Do you recall what Francis Galton said—that successful people should procreate more than should the less-achieved? In the pairing of successful people and in their reproduction, Galton reasoned that human suffering might be greatly reduced.
But here is the rub: how do we define success? Shall smooth skin qualify? Might someone with a fat bank account shout for longevity? How shall we weigh the recessive gene for male baldness or the blind man who plays the piano more beautifully than the music teacher with sight?
No, to all of that.
We cannot forget the happy accidents. Consider how alchemy, though failing terrifically at producing gold from less valuable chemical arrangements, gave us a space shuttle to veer against the stars. Penicillin came from an experiment botched with impurities. Without Charles Goodyear accidentally spilling a cocktail of rubber, lead, and sulfur on his stove we would not have vulcanized rubber.
Failure was never more beautiful than that winter day when your wife tumbled in the deep snow and lay there laughing, her red jacket conspicuous as a rose floating in milk. That day you finally understood that you were trying too hard at always remaining upright, and you flopped in the snow beside her. Embracing, you counted thirty-seven puffy clouds sailing above.
--Mitchell Hegman
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