Florida Pier : writings and about / jmcvey.net
Bookworms, Etc.
“The Gentler View,” Harper’s Weekly (June 11, 1910) : 27
U Michigan copy/scan (via hathitrust) : link
archive.org : link
It would be very gratifying to have some one inquire into the tastes of bookworms. They surely have some attitude toward their work. It is from our ignorance that we suppose them just to nibble indiscriminately, as though it were a matter of potatoes. Probably, if the truth were known, they feel themselves to be the world’s greatest reformers. They are, it is admitted, destructive reformers, but that is, after all, only what every one else is. It is with quite a rush of revelation one sees their serious conception of their own vocation. Unfortunately, the mental picture of a bookworm is very vague, but, with that instinct which is seldom wrong, a short, fat, white, worried little worm seems possible with a bald head, eyes dulled with experience and weakened from over-reading, and the puffing, plethoric manner of a person who, while doing much more work than he comfortably can, sees more work piling up ahead of him. Among the older ones there is, no doubt, an idea that if they did not dispose of the books there would be no room in the world for the humans, and the humans consequently have space in which to breathe, thanks entirely to the efforts of the harder-working worms. They might wear spectacles and then again they mightn’t; but if they did they would be bow-rimmed ones. If we realize that we never could get along without bookworms, how much more must they feel it! Among the older ones there is, no doubt, an idea that if they did not dispose of the books there would be no room in the world for the humans, and the humans consequently have space in which to breathe, thanks entirely to the efforts of the harder-working worms.
The interest of knowing whether they feel that bulk is the main thing to be disposed of would be very great. Or whether, in the midst of their hurry to make room for the oncoming rush of new books, they, from the deep convictions they have regarding the importance of their labors, feel justified in stopping and making a choice of what to chew. To learn this important secret would take long years of careful observation of bookworms while in the process of worming, followed by careful comparisons of the matter they had destroyed and that which they left untouched. Unhappily, the authors are generally long deceased by the time the bookworms catch up with their work sufficiently to begin on their books, so it is out of the question that they should ever benefit by the silent critical munchings of the worms. The long experience they have had in books would render their comments most valuable. What they let stand the world may know is uncommonly good stuff.
Bookworm research might disclose as great a moral lesson as Maeterlinck’s study of the bees. Even with the faint knowledge we have regarding them, we are struck by the cohesion in their plan of life their sustenance, their work, both personal and altruistic, their habitation and diversions — all embodied in one and the same thing. With such single-mindedness of purpose, one is almost surprised that they do not accomplish more than they do. It may be that the undue number of useless books in every household flusters them, and they would be greatly assisted if we pasted up labels on the books we no longer want running, “This volume open for inspection.” One cannot, of course, tell, but it might help. Of one thing we can be sure, and that is that the worms would be able to read the labels and would no doubt enjoy doing so.
We cannot be too thankful for ignorance. The leeway it gives is tremendous. We cannot be too thankful for ignorance. The leeway it gives is tremendous. It is with real horror that one contemplates the approach of knowledge. It limits our flights, hedges us in, shackles and anchors us. The more we know of a thing, the more cowed we are in its presence; the less any one knows, the braver and freer our behavior. Halley’s comet has been a noticeable demonstration of this. The completeness of our ignorance regarding its ways and its manners was so marked that we disported ourselves in a manner fairly halcyon. The opportunity was so gigantic and we took such entire advantage of it. The impression seemed to be wide spread among scientists, journalists, humorists, and the populace at large, that never would they again come across anything of which they knew so little; and the way in which they frolicked did one’s heart good to see. It was the chance of a lifetime. No one could say from where it came or whither it was going, and with this as a basis the deductions to be drawn as to its specific intentions were naturally without end.
It is at such moments as this that one can so happily give information to others and always accurate information founded on one’s positive belief that it is so. If the person to whom you are talking knows nothing and you know nothing — why, there you are; you can tell them everything. The occasion mounts to the head like wine. We have all had tastes of the same ecstasy, but in minor degree. When a race has been run, but the numbers have not gone up; when one boat in a race has capsized and no one knows which one it is — who has ever failed to take advantage of these moments of total ignorance to tell every one within earshot exactly what has happened? These nibbles at the joys of not knowing have but whetted our appetites, and when Halley’s comet appeared we were prepared to revel — one might almost say to wallow — in the possibilities of the moment.
With our attention once attracted by the exhilarating effect of ignorance on even the best of humans a dozen instances of positive passion for it come to mind. Think of foreign railway officials, and the instant that their bewildering officialism is recalled a staggering revelation confronts us of the extent to which they avail themselves of their ignorance as to the schedule of all trains. Who else spreads information with a detailed accuracy, a weight that leads you to suppose he will personally push the train out of the station if it refuses to go in any other way, and a solemnity that suggests Providence herself as the source of his information, but a Continental railway official who is always invariably and inevitably quite wrong? and if we ask a question of any one who begins his answer with, “I’m not altogether sure, but —” we should clasp that honest soul to us with tears of gratitude and listen attentively to every word he says. Out of the dozen asked no two agree, and they all speak with an assurance that should tell us, after our deep delvings into this matter of ignorance, that they know nothing whatever about the matter. With this new light on human nature we ought to be very careful of a large certitude, a manner that implies recent hobnobbing with the solar system; and if we ask a question of any one who begins his answer with, “I’m not altogether sure, but —” we should clasp that honest soul to us with tears of gratitude and listen attentively to every word he says. A person who has reached the sublime heights of uncertainty must be revered and honored. The fact of doubt having entered a mind unmans us; it seems so beautiful, so much more than any one had a right to expect. Thankful as we are for the directions given as to how to proceed on our journey, we are tempted to abandon the trip and remain enthralled before this person who is not altogether sure. Our emotion unfits us for further voyaging, and so certain are we that his information is correct that it is to us too precious a thing to be crassly put to the test.
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