(A Non-Mythical Allegory)

George Soule

He was born in the glacial age. They originally called him something else, but as soon as he was old enough to talk he lisped the tertiary dialect for “constructive reasoner”—when they paid any attention to him. Later he was recognized by his characteristic expression, “Yes, but—”. When he was ten years old he watched his father, with much skill and heroism, slaying a musk ox. “Why did you kill him?” he asked. “To eat,” was the reply. “Yes,” replied the prodigy, “but what will you put in his place?” The misguided parent glared at his son without replying, and passed him a second joint, which was consumed with relish.

The tragedy of his early life was to watch the glaciers slowly leveling mountains and laying up vast wastes of terminal moraine without conscious purpose. All this destruction weighed on his soul.

He was ever an observer. As time went on, his intellect grew more ponderous. He saw mankind slay the dinosaurs, rob the earth of its minerals, hew down vast trees, and agitate the earth with rude plows. Agitators were particularly distasteful to him. He stood aloof from these movements, because he did not believe in destruction. And when men finally set sail on the seas, he was moved to poetic rancor. “You are destroying the mystery of the ocean” he cried. But he built himself a fine house from the products of their commerce.

He was in Rome when the Goths swept down over Italy and sacked it. “What will you give us instead?” he asked their leader. The Northerner frankly did not know. “You have no right to sweep away something that has been established so long unless you can put in its place something better,” he complained. The great Goth laughed and grabbed another handful of jewels.

Religions seemed to him peculiarly sacred. With great satisfaction he watched the burning of the early Christian agitators, who were attempting to tear in pieces the comfortable old hierarchy of Jove. “What is this utopian theory of theirs?” he asked, derisively. “It won’t work. You can’t change human nature in a day. When they give us a program I can’t pick flaws in, I will listen to them.” Later he was particularly incensed at Martin Luther and remonstrated with him for undermining so many persons’ simple faith without giving them something that would exactly fill its place.

In the modern world he found a very comfortable niche. A city of tradesmen offered him the post of chief prophet. Not that they bothered much about his great principle, but he always did his best to stave off the destructive elements of society, who interfered with business. He advised people to be comfortable and quiet. He deplored violence of any kind. Sane progress was all very well, but he always demanded progress of visionaries and theorists, and he always pointed out tremendous flaws in their programs. He opposed bitterly anything in the nature of tariff reform or anti-trust laws. Such things destroyed business confidence, and were not the business men the great constructive element in society? To women who wanted the vote, he said “Woman’s place is in the home. If you had your way, you would destroy the family.” He supported practical men for office.

One day he came upon a workman wrecking an old building. The sight filled him with pain. He went up to the man and asked him if he were sure that the new building would be better than the old, if in fact it would stand at all? To his great surprise the workman paid no attention to him. Again the constructive reasoner put the question; he even touched the workman on the shoulder. But it was as if the questioner did not exist. He was angry and chagrined. Then it dawned on him that he was dead. Unconsciously he had become a ghost.

Jehovah appointed a private judgment day for him. The dead hero came before the throne. “Who are you?” asked the ruler of the universe. “I am the constructive reasoner,” he replied proudly. “What have you constructed?” was the next question. For the first time since his birth, the mortal was at a loss.

“Never mind,” said Jehovah, “you have earned Heaven, for there all is peace and perfection; there no one tears down or builds up.” And so Jehovah put him into a place which was labeled “Heaven,” and locked the gate on the outside.

For a while the saved soul sat on a golden throne and was contented. But soon he began to be a little bored. He went to an older inhabitant and asked him what one does in Heaven. “Nothing,” was the answer. “The place is populated with souls who have done nothing but try to get here, and now they must rest from their labors. What can there be to do, in a place that is perfect?”

For a moment the new arrival suspected for the first time that all these years he had been mistaken. Would it not be better to be building something, even if one had to destroy something else as a preliminary? But he layed the suspicion aside as unworthy of him. “Before I can logically object to Heaven,” he thought, “I must propose something better. And of course, that is impossible.” So he sat down again, to await Eternity.

G. S.