I have spoken of this poem several times, and I think it is worthwhile to post Kipling’s entire text. I think that the last verse is especially applicable-
The Gods of the Copybook Headings
Rudyard Kipling
AS I PASS through my incarnations in every age and race, I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place. Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall, And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.
We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn: But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind, So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.
We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace, Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place, But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.
With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch, They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch; They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings; So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.
When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace. They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease. But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe, And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “Stick to the Devil you know.”
On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life (Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife) Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith, And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “The Wages of Sin is Death.”
In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all, By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul; But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy, And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “If you don’t work you die.”
Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.
As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man There are only four things certain since Social Progress began. That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire, And the burnt Fool’s bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;
And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins, As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn, The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return.
I very much fear that we are about to see Kipling’s poem realized.
Now look what you’ve done; last time I came to this thread I had “And the burnt Fool’s bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire” looping through my head at various moments for days!
The really interesting thing to me is that Kipling wrote this poem in 1919 after having lost his only son in WW1, and having survived the Great Pandemic, as he was observing his country’s political shift towards socialism.
CRFM- I have noticed a lot of people seem to read it, but not many seem to have any comment. I’d like to think that’s a tribute to the lasting character of Kipling’s poetry. I have an old copy of Kipling’s works as part of my bugout bag and that will be one of the last things I give up, if it comes to shucking loads.
The verse that haunts my thoughts is the last one- “….the Gods of the Copybook Headings with Terror and Slaughter return.” On another thread I thought of quoting Kipling’s poem “Danegeld” to someone from the UK, but I figured it would be a waste of time.
LMWBR-I, too, have a dog-eared, red-lined book of Kipling’s poetry. I think it is better than his prose. And many of the “lesser” poems that receive no modern remark are better than many of the so-called great poems of other poets.
I believe he has been compared to Pindar, the great Greek poet from Classical times.
A couple other authors I like are Conrad and London. Neither of them are particularly politically correct, either.
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Bump, I’ve seen this posted elsewhere, but maybe it will give some not yet preppers pause for thought and push them over the edge.
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