For one human being to love another; that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation.
And if we don’t have a test, what we may end up doing is going back to what this country has done before. We could use social class and we still do, but in the 50s, it was, do you have the right last name and are your parents in privileged positions?
There is something in the unselfish and self-sacrificing love of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who has had frequent occasion to test the paltry friendship and gossamer fidelity of mere Man.
Every formula of every religion has in this age of reason, to submit to the acid test of reason and universal assent.
History tells us that a general can move and feed an army as efficiently as he likes, but the real litmus test is the battlefield.
A test of a people is how it behaves toward the old. It is easy to love children. Even tyrants and dictators make a point of being fond of children. But the affection and care for the old, the incurable, the helpless are the true gold mines of a culture.
But what many psychologists have done, probably because they did well on a test themselves and everyone wants high self esteem, is to create this little box and then do their research inside it.
They say the test of literary power is whether a man can write an inscription. I say, ‘Can he name a kitten?’
The gospel may not make a sow’s ear into a silk purse, but it will make everybody better if they live it. I’ve tried it. It stands the test.
I don’t know how to sit outside myself and test against a hypothetical self who stayed home.