The Birmingham age-herald., 1924-07-09
The Fear Of Self
By DIR. rRANK CRANE

We are conscious, not of our cuticle. but of our coat and vest: When I think of my self the image in my mind is not that of my God-made body, but of my tailor-made cov-2 erings. My mental eye never pursues me asi | a nude animal going down the street--that would be indecent-but as either my brown suit or my black, with my white shirt and checked tie. with only little edgng of the timid animal showing below the cuffs and above the collar. When we say, My dear Mrs. Brown, let me present my friend, Mir. Smith" we mean. "My dear crepe de chine gown trimmed with lace and ribbons. let me present my friend. Scotch tweed coat, laven- der socks. and russet shoes.s
 Know thyseif,'' said the sage. Bnt ones self is the last thing one knows. Nothing is | so mysterious. We are afraid of our own personality as of ghost. We never believe our own conviction till we find it in another. We doubt our own passion until it is re- ttEned. Most of our happiness is second hand. being the happiness that we think oth- CTS think we have.
 We constantly seek refuge from our own terrifying selves. We cannot even talk nat urally because our voice shames us. If a newsbOy would advocate his papers in con- versational tone all the passersby would stop and wonder, and probably think he was crazy. We do not care for the parson unless he puts on the conventional parsonaceous tone: he had as well come into the pulpit with striped sackcoat as to speak to us in an easy- going street voice.
 The reason why the orator on class day strikes strange and foreign tone is because he is giving out ideas strange and foreign to him. If he became conscious for one mo- ment of his real self and thoughts he would be swamped in embarrassment
 The human spirit is hermit crab. This poor beastie, having no natural protection for part of his body, thrusts it into the shell of a whelk or other uniValve mollusk. From the first the human young begin searching for some friendly whelk shelter. Children love to play as being somebody else. They are happiest when they are playing king or mother, or circus man--anybody but them selves. Brought back to himself the child weeps. The personality shivers with cold and desolation when 1t can crawl into no other personality.
 And the trait persists. The grown-up child never expands and rejoices so much as when he wears a military uniform Every brass button and gold epaulette and white baldric cries out for joy; the little soul has found such a gorgeous whelk. Men go to lodges and don high-peaked hats and royal robes and revel in high sounding ritual.
 The judge puts on the garnered dignity of ages with his ermine and wig. The Salvation Army lassie would not be half so fearless if she did not wear her poke bonnet with its red band. And what woman does not know the delicious feeling of good clothes. the utter and unspeakable bliss of a robe that is be- coming? There is a pregnant word, by the way becoming. Becoming what? Why, becom- ing some one else, of course. Never since it's brief and tragic career in paradise has the race enjoyed being itself. When Jehovah drove Adam and Eve out of the Garden of Eden He made them coats of animal skins. The implication is obvious. Hereafter their joy is to be found in putting on the hides of other animals, the opinions of other men, the feelings of other hearts, Self remains shut up in the garden and at the gate stands an angel with a flaming sword.