Between Friends

"You're thinking," said Drene coolly, "what a god I once set up on

the altar of domesticity. I used to talk a lot once, didn't I?--a

hell of a clamor I made in eulogy of the domestic virtues. Well,

only idiots retain the same opinions longer than twentyfour hours.

Fixity is imbecility; the inconstant alone progress; dissatisfaction

is only a synonym for intelligence; contentment translated means

stagnation. . . . . I have changed my opinion concerning the virtues

of domesticity."

Guilder said, in his even, moderate voice: "Your logic is weird, Drene: in one breath you say you have changed

your opinion; in another that you are content; in another that

contentment is the fixedness of imbecility--"

Drene, reddening slightly, half rose on one elbow from his couch: "What I meant was that I change in my convictions from day to day,

without reproaching myself with inconstancy. What I believed with

all my heart to be sacred yesterday I find a barrier to-day; and

push it aside and go on."

"Toward what?"

"I go on, that's all I know--toward sanctuary."

"You mean professionally."

"In every way--ethically--spiritually. The gods of yesterday, too,

were very real--yesterday."

"Drene, a man may change and progress on his way toward what never

changes. But standards remained fixed. They were there in the

beginning; they are immutable. If they shifted, humanity could have

no goal."

"Is there a goal?"

"Where are you going, then?"

"Just on."

"In your profession there is a goal toward which you sculptors all

journey."

"Perfection?"

Guilder nodded.

"But," smiled Drene, "no two sculptors ever see it alike."

"It is still Perfection. It is still the goal to the color-blind

and normal alike, whatever they call it, however, they visualize it.

That is its only importance; it is The Goal. . . . . In things

spiritual the same obtains--whether one's vision embraces Nirvana,

or the Algonquin Ocean of Light, or a pallid Christ half hidden in

floating clouds--Drene, it is all one, all one. It is not the Goal

that changes; only our intelligence concerning its existence and its

immortality."

Drene lay looking at him: "You never knew pain--real pain, did you? The world never ended for

you, did it?"

"In one manner or another we all must be reborn before we can

progress."

"That is a cant phrase."

"No; there's truth under the cant. Under all the sleek, smooth,

canty phrases of ecclesiastic proverb, precept, axiom, and lore,

there is truth worth the sifting out."