SLAPDASH.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXV, Issue 19892, 10 March 1928, Page 1 (Supplement)

SLAPDASH.

A WORD FOR MODERNITY.

By GRAHAM HAY.

Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand: Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand;

Three separate times I have started to write something in justification, or rather in explanation of the modern spirit; each time that brilliant little couplet has made my cloud of words seem clumsy and inept; it says in one little flash more than my pale, diffused reflection. I felt like the dullest of dull clergyman, who, expounding his text in twenty heads and hundreds of words, only dimmed the meaning which everyone grasped quite clearly at tho outset. Nevertheless there is something which keeps returning to my mind, something in the modern spirit of unrest and dilettantism which we are perhaps apt to undervalue. We have allowed to lie fallow many of the most sterling qualities of our forefathers, we have gained other qualities which seem superficial and meretricious. What I want to show is that these qualities have been developed to meet the requirements of our age. The Spirit oi our Ancestors. Not for a moment do I depreciate the spirit of our ancestor pioneers. It staggers me to think of the courage and adventurous spirit of the early New Zealand colonists, who came out to the uttermost ends of the earth, landed in a wilderness with but the slenderest tie to the world they had left, and set to work to build homes, produce food and clothing, and live their lives in a land where everything was back to the beginning. What strength of purpose, what optimistic faith, must these men and. women have had. They pressed forward strong in their high purpose. Think again of those ancient Romans, who, conquering Britain, set to work with stupendous energy and perseverance to build a wall and road right across it, which have lasted in places for two thousand years, although at the time the victors had not decided whether they wanted to keep the island, and in fact in a short time were content to loosen their hold. We city dwellers of to-day would be lost if, so ill-equipped with machinery, we we were set tasks like these. Nor is it at ail likely that we should be set such tasks. Providence has a way of seeing to it that among her shipwrecks there is always a Crusoe or an Admirable Crichton, men of indomitable purpose and rugged strength, whose spirits are triumphant over circumstance. In the life of modern cities there is litile call for just this kind of bull-dog tenacity, hence nature has allowed it to lie latent. But on the world's frontiers, in the heart of Asia, in the deserts and swamps of Africa, amid Arctic snows, the pioneer spirit of our forefathers can be found just as strong as of old. It rises inevitably wherever the need becomes imperative. The Methods of To-day. But in the ordinary life of modern times the rude wildness of nature has bson largely brought into subjection. The need is more for refinement of the original subjection than for grim strength to subdue more. The rod of iron has done its work; the need is now for the keen but brittle razor blade. The stern, indomitable purpose of pioneers is of necessity not very flexible. Their senses must be a little blunted in the struggle, their sensitiveness not very keen. Dogged strength is impaired by subtlety, fco nature has vet to work to mould us to her ends by giving us moments of inspiration in place of steadfast strength,, Slapdash—that's what we are. So many things to do, so many experiences to sample, and life so short. We attempt things before we have prepared ourselves, fail; attempt something else, occasionally succeed. The business man once was a substantial person, working along well mapped out lines, conned from his boyhood up, the groundwork well prepared, the whole structure carefully finished. The business man of to-day is often a frenzied being equipped with a yardstick and an overdraft for his stock-in-trade.

The handwriting of our forefathers was a thing of beauty, every letter architecturally sound, the fingers held just so. The scribe of to-day grabs a pen and gobbles his words —yet in his haste he achieves a certain flow which does well enough. We rush avidly after pleasure: ere we have savoured it, unsatiated, we are off after something new, the nerves at high tension, the body at breakingpoint ; ever restless, ever overstrung. But out of the turmoil and the hurlyburly, from time to time some new thing is born, some invention found, some art advanced alone the road to truth. It is the fevered, restless mind, keyed up almost to morbidness; which is apt to have moments of abnormal clarity. The Work of Modern Times.

We are no longer taming huge tracts of the earth's suriace, but we are making' a shining palace of those tracts already tamed. Slapdash we are, yet except as politicians we are doing the task before us expertly enough. The standard of civilisation has been raised in our time a very splendid distance. Science, surgery, mechanics, the education of the masses, stand as testimonials to the work of modern times. Our writers do not seem giants only fcecause there are so many of them that one can no longer tower above his fellows. Slapdash though our methods be, our athletes run as fast, our'swimmers cross the Channel in shoals. Wherever we can definitely measure ourselves against our forefathers, the facts seem to be in our favour. Faults and follies we have in plenty, but in spite of our restless pursuit of pleasure the work of the world is assuredly being done.

The truth is our point of view has altered a little. We no longer esteem a solid, ugly house above a shining palace, even if built on sand. Permanence is not always a virtue; things can outlive their beauty and utility. A solid house may be very excellent to-day, but a hundred years hence is likely to be hopelessly out-of-date. Better far to build four transitory palaces at intervals which will always keep abreast of the times. A person given two years to live no longer muffles and coddles in hopes of making them four. No, he goes out and spends his time lavishly, living every minute to the hilt. What's the good 'of four years with a halter round your neck ? What s the good of a solid, ugly house ? Whereas a shining palace built on sand is a delightful sight to see. Mistake me not in my attitude to solid houses. All solid houses are not ugly; neither are all palaces shining. Each has its appropriate setting and_ use. But the solid house, a necessity in the rugged days of old, has lost some of its virtue. Assuredly we're not the men our forefathers were, and it's a very good job we're not. Just as fortunate is it that our forefathers were not the men we'are. Walter Raleigh put it very clearly when he said: "The nightingale took no prize in the poultry show."