The most ordinary steamship agent, talking to peasants in Europe, can
describe America in such a way that those peasants will start there at
once. But the most gifted preacher can't get men to hurry to heaven.
All sorts of prophets have dreamed of a heaven, and they have imagined
all kinds; they have put houris in the Mahometan's paradise, and swords
in Valhalla. But in spite of having carte blanche they have never
invented a good one.
A man sits in his pew, hearing about harps and halos and hymns, and when
it's all over he goes home and puts on his old wrapper. "I suppose I can
stand it," he thinks. "I've stood corns and neuritis. But I just hate
the idea of floating around any such region."
[Illustration: "I've stood corns and neuritis--"]
Some persons may want to go to heaven so as to keep out of hell, or to
get away from misery here--if they are in great enough misery. Others
think of it as a place to meet friends in, or as a suitable destination
for relatives. But the general idea is it's like being cast away in the
tropics: the surroundings are gorgeous, and it's pleasant and warm--but
not home.
It seems too bad that heaven should always be somehow repugnant, and
unfit as it were for human habitation. Isn't there something we can do
about it?