THE GREAT GAME.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXI, Issue 18861, 8 November 1924, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE GREAT GAME.

AND THE PLAYERS THEREOT.

BY MONA GOBDON.

There are so many ways of looking at that complex, that many-coloured thing which we call life—that old, mysterious wonderful thing; so immeasurably ancient, so eternally young; so infinitely varied and yet so consistently the same. Whether. we would or no, into the face of life we must look as imany have looked before us, as millions are looking now—millions of eyes, eyes of men, eyes of birds, eyes of animals, and all the tiny eyes of insects all looking into the face of life.

And of all those eyes none look at it in the same way, not even one man looks at it quite like any other man. Some, laugh, and to them it is a comedy; others feel, and to those it is a tragedy; others play, and to them it is a game—tho great gajme; but one and all we live it, the most and the best that we can do.

When any one man has enough breadth of vision ho sees that life is not narrowed to any one of these things; thit it embraces and contains them all, and yet is none of them; that it is a comedy darkened with tragedy, a tragedy lit with comedy, a game, and yet far more than a game, a great and wonderful and terrible thing. That love spreads her wings over it and sorrow drops her tears; that faith lightens it as sunshine, and despair, and pessimism darken it again with their shadows; and ever above it gleams the long arc of the rainbow which is hope. But few can see it from more than one angle, and at whichever angle they stand, that is the colour of it and the way of it for them.

Seelng Life as a Comedy. And, first, of the man who sees life as a comedy, or at any rato sees its comic element prevailing above every other. He is one of thoso rare people termed " humourists/' and his humour is spontaneous simply ,because he cannot help seeing tho funny side of things and making a joke of it. He may not be a very deep fellow, and, on the other hand, he may be extra deep—you never know. He skims the surface of life like a bird skims a lake, and leaves behind him the ripple of the world's laughter. He is as rare as he is unfailing in his appeal, and every ago in turn has produced him, the true humourist, ono or more of him, a little leaven to leaven the whole lump. The ancients produced him just as unfailingly as we moderns, and such is his universality that Aristophanes and other cornic writers of antiquity can make us smile down the long vista of 24 centuries provided we know the allusion. It is a wonderful thing the long, long ripplo of tho world's laughter.

The Tragic Side of Life. Next comes the man to whom life is a tragedy, a bitter disillusion. He is much more common than the humourist; he is probably much nearer the truth; ho is altogether deeper, and—he is no companion for a wet day! All the same, he has produced most of the worth-while things in the world. All the greatest dramas are tragedies; all the loftiest poetry is serious, tinged with sadness; all the loveliest music, the melody of deep emotion; the highest art, the concentration of genius upon one supremely great moment. It is not the tragedy alone but the beauty of tragedy which makes a deeper appeal than any other view of lifo, and therefore makes tho truly tragic writer more sympathetic, more noble, more enduring by reason of tho intensity of his vision through suffering to something higher. It is, however, only the very greatest writers who can penetrate so far. Beneath them there are many lesser lights whose outlook is essentially tragic, but whose vision is narrowed to see only the beauty, and beyond that nothing but disillusion, hopelessness. "What shall be done with all these tears of oure? Shall they make watersprings in the fair heaven To bathe the brows of morning? Or rather, O our masters, shall they be . Food for the famine of the crievous sea, A great well-head of lamentation Satiating the sad gods? or fall and flow Among the years and seasons to and fro. And wash their feet with tribulation And fill them full with grieving ere they eo?

When Swinburne wrote that he saw but tho faco of beauty wet with tears, and blinded himself to the steadfast eyes of hope which shed them, but afterwards shone on. He saw in lifo only "red strays of ruined springs," but other men have looked on the bitter winter with a greater measure of hope and faith.

All in the Game. Lastly, comes the man, neither humourist nor tragedian, the man who writes nothing, leaves nothing for others to laugh or to cry over, the man who simpjy takes life as a great game. There he stands in the world's playing field among many thousands of players, taking knocks, falling, getting up again, taking more knocks, giving some, but always playing, not running away from it—the great and glorious game of life. All education, training, self-discipline is for the samo end, to fit hiim better to play the game well, for the game is all-important, nothing to bo trifled with, but a very serious business.

This is the outlook of most of the world's broad-minded, ordinary people: for a man cannot be narrow if he is all the time playing a great and exhilarating game; ho will never bo boring nor will he be bored, for everything ho meets with is all in the game, everything is subservient to it and useful to its varied movements, its opportunities for give and take, skill and chancc. Nothing is an end in itself, but only in so far as it can be used in the gamie; and to this end education becomes not an end but a great and splendid opportunity of learning more about the playing of it. In this connection education has a wider meaning than the acquiring of a certain amount of knowledge in any particular subject, but becomes broad enough to take in bits of everything, so that no one thing shall ba developed at the sacrifice of others. The Greek theory of education was founded on the belief in the equal importance of athletics and music (including literaturo and other arts), showing that they laid equal stress on the development of body, and mind. We have departed a long way from that ideal, for a man who is both athletic and intellectual is the exception and not the rule, whereas he was formerly the rule. Therein lies undoubtedly the better way —sonne for the body, some for the mind, with the mirth of the humourist, the depth of the tragedian all mingled and harmonised for the bettor doing of tfie one worth-whilo thing, the playing of that old and glorious, ever-enthralling game—the great game of life. And to what end ? As Euripides expressed it long ago —

Knowledge, we nre not foes! 1 seek thee diligently: But the world with n great, wind blows, Shinine, and not from thee. Blowing to beautiful things, On, nniid dark and light. Till Life, through the trnmmellincs Of Laws that are not the Right, Bruakti. clean and puro. and ainea, GloTyins to God in the height 1