve because the kiss of the little
girl, on that night of his temptation, had awakened something in his
manhood that was greater than the dreams he had been denying himself
to work out. The friendship of the child had revealed to him this
deeper truth of Life; that there are, for all true men,
accomplishments greater than the rewards of labor. The baby had taught
him that the legitimate fruit of love is more precious to Life, by
far, than the wealth and honors that the world bestows--that, indeed,
the greatest wealth, the highest honors, are not in the power of the
world to give; nor are they to be won by toil. In his thinking, this
man, too, was led by a little child.
The man's thoughts were interrupted by a knock at his door.
It was the little girl's mother; to tell him, as she had promised,
that the child was safely asleep.
With his arms filled with presents, the man went softly down the
stairs.
When all had been arranged for the morning, the man returned again to
his room; but not to sleep. There was in his heart a feeling of
reverent pride and gladness, as though he had been permitted to assist
in a religious rite, and, with his own hands, to place an offering
upon a sacred altar. And, if you will understand me, the man was
right. Whatever else Christmas has come to mean to the grown up world,
its true meaning can be nothing less than this.
Nor did the man again turn to his book or attempt to take up the train
of thought that had so interfered with his reading. Something more
compelling than any printed page--something more insistant than his
own thoughts of Life and its meaning--lured him far away from his
grown up days--took him back again into his days that were gone. Alone
in his room that Christmas eve, the man went back, once more, to his
Yesterdays--back to a Christmas in his Yesterdays.
Once again, his boyhood home was the scene of busy preparations for
the Christmas gaieties. Once again, the boy, tucked snugly under the
buffalo robe, drove with his parents away through the white fields to
the distant town while the music in his heart kept time to the melody
of the jingling bells. Once again, he experienced the happy perplexity
of selecting--with mother's help--a present for father while father
obligingly went to see a man on business and of choosing--with
father's assistance--a gift for mother while she rested in a far
corner of the store. And then, once again, he faced the trying
question: what should he get for the little girl who lived next door.
What, indeed, _could_ he get for _her_ but a beautiful new
doll--one with brown hair, very like the little girl's own, and brown
eyes that opened and closed as natural as life.
The next day the boy went, with his father and the little girl and her
uncle, in the big sleigh, to the woods to find a tree for the
Christmas "exercises" at the church; and, in the afternoon, in company
with the older people, helped to make the wreaths of evergreen and
deck the tree with glittering tinsel; while the little girl strung
long strings of snowy pop corn and labored earnestly at the sweet task
of filling mosquito bar stockings with candy and nuts.
Then came that triumphant Christmas eve, when, before the assembled
Sunday school and the crowded church, the boy took part, with his
class, in the entertainment and sat, with wildly beating heart, while
the little girl, all alone, sang a Christmas carol; and proud he was,
indeed, when the applause for the little singer was so long and loud.
And then, when the farmer Santa Claus had distributed the last
stocking of candy, the boy and the girl, with their elders, went home
together, in the clear light of the stars; while, across the white
fields, came the sound of gay laughter and happy voices mingled with
the ringing music of the sleigh bells--growing fainter and fainter--as
friends and neighbors went their several ways.
But, best of all--by far the best of all--was that Christmas morning
at home. At the first hint of gray light in the winter sky, the boy
was awake and out of bed to gather his Christmas harvest; hailing each
toy and game and book with exclamations of delight and arousing all
the house with his shouts of: "Merry Christmas."
The foolish, grown up, old world has a saying that we value most the
things that we win for ourselves by toil and hardship; but, believe
me, it is not so. The real treasures of earth are the things that are
won by the toil of those who bring to us, without price, the fruits of
their labor as tokens of their love.
Very early, that long ago Christmas morning, the boy went over to the
little girl's house; for his happiness would not be complete until he
could share it with her. And the man, who, alone in his bachelor room
that Christmas eve, dreamed of his Yesterdays, saw again, with
startling clearness, his boyhood mate as she stood in the doorway
greeting him with shouts of, "Merry Christmas," as he went toward her
through the snow; and the heart of the man beat quicker at the lovely
vision--even as the heart of the boy--for she held, close in her
little mother arms, the new addition to her family of dolls--his gift.
The lonely man, that night, realized, as he had never realized before,
how full, at that moment, was the cup of the boy's proud happiness. He
realized and understood.