The Efficient Idol.
Once upon a time there was a Popular Idol. It could wink its eyes wisely and open its mouth and Actual Oracles sounded forth.
It drew great crowds, and no wonder. People asked it questions, and they governed their lives by its answers. They gave much gold to gild the idol, and jewels to adorn it. They sang its praises in loud puns, and they bowed before it.
After many years a Daring Spirit drew the people's attention to the fact that what the idol said was not So, that its predictions did not come true and its advice resulted in misfortune. He tapped on the idol and it was hollow. He showed the wires which worked the eyes and mouth and the tube which connected the mouth with the Man Behind.
"But the only trouble," said the people, "is that we have not given enough." So they lavished upon the idol still more gold and jewels.
And to this day, before vast throngs, it is winking its eyes and opening its mouth and uttering Actual Oracles. For the Idol is the Newspaper.
Anything for Smartness.
The police of a great city, confronted with the problem of swarming automobiles, trucks, carriages, and pedestrians, did the best they could.
Some of them swung their arms vigorously, like windmills. Some of them jerked their thumbs. Some of them faced stolidly one point of the compass. Some of them gyrated like weathervanes. Some of them maintained a stern silence. Some of them shouted and scolded. Some of them stood in the center of the crossing. Some of them stood at one side.
Drivers and pedestrians, confused by these ever-varying signals, different at each corner, and differing also from day to day, gave it up and merely used their own wits, crossing when and where they saw a chance. The result was collisions and knock-downs and fright and fret and fume and an endless snarl. The newspapers protested daily, and the funny men waxed facetious over the situation.
Then the police commissioner drew up a set of rules, getting the best advice obtainable.
He regulated the position of the policeman at the crossing, his attitude, his every gesture, for each emergency. He drilled the policemen in the required motions. He published the rules in the newspapers. They went smoothly and unmistakably into operation.
But lo! editors, cartoonists, and paragraphers saw their chance. Pictures of police contortions and pedestrian perplexities and the confusion of drivers appeared on the front pages. The funny men grew vastly humorous over the police calisthenics and wigwagging. The public soon put on a broad grin. The police felt sheepish. The good new rules were discredited, and all that the newspapers might appear smart.
The only leadership some "leaders of thought" care for is to lead money toward their bank accounts.