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THK BATTALION
H'CMAN — A DILEMMA
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D> I DM DDDM N
’Tis, Well That This Is Not A Co-educational School, Or Otherwise—Well, Read It!
' * The Cynic
* She’s just an essential in this life, as far as I n-
i*oncernt‘d, like water and f<KKl and fire. She’s noth
ing extraordinary, ks, the foolish are prone to l>elieve—
nothing mysterious and wonderful about her.
• * J* - "" i
Woman is as shallpw as a hath tub, as easy to sec,
through, as a window pane. And-what can be seen?
Just pettiness, vanity, and temperament. All the fric
tion-causing qualities are her’s. She is full of fttolish
foibles and quick to imagine herself abused, besides
Itfing intensely selfish with that which she wants ami
‘disgustingly generous with that for which she has no
use. She has a place in this world and a job. in this
Hfe. She was meant to Ik* the mother of the race—the
direct instrument with which posterity is created.
That is enough of a job for anyone. And when “Wo
man’s New Freedom” spurs her on to take up the
fight (man’s job) the foolish virgin realizes not that
she is woman only in physical features—that phyloso-
phically she is mis-sexed. And as for setting the love
of woman lH*fore you as the greatest thing in life—the
object of life itself, bunk! That’s merely a little diver
sion offered between rounds—a little spice thrown ip
to make it not too unbearable, and continue the race.
The object of life is-—work! Battle! AVhether with
brain-cell or brawn, whether you see the goal or not,
plcxl on. And, hapless drone, when there are no prob
lems to solve or elements to battle, pit your nervous
muscles against each other, and fight. Struggle and
strive on and on—for what you know not. Surely the
- frilly female d<K*s not belong here.
And yet some unthinking men raise her on a ped
estal. enshrine her, case her in bejeweled glass. Non
sense. The altitude affects her head and makes her
only the worse. If you ''had the cigarette habit and
craved nicotine, would you take each cigarette, guard
it with a mania, write poems to it, compose songs to
it, and* spend most of your life pampering it? No.
You’d\smoke it.
Well—
The Poet
Woman—the sacred love of woman! That is the
only answer to our agonized entreaties of the meaning
of Jife. That alone can bring us the sweetness, the
beauty of life for which we search so fervently, yet
find so seldom. “Tis the answer to it all.” --
She is fair, gracious, tender, a physical emlnKli-
ment “of all ideal for which mere, man can strive no
^ hopelessly, yet Ik* so wildhappy in that hopelessness.
She, with one small caress, can charge a man with pow
er, enough to conquer the unconquerable, to^untrof
mighty Destiny* with his finger-tips, to feel is a
god. She is to Ik* revered, worshipped, exalted. That u|
love—that is the key l>eauty to all i>eauties in life. Sh™
keeps the sole passage to that land of complete Utopian
happiness, and lK*gs you enter. He who would -not is
the fool.
“But.” say you, “is not this fantastic fairy-land
of your an illusion, a dream composed of that mater
ial found inside a bubble?”
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♦ %
How can it be ought but real when you have
„ created it ? Bacon assumed he existed, laxause h**
thought. May not I assume sacred love Tor woman is
real, because I feel it ?
• * ’
‘ A *
Why doubt and dabble with proof, like dfsidering
old scientists, who do not Udieve until they see? One
casts despairingly about for something in this life—
he knows at first not what. Then at length he realizes
it is an object, happinesd, lK*auty. He stares a!>out hi in
at the items in this work!’ storehouse with fault-find
ing, searching eyes, and finds them ugly, common
place, trivial: His eyes grow dim, his sold liecomes
stifled.
„ hut it he is as wise as I, he soon discovers that
all !>cauty he epjoys in this life will be not handed him
on platters of gold. No, he must create his own lenses
through which to Unik at all things, ami thus set* their
beauty. And woman is the Goddess of this new world
you enjoy so highly now.
Why ? Because each quality that makes this new,
wdrftierfully pleasant world out of the shell of the old
oi^Tp entwined around her heartstrings in a mesh that
will never In* unraveled. Kach quality—love, blind trust,
faith, ladief. >
“Simple, sentimental tripe!” croaks our unhappy,
truth-seeking mathematical friend. "The fellow’s
crazy!”
“Simple and sentimental, is it, my narrow-flighted
old codger? But it serves, my friend, it serves. And is
the fellow crazy?”