Optimism
ot 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 fore-
doomed 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 unsatis-
fying, so inadequate to purpose, so false to hope
compensation we set up fantastic faiths of an
aftertime in a better world from which no con-
firming 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 dis-
couragingly 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 con-
tain 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 say there is
not a face in the world which is free from small-
pox scars.
Life is not "a hopeless battle in which we
are doomed to defeat."
Life is a glorious privilege, and we can make
anything we choose of it, if we begin early and
are in deep earnest, and realize our own divine
powers.
Nothing can hinder us or stay us. We can
do and be whatsoever we will.
The prize of life is not "a thing which is
neither enjoyed while had nor missed when lost."
It is enjoyed by millions of souls to-day-- this
great prize of life. I for one declare that for
every day of misery in my existence I have had a
week of joy and happiness. For every hour of
pain, I have had a day of pleasure. For every
moment of worry, an hour of content.
I cannot be the only soul so endowed with the
appreciation of life! I know scores of happy
people who enjoy the many delights of earth,
and there are thousands whom I do not know.
Of course "life is not missed when lost"--
because it is never lost. It is indestructible.
Life ever was, and ever will be. It is a
continuous performance.
It is not "worthless" to the wholesome, normal
mind. It is full of interest, and rich with oppor-
tunities for usefulness.
When any man says his life is worthless, it is
because he has eyes and sees not, and ears and
hears not.
It is his own fault, not the fault of God, fate
or accident.
If every life seems at times "unsatisfactory"
and "inadequate" it is only due to the cry of the
immortal soul longing for larger opportunities
and fewer limitations.
Neither is life "false to hope." He who
trusts the divine Source of Life, shall find his
hopes more than realized here upon earth. I but
voice the knowledge of thousands of souls, when
I make this assertion. I know whereof I speak.
All that our dearest hopes desire will come to
us, if we believe in ourselves as rightful heirs to
Divine Opulence, and work and think always on
those lines.
If "no whisper has ever reached us out of the
void" confirming our faith in immortality, then
one-third of the seemingly intelligent and sane
beings of our acquaintance must be fools or liars.
For we have the assertion of fully this number
that such whispers have come, besides the
Biblical statistics of numerous messages from the
other realm. "As it was in the beginning, is now
and shall be ever more, world without end, Amen."
The Heart of the New Thought by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
Chicago : The Psychic Research Company, c1902.
Previous
Chapter