CASUAL COMMENTS

Evening Star, Issue 19841, 14 April 1928, Page 2

CASUAL COMMENTS

[By Leo Fanning.]

ENTHUSIASTS

“Who has the inspiration? Who the zeal? Who pursues his ideal with confidence in ultimate success? The enthusiastic man,” wrote an American recently. “Enthusiasm is the vitalising spark,” he wrote on as blithely as the gay motor cycle. “Without it a man is a mere automaton; with it his work becomes a pleasure, his whole world brighter and better.” The thought is a little muddled in parts, but is true in the main, of course, as we all know, sadly or gladly. But it is equally true that there is more perspiration than inspiration with certain enthusiasts, some ol whom are dreadfully boresomc to their contemporaries, however much they may be honored by posterity. Some whey-faced and pie-faced men have had wonderful inspirations, but no more enthusiasm in announcing them than a gramophone has in uttering its discosities. Others have had about as much inspiration as a pumpkin, but a tireless conquering enthusiasm for a borrowed or inherited ideal. When inspiration, strength, and tenacity of purpose are engined by enthusiasm history is made in big chapters. That is the kind of faith which moves mounttMis of obstinacy, malevolence, stodge, and pudding-headedness.

The late General William Booth, founder of tiio Salvation Army, had that kind of epochal enthusiasm, and he put the blood and lire of it into Ins captains. Mhen two of them very vouim men—came out to New Zealand in 1883 they had to face storms and blasts of ridicule. A little country paper in Milton, Otago, rumbled this thunder at them ; “Were there only a few objectionable features in connection with this movement we should not he disposed to speak so harshly concerning it, but wo fail to sec anything to commend. Religion is of late rears overdone by ignorant zealots such as these Sair atTon Army folk. They have made it popular, they have brought to the hearing of tlieir talk many who never entered a church, they have gathered thousands of so-called converts; hut we venture to assert that their inlluencc for good upon the morals of the may be set down as nil, and their contribution towards extending the progress of morality and religion as less than nothing, and vanity . . . We need a revival of religion m Milton, but not such as is likely to be brought about by frothy declamation, peculiar apparel, the blowing of horns, and the beating of drums.’" But that Miltonic shot did not stop the Armv. It went on, and its drums beat to-day in scores of countries.

All founders of religion which are meant to u stay put, 1 as an Amencanism lias it, have to he pci lei \ id enthusiasts, zealots, even fanatics (as Mohammed, for example, was), and the creeds cannot he maintained as active forces lor good without enthusiasm The Founder of the Christian Faith did not anticipate that it would be ever necessary to invoke the aid of wireless tor a scheme of armchair fireside salvation. The other day it was suggested at a conclar e of clergy that application should be made tor a special wave-length to facilitate the broadcasting of sermons and exhortations to stay-at-home folk whose enthusiasm ior the uplifting was not strong enough tor a walk to church. “There is no royal road to learning, stated the old copybook. Is there a royal road to salvation? Will a wavelength do it for the languid? Better a keen, rousing tongue-length or moral strap-length. The easier anything is made, the less it is valued, tireless religion would he spineless—mere mumbo-jumho.

An enthusiastic uplifter, a ejergynian, has tramped _t!ie beaches or New Zealand with services of hymns and prayer for children. His feeling was apparently that the wide outlook over the singing waves gave an atmosphere of infinity, and that the sea birds hying overhead would inspire thoughts and aspirations for the angels realm. Jt was once my task, years ago, to >dvo a pen-picture of one of those rallies, which was disturbed by a sprightly small boy, slightly possessed by the devil of mischief. When the minister’s eyes were closed in prayer, and the young congregation was solemnly kneeling and half-kneeling, ibe wicked imp, armed with a straplength of heavy, wet kelp, crept quietly up to one of the balf-kncclers, used Ins weapon briskly lor one issomiding thwack, threw it away, and became instantly a very demure tullkneeler —a, crime which was undetected by the clergyman and unreported in the Press.

Christchurch, some years ago, had a member of Parliament notable tor many enthusiasms, including slot telephones, fish by post, and wekas. One of his adventures (now described from memory, not with guaranteed accuracy in every detail) was concerned with the Botanical Cardens. He had an enthusiastic belie! that the grounds should have a shade-house. He called on several ironmongers and timber merchants, and got presentations ol a claw-hammer or two, a lew pounds ol nails, some rolls ol wire-netting, and bundles of laths and other odds and ends (reported progressively in the Press from, dav to day), and then pushed the stuff on to the Domains Board. Tile poor old board, which was “hard up,” apparently did not wish to be burdened with a shade-house just then, but the persistent enthusiast had his way. He made the board use the laths and wire-netting. The incident at the time reminded me of the story about the irishman who found a parr of cyclist’s trouser-clips and telt that he had to buy a bicycle to go with them.

Professor A. W. Bickerton, famous for his cosmic partial-impact theory to explain the production of new stais, was a man of many enthusiasms, ineluding cubicles; made oi tarred paper for consumptives, little .structures like dovecots, snuggled into the lower branches of pine trees accessible, by ladder But perhaps the most startling of his hopes was his “ church for cyclists,’’ in the old days of the Sunday bona-fide traveller, who had the freedom of licensed bars when he had walked, run, cycled, or otherwise transported himself throe miles from his sleeping-place of Saturday night. Sunday morning saw a big exodus ot cyclists from Christchurch (and horsemen, walkers, runnirs, or ‘ giggers from other towns). Professor Bickerton then lived at Dalhngton. about four miles from Christchurch, and he hoped to attract the cyclist intent on his bona-fide business a little further on Another journalist and myselt went to the first of these services, in which the main turn was a lecture by ji woman on 1 Nature s Bloody Law (or claw, 1 forget which). She referred to the tragedies of the jungle—the tiger’s pitiless pursuit of the gazelle, and the final rending of the fugitive’s flesh. This was the climax for which the professor (opposed to the lady’s doctrine) was waiting impatiently. “Think of the gazelle s «joy when it escapes,” he ejaculated. And

thus the service closed. Not sufficient cyclists swerved from their bona-fide quest to make the “church” a success.

* * * » Various enthusiasts are ever trying to force new fads into the public schools. If these persons had their way the schools would he notable for all sorts of things except the straightout, schooling (unromantic matters such as sums and spelling) for which they have been founded. Who pushed the silly script writing into the schools? Who imposed the messy, microby plastieene? Who prompted some of the studid exercises for girls? One of these queer notions requires the girls to lie prone—-a matter which was brought under the notice of the Minister of Education last week, nob by a deputation hostile to the nonsense, but by one which desired the exorcise to be made less damaging to the girls’ clothing. The exercising yard had not a suitable surface for the prostration, and the deputation pleaded for a wasting of a wad of taxpayers’ money on a “ faldelalling ” of the ground. The Minister, remembering the sad hollow sound of the Treasury box when he last tapped it, gave a piece of blunt, much-needed advice: “Cut out the exercises.” New Zealand can do with plenty more of that line—“ Cut it out?’

One of New Zealand’s enthusiasts lives for native birds—works for them day and night. It is his firm belief that unless the present Government and its successors through the centuries have a strong, sound, native bird policy the country will drift to rack and ruin. Ho contends that continuing production of butter, meat, ami wool must depend on the native birds. Here is the argument. Native forests must be conserved in some cases and regenerated in others to regulate the flow of rainwater into flu rills and streams, and so prevent lamb slides and other havoc of the surface. Forests are the safeguard of pastures, and native birds, feeding on seeds and berries, are necessary for the propagation of native trees. “ Save the bird* and yon save the surface and save New Zealand” is practically the gospel of this fervent friend of the birds. He is doing some good, too.