The earth was created in an optimistic spirit. Of that there can be no doubt in the mind of any man who believes in creation at all. But by the extraordinary conduct of our first parents in the Garden of Eden, this creation by the supreme Optimist, was changed into the most radical of pessimistic ventures—judged from the human standpoint, of course. We hear it from the most pious divines and it is probably correct.
A large gulf was dug in the original optimism and filled with the darkness of pessimism, where, floundering in it, man looks back to the joys lost to him forever by another’s folly, and then forward to the forbidding cliffs that bar his entrance to the joys to come, unless he engage in a mighty struggle and a hand-to-hand conflict with his animal nature. He may and must scale the cliffs.
It is quite certain that the evils said to be afflicting the people of the earth can never be cured by optimistic fancies, no more than can the racking pains and galling sores of the bedridden be healed by their concealment, or by covering them with a blanket of joy.
Financially, the man pressed by dire want, fancies the earth is ready to come to an end, whereas, the man with substantial wealth treads in a garden of flowers. The pangs of hunger find a lodging place in the stomach of a pessimist, while a royal good dinner is the joy of an optimist. The man in jail looks through a darkened glass, but his jailer sees all things bright and clear.
Optimism is a comparative virtue; pessimism a relative vice. Love is the destroyer of pessimism, while bankruptcy withers optimism at a touch. The contest between the two is like a perpetual game of tenpins, in which the pins are constantly overthrown to be as constantly re-set, and the score of the game is always a tie.
Our modern extreme optimists bewilder us with vain ideals. They flatter themselves with high sounding words and vague and dreamy utterances that entangle many, but which mitigate no evils, redress no wrongs, soothe no pain, cure no wounds.
“I am so sorry,” said a gentle optimist over a man who had just been run over by an automobile and both legs broken, and she wrung her hands in pity.
“I am sorry five dollars worth,” said a rough old heathen pessimist in the crowd as he passed his hat for money to relieve the poor man’s family.
Whenever a human wrong has been righted, an enslaved nation freed, a sinner brought to salvation, there has always been a pessimist at the beginning of the work, while the optimist came in later and realized the profits from the work.
There is a philosophy practiced by the optimist to be found in the lines of a great poet: