The universe is frightfully hot. The fixed stars have a temperature ranging from nearly two thousand degrees to more than thirty thousand degrees, which is considerably hotter than the Needles in California. Furthermore, among all the heavenly bodies planets are the most scarce, and the only conditions which can produce a planet occur almost never. Now the planets in our particular little solar system had the good luck to come into being, and of these planets only the earth can support human life. The late Percival Lowell, an eminent astronomer and a gallant gentleman, looking at the sky through the clear air of Arizona, thought he saw evidence of the intelligent work of beings on Mars, but he saw it because his telescope was not good enough; “bigger and better” telescopes destroyed the illusory things he thought he saw.
I advise all those who believe in the insignificance of man because he lives on a small ball to read the last chapter of Sir James Jeans’s book The Universe Around Us. Sir James does not himself say that man has a divine destiny, because that is not the subject of his book. But he does say: “All this suggests that only an infinitesimally small corner of the universe can be in the least suited to form an abode of life.”
People used to be flabbergasted by the consideration of the vastness of the starry heavens while retaining their respect for man and their own self-respect; but of late years many astronomers, by applying the “big and little” method of measurement, have tried to convince us that man is of no importance. Thus astronomy, instead of filling its students with majestic wonder, fills them with despair. To these scientific boosters it is the devout and not the undevout astronomer who is mad.
Fear not, little flock. We are no longer the geographical centre of the universe, but—so far as evidence goes—we are the only part of it that amounts to anything.
LII
WHAT SHALL I THINK ABOUT?
“What shall I think about when I am dying?” said Turgeney. Well, if I were dying at this moment, and were fortunate enough to be conscious—for death is an adventure no one ought to miss—I should endeavour to compose my mind and prepare it properly for its next experience. Then, having made whatever arrangements were necessary for the welfare of those I leave, I might—if there were time—review some of the events of my days on earth from which I had derived the largest amount of pleasure.
Omitting religion and family life, the two greatest sources of happiness that I know, which need no explanation to those familiar with them, and which no language could possibly explain to those unacquainted with them, I must honestly say I have found life good. I would not have missed it for anything. There have of course been misfortunes, illnesses, periods of mental depression, failures, loss of friends, and the general sense of frustration that afflicts every candid mind. But these are shadows, and my life has mainly been passed in sunshine.
It would of course be very nice to be an immortal poet or an immortal something-or-other; to feel the steadfast assurance that one had left on earth some enduring work that would remain as a permanent memorial. But although one knows, as I do, that everything one has done will be speedily forgotten, I do not see why that should make one miserable. Why spend one’s life or even one’s last moments in crying for the moon? Why not make the best of the good old world?
That daily life is really good one appreciates when one wakes from a horrible dream, or when one takes the first outing after a sickness. Why not realise it now?
My life has been divided into four parts—Work, Play, Development, Social Pleasures. Work is man’s greatest blessing. Whenever it is in any way possible, every boy and girl should choose as his life work some occupation which he would like to do anyhow, even if he does not need the money. It has always been necessary for me to work, but if at any time during the last twenty years some eccentric person had left me a million dollars, I should have gone right on working at my chosen professions, teaching, writing, and public speaking. I enjoy all three. I enjoy them so much that I have no hesitation in saying that I enjoy them more than vacations. There are better teachers, there are better writers, there are better lecturers; but I doubt if any of them have enjoyed their work more than I.