CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 FROM 
 
 ■rs.F.'^-er'ell 
 
Cornell University Library 
 BD431 .S51 
 
 olin 
 
 3 1924 028 933 062 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924028933062 
 
THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 A Study of Life and Death 
 
 By 
 
 NATHANIEL SOUTHGATE SHALER 
 
 Professor of Geology in Harvard University 
 and Dean of Lawrence Scientific School 
 
 New York . 
 D, Appleton and Company 
 1902 
 
COPYBiaHT, 19^0 
 
 By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
PREFACE 
 
 MoDEEN science has done much to change the 
 conceptions of men as to their place in the universe. 
 The ancient view that the earth and all its living 
 tenants were suddenly created is passing away, and 
 in its stead there is coming, in a swift and inevitable 
 way, the conviction that all we see or know is but a 
 part of a vast orderly procession of which we can 
 discern neither the beginning nor the end. 
 
 It needs but a slight acquaintance with the his- 
 tory of man to make it clear that the best part of his 
 nature, his moral and social qualities, has to a con- 
 siderable extent been founded on his beliefs concern- 
 ing his origin and the ways in which he has been 
 controlled by the powers above him. It is evidently 
 a most important question as to how far this change 
 of view is likely to alter human conduct. Is it likely 
 to overthrow or even to shake the institutions of 
 morality, or will it serve to make them firmer than 
 before? 
 
 V 
 
vi THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 It is evidently too soon to determine in any ob- 
 servational way what the answer to this question is 
 to be; for, while almost all educated men have some 
 knowledge of the new learning concerning man's 
 place in Nature, very few so possess it and are pos- 
 sessed by it that their states of mind afford any index 
 as to what the result will be when it is fully shared 
 by all and is the actual basis of thought and action. 
 We can, however, obtain some idea as to the effect 
 which this knowledge is likely to have upon the gen- 
 erations to come by examining into such of the rev- 
 elations of science as directly relate to the place of 
 man, to see whether they are likely to lessen his sense 
 of duty to himself or his fellows. It is one of the 
 objects of this book to make such an inquiry. The 
 main purpose, howev^, is to present to the reader a 
 sufficient account of what his individual life means 
 in the great order. 
 
 The meaning of our several individual lives in 
 relation to those of our fellow-beings and of the 
 great realm is the most important of all quests. To 
 attain to some understanding, however limited, of 
 these matters, it is necessary first of all to obtain a 
 sufficient idea of the steps by which it has come about 
 that we are here as individuals with a measure of 
 personal independence, serving our fellow-men and 
 questioning the universe concerning our origin and 
 
PREFACE vii 
 
 destiny. Above all, we need to seek knowledge as 
 to the reason for the brevity of life which, seen 
 nakedly, makes existence seem but a mockery. 
 
 Because the problem of death is beyond all others 
 momentous, it has the largest share of consideration 
 in the following pages. As will be seen, the efEort is 
 to show that the brevity of life in the organic indi- 
 vidual necessarily arises from the educable quality of 
 all the individualities of that group; that in pro- 
 portion to the advance in station of any group of 
 animals and plants the duration of its merabers has 
 to be more and more accurately fixed, until in man 
 and other of the higher forms the term is as firmly 
 established as are the features of the body. It is in 
 the considerations relating to the nature and history 
 of individuality that we may hope to find whatever of 
 moral help that natural science can give us. The 
 facts when clearly seen certainly lead us to a better 
 understanding of what death means in the great 
 order. 
 
 As the purpose of this book is to set forth a nat- 
 uralist's judgment of life and death, no deliberate 
 consideration is given to matters of religion; so, too, 
 many interesting questions of a purely philosojihical 
 kind as to the nature of individuality have not been 
 touched upon. This metaphysical aspect of the 
 problem has been amply discussed in Dr. Josiah 
 
yiii THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 Eoyce's work on the subject. It should thus be evi- 
 dent that while the following pages are devoted to 
 what seems to the writer a very important branch of 
 the inquiry, that which concerns the tangible facts 
 and the conclusions to be drawn therefrom, there is 
 much else to be taken into account. 
 
 It is evident that the modem views as to the 
 nature and origin of life are ia ever-increasing 
 measure to direct the attention of men to what their 
 presence in this world means. It is also clear that 
 the naturalist's contribution, even though the value 
 of it be questioned, has the right to be heard first 
 in the debate. All explanations must take account 
 of the facts with which he deals and the conclusions 
 to which he is led. 
 
 N. S. S. 
 CAMBRn>OE, July, 1906. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 The matter of death has heen the subject of 
 endless consideration. From the time men began 
 to think at all, the question of their passing has been 
 uppermost in their thought. The certainty of it 
 has affected every life; has shaped our societies 
 and religions; indeed has made life what it is. 
 So far, however, this matter of death has received 
 little deliberate attention. The phenomena con- 
 nected with it have been well des'cribed. The prob- 
 lems of natural selection and of evolution have called 
 attention to the results which come from the tempo- 
 rary quality of the individual, but they have not led 
 to any extended interest in the relation of the 
 ephemeral nature of the individual to the other in- 
 dividualities of the universe and to the method of 
 its organization. 
 
 In the following chapters I propose to approach 
 the question of death from the point of view of its 
 natural history, noting, in the first place, how the 
 higher organic individuals are related to those of the 
 
X THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 lower inorganic realm of the universe. Then, taking 
 up the organic series, I shall trace the progressive 
 steps in the perfection of death by a determination 
 as to the length of the individual life and its division 
 into its several stages from the time when the 
 individual is separated from the general body 
 of the ancestral life to that when it returns to the 
 common store of the earth. Upon the basis of the 
 knowledge we may thus obtain, I shall endeavour to 
 see what qualifications of the accepted view of the 
 great accident we may make — ^how, in a word, we may 
 hope to work toward a reconciliation of our death 
 with the order in which we find ourselves placed. 
 
 For obvious reasons the subject will not be treated 
 in what is commonly termed the religious way — in 
 the manner that goes behind the facts, or, perhaps 
 we should say, above them; but in the matter-of-fact 
 way — ^that which looks alone to the phenomenal for 
 the explanation sought. The reader should under- 
 stand that this limitation is by no means to be 
 considered as a denial of the importance of the other 
 method of approach, but that it is taken in order to 
 avoid the mixture of religious and scientific methods 
 which have been so generally profitless. No man 
 should endeavour to journey on two paths at the 
 same time, or on the same way in two vehicles. 
 Should he do so he is sure to fail of his end. 
 
INTRODUCTION XJ 
 
 In the chapter on the effect of religion on the at- 
 titude of men toward death, it should be understood 
 that the statements which are there made are di- 
 rected not against faith in the higher sense, not in 
 the least against Christianity in its native form, but 
 against the curious remnants of primitive religions 
 which have crept into this most magnanimous of 
 beliefs, turning its blessings into curses and its light 
 into darkness, thereby laying a burden upon human 
 life and hope in ways even more grievous than 
 those of pagan times. 
 
 In effect this book is a plea for an education as 
 regards the place of the individual life in the whole 
 of Nature which shall be consistent with what we 
 know of the universe. It is a plea for an under- 
 standing of the relations of the person with the 
 realm which is, in the fullest sense, his own; with 
 his fellow-beiags of all degrees which are his kins- 
 men; with the past and the future of which he is an 
 integral part. It is a protest against the idea, bred 
 of many natural misconceptions, that a human being 
 is something apart from its fellows: that it is bom 
 into the world and dies out of it into the loneliness 
 of a supernatural realm. It is this sense of isolation 
 which, more than all else, is the curse of life and the 
 sting of death. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAlrTER PAGE 
 
 Preface v 
 
 Introduction ix 
 
 I. — ^ThE place of the INDITIDUAL IN THE UNITERSE 1 
 
 II. — Orqanic individuals 17 
 
 III. — The duration of the individual life . . 51 
 
 IV. — The nature op individuality .... 70 
 
 v. — The place op organic life in the universe . 98 
 
 VI. — The growth op sympathy 106 
 
 VII. — Expression of the individuality . . . 149 
 
 VIII. — Appreciation op other individuality . . 164 
 
 IX. — Pear and valour 188 
 
 L. — The attitude of man toward death . . . 203 
 
 CI. — The relation op society to death . . . 238 
 I. — Relation of parent to child . . . .251 
 
 XIII. — The period op old age 262 
 
 XIV. — The utilization of old age .... 278 
 
 XV. — Immortality 286 
 
 Index 347 
 
 xiii 
 
THE INDIVrDUAL 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE PLACE OF THE INDIVIDUAL IN THE TJNIVEESE 
 
 It is an essential feature of man that he is an 
 individual — a being separated from other units in a 
 certain spacious way. We shall hereafter turn again 
 to the question as to what this individuality means 
 in the moral sense, and how it comes to be estab- 
 lished by physical processes. Our purpose now is to 
 see how far, if at all, this quality is peculiar to man, 
 to his kindred, the sentient things or to the material 
 realm. It is manifestly important to do this, for in 
 that way alone can we take the first step toward 
 measuring the value of this apparently peculiar iso- 
 lation of the human being. To do this work we 
 need to look abroad to see what we may as to the 
 individualizing process in the several provinces of 
 N^ature. 
 
 In beholding the universe man finds himself 
 hindered by the fact that he looks upon it along 
 
 1 
 
2 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 what may be termed a certain plane of sight which, 
 while it opens to him much of the higher, denies him 
 any vision of its lower units; he sees practically un- 
 limited suns, but he can not see their elements; he 
 knows nothing that is perfectly sure of the ultimate 
 constitution of matter, and by inference alone is 
 enabled to divuie some of its fundamental qualities. 
 The leading fact which he may ascertain is that all 
 things commonly termed material probably consist 
 of atoms, indivisible, all with eminent individuality 
 acting and reacting upon one another, each after the 
 manner of its kind. It is commonly held that each 
 of these atoms is a permanent unit, one that is not 
 divided by any of the powers which are applied to 
 it, nor is it subject to any abiding changes. This 
 evidence of the permanence of atoms rests upon a 
 very limited body of experience. It has no other 
 foundation than the tests of our laboratories and 
 the evidence which the spectroscope affords, that in 
 our sun and other like bodies in the visible universe 
 the elements are arranged into the same groups as 
 in our earth. As to the essence of an atom, we know 
 only the properties of each species in relation to 
 those of others, and that each is the centre of actions 
 which may extend very far beyond itself. Every one 
 of the millions contained in the smallest object 
 visible in the microscope is ever acting on the far- 
 
THE INDIVIDUAL IN THE UNIVERSE 3 
 
 thest body in the universe. We know, also, that 
 each is the centre from which various sorts of control 
 proceed by means of vibrations, passing now to the 
 atom and agaia forth from it. . There are also pro- 
 cesses of control which can not as yet be clearly con- 
 ceived as due to energy, as, for instance, those which 
 give rise to the native qualities of these units. 
 
 As for the ultimate constitution of the atom, 
 whether it be essentially simple or complex, we have 
 no knowledge whatsoever. Granting that it is indi- 
 visible, it may stUl be of the order of iadivisibility 
 of a solar system: it may be made up of a complex 
 of smaller bodies which owe their endurance to the 
 most effective means of securing permanence in 
 Nature, that which is won by ordered motions. So 
 far as we can see there is no reason to suppose that 
 the indivisibly small is attained when we come to the 
 atomic stage of matter. There may, indeed, be sys- 
 tem within system of individualities in indefinite 
 extension into the infinite of the minute, quite as 
 well as into the infinite of the great. The popular 
 supposition of the atom as an ultimate in structure is 
 hardly warranted by the facts we know about it; it 
 is opposed to all we know of the constitution of the 
 universe, of which it is a part. These statements are 
 very speculative, but they have their use, for the 
 
 reason that the notion of the atom as an essentially 
 
 3 
 
4 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 indivisible and simple thiag sets a limit to tlie in- 
 finite on one side of the universe which serves to 
 harm the true conception of its depths. Men cleave 
 to these limitations: they afford seeming, bounds to 
 the natural, so that beyond them they may set the 
 supernatural realm. Of old, they found a beginning 
 and an end of the natural order. They imagined 
 limits to space beyond which the lower control did 
 not extend. Science has broken down these barriers 
 to space, time, and law; but it has of itself instituted 
 this new wall of the atom. 
 
 All we really know about the atom is that in 
 descending in the order of magnitude of the in- 
 dividualities of the universe we finally come upon 
 a very permanent kind of person, beyond whose bar- 
 riers we have, as yet, found no means of breaking. 
 The units of this estate have, like those of other 
 estates, their qualities, perhaps their unchangeable 
 characteristics. They differ from those of a higher 
 order of complication, so far as we can see, only in 
 the fact that they are unaffected by any influences 
 we can bring to bear tending to break them into 
 yet smaller imits. 
 
 Next in order of complication come the individ- 
 ualities which are composed of two or more of these 
 atoms, grouped in some order which may be that of 
 motion or that of rest. These are the so-called mole- 
 
THE INDIVIDUAL IN THE UNIVERSE 5 
 
 cules wliich are likewise quite beyond the limits of 
 vision. Wlien this molecular grouping of atoms 
 occurs it is usually of those that belong to different 
 species, with the result that a new individuality is 
 created — one that, so far as we can see, has not the 
 mere sum of the qualities of the elements, but is a 
 third something which has been created from the 
 union of the diversities. 
 
 The individualities of the molecule are so like 
 those of the atom as to suggest that they are but a 
 higher combination of the same order as that which 
 makes the atomic imits. This view has some sup- 
 port in the fact that, while the greater number of the 
 molecular individualities are only broken up by heat 
 or other agents of change, there are certain of them 
 which are very firm as regards the bond, yielding 
 only to the utmost skill the chemist can apply to 
 bring about a parting of their lower units. When 
 thus separated they seek quickly to fly back to their 
 united state. The fewer the atoms in the system of 
 the molecule, in general, the more limited the prop- 
 erties of the aggregate and the more stable their 
 imion. !A^8 the number of atomic individualities in 
 the society increases, the greater the delicacy of its 
 adjustment, until, in the more complicated of them, 
 as we approach the protoplasmic aggregate, the num- 
 ber of units is to be reckoned by the thousand, and 
 
6 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 the construction is so delicate that it is easily 
 destroyed. At this plane we pass from the inor- 
 ganic to the organic, from the purely physical realm 
 to that which is affected with another set of mo- 
 tives. Although we are concerned mainly with this 
 higher stage of life, we must here turn aside to con- 
 sider some other features in the history of the purely 
 physical individualities. 
 
 The next kind of unit above the molecular which 
 we have as yet discerned are the crystals — those com- 
 binations of atoms, individually or in secondary asso- 
 ciations, which take on definite mathematical forms, 
 or rather approach such forms without attaining 
 perfection in them. These are so general in their 
 occurrence that whUe we have not seen the crystal- 
 line shapes proper to many atomic species, or the 
 most of their possible combinations, and many of 
 them may never have existed, it is probable that 
 every atomic or molecular aggregate has its normal 
 crystal form — ^the order in which the units group 
 themselves in the state of apparent rest which we 
 associate with solidity. As to what may be the real 
 condition of atoms or molecules in the crystalline 
 repose, we as yet know nothing definite. The units 
 may be in some kind of constant motion or at 
 rest. 
 
 From what we know of the conditions of crystal- 
 
THE INDIVIDUAIi IN THE UNIVERSE 7 
 
 lization, we conclude that if all the matter of the 
 universe were made free to run its natural course 
 from the original diffused state to that of a complete 
 solid aggregation, each kind by itself, it would enter 
 finally, as it lost heat, upon the stable condition of 
 the crystal form, whieh, so far as we can see, is the 
 most fixed of any state. We have to conceive con- 
 stant activity of the atom and the molecule, but this 
 orderly grouping of the units in the crystal suggests 
 an enduring repose. 
 
 As regards the degree of difference which may 
 exist between atoms or molecules of the same species 
 we know nothing that is certain. There are, how- 
 ever, some facts which have led chemists reasonably 
 to conjecture that molecules at least exhibit a meas- 
 ure of individual peculiarity. When the student of 
 the individualizing processes becomes well acquaint- 
 ed with the conditions which make for the develop- 
 ment of personal qualities in all the visible units of 
 the universe, he will be disposed to question the idea 
 that these of the lower order differ from one another 
 in no other feature save that of position. To hold to 
 this view is, in a way, to deny that these persons of 
 the lower estate are effectively in the realm we know 
 — a realm where each individual is the product of 
 innumerable reciprocal, infinitely varied influences 
 acting from without and from within, which. 
 
8 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 save by a chance, expressed by the term "infinity 
 to one," could not give rise to absolutely identical 
 forms. Even if we take this view, we are held 
 by the facts to the supposition that while the array 
 of actions which make for variety take effect on 
 these lower persons, their action is not commonly 
 sufficient to disturb the balance of dominant forces 
 which give what we term the static condition. 
 In a word, we may conceive these lower creatures 
 of the inorganic to be like the higher individuals 
 of the organic realm, sensitive to external influ- 
 ences, yet so held by the dominatiag forces which 
 shape them that they are limited in the variations 
 they exhibit. 
 
 When in the ascending order of complexity we 
 attain to the crystals we find at once that the per- 
 sonal quality of the individual is distinctly deter- 
 mined. It is a well-known fact that specimens from 
 particular localities have, in many instances, charac- 
 teristics which are quite easily recognised. Those 
 who closely observe these forms are able to note dif- 
 ferences which serve to distinguish members of the 
 same species even when they appear at first sight to 
 be quite alike. Moreover, recent inquiries into the 
 minute features of crystals have ' shown that, for 
 all their seeming simplicity, they are really very 
 complicated structures. Thus in many, if not 
 
THE INDIVIDUAL IN THE UNIVERSE 9 
 
 all, of their species the process of etching brings 
 out on the cleavage planes curious microscopic 
 pits the forms of which are in general character- 
 istic of the species, while the details of their 
 arrangement appear to be iq a measure peculiar to 
 the individual. However it may be with the invisible 
 atoms and molecules, it seems clear that the lowest 
 individualities of the inorganic realm which we 
 can see differ one from another ia the manner, if not 
 in the measure, that we are accustomed to note in 
 organic personalities. 
 
 Along with the chemical afiiaities and the related 
 activities which are supposed to arise from the aggre- 
 gations of matter, there acts another shape-giving 
 influence, that of gravitation, which has much to do 
 with the history of all the larger individualities of 
 the universe. It, in fact, to a great extent controls 
 their forms, from suns to men. As yet we know 
 nothing concerning this mode of energy, if such we 
 ma,y term it, save that it appears to be proportional 
 to the number of atoms there may be in any aggre- 
 gate, and inversely proportional to the distance of 
 one atom or mass from another. As all we know of 
 atomic activity leads us to suppose that the qualities 
 of these units depend on vibrations which are com- 
 municated to other atoms or to the molecular aggre- 
 gates, it is very puzzling to be compelled to face an- 
 
10 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 other mode of action of these bodies, which behaves 
 substantially like light, in that it can act at a dis- 
 tance, but is supposed to operate in some essentially 
 different way from all other activities. I there- 
 fore venture to call attention to certain experiments 
 by the physicist Bjerknes, which appear to indicate 
 a possible solution of the mystery of gravitation. 
 These are, in effect, that bodies of visible size when 
 vibrating at the same musical pitch may attract one 
 another. This seems to mean that a certain kind of 
 waves may exist and be propagated through ether 
 with the result that the bodies, thus moving at the 
 same rate, are mutually attracted. It would be in- 
 teresting to speculate on the ways in which this at- 
 traction through the instrumentality of synchronous 
 waves could be effected. We are here concerned 
 only with the fact that the experiments show such a 
 mode of attraction to be possible. It is only neces- 
 sary for us to suppose that every atom has, among its 
 many modes of vibration, one absolutely general pul- 
 sation which exercises over all other bodies the effect 
 given by likeness of musical pitch. We may indeed 
 conceive that the gravitation impulse is due to the 
 sum of the identical waves which exist among 
 the vibrating units. If this view should be ap- 
 proved, or indeed any other which would find our 
 conception of gravitation in the vibration of atoms. 
 
THE INDIVIDUAL IN THE UNIVBESE H 
 
 we should be rid of the worse stumbling-block in 
 our endeavour to found our theory of the universe 
 on the supposition that it is throughout an expres- 
 sion of energy. The importance of this point in our 
 problem will become evident in the sequel. 
 
 Eeturning to the observable work of gravitation, 
 let us note the effect it has in shaping the larger indi- 
 vidualities of Nature. First, let us attend to its 
 effects on the original distribution of matter, a point 
 which brings us at once in face of the natural his- 
 tory of the stellar realm. As is well known, the 
 belief of most astronomers is that the matter con- 
 tained in the visible universe was once in a state of 
 diffusion throughout and beyond all the realm of the 
 fixed stars — ^the distant suns. In the process of the 
 ages, this matter falling together to the several cen- 
 tres of its consolidation, impelled thereto by gravity, 
 has generated the hundred million or more of aggre- 
 gates, the solar systems of which our own sun and its 
 attendants is a relatively insignificant specimen. 
 The precise manner in which this work has been ac- 
 complished is by no means so clear as it was at one 
 time supposed to be, for the inquiries of Professor 
 George Darwin and Mr. S. J. See have shown that 
 the tidal phenomena of the spheres, the tides in the 
 primitive, molten masses, as well as those in the ordi- 
 nary seas, tend to drive the spheres apart. It may 
 
12 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 thus be that vrhile gravitation works to consolidate 
 matter in such bodies as suns, planets, and satellites, 
 it then proceeds by a critical change in its action to 
 send these spheres away from one another. This 
 change in the results of the gravitation action is in- 
 teresting, as it is one of many, very many, instances 
 in which we find the apparently uniform processes of 
 Nature, those which are indeed uniform in their 
 steps of action, leading to sudden and complete 
 changes of result. 
 
 The important fact that is learned from the study 
 of gravitation work is that it creates in the universe 
 vast and complex individualities, the suns and their 
 attendant minor bodies, each of which has its life 
 history, its mode of birth, its processes leading to 
 maturity, its period of rest after the forces which 
 give rise to its activities have ceased to act. These 
 individual bodies have each their own character- 
 istics. They in a sense live their own lives, each 
 different from the other; yet they do this by an 
 endless iaterchange of actions, so that all that goes 
 on in any one of them is affected by what takes place 
 in every other. At first sight nothing seems more 
 absolutely alone than an orb in space, parted by 
 scores of millions of miles from its neighbours; yet 
 it is a part of a system where each unit affects the 
 other at every turn of its affairs. Every pulse of our 
 
THE INDIVIDUAL IN THE UNIVERSE 13 
 
 hearts is due to the energy sent to the earth from the 
 sun. The shapes of our lands are in large part de- 
 termined by the ceaseless call that the moon makes 
 on the seas. Though the isolation of any one solar 
 system from another is more complete than that 
 which exists in a planet of any one system, the same 
 bond of interchanged action exists among them all. 
 The spaces which part planet from planet, or from 
 the sun, seem insignificant, and the connection be- 
 tween them appears almost intimate when we come 
 to consider the abysmal spaces that separate even the 
 nearest suns one from the other. Still, even through 
 these voids each draws the other to itself. The way 
 in which each goes onward into the unknown upon 
 the path the systems pursue is determined by every 
 other. 
 
 The history of the celestial systems shows us 
 that the largest individualities we can discern in the 
 visible realm come forth from the ancient and sim- 
 ple estate; that they hav6 each won their personal 
 isolation as have the lesser units of which they are 
 composed. Yet each is absolutely bound up with the 
 whole, is instituted in that whole without in any 
 way parting from it. The apparent isolation is due 
 in part to our complete ignorance as to what unites 
 or wraps about the units or aggregates of matter. 
 We know of this ether, or infinite space filler of the 
 
14 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 visible universe, little more than that it seems to be 
 in a way material, as it in certain ways transmits 
 impulses, and in a way not material in any sense of 
 matter known to us, in that it in no measurable way 
 resists the movement of the celestial bodies. It re- 
 mains absolutely enigmatical when judged by any 
 of the standards we apply to those parts of the uni- 
 verse which have the properties of matter. It has to 
 be placed in a realm by itself into which we have as 
 yet found no effective means of penetrating by ex- 
 periment, and which is almost barred to the imagina- 
 tipn. 
 
 "We can not with satisfaction discuss the consid- 
 eration of the ether as most physicists do, with mere 
 negations, or with such suggestions as that it is " an 
 absolutely elastic solid." We have to recognise that 
 it is not pure space, but something actual — ^as actual 
 indeed as any material thing, in that it has proper- 
 ties; as, for instance, the capacity of transmitting 
 impulses, and presumably many others which we fail 
 to perceive. From the point of view of our present 
 inquiry, the characteristic feature of the ether is 
 that it appears to be undifferentiated. It may pos- 
 sibly be the part of the cosmos which has not entered 
 on the way toward individualization, which begins 
 perhaps with the atom and proceeds to the great va- 
 riety of units of the physical and the organic world. 
 
THE INDIVIDUAL IN THE UNIVERSE 15 
 
 Speculating as to its nature in the light of what we 
 know of the processes of the universe, we may ask 
 whether ether be not a mode of existence less com- 
 plicated than that of the atom, one from which, by 
 the organization of its units, the atom may have 
 been evolved, as the spheres, from the pre-exist^- 
 ing vapour? This, be it said, is mere speculation. 
 The main point for us is that, in this ocean of 
 the ethereal realm, which apparently remains as 
 imindividualized as the infinite itself, has developed 
 aU the finite individualities, from atoms and sims 
 to men. 
 
 Our brief summary of the physical world has 
 shown us, in mere outline, but sufficiently for our 
 limited purpose, how the progress of organization in 
 that realm is not alone from the undifferentiated to 
 the differentiated — ^though that, too, is discernible — 
 but essentially to individualities, and from the sim- 
 pler of them to the more complex; and, further, that 
 each of these individualities, from atom or celestial 
 sphere, is none the less of the whole because it is of 
 itself; it acts ever in its surroundings and receives 
 action therefrom to the uttermost ends of the dis- 
 cernible universe. It is hardly too much to say that 
 on this individualizing process depends all the real 
 work that is done within the universe. It is the 
 reaction of one group of motives and capacities thus 
 
16 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 localized in the persons of the material world upon 
 another, which is the hasis of the universal life. It 
 is only as these personalities arise that energy- 
 can find other than a mere potential existence. As 
 they become more and more varied in their quality, 
 the reactions attain a higher interactive form. 
 
CHAPTEE II 
 
 OBQANIC INDIVIDUALS 
 
 The glance at the conditions of inorganic in- 
 dividuals which is afforded by the preceding chap- 
 ter may suffice to show that, in the apparently undif- 
 ferentiated realm of the ether, there is a general pro- 
 cess of constructing masses of varied order, atoms, 
 molecules, crystals, and spheres, each endowed with 
 its individuality, each related by interactions of di- 
 verse value to the whole realm. "We readily see that 
 all these isolated units, except, perhaps, the atoms, 
 have their process of development and a subsequent 
 history, ending with some kind of extinction, which 
 arises, not from any internal requirement, but from 
 changes in the external relations of the structure — 
 molecules are broken up, crystals pass into solution, 
 the activity of the spheres ends with the loss of heat 
 which inspired their life; there is everywhere that 
 endless flux which the thoughtful of all times have 
 seen to be the most evident feature in the universe. 
 
 17 
 
18 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 When we pass upward in the order of complexity 
 from the so-called inorganic world to the organic, 
 we at once perceive that we have passed a boimd of 
 much importance, though it is by no means easy to 
 say where the limit lies or in what it consists. The 
 ancients satisfied themselves with the simple concept 
 that all matter was endowed with the spirit of life; 
 that it was continually striving toward the state of 
 animals or plants, though only a small part of it 
 could ever attain to that station. They very gener- 
 ally regarded the fossilized remains which resembled 
 living forms, not as the moulds of creatures that had 
 lived, but as abortive attempts of dead matter to take 
 on the shapes of the living. With the first steps in 
 the development of biologic science it came to be 
 recognised that all the higher species of animals 
 and plants came from eggs or seeds; and with 
 the advance in that learning, it was in time seen 
 that any coming of the living form from other than 
 like preceding life certainly takes place but rarely, 
 and in exceptional, if not unique, conditions. In 
 all the skilful and patient research which has been 
 devoted to the task of proving the possibility of 
 spontaneous generation, there has as yet been no in- 
 stance found in which, from matter which was not 
 already living, any organic being has been brought 
 forth. The value of the evidence as to the separa- 
 
ORGANIC INDIVIDUALS 19 
 
 tion of the living from the not-living, which hecame 
 evident a century ago, has been increased by recent 
 studies, with the result that naturalists have of late 
 regarded the barrier between the two states as one 
 of great permanence — one seldom passed, and then 
 only under very peculiar conditions, the nature of 
 which is not yet discovered.* 
 
 Although the difference between the inorganic 
 and the organic is made tolerably plain by the fact 
 that the living beings appear, in all the observed in- 
 
 * In the present state of our knowledge or, as we had better 
 sav, ignorance of the conditions in which tfie passage from the 
 inorganic to the organic was effected, any apparently reason- 
 able conjecture is warranted. I therefore venture the follow- 
 ing suggestions : It is evident that the primal organism must 
 have been formed in water, for there alone could such an asso- 
 ciation of materials as compose a single organic body have 
 occurred or been perpetuated. It is very difficult to conceive 
 how, in a primitive, lifeless sea or in lakes and rivers destitute 
 of such organic matter, any water could have been found con- 
 taining mineral matter in a sufficiently concentrated state to 
 admit of the chemical processes necessary to the beginning of 
 an organic structure. The only position where we can well 
 conceive such a state of affairs to exist is in the cooling waters 
 of a hot spring coming perhaps from lavas, or in a brook 
 formed therefrom, where the fluid might be saturated with the 
 substances derived from the rocks which, owing to the cooling, 
 would tend to be deposited. This hypothesis, be it understood, 
 by no means explains the way in which these dissolved mate- 
 rials took on their organic form; it only provides for the 
 gathering together of the elements necessary for the organiza- 
 tion ; in a word, it helps us only a little way toward the critical 
 point where the essentially lifeless becomes truly alive. 
 8 
 
20 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 stances, to be derived from the antecedent organic 
 forms, it is still very diificult to see in what this dif- 
 ference consists. For awhile some appeasement of 
 curiosity in this matter was found by supposing that 
 there was a vital principle which animated the indi- 
 viduals of the higher realm that did not operate in 
 the lower; but this explanation is merely verbal; it 
 has no true explanatory value, for it has no real 
 meaning. In one form and another definitions have 
 been presented, each having temporary acceptance, 
 but in the end failing for lack of proof or because it 
 was positively disproved. As the definition of the 
 difference between the individuals of the lower and 
 the higher estate, between those of the atomic, molec- 
 ular, crystalline, or spherical realms and that to 
 which we ourselves belong, is of much importance to 
 our inquiry, it is well to note some of these efforts, 
 and in the end to essay one of our own. 
 
 The old hypothesis of a vital principle, itself a 
 modification of the ancient idea of a " plastic vir- 
 tue " or a " fatty matter " in the earth that tended to 
 breed life, gave way to the idea that there were cer- 
 tain natural forces which operated to create life and 
 to keep the beings in their estate. So, for a time on, 
 we find such definitions as that of the .celebrated 
 anatomist Bichat, to the effect in varied phrase that 
 life is the congeries of all those forces which resist 
 
ORGANIC INDIVIDUALS 21 
 
 death. In the advance of the criticisms of explana- 
 tions which demarks modern science from ancient 
 learning, with the introduction of the mathematical 
 spirit which has given so much to natural inquiry, all 
 these mere verbal explanations have been neglected, 
 and naturalists have turned to seek in the processes 
 of organic species for a firmer ground on which to 
 rest their definitions. It was suggested that the 
 phenomena of reproduction were peculiar to the liv- 
 ing forms, but it was soon found that in some un- 
 known way the molecule and the crystal alike tend to 
 increase their kind. Moreover, iu its simplest form 
 reproduction appears to be no more than the spon- 
 taneous division of the parent body, which may or 
 may not take place. It was then suggested that the 
 capacity of the living creature to feed — ^i. e., to take 
 in previously existing molecular compounds which 
 are broken up and are rebuilt into the body — ^was a 
 sound basis for a discrimination; but this, too, 
 failed, for the reason that a similar action was noted 
 in crystals, and may exist even in the molecular 
 aggregates. There can be no question that all the 
 processes of reproduction and nutrition are very 
 much more extensively turned to account in the or- 
 ganic than in the inorganic world, and that this dif- 
 ference in degree is a matter of the greatest impor- 
 tance. It is clear, however, that on them alone we 
 
22 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 can not well found our definition of the distinction 
 between the two realms. It is indeed to be sought 
 further and in something more fundamental. 
 
 In noting the individualities of the lower, purely 
 physical realm, we remarked the fact that the asso- 
 ciations of the atoms, the molecules, the crystals, and 
 the sphere are each after the manner of its kind, 
 essentially invariable except so far as they may be 
 affected by forces from without. We have now to ob- 
 serve that this fixity appears to be absolute; the atoms 
 in the stars are, as their Ught shows, the same in 
 character as those found on the earth. The materials 
 of the meteorites which come we know not whence, 
 but certainly from other spheres than our own, show 
 us the same minerals in the same forms as those 
 belonging in the earth. The crystals of the oldest 
 rocks in no important regards differ from those of to- 
 day. In other words, these lower individuals, though 
 they receive, transmit, and change the forms of en- 
 ergy, do their work always in subsiantially the same 
 way. They in nowise obtain anything in their inter- 
 course with their surroundings which goes to qualify 
 the successors of their species. It is quite otherwise 
 with the organic form; while, like its lower kinsmen, 
 it receives, converts, and sends on energy, it is inter- 
 nally so affected by its surroundings that it under- 
 goes changes, and, what is more important, these 
 
ORGANIC INDIVIDUALS 23 
 
 changes lead to the development of a measure of in- 
 dividuality in the units in a manner unknown to 
 the lower realm. But the eminently important 
 feature is that by some way or ways these changes are 
 accumulated in the succession of the generations so 
 that the species are in process of continual altera- 
 tion. They are, as we observe, educated by their 
 environment. 
 
 I have spoken of this difference between the in- 
 educable lower realm of individuals and the higher 
 organic educable forms as infinite. The word is not 
 of too wide meaning to denote the utter change in 
 the conditions of existence which the capacity to 
 profit by the influences of environment brings about. 
 The mechanical structures of the lower realm act in 
 a uniform manner. Given a certain influence from 
 without and the reaction is always the same wherever 
 and at whatever time it occurs. In these higher in- 
 dividualities which we term " living " the structure 
 has a personal quality which causes it to vary its ac- 
 tion indefinitely; to change its form; to try endless 
 adaptations to its conditions, and to alter its shape 
 from generation to generation so as to secure the 
 best possible adjustment to the surroundings. We 
 thus see that it is the capacity of organic form to 
 gather and store experience which demarks it from 
 the inorganic. It should need no argument to show 
 
24: THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 that this peculiarity puts the structure ia an ahso- 
 lutely different order from that in which the lower 
 forms lie. 
 
 The educable quality of the lowest organic indi- 
 viduality opens before it a kind of opportunity un- 
 known in the simple states of aggregated matter; 
 the atom, the molecule, the crystal, and the sphere 
 can not go beyond the state set for them by their 
 primal structure: the organic form can infinitely 
 advance. But to make this advance certain condi- 
 tions of existence which did not occur in the lower 
 stages of being have to be instituted; to these 
 changes we will now turn our attention. First, let us 
 note that organic advance depends upon a process of 
 trial between competitors for the chance to live. 
 The field for the development of this life must in all 
 cases be confined to the surface of some planetary 
 sphere, and so is of limited extent. The way in 
 which this essay is accomplished is in a manner sim- 
 ple and inevitable. Each person of a given species 
 has its trial; if it is successful it survives and hands 
 its life on to its progeny, who are likely to inherit the 
 features which gave success to the ancestor. The 
 parent form having done that which is the highest 
 part an individual can perform must be withdrawn 
 from the field to make room for its successors. 
 
 In this way we have the principle of death estab- 
 
ORGANIC INDIVIDUALS 25 
 
 lished as an inevitable corollary to that of advance- 
 ment. It is indeed conceivable that an organic 
 realm might be so organized that individuals, begin- 
 ning in the lowest order, should survive indefinitely, 
 and by progressive makings-over, somewhat after the 
 manner of the metamorphosis of insects, keep ad- 
 vancing until they attained the highest estate. But 
 in the world we know it is evident that the system 
 of the succession of generations is an absolute 
 necessity. This is shown by the fact that in all the 
 great series of animals and plants we find that at the 
 beginning the lower forms have no fixed period of 
 life. Some of the lowest protozoa indeed, which 
 seem to be no more than mere protoplasmic aggre- 
 gates, may in a sense survive indefinitely; they di- 
 vide from time to time, yet some portion of the 
 structure of the aboriginal parent may inhere in the 
 forms of those of to-day. As we rise in the steps 
 of the series the term of life and the generational 
 succession become more and more definite until in 
 all the higher species both of animals and plants it is 
 almost as certainly determined as it is in man. 
 
 It is a very instructive fact that in all the endless 
 experiments which animals and plants have made 
 to better the adjustments of the conditions of their 
 lives to their environment, we find none whatever 
 which look to the indefinite prolongation of the 
 
26 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 existence of the individual. Although the indi- 
 •vidual is the absolutely important thing — although 
 it contains -within itself all the profit that has 
 been won in all the stages of its ancestry, it is ever 
 and promptly sacrificed to the interests of the 
 life to come. As if it were discerned that the 
 accidents of this world were not of themselves 
 sufficient to insure its certain disappearance when 
 its full reproduction work was done, each of these 
 creatures normally is provided with internal adjust- 
 ments which surely bring it to an end. 
 
 It is difiicult to see how this determination as to 
 the duration of life has been established. On the 
 basis of the survival of the fittest, it might be ex- 
 pected that there would be an advantage arising 
 from the perpetuation to the utmost of the approved 
 strong rather than from their replacement by others 
 of a host whence the strong would again have to be 
 selected by a struggle. On the other hand, the ex- 
 treme selectionist would say that a species which had 
 developed the plan of having quick succeeding gen- 
 erations would have a distinct advantage in the con- 
 test for existence with species hampered with the 
 remains of the less advanced predecessors. It is 
 hard to see how this selection with the long arm 
 could have so fixed this method of death in the order 
 in which we find it throughout the organic world. 
 
ORGANIC INDIVIDUALS 27 
 
 It is perhaps more natural to assume that the need 
 of death is established by influences which lie out- 
 side of the selection field. We must beware of the 
 state of mind of some naturalists — a really un- 
 scientific state — ^which leads them to claim that be- 
 cause natural selection is true, there can be no other 
 like truth in the world of life. We must remember 
 that ia animals and plants, quite as much as in the 
 lower mechanical realm, there are establishments of 
 order which are primitiye, and which control the 
 conditions of individuals as they control those of 
 crystals or spheres. 
 
 Although we shall more than once haye to re- 
 turn to this matter of the establishment of death in 
 the organic world, it is well to look now to certain 
 of its aspects. It is to be noted that the individuali- 
 ties of the lower inorganic realm, above the plane of 
 the atom, though they may perish, do so by purely 
 external acts; they do not have any trace of a limit 
 to their normal endurance. It is only when the 
 principle of the advance by successions of genera- 
 tions is established that we have death instituted as a 
 feature in the system. It is thus an innovation — one 
 of very great moment, which has qualified organic 
 life in an absolute manner. It has given to the indi- 
 vidual a temporary character; merging its being into 
 the life of its kind; making it but a step in the 
 
28 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 series to which it belongs. It is this life of the 
 series, developed by the experience of the organic 
 individuals that form it, that is the eminent charac- 
 teristic of the organic realm. 
 
 The institution of the system of the generations 
 in organic forms brings with it the serious difficulty 
 that the newcomers ia the field are necessarily weak 
 and dependent on their ancestors for all that starts 
 them on their way. There is in all cases a gulf 
 between the generations which has ia a way to be 
 bridged. To the accomplishment of this task goes 
 the greater part of the contrivances, physical and 
 intellectual together, that the organic world ex- 
 hibits. The work is marked on every hand by in- 
 numerable devices ranging from the flowers of 
 plants to the organization of human society. The 
 steps which are taken should be considered in a 
 general way by the inquirer into the true meaning 
 of death, for they show how life, from its begin- 
 nings, has been dealing with the problem. 
 
 In the lowliest organisms, such as the Amoeba, 
 the process of reproduction appears to be of the sim- 
 plest possible kind. The creature spontaneously 
 divides, each of the separated parts taking some- 
 thing like an even share of the original jellylike 
 mass. As there are no specialized organs, every 
 part is able to exercise all of the very simple func- 
 
ORGANIC INDIVIDUALS 29 
 
 tions of the creature. This primitive method of 
 increase serves its purpose well. When the body 
 becomes more complicated, when it has organs, 
 the method of simple division is found to be less 
 convenient, so there is a part of the body which 
 is set aside as the field from which the new beings 
 are to be produced by what now becomes a bud- 
 ding process. These buds may go forth as de- 
 tached individuals, as in the jellyfishes and sea 
 anemones, or they may remain connected with the 
 parent stock, as in the case of the ordinary corals, 
 the sponges, or the buds of the common plants. Al- 
 though this plan of reproducing by means of off- 
 shoots is gradually displaced by the more complicated 
 sexual method, it remains in use throughout the 
 greater part of the vegetable kingdom, and extends 
 among animals to species of tolerably high grade. 
 
 While the method of reproduction by the bud- 
 ding process appears to have served the needs of the 
 lowliest organic forms, it does not fit the require- 
 ments of the higher life. When retained in tho 
 series above the lowest it is most commonly used 
 only to build up a colony of individuals such as we 
 find in the plants, composed of many buds, or a com- 
 munity such as the compound corals present. The 
 tendency to bud appears to hold its place in the ani- 
 mal body long after it has ceased to be in any distinct 
 
30 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 way useful, reappearing here and there as reminis- 
 cences of the remote past, such as we are accustomed 
 to find in the more highly organized forms which 
 seem never entirely to forget the organic steps by 
 which they foimd their way upward. Traces of the 
 method of reproduction by buddiag possibly exist 
 even in the mammalian series to which man belongs. 
 The passage from the original method of repro- 
 duction by budding, or the subdivision of the parent 
 body into two or more parts, to that of the seed or 
 egg, is not clearly made out. There is no doubt that 
 the sexual method consists essentially in a process 
 by which two individuals combine each a share of 
 its own body with that of the other, so that the 
 germ is the ofEspring of two persons in place of one. 
 The selectionist's explanation of the method, in 
 effect, that it gives the young a chance to inherit 
 a larger range of motives and so in a way to help in 
 the advancement of the species, appears to be sound. 
 We may, indeed, account for the establishment, if not 
 the origination, of the method on the ground of its 
 utility. Even in the lowest forms, where we can ob- 
 serve the primitive process of division, it is a nota- 
 ble fact that it is often preceded by the coalescence 
 of two individuals which may serve to give the pe- 
 culiar advantage of the double ancestry. Thus for 
 a while the limits between the two methods of re- 
 
ORGANIC INDIVIDUALS 31 
 
 production remain obscure; but, measured in terms 
 of advancement or of geologic ages, the superiority 
 of what we may term the double method was quickly 
 iand firmly established, in time generally to dis- 
 place the earlier and more simple plan. How mo- 
 mentous this establishment has been we shall note 
 in the sequel. 
 
 The bridging of the interval between the genera- 
 tions was not completed by the institution of a well- 
 contrived method of reproduction; in fact, the task 
 was but begun by that contrivance. So long as the 
 organic forms were very simple, so that any part of 
 the body could transmit all the motives of the spe- 
 cies, the young having only to enlarge its size in 
 order to attain maturity, the earlier simple method 
 served the needs. But, with the ascent in the scale 
 of living, with the institution of complicated bodies 
 and the creation of the system of germs, necessarily 
 of small size, there came new and serious difiiculties. 
 In the first stages of the sexual method we observe 
 that the egg or seed is sent forth from the parent 
 with little more in the way of help from the crea- 
 ture that gave it birth than is afforded by the store 
 of impulses which serve to guide it in development. 
 So far as the provision of food or protection is con- 
 cerned it must shift for itself, with the result that 
 for tens of thousands bom scarcely one attains to 
 
32 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 maturity. With the spores and germs of the lower 
 orders of animals and plants it may be assumed 
 that not one in a hundred thousand arrives at the 
 adult state. Therefore, we find that about as soon 
 as the spores and germs are contrived there begins 
 a series of experiments in the way of providing food 
 along with them so that the new life may be helped 
 a eertaia distance on its way by appropriatiag to its 
 use nutriment gathered and stored by the parent. 
 
 The development of the egg and seed from their 
 primitive simplicities to their most perfect estates 
 exhibits a vast series of inventions. Considering 
 only those which relate to the nutrition of the em- 
 bryo, we remark that the store of food which is thus 
 withdrawn from the body of the parent becomes, ia 
 the higher development of the process, a great tax 
 on the vitality of the mother. Many of our smaller 
 birds lay in a single season eggs which much out- 
 weigh their bodies. In cases, it is said, a single egg 
 weighs as much as one tenth of the mother-frame. 
 Among the higher plants the provision of food 
 stored with the seed is often of like value, the mass 
 of nutritive matter often outweighing all the other 
 parts of the plant. How good the material thus 
 provided is may be judged by the fact that our civ- 
 ilization rests upon the provision, for it is supported 
 by the grain-bearing plants. 
 
ORGANIC INDIVIDUALS 33 
 
 Along with the development of the nutritive 
 store of egg and seed, material provisions designed 
 to carry the germ across the gulf that parts genera- 
 tion from generation, goes a host of other evidences 
 of intellectual and automatic cares which look to 
 the fitting distribution and placement of the young, 
 such as may secure them the best chance in life. 
 In the plants this is shown by contrivances which 
 secure the distribution of the seed by means of 
 wings that catch the wind; by springs which, as in 
 the Impatiens or touch-me-not, discharge the tiny 
 bits so that they may fall far from the parent stock. 
 Again, in the fruit-beariag plants, the seed is sur- 
 rounded by a tempting pulp so arranged that, when 
 eaten by birds or mammals, the seed will be taken 
 with it into their stomachs, to be voided with their 
 dung. This is a most successful contrivance, and 
 the adjustments to make it effective are admirably 
 devised. The seeds of most fruits are hard and 
 slippery, as, for instance, those of an apple. They 
 are thus likely to escape the crushing action of the 
 teeth. They are also so organized that the high tem- 
 perature to which they are subjected in the alimen- 
 tary canal is advantageous to their development, as 
 is shown by the fact, well known to gardeners, that 
 such seeds are more easily germinated if they are 
 soaked for about twenty-four hours in water, at a 
 
34 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 temperature of about one hundred degrees Fahren- 
 heit. This gives them the preliminary treatment to 
 which they have been adapted. When such seeds 
 come to the earth it is along with a store of fertiliz- 
 ing material which serves to hasten the early and 
 more perilous stages of their development. 
 
 Yet further marks of the care of plants for their 
 young are seen ia the contrivances to increase the 
 temporary adhesion of the seed to the hair of ani- 
 mals. These, from a mechanical point of view, are 
 wonderfully well designed, the general shape of the 
 structure being so made that it clings firmly. The 
 booklets are peculiarly adapted to the quality of hair 
 or wool, and the normal height of the seed vessels 
 above the ground is so arranged that they may come 
 ia contact with the bodies of the creatures to which 
 they look for transportation. The finish of the 
 contrivance is carried even to the fine point of 
 arranging the booklets so that they may not hold on 
 too long, for at a certain stage of their drying the 
 clinging points become brittle so that they break at 
 a touch, allowing the seed to fall to the ground. 
 
 Admirable as are the devices by which the germs 
 of plants obtain a distribution favourable to their 
 well being, they are of small account as compared 
 with those for like ends we see in the animal king- 
 dom. In that higher field we find not only the me- 
 
ORGANIC INDIVIDUALS 35 
 
 e 
 
 chanieal adjustments, such as those we have noted 
 among the plants, hut a host of others that are the 
 result of the individual intelligence belonging to ani- 
 mals alone. Although the very iirst signs of mental 
 activity appear to be directed to the immediately per- 
 sonal ends of obtaining food and avoiding danger, 
 the highest manifestations of intellectual work be- 
 low the level of men are to be found in the contriv- 
 ances designed to better the chances of the young. 
 These are so numerous that I shall not try even to 
 indicate their range or scope. I shall note, indeed, 
 but one which happens to be so far indicative as to 
 be of value not only here but at other stages, of our 
 inquiry. This is what may be observed in the nest- 
 ing habits of the ordinary mud wasp, a widely dif- 
 fused species, one that is familiar to all observant 
 persons. This creature belongs to a group which, 
 as in all advanced forms, is noteworthy for the care 
 they take in making provision for their young. 
 That of which we have to teU the story is, in the 
 measure of its contrivance, scarcely beyond many 
 others of its kindred. 
 
 The arrangements which the mud wasp makes' 
 for the care of its oif spring' are as follows: At the 
 time for nesting the female proceeds to search out 
 a suitable place for constructing her egg cases. In 
 this choice of a situation she shows a singularly 
 
36 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 effeetiTe insight into the accidents of the weather. 
 She selects places, such as those in the lintels and 
 jambs of a window, where the nests will be tolerably 
 sheltered from the washing action of the rain, yet 
 she appears to discern that they should not be per- 
 fectly sheltered from it. When she has found a fit 
 site she searches for clayey mud, such as will be- 
 come firm when dried. The material is gathered 
 with rare skill, the quality varying but little wher- 
 ever we find it used. With this clay she proceeds 
 to construct a small cylindrical case a few millime- 
 tres wide and about three centimetres long; rough 
 on the outside but smooth within. When this 
 task is accomplished she goes forth to seek spiders 
 of small size, limiting the choice to a few species, 
 oftenest only one kind is taken; these she stings 
 with care so that they may not be killed but only 
 benumbed, in which state they may lie for weeks. 
 These spiders she packs into the chamber until it is 
 well filled. Then on these spiders she lays an egg 
 and finally seals up the mouth of the chamber with 
 a thin covering of clay. This process is usually 
 repeated until several, rarely more than half a dozen, 
 of these cases are formed, one beside the other. 
 There being a certain saving thus effected in the 
 mud, which is precious because of the difficulty of 
 transporting it, she then, as if unwilling to venture 
 
ORGANIC INDIVIDUALS 87 
 
 all her eggs in one basket, seeks another site for 
 other like constructions. 
 
 Shortly after the egg is laid beside the numbed 
 spiders, the young grub comes forth and proceeds 
 to feed on them. When, in the course of a few 
 weeks, it has eaten the last of the store, it has grown 
 to the limits of the lodging place. It then enters 
 on the chrysalis state, undergoes in time its meta- 
 morphosis to the perfect insect. If it be a female it 
 then proceeds to repeat those marvels which it has 
 never seen done, and which it can not possibly be 
 taught to do by its predecessors, for they are all 
 dead. We have here two groups of facts; on the 
 one hand, the delicately adjusted processes by which 
 this task is accomplished, all involving what is, in 
 effect, a singular anticipation of the career of the 
 unborn young, transformations which the mother 
 can not possibly have seen; and the other, the insti- 
 tution and transmission from generation to genera- 
 tion of the impulses or desires which lead to the ac- 
 tions just recounted. 
 
 All through the animal kingdom, in fact in al- 
 most every species, we note actions, which though they 
 may be less picturesque than those exhibited by the 
 mud wasp, yet are, in their essence, equally marvel- 
 lous and serve quite as well to show the great inten- 
 sity with which the actions of animals are directed 
 
38 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 to the end of handing on to the generation to come 
 the largest possible share of help that the passing 
 members of the species can afford. We see, even in 
 the lower stages of life, that this care for the un- 
 born, such as is, or at least should be, the main 
 theme of our human society, is the basis of all the 
 higher endeavours of the creatures. We see that it 
 goes further than any other motive in liftiag their 
 intelligence to a high order of development; for, 
 however we may take the work of the mud wasp, it 
 remains as the work of mind; doubtless uncon- 
 scious, automatic in a sense, yet for all that the 
 work of one mode of mind. We see, moreover, in 
 these deeds of two million or more species of in- 
 sects and a host of birds and higher animals, one 
 clear object, which is that their successors may pass 
 over the gulf between the generations not only un- 
 harmed, but helped in every possible way. They do 
 not know that what they do is an offering on the 
 altars of self-sacrifice — ^they do it because it is their 
 nature thus to serve. 
 
 The lower series of organisms, as before noted, 
 effect their reproduction at first by a simple method 
 of dividing the body; later on the method of the 
 egg or seed, more or less combined with some sur- 
 vival of the primitive plan of budding. In the ia- 
 sects where the methods of propagation are most 
 
ORGANIC INDIVIDUALS 39 
 
 elaborately worked out, the care of the offspring at 
 many points attains even more elaboration than is 
 exhibited in the solitary example above described. 
 Though as yet but a small part of the facts is known 
 it would be an easy matter to fill the pages of a 
 dozen volumes with the accounts of the contrivances 
 which have been resorted to by the animals whose 
 young come forth into the world from eggs. They 
 all tell the same story of progeny necessarily turned 
 out into the sea or air insufficiently developed 
 properly to shift for themselves, needing all the care, 
 at best but little, that the passing generation can eon- 
 tribute to their welfare. The difficulty of the situa- 
 tion may be judged by the fact that these oviparous 
 creatures send into the world probably not less than 
 an average of a thousand young for one that, in the 
 chances of life, attains maturity. 
 
 All afong the various series of animals that have 
 a high order of development we find contrivances of 
 exceeding variety which have for their purpose some- 
 thing like the temporary adoption of the young into 
 the body of the parent. "With many spiders these 
 young cling to the mother. In certain molluscs 
 wonderfully elaborate egg cases are constructed for 
 them wherever they may dwell in their period of 
 first weakness. In some of the unios, or fresh-water 
 clams, there is a sac adjoining the gills where they 
 
40 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 may find temporary shelter. In the pipefish there 
 is a pocket ia which the young lodge. In the Su- 
 rinam toad the eggs are placed on the hack of the 
 male when they enter the skin, forming pustular 
 structures wherein the embryo perhaps obtains 
 some nutriment from the parent. But none of 
 these efforts to afford more than the ordinary pro- 
 tection to the egg are successful until the method 
 is devised of having the mother provided with 
 milk-giving glands so arranged that the infant 
 can obtain the fluid. By this device, which is 
 the consummate invention of the class to which 
 we ourselves belong, the offspring is made free to 
 what is, in effect, the mother's blood for a period 
 of from a few weeks to two years or more after 
 extrusion from her body. This system has other 
 than a mere physical value, for it keeps the infant 
 in contact with the mother — often with both par- 
 ents — for a much longer time than otherwise would 
 be the case, and so aids in the establishment of the 
 foundations in which the family rests. 
 
 At a later stage in the advance, along with the 
 development of the function of milk-giving goes 
 the permanent institution of the method whereby 
 the egg is hatched within the body of the mother 
 and the young brought forth not only alive, but 
 much advanced in their development. Approaches 
 
ORGANIC INDIVIDUALS 41 
 
 to this system, tentative but never really successful 
 efforts to attain the end, are to be noted among vari- 
 ous of the fishes and in a way among the inverte- 
 brates. Thus, in certain species of sharks and in 
 the viviparous bony fishes, the eggs are hatched 
 within the parent's body and the young come forth 
 with a size which they could not have attained from 
 the resources of the egg alone; they have clearly, 
 by some means or other, obtained nutriment from 
 the mother, probably from the passage to them of 
 the fluids of her blood, by the process of osmosis. 
 But the earlier essays were only the forerunners of 
 the great and successful experiment of the mammals 
 in the process of gestation, the development of the 
 placenta, an invention which, perhaps more than 
 all the others that have been made in a physical 
 way, effectively bridges the ancient gulf between the 
 generations, at least so far as the physical machin- 
 ery of the body is concerned. In its perfected form 
 the union before birth is so complete that the young 
 is an integral part of the body of the mother. All of 
 her constructive powers are at the command of the 
 new life, all of her strength which may be needed 
 is automatically directed to the work of nurture. 
 
 None other of the many great series of organic 
 events show us anything like the array of physical 
 contrivances and intellectual inventions all directed 
 
42 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 to one impersonal end as this admirable succession 
 of deeds relating to the care of offspring. Even 
 when we explain this work by natural law we in no- 
 wise lessen its majesty or that of the system which 
 bade it take the shape we find. 
 
 As the naturalist looks back over the long per- 
 spective of lifCj he sees, iudistinctly it is true, but 
 clearly enough for the immediate need, how the 
 development of the organic individual introduced 
 into the universe a new kind of unit, one differing 
 from all the lower units previously existing in that 
 it was educable, it could garner experience and 
 profit thereby. He sees that this provision for an 
 indefinite advance requires the development of the 
 generational order, as is shown by the fact that the 
 method is instituted and affirmed in all the groups 
 of animals and plants, and that in the process of 
 advance it is made more definite and unalterable. 
 He sees, furthermore, that there comes out of this 
 plan of education a host of difficulties and dangers 
 arising from the isolation of the successive individ- 
 ual lives and the apparent impossibility of bridging 
 the chasm between them. When the work is accom- 
 plished the parts are so linked into a whole, and 
 the whole seems so well united, that the observer is 
 apt to accept it and pass on without due attention to 
 what has been really effected. It is best that he 
 
ORGANIC INDIVIDUALS 43 
 
 should attend to certain features of this series of 
 events which may help him to an understanding 
 of the problems of life and death. 
 
 Let us first note the apparent diflSeulty, that 
 there is no profit to the individual in its own death; 
 yet we see that the life of its kind, which is its own 
 being together with that of its fellows, proceeds as 
 rapidly as possible to establish a term for its endur- 
 ance which is as brief as is consistent with the at- 
 tainment of maturity and the care of the possible 
 offspring. If a day will serve, then it is but a day. 
 If it demands more time, then so much and no 
 more, the point being that the sacrifice in the inter- 
 ests of those of the kind that are to come must be 
 as complete as is required. The claim of the per- 
 son itself is to count for nothing. Considering 
 again that the actual life is that of the individual, 
 this devotion of its interests to an ultimate purpose is 
 most trustworthy. We must seek an explanation of it. 
 
 As before stated, the extreme selectionist would 
 account for the enforced brevity of the life of the 
 individual by the doctrine of vital economy; i. e., 
 by the supposition that it was advantageous to a 
 variety or a species in pressing forward to have the 
 successive generations produced as rapidly as pos- 
 sible, each with its active host unencumbered with 
 the detris of ancestral forms presumably less ad- 
 
44 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 vanced and most likely unfitted by the hard usage 
 of time to contribute a fit return for their sub- 
 sistence drawn from a general store. At first sight, 
 this view has a certain appearance of probability; it 
 is, indeed, one of the unhappy qualities of all the 
 propositions of the selective hypothesis that they 
 have an appearance of certainty which leads the 
 novice to feel that they hardly need verification. 
 
 To all those who appreciate the real value of the 
 Darwinian method of approaching organic prob- 
 lems this false certainty which comes with the state- 
 ment of his views is a matter of regret, for the rea- 
 son that it endangers their eventual place in the 
 science they are so well fitted to help. The reason 
 for this peculiar position of the hypothesis is to be 
 found in the singularly question-begging Quality of 
 the phrases which are necessarily employed in the 
 statement of the proposition. The word " selec- 
 tion " implies an absolute choice, and the term 
 " natural " apparently adds a quality of certainty to 
 the action. We have to remember that the influ- 
 ences which make for or against the life of individ- 
 uals and species are very numerous and complicated 
 in their interactions. Occasionally the life of a 
 species is terminated in some sudden and catastro- 
 phic manner. But commonly it passes slowly and 
 as a consequence of a great array of actions. Fur- 
 
ORGANIC INDIVIDUALS 46 
 
 ther, we have to remember that in no immediate 
 sense can there be any struggle for existence or sur- 
 vival of the fittest between two or more species; all 
 such relations are between individuals. That these 
 individuals happen to group themselves in an order 
 of classification in our minds, in no important way 
 affects the processes of their life and death. The 
 interaction is between units. With these points 
 in mind we will examine into the question of 
 whether the process of the survival of the fittest 
 can well account for the establishment of a definite 
 longevity in all the various series of animals and 
 plants which, to the number of some thousand mil- 
 lion species, now tenant or have tenanted the 
 earth. The first point to be noted is that in all the 
 individualities below the organic realm there is no 
 trace of a rule that the unit shall at a certain time 
 disappear; dissolution is common enough in all forms 
 above the plane of the atom, but the change comes, 
 so far as we can see, always from external actions, 
 and not from any internal determination. So far 
 as the general order of events in the visible universe 
 goes, it shows that death, systematically instituted, 
 has no place there. 
 
 We do not know what the first forms of organic 
 life were: they could hardly have been much more 
 uncomplicated in aspect than the lowest of the pro- 
 
46 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 tozoa of to-day, which appear to be in structure 
 mere bits of slightly animated jelly. They may 
 reasonably be taken as types of life in its simpler 
 conditions. As yet there is no sufficient informa- 
 tion as to the longevity of creatures such as the 
 Amceba and the kindred lower species. All that we 
 know of them, however, indicates that there is no 
 fixed period of death; that they continue the process 
 of growth and division until some external action 
 brings the end. In fact, among all the lowest mem- 
 bers of the several great series of invertebrates, the 
 definition of the term of the individual existence is 
 not exactly made. There is a period of youth fol- 
 lowed by that of maturity which shades into age on 
 the way to death. We can, in a word, see that very 
 gradually, yet irresistibly, the plan of having the 
 persons of the species pass away is worked out. So 
 far as we can discern, the result is in all the series 
 very slowly attained. Now, the probability of any 
 accidental characteristic being affirmed by natural 
 selection in large measure depends on the distinct- 
 ness and effectiveness of the offering. We have to 
 recognise that the survival of an individual, and 
 through it of the species to which it belongs, de- 
 pends, not upon any one feature, but upon a vast 
 array of structures, functions, and habits and their 
 interactions with a complementary array of condi- 
 
ORGANIC INDIVIDUALS 47 
 
 tions presented, by the environment. In this battle 
 for life and success, in which there is a host of in- 
 teracting needs, there may be some one of them so 
 strong and swiftly acting that to it alone the deci- 
 sion may be immediately due; but to have any such 
 eflftciency the particular feature must be of great 
 value in the contest. 
 
 Let us suppose that of two groups or species of 
 individuals in the lower parts of the organic series 
 contending for the possession of the same field of 
 subsistence, one, which we will term "A," had de- 
 veloped a somewhat more definite longevity than 
 the other, which we will designate as " B." We are 
 to regard these differences as very slight as com- 
 pared with many others which may exist, for the 
 reason that, save in the higher forms, they are evi- 
 dently ill defined. Let us suppose also that in each 
 of these groups the other differences of value in the 
 equation which determines life or death number, 
 say, fifty (the probabilities are that they far exceed 
 that estimate); let us suppose, as we well may, that 
 many of these features, such as those which relate 
 to obtaining food or mates, or those which con- 
 tribute to safety, are one and all of more immediate 
 effect upon the chance of individual survival than 
 the difference in the longevity can have on the 
 chance of the species as a whole. If we grasp this 
 
48 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 complicated suggestion we see that the probability 
 of A by selection displacing B appears to be ex- 
 ceedingly small. There are other considerations 
 which may be urged by the extreme selectionists, 
 but they all appear to fall before such criticism as 
 that made above, which rests on the considerations 
 that the determination of longevity proceeds very 
 slowly; that it is not only of no advantage to the 
 individual, but it is of maximum disadvantage to it; 
 and that as between competing species the slight 
 variations — slight alite in amount and in value — 
 would probably be of no account in the presence of 
 the great host of telling characters on which selec- 
 tion would naturally be determined. 
 
 It appearing to be more than doubtful whether 
 the principle of a definite life period can be due to 
 external selection, the question arises whether any 
 internal process of that nature could have brought 
 about the result. Although biologists have not 
 been disposed to consider the interior of an in- 
 dividual as affording a field for selective work, there 
 can be no doubt that determinations, essentially 
 selective in their action, go on within the bodies of 
 animals and plants, especially in those of high 
 grade. In highly organized forms — i. e., those with 
 many organs more or less independent, parts centred 
 in one individuality — ^these parts apparently may 
 
ORGANIC INDIVIDUALS 49 
 
 enter into a certain competition one with another 
 for the strength of the body, with the frequent re- 
 sult that some feature is so developed as to become 
 a source of weakness to the life of the whole. 
 This motive of excessive growth probably is the 
 source of death to some species, for it is a note- 
 worthy fact that in tracing the successions of ancient 
 forms whose record is written in the rocks, that the 
 most aberrant species have but a short life, and that 
 their death appears to be due to the excesses of de- 
 velopment. But there is nothing in this interest- 
 ing, though obscure, group of phenomena to in any 
 way indicate that the establishment of a definite lon- 
 gevity can be due to advantages won by internal 
 selective processes. 
 
 In view of all the facts, it seems most reasonable 
 to suppose that the source of the actions which 
 make for the institution of death at a fixed period 
 of life lie outside of the limited field of natural 
 selection; that the condition is enforced by laws such 
 as control the other forms of matter, which deter- 
 mine the shapes and other qualities of the atoms, 
 molecules, and crystals. The most extreme selec- 
 tionist will hardly seek to maintain that everything 
 that takes place in the organic realm is due directly 
 or indirectly to the survival of the fittest. This 
 field of Nature is as much within the limits of the 
 
50 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 ancient physical realm as is any other part of the 
 universe. It is, in fact, but a small part of the in- 
 organic matter that makes the earth which for the 
 moment has come into the peculiar organic state. 
 In a word, it is but a temporary manifestation of the 
 life of the universe which normally abides in the 
 lower modes of existence. We see that this matter 
 takes on new fimctions with each change to which 
 it is subjected. It has one mode of action in the 
 atom or molecule, another in the crystal, the gase- 
 ous, liquid, and solid state; but these are in nowise 
 founded on the principle of immediate profit and 
 loss. As such, indeed, we may regard the institu- 
 tion of death at a fixed period. It is clearly in a 
 large though remote way vastly profitable to the 
 interests of life in general. It is not possible to 
 see how advance could so well be made with the 
 need of removing all the ancient and defective in- 
 dividuals from the earth by some other process. It 
 is in every way better that they should quietly give 
 place to their successors, who are better fitted to do 
 their work. But this passage is not the result of 
 selective action due to the survival of the fittest. It 
 appears to be an act of sacrifice which is enforced on 
 the individual by a power more remote than the acts 
 of its own ancestry, summed up and transmitted by 
 the process of inheritance. 
 
CHAPTER in 
 
 THE DUBATIOIT OF THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE 
 
 We have now to consider the question as to the 
 duration of life in the individuals of the different 
 organic groups. In the several series of plants and 
 animals the determination of this period has led to 
 rather varied results. In the lower members of the 
 numerous series there is usually a somewhat wide 
 range in the longevity of the persons. They appear 
 gradually to wear out rather than to end at a definite 
 period. As we rise in the scale of organization in 
 the several organic series the term becomes more 
 fixed, as by a law of the organization of each species. 
 In general, it may be said that longevity is a spe- 
 cific characteristic rather than one belonging to 
 larger groups. It often happens that two rather 
 closely related kinds of animals or plants may differ 
 much as to the time when the decay of the body 
 normally sets in. The range is greater in the vege- 
 table kingdom, where kiadred species may differ in 
 5 51 
 
52 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 the ratio of one to a Inmdred. Usually, though 
 with many evident exceptions, the higher the struc- 
 ture the more likely it is to be limited as regards its 
 diiration; and also that, the larger the form the 
 greater the probability of an extended life. 
 
 In many eases the longevity of a species is im- 
 mediately adjusted to the climatal conditions ia 
 which it dwells. Thus, among the insects as well 
 as many mariae invertebrates, the duration of the 
 individual is often fixed by the advent of frost or 
 drought, the economy of the creature being so 
 arranged that all of its kind pass the winter or the 
 dry season in the egg state. Probably more than 
 ninety per cent of the species of insects have this 
 habit, and are thus limited to a very brief term of 
 life; one which rarely exceeds half the year. As 
 insects apparently constitute more than four fifths 
 of the total number of animal species, it follows that 
 by far the greater part of that kingdom endure for 
 less than a year. 
 
 Among the plants the seasonal limitation of 
 longevity is quite as characteristic as among the 
 animals, though it usually has a rather different 
 mode of expression. In perhaps more than half 
 the species the winter season is passed in the seed 
 state, just as among the insects it is passed in that of 
 the egg. In many forms, however, the roots live 
 
THE DURATION OF THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE 53 
 
 on thougk the tops in part or altogether die and 
 all activities are suspended. It is a curious fact that 
 this seasonal relation of the life of the plants and 
 the invertebrates is not limited to those kinds which 
 have been developed in the Begions where frost 
 occurs; it is nearly as noticeable in the tropics as in 
 the lands beyond them. This is probably to be ex- 
 plained by the effect of the dry months, which so 
 often in equatorial lands brings a pause in vitality 
 much like that induced by freezing. 
 
 While the seasonal processes fix the life term of 
 nearly all the invertebrates, as well as the greater 
 number of the plants, many kinds escape these de- 
 termining conditions. In the sea only the surface 
 and the shallow-water forms feel the annual changes 
 of temperature; those of the deeper zones are inde- 
 pendent of them. Our molluscs, generally because 
 of their migratory habits, which take them some- 
 what away from the shore Itae in the winter, are 
 protected from the trials of that season. Although 
 the plants do not migrate, their capacity for sus- 
 pending their vital processes enables them to build 
 very large communities, such as our trees. In 
 a strict sense the commoner trees and shrubs are 
 not individuals, but communities, in which each bud 
 is to be reckoned as an individual, the whole plant 
 resembling in most regards an association of polyps. 
 
54 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 such as form our stony corals. Thus, while some 
 of the greater trees, such as the sequoia, may per- 
 haps attain a longevity of several thousand years, 
 their life is that of a community; their individual 
 buds have no such endurance; they are oftenest 
 limited iu duration to a siagle year. 
 
 The most instructive variations in the measure 
 of longevity are afforded by the species of articulate 
 animals. As before noted, by far the greater num- 
 ber of these have an annual term, one half of which 
 is taken up by the processes of the egg. But among 
 the marine articulates the life is often prolonged 
 for years. Some of the larger crabs and lobsters 
 probably endure for ten years or more; a few spe- 
 cies may live on to near twenty years before attain- 
 ing their fullest growth. Again, among the insects, 
 while the perfect state is generally limited to a few 
 months, certain of the bees live for years, and the 
 same is probably true of the ants. As a whole, the 
 lower life of both animal and vegetable kingdoms 
 shows us a tendency to organize the individuals on 
 the basis of what we may call the seasonal term. 
 "\ATien we remember that all the organic forms are 
 essentially the product of solar energy, it seems fit 
 that they should awake with the coming of the sun 
 and sleep upon its going. 
 
 When we rise in the scale to the vertebrates we 
 
THE DURATION OF THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE 55 
 
 find at once a very great change in the duration of 
 the individual. In no instance, so far as I have 
 been able to find, is the life of a member of this 
 group in any distinct way related, as in many lower 
 animals, to the seasons or limited to a single year. 
 The breeding period is determined by the seasonal 
 changes, the greater number of the species having 
 a definite age when they may breed; but in no case 
 do the members of the species pass away at the end 
 of one such period. Thus, while in the inverte- 
 brates and plants the reproductive process comes to 
 be the natural finish of the life term, it is never 
 the case with the vertebrates. So far as I have 
 been able to find, there is no instance where there 
 are less than about a dozen breeding periods in the 
 life of an individual vertebrate. Thus, in the ver- 
 tebrates we have a general prolongation of life for 
 a term much beyond that of any of the other types, 
 unless it be possibly the Mollusca, a group which is 
 by some naturalists regarded as more nearly related 
 to the backboned animals than is any other of the 
 lower series. Even there it is not probable that 
 the individuals have nearly as long a term of life 
 as is shown in the vertebrates. 
 
 In all the lower parts of the animal kingdom 
 except the insects, as has been previously observed, 
 there is a lack of anything like a clear definition of 
 
56 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 longevity. The creatures wear out in time; as soon 
 as they weaken they are likely to be overcome by 
 their enemies, or crowded out of the chances of 
 subsistence by competition of their own kind. It 
 is much the same with the lower vertebrates — ^the 
 fishes, amphibians, and reptiles. In most species 
 of those groups there is no distinct period when they 
 are by degrees prepared for death. In the greater 
 number of the kinds there is not even a definite age 
 when the growth ceases. There is reason to believe 
 that among some species of fishes life may be pro- 
 longed to decades. It is claimed, on what appears 
 to be fair evidence, that the carp may sometimes 
 live for a century. The same appears to be the case 
 with the reptiles: though there is a general size for 
 the adults a slow growth seems to be indefinitely 
 continued. As for the longevity in the reptilian 
 series, it is most likely rather greater than among 
 the fishes. In the tortoises it seems probable that it 
 extends to a century or more. It is otherwise with 
 the amphibians, at least with the frogs and toads; 
 there the body quickly attains a fully definite maxi- 
 mum size, which is probably associated with a rather 
 brief life term. The lizardlike members of the 
 group, the water dogs, newts, and their kindred, are 
 rather like the reptiles and fishes in the indefinite- 
 ness of the term when growth ceases. The peculiar 
 
THE DURATION OP THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE 57 
 
 limitation in size in the frogs and toads may be con- 
 nected with, their activity as jumpers, it being char- 
 acteristic of the active species of animals to have 
 their maximum bulk rather accurately determined. 
 
 It is when we come to the birds that we begin 
 to find a moderate degree of definiteness established 
 for the term of life. In aU the members of that 
 group there is a distinctness in. the period of growth 
 which is measurable in years, if not in months, such 
 as is found in none of the lower classes of verte- 
 brates. The maximum size of individuals in each 
 species is determined within narrower limits than 
 in any other of the type; this appears to be the most 
 complete in the flying forms, the ground birds ex- 
 hibiting a much greater individual variation. The 
 reason for this may be, as in the case of the frogs 
 and toads, that the high order of activity of the 
 creatures requires a precision in their organization; 
 a fitness to an exact mould which is not necessary in 
 forms which have a less definite adjustment to the 
 work they have to do. The insects are an ad- 
 mirable example of the result of a high order of 
 activity, and, consequently, of a very precise accom- 
 modation of their bodies to an intense and definite 
 roxmd of existence, as is shown by the remarkable 
 uniformity in the size and shape of the individuals 
 of the same species. 
 
58 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 As for the longeyity of birds in their normal 
 free state little is known, and that little is limited 
 to a few species. There is evidence to warrant the 
 assertion that the term of life is fairly well fixed, 
 being in this regard only less determined than ia 
 the mammals; the range being about the same as ia 
 the higher class. At the shortest it may not exceed 
 four or five years. For the longest, as in the case 
 of the parrots, it may extend to near a hundred. 
 In the birds we find rather clearer evidences of a 
 limit proper to each species than in any of the lower 
 types of the vertebrates. There appear, moreover, 
 to be traces of an old age period. This may be 
 noted in our caged birds and barnyard fowl, when 
 males and females which have passed the term of 
 reproduction sometimes for years drag out a mis- 
 erable existence, deprived of all the impulses which 
 inspire the life of their fellow-creatures. In the 
 wilds the bitter struggle for the chances of food 
 and safety probably brings the end as soon as the 
 vital powers feel the touch of age. Although 
 they are ever fighting for life, birds appear to be 
 supremely joyful creatures. Their existence is one 
 of incessant and merry activity, and death comes 
 so quickly to the enfeebled that they suffer but 
 little. 
 
 In the Mammalia the definition of the growth 
 
THE DURATION OF THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE 59 
 
 period is, ia general, much less distinct than 
 among the birds; but, so far as I have been able to 
 find, the longevity is more accurately deterifdned, 
 though the range in the various species is probably 
 considerably greater than among the feathered crea- 
 tures. Among the mammals, as elsewhere, the 
 large forms seem to be the longer lived. With 
 small species, such as the lesser rodents, the term is 
 probably from three to five years; squirrels cer- 
 tainly live longer; they may attain to ten years. 
 The small Herbivora, such as the sheep, have a nor- 
 mal life of ten or twelve years. Our bulls live to 
 perhaps twenty. Horses under the extreme care 
 that is at times given to those valued, because of 
 memorable associations, have lived to between thirty 
 and forty years, but they bear the marks of old age 
 at thirty. There is evidence, of apparent validity, 
 going to show that elephants may live for more than 
 two centuries. This has been questioned, but the 
 undoubted fact that there is some proportion be- 
 tween the bulk and the longevity affords some war- 
 rant for this reckoning. It is in the order of 
 the facts that this, the largest of the land ver- 
 tebrates, should much exceed the others in dura- 
 tion. 
 
 It has been held that there exists a tolerably 
 definite ratio between the length of the period of 
 
60 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 growth and the normal duration of the life of a 
 mammal, and that the longevity can be reckoned by 
 multiplying the years of adolescence by five. It is 
 easy to see that this reckoning does not apply to 
 the birds, for there the growth period, with few ex- 
 ceptions, is about the same, while the duration of 
 life is exceedingly varied. For reasons before given 
 it has no application to the other lower classes of the 
 Vertebrata. In the mammals it may, as a general 
 proposition, be regarded as approximately true, at 
 least in those instances (in all but few) where we 
 know at once the duration of adolescence and that 
 of the normal longevity. As regards the term of 
 growth, it is found impossible to fix its upper limit 
 with any great certainty. The consolidation of the 
 epiphyses of the long bones, which is generally taken 
 to represent the end of the youth period, is of value 
 only so far as the growth of the bones in question is 
 concerned. The coming of puberty is of no value, 
 as in practically all cases it much anticipates the 
 cessation of growth. Still, in a general way, we 
 can say that sheep are adult at somewhat less than 
 three years, while they may live to twelve; homed 
 cattle at about four; they may survive for twenty. 
 Horses are full grown at five or six and often sur- 
 vive to thirty years. In the elephants full growth 
 seems not to be attained until about the fortieth 
 
THE DCJBATIOK OF THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE 61 
 
 year, and, as I have noted, they probably may en- 
 dure for two hundred. 
 
 In man the growth period is normally continued 
 to some time after the twentieth year; its exact 
 limit has not been ascertained, but, from the statis- 
 tics gathered by the Sanitary Cotti mission during the 
 civil war, it seems most likely that it is not usually 
 completed until after the thirtieth year, and may con- 
 tiaue yet later. This result is indicated from group- 
 ing the measurements of American-bom soldiers ac- 
 cording to age. It affords a better basis for the deter- 
 mination than that obtained from the consolidation 
 of the bones in the limbs, and may be fairly accepted 
 as well founded. As the natural longevity of man 
 can not be reckoned at more than one hundred years, 
 that being the limit of anything like a sound mental 
 or physical life, it is evident that the term of five 
 times the period of growth is not attained in our 
 species. It is not necessary to say that the reason 
 for this departure from the apparent rule of the 
 Mammalia in our own kind is a matter of very great 
 importance. So far little attention has been de- 
 voted to it; in fact, as we shall see, the problem is 
 one of singular difficulty. 
 
 In looking into the history of the apparent 
 shortening in the term of human life, we should 
 first note that the basis for the computation as to 
 
62 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 the ratio between the period of adolescence and the 
 endurance of the body to the tax of time is not 
 wide enough to give any very high value to the as- 
 sertion that among the kindred of men it is in any 
 very definite manner established. Of the many 
 hundred of species in the class of mammals the 
 proportion is approximately known in perhaps two 
 score. It is quite possible that the determinations 
 which have been made in the consolidation of the 
 epiphyses have led to an underreckoning of the 
 period of youth. It may therefore be that the 
 shortening of the human term is not so great as it 
 appears. Nevertheless, the evidence is decidedly in 
 favour of the supposition that the normal longevity 
 of our own kind has in some measure been dimin- 
 ished. The extent to which this is the case must 
 await further study as to the time of maturity and 
 the endurance of the anthropoid apes, the nearest 
 kindred of our kind. On this point we have no 
 trustworthy information: the inductions from the 
 length of life these species attain in our zoological 
 gardens is of no more value than would be that 
 concerning the longevity of man which might 
 be gathered from the records of our hospitals and 
 prisons. 
 
 Such abbreviation of his normal life as may have 
 come to man can perhaps be accounted for by Ms 
 
THE DUEATION OF THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE 63 
 
 peculiar position in relation to his habits and his en- 
 Tironment. Upon him have come certain burdens 
 and demands which the lower creatures have not 
 had to bear. As these are not generally recognised, 
 and as they have relation to the question as to 
 the prolongation of life which we have to con- 
 sider in the sequel, I shall give them a brief consid- 
 eration. 
 
 The most eminent peculiarity in the physical 
 conditions of man is his upright position when in 
 activity. This attitude, or a fair approach to it, is 
 common enough in the higher apes as an occasional 
 position; one taken when they are looking away 
 and need to bring the eyes as far above the ground 
 as possible. But for walking or running it is en- 
 tirely limited to our kind, the nearest approach 
 to it being in the jumping forms of the kangaroos 
 or in the rodents of like habit, such as the jerboas. 
 That it has been a long-continued habit in the 
 ancestry of man is shown by the extensive changes 
 in the proportions of the body which it has in- 
 duced. These are notable in the foot, in the pelvis, 
 and in the relative length of the fore and hind 
 limbs. These differences are of such importance 
 that on them alone we are entitled to regard man 
 as a species far removed from the most humanlike 
 ape that has as yet been discovered in a living 
 
64 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 or fossil state.* If the intermediate forms between 
 man and the highest of the living apes are ever dis- 
 covered, we shall have, not a " missing link," but a 
 long chain made up of many species. 
 
 One of the effects of the upright position of 
 man, perhaps the most important for our problem 
 at least, is the increased tax which it puts upon the 
 strength of the creature. The draught it makes on 
 the body is in part shown by the difference in the 
 rate of the pulse when lying down, and when stand- 
 ing up. This often amounts to about twelve beats 
 in the minute, or as much as one sixth of the aver- 
 age pulse rate. While many four-legged animals 
 can sleep in a standing attitude, any repose in that 
 position is denied to man. It requires the ceaseless 
 activity of many muscles to keep him erect. There 
 are various secondary taxes which the vertical trunk 
 and the consequent great relative height inflicts 
 upon us. That trunk took its shape in the long ex- 
 perience of our kind from the fishes upward. It 
 was formed in the thousands of species through 
 which our life came in its later vertebrate stages 
 
 * The fossil remains of a creature recently found in Java, 
 and supposed by some naturalists to represent a species inter- 
 mediate between man and the manlike apes, appear to the 
 writer most likely to be those of some small-skulled degraded 
 human being such as are often found among idiots. This 
 matter must be regarded as still in debate. 
 
THE DURATION OP THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE 65 
 
 of ascent. In that original position parallel to the 
 earth the several organs of the viscera, heart, lungs, 
 digestive system, the reproductive apparatus, found 
 a fit storage; no one of the parts to any consider- 
 able extent presses upon the other. When, how- 
 ever, the trunk is brought iato the vertical position 
 these organs press one upon the other in a way 
 that tends to produce serious dislocations and dis- 
 eases. It is not unlikely that the price man has to 
 pay for converting his fore limbs to the higher uses 
 of his will, the inestimable price for a very great 
 gain, has had mnch to do with his general liability 
 to disease, and the consequent relatively brief 
 duration of his career. 
 
 Another possible cause of the diminished lon- 
 gevity of man is to be found ia the very exceptional 
 conditions of his breeding habit. In the Mammalia 
 in general, probably in all the larger species up to 
 man, with the possible exception of the apes, there 
 is a breeding period arranged with reference to the 
 seasons, so that the young only come forth in the 
 plenteous time of the year. There is no doubt that 
 this limitation of the reproductive functions to a 
 part of the year tends to diminish the tax upon the 
 life of the individual. The process is certainly tax- 
 ing on the vitality; any such reduction of it as is 
 afforded by the long pauses of the function, such as 
 
66 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 occur so generally below man, may be expected to 
 have an effect in prolonging life. In man, how- 
 ever, and perhaps ia some of his simian kindred, 
 there are no such breaks in the reproductive duty 
 from the time the task begius until it is ended with 
 old age or death. The need has apparently been to 
 push this part of the work of the body as rapidly as 
 possible, so that the risk of loss of the individual by 
 a premature death might be lessened. 
 
 It would be an interesting task to trace the pos- 
 sible influences which have served so to change 
 the breeding habit of our species from that we find 
 in our lower kindred. We can, however, only note 
 the fact that reproduction in the lower life ap- 
 pears commonly to be adjusted to the conditions of 
 sustenance. As before remarked, the arrangement 
 is in general such that the first stages of the new 
 life are begun where the parents have had a chance 
 to profit by the time of the year when food is most 
 abundant. The coming forth from the mother oc- 
 curs at a season when she has the best chance to 
 nourish the young from her teats, and when the off- 
 spring may soon have opportunity to shift for itself. 
 In the case of man we note that, being in his origin a 
 tropical creature, he probably had from his ances- 
 try a less definite seasonal relation of his reproduc- 
 tion than those of his lower kindred that dwell in 
 
THE DURATION OP THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE 67 
 
 higlier latitudes. Moreover, his miscellaneous hab- 
 its of feeding made his sustenance at different times 
 of the year more uniform than those of any other 
 animal. It is likely that this uniformity in the 
 quantity of the food supply has had something to 
 do with the change. 
 
 As to the longevity of the different varieties 
 of man, there appears to be no other difference than 
 such as may be well accounted for by the acci- 
 dents of their lives. Negroes, American Indians, 
 Chinese, Semites, and Aryans, so far as survival 
 goes, all faU into the same group. Some of the 
 tropical peoples have appeared to good observers to 
 be evidently shorter lived than Europeans, but this 
 is not proved. The cases cited are always those of 
 conspicuously Ul-f ed tribes. This uniformity points 
 to the conclusion that the establishment of longev- 
 ity was effected in the prehuman series, and that 
 it has been well imbedded in the habits of the body, 
 so that if not imchangeable, it is at least obstinately 
 fixed. This is made to appear the more likely from 
 what we know of the adherence to the established 
 duration of life in our domesticated animals. Some 
 of these species, as, for instance, the dogs, have been 
 very greatly changed from the parent stock, and this 
 in many different ways; but, so far as we can see, 
 there has been no sensible alteration in the limit of 
 
68 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 the individual life. The larger varieties are perhaps 
 somewhat the longer lived, but the contrast is ap- 
 parently no greater than it is in mankind. Between 
 a Great Dane and a tiny Mexican spaniel there is a 
 difference in bulk of perhaps one to twenty; but 
 the longevity of the larger form is certainly not 
 twice that of the lesser. 
 
 In various mjrths, especially in those of the Jew- 
 ish sacred books, there are accounts of men having 
 lived to an age several times as great as that to 
 which experience shows that mankind really attain. 
 It has reasonably been conjectured that these state- 
 ments may be due to a transfer of a reckoning in 
 moons — the common primitive measurement of time 
 — ^to the later method of accounting by years. 
 
 So far as accurate records indicate, it seems emi- 
 nently probable that no man has attained to a 
 greater age than about one hundred and five, or at 
 most to one hundred and ten years. When we con- 
 sider that each year some millions of people die con- 
 cerning whom there is sufficient record to fix the 
 time of their birth to the year, and that this condi- 
 tion of our information has existed in some coun- 
 tries for centuries, the fact that we have no well- 
 attested case of survival through the eleventh dec- 
 ade is very impressive. It shows clearly that if 
 there be instances such as those claimed in the cases 
 
THE DURATION OF THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE 69 
 
 of Parr or of the Countess of Desmond, where life 
 has been prolonged to ahout a century and a half, 
 they are very exceptional; nothing but a complete 
 chain of evidence, such as does not exist, would 
 warrant any consideration of them. It may be said 
 that all the alleged instances of survival beyond 
 eleven decades have on examination proved apoc- 
 ryphal. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE NATUBE OF INDIVIDUALITY 
 
 It has been necessary in the preceding chapters 
 to use the term " Individual " without giving it the 
 definition which it evidently needs. To discern the 
 large relation of the term we must first notice that 
 it is by no means limited to ourselves, or even to 
 the organic realm — it concerns the whole of Nature; 
 for, as has already been noted, every part of the 
 material universe as to which we have knowledge 
 reveals individualities. 
 
 Looked at in a broad way we may thus define 
 an individual: Wherever in the natural realm lines 
 of action, or of action and resistance, are so related 
 that a localized movement is established, then, for 
 the time of the localization, we have an individual- 
 ized part of the whole. If, as seems likely, the 
 ether oscillates in the passage of energy through it, 
 then according to this definition each of these mov- 
 ing parts is, while in motion, to be accounted an 
 70 
 
THE NATURE OP INDIVIDUALITY 71 
 
 individual, the simplest we can as yet fairly con- 
 ceive, though there may be an endless succession of 
 lesser included centres of activity in the infinite of 
 the small that lies below that apparent infinitesimal. 
 When single impulses of energy act on matter, the 
 individuality created thereby may be regarded as 
 temporary, for as the impulse is passed on the ac- 
 tion ceases. But it is evident that in Ifature vari- 
 ous impulses concur to establish more or less endur- 
 ing assemblages of actions at certain points in the 
 realm. These are, in their various grades, the indi- 
 vidualities we are considering. 
 
 We can form no very clear picture as to the 
 precise mode in which the natural forces combine 
 their action in the creation of an individual; but we 
 are probably not leading ourselves astray if we give 
 them a diagrammatic expression by means of very 
 numerous, perhaps innumerable, straight lines pass- 
 ing in any direction through space, they having in 
 effect endless differences of value. These lines may 
 be taken to express not only action, but such resist- 
 ances as those of inertia, etc. When these liaes in- 
 tersect, according to the proposition, we should have 
 a centre of action of movement of some kind or 
 kinds. If the actions were simple and balanced, 
 they might conceivably give rise to the atomic unit, 
 or lowest grade of permanent individual. We have 
 
72 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 now to conceive that each of these simple products 
 of energy, or of energy and resistance, becomes, in 
 turn, a centre from which new forms of action go 
 forth. Out of these and the contiuuing antecedent 
 actions arise higher, compounded units, each in pro- 
 portion to its gain in grade becoming more and 
 more a centre of influence; sending impulses in a 
 larger share to the environment and, in turn, re- 
 ceiving more therefrom; becoming more potent 
 with every advance and enlargement, but at the 
 same time becomiug commonly more unstable, more 
 certain, in the end, to fall before the storm of ac- 
 tions. "We properly imagine the forces of Nature to 
 act continuously and with equal value under like 
 conditions, but we have to bear in mind the fact 
 that when two or more variable streams of energy 
 each qualifying the other, are acting together, we 
 must expect to find sudden changes in the measure 
 and even in the essential nature of the result their 
 action produces. 
 
 I have in another chapter chosen the critical 
 points of water for illustration of this and other 
 features, for the reason that they are familiar 
 and their effects may be easily apprehended, not 
 because they are in any way peculiar (see p. 293). 
 They are but a part of an infinite number of just 
 such actions as are everywhere iu progress in the 
 
THE NATURE OP INDIVIDUALITY 73 
 
 fields of Nature — in the organic as well as in the 
 lower realm of purely physical activity. In fact, it 
 may be taken as a truth of wide extension that 
 while the operations of energy in the visible uni- 
 verse are on continuous lines their results are 
 broken by various processes of interference with 
 substantially the same kind of result as we find 
 in the conditions of water under the influence 
 of heat, with resulting sudden changes in the 
 nature of the phenomena, though the actions 
 themselves exhibit no such sudden changes. It is 
 not very difficult to see how, in any centre of many 
 impulses and resistances, what we have termed the 
 essential individual, the equations of the- forces 
 would necessarily result in stable balanced condi- 
 tions being formed from time to time, each followed 
 by sudden rearrangements of a catalytic sort aris- 
 ing from the access of a new impulse, or a change in 
 the value of some one or more of the old. It is 
 interesting to note that in certain mathematical 
 series there occur breaks in the succession where the 
 order of succession might well be supposed to lead 
 to continuity. Thus, in this ghost of the real world 
 which mathematics affords us, we see what appears 
 to be the same principle of critical points which we 
 find actualized in the material realm. 
 
 The foregoing ideal picture of the manner in 
 
74 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 which natural impulses are related in the centres 
 in which they interact one upon another is most 
 likely far from expressing the full truth of the 
 matter; but it pretty surely contains much that is 
 true, for it helps us greatly iu our efforts to conceive 
 the nature of individuals of diverse grades as well as 
 many of their phenomena which would otherwise 
 be inexplicable. Beginning with the atom, we find 
 a reason for its unchangeableness in supposing that 
 it represents the action of completely equilibrated 
 forces so conditioned that they are not effectively 
 interfered with by any others from without or with- 
 in. The molecule, because of its greater internal 
 complication, is presumably less stable in its organi- 
 zation, and, because of its more extended relations 
 to other bodies, is more readily affected by dis- 
 turbiag influences. In the exceedingly complicated 
 molecules of certain carbon compounds, wherein 
 there are hundreds or thousands of atoms, and where 
 the external and the internal conditions begin to 
 have entangled relations, the measure of instability 
 due to the occurrence of critical points naturally 
 becomes great. While the individual atoms may re- 
 ceive strains which tend to their disruption, it may 
 well be that the equations of their forces are stable 
 enough to resist change in all the conditions which 
 we can apply to them. But with the complicated 
 
THE NATURE OP INDIVIDUALITY Y5 
 
 molecules it may be otherwise, for they necessarily 
 have a far larger field of relations than the imits 
 of which they are composed. 
 
 On the considerations above suggested we may 
 somewhat enlarge our definition of an individual 
 from that just made by saying that it is a plexus 
 where natural impulses are combined to produce 
 new results which are likely suddenly to come about. 
 It follows from this that each individual is sure to 
 be in some measure a centre of organization — not of 
 energy, for the sum of that is constant, but of new 
 modes of operation of that energy. It follows also 
 that the individual, in proportion to its complica- 
 tion, enters into relations with its environment, giv- 
 ing and receiving more and more varied impulses 
 with its rise in complexity, and therefore becoming 
 necessarily with its advance ever more unstable. It 
 does not necessarily follow that this instability leads 
 to final destruction of the individual, though it must 
 tend in that direction. It may happen that the 
 large number of the interactions may indeed insure 
 its perpetuation. In any finite aggregate of high 
 order where the static conditions of the atom or 
 the molecule can not be attained we should expect 
 the instabilities to result in the end in dissolution 
 at some critical point. 
 
 If the above-stated view as to the nature of the 
 
76 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 individual be correct, we see that there are certaia 
 clearly evident relations between the organic and the 
 inorganic units. They both alike receive energy, 
 and transmit or transmute it; they both exchange 
 relations with the environment; they both increase 
 in instability — ^i. e., in the measure in which they 
 affect and are affected by their surroundings as they 
 advance in complication; they both are due to some 
 kind of centring and balancing of physical impulses; 
 they differ essentially in that the organic individ- 
 ual has acquired a capacity for successive changes 
 due to the appropriation of experience, and that it 
 has acquired ways whereby this experience can be 
 transmitted so that its results may be accumulated 
 in successive forms. In a word, the organic unit is 
 not onlj"- unstable in many different ways, but has 
 turned this instability to account by a process of 
 generational education which enables it to adapt 
 itself to and profit by its environment in. a way 
 that was impossible in the individuals of lower 
 grade. 
 
 It may be noted, furthermore, that the higher 
 the individuality the more completely it may in- 
 clude all the lower in itself. Thus, the simplest 
 molecule includes atoms; those of more complexity 
 groups of atoms; the simplest organic form a host 
 of complicated and simple molecules. The higher 
 
THE KATUEE OF INDIVIDUALITY YY 
 
 species have groupings into parts, wMch are often 
 essentially distinct creatures though centred in a 
 single person. The whole of an organic realm is 
 a part of a celestial sphere, as that sphere is of 
 a solar system, and that, in turn, of greater stellar 
 associations. Such appears to be the order of tadi- 
 vidualities. They are distinct because they represent 
 localized modes of action; they are absolutely 
 blended with the whole because the whole is a 
 unit; it may be termed "the supreme individual," 
 which has all its relations within itself. 
 
 When the greater individual passes away the 
 lesser individualities of which it was composed are 
 parted from the association. When the molecule 
 ceases to be the atoms persist; where the organic 
 form perishes, its molecules or atoms, as the case 
 may be, are free to set about new tasks. After 
 all such destructions, even of the simplest individ- 
 uals, there remains something that is not and can 
 not be destroyed. This, if no more,' is the work 
 done during its life. As we have seen, every 
 individual, from its very nature, is a place where 
 the energy which comes to it from without — ^in ef- 
 fect, the influence of other beings — is transformed 
 into new modes of action. This is generally true of 
 aU forms above the plane of the atom, and it may be 
 true there also. As we rise in the scale of com- 
 
78 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 plexity the individuals become more and more po- 
 tent in their effect on the world about them. When 
 we attain to the grade of men we find the creature 
 doing a vast work, the most of it far below or be- 
 yond the plane of consciousness, a fact that in no- 
 wise lessens the importance of what is done. In his 
 body he has stored the experience in life of per- 
 haps a hundred thousand species and incalculable 
 separate ancestors. This he may send on as an or- 
 ganized whole, with such additions as his own life 
 may make to the store. In his personal activities 
 he starts inconceivably numerous trains of action 
 that quickly lose their evident connection with his 
 self, but are none the less of his own creation and 
 are forever influential. If we could obtain an ulti- 
 mate analysis of what is at work in the world about 
 us, shaping the minds and the destinies of mankind, 
 we would doubtless find there the deeds of all the 
 vanished units of our race, each having a share, 
 great or small, in the human activity of the present 
 moment. 
 
 So far we have chosen to consider the organic 
 individual in its most perfect aspect, that of ap- 
 parently complete separation from the world about 
 it; though, as we have seen, united to that world by 
 an incessantly active and practically infinite number 
 of exchanges, so that the isolation is in appearance. 
 
THE NATURE OF INDIYIDUALITY 79 
 
 and not in reality. We have still further to correct 
 this conception of individuality by noting that the 
 greater number of the kinds act not alone but in 
 assemblages of their species, and that their activities 
 are more or less married to those of their kindred. 
 Sometimes the union is bodily, sometimes mental, 
 or it may be a combination of the two. But in all 
 cases it results in. a more or less complete blending 
 of the creature with its kindred — a blending that 
 may be so complete as to make it appear but an 
 insignificant part of a whole association. This 
 is most evident in certain of the lower invertebrates, 
 as in the compound corals and the sponges, where 
 the separate creatures are linked together so that 
 they form a colony which has its individual life. 
 In many other species this colonial order is likewise 
 so perfect in the manner common in the plants that 
 we look upon the association as the real individual. 
 In the higher forms of life, where the intelligence 
 becomes well developed, the sympathies link the 
 individuals in the higher unit of the family, the 
 tribe, or the state. This sympathetic union may go 
 so far that the separated mates are likely to perish 
 from the sorrow of parting. How far this mental 
 union of the individual with his fellows has gone 
 in mankind it is not necessary to set forth. 
 
 In the higher groups of animals where the per- 
 
80 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 son has become too important to have its life 
 merged in a structural colony, such as a polyp com- 
 munity, it commonly proceeds to amplify itself by 
 developing a host of minor individual parts, each of 
 which becomes, in a way, a separate unit of the 
 body. Thus, in the crinoids, the first of the ani- 
 mals of distinctly radiated structure to abandon the 
 method of communal life so general in the group, 
 and to attain a relatively high station as a solitary 
 form, the initial step in the advancing series con- 
 sists in the adoption of an external covering made 
 up of very many distinct polygonal plates. Each of 
 these has its separate centre of growth, and in its 
 development manifests what we may term a sympa- 
 thetic independence of the neighbouring plates. 
 That is, each is as completely individualized as is 
 consistent with the needs of its place in an organic 
 whole and its relations to adjacent units of a lika 
 nature. Every one of the separate bits has a certain 
 likeness to every other. The order of their archi- 
 tecture is the same, repeating the radiate symmetry 
 so characteristic of the whole framework. The 
 same tendency to allot the control of the body to 
 subordinate individualities is to be observed in all 
 the higher organisms. It may indeed be fairly 
 asserted that all the great advances in the series of 
 animals have been accomplished by this method 
 
THE NATURE OP INDIVIDUALITY 81 
 
 of delegating functions to parts which hecome the 
 seats of separate partially independent life. 
 
 The obvious likeness of those animals, such as 
 the articulates and vertebrates, with their many in- 
 dividualized segments, each much resembling the 
 other, to what we find in such communal forms as 
 the compound polyp, where the association is made 
 up of essentially independent creatures, has led to 
 the conjecture that perhaps these higher forms were 
 originally communities, as in the polyps, composed 
 of separate individuals that were associated in a 
 longitudinal order, as are the several rings in the 
 worms, the once distinct creatures having become 
 united. Although this view has, for good reasons, 
 not been accepted by naturalists, it is in the face of 
 the facts very plausible, and goes to show how gen- 
 eral and effective is this curious tendency to estab- 
 lish iudividualities of a high order of independence 
 within the larger body. While the particular form 
 of these secondary individualities of the organic body 
 may in part be due to natural selection, their in- 
 vention, like all such origins, must be attributed to 
 some more remote influence. 
 
 The facts which are briefly noted in the fore- 
 going account of individualities justify the state- 
 ment that along with the tendency to create sepa- 
 rate centres of action goes the tendency to combine 
 
82 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 these units according to their kinds into larger 
 associations, each having also their individual char- 
 acter. Of these, human societies are the highest 
 that we know. They represent the extreme term of 
 a vast series of endeavour, begun in the remote past 
 and continued in ceaseless experiments, which ap- 
 pear to have determinedly led to the social structure 
 of which we form a part, and into which we are 
 forced by the control which is over us to cast our 
 lives, finding in so doing the fullest satisfaction 
 that a being can know. It is a wonderful history. 
 It must be well read before we are in a position to 
 pass judgment on the scheme of life and death. 
 
 It is in the nature of man that he should seem 
 to himself commonplace. In his ordinary experi- 
 ence he is set forth to his consciousness as a fairly 
 discerned assemblage of impressions, memories,, and 
 motives. Although little of these possessions is at 
 any one moment in the field of view, it seems 
 that the whole is well known to us, after the 
 manner of the contents of our pockets or the furni- 
 ture of the room we know best. It is indeed almost 
 unthinkable that we have not always been much as 
 we are now. It is past conception to the grown 
 man that he was ever as a newborn babe, with no 
 more individual quality than was sent with him 
 over the bridge of the generations. It is quite out 
 
THE NATURE OF INDIVIDUALITY 83 
 
 of our power to realize the fact that what we are is 
 as a vast complex of all that has been before in the 
 chain of beings through which our lives have been 
 derived. 
 
 It would be most unfortunate for us if that faint 
 illumination of a little part of our being which we 
 term consciousness were a great light that shone 
 back over the long procession: for the sight of the 
 perspective would be confoimding. It is clearly' for 
 the best that with his limited powers a man should 
 see no more of himself than what he needs in order 
 that his action may be fitly directed. Yet it is well 
 to have some conception of what is the nature of 
 this complex which man calls himself. Such 
 knowledge can never in any considerable manner 
 extend or qualify this strangely limited concept of 
 personality. This, because it is primal and iastinc- 
 tive, will ever remain substantially what the ancient 
 experience has made it. Still, the use of this knowl- 
 edge may, in an indirect way, affect our state of 
 mind by developing what may be termed a kind of 
 supraconsciousness or upper plane of the selfhood, 
 whence the individual m^y look down upon his 
 more instinctive motives. In my own limited en- 
 deavours to attain this higher plane enough has 
 been gained to show that the detachment by the 
 new manner of regarding the self may be sufficient- 
 
84 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 ly developed to afford a certain addition to the store 
 of personality — one that greatly enlarges its scope 
 and adds much to the value of life. I therefore 
 venture to offer certain suggestions as to the ways 
 in which it is possible and profitable to consider 
 ourselves in the light of our history. 
 
 Putting aside the more abstruse inquiries of the 
 psychologist because of the diiEculty of approaching 
 this field without professional training, we find that 
 there is enough that is patent to ordinary observa- 
 tion to break down the commonplace view of our 
 nature that comes from the ordinary reiterated ex- 
 perience with ourselves. Thus we readily observe 
 that a certain store of capacities, in fact, nearly all 
 that mark man as an animal or denote him as a 
 man, come to him over the generational bridge from 
 the life that was before. All that the development 
 of these ancestral qualities does for a man is to am- 
 plify that which is thus handed to him. "We thus 
 see, at the very outset, that there is an essential delu- 
 sion in this conception of ourselves as independent. 
 Going further into the matter, we note that the 
 lower animals — ^particularly our nearer bodily kin- 
 dred of the Mammalia, and the birds, which though 
 physically more remote are spiritually near to our- 
 selves — share with us in the greater part of the 
 motives common to oiir kind. Love, hate, fear. 
 
THE NATUEE OP INDIVIDUALITY 85 
 
 curiosity — nearly all the emotions that are found 
 in men are found iq them in like association. If 
 we acknowledge the relation by generations of 
 these creatures to ourselves, it becomes plain that 
 all these attributes of the higher life owe their like- 
 ness to the common store of experience which all 
 have shared in their ancestral life. 
 
 The foregoing considerations as to the enchain- 
 ment of all the individual intelligences of this 
 earth may in some measure serve to correct our 
 notion as to the separateness of our life. Yet it is 
 open to those who hold the idea that the mind of 
 man is essentially individual to claim that all we 
 receive from our ancestors is a certaia vacant poten- 
 tiality which may or may not have its empty spaces 
 filled by individual experience. To some of these 
 people the inheritance that comes to us over the 
 generational bridge appears as no more than a mere 
 formula in which all the concrete that gives it defi- 
 nite value is derived from the personal life. That 
 such is not the case should be evident on a mere 
 inspection of the facts. "We see the progeny of all 
 creatures, from the simplest to those of our kind, 
 breeding true as regards all ancient and well-estab- 
 lished features. It is not possible to give any 
 rational explanation of this without stating in some 
 terms that what we behold is one continued life — a 
 
86 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 life that may improve or degrade as it goes on from 
 station to station — ^which sinks in the germ to the 
 essentially invisible, or expands almost infinitely in 
 the adult form, but which is inseparably one. This 
 judgment may be helpfully affirmed by considering 
 what takes place in the simplest conditions of the 
 reproductive process, as in the lower Protozoa. 
 
 In those animals where the increase is by the di- 
 vision of the body into equal or nearly equal parts, it 
 is evident that the child is but the continuation of 
 the parent, none of the parts or functions in any way 
 passing into an invisible state in the generational 
 process, every feature and attribute remaining per- 
 fectly unimpaired. Although the passage from 
 this simplest state of reproduction to that in which 
 the work is done by means of the egg is not com- 
 pletely to be traced, enough of it is known to war- 
 rant the opinion that no change in the essential 
 principle of the process occurs in the transition. 
 At every step in the advance toward the higher 
 method of passiug on the life, more and more the 
 form and method of action of the bodily parts is 
 packed away into the reproductive units, to be ex- 
 panded by growth into functioning structures. 
 Still, we have to believe that, save in this conversion 
 of the discernible shape into the indiscernible, there 
 is no difference of value between the reproduction 
 
THE NATURE OF INDIVIDUALITY 87 
 
 by mere division and that whicli takes place through 
 the method of the impregnated egg. 
 
 At first sight the tranamission of anything like 
 thought may seem to be essentially more difficult 
 than that of structures alone. We have, however, 
 to believe that the brain, which is the instrument 
 of OUT thinking, is, to the utmost of our details, de- 
 termined by inheritance; at least until the individ- 
 ual life has begun to shape it. And even when this 
 independent personality has gone far to give his 
 brain a peculiar stamp, the inherited features must 
 greatly preponderate. Conceiving then that the 
 production of thought depends upon the action of 
 cells or other elements of the cerebrum, it does not 
 appear to be improbable that they may, because of 
 their shape or condition, afford the way to thought 
 such as was the product of the ancestral forms on 
 which they are moulded. It is not necessary to sup- 
 pose that thought is a mere secretion of the brain 
 cells in order to hold the view just above suggested. 
 We need to do no more than recognise the fact that 
 there is some immediate connection between the 
 state of the mechanism and the thought that pro- 
 ceeds from it. Come whence the thought may, if 
 its coming be in any way the result of the condition 
 of the brain, a particular state of that organ, such as 
 may be altogether due to ancestral influences, may. 
 
88 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 indeed must, be conceived as giving rise to a definite 
 mental process. 
 
 Taking it to be a fair hypothesis that the shape 
 of the brain, as determined by inheritance, may give 
 rise to some kind of thought, the question arises 
 whether we find in our experience any mental ac- 
 tions or products which can reasonably be referred 
 to the antecedent life and regarded as due to ances- 
 tral experience. To approach this question with 
 care we should first note that the kind of mental 
 work that would come to us from the spontaneous 
 action of the inherited parts, if such come at all, is 
 by no means clear. Yet we might reasonably ex- 
 pect that any elements of thought which were thus 
 introduced into our minds would appear in a de- 
 tached and fragmentary form. "We are led to this 
 supposition by what we know of inherited instinct 
 whenever we see the results of a process which is 
 clearly in the same field as that in which suspected 
 phenomena would lie. These emotional features 
 come to us as rather vague impulses which in most 
 cases need to be more or less compounded with per- 
 sonal experience in order that they may be efficient. 
 Thus, in the emotion of fear, all that is derived 
 from the life before our own is a feeling that is 
 characteristically ill defined. It attains shape only 
 when it is informed by the sensations and ideas 
 
THE NATUEE OF INDIVIDUALITY 89 
 
 that are of an immediate individual nature. It is 
 perhaps as incomplete and fragmentary elements 
 of thought that we should expect to find any con- 
 tributions that depended for their existence on the 
 action of the inherited features of our brains and 
 not upon the stimulus derived from personal ex- 
 perience. 
 
 In seeking for any evidence of what we may 
 term inherited or automatic thought, I have been 
 led to observe a group of rather obscure phenomena 
 which has received less attention than it appears to 
 deserve. The facts to which I would call atten- 
 tion may be noted under the following conditions: 
 If we carefully, and with a skill which is gained 
 only by some training, slow down the normal activi- 
 ties of the mind, so as to clear it as far as possible 
 of the ideas that the environment normally induces, 
 we may, with close attention, note that from time to 
 time, often in quick succession, there appear what 
 for convenience we may term seeds of thought — 
 most commonly in my individual experience these 
 take the shape of visual images — ^rarely that of 
 sounds, most rarely they are presented as a word. 
 It is characteristic of these presentations that unless 
 at once seized upon by the attention, and in some 
 way linked to the more vigorous elements of the 
 mind, they quickly fade away; so that in a very 
 
90 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 brief time, probably not more than a few seconds, 
 they are not only gone, but can not be recalled by 
 any efEort of the memory. They are iadeed most 
 elusive, being iu that regard, to my apprehension, 
 distinctly different from the ordinary store of the 
 miud which clearly rests on experience. 
 
 The way in which the above-noted seeds of 
 thought enter the miud is iu a measure peculiar. 
 They appear to come in an entirely sporadic man- 
 ner, and not to be connected in any way with the 
 ordinary mental occupations of the observer. Thus, 
 if ia the moment before sleep, when the mind has 
 become cleared of the burden of the day, we retain 
 consciousness enough to watch what occurs, we may 
 note these suggestions flashing like meteors out of 
 the darkness, to remain bright but for an instant. 
 If they happen to fall upon some material of ordi- 
 nary experience they may, by combining with it, 
 attain enough permanence to start a dream, but 
 usually they disappear without even this slight 
 result. 
 
 Where true sleeping dreams occur they some- 
 times afford what may be taken as clearer instances 
 of spontaneous thought than those which are ob- 
 servable in the conscious state. Although with 
 some people there appears to be a tendency ia sleep 
 for the mind to revert to the events of experience 
 
THE NATUEE OF INDIVIDUALITr 91 
 
 had during waJdng, it is normal for the suggestions 
 which are shaped into dreams to be curiously dpart 
 from the ordinary events of Mfe. In my own case, 
 so far as I have been able to examine into the origin 
 of dreams, few, if any of them, appear to be con- 
 nected with the events of actual life. That is, the 
 seed or centre of the thought is most apt to be 
 foreign to all my waking experience or imaginings, 
 having the same measure of novelty that belongs 
 to the fancies of other people of which I have heard 
 or read. It is true that much of the matter that 
 gathers about the primary concept of the dream 
 may be such as is recognisable as a part of the old 
 store of experience of the mind; but the funda- 
 mental notion seems to be characterized by its 
 strangeness. 
 
 It appears to be a characteristic of these spon- 
 taneous thoughts that they are in the nature of 
 images, though they may be in the form of sounds, 
 possibly of words. Those I have most clearly dis- 
 cerned are all visualized bits of facts, such as slight 
 landscapes or groupings of people or animals; some- 
 times the form of a man; perhaps oftenest a human 
 face. In no case are the suggestions, until they 
 appear to be associated with personal experience, at 
 all complicated. Such are the features which we 
 would expect thoughts due to inheritance' to ex- 
 
92 THE INDIVIDUAIi 
 
 hibit. They would probably be simple, of an accent 
 so slight that they would be readily overlaid by 
 those due to the senses. They would, moreover, 
 tend to abide outside of the field of consciousness, 
 for the reason that their way of coming to the mind 
 was essentially abnormal. These are, it is true, but 
 conjectures; yet they are warranted by what we 
 can note in the phenomena of the emotions which 
 we have to accept as the results of inherited 
 structure. 
 
 Some evidence in favour of the hypothesis that 
 concrete thought may be inherited is afforded by 
 the nature of the actions where the mind, for any 
 reason, becomes so disordered that it is the prey to 
 delusions. In this condition the control of the 
 individual consciousness over the mental processes 
 is lost, and, as in dreams, accidental suggestions of 
 a kind that can hardly rest in experience may rule 
 the mind. Thus, it has been remarked by alienists 
 that pure-minded women, concerning whom it is 
 impossible to believe that thought or action have 
 laid the foundations of obscene thoughts, will when 
 insane show by their speech that they are afflicted 
 by indecent images. In general, it may be said that 
 mad people appear to suffer from the vivid presenta- 
 tion of thoughts that are not their own by any le- 
 gitimate personal right, but appear to come to them 
 
THE NATURE OP INDIVIDUALITY 93 
 
 in some obscure manner, such as may be explained 
 by the supposition that, owing to the loss of the 
 control which the consciousness normally exercises, 
 . the spontaneous thoughts, as in sleep, gain a 
 strength that sanity denies them. 
 
 It is evident that the suggestion that the phys- 
 ical mechanism of the brain of itself may produce 
 thoughts which are not the product of personal ex- 
 perience, is ia accord with the common empir- 
 ical judgment which men of all ages and races have 
 made as to the nature of insanity, which is ia effect 
 that the afBicted are possessed by ideas not truly 
 their own, but suggested by some other personality 
 — ^as by evil spirits. Without giving too much value 
 to this ancient view as to the nature of insanity, it 
 may fairly be held that the consensus of opinion, to 
 the effect that the control of the madman is in 
 some way beyond his true self, has some weight 
 in the argument we are following. In all such 
 popular opinions, however much of error there may 
 be, there remains the verdict of the great jury which 
 is apt, in some measure, to hold essential truth. In 
 this matter the judgment is that we have to deal 
 with two conditions of the individual. In one of 
 these — ^the sane — ^actions are controlled by thought 
 that rests upon experience, which is controlled by 
 the body of such experiences that memory supplies; 
 
94: THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 in the other — ^the insane — ^the suggestions come' 
 from some source beyond the field whence they are 
 commonly derived — much as they do in dreams. 
 This general recognition of the essentially foreign 
 nature of the suggestions that move those who are 
 mad, so far as it goes, tends to support the idea 
 that there is some other source of thought than that 
 which personal experience affords. 
 
 It would be interesting to consider in more de- 
 tail the relation of this hypothesis of spontaneous 
 thought to the theory of the individual life. To do 
 this would lead us too far from our main purpose. 
 I shall therefore briefly sum up the matter as fol- 
 lows: What we perceive in the evident inheritance 
 of the emotional side of the mind, and of instinctive 
 actions, apparently indicates that the frame which 
 we inherit can of itseK produce a kind of mental 
 product, which, though distinct from ordinary 
 thoughts or visual images, is not widely parted from 
 these higher products of the brain. What we ob- 
 serve as to the process of thought in peculiar condi- 
 tions of the body — ^as in sleep, in insanity, or in 
 the state of quiescence to which we can with care 
 reduce our minds — appears to show that germs of 
 thought not founded on individual experience are 
 spontaneously produced. Further, that the uni- 
 versal judgment of men is to the effect that, in 
 
THE KATURE OF INDIVIDUALITY 95 
 
 the insane state at least, actions may be controlled 
 by such impersonal thought. Thus, while it can 
 not be assumecL that the hypothesis is Terified, 
 it may be said that it ofEers a fair solution of 
 problems which do not otherwise seem to be ex- 
 plicable. 
 
 The question remaiQS as to how far the hypoth- 
 esis of spontaneously generated thought may af- 
 fect our conception of individuality. To answer 
 this we should at first note the point that, assuming 
 the structure of the brain, as determined by iuherit- 
 ance, to generate or disclose thought independent 
 of experience, it does not foUow that such thought 
 has its shape because of the specific ideas of our an- 
 cestors. It would be more likely that, while some 
 relation to the ancestral thinking existed, the mat- 
 ter wovild be greatly altered in the transmission, so 
 that the relation between the old and the new 
 would be that of genus or species and not of iden- 
 tity. We may conceive it as analogous to the move- 
 ments of our limbs. Each of these motions is due 
 to inherited features, developed in our ancestors, of 
 varied degree, by their actions; indeed, altogether 
 shaped by them; but the acts are personal and not 
 ancestral. It is also evident that, while spontane- 
 ous thought may possibly have a considerable share 
 in affording material for the use of the constructive 
 
96 THE INDIVIDUAIi 
 
 imagination, it has little relation to the conduct of 
 an ordinary sane life. That life is, by the moderat- 
 iQg effect of the balance wheel of consciousness, kept 
 well within the control of real experience, so that 
 while the control is effective, as it is ia the waking 
 life, the man is essentially individual. In that state 
 his thought is effectively determined by its personal 
 experience with the environment. 
 
 Whatever be the origin of the spontaneous 
 thought which comes to us in a form to show 
 that it is unrelated to immediate experience, it is 
 clearly a source of intellectual values that are in 
 this age much neglected. There is reason to believe 
 that our systematic education, tending as it does 
 to limit thinking to matters which are suggested 
 by the exercised attention, tends to make men in- 
 creasingly less sensitive to these automatic contri- 
 butions to their minds. The most evident effect 
 is to be found in the loss of the poetic faculty in 
 those who have by long training become dependent 
 on the senses for the stimulus of their imagina- 
 tions. It seems to me probable that the main dif- 
 ference between practical and poetical minds of like 
 general capacity lies in the use which they have 
 become accustomed to make of the spontaneously 
 offered germs of thought. My own experience serves 
 to show that it is possible by attention to increase 
 
THE NATURE OP INDIVIDUALITY 97 
 
 the share of thought that apparently arises inde- 
 pendently of experience, and that it may be done 
 even at an age when the habits of the mind are rela- 
 tively fixed. This is, however, a large question — 
 one that does not fairly concern that we have in 
 hand. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE PLACE OP OEGANIC LIFE IN THE UXIVEESE 
 
 Befoee we go further in the consideration of 
 the facts relating to death, we should somewhat ex- 
 tend our view as to the place of life in the physical 
 universe. Standing as we do ia relation to organic 
 phenomena, there is a certaia danger that we may fail 
 to estimate its proportion to the whole as it should 
 be reckoned. The tendency is to look upon the ma- 
 terial world as a mere comer stone to that we are 
 pleased to call living nature. To correct this natu- 
 ral prejudice, let us glance at the place which the 
 organic occupies in the whole realm — ^for our pur- 
 pose the task may be briefly done. 
 
 Let us first note that all the organic life we 
 know is made possible by the conditions of water at 
 certain temperatures — ^i. e., between about 150° F. 
 and the freezing point of the fluid, 33° F. Although 
 some liviag forms in certain states, as that of 
 spores, can for a time survive above the first-named 
 98 
 
ORGANIC LIFE IN THE UNIVERSE 99 
 
 temperature, it is doubtful i£ any but a very few 
 can maintain life in such conditions. In fact, we 
 may regard the vital range as essentially limited to 
 not more than 100° F. Comparing this range with 
 that of the heat in the earth and in the realms be- 
 yond, what do we find? The facts, so far as we 
 have learned them, are as follows: 
 
 On the surface of the earth the extreme varia- 
 tions, except that of materials brought from below, 
 is perhaps from 120° F. above to about 100° F. be- 
 low the free2ing point, so that life occupies about 
 one half the range that is due to the earth's climatal 
 conditions. In the depths of the earth there is evi- 
 dently a very high temperature. We have no means 
 of measuring it with accuracy, but it can not well 
 be less than some tens of thousands of degrees. Call- 
 ing it, say, 10,000° F., we conclude that life has a 
 place in not more than one hundredth part of the 
 limit of heat that the earth exhibits. In the sun 
 the temperature is evidently very much higher than 
 on the earth. It is a general belief among the 
 students of solar physics that the heat there is to 
 be reckoned as not less than 100,000° F. Thus meas- 
 ured on the temperatures of the solar system, the 
 possible field of organic life occupies not more than 
 the one thousandth part of the scale. 
 
 In terms of time the importance of organic life 
 8 
 
100 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 is likewise apparently insignificant. It could not 
 have come into being until the eartli liad cooled 
 down to a point where the seas were near the tem- 
 perature at which we now find them, and until the 
 heat of the sun had come to about its present state. 
 This antecedent time included the ages during 
 which the solar system was evolved from the nebu- 
 lous form and brought into the present condition. 
 We have no means of knowing how great this time 
 was, but it certainly must have been vastly longer 
 than all that has elapsed since life began to be. It 
 was most likely of such duration that the organic 
 period if set against it would appear a mere nothing. 
 Beyond the present, probably far beyond even in the 
 geologic sense, there is reason to believe that the 
 heat of the sun will remain as it has held for many 
 millions of years, to maintain animals and plants ia 
 existence; but inevitably the source of that life in 
 the sun's heat must fail. Further than that end we 
 can not see, save that there is no limit to duration. 
 It is possible that after a time the solar system 
 may, by collision with some other mass, be recon- 
 verted into disseminated matter again, to undergo 
 the process by which it is rebuilt into sun and 
 planets. Be this as it may, the fact is clear that 
 the organic period of this world, or of any like 
 conditioned sphere, is but a moment when measured 
 
ORGANIC LIFE IN THE UNIVERSE 101 
 
 against the time required ia the processes of the 
 suns. 
 
 Considering the proportion of the matter of the 
 earth which is at any one time in the vitalized state, 
 we find the proportionate value in like measure insig- 
 nificant. If all the living forms of to-day were 
 brought down upon the surface of the earth their 
 bodies would form a layer of material A^hich would 
 probably not exceed a foot in thickness, or about 
 one forty millionth of the earth's diameter — a mere 
 film on the surface of the sphere — an infinitesimal 
 part of that mass which can never feel the vital im- 
 pulse. Small as this share is, it is vast as compared 
 with the essentially lifeless masses of the solar sys- 
 tem. The sun is of course excluded, as all such 
 heated bodies necessarily are, from any opportimity 
 to share in organic experience. The interior 
 planets. Mercury and Venus, are so near the sun 
 that their temperatures in the daytime must be far 
 above the limit at which water can play its part 
 in organic work, a part which is essential to the pro- 
 cesses of life. Moreover, recent observations on 
 these planets appear to indicate that they do not 
 revolve on their axes after the manner of the earth, 
 but hold one face toward the sun as the moon does 
 to the earth. . They have therefore to be excluded 
 from the viable realm. 
 
102 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 Of the outer planets the only one which can pos- 
 sibly be the seat of organic life is Mars. This 
 sphere receives about one third less heat than the 
 earth. Such a difference if brought to bear on our 
 own orb would at once bring every part of its surface 
 permanently below the freezing point. It is pos- 
 sible that Mars may have a deeper atmosphere, or 
 one more effectively resistant to the radiation of 
 heat, and so have its surface kept at a life-giviag 
 temperature. It is, however, doubtful if such be 
 the case. The question is one of much difficulty, 
 but in the opinion of those observers who have ap- 
 proached the problem without prejudice and with 
 the highest professional skill, the probabilities are 
 that Mars is without seas or any general water sys- 
 tem, and that it is unsuited to such organic life as 
 that of this earth. Therefore, so far as we can 
 learn, the living beings of our solar system are 
 limited to the earth. We can not well suppose that 
 life has ever existed on any other of the planets 
 except possibly Mars. It is, of course, possible, per- 
 haps we may say very probable, that on the planets 
 of other solar systems the organic complex may 
 occur as it does on our own; but this, if true, in 
 nowise diminishes its infinitesimal relation to the 
 masses of matter which have never known and can 
 never be lifted to the organic state. 
 
ORGANIC LIFE IN THE UNIVERSE 103 
 
 To complete our view we should note the fact 
 that the spatial relations of organic life are as lim- 
 ited as are all tiie others. From the bottom of the 
 deepest seas to the highest poiats under the equator 
 to which life can extend is ahout eight miles. 
 When compared with the measurements of our solar 
 system alone this is of no more than microscopic 
 value. Thus, by all the material or visible stand- 
 ards that we can apply, organic life appears to be of 
 the slightest conceivable value. It is but an atom 
 in the mass of the solar system; it occupies but a 
 moment in its duration; it has hardly a place in 
 space; it is but a temporary film on one of the 
 smaller planets. It can exist only in a very small 
 part of the scale of temperatures through which the 
 spheres pass from their first to their last state. Set 
 against the visible universe it is as near to nothing 
 as we can well conceive anything to be. 
 
 At first sight, indeed for some time after it is 
 grasped, this conception of the place of the living in 
 the visible universe is appalling. Eeflection leads us, 
 however, to a readjustment of our primitive concep- 
 tions as to this matter and to the correction of cer- 
 tain errors in them; when this is accomplished we 
 find ourselves possessed of a larger understanding 
 of the problem of existence. If this which we call 
 the living were in any way essentially parted from 
 
104 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 the rest of the universe so that it had to be sepa- 
 rately measured — ^if, indeed, the term being were 
 more than relative — ^then our pain would be in a way 
 justified. But, so far as we can see, this state we 
 call life is no more than one of the summits of vari- 
 ous series of actions which go on in the visible 
 realm. It bears somewhat the same relation to the 
 great mass of activities that the blossom of a plant 
 does to the rest of its growth. A part of our regret 
 at the exceeding limitation of life is clearly due to 
 the sympathetic movement of our minds which leads 
 to the feeling that it is a pity to have the pleasure 
 of existence limited to so small a part of the realm. 
 We may correct this by the thought that there may 
 be endless other means of pleasure to us unknown. 
 Because we, as the summit of one of the natural 
 series, approve of the peculiar mode of existence to 
 which it has attained, we have no right to conclude 
 that we possess the only consciousness of good. 
 The presumption, if there be any of value, is rather 
 that our own success, because of its materially trifling 
 nature, is really less important than others which 
 are won in other modes of existence. 
 
 The view of the universe which centres all in 
 man is very natural but very conceited. It un- 
 doubtedly has been in certain ways advantageous 
 in the past. It has served in the primitive states 
 
ORGANIC LIFE IN THE UNIVERSE 105 
 
 of our intellectual development to give us a meas- 
 ure of confidence as to our place in the world which 
 in the early ignorance of nature would otherwise 
 have been denied. Now that we see further and 
 more clearly, we are prepared to rearrange our views 
 as to man's station in the realm. We see that it is 
 other than it at first appeared. We can no longer 
 conceive our kind of life as the sole important 
 product of the great field; it appears as only a small 
 part of the marvellous whole. Its peculiar dignity 
 lies in the fact that it has led to the intellect of 
 man, to a mode of looking upon the universe which, 
 so far as we can see, is unique. Whatever other 
 modes of accomplishing this work there may be we 
 do not know; but be they immeasurable in number, 
 it in no way diminishes the place we hold. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE GKOWTH OF SYMPATHY 
 
 OuK glance at the place of organic life in Nature 
 has shown ns that the essential feature of it is that 
 in a peculiar and exceedingly rare state of matter 
 individuals are developed which are capable of har- 
 vesting the effects of environment in experience, 
 transmitting the profit thereof, first to the heirs of 
 their bodies and later to those of their minds as 
 well. In other words, we have entered on the field 
 where individuals arise differing in character from 
 all that has gone before, in that they are educable 
 and in their succession provide for a far-ranging 
 development of many themes unknown in the lower 
 realms of being. We have now to trace in outline, 
 limiting the inqidry to those features which suit 
 our main purpose, the series of this on-going which 
 lead to the estate of man. 
 
 At the outset of organic development, or at least 
 in the lowest creatures which are known to us, we 
 106 
 
THE GROWTH OF SYMPATHY 107 
 
 find the organic body in a very generalized state. 
 These lowly individuals are hardly to be definitely 
 classed either as plants or animals; they are living, 
 and only at a later and higher stage do they become 
 very clearly one or the other. Taking the most ob- 
 servable of them, the Amaba, we find that it con- 
 tains in its bit of transparent, gelatinous body the 
 essential motives and capacities of an organism in 
 a very diffused state. It can move, feel, digest, and 
 reproduce; all these functions being present, so far 
 as we have learned, in every portion of its frame. 
 It is fair to presume that they exist in the smallest 
 bits into which it might be divided. It is, indeed, 
 most likely that these properties inhere in the mole- 
 cules of the protoplasm or other chemical founda- 
 tion of the creature. 
 
 It is to be noted that what we perceive in the 
 way of vital powers in these, the lowest forms of life 
 known to us, are probably but a very small part of 
 the store of capacities which they contain. The 
 indication of this is to be found in the fact that 
 similar translucent or even transparent jellylike 
 creatures, such as make up the communities of the 
 sponges, construct elaborate devices for the support 
 of their united bodies in the form of elegantly 
 shaped frameworks, which have a rare beauty of pro- 
 portion and architectural finish; while others, such 
 
108 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 as the Foraminifera, inclose their bodies in cases 
 which have an exceeding grace of form and propor- 
 tion. "We see here what we behold in the egg or 
 seed of the higher organisms, that a vast store of 
 experience, the lessons learned by innumerable gen- 
 erations, may be garnered in a substance which ap- 
 pears to be simple, and is evidently without any 
 such complication of structure as we are accustomed 
 to associate with elaborate organic work. 
 
 The point last noted concerning the apparent 
 simplicity yet real complication of the lower or- 
 ganic bodies, and their equivalents ia the germs of 
 the higher species, deserves particular attention, as 
 it may serve to correct an egregious error into which 
 all of us, even the well-trairied naturalists, are prone 
 to fall. Francis Bacon, ia his admirable account 
 of the many idols or prejudices which men are apt 
 to worship, failed to note this of pseudo-simplicity. 
 Yet it is one of the most hindering of all those 
 which beset the path of the inquirer. We see, for 
 instance, that the air before our eyes is transparent; 
 we can not, much as we know of its constitution, 
 avoid the impression that it is perfectly simple, a 
 kind of nothingness. Yet we know that it is a vast 
 entanglement of materials, actions, and adjustments 
 — a complex which learning will surely never com- 
 pletely solve. So it is with all the regions whereunto 
 
THE GROWTH OP SYMPATHY 109 
 
 our sight penetrates: we feel that we see completely, 
 though every step of our inquiry tells us that we do 
 not reaUy do so. 
 
 It is well at this place to force on our attention 
 the fact that the capacity of the organic body to 
 gather into an inconceivably small quantity of mat- 
 ter a practically infinite store of inheritances is ap- 
 parently unlimited. Into the unweighably minute 
 germ which originates a creature there is laid away 
 a body of traditions which, when unfolded by 
 growth, exhibits the result of the experience of all 
 the generations, perhaps hundreds of millions in 
 number, that have gone before. This education in 
 the art of handing on the results of the previous 
 life is the first and most fundamental accomplish- 
 ment of the organic realm, for on it depend all the 
 other gains that have been made. 
 
 The ability to transmit the qualities of the body 
 to the successor is one that may possibly have be- 
 come in the course of time the subject of natural 
 selection, and been thus modified and affirmed in 
 the measure in which we now find it. It is, how- 
 ever, not at all likely that it could have been in- 
 stituted in this manner at first. It is most reason- 
 able to suppose that it is a primal characteristic or 
 motive of the organic body which has been devel- 
 oped by the survival of the fittest. It is evident 
 
110 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 that those species which most effectively propagated 
 and which tended to hand down their gains to 
 their descendants would have an advantage in the 
 struggle for existence. The profit thus attained 
 would be won on certain lines of evolution the na- 
 ture of which we readily discern. In the young of 
 plants and animals alike the means whereby the 
 creatures may obtain food is a matter of foremost 
 importance; next to that, the provisions for avoid- 
 ing danger. These needs are of fundamental impor- 
 tance for the reason that they are essential to the life 
 of the individual. After them comes the means of 
 reproduction, relating not only to the mere increase 
 in numbers, but to the provision for the care of the 
 offspring. These essentials of organic forms are 
 common to all kinds. They are the product of the 
 evident relations to environment of the two great 
 kingdoms of plants and animals into which living 
 beings above the lowest are distinctly divided. It 
 is characteristic of the plant realm that it attains in 
 no case to intelligence. In every other important 
 physiological regard the individuals contained with- 
 in it are like those of the higher animal series. 
 
 The fact that the animal series turns toward in- 
 telligence, though at first that turning is very in- 
 distinct, is of great importance in determining the 
 shapes of their bodies. The needs of a frame which 
 
THE GROWTH OF SYMPATHY m 
 
 is to be the habitation of an intelligence and under 
 the control of a will are quite other than those 
 which may serve the more limited functions of an 
 unintelligent creature, such as a plant. In the ani- 
 mal we normally find that the main lines of its 
 structure mark the adaptation of its parts to the 
 necessities of the mind. The lower forms, such as 
 the Protozoa and the sponges, do not exhibit this 
 accommodation to the requirements of the mental 
 parts, but, as we rise in the scale, the adaptation of 
 the body for this purpose becomes more and more 
 BAddent. 
 
 A general need of the animal form, except those 
 grouped in organic communities, is that it shall be 
 free to move. This is in marked contrast with the 
 plants where fixity is advantageous. The difference 
 in part arises from the essential difiference in the 
 source of food. The plant can obtain its nutriment 
 directly from the mineral kingdom, from the solu- 
 ble, earthy matter in the soil, or from the waters of 
 the sea; therefore for it the fixed station is advan- 
 tageous. The animals, on the other hand, are de- 
 nied all direct access to the mineral world. They 
 have to feed on plants or on other animals who, di- 
 rectly or indirectly, have obtained their organic mat- 
 ter from vegetation. Hence solitary animals usu- 
 ally have to be mobile in order that they may seek 
 
112 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 theix subsistence. It is, it may be remarked, quite 
 possible that the parting of the two great streams of 
 life, that which has flowed on to the higher plants 
 and that which has led to man, may have been due 
 to the simple fact that certain of the primitive 
 forms foimd their way to the habit of feeding on 
 the products of the lowlier life and lost that of 
 depending on the inorganic sources of subsistence. 
 As soon as this habit of what we may term second- 
 ary feeding was established, motion became, as we 
 see, a very desirable feature. 
 
 It is perhaps well to call attention to the fact 
 that there are very many species of animals in the 
 lower parts of the invertebrate groups which have 
 a habit of body as fixed as that of the plants. All 
 these creatures are so placed as regards the currents 
 of the water in which they live that their food is 
 brought to them by the motion of the fluid. The 
 greater number of these sedentary species have de- 
 veloped a method of loniting their bodies, as in the 
 polyps, so that many individuals form one or- 
 ganic community. It is noteworthy that in all 
 these attached forms, single or compound, we have 
 a tendency to shapes which distinctly recall those 
 of plants. To the earlier naturalists many of them 
 appeared so like plants that they were given 
 the name of zoophytes, to indicate that their re- 
 
THE GROWTH OP SYMPATHY II3 
 
 lations were with both the plant and animal Mng- 
 doms. • 
 
 As the movements of animals of the lowest types 
 are imguided by any clear perceptions, they have no 
 definite direction. In the Amwha, and generally in 
 the Protozoa, there appears to be no distinct trace 
 of a definite wUl. The direction of motion is de- 
 termined by the side from which the stimulus lead- 
 ing to it may come. But as sense organs are ac- 
 quired and means of locomotion are perfected, the 
 body rapidly develops an axis of motion. The 
 mechanical conditions require that whatever organs 
 of propulsion there may be shall be arranged 
 on either side of the axis; that the head, with the 
 anterior extremity of the alimentary canal, be placed 
 at the anterior end of this axis; and that there be a 
 definite lower and upper side to the structure. We 
 are so accustomed to take our impression of what 
 constitutes an animal from our experience with our 
 own bodies and with those of the higher forms of 
 the vertebrates, that we accept those features as 
 matters of course. It is difficult to conceive how 
 slowly, by age-long struggles, they have been de- 
 veloped. In certain groups, as in the radiated ani- 
 mals, where the body, as in the starfish and the sea 
 urchin, is made up of similar sets of parts, arranged 
 as in a plant about a vertical axis, the creatures evi- 
 
114 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 dently strive to twist the body into a shape which 
 will permit the development of an axis of motion 
 so that they may adopt a definite direction of move- 
 ment, thereby securing some of the advantages 
 which the more fortunately conditioned types enjoy. 
 As the animal body advances from its lower 
 estates its gain is marked and ia good measure 
 effected by the progressive allotment of the several 
 kinds of work to particular parts, each contrived 
 for a special duty. The result of this is a number 
 of systems, organs, and limbs which do no more kinds 
 of work than before, though they do the tasks more 
 perfectly than was done ia the body of the Amceba. 
 Of these systematic divisions of the frame the most 
 important, for it is the key to the growth of all 
 the rest, is the nervous system. As this part slowly 
 becomes developed it affords with each advance a 
 better opportunity for the creatures to act in refer- 
 ence to the stimulus of their environment. As the 
 sense organs, those of sight and hearing, become 
 more and more specialized, the co-operating intelli- 
 gence — at first a slight reflex action which hardly 
 deserves the name — rise in its grade until we see 
 that there is a definite will which expresses itself 
 in purposeful action. At this stage in the develop- 
 ment the animal is no longer a mere passive recipi- 
 ent of what the environment may send; it goes 
 
THE GROWTH OP SYMPATHY 115 
 
 forth to its surroundings. It enters on the wide 
 field of wilful activities. It hecomes in a fuller 
 sense alive. We shall not undertake to trace even 
 in the merest outline the far-ranging, the practically 
 infinite experiments and devices which are made 
 to improve the qualities of the animal hody and 
 which fit it to he the suitable habitation for an 
 intelligence. To tell the story in the briefest man- 
 ner would be a great task, one for which full knowl- 
 edge is not yet at hand. It is, however, necessary 
 for us to consider certain peculiar features of this 
 development which have led to the creation of the 
 most important qualities of the vertebrate, and espe- 
 cially the human mind, as compared with that of 
 the lower invertebrate forms. 
 
 First, let us observe that in all the animals be- 
 low the vertebrate — ^i. e., the backboned type — ^there 
 is but one nervous system, which has to do all 
 the work of receiving information from the environ- 
 ment as well as that which is connected with the 
 internal economy of the creature. In this condi- 
 tion the actions of the animal appear to be guided 
 by a kind of habit which we term instinct — an intel- 
 lectual process concerning which much has been 
 written, but little is really known. This primitive 
 nervous system of the invertebrates is probably 
 
 the equivalent, perhaps the predecessor, of the great 
 9 
 
116 THE INDIVID 17AL 
 
 sympathetic system in the vertebrates — that which 
 controls the actions of the several organs and in 
 large measure acts as a bureau of internal affairs. 
 It may be, in part, the seat of the emotions, but it 
 clearly has no share in the intellectual life. When 
 we come to the vertebrates we find a striking inno- 
 vation in this part of the body in that a new nervous 
 tract is developed, that of the spinal cord, and in 
 time its enlarged anterior part, the brain. As a 
 consequence of this addition we have a better 
 chance for the development of the intellectual life. 
 The brain and spinal cord, though they have much 
 to do with the control of the body, sharing that 
 task with the great sympathetic system, are mainly 
 concerned with sensations derived from the environ- 
 ment and actions that relate thereto. The brain 
 being in close connection with the organs of sense 
 becomes the seat of the rational powers, while the 
 spinal cord is allotted, in large part, to the reflex or 
 automatic actions which relate to the sensations. 
 The most important result of these additions is the 
 brain, for on it rests all the possibilities of higher 
 development which have been elaborated in the ver- 
 tebrate series. The creation of this part gave the 
 body what may be termed a third nervous system, 
 for it is nearly as distinct in character and func- 
 tions from the spinal cord as that is from the great 
 
THE GROWTH OF SYMPATHY II7 
 
 sympathetic combination of ganglia and nerves. It 
 is this exceeding gain ia the apparatus of sensation, 
 action, and intelligence which sets the backboned 
 animals so apart from the lower types of the animal 
 kingdom rather than the mere possession of an in- 
 ternal bony skeleton. The essential characteristic 
 of the group is that it has a far greater provision for 
 intellectual work ia relation to environment than 
 any of the lower forms of life. 
 
 Along with the ample development of the in- 
 ternal mechanism of intelligence which character- 
 izes the vertebrates, we find a curious and important 
 limitation ia the machinery by which the behests 
 of the rational will can be executed. In the higher 
 articulates — ^the crabs, lobsters, and especially the 
 insects — we note that the plan on which the body 
 is built provides a great array of limbs and other 
 parts which are readily shaped so that they may do 
 whatever the will demands ia the way of service. 
 As is well known, these creatures are made up of 
 many similar sets of parts, arranged in a train along 
 the longitudiaal axis. Each of these segments has 
 usually one or more pairs of limblike appendages 
 which can be turned to varied uses. The evident 
 advantages of these structures is increased by the 
 fact that the skeleton of the animal is essentially 
 external, while that of the vertebrate is internal. 
 
118 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 The result is that the limhs of the articulates are 
 covered by a hard coating which can be modified to 
 make jaws, paddles, legs, stings, feelers, or whatever 
 else is required in the way of tools to serve the 
 needs of the will. 
 
 Out of the system of the external skeleton as we 
 see it in the iaseets there comes an admirable suc- 
 cess in varied action. The nervous processes are 
 so directed that they have but to set the mechanical 
 appliances to work in order to attain the profitable 
 end. The result is that while the will which guides 
 the actions of the insects and other mechanically 
 perfect invertebrates may, and indeed generally 
 does, attain a high order of development, the rational 
 quality is hardly to be found there. The reader may 
 understand this matter the better if he will consider 
 what effect working with a tool exactly suited to 
 the need has on his mental action. Let us take an 
 example such as is aiforded by the instruments of 
 habitual action: the pen, the bat, the oar, or the 
 foil. Let us suppose a novice in fencing to set 
 about the acquisition of that manual art. His first 
 acts have to be guided by rationally determined 
 movements. He must cognize and control in a 
 thoughtful way all that he does; but as with prac- 
 tice he gains mastery, a kind of instinctive intelli- 
 gence takes the place of the mental action so that 
 
THE GROWTH OF SYMPATHY 119 
 
 he makes his movements with no consciousness of 
 them, or at most he knows what he has done after 
 the doing of it. In fact, he is not a master of his 
 art until his acts are what we may term automatic. 
 Let us fancy that all the necessary actions of our 
 body, those concerned with the environment as well 
 as those of the internal economy, were so related to 
 inherited structures that all the work of the will 
 should be done in the manner of the skilled fencer; 
 that the tools of every trade were, as with the 
 insects, bodily parts, and that with them came an 
 inherited capacity for their use such as guides the 
 infant's lips when it is placed at the mother's breasts; 
 we clearly see that while the will would remain ac- 
 tive and perhaps in its exercises give pleasure, such 
 as we receive from the automatic activity of our 
 sports, there would be no necessary culture of the 
 higher intellectual faculties from that activity. 
 Men would with such exercise become instinctive 
 creatures, as they in a measure do in certain occu- 
 pations where the will operates without conscious 
 thought connected. It fortunately happens that in 
 such routine men think of other thiugs than their 
 tasks, while they are guided in them by a kind of 
 muscular memory. But if all their actions had been 
 of the insect type, they would probably not be above 
 these creatures in their mental condition. They, 
 
120 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 too, would work instinctively. Let us consider what 
 has served to set the vertebrates on the plane of 
 higher rational action. 
 
 We have noted that the articulate skeleton is, ia 
 effect, external, and that by affording varied, ap- 
 pendages in large number it offers to selective ac- 
 tion a great array of instruments which can be 
 turned to any required use. It is otherwise with 
 the vertebrates; in their skeletal system the frame- 
 work began as the support and guard of the new- 
 made spiaal cord, as a long beam ia the central 
 part of the body, extending from the head to the 
 tail. Early in its history this beam became Jointed; 
 on the outside of the body two pairs, and no more, 
 of limbs were developed which at first appeared as 
 fins with bony supports. In the course of events 
 these limbs and their internal parts became more 
 or less attached to the spiual column, so that they 
 obtained a firm support; they developed externally 
 with bones inside the muscles, and not with the 
 hard parts outside of them, as in the articulates. 
 At the end of each limb in the higher forms there 
 were at first a number of digits — ^i. e., fingers and 
 toes — ^the number quickly becoming established nor- 
 mally at five. These, like the other bones of the 
 limb, were jointed so that a certain — ^at first limited 
 — amount of movement of one joint or the other was 
 
THE GROWTH OF SYMPATHY 121 
 
 possible. At the end of each digit a nail was left 
 as the last monument of the ancient scaly covering. 
 In addition to the four limbs the vertebrate was, 
 by the processes of its development, provided with 
 jaws, and in the mammals with lips, so that the 
 head could grasp objects, and when it became well 
 jointed by means of a flexible neck, it afforded a 
 fifth functionally limblike structure. To this small 
 array of instruments of the will there should be 
 added certain occasionally specialized teeth, such as 
 the tusks of the elephant and the horns which occur 
 in certain species of vertebrates, as also the tail 
 which occasionally becomes the instrument of the 
 will, serving as in the fishes for swimming or, in 
 other higher forms, for various subordinated uses. 
 
 Comparing as best we can the mechanical pro- 
 cesses for the activities of the backboned animals 
 with those of the articulate animals, we find that in 
 number they may in general be rated as one in the 
 higher to about ten in the lower forms. As regards 
 their efficiency, the difference is yet greater; the 
 appendages in the insects are uniformly far more 
 especially adapted to the needs they are shaped to 
 serve than are those of the vertebrates. In this 
 last-named series the limbs, except in a few cases, 
 such as the wings of bats and birds, are not greatly 
 specialized for their particular uses as are those of 
 
122 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 the higher invertebrates, where there is need of 
 highly -mechanical action. If we compare a man 
 and a bee, forms which may be taken as types of 
 very specialized work in the two great series, we 
 find in the lesser creature that the structure is ex- 
 ceedingly well adapted to the varied work it has 
 to do. The wings are most effective instruments 
 for rapid and well-directed movement. There are 
 three pairs of well- jointed, nimble legs, antennae 
 provided with a very delicate sense of touch, mandi- 
 bles of remarkably effective nature, and a sting 
 which is an admirable instrument of attack. In the 
 greater animal there is but one pair of instruments 
 of progression, the legs, which give but little speed, 
 the other pair of limbs being devoted to the special 
 uses of the will. For the execution of his intellec- 
 tual purposes the arms and hands are, except when 
 they are provided with artificial tools, of little serv- 
 ice save in climbing, for which purpose they have 
 been somewhat specially modified. As for the hand 
 itself it is, when imarmed, a very feeble instrument. 
 It can not strike a blow to be compared with the 
 sting of a bee in effectiveness, size being taken into 
 account. Much has been said in praise of the 
 structure of the hand, but it is in itself of little 
 value for any particular organic purpose except in 
 cleaning the body, until the creature it serves came 
 
THE GROWTH OF SYMPATHY 123 
 
 to tlie state where it began to use at first sticks and 
 stones, and later the more elaborate utensils of the 
 various arts. Then it came to serve, as no other 
 appendage does, as a universal tool-holder, essen- 
 tially like the chucks of lathes which are so ar- 
 ranged that they may clutch any form of cutting 
 instrument and guide it in its work. 
 
 However far we might extend the comparison of 
 the articulate and vertebrate types of animals, we 
 shotdd only re-enforce the statement that the later 
 and higher group of vertebrates is very inferior to 
 the lower invertebrates in the range and scope of 
 the parts which serve the purposes of the will. Not 
 only are the serviceable appendages much fewer, but 
 they are relatively inferior in capacity to meet par- 
 ticular needs. As an instance of that, we may note 
 the limited extent to which the hand has varied in 
 all the vast time since it took its existing general 
 form in the lower Mammalia. The greatest change 
 which has come to the extremities of land verte- 
 brates has consisted in the reduction in the number 
 of digits from the primitive number of five to two 
 in the cloven-footed forms, or to one in those with 
 the solid hoof; and in the specialization of the an- 
 terior pair of limbs for flight, as in the birds and 
 bats. All this shows us that the conditions of an 
 internal skeleton are such as to limit the number of 
 
124 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 limbs and to restrict their variations. The deep- 
 lying, bony framework is not readily influenced by 
 any needs. It, in common with the other internal 
 parts, varies but little, and the variations that occur 
 offer no such profitable features to selection as the 
 accidents of the hard external skeleton of the 
 insects and other articulates afford. Thus it comes 
 about that while the vertebrates are provided with 
 a very much better nervous apparatus for the 
 use of the will and the other qualities of the intelli- 
 gence, they are curiously limited in the means for 
 reacting on the environment. 
 
 The general effect of the above-noted limita- 
 tion in the instruments of the will that are 
 provided for the service of the vertebrate body is 
 to institute another and higher type of mental activ- 
 ity than that found in the lower invertebrate field. 
 As we have already noted, the instinctive nature of 
 the articulate mind — the state in which the acts 
 done in response to nervous stimulation are per- 
 formed by particular instruments in a way which 
 has been termed " automatic " — is greatly favoured 
 by the perfect adaptation of the appendages to 
 particular needs. It is admirably otherwise in 
 the vertebrates, because with a better nervous 
 basis for the working of the mind they have 
 to accomplish the behests of the will with in- 
 
THE GROWTH OF SYMPATHY 125 
 
 ferior means. The result is that they are forced 
 into rational rather than into instinctive methods 
 of action. The use of the reason is fostered by the 
 limitations set upon all their endeavours, so that 
 gradually the intelligence enters on the slow ascent 
 toward the jational quality we have in man. In 
 other wordSj out of this apparently unhappy limita- 
 tion of the appendages in the backboned animals 
 comes, in the end, that quality of mind which, even 
 more than their eminent pecidiarities of structure, 
 separates them from the lower invertebrate life. 
 
 It must not be supposed that the passage from 
 the ancient instinctive type of mind to that of ra- 
 tional quality which we find ia man was suddenly 
 effected; in fact, the lower species of vertebrates 
 appear in this respect at first sight to present no 
 distinct difference in quality as compared with the 
 insects. The popular notion is that both these 
 groups of minds work ia the same way; but no 
 observer is likely to give attention to the compara- 
 tive psychology of vertebrates and articulates with- 
 out noting in all the members of the two groups 
 certain essential differences in action which denote a 
 clear demarcation between their mental processes. 
 In the lower forms all action runs in grooves; it is 
 unvaried to a degree which is rarely or never found 
 among the vertebrates. An insect's will leads it to 
 
126 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 repeat the same movements itnder similar conditions 
 with mechanical reiteration. They appear to learn 
 little or nothing from individual experience; while 
 the vertebrate of even the lower classes on close 
 study usually shows that the lesson of the conditions 
 is in some measure read. 
 
 The mechanical modes of action of the articulate 
 may be in some part due to the very large amount of 
 energy, in proportion to their weight, which their 
 nervous system supplies. The more vigorous in- 
 sects have a muscular power many times as great, 
 in proportion to their bulk or weight, as the strong- 
 est vertebrates can apply. This power is likely to 
 force the development of the insistent, unreason- 
 ing will, which is the conspicuous feature in the 
 activities of the group. A part of the difference 
 in the quality of mind of the two groups may be 
 due to the fact that vertebrates have, on the whole, 
 better organs of sense, in so far as their eyes and 
 ears evidently afford them a broader foundation for 
 knowledge as to the world about them. Their eyes 
 doubtless see better than those of insects, for those 
 of the articulates generally form more definite im- 
 ages of objects at a distance. It is not well known 
 what is the range of insect vision or just how far 
 it yields impressions like those we receive. But 
 their vision is evidently very limited as compared 
 
THE GROWTH OF SYMPATHY 127 
 
 with that of the true lens eye. So, too, with hear- 
 ing, though perhaps ia a less degree. The verte- 
 hrate catches sounds that are farther away and 
 prohahly of a wider range in scale; insects attend 
 to few noises of any kind. It is doubtful if their 
 hearing is much better than their sight. The 
 only senses in which they apparently exceed the 
 vertebrate are those of touch and of smell. Those 
 species which possess long antennas appear gener- 
 ally to be able to determiue ia a very qiiick man- 
 ner the difference between objects, even where the 
 discrimination appears diflScult, by a few passes 
 of these sensitive feelers. In this way an ant seems 
 to find whether another of his species is a member 
 of his colony or no. It is in the sense of smell that 
 we find the most evident advantage of the insects 
 over the vertebrates. Thus, a female of Ocneria dis- 
 par, or gipsy moth, wiU, by some odour insensible to 
 us, attract males of the species from a distance of 
 about a mile away. 
 
 For our main purpose these differences between 
 the highest of the iuvertebrates and the species of 
 the backboned group are important, for they show 
 us something of the basis on which the higher grade 
 of animal life is founded — ^the life which deals with 
 the world, not in the direct reflex way, but by the 
 rational method by bringing experiences into critical 
 
128 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 accord. This process which, has led to the intellect 
 of man was evidently begun in the lower stages of 
 the vertebrate type, and has slowly accumulated its 
 possibilities until at length they took shape in the 
 intelligence of men. Moreover, this quality of 
 miad which has developed in the vertebrate has 
 favoured the fullest development of the motives of 
 sympathy — ^those motives which have been the most 
 important of all in bringing about the evils and bene- 
 fits due to death. 
 
 In the mechanical or instinctive method of the 
 mind which we note in the invertebrates, we find 
 innumerable marks of sympathetic action of a low 
 grade, for a host of these species show varied methods 
 of co-operative work. In those which form colo- 
 nies, after the manner of the ants and bees, the 
 individuals of the society will protect one another, 
 or at least they will assail the intruder; but of any 
 feeling for the suffering of the fellow-being there 
 is no distinct evidence. There are, it is true, many 
 recorded instances where ants have striven to pull 
 out a comrade who had become entangled in some 
 sticky substance, but it is not clear that this be- 
 haviour can be accounted for by any sense of sym- 
 pathy with the sufferer. While there may be some 
 trace of this motive in the lower realm of life, it is 
 tolerably clear that it does not take on any definite 
 
THE GROWTH OF SYMPATHY 129 
 
 form or play any distinct part in the activities of 
 the creatures below the level of the vertebrates. 
 
 In the lower vertebrates we find little other 
 mark of the sympathetic motives than is shown by 
 the care of the offspring and the existence in many 
 species of the herding habit. Still, even among the 
 fishes and reptiles we observe that individuals may 
 be domesticated, or, at least, wonted to contact with a 
 particular person, which is an advance on anjrthing 
 we find among the insects except possibly in the case 
 of the bees, where the members of a hive may be- 
 come in a measure accustomed to their keeper. It 
 is when we attain to the level of the birds that we 
 first discover distinct evidence of the sympathetic 
 motive. In these creatures the impulse is prevail- 
 ingly strong, stronger perhaps than in any other, 
 save in man. It is shown, not only in a general 
 way, by the keen interest which they take in the 
 doings of their fellows, in their wide range of sym- 
 pathetic cries which express the emotion in terms 
 that appeal to our own, but by a host of well- 
 observed instances of the deep and abiding affection 
 existing between sexual mates. As is well known, 
 some of the species are monogamic to a degree un- 
 known in any other animals, not excepting our own 
 kind. 
 
 Among the birds, as elsewhere, the enlarged 
 
130 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 sympathetic motive has its origin in the family, 
 which, ia turn, rests on the nesting and incubating 
 habits and on the extended care of the brood after 
 it is hatched. The birds have invented a novel 
 means of giving their young a measure of help be- 
 yond that which is afforded by a large store of nutri- 
 ment lodged in the egg. Their feathers and the 
 high temperature of their blood together make it 
 possible, by the application of the body of the par- 
 ent to the eggs, at once to hasten their develop- 
 ment and to spare for other uses a considerable 
 amount of the food stored in the shells which would 
 otherwise be expended in keeping up the heat of 
 the embryo. The importance of this last-noted aid 
 has been overlooked, but it is noteworthy. 
 
 The work of nest building, commonly a joint 
 task of both parents where the nest is a consider- 
 able structure; the service of the male in defend- 
 ing the nest, and his often associated labour in feed- 
 ing the young; the care of the brood before it is 
 ready for independent life — all serve admirably well 
 to awaken an interest in the comrades of the flock 
 or even of the fellows of the species. Probably to 
 these conditions is due the high measure of sympa- 
 thetic development which has taken place in this 
 group. There, even more than in the mammals be- 
 low man, do we find the individuals keenly sensitive 
 
THE GROWTH OP SYMPATHY 131 
 
 to the sufferings of their kind; ready with warning 
 notes to announce danger; willing in cases to meet 
 it in order to protect their associates from peril. 
 
 It is interesting to observe that the development 
 of the sympathetic motive beyond the mere traces of 
 it which appear in the fishes and reptiles, and per- 
 haps in the amphibians, occurs ia the group where 
 we first find an extended use of the will. Many of 
 the lower vertebrates have vocal calls, apparently, in 
 all cases, of an essentially sexual nature. Among 
 the birds these sounds take in a wide range, only a 
 few of them being connected with the sexual motive. 
 Thus, among our cocks and hens there are a score or 
 more of distinct notes or vocal signs which relate 
 to their social intercourse. Other species appear 
 to be even richer in these denotents of sympathetic 
 states of mind. No such wide range of expression 
 exists among the mammals imtU we attain to near 
 the summit of the series where, in the apes, that 
 range is large — ^yet hardly as great as among the 
 birds. 
 
 The mammalian series shows us much the same 
 
 process iu the evolution of the sympathies that we 
 
 find in the birds. In the mammals, however, there 
 
 is lacking the conditions of the nest which make 
 
 the family of the birds a most effective basis for 
 
 sympathetic culture. Although some of the suck- 
 10 
 
132 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 giving animals are in a way solitary, all, save a 
 few of the species, have either the habit of herding 
 or that of the permanent family. Even the great 
 beasts of prey, which have to range over a large 
 area for their subsistence, usually have mates and 
 young to which they day by day return. Thus, 
 nearly as much as the birds, the mammals have the 
 habit of association. They display that need of 
 contact with the fellows of their species which is a 
 mark of the higher life. 
 
 The birds and mammals alike exhibit, though in 
 diverse measures, a token of sympathy which is pe- 
 culiar to the higher vertebrates. They both are dis- 
 tinctly sportive, given to gambols which are clearly 
 like those which we see in children and which are 
 organized in the dance. These antics of the mam- 
 mals and birds are almost always social perform- 
 ances. They apparently indicate that the creature 
 recognises the companionship of its kindred and has 
 them in mind in its enjoyment. ISTothing of this na- 
 ture is visible in the lower realms of life. We find 
 there abundant evidence of the recognition of the 
 fellow-member of the colony or the species in the 
 sexual relations, in mutual labour or in combats, but 
 of sportive gambols, in the form so general if not 
 universal in the higher vertebrates, we discern 
 nothing. 
 
THE GROWTH OF SYMPATHY I33 
 
 As is the case with all the other motives of the 
 higher sort, that of sympathy, though exhihited 
 in the lower grades of life, commonly undergoes a 
 rapid development when we attaia to the grade of 
 man. It is true that in the lowest savages the range 
 and the strength of the sympathetic movements are 
 not clearly greater than they are among many of the 
 birds and some of the higher mammals. But among 
 men, even of the lowest estate, the existence of or- 
 dered speech, which enables them to go much fur- 
 ther ia the work of transmitting ideas than is pos- 
 sible when the communication is limited to mere 
 cries, makes a vast provision for the development of 
 associated understandings and of the sympathy that 
 goes therewith. While the expression of this mo- 
 tive is limited to sounds conveying only general 
 ideas, such as those of fear, joy, or satisfaction, 
 though the sense of companionship is fostered, there 
 is small chance that it will result in effective mutual 
 help. Speech, even ia its lowest forms, enables the 
 creature to present itself to its kindred in a way 
 that is likely not only to assure the sympathies but 
 to give direction to their action. We observe a 
 familiar instance of this in the growth of a child. 
 In its infancy it has no resource wherewith to seek 
 aid except its wail. This is very moving to the 
 emotions of the hearers, but tells little save the 
 
134 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 distress of the sufferer. When speech is gained the 
 creature is in a very much better position to com- 
 mand the effective aid of its elders. Thus, while 
 language may not directly, or at least immediately, 
 add much to the strength of the sympathetic mo- 
 tive, it greatly increases the effective value of this 
 bond of tmion between the members of any society. 
 
 When, with the help of speech, the ancient sym- 
 pathetic emotions begin their higher development in 
 man, we find almost at once a great extension made 
 in the basis of the mutual understandings and sym- 
 pathies. The lower forms base their affection for 
 one another on the attachment of parent and child, 
 or on the habits of the herd which recognises all of 
 the association as fellows and may yield obedience 
 to a leader. Very early in human society there 
 arose other interests to extend the range of sym- 
 pathy. The religious motive is among the first and 
 most distinctively human of these new develop- 
 ments. It affords a peculiar bond, one of very great 
 power, as it brings the ancient and deeply founded 
 instinct of fear into action and unites it with other 
 movements of the mind, so that the result is a keen- 
 er sense of comradeship. 
 
 Along with religion we may class organized 
 war as an aid to the excitement of sympathy. There 
 was, of course, unending fighting among the lower 
 
THE GROWTH OF SYMPATHY 135 
 
 animals, but little trace of common understanding or 
 of fellowship in their deeds. With man this exercise 
 becomes, by means of speech, so far ordered that 
 there is a sense of associated endeavour in such 
 actions. Among the primitive peoples this sense 
 of mutual work in war was undoubtedly a potent 
 agent in bringing men to a strong sense of kinship. 
 Its value was of the lowest grade in the series in 
 which it belongs, for, while it developed affection 
 for the fellows of the host, it tended then, as now, 
 to limit the range of sympathies. Like many an- 
 other feature of the primitive estate of man — as, for 
 instance, slavery — it had its time, has served its pur- 
 pose as a part of the scaffolding used in the con- 
 struction of society, and now is fitted to pass away. 
 The possession and the sense of property, 
 both essentially features of hiunan society, have in 
 certain ways been very effective in promoting the 
 development of sympathy, though, like war, it has 
 had at the same time a limiting effect on the range 
 of the emotion. The first effect of the property 
 sense is, of course, hedonistic, purely selfish; but, 
 more than any other influence, it has in a second- 
 ary way served to create a sense of the rights of 
 others, to make men put themselves in the place of 
 the neighbour. The very comer stone of human 
 society is an understanding of the privileges of the 
 
136 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 fellow-creature. It is clear that this sense has come 
 forth from the earliest of them — ^i. e., the right of 
 each man to his own possessions. In such ways as 
 these the conception of the kindred man, as like one's 
 self, has been greatly fostered hy the deyelopment of 
 social iQstitutions. It may be truly said that these 
 institutions have themselves been made possible by 
 sympathy, for they were founded on so much of it 
 as came to man from his lower kindred. But it is, 
 nevertheless, certain that they have been potent 
 agencies in extending and strengthening the bond 
 which unites the individuals of a society in one 
 whole. 
 
 It is hardly too much to say that the rational- 
 izing of the sympathies which has insensibly come 
 about among men has given those motives a dififer- 
 ent path of advance from that found in the lower 
 stages of their development. Among the brutes 
 they could be no more than emotions; while they 
 may remain in this primal state among men, the 
 obvious tendency is for them to be informed by 
 the intelligence and to rise to higher planes of 
 motive ajjd action. In fact, the culture of the in- 
 dividual man, or that of the society of which he 
 forms a part, may fairly be measured by the extent 
 to which this process has gone on. So far as the 
 ancient motives of ailection for the mate, the off- 
 
THE GROWTH OP SYMPATHY I37 
 
 spring, and tlie kind have qualified, and have heen 
 qualified by the understanding, the life, whether in- 
 dividual or social, is lifted in the scale of being. 
 
 It is a peculiar quality of the sympathy vrith a 
 fellow-being that it goes directly counter to self- 
 interest. From the point of view of individual prof- 
 it, hedonism is the fit state for a creature. It 
 should get every advantage for itself and extermi- 
 nate every other being which interferes with its im- 
 mediate interests. So far as sympathy demands a 
 share of nervous energy, even in mere feeling it is 
 personally improfitable. If it leads to acts of self- 
 sacrifice it goes directly against the principle of the 
 survival of the fittest. There is no doubt that the 
 care of ofEspring aids in the maintenance and exten- 
 sion of the kind, and that the willingness to fight 
 for the tribe helps the chances of all its members, 
 and so may be profitable to the gens and the species. 
 But where the sympathetic motive, as in the higher- 
 natured men, goes forth to all the life about it, we 
 can not explain the extension by selective processes. 
 It is in the unmediate sense quite unprofitable; it 
 takes from the giver and can not be imagined as 
 helping the species or the race in a sufficient meas- 
 ure to add to its chances of dominance. But the 
 process of expansion of the sympathies has gone on 
 apace among men. To the inherited interest in the 
 
138 THE INDIVIDlTAIi 
 
 kind there was at first added an interest in the unseen 
 realm. This at the beginniag of religion was little 
 more than fear, but as the plane of the thought rose 
 it became truly sympathetic, until in the higher 
 minds the love of the good alone is even as strong 
 as that for the child or the mate. In yet more ad- 
 vanced stages of this wonderful development the 
 affections extend beyond the original limitations of 
 the state or race to include all mankind, and yet 
 further to all living beings. In the highest spirits 
 who attain to the ideal goal of this advance the 
 emotion goes forth to the wider realm of Nature, all 
 things having a place ia the gamer of the enlarged 
 sympathetic intelligence, for in them the spirit of 
 love informs all their thoughts and is awakened by 
 all their perceptions. 
 
 The reader has doubtless noticed that no attempt 
 has been made to show what is the effect of the long 
 course of events, which has led to the union of the 
 sympathies and the intelligence, on the problem 
 of death. The meaning of the lesson is most likely 
 plain to him; it may be briefly told. The first 
 and most immediately important infiuence of the 
 sympathetic motive is to do for the mental life 
 what the egg, the lacteal system, and the placenta 
 have, in a measure, done for the physical, by unit- 
 ing all the members of a society in such a manner 
 
THE GROWTH OP SYMPATHY I39 
 
 that the isolation of the individual is, to a great 
 extent, oyercome. This is, in part, accomplished 
 by the helpful relations that grow out of sym- 
 pathy, by the sense that everywhere about us there 
 are others Uke ourselves who feel for and with 
 us. There is an evident distress which makes most 
 isolated animals miserable when they are with- 
 out contact with their kind. This sense of loneli- 
 ness is keener in the more sensitive man than in his 
 lower kindred. In part, the gain afforded by social 
 sympathy is due to the actual help, vast in amount, 
 which every member of a human society lends to his 
 feUows. At every turn it assuages the evils of his 
 separate estate: helping in his coming into the 
 world, helping in the stage of activity, guarding in 
 the decline and consoling in the final passage. 
 
 Great as are the blessings of sympathy in the 
 direct aid it gives in mitigating the recurrent ills 
 of the individual, in its time of activity, and in that 
 of death which parts it from its mates, they are of 
 small account in comparison with the secondary in- 
 fluences that it brings to bear on the conduct of 
 the mind it controls. By going forth to others with 
 all his strength the individual wins beyond himself. 
 He escapes from the prison which the sense of self 
 inevitably puts him into. Just so far as he sym- 
 pathetically goes forth to other personalities, to his 
 
140 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 fellows of whatsoever estate, to his God or to the 
 Nature about him, he is emancipated from selfhood. 
 Above all, from the fear of death that dogs the 
 steps of all those who live withia themselves. If a 
 man could but remain thus abroad from himself 
 he would go from life in the true euthanasia, parted 
 from himself before the separating stroke came. 
 
 In the ideals of men, even among those of a 
 primitive kind, we find that this understanding of 
 the value of the sympathetic emotions has been well 
 appreciated though its meaning has not been well 
 conceived. To take the lowest manifestation of the 
 understanding, that which is embodied in the death 
 of the faithful soldier. He is always pictured as 
 parting from life willingly, even joyfully, because of 
 his love of his people or of his cause. Undoubted- 
 ly the self-devotion bom of such sympathy affords 
 a cure for the worst sufferings that death brings, and 
 it awakens the beholders to a sense of what self- 
 sacrifice may do to elevate a man. Again, when the 
 sympathetic motive is religious it may, even more 
 effectively than the simpler heroic motive, separate 
 the man from himself so that torture unto death is 
 unable to cow the spirit. 
 
 Although the conspicuous instances of the 
 strength of the sympathetic emotions in taking 
 men out of themselves are to be seen in heroic 
 
THE GROWTH OF SYMPATHY 141 
 
 deaths, it is not in such events that their highest 
 value is really to be found. It is ia the paths of quiet 
 duty in well-ordered and placid societies that the 
 sympathetic sacrifices play the largest part in the 
 alleviation of the burdens which life brings to men. 
 All real social advance consists of gain in the altru- 
 istic motive. The advance might be measured, if 
 there were a gauge, by the extent to which men 
 dwell beyond themselves. 
 
 The foregoing considerations have made it plain 
 that the steadfast tendency of the advance in the 
 organic series is toward a union of individual lives 
 in such a manner that the gulf of death between 
 the generations may be, if not healed, at least so 
 bridged that the succeeding generation takes on 
 a goodly share of the profit that the preceding 
 one has won from its experience. The last and 
 highest of these devices is that of human society. 
 We have no need to describe this institution. Some 
 of its effects on the problem of death have been al- 
 ready noted. It is well, however, to consider the 
 matter more closely. Experiments of the social or- 
 der began in the lower realms of life. Nearly all 
 animals which have any considerable measure of in- 
 telligence are accustomed to dwell together. They 
 need social contact for their satisfaction, often for 
 their very existence. The greater number of spe- 
 
142 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 cies which are well known show some trace of an 
 order in their packs, herds, and iiocks. In certain of 
 them, as in the class of insects, the organization of a 
 society attains a remarkable, though rigid perfection. 
 In the ant colony we have an establishment which 
 may endure for ages, each creature giving his mite 
 to the activity of the state of which he is a part. In 
 its formal way, measured by the stability of the or- 
 ganization, these ant colonies surpass any results 
 which have been attained by men, for they may, so 
 perfect is the balance of their order, last for geo- 
 logic periods. They have, however, the peculiar 
 mechanical or automatic quality that belongs to all 
 the operations of the insect mind. 
 
 Human societies depend on the combination of 
 the sympathies and the deliberately contriving in- 
 telligence which may have been attained by the 
 vertebrates alone. From a certain point of view, 
 which commands but a small part of the field, they 
 appear to be the result of the hedonistic motives. So 
 our descriptions of the social order, which have un- 
 happily coloured the conception of it, commonly take 
 account only of what goes on under the control 
 of the impulses which lead men to seek to acquire 
 wealth. While this seeking is one of the most 
 ardent features in the social activities, it is a mis- 
 take to suppose that the gainful motives are those 
 
THE GROWTH OF SYMPATHY 143 
 
 which are most effective in shaping the aggregates 
 of man. If we could analyze the impulses which 
 lead them to the unending toil and care involved in 
 the pursuit of wealth, we should most likely find 
 that the purely selfish were much the less part of 
 the whole. Very little of the vast aggregate of la- 
 bour in our industrial societies has for its aim the 
 gratification of the purely individual desires of the 
 workers. The greater part of the gainful impulse 
 arises from the nobler motive of providing for 
 the present and future needs and comforts of others 
 who may be dependent on the labour. Much of it 
 comes from a desire to win a favourable opinion 
 from others. In fact, a society such as our own ex- 
 ists because its members are in large measure un- 
 selfish, because the outgoing of the sympathies has 
 already brought men far into the realm of self-devo- 
 tion, has released them in part from the ancient 
 evils of isolated individuality. 
 
 Thus, although one effect of the higher sensitive 
 life of our civilization has been to enhance the woe 
 of death by making existence the richer and men 
 more keenly sensible of its charms, there is a con- 
 trasted and counterbalancing influence in the ex- 
 tension of the spirit of self-devotion which leads 
 them not alone to forget themselves and their fate, 
 but to merge their interests in their kind. It is 
 
144 THE INDIVIDUAIi 
 
 likely that the burden of the individual upon him- 
 self is much less grievous in the best societies of to- 
 day than it has hitherto been. That such is the 
 case is pretty well shown by the tone of the litera- 
 ture. The note of despair, the cry as of the victim 
 before the altar, which has so rung in the past is lit- 
 tle heard now, except from those who are evidently 
 weaklings or are merely acting a part. The old sel- 
 fish humour appears to be giving place to a quality 
 of devotion in which, while there may not be as yet 
 much hope of a future, there is the calmness of 
 strong men who do not feel themselves or their fate 
 so keenly as the ancients did. 
 
 One of the helpful qualities of our civilized so- 
 cieties is that their institutional life in many and 
 varied ways serves to give men firm ground on 
 which to found their forthgoing sympathies. In 
 the primitive tribe there was no more than the im- 
 perfectly limited family, the gens, and such religion 
 as had been developed to which these emotions 
 could attach themselves. The development of the 
 family which came with the establishment of monog- 
 amy, and its ever-increasing freedom from pollu- 
 tion, has made the household the ark of a new cove- 
 nant among men. This gain in the home condition 
 is a matter of relatively modem times. It has come 
 about through the extension of the altruistic spirit. 
 
THE GROWTH OF SYMPATHY 145 
 
 So, too, the modem security of the city and the state 
 has afforded enduring associations very different in 
 their fitness to command the affection of their mem- 
 bers from the temporary and ever-menaced tribal 
 organizations. Religions have also gained in dig- 
 nity and permanence. Those who are members of 
 a common faith have something to which they may 
 cUng with a sense of safety that earlier times 
 denied. 
 
 Not only has civilization safeguarded the ancient 
 institutions of men, but it has given rise to a host 
 of new establishments such as were unknown in 
 the earlier forms of human associations. In every 
 high-grade modem society we find a great array of 
 these institutions such as do not exist in the savage 
 or barbaric state of man. There are business 
 houses, corporations of various kinds, all of which 
 are intended to have a life beyond that of the gen- 
 eration which conducts their affairs. There are so- 
 cieties and clubs designed for the pleasures or pro- 
 tection of their members. The churches are such 
 institutions in their quality — ^i. e., they have the 
 kind of permanence which men so hunger for as a 
 corrective of their individual short lives. Last of 
 all, there are the charitable and educational founda- 
 tions which provide for the highest grade of altruis- 
 tic devotion, which issues in well-devised work for 
 
146 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 the help of the living or of those yet imbom. 
 These institutions not only find their shelter within 
 the edifice of the commonwealth, they, in large part, 
 constitute that wonderful structure. Each of them 
 is like a tree in a great forest. It forces by its own 
 growth the upward growing of its neighbours, so 
 that they all rise together toward the sky. Beneath 
 their roof men may find a measure of peace in that 
 forgetfulness of self which is the goal to which, 
 unknowingly, they are striving. 
 
 It is this saving quality of society, this gift it 
 makes of institutional life, and not the mere wealth 
 or physical well-being which it promotes, that gives 
 it sanctity. The ancients saw in their churches 
 hallowed by the relics of saints and the presence of 
 their gods the most sacred places on earth. They 
 deemed them precious because they were sanctuaries 
 defended from all assaults. We see, if we clearly 
 discern the truth, that our societies are, or at least 
 are becoming, the true and larger refuges of men. 
 We see, moreover, that the master evil of the savage 
 inheritances of man, that of war, does not inflict 
 its worst ills in the death it brings to the youth 
 and hope of the state, or in the destruction of the 
 hard-won wealth of the community it ravages, but 
 in the overthrow or impoverishment of its institu- 
 tional life, in the lessened confidence in the safety 
 
THE GROWTH OP SYMPATHY 147 
 
 of families, of biisiness establishments, of all the 
 varied trusts and organized expectations which help 
 men out of themselves. By the ancient provision 
 of affection the losses of mere death may be at 
 least iu part healed; those which are written de- 
 spair are far more indelible. It requires genera- 
 tions for downtrodden people, such as those of Italy, 
 to develop a measure of confidence which may lead 
 them to the brave work of constructtag institutions. 
 Some of them, as, for instance, those of Sicily and 
 Greece, appear to have become almost incapable of 
 turning their considerable abilities again to such 
 use. , Their minds have lost the habit of such 
 deeds. They have perforce become perfectly con- 
 tent with a narrow round of momentary actions. 
 
 If we look upon the societies of our higher civili- 
 zations as the result of a series of endeavours which 
 have for their most important result the unification 
 of the individual with the whole, we not only see 
 the best of the good that they have attained, but we 
 are directed to the fit paths of further advance. Al- 
 though I propose to treat this matter iu a more ex- 
 tended way in the sequel, it is well to note here 
 that the basis of social advance is clearly to be 
 found in the development of our societies in the 
 ways in which the sympathies may be enlarged. 
 Spontaneously men have found this, for in all re- 
 
148 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 spects, except in the matter of formal politics, our 
 societies are tending in that direction. 
 
 As the development of the sympathetic motives 
 depends upon the means by which individuals may 
 communicate with one another and the interest 
 that leads to such communication, the followiag 
 chapter will be devoted to a brief consideration of 
 certain expressions of mutual appreciation. 
 
CHAPTEE VII 
 
 EXPBESSION OF THE INDIVIDUALITY 
 
 Among the lower groups of individualities — ^those 
 of the mechanical order, such as atoms, molecules, 
 and spheres — ^the dynamic reaction is always equal 
 to the corresponding action that comes from the 
 environment. The same law holds good in the or- 
 ganic realm: the bodies of the persons, being made 
 up of lower inorganic units, react in much the 
 same way as they would if they were not in a living 
 body. Gradually, ht)wever, ia a manner that we 
 can not trace, this maehinelike method of discharg- 
 ing the energy which is received from without 
 is in part transformed so that a portion of the im- 
 pulse sent in from the environment becomes con- 
 verted into intellectual work. In this psychic field 
 we find, in the way mental impression tends to give 
 rise to a corresponding expression, something that 
 reminds us of the principle that holds in inorganic 
 forms. At its simplest this is shown in the reflex 
 
 149 
 
150 , THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 action of the musdes on a particular stimulus; with 
 a more advanced stage by the attitudes of the body 
 which correspond to the several emotions; in its 
 fullest growth by the need of expressing those larger 
 and more continuous movements of the spirit which 
 give character to the individual life. 
 
 We may easily see, by watching our own lives or 
 those of others, that a man needs in some way to 
 set forth his inner life in an external form. This 
 is most commonly noticeable in children and among 
 other unadvanced people, when it is in a satisfy- 
 ing manner done by means of apparel, attitudes, or 
 manners. Dress indeed is the instinctive and uni- 
 versal means by which men gratify this desire for 
 externalizing themselves. All feel, though in vary- 
 ing measure, the satisfaction which this very human 
 method of setting one's self forth affords. So, too, 
 though less generally, our behaviour aifords gratifi- 
 cation, provided we feel that it rightly presents us 
 to ourselves as well as to others. For the higher 
 planes of thought we need other modes of extemali- 
 zation. The poet must sing, or the painter depict, 
 and so through the list of deeds, not only or main- 
 ly because the man will have some kind of profit 
 therefrom through the attention his neighbours 
 give him, but because he must in a way actualize 
 himself. 
 
EXPRESSION OF THE INDIVIDUALITY 161 
 
 It is an inadequate conception of human con- 
 duct to suppose that all creative work is done in 
 direct and sole reference to other persons and for 
 the gain that may be won from their esteem. That 
 motive doubtless enters for a very great value into 
 the complicated equations of impulses which guide 
 the lives of men. But, in my opinion, the larger part 
 of their work, from their dress to their most digni- 
 fied accomplishments, is primarily moved and mainly 
 shaped by the ancient and instiactive need of ex- 
 ternalizing the self. It is not improbable that this 
 impulse is due, at least ia part, to a natural desire 
 for the completion of a train of thought. Those 
 who are in any riianner engaged in forming concep- 
 tions which may be given actual shape — ^as ma- 
 chines, houses, essays, poems, or whatever it may b.e 
 that can be realized — ^know the curious relief which 
 comes to the mind when the idea is brought iato 
 the form in which it is beheld with the outer eyes. 
 Therein, indeed, is the pleasure of the creative mind 
 in its work, rather than in the fame or profit that 
 it may bring. 
 
 Tn our systems of education far too little atten- 
 tion has been devoted to the importance of expres- 
 sion as a means of inducing intellectual work, espe- 
 cially that of the higher order. It is fairly to be 
 said that the development of any form of production 
 
152 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 absolutely depends on the institution of the need 
 and habit of externalizing concepts. TJnless the 
 mind becomes habituated to this process of setting 
 itself forth in deeds, so that it seeks to shape its 
 thought in some external form, it will inevitably 
 lose whatever creative power it may have been heir 
 to. Without this habit, the person may never come 
 to know with what powers he may be endowed, for 
 the offerings of the constructive imagination are 
 but dimly presented to consciousness until the ex- 
 ternal building process is begun. 
 
 In considering the great question — in some re- 
 gards the greatest we now have to face — as to the 
 ways in which we may bring individual men to 
 the exercise of their full powers, it is most im- 
 portant to consider the part which the instinct of 
 representation has had in the development of the 
 mind. We see traces of this motive in the lower 
 animals. It is particularly evident among the 
 birds; and, in the form of gesture, it is well indi- 
 cated in the nearer kinsmen of mankind, the mon- 
 keys. Even the lowest men, however, show a far 
 greater need of such representation than any of 
 the brutes. They quickly and universally acquire 
 the resources of dress and manner. They soon 
 advance to the stage where song and the dance 
 serve the need. Along with these go the develop- 
 
EXPRESSION OF THE INDIVIDUALITY 153 
 
 ment of the plastic arts; and here and there literary 
 invention helps the abler minds. When we consider 
 these instinctive means by which men managed 
 to educate and enlarge their imaginations, and 
 compare that education with what our later civiliza- 
 tion has brought about, we see one of the evils of 
 our so-called culture. In our conditions there is 
 little chance for the individual to grow by the exer- 
 cise of any of his creative motives: he is restricted 
 to mere itnitationi. This problem of the relation 
 of the motive of expression to the development of 
 individuality is most interesting, but it can not be 
 more than mentioned here. 
 
 The extent to which persons are moved to rep- 
 resent themselves to their neighbours appears to 
 differ greatly among various peoples, and even 
 among the same folk in successive periods. Thus, 
 among the French the motives of self-presentation 
 and of appreciation appear to have been strong 
 throughout their history. Among the English, how- 
 ever, an originally rather retiring and unindicative 
 humour was, in the Tudor reigns, gradually altered 
 until their society became in the Elizabethan time 
 one of the most expressive that the world has ever 
 known. This is shown not only in their larger 
 literature and in their action, but perhaps best in 
 the letters of the men and women of that time. In 
 
164 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 these letters, notwithstanding the euphemism that 
 deforms them, the reader will find siagularly vigor- 
 ous and efEective setting forth of individual quality. 
 The people depict themselves and their neighbours in 
 a wonderfully definite way, so that we may set them 
 before our eyes more clearly than it is possible to do 
 with those of generations nearer our own time. It 
 is not improbable that the lessening of expressive- 
 ness of the English people after the close of the 
 Elizabethan reign was due to the extension of the 
 Puritan spirit, which was in part a revolt against the 
 singular individualism of the preceding time. In 
 that movement the ideals of conduct, which found 
 their fullest development among the Quakers, led to 
 a self-contained habit that has to this day marked 
 the English folk of all classes in an apparently per- 
 manent manner. 
 
 There are other instances of sudden changes in 
 the manner in which men have endeavoured to pre- 
 sent themselves to their fellows. Some of these, 
 as in the " Storm and Stress " period of German 
 literature, appear to have been essentially artificial, 
 mere intellectual fashions resembling those which 
 control dress or gesture. In such cases they are 
 but temporary and without much value to the stu- 
 dent of individuality. When, however, they are of 
 a permanent natirre, such as those above noted 
 
EXPRESSION OF THE INDIVIDUALITY 155 
 
 among the English folk, they have great importance 
 as indexes of the temper of peoples. They are very 
 difficult to discern and impossible to estimate, save 
 in a very general way. Yet, despite all their indefi- 
 niteness, they are among the very best indications as 
 to the nature and meaning of national life. 
 
 In man the field of expression, other than that 
 given by means of gesture, is limited to but a very 
 small portion of the surface of the body. Only a 
 part of what is commonly termed the face has any 
 distinct share in depicting the emotions. The field 
 is essentially confined to the area from just above 
 the eyebrows to the lower part of the chin, a dis- 
 tance not exceeding half a foot — the space is little 
 wider than the length of a line drawn across the 
 eyes — ^in all, perhaps not the fiftieth part of the 
 periphery of the normal adult. From this narrow 
 space we gather nearly all that our kind has to tell 
 us, save what is told in speech. What it reveals to 
 us is limited in scope, yet includes much that words 
 fail to convey, all indeed that makes the difference 
 between the spoken and the written word. The 
 remainder of the body is not without its appealing 
 power; yet the obdurate habit of the higher races — 
 a habit that increases with the advance of their 
 civilization — ^limits the use of all else than the 
 countenance, and reduces even its service to the 
 
156 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 utmost, so that what we find in the faces of men 
 is but a small part of what its features might tell 
 us. It is to speech alone that men are, under an 
 iastiactive guidance, coming to trust for the main- 
 tenance of their relations with their fellows. Here- 
 in lies the maia difficulty in the exercise of the 
 sympathetic motives. , We are limited to speech or 
 to the visible tokens that expression affords for 
 nearly all we learn of our neighbours. 
 
 Although spoken words may, by means of the 
 emotional tones that accompany them, give us much 
 concerning the state of mind of our fellow-men, it 
 affords at best an imperfect means of communica- 
 tion; for words are but signs that depend for their 
 significance on the interpretation which each out 
 of his own experience gives them. Shape them 
 into phrase as we may, so that the separate units 
 help to the fuller thought, they remain inadequate 
 to convey more than a part of the meaning we would 
 have them bear. The more individual the feeling 
 we seek to express, the greater the difficulty of the 
 transmission. With the advance in the richness 
 of its vocabulary, a language gains something ia its 
 power to depict the shades of thought; yet with 
 this advance comes an ever-increasing loss of clear- 
 ness and consequent risk of misapprehension of 
 meanings. It is evident that this condition is likely 
 
EXPRESSION OP THE INDIVIDUALITY I57 
 
 to set limits to speech as a means of intercourse, for 
 the reason that thought is less limited in growth 
 than this method of denoting it. It is therefore to 
 be reckoned that, do what we may to increase the 
 efiBciency of the modes of expression, the greater 
 spirits of the time to come are likely to be even 
 more solitary than in our own age. 
 
 Much has been written concerning the human 
 face, but so far as I have learned there is nothing in 
 these writings which would serve the inquirer in 
 the peculiar quest which he is here advised to make. 
 In my own essay in this matter I found it best to 
 begin by observing with some care the countenances 
 of the lower animals. In doing this the observer 
 wiU quickly find that his task is limited by the 
 fact that the face is effectively restricted to the 
 creatures of the vertebrate series. It is true that 
 among the articulates the head parts are not with- 
 out a quality akin to expression, and among the 
 true insects where this portion of the body is dis- 
 tinct from the rest of the frame it appears to be so 
 shaped as to make a definite emotional effect upon 
 the beholder. But these lower countenances have 
 not the true facial quality, for the reason that they 
 are invariable. They may be compared with masks 
 imposed upon the individual, with no immediate 
 relation to the state of mind of the bearer, and with 
 
158 THE IKDIVIDUAL 
 
 no means of denoting to his fello-ws tlie variations 
 of that state. It is interesting to observe that the 
 only clear approach to the human quality of counte- 
 nance that we find in. the invertebrates is among the 
 cephalopods, creatures which belong in the type 
 of Mollusca whence the backboned animals appear 
 to have been derived. In the higher cephalopods, 
 such as the squid and cuttlefishes, the head parts, 
 though composed of structures wholly unrelated in 
 origin to analogous parts in our own, have a look 
 that is curiously like that we observe in the lower 
 members of our own type. 
 
 As soon as the vertebrate series has attained the 
 first considerable upward step and has come into 
 possession of a head, we find that this structure is 
 formed of parts which in a general way lay down 
 the plan on which all subsequent advance is to be 
 worked out. There is a box to contain the braia, 
 and on its front part are placed eyes, mouth, and, it 
 may be, other organs of sense, so that the face is out- 
 lined for the subsequent history of the series. In 
 the fishes and thence upward through the reptiles, 
 batrachians, and birds the countenance has little if 
 any range of expression. It is hardly more indicative 
 of states of mind than are the head parts of in- 
 sects. Where there is any indication of emotions 
 it is commonly signified by movements of the body. 
 
EXPRESSION OF THE INDIVIDUALITY I59 
 
 Thus, among the birds, which are of all the lower 
 animals the most intensely moved by love, hate, or 
 fear, the attitude of the feathers or the expressive 
 motion of parts other than the face serve to set 
 forth the state of mind. 
 
 When the vertebrates attain to the level of the 
 suck-giving animals the face no longer has the rigid 
 quality which characterized it in the lower members 
 of the series. Scales and feathers are replaced by 
 hair and skin, beneath which lies a considerable 
 array of muscles, some of which quickly become 
 devoted to the uses of expression. They draw the 
 flexible parts about so that the face may indicate 
 rage, grief, and fear. It is doubtful if any other 
 emotions are distinctly set forth, except these, at 
 least until we attain to near our own kind, except in 
 the domesticated dog, a creature which man has 
 managed to make in many ways an image of him- 
 self. Even in these humanized brutes the range of 
 expression is due rather to the attitude of the body 
 than to any considerable play of the features. 
 There is, it is true, a look of the eye most human in 
 its quality not due to a movement of the muscles, 
 and as difficult to explain as in the like changes of 
 our own, that tells the spiritual kinship of the dogs 
 with men more perfectly than any mere play of the 
 features could set forth. 
 
160 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 Wlien we come near to man in his collateral 
 kinsmen, the monkeys, we find that the hairy cover- 
 ing of the head, which in the lower species limits 
 the possibility of the face, begins to be more irregu- 
 larly disposed than before, so that some parts of the 
 countenance are left bare, while the covering is 
 elsewhere thickened in a manner to heighten the 
 whole effect of the visage. It is here indeed that 
 we find the beginnings of the human countenance 
 as a part of the body; not as in the lower forms, 
 merging backwardly by insensible gradations with 
 the rest of the form, but set off from it by rather 
 distinct limits. Here, too, we observe nearly all 
 the more striking elements of expression that are to 
 be found in the human face, not only the primitive 
 emotions as there delineated, but merriment, sorrow, 
 expectation, and contentment are almost as effec- 
 tively told as in mankind. 
 
 If after this glance at the natural history of the 
 face we turn to its condition in our own species, we 
 observe that in the passage from the lower plane of 
 the anthropoids, such as the gorilla and chimpanzee, 
 to the most brutelike savages, no distinct formal 
 addition is made. Every feature, to the lesser de- 
 tails of the parts, is in common. Even in the re- 
 sulting expressions the variations, though great, are 
 not so in kind but in degree. Notwithstanding the 
 
EXPRESSION OP THE INDIVIDUALITY 161 
 
 fact that the human face has in its highest states an 
 indefinitely, we might abnost say an infinitely great- 
 er amount of expressional work to do than that of a 
 chimpanzee, it has really no additional means of 
 attaiuing the results which are to be accomplished. 
 This limitation is hut a part of the strange control 
 that has denied man any structural or functional 
 advance in his body, while it imposes on him a vast 
 array of needs and duties unknown to his lower 
 kindred. 
 
 The very scanty physical means whereby the 
 mind of man may tell its movements has led to 
 some curious effects. Among these we may pos- 
 sibly reckon the development of speech, which has 
 come among the most highly developed peoples to 
 be almost the only mode of conveying intelligence. 
 It has coincidently led to an utter neglect of the 
 countenance as an instrument of deliberately in- 
 tended expression. All cultivated people recognise 
 the power of the instrument, but with them its use 
 is limited by certain prejudices to situations where, 
 as in the actor's art, it is understood that it seeks 
 only to show us what men could set forth in their 
 faces were they socially free to do so. It would be 
 interesting to consider this curious position in some 
 detail, but we need note no more than the point 
 that, owing to the restraint, the faces of completely 
 
162 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 civilized people appear so far expressionless that 
 they are likely to be exceedingly uninteresting to 
 the novice in the study of the countenance. He 
 will therefore do hest to begin his observation by 
 noticing the faces of children where, though the 
 range of motions depicted is limited and the habit 
 of restraint is early acquired, or possibly inherited, 
 there is a measure of freedom in the delineation. 
 When he is accustomed to watch faces he may profit- 
 ably extend his study to adults of his own people. 
 He will then be prepared to see that these masked 
 visages are really less inscrutable than they might at 
 first sight appear. The signs of emotional movement 
 there set forth are subdued but not extinguished. 
 
 As soon as the observer has overcome the idle, 
 commonplace way of looking upon the faces of the 
 people about him and has advanced a way in the 
 royal art of reading something of what is therein, 
 he will find himself possessed by a singularly in- 
 tense interest in his task. There is indeed a 
 strange fascination in the study of faces. No other 
 objects in this world so deserve and commend at- 
 tention, yet there is none other in the visible realm 
 so completely neglected. "We look to them for the 
 most that the world has to bestow. We are in de- 
 spair if we can not behold them, yet our seeing is 
 done in an instinctive, trivial manner that is satis- 
 
EXPRESSION OP THE INDIVIDUALITY 163 
 
 fie'd with the fulfilment of the momentary need, ask- 
 ing no aeeoimt of the depths. If the student will 
 break past this wall of inherited habit that limits 
 the interest in faces to the momentary needs of hu- 
 man intercourse, he will most likely be led on until 
 indeed he may have to restrict his interest in this 
 inquiry lest he become controlled by it in an exces- 
 sive way. He may find that these countenances of 
 men tell him more than it is convenient to know 
 of his fellows, that he is too much moved by the 
 sense of sympathy with them which the understand-, 
 ing arouses. He is likely to come to the conclusion 
 that the common neglect of faces may be due, in part 
 at least, to the need of limiting the range of the 
 altruistic emotion. It is only the yery rare and large; 
 man who, by his nature, is fitted to go forth to many.; 
 To the observer of individuality the study of 
 faces affords a fit crown to his inquiries. He sees" 
 in them the summit, so far as we can discern, of the 
 forces of the ages that have tended to build these, 
 isolated complex beings which take from the past, 
 act in the present, and send, on to the future the 
 wonderful harvest of experience; each in itself at. 
 once perfectly separated, absolutely unique, but knit 
 to all others by the power of exchanging influences 
 by which power their ancestors have developed from, 
 
 the lowest estate to the station of man. 
 
 12 • . ' 
 
CHAPTEE VIII 
 
 APPBECIATION OF OTHEB INDrVIDTJALITT 
 
 The measure of the appreciation of the individ- 
 ual by his fellows in a general way increases with 
 the advance in intellectual power. At first among 
 the lower animals this appreciation is of the mate 
 alone; with a gain in mental power, it extends 
 to the progeny. Further on and up it goes forth 
 to the herd or tribe or even to the kindred of the 
 species. The obvious tendency of human develop- 
 ment is steadily to augment the value of the im- 
 pression which men make on one another. If we 
 could contrive to ascertain the average intensity of 
 this effect we would thereby obtain the best possible 
 measure of the relative moral station of different 
 civilizations. 
 
 Although the result of the civilizing process is 
 
 on the whole to make men more keenly conscious 
 
 of their neighbours, in part for the reason that they 
 
 thereby become helpfully dependent on one another 
 
 104 
 
APPRECIATION OF OTHER INDIVIDUALITY 165 
 
 in more and more varied ways, there are certain 
 influences which are- developed ia complicated so- 
 cieties which tend to limit the mutual appreciation 
 of its members. Thus, the caste system iu any of 
 its varied forms is an effective means — we might al- 
 most say a contrivance — ^for restricting the impres- 
 sion which persons should make on one another. So, 
 too, in our crowded communities, the impossibility 
 of attending to more than a few of them breeds a 
 habit of neglecting the natural claim our fellows 
 make upon our minds. Persons accustomed to 
 dwell in associations where it is possible to obey the 
 instinctive impulse to regard those with whom they 
 come iu contact, are therefore distressed when they 
 move about in a crowded city. They have to give 
 over the ancient and admirable custom of recognis- 
 ing each of the bipeds as one of their own kind, 
 entitled to some measure of sympathetic attention, 
 and in self-defence to regard them as mere moving 
 things. 
 
 It is interesting to note the gradations in the 
 appreciation of the other individual, and to observe 
 how far they relate to the natural history of the 
 process by which the person has become appreci- 
 ated by his kind. First and by far the strongest 
 of the presentations of the other is that brought 
 about by the excitation of the intelligence arising 
 
166 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 from a combination of its powers with the sexual 
 motive in what we term love. There is no douht 
 that through this connection of the most primitive 
 impulse with the higher mind the strongest and 
 more complete sense of the other is attained. It is 
 due to the fact that the sympathetic motive here at 
 work is the most ancient and deeply seated of aU we 
 inherit. It goes back for its origin to the very 
 foundations of life. 
 
 Only less intense in its power of presentation 
 of the individual is the affection of the parent, par- 
 ticularly that of the mother, for the child. This, 
 too, is an old, long-founded motive; but it dates not 
 so far back in the history of life as the sexual im- 
 pulse, and on this account perhaps is of less domi- 
 nant value. The motives that lead to friendships 
 had their foundations laid far later than the primal 
 impulses before noted, and their effectiveness in di- 
 recting the attention to the neighbour is corre- 
 spondingly less strong. When we come to the latest 
 form of altruism — ^that which is devoted to men as 
 men, quite without reference to other and nearer 
 relations — we find the motive inconstant and of 
 little intensity. Save in the very few, it is as yet 
 imperfectly developed. 
 
 In looking forward to the future development of 
 the attention of persons to one another, it is pos- 
 
APPRECIATION OP OTHER INDIVIDUALITY 167 
 
 sible to find some guidance from the evidence of 
 history. It is in the first place clear that the pres- 
 entation effected by the sexual desires is in a gen- 
 eral way, with the advance of mankind, steadfastly 
 becoming ennobled. It may be in our day less in- 
 tense than in earlier times, but the change, if it has 
 occurred, has been attended by a distinct enlarge- 
 ment of motives that enter into the plexus that 
 constitutes love. There is reason for the belief 
 that lovers are really in a large sense more to one 
 another ia our time than they were in that when 
 their emotions were set forth in a more passionate 
 manner. A wider appreciation of human relations 
 has served here, as elsewhere, to alter modes of ex- 
 pression without in any way diminishing the im- 
 pulses which are involved in the actions. 
 
 In the relations of parent and child we note the 
 same sobering effect of enlarged understanding 
 which is to be observed in love between men and 
 women. If we would find the primitive turbulent 
 form of that affection which is characteristic of the 
 species, we will have to seek it among aboriginal folk. 
 Civilization with its unproved knowledge has made 
 the normal family much less picturesque than 
 it was of old; but it has given the association a 
 value which it could not have when it rested on the 
 ancient instincts alone. The child is no longer a 
 
168 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 mere beloved possession, it is a great responsibility 
 as well, and the gravity thereof is ever enhancing 
 •with the increase of our knowledge. There is no 
 less love of mother and father for their offspring, 
 but there is much more of thought in the relation 
 than of old. 
 
 The only relation depending upon the presenta- 
 tion of the individual to his fellows which appears 
 to be undergoing a change that can be counted as 
 for the worse is _ that of friendship. It appears 
 probable that friendships of the ancient type are 
 less common and of a less devoted nature than in 
 earlier centuries; moreover, that our conditions are 
 steadfastly making that relation even less necessary 
 to the lives of men. There are several reasons for 
 this, none of which are unsatisfactory to the philan- 
 thropist. In the first place the companionship of 
 the family — of man and wife, of parent and child — 
 has in our societies a place altogether above that 
 attained in earlier times. The ancient despot of a 
 household rarely won friendship beneath his roof. 
 Even if he were the most gracious of men the 
 shadow of his power stood between him and his sub- 
 jects. He therefore had to go abroad for associa- 
 tions which should have that equality of rights and 
 obligations which alone affords the foundation of 
 true friendship. Again, the diffusion of interest. 
 
APPRECIATION OF OTHER INDIVIDUALITY 169 
 
 which has served to bring about a more sympathetic 
 relation of all the members of a community to one 
 another, probably has operated to lessen the meas- 
 ure of affection between individuals beyond the 
 family limits. Accepting, as we do, the essential 
 kiaship of all the people about us, going forth to 
 men in general in a way unknown in earlier cen- 
 turies, there is a diminished need for intense friend- 
 ships of the type we find described in the literature 
 of earlier times. The change accompanies the 
 marked diffusion of interests among cultivated peo- 
 ple, which is an eminent characteristic of our age. 
 It is a matter of much practical importance 
 that we should understand the essential difficulty 
 we have to encounter in our efforts to comprehend 
 the nature of our neighbours. The effect of cus- 
 tom in this perennial task — as in all other like ex- 
 periences — ^is to develop a commonplace state of 
 mind which leads us to accept others of our kind 
 as mere duplications of ourselves. Our conscious- 
 ness, happily for our comfort, but, as we know, most 
 falsely, presents us to ourselves as simple beings of 
 the moment, with no more complication than exists 
 in the material world about us. If we could look 
 into the depths of our nature, into the ages of its 
 history, and the vast store of inheritances mani- 
 fested and concealed that go to make up the com- 
 
170 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 ■plex, the gpeetaele would be overwhelming. It is 
 therefore well that we see no more than we do 
 into the depths of our nature, and that we are 
 even more limited in our knowledge of our fel- 
 low-men. 
 
 The first step in our effort to understand our 
 kind should lead toward the recognition of the pro- 
 found iadividuality of each of its members. To 
 attain this it is necessary to look well to the funda- 
 'mental postulate of all our social intercourse, which 
 is that of the essential likeness of men: that out 
 •neighbour is in effect ourselves in another body. 
 There is perhaps no other of the necessary assump- 
 tions on which we found our common life that con- 
 tains at once so much of truth and of error. In the 
 prehuman stages of our series, at least among the 
 simpler animals, this instinctive claim as to the kin- 
 ship of the neighbour was to a great degree valid. 
 But with the advance in the intellectual complica- 
 tion, which we observe in the higher mammals, even 
 long before the advent of man, this likeness of men- 
 tal quality begins rapidly to diminish. In our own 
 species the body of intellectual inheritances and 
 the multitude of their interactions is vastly beyond 
 what it is in our lower kindred, so that the individ- 
 ual of our estate is parted from his mates in a meas- 
 ure that is in no wise indicated by the peculiarities 
 
APPRECIATIOIT OF OTHER INDIVIDUALITY 171 
 
 of his aspect. For while men differ from one an- 
 other in hody in a far greater measure than any 
 other species of mammals, these physical differences 
 are trifling as compared with the spiritual. If we 
 -could contrive to see the minds of men as we behold 
 their frames, the creatures would probably appear 
 to us as diverse as the most widely separated or- 
 ganic forms. 
 
 The spontaneous assumption we make as to the 
 essential likeness of men is doubtless founded on 
 the recognition of the fact that in all the simpler 
 and more important relations of the individual, like 
 experience leads to reactions generally similar to 
 our own under like conditions. Because they 
 laugh, or weep, or are vexed where we are thus 
 affected, we conceive that they feel just as we do. 
 This -judgment is instinctive; it is the foundation 
 of the best the world gives us; it must be taken as 
 true. At the same time it should not blind us to 
 the fact that the proof of correspondence ia what 
 is behind the acts is most imperfect, and that this 
 proof relates only to a very limited part of the 
 nature of the being, for the greater part of its 
 nature lies in fields where this method of compari- 
 son with ourselves can not be effected. It is not 
 unlikely that the instinctive postulation of the kins- 
 man as ourselves in another form is an inherited 
 
172 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 notion, coming to us with the great store that has 
 been transmitted from the lower stages of life where 
 it was nearer to the truth than it is in our present 
 stage of existence. 
 
 If we approach the question as to the individual- 
 ity of human quality with open eyes, we soon see 
 reason to qualify the judgment to which our fore- 
 running sympathies lead us. In the lowlier plane of 
 thought and action, in all that relates to man as a 
 mere intelligent animal, and in most that is evident 
 in the mere savage, the likeness is evidently near 
 enough for all the uses of society which is founded 
 on these simpler features of man's nature. But as 
 we rise to higher levels of the iatelUgence, the effort 
 to win sympathetic contact becomes more and more 
 difficult, until the detachment becomes so complete 
 that each being has, perforce, to dwell apart from 
 its kind, with no more consolation than what is af- 
 forded by a vague sense that others must surely 
 feel even as he does. Although language, gesture, 
 and that marvellous instrument of expression the 
 face, may do much to set him forth to his fellows, 
 the capacities which part him from them teU him 
 that the separation is complete and in no wise to be 
 avoided. He learns that the sympathies can help 
 him only in the ancient relations where the practice 
 of ages gives to the touch of hand or tone of voice 
 
APPRECIATION OF OTHER INDIVIDUALITY 173 
 
 the power to bring the blessed sense of oneness with 
 the neighbour. 
 
 Perhaps the surest way to a clear recognition of 
 the essential mystery of the individual man is to 
 note the instances in which the greatest have lived 
 among their fellows without recognition, efEec- 
 tively hidden while they lived by this garb of a com- 
 mon humanity, not to be revealed imtil the mas- 
 querade was oyer. The man who, more than any 
 other, has shaped learning and set the paths in 
 which it should go onward for twenty-four centu- 
 ries was, to those who knew him? "the vaiu and 
 chattering little Aristotle"; and the Greatest that 
 has dwelt in this world was, to the understandiug 
 of educated Eomans, but a fanatical peasant who 
 disturbed the peace of Jerusalem. It is this essen- 
 tial isolation of the higher qualities of the man 
 which makes the prophet without honour in his own 
 country or time. The more truly the prophet, the 
 surer he is to be parted from his people. It is only 
 when his grave has served as a stepping-stone that 
 they attain a station where they can sympathize 
 with him. 
 
 Something of the loneliness of the prophet be- 
 longs in the life of every man who rises ever so little 
 above the simplest round of human cares and com- 
 forts. Whenever tempted by the deeps he ventures 
 
174 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 beyond the primitive domestic fold, he is at once 
 parted from his comrades. Necessarily alone, he 
 must for his protection seek an ideal sympathy with 
 the unseen. So it comes about that a new kind of 
 affection is developed — one that does not concern 
 the knowable fellow-being, but the iuvisible mate — 
 the ideal of the kind, the state, the divine, whereso- 
 ever the spirit may find it. Those who journey far 
 on this way are in. the end fortunate, in that their 
 new devotions come at last to include the old, giv- 
 ing to the homely things of the common life a 
 dignity and largeness which lift it to the higher 
 realm. Most men, however, do not attain this re- 
 conciliation. For their more enlarged existence 
 they have to dwell apart in their individual realm 
 of hope and fancy. In various ways they may seek 
 to express their feelings to those who are about 
 them. They may, after the manner of poets, make 
 a profession of their feelings and so win bread or 
 fame from their attempts to disclose themselves; 
 but the essential quality of their inner life remains 
 remote and really unexpressed by such action. Who 
 supposes that Shakespeare was ever really known to 
 his best friends? It is indeed to the inevitable 
 isolation of such a genius that we may attribute the 
 doubts that beset many people as to the authority 
 of the works commonly ascribed to him. They ask 
 
APPRECIATION OF OTHER INDIVIDUALITY 175 
 
 why such, power was not shown in his aspect, in hia 
 face, and in his ordinary contact with men. The 
 answer is that the features and customary actions 
 of men have been shaped for the uses of the com- 
 mon ancient life. The newer and seldom spirit has 
 no such effective means of presenting itself to our 
 eyes. For its use it has words alone which fit the 
 need imperfectly and ia very limited ways. So it 
 is that the Stagirite seemed vain and chattering, 
 and the Christ, to all save the few, a poor fanatic 
 who might conveniently be swept away. 
 
 The larger view as to the nature of the iadivid- 
 ual man to which we are brought by a study of his 
 conditions may seem at first sight to limit the range 
 of sympathy for our fellows. Even a little experi- 
 ence will show that this is far from being the case. 
 About the most effective bar to the altruistic move- 
 ment of the spirit is to be found in the unstimu- 
 lating acceptance of the kiadred as mere repetitions 
 of ourselves. Thus considered they appear covered 
 with that dust of the commonplace which hides 
 from us the splendour of this world. When we 
 come to see them not mere other selves, but as be- 
 ings, each moving in its own orbit, inevitably and 
 forever alone, yet needing and seeking all the cheer 
 that we can send to them across the dreadful void, 
 we find in this larger understanding the source 
 
176 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 of a deeper love than we have known before — a love 
 that is mingled with the reverence the ancients gave 
 to their gods, which our better knowledge shows to 
 be the due of all men, even the himiblest. 
 
 There is no foundation for enduring affection 
 so sure as dignity. Therefore, all we can see of the 
 real splendour of the individual helps to affirm the 
 bond that unites us to him. 
 
 When the full meaning of the individual life 
 comes to be adequately conceived, we may expect 
 to see a new and higher order of human relations 
 based on that better understanding. There is no 
 reason, however, to believe that this gain in knowl- 
 edge will in any measure change or diminish the 
 ancient accents of the sympathies. Men will, as of 
 old, be nearest to one another in those parts of their 
 nature where the inherited instincts most move 
 them to union, and where the instinctive means 
 of expression provide the means of intercourse. 
 The love of parent for child, of lovers for each 
 other, of men for their institutions, are unshak- 
 ably founded, and no extensions of motive can do 
 more than magnify their value. But beyond the 
 region of the simpler relations, where the experience 
 of the ages has made everything familiar, and all 
 too commonplace, we are to learn that there is a 
 vast realm of the other and remoter individuality. 
 
APPRECIATION OP OTHER INDIVIDUALITY 177 
 
 mostly unknown to its possessor, and absolutely 
 parted from his fellow-beings, however near they 
 may be. As time goes on, and the arts of setting 
 ourselves forth are bettered, we shall doubtless gaia 
 in the capacity to draw near to our mates, in those 
 portions of our natures that are not now vivified by 
 such contact. All the modes of literary expression 
 lead toward this good end of bringing together the 
 men who would else have remained remote from the 
 influences of sympathy. Yet the relief that can be 
 hoped for ia the future from the growth ia the 
 means of passing the gulf is not great. Thirty cen- 
 turies have given little or nothing of gain in the way 
 of speech, written or spoken. For in such work no 
 man of to-day has done better than he who wrote 
 the story of Job. In gesture and the related sculp- 
 ture we teU less than the masters of old; in paint- 
 ing hardly more. In music alone has the last thou- 
 sand years helped men to express themselves. There, 
 indeed, is a most substantial gain, one of which the 
 possibilities are as yet by no means exhausted. 
 Something of further advance may be won in this 
 endeavour to convey a knowledge of our feelings in 
 the remoter experiences of the mind through the 
 statement of scientific concepts. As commonly 
 understood, these appreciations of nature are sup- 
 posed to be purely rational, and thus to lie beyond 
 
1Y8 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 the sympathetic field. Such indeed is the case so- 
 long as they are unfamiliar and therefore with dif- 
 ficulty grasped, requiring for the process the vigor- 
 ous attention of the mind to the logical order alone. 
 But when the new truths become familiar they 
 will begin to have an emotional content, or at least 
 be nearly, if not spontaneously, linked with feeling. 
 If such a union should be established it may come 
 about that through mutual knowledge men may gain 
 a fairer means of union. Something of this gain 
 has already been won, and we may hope for the 
 time when far more of it will be at the service 
 of man. 
 
 While it may interest us to speculate as to the. 
 betterment of the means by which the void between 
 human individuals may be here and there bridged 
 over, we can not fail to see that it is in the very 
 nature of these units of all degrees to be parted 
 from all others, and that the measure of this separa- 
 tion increases at each stage of advance in the or- 
 ganization in something like a geometric ratio. 
 When we attain to the station of man we find a crea- 
 ture in effect infinitely more isolated than the atom., 
 Moreover, every influence that makes for culture, 
 reacting on the inherited complex of man by carry- 
 ing him further into the field of individuality, serves 
 to increase this feature of his life. Thus there 
 
APPEECIATION OF OTHER INDIVIDUALITY 1Y9 
 
 seems to be no chance that the creatxire will ever be 
 made effectively nearer to others of his kind, but 
 rather that he will have to find his final comfort in 
 a sense of reconciliation with the Supreme. To 
 that end science and religion alike lead. 
 
 In the field of practice in human relations a 
 sound view as to the nature and meaning of individ- 
 uality may help us to a larger method of dealing 
 with ourselves and our fellow-men. It is not to be 
 expected that those of to-day or of the near future 
 win be able to pin the story of the new concept on 
 their sleeves and make it an ever-present guide of 
 conduct. Such is not the ready way in which learn- 
 ing, however well transmitted, acts on the minds of 
 our kind. The order of the influences which de- 
 termine the intercourse of men is so compact and 
 fixed that there is scant place for the newcomers. 
 If such arise, it is slowly and by a difficult process 
 of displacing the veterans of the host. 
 
 To go but a little way into the large problems 
 of morals which this view of the mind opens, it may 
 be said that the first rule for conduct that it indi- 
 cates concerns the relation of the men to them- 
 selves. It is evident that when men come to recog- 
 nise that they are not merely the bit of mind stuff 
 which is revealed by the tiny light of consciousness, 
 
 but that each is a great realm that has almost im- 
 13 
 
180 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 limited extension into the past, and like possibilities 
 of unboundedness in the future, they will respect 
 themselves the more for the better understanding. 
 Such gain in dignity will be a most precious acquisi- 
 tion; for, as before remarked, of aU the ordinary ills 
 of mankind, those arisiag from personal under- 
 valuing are the most ineradicable. So, too, in the 
 social relations, all that makes for a high conception 
 of the fellow-men serves to better the circumstances 
 of our contact with them by making us feel the no- 
 bility of the neighbour and the essential majesty 
 that is behiud his commonplace aspect. Nearly all 
 the value of life comes from the esteem in which we 
 hold our fellow-men: it is indeed but the reflection 
 of our judgment of what we are. If they seem 
 but mean trifles, then we can be no more; if they 
 appear to us august, we rise to a like station. There- 
 fore, at the foundation of all morality lies the stand- 
 ard by which we measure ourselves in measuring 
 others. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that any one of us 
 can take with him into his daily contact with 
 people the views which are here urged as to the mys- 
 teries and splendours of the individual man. The 
 -commonplace spirit of life has us, perhaps happily, 
 so well in hand that, picture the deeper truths as we 
 may, the next person we meet will present himself 
 
APPRECIATION OF OTHER INDIVIDUALITY 181 
 
 in the familiar shape of a common mortal. But 
 much reflection on these matters will induce some 
 change in this habitual inattention to all but the 
 visible presence, so that in time the observer will 
 find that he sees further and deeper than he did 
 before. Especially in the ordiuary crises of life, 
 when those with whom we are associated claim our 
 special attention, wiU it be found easily possible to 
 turn our philosophy to account. We may thus have 
 practice in bettering the art of intercourse, by hold- 
 ing fast to the knowledge which should clear away 
 what is cheap and brutal in our judgment of the 
 neighbour. By such wholesome lessons we may 
 hope to break down the ancient evils of the modes 
 of contact with our fellows — ^those habitual states 
 of mind which were developed in the ignorance of 
 our lower life — ^thereby giving the sympathetic mo- 
 tives a chance to do their appointed work. 
 
 I am tempted to go one step further in this ex- 
 cursion, and to note once again that those who would 
 better their appreciation of individual men will do 
 well to study their faces. At first this advice may 
 seem to be more than unnecessary — ^it may, indeed, 
 appear preposterous; for what do men know, if it be 
 not the countenances of their kind? From the time 
 we begin to see that of our mother to the moment we 
 die, our lives are spent in such regarding. Yet, if I 
 
182 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 may trust my own experience, and what I can dis- 
 cern of others, we do not really attend to this source 
 of revelation, and fail to win its true value. Here, 
 as elsewhere, custom has bred ta us the habit of 
 doing our task with the least possible expenditure of 
 effort, and of going no further than we are impelled 
 by need — except it be from affection, we look for no 
 more in. the face than we have to know for the mo- 
 mentary quest. Even that little we seek in an 
 instinctive manner, and not with any effort to de- 
 velop skill in the most important art of reading the 
 signs of men. Thus, although the face tells only a 
 small part of the story of the individual, we fail to 
 make any considerable use of what it sets forth, and 
 so lose one of the ways of extending our sympathetic 
 understanding with our fellows. 
 
 In all the estimates we have to make in the field 
 of duty the value we set upon the individuality 
 of our fellows enters into the reckoning. It is 
 the base from which we make all our determina- 
 tions as to the conduct of life. From it we learn 
 the possible heights and depths of human nature. 
 In the ordinary commonplace way of looking at 
 our companions, a way that has been affirmed by 
 ages of experience, we conceive them as essentially 
 like ourselves. This conception is, so far as it 
 relates to the essentials, manifestly true. It is 
 
APPRECIATION OF OTHER INDIVIDUALITY 183 
 
 indeed most important that the first instinctive im- 
 pression which the neighbour gives us should be 
 of this likeness, for on it is founded all our personal 
 sympathies. Up to our present station iu the devel- 
 opment of the social relations, the higher powers 
 of the mind have had little share in that process. 
 It is now time that we should enter on another and 
 more elevated plane of these emotions, one where 
 the understanding as to the nature of individuality 
 may well show us that the kinsman is much more 
 than one's self; that along with the comforting 
 identities there exist diversities which part him 
 from us as by the spaces of the stars, making a 
 perfect union impossible, but affording an end- 
 less opportunity for advances toward that unattain- 
 able end. 
 
 At first sight this idea of the solitariness of the 
 individual may seem to oppose a barrier to the ex- 
 tension of the altruistic motive. What reason 
 should we have for seeking the friendly union if at 
 the outset we have to assume that such a union, in 
 any approach to completeness, is impossible? Let 
 us, however, remember that all the real goals are 
 not to be won. Complete learning, perfect peace, the 
 utmost development of our abilities, or the ends we 
 seek in the ways of religion, are all confessedly un- 
 attainable. They are noble for the reason that 
 
184 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 they lie away in the infinite realm and have never 
 been grazed by the chariot wheels. So, too, we may 
 expect it to be with our friendships and nearer affec- 
 tions. When they are enlarged by the better under- 
 standing they will have a more spacious quality than 
 before. Lovers and friends will hold none the less 
 firmly for knowing that, near as they are to one an- 
 other in the elementary human qualities, they are 
 inevitably separated by the diversity of their further 
 natures. We may indeed hope that through this 
 enlarged sense of the person, of the wonderfulness 
 of its coming through the ages, the pathetic dig- 
 nity of its isolation, and the swift going to the dark 
 realm, will do much to clear away those ancient ills 
 of intercourse which arise from the excessive judg- 
 ment of others by ourselves. 
 
 Beyond the immediate discernible profit which 
 may come from a better recognition of the nature 
 of the person, we may well reckon on other and 
 more far-reaching gains which time will bring to 
 those of the hereafter who shall more fully share in 
 the wider view. We of this age are hindered by 
 the traditions, in their controlling power like in- 
 stincts, that have been handed down to us by our 
 ancestors and are inwoven in our social concepts. 
 They of the later age, we may hope, are to dwell in 
 the understanding that every person is not only 
 
APPRECIATION OP OTHER INDIVIDUALITY 185 
 
 hedged about with divinity, but is in himself essen- 
 tially divine in his isolation. 
 
 The surest gain that can come from a better 
 knowledge of the nature of the individual will be 
 found in a truer estimate of our own value. Taking 
 themselves as men commonly do for no more than 
 the trifling part of the self that appears in the 
 field of consciousness, with no motive of train- 
 ing impelling them to explorations of their per- 
 sonal realm, they almost inevitably come to a 
 mean conception of their selfhood. While that 
 humility which rests upon broad knowledge and 
 is affirmed by high ideals may be helpful, self- 
 ■ contempt due to ignorance is the most harmful 
 of all our misconceptions. To it is due more of 
 the baseness of men than is caused by all their 
 passions. When it becomes habitual, as is the 
 case with most who have lost their youthful confi- 
 dence, there is no longer hope of achievement or 
 of other than formal enforced virtue. All that our 
 societies have gained has been won by men who saw 
 beyond the bounds which limit the vision of their 
 fellows and have striven to actualize their enlarged 
 views. Not one in a hundred attain to such vision. 
 Not one in a thousand of those so blessed see in 
 any long perspectives, for the reason that they 
 can not look beyond the mere rushlight that the 
 
186 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 ordinary understanding of a man concerning his 
 nature sheds on his personality. 
 
 So long as men take themselves as accidents, 
 with no past beyond the limits that generation sets 
 to them, they can have no basis other than their en- 
 thusiasm or the blind faith it breeds for any exalted 
 conception of their place in Nature. Coming upon 
 minds thus uninformed, the revelations of physical 
 science as to the vast spaces, the interminable ages, 
 and the mechanical order of the natural universe, 
 serve only to appal. But if they can be brought to 
 see that they are themselves a part — ^the most ac- 
 complished part — of the whole mechanism, that 
 what has been doing in the eons since the matter 
 of the universe began to gather in the spheres has 
 steadfastly worked for their creation, then indeed 
 they will feel that the realm, is their mother and 
 that fear of it is a shame. 
 
 It must not be supposed that this state of mind 
 can be gained by mere knowledge, by the blind ac- 
 ceptance of the teacher's statements, or even by the 
 fullest learning. If won at all, it is at the price of 
 much reflection on the sequences of action that have 
 served to bring the individual of our estate by 
 means of an infinite succession of parentage from 
 the lowliest atomic to the passing stage to which we 
 have attained. It is by the exercise of the con- 
 
APPRECIATION OP OTHER INDIVIDUALITY 187 
 
 struetive meditative imagiaation, which has given 
 us all the greater revelations of science as well as 
 literature, that we may attain to this crowning result 
 of understanding. It is hy the exercise of this 
 power alone that men may come to behold their true 
 place in Nature. 
 
CHAPTEE IX 
 
 FEAR AND VALOUR 
 
 We have now to consider the natural history of 
 two contrasted motives which have necessarily had 
 much to do with the attitude of men toward death — 
 motives, indeed, which aflEord the primitive impulses 
 that have mainly determined the instinctive and 
 traditional attitude of men concerning this crisis. 
 Those motives are fear and valour. 
 
 Fear is evidently the most permanent of all the 
 emotions in the animal nature. The sexual desires 
 and himger may at times be stronger; but they 
 are temporary or intermittent, while fear is, from 
 birth to death, ever ready to spring into the com- 
 mand of the creature. The universality and activity 
 of fear in all animals which have enough intelli- 
 gence to appreciate the relations of their surround- 
 ings to themselves is well accounted for by the 
 theory of natural selection, though on this as on 
 other cases it will not explain the origin of the 
 188 
 
FEAR AND VALOUR 189 
 
 motive. Here, as elsewhere, it is seen to be compe- 
 tent to nurture the seed, but not to create it. 
 
 It is, as we have seen, in the nature of an indi- 
 vidual to be assailed by its environment. The most 
 of its gains and losses come alike from that field. 
 It has ever to apprehend assault that may bring pain 
 or death. Hence, those creatures which are most 
 fearful, up to the point where they may expend a 
 destructive amount of activity in fleeing, are the 
 most likely to escape from danger, and in conse- 
 quence to survive. Their offspring will inherit a 
 measure of their timidity, so that the motive may 
 be further accumulated by selection. Thus, the 
 work has gone on until all the intelligent species are 
 quick to fear — a condition which has proved advan- 
 tageous to them; it indeed accounts in most cases 
 for their survival. Even the greater beasts of prey, 
 those species such as the lion and the tiger, are, 
 when not enraged, very sensitive to fear; so, too, 
 the largest of the mammals, the elephants and the 
 whales, which we might suppose free from dread, are 
 ever watching for danger. 
 
 It is hardly too much to say that fear has been 
 the great quickener of the intelligence — ^the most 
 effective spur to awaken the mind, bringing it to a 
 sense of the world about it. The amount of dis- 
 cernment necessary to find the food, or the mate, is 
 
190 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 limited, calling for few decisions, and those helped 
 by the senses in an effective manner. But the judg- 
 ments that fear requires are incessant. They must 
 range far in space and concern a great variety of 
 things. It demands a swift and, within the limits 
 of the needs, accurate classification of all cognized 
 objects into those which are harmless and those 
 which are harmful. To it we probably owe the 
 motive of curiosity, which awakens the sense of 
 danger and leads animals to risk that which they 
 dread, in order that they may the more clearly dis- 
 cern its nature. 
 
 There can be no question that fear was absolute- 
 ly necessary in order that the higher organic forms 
 should be effectively adjusted to their environment. 
 It is an ancient and valuable mentor: it has guided 
 life from the lower to the higher estate, not only 
 our minds but our bodies bear the useful marks 
 of its control. The quickness of will, the readiness 
 in the use of the instruments of defence, the swift 
 response of all the powers to the summons of need, 
 are in great part due to the habits that fear has 
 bred in us all, man and brute alike. 
 
 When man came from the lower life he brought 
 with him a large share of animal fear. His ancestry 
 had from the beginning belonged in the groups of 
 fleeing rather than to those of fighting animals. In 
 
FEAR AND VALOUR 191 
 
 fact, there is no other creature of his size who is 
 so singularly deficient in natural weapons. That he 
 quickly became converted into a masterful com- 
 batant was due to his peculiar mental relations to 
 the world about him, to his progressive desires, 
 and to his capacity for rational and associated ac- 
 tion. Although aU record of the first stages in the 
 humanizing processes are lost to us, we can still 
 see what appears to be a remnant of it in the lower 
 savages. There we find the emotion of fear nearly 
 as well indicated as among the monkeys. The crea- 
 tures are evidently at all times quick to it, watching 
 the beasts, their fellow-men, and the elements for 
 the signs of danger. We see there, too, abundant 
 signs of another and complementary motive, that 
 of valour, which is to play so large a part in turning 
 the beast into the man. This is shown in the lower 
 peoples; it becomes strong as they advance; it is 
 one of the surest gauges of the station in the ascent 
 to which a people has attained. In all the mammals 
 above the level of the pouched forms, and perhaps 
 even there, as well as in nearly all the birds, we may 
 commonly observe the humble beginnings of the 
 valorous motive. It comes in this way: as the fam- 
 ily or the herd gains coherence the oflEspring are for 
 a time beside the mother and in her care. While 
 thus in the position of the defender, the mother is 
 
192 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 evidently quicker to feel the impulse of fear than at 
 other times; but she is even as quick to put it aside, 
 or rather to submerge it in the rage with which she 
 meets the assailant. Where the male and female 
 dwell together as mates the father will, at times, 
 show a trace of the same protecting motive. This, 
 however, is rare; it is the mother who, in nearly all 
 groups of mammals, shows the way of our escape 
 from the ancient, self -guarding fear into the higher 
 sympathetic realm. She is the first to be brave; she 
 remains, even in our own species, by nature the 
 bravest when the danger moves her through the 
 emotions to action. 
 
 Where the family passes into the herd we iind 
 in most instances that the defence of the associa- 
 tion comes to depend on the males — sometimes on 
 the single head of a gens, more commonly on a 
 number of associated males. These mature males 
 acting as the watchful defenders of the herd are a 
 distinct feature in the high Mammalia. Even 
 among the excessively timid apes they feel their 
 obligation of duty to the weaker members of their 
 community and will do battle to defend them. 
 Darwin quotes an account of an incident where a 
 drove of monkeys was pursued with hunting dogs. 
 All were fleeing as best they might when, in his 
 panic, one of the younger of the herd took refuge on 
 
PEAR AND VALOUR 193 
 
 the top of an isolated stone. Seeing his plight an 
 old male monkey turned back, fought his way 
 through the dogs, and managed to bear his charge 
 away in safety. Any one who has seen the terror 
 that monkeys have of dogs will recognise that this 
 act was in a high measure valiant. It has in it 
 much of valour in its best human form. Nothing 
 else in the records shows so well the spiritual rela- 
 tion between our collateral kinsman, the ape, and 
 our own kind. 
 
 By his inheritances man is entitled to be the 
 most timorous of the larger animals, for he belongs, 
 as before noted, to a singularly noncombatant 
 group. Moreover, by his intelligence and the con- 
 structive imagination which goes therewith, he adds 
 to the sources of fear which his senses bring to htm 
 a host that people the imseen. He extends the an- 
 cient apprehensions until he creates a fancied world 
 of terrors, one happily unknown to the life in the 
 earlier days and the lower stages of being. The 
 most of these fears have gathered around death, 
 which now, distinctly recognised as it never was 
 before as an inevitable event, becomes the central 
 point in a vast framework of emotional and intellec- 
 tual constructions. 
 
 Among the animals below man the fear they 
 have of danger clearly does not include that of 
 
194: THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 death. There is no reason to believe that the idea 
 of the end of their indiyiduality ever occurs to 
 them. All the steps that may lead up to the finish 
 arouse terror^ but the sight of their dead compan- 
 ions, if there be no show of blood, appears in no case 
 to excite more than curiosity. If they have any idea 
 of their condition it is, most likely, that they are 
 sleeping. Only in a few species of Heriivora does 
 the smell of the blood of the kind appear to be dis- 
 turbing. It is, in effect, impossible that death can 
 have any meaning to the brutes, save it may be in 
 the case of the higher apes and with the humanized 
 dog. We see nothing in their acts that leads to sup- 
 pose that they find in it a matter for questioning. 
 If we should seek some one mark which, in the in- 
 tellectual advance from the brutes to man, might 
 denote the passage to the human side, we might 
 well find it in the moment when it dawned on the 
 nascent man that death was a mystery which he had 
 in his turn to meet. 
 
 From the time when man began to face death 
 to the present stage of his development there has 
 been a continuous struggle between the motives of 
 personal fear on the one hand, and valour on the 
 other. That of fear has been constantly aided by 
 the work of the imagination. For one fact of 
 danger there have been scores of fancied risks to 
 
PEAR AND VALOUR 195 
 
 come from the unseen world. Against this great 
 host of imaginary ills, which tended utterly to bear 
 men down, they had but one helper — ^their spirit of 
 valiant self-sacrifice for the good of their family, 
 their clan, their state, their race, or, in the climax, 
 for the Infinite above. 
 
 Even with the lower savages we find that cour- 
 ageous self-devotion is placed first among the hu- 
 man qualities. In every stage of human advance 
 it is greatly and, as it seems to some observers, 
 excessively valued. Why, it may be asked, should 
 we select this motive of valour, this death-facing 
 motive, from all the other qualities to set it upon 
 a throne for admiration? Surely the quieter, more 
 conmionplace motives of industry, faithfulness to 
 routine duties, are, in the aggregate, of far greater 
 importance both to the character of the individual 
 and to the society of which he forms a part. We 
 can well conceive a happy association without the 
 presence of the death-facing heroes; in fact, they 
 are the least likely of all the kinds of men to bring 
 happiness where they dwell, for they are oftenest 
 the prophets of unrest. But in this as in many 
 other things where the popular judgment at fijst 
 sight appears in error, we see on closer view that 
 it is substantially right. The new life of man de- 
 pended on his ability to bear down the tide of fear 
 14 
 
196 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 which came to him in part by inheritance, and 
 in yet larger part from his limited yet vivid concep- 
 tion of the world which his intelligence revealed to 
 him. In that task of overcoming fear by valoiir 
 he was on the appointed way to his salvation. Eude 
 as the path may seem, brutal as were the deeds that 
 were done on its way, it led upward. 
 
 So long as men remain in savagery and as 
 often as they fall back into it they value only one 
 kind of valour, that of personal conflict with the 
 fellow-man or brute. But with the higher states of 
 society it gradually comes to be recognised, or rather 
 unconsciously accepted, that there are many other 
 forms of brave self-devotion besides those which 
 are set in arms. While the courage of battle was 
 absolutely necessary to the safety of the tribe in 
 the early state of human life, advancement has de- 
 pended on other forms of the motive which go to 
 overcome a host of other evils, those not to be over- 
 come by arms, and which in their removal require 
 a less primitive and picturesque, but as effectively 
 valiant spirit as the deeds of war. 
 
 If there were any means of measuring the rela- 
 tive amounts of courage that had gone into the 
 physical and the moral struggles of our people re- 
 spectively, we should probably find that the moral 
 triumphs had cost far more valour than those of the 
 
PEAK AND VALOUR 197 
 
 battlefield. Yet the covirage of the social order 
 must be taken as the successor of that of war, just as 
 the other parts of our human quality are the product 
 of the lower life. People value most the ancient 
 forms of courage, for they see there the complete 
 and efEective tragedy. Going to death at Ther- 
 mopylae or Santiago is a vastly clearer sign of valour 
 than is set forth by any patient, devoted sacrifice 
 for the public good. Nor can it be denied that the 
 courage of the fight may call for a more immediate 
 and complete self-devotion than is likely ever to 
 be demanded of any one, save those who have gone 
 to the stake or the scaffold for conscience' sake. 
 
 Perhaps the largest share of valour which has 
 been devoted to the good of man, certainly that 
 which has been most profitably expended, has been 
 given to a contest against the beliefs that have 
 grown up around the fact of death. As soon as 
 men began to see that death needed explanation 
 — in other words, as soon as they became men — 
 their constructive imaginations began to explore 
 the mystery and to fill it with fancies. In its 
 first stages this process was naturally full of evil. 
 The primitive man could, of course, make no better 
 gods than himself, so he peopled the unknown with 
 a host of brutal creatures, each demanding service 
 and sacrifice after the manner of his own chieftatnSi 
 
198 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 Hence the ancient curses of sorcery and diabolism 
 which have so weighed on man. The extent to 
 which this evil of primitive demon worship has re- 
 tarded the advance of man is just coming to be 
 duly appreciated. In the case of many savages, it 
 appears to be the most down-bearing of all the ills 
 they suffer. It has been suggested that it was the 
 main reason for the failure of the North American 
 Indian to gain in numbers or social station. This 
 savage is, in general, of vigorous body, fairly pro- 
 lific, and of considerable mental ability, but he was 
 so ridden by cruel superstitions that he had no 
 chance to rise. 
 
 To the earlier and more brutal explanations of 
 the unknown which was opened by the anticipation 
 of death time gradually brought relief. The evil 
 gods mended their ways as their makers grew larger 
 in their understandings. But this process was one 
 of slow growth. It is indeed in the nature of a 
 religion to remain much behind the state of moral 
 advance of the people who hold to it. Each stage 
 of the ongoing is retarded by the conviction of the 
 people that their gods, even those who are devils, 
 are sacred, and that the prophet of good deserves 
 not only their ultimate vengeance but more im- 
 mediate punishment by all true believers. Every 
 one of these steps upward has had to be won by 
 
FEAE AND VALOUR 199 
 
 valiant men; in fact, the wars for or against a bet- 
 terment of their gods has been a most striking fea- 
 ture in human history. 
 
 Valiant self-sacrifice for faith is, at least to the 
 truly civilized man, the type of highest valour. To 
 it has gone and from it has come much of the best 
 of human nature, including that courage of opin- 
 ion, that balanced judgment as to the problems of 
 existence which belong aUke in the highest reli- 
 gious and in the scientific spirit; that state of mind 
 which looks boldly iuto the darkness without fear, 
 with perfect contentment with the revelation it 
 may yield. It is the common opinion that the 
 scientific and the religious modes of interpreting 
 Ifature are ot, diverse origin, and in their nature 
 essentially antagonized. The history of human 
 thought shows science is really an ofEshoot from 
 religion. I have elsewhere discussed this question 
 (see Interpretation of Nature, page 20, Houghton, 
 Mifflin & Co., Boston, 1893). Though a matter 
 of much interest, I can not further consider it here 
 save to say that the fundamental motives of science 
 and religion appear to me to be the same. They 
 both seek to penetrate the unknown. 
 
 One of the most effective cures for the appre- 
 hension of death is to be found in vigorous out- 
 going action. Those who are familiar with savages. 
 
200 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 or with men who have been temporarily restored to 
 that primitive state by the hardemng life of the sol- 
 dier, know that to such people death has little terror, 
 and the fear of it appears not to be present except 
 in the moment when action brings it into near view, 
 at which time the activity serves to mask the evil. 
 When soldiers come under fire their shrunken faces 
 show at once that the apprehension is upon them, 
 but as soon as they are engaged with the enemy 
 the activity commonly restores them to their poise. 
 It is one of the advantages of all rude and exposed 
 life, such as that of the hunter, that ia it the man 
 wins again his natural adjustment to life and death 
 which he is deprived of by his supercivilization. 
 
 It is well to remember that the iastinctive fear 
 of death is not as our forefathers deemed it, a dread 
 of coming to a place of judgment, though that idea 
 has added much to the pang. Its source is to be 
 looked for in our animal ancestry, where this fear, 
 blind and unconscious of its object, was absolutely 
 demanded for the fit preservation of the individual. 
 As the lower animals can have no understanding of 
 death, their apprehension is surely as unreasoning 
 as that of children in their early years before there 
 is any distinct association of the state of mind 
 with bodily harm, much less with death, of which 
 they know nothing. It is this long inbred organic 
 
FEAR AND VALOUR 201 
 
 fear which, inherited by man and added to by the 
 knowledge which is his alone, that makes fear of 
 death the peculiar evil, one that we should bear 
 down as we have to do with so many other of our 
 qualities derived from our brutal ancestors. 
 
 As above noted, man cures the primitive fear of 
 death where he can by overlaying it with the 
 stronger motives of momentary action. His mode 
 of life also helps him to the end by giving him a 
 well-poised nervous system, one that acts mostly in 
 relation to the work he has in hand. This simple 
 defence is admirable, but, as we see, inapplicable to 
 the life of the higher societies. It can, however, 
 be replaced by other and even more effective agents. 
 It hardly needs be said that the fear of death is 
 utterly selfish, and that where it relates to ourselves 
 the most degrading of all terrors. Evidently one of 
 the cures for the evil is to be found in the exercise 
 of the mind and body in work that distinctly relates 
 to the well-being of others. The ordinary occupa- 
 tions of life afford for most people who are not af- 
 fected with religious apprehensions a suitable balm, 
 for the reason that they generally have an altruis- 
 tic quality; that curative motive enters into the 
 larger part of our activities. If the fear is such 
 that these customary activities do not put it aside, 
 a further attention to the needs of our fellows will 
 
202 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 surely make good the cure. It is by pushing beyond 
 the individual to the kind, by turning our formal life 
 out of itself toward others, that the surest relief for 
 this inherited evil is to be gaiued. The remedy is 
 ancient and effective. It has been proved by the 
 lives of the innumerable saiuts of many dispensations. 
 The method of extinguishing the fear of death 
 is as simple as it is beautiful. All of the horror of 
 it proceeds from the contemplation of the self. If 
 this is escaped, there may remain the mere animal 
 avoidance and resistance of the ill, but the sting of 
 it will be lacking. The one means of honourably 
 extinguishing self-consciousness is by the consecra- 
 tion of the thought to interests beyond the self. 
 This can take many shapes. With some exceptional 
 persons it may be a devotion to purely intellectual 
 matters; but with few, if any, does such interest 
 become firm enough to completely engage the mind. 
 With others it may be a devotion of a religious 
 nature, in effect, to a contemplation of God; or it 
 may — and best — ^be a motive to help the fellow-man, 
 taking him to heart at once as a brother and as the 
 highest type of that whole of which we are a part. 
 Looking on the fellow-being as the embodiment of all 
 that we know or hope in the way of the future, we 
 may in helping him unite all the influences which 
 enable us to combat the evils of our individuality. 
 
CHAPTEE X 
 
 THE ATTITUDE OE MAK TOWAED DEATH 
 
 While it is evident that the lower animals of 
 all grades apprehend danger, we can not believe 
 that they in any way recognise that they must 
 die. To suppose that they can attain to such under- 
 standing is to endow them at once with a self- 
 consciousness and a reasoning power which evidence 
 shows they do not possess. The fear they have is 
 like that of a child when it begins to adjust itself to 
 the world about it. The little creature is full of 
 dreads, but these relate to bodily harm and not to 
 annihilation. It is one of the most characteristic 
 marks of man's estate that he bears this larger fear, 
 one unknown to all the lower life of brute and child. 
 
 So, too, we have noted that man comes to the 
 consciousness of death with a vast store of inherited 
 capacity for fear. This motive represents the anx- 
 iety and caution with which his animal ancestors 
 have had each moment to apply to the world about 
 203 
 
204 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 them. The motive is the shadow of all the struggle 
 involved in the selective processes which have done 
 so much to guide our life up the long stairway to 
 the plane of humanity. The dominant station to 
 which our kind attained, even in its savage state, 
 the mutual protection which a society, even the sim- 
 plest, afEords, quickly served to diminish the need 
 of fear for its original uses. It was, however, at 
 once applied to the newly discovered danger — ^that 
 of death. 
 
 In facing the risks which confront them the 
 brutes trust to their activities of flight or defence. 
 They must learn to trust their bodily powers; for 
 those that do so most effectively survive, and send 
 their motives on to their progeny. But from this 
 certain ill of death, which man was the first to see, 
 there was evidently no immediate way of escape. 
 The only way to deal with it was by the use of the 
 constructive imagination, by explaining it in some 
 large way. Thus it came about that the sight of 
 the dead brought men to look beyond the visible 
 and people the unknown with intej^pretations. 
 These at first took on the shapes of the objects 
 which had been the teachers of the lowlier life: 
 great beasts of mysterious power, malignant foes in 
 human form, wild forces of Nature in varied incar- 
 nations. Thus there grew up about death as a 
 
THE ATTITODE OF MAN TOWARD DEATH 205 
 
 centre the beginnings of the moral interpretation 
 of the universe, at first as embodied fears. 
 
 The advance in the altruistic and philosophical 
 motives of men is weU though confusedly recorded 
 in the gradual development of these early explana- 
 tions of the spiritual realm. We see the rude gods 
 of the early theogonies gradually home down by 
 the higher creatures which are set above them. 
 Generous deities appear, those who look upon the 
 lower Tfrorld in a kindly way. Still the demons, 
 these embodiments of the ancient fear, live on in 
 their lower plane. They survive long after the 
 better understanding of Nature has forced the 
 thought of all men from the grosser polytheisms 
 to the conception of divine control. Yet, even 
 when this end has been substantially obtained, 
 when the idea of the supreme, beneficent God is 
 established as an article of faith for which every- 
 thing is sacrificed, so persistent is the ancient de- 
 monology that its fiends have to be kept for the 
 torment of mankind. A most curious chapter in 
 the history of thought is that in which is written 
 the history of the conflict between the teachings of 
 Christ and the olden worship of the fearful. Long 
 after the religion of perfect love and self-devotion 
 gained an apparent control over the miads of men 
 the real mastery remained with the demons, those 
 
206 THE INDIVIBUAIi 
 
 brutal conceptions of early man bom of his in- 
 herited fears. Even now they hold their place in the 
 minds of most of those who profess themselves Chris- 
 tians. 
 
 Those who have been so fortunate as to have 
 been reared in a true Christian faith can have no 
 sufficient idea of the torture to which the minds 
 of men were subjected by the old-fashioned dis- 
 courses on the punishments that after death assail 
 all save the few chosen ones. The human fancy has 
 ranged far, but nowhere else has it gathered such 
 a harvest as in the sulphurous realms. Cruelty is 
 a natural motive in men; it came with the vast store 
 of good and bad that was sent to us from the lower 
 stages of life. All the better influences of society 
 worked against it. The teachings of Christ should 
 have banished it from the earth, but for near two 
 thousand years these teachings have been made in 
 appearance to justify the endless picturings of tor- 
 ments upon the immortal bodies of those he sought 
 to save. I recall the preachings of a worthy man, 
 famous in my boyhood as a great exhorter. I can 
 see and hear him even now, after nearly half a 
 century, rolling out his story of the torments of 
 the doomed, with a drone of sorrow in his voice, 
 but with an evident relish for the cruelty that he 
 painted amazingly well. Men and women fell down 
 
THE ATTITUDE OF MAN TOWARD DEATH 20Y 
 
 with, fear and horror before that terror he forced 
 upon them, the terror of what death may open to 
 man. For centuries a host of able men have been at 
 work perpetuating these brutal ideas throughout the 
 civilized world. Can we wonder that, with this end- 
 less dwelling on the ancient conceptions of the 
 brute and primitive man, cruelty and fear which 
 Christianity should have cleared away still cling to 
 men? — ^that the altruistic motives which naturally 
 lead them to put aside aU personal considerations of 
 their fate should still have so small a part in their 
 actions? 
 
 One of the best things that can be said of the 
 century that is drawing to its close is that it has 
 seen the end, or at least the promise of the end, 
 of the ancient demon-worship. The physical bell, 
 the personal devil, his imps of all degrees, the fiery 
 furnaces, and all the other agents of torment are 
 passing away from the imaginations of men. There 
 is probably not an educated clergyman who believes 
 in them. There is scarcely an intelligent congre- 
 gation where the preaching that was demanded fifty 
 years ago woidd be tolerated to-day. The idea of 
 sufiFering for evil done is still firmly rooted in the 
 minds of all men of sound moral nature: suffering 
 in this or any other world until it has accomplished 
 its fit work; but the old conception is now being 
 
208 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 purged from our religion, which it has so long dis- 
 graced. 
 
 In considering the reasonable attitude of man 
 toward death, I shall for convenience assume that 
 the reader believes in a personal immortality. It 
 is of no great moment whether he so believes, is 
 an agnostic, or holds to a firm conviction that he 
 ceases to be as the life of his body is stilled. As a 
 matter of fact, the essential difference between these 
 three states of mind is of much less account than it 
 at first sight appears to be. For the belief of those 
 who least doubt immortality is far from being as 
 clear and sufficient as it is concerning the things 
 they recognise as certain. The professed doubt of 
 the agnostic is pretty sure to have a concealed doubt 
 in his well-guarded indifference of opinion; while 
 the resolute sceptic if he faces the absolute mys- 
 tery of the universe — a mystery which, notwith- 
 standing all the illumination of knowledge, remains 
 essentially unbroken — ^must confess that immor- 
 tality is among the possibilities of the unknown 
 realm. 
 
 The first point relating to the attitude of the 
 intelligent man toward death which I propose to 
 consider concerns the search for further evidence 
 of immortality. This inquiry has always had an 
 exceeding interest for people of a certain type of 
 
THE ATTITUDE OF MAN TOWARD DEATH 209 
 
 mind. Ttiey find in the obscure phenomena of 
 apparitions, in the statements of persons in the 
 mesmeric sleep, and like matters, what seems at first 
 sight to be a body of facts, which in olden days 
 were taken for absolute verities. Modem inquiry 
 has shown that by far the greater part of these 
 manifestations may be readily accoimted for as the 
 result of disturbed mental action, or as mere frauds. 
 There remains . a fraction of the huge mass of so- 
 called e-sidence, a fraction so small as almost to be 
 overshadowed by the doubt arising from the charac- 
 ter of the rest, which can not be as yet accounted 
 for. The most that can be said for this remnant 
 is that it is quite reconcilable with the supposition 
 that the dead live much as they have lived on earth, 
 and that they may communicate as regards matters 
 of no particular importance with the living. 
 
 Against this interesting though utterly frag- 
 mentary evidence that goes to show the continuance 
 of the individual after death we have to set the 
 apparent failure of these revelations to give us any 
 knowledge as to matters of importance, which we 
 surely ought to obtain from the departed were they 
 really the source of these communications. Hardly 
 any adult person dies without leaving breaks in his 
 action which his successors can not repair for lack 
 of some bit of information; yet, so far as I can find. 
 
210 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 the endless seeking for this help has never led to the 
 least profit. There is very often the pretence of 
 giving such help, but it turns out to he without sub- 
 stantial value. 
 
 It is urged by many persons who devote them- 
 selves to these matters that we have here facts 
 of one sort or another, and as such they can and 
 should be made the matter of scientific inquiry. To 
 this the men who are trained in scientific methods 
 may answer as follows: All true inquiry in the lim- 
 ited fields of physical and biologic science has to 
 proceed on the assumption that the data which are 
 used need no other purging than is required to pro- 
 vide against errors of observation. If there be even a 
 reasonable probability that the material is falsified, 
 the scientific value of the data at once vanishes. 
 It may be claimed, however, that the inquiry can be 
 so managed as to exclude the doubtful part of the 
 evidence, leaving the remnant for use. This is 
 easily proposed, but it is by no means easy to accom- 
 plish. Taking the case of the most successful 
 medium in the history of modem inquiries, we find 
 that in her trances she appears often to be con- 
 trolled by what purports to be the spirit of a certain 
 Prench physician. While thus controlled she 
 speaks English (never French) with a perfect imi- 
 tation of the manner and accent of a Frenchman, 
 
THE ATTITUDE OF MAN TOWAED DEATH 211 
 
 but without a trace of the Gallicisms which should 
 aeeompany the tones. Moreover, this garrulous im- 
 postor was so rash as to give the date and place of 
 his birth and something of his history. A search 
 showed that no such person had ever lived. Here, 
 then, we have a medium who, impressing every one 
 observing her in her normal state as honest, when 
 in the cataleptic state pours forth volumes of 
 material under such utterly confounding condi- 
 tions as have been just noted. What can we ex- 
 pect of truth in the matter which comes to jis pro- 
 fessedly by the counterfeited voice of an ancient 
 Frenchman who never existed at all? We might as 
 well undertake a topographical survey of the land 
 of dreams. 
 
 Thus, while the unprejudiced inquirer is likely 
 to be led to a belief that there is some kind of truth 
 hidden away in the mass of rubbish that comes from 
 the trance state, he is certain to come to the con- 
 clusion that there is no evident way in which the 
 truth can be so parted from the fiction as to afford 
 trustworthy data for scientific inquiry. He is also 
 likely to feel that any long exposure to the curious 
 influences to which he is subjected in the so-called 
 seance has a tendency to blunt those faculties on 
 which scientific inquiry depends. To any one ac- 
 
 qustomed to live in the clean air of truth this atmos- 
 15 
 
212 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 phere of deceit which envelops the seance is re- 
 volting. 
 
 Therefore I would say to those who seek to ad- 
 just their relations with death, give up the ex- 
 pectation of gaining this knowledge by means of 
 so-called spiritualism. Experience has shown that 
 so far there has been no measurable profit won 
 in that way. It is doubtful if any like body of en- 
 deavour has ever borne so little fruit. It has com- 
 manded the devotion of many able men and not a 
 few who brought to the task minds well trained in 
 the methods of science; but all their skill has 
 proved valueless in dealing with the mass of stuff 
 which they sought to make the basis of inquiries. 
 
 To a sound-minded person who is accustomed to 
 look upon the estate of the departed as one of dig- 
 nity there is something very painful in the igno- 
 minious presentations of the dead which are made 
 on these occasions when they are summoned by the 
 medium. A belief in these alleged revelations can 
 not in any way lift our conception of a life to come. 
 For my own part, good as it would be to go onward 
 and upward, I would rather be consigned to noth- 
 ingness than to the fatuous state in which some of 
 my departed friends would, according to these pres- 
 entations, appear to dwell. As for the value of the 
 evidence which the mediums have afforded to prove 
 
• THE ATTITUDE OP MAN TOWARD DEATH 213 
 
 the survival of the individual, it appears to me not 
 to be compared with that which is given us by 
 our faith, based on our feelings, on our sense of 
 what the unknown realm should be ia relation to 
 that which we know, on the judgment of the ages, 
 on the foreseeing of the prophets. None of these 
 sources are to be counted as in any way scientific, but 
 they are quite as much so as are the revelations of 
 spiritualism. Moreover, they are high and clean. 
 We can lean upon them without a sense of degra- 
 dation, which the other contact entails. 
 
 If we consider the position of man with reference 
 to his future we see that it is essentially unprofitable 
 for him to trouble himself with matters that lie 
 past death. At best, with aU his skill in forecast- 
 ing, man can not well plan very far beyond the 
 tasks of the day. Therefore, the wise of all time 
 have been content to leave out of this life all reck- 
 onings of the deeds which may be done beyond it. 
 Man's concern here is with the charges of this life. 
 His hope alone may go beyond it, but it goes there 
 with little guidance from knowledge. 
 
 The effect of the knowledge of death was at first 
 to turn the thoughts of men with great intensity to 
 the fears it naturally aroused. All the timorous 
 motives were stimulated to activity. The idea of 
 punishment after death, though in a way calculated 
 
214 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 to arouse the moral consciousness, did its work iu the 
 essentially lower plane of the mind. Then came 
 the blessed motive of self-sacrifice in its primitive 
 form of martial valour — the primitive shape of that 
 divine impulse which was to leaven the lump of hu- 
 manity iu which it dwells. Gradually this spirit 
 gains until it attains its full grandeur in the im- 
 mortal words of the dying Sydney, and the like notes 
 of self-devotion which , have ennobled the world. 
 The effect of this motive has been insensibly to 
 turn men away from the contemplation of death as 
 a personal grief. It has come to be considered in a 
 way disgraceful, because cowardly, to set forth even 
 to intimate friends any fear of the end that may tor- 
 ment the soul. This instinctive suppression of 
 the natural dread is a result of the wide diffusion 
 of the altruistic impulses. It is akin to the mo- 
 tives of decency and modesty which lead men to 
 keep a variety of personal concerns quite out of pub- 
 lic sight. Such conduct has undoubtedly done much 
 to diminish the share of attention which the indi- 
 vidual gives to this as to other matters concerning 
 his own self. Still this fear abides, although it is 
 decently hidden. As far as it concerns the per- 
 son himself it is apparently a diminishing feature in 
 our lives, but in relation to those who are loved it 
 appears to be gaining, so that the aggregate of anx- 
 
THE ATTITUDE OF MAN TOWARD DEATH 215 
 
 iety which it induces is probably no less than it was 
 of old, though of far higher quality. 
 
 The above-noted change of fear from the hedo- 
 nistic to the altruistic form is apparently much 
 greater in women than in men. Those who have 
 seen persons of both sexes in conditions of trial have 
 generally noted that, apart from the mere nervous 
 timidities which affect them as they do valiant men 
 as well, women are much less actuated by selfish 
 fear of death than their seemingly more valorous 
 companions. The fact seems to be that the femi- 
 nine nature has on the average gone much further 
 on the paths of sympathy than has that of men, 
 though the limit of this outgoing may be more re- 
 stricted. More often it concerns the circle of the 
 family or the small society than the state or the 
 world, but it is more effective in turning aside the 
 ancient dread of the end. 
 
 There are many reasons why the altruistic dread 
 of death should be strong, and should grow stronger 
 with the extension of the altruistic motives. With 
 the development of society the ties between its mem- 
 bers grow firmer and more numerous, and those 
 with institutions are created, so that the life of a 
 strong man becomes an integral part of the lives of 
 many. Their departure is likely to make more 
 trouble for those who survive than was the case in 
 
216 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 earlier days when, save the few chieftains, no man 
 had numerous dependents. In our entangled time 
 many a man of no public note has more people 
 bound to him by the ties of need and service than 
 famous kings of antiquity. It is this care for those 
 who are to be left that weighs most upon the minds 
 of men. It is so grievous that many of them would 
 gladly accept death as the price of perfect and endur- 
 ing replacement of the help they now give to those 
 for whom they care. 
 
 As a part of this altruistic fear of death which 
 is so fostered by the development of society, there 
 is a dread of its coming to the beloved. Many per- 
 sons — this is particularly the case with women — ^who 
 have almost attained the blessed forgetfulness of 
 their own fate, have transferred the ancient terror 
 to the fate of children or friends. Herein lies the 
 great body of the world's agony, which it is the part 
 of the higher knowledge and the feeling that goes 
 therewith to cure, even as previous advances in hu- 
 man nature have in good part cured the ancient, 
 selfish, half -animal fears. Let us see if we can fore- 
 cast that future and if we can help its coming. 
 
 We see at once that the fear of death which 
 arises from the sense of the need which may befall 
 the beloved is in large part due to the conditions of 
 society. There is no longer much reason to appre- 
 
THE ATTITUDE OP MAN TOWARD DEATH 217 
 
 hend that the death of a man may reduce his family 
 to the state of brutal want as regards food and cloth- 
 ing. The risk is that they fall from a prosperous 
 station to that state of penury. Although the fall 
 may entail no physical suffering it may bring a degra- 
 dation which involves quite as grave trials. As the 
 world is, station is a very dear possession of those 
 who have it. The question is how far can the condi- 
 tions of our social motives and institutions be so 
 modified that this danger arising from the death of 
 the strong may be minimized. 
 
 Even a cursory examination of the institutions 
 of our highly organized societies makes it evident 
 that they have gone a little distance on the way 
 that insures something more than the protection of 
 the poorhouse to those who by death are left with- 
 out their natural protectors. The system of life 
 insurance, mainly a development of the nineteenth 
 century, is by far the most effective of these agents. 
 Unhappily the progressive and rapid fall of interest 
 on capital is likely to limit, year by year, the protec- 
 tive value of this resource as measured in terms of 
 labour. Still it bids fair, while the present consti- 
 tution of society continues, to remain the most 
 effective help against the most care-giving incidents 
 of death. To this resource may be added the pro- 
 tection which is afforded by the innumerable asso- 
 
218 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 ciations which have for their main object the assist- 
 ance of the widow and the orphan. Some of these, 
 such as the Masonic order, are of ancient origin, and 
 probably had in their beginning the shelter of their 
 members from oppression as their sole object. With 
 the improvement of the police system and generally 
 right government of modern times, the main purpose 
 of this and other like societies has come to be the 
 relief of those who were dependent on their deceased 
 brethren. 
 
 The motive of caring for the families of the 
 dead finds expression not only in associations formed 
 for this purpose, it is becoming common in all 
 groups of men who are in any wise connected in 
 action or history. In college classes, in the facul- 
 ties of our greater schools, among the employees 
 of great commercial establishments, and elsewhere 
 throughout the complex of activity of our time, the 
 sympathetic motive shows its modem development 
 in the efforts of the living to carry forward the 
 work of the dead, and the living who depended on 
 his labour. Almost any kind of a tie, however 
 slight, is accepted as a basis of brotherhood and as 
 establishing a claim for active help. It is, in a 
 word, evident that we are nearing the time when 
 one of the gravest reasons for the fear of death will 
 in large part disappear in a sympathetic relation 
 
THE ATTITUDE OF MAN TOWARD DEATH 219 
 
 which will insure the families of the dead against 
 the degradation of want. 
 
 There are sorely mistaken people who think that 
 this work of private heneficence should he replaced 
 by some form of government pensions. While 
 such a system, if it afforded effective helps pro- 
 portional to the station of the unprotected, which 
 it surely could not do, might have certain immediate 
 advantages, it would, in a larger way, be destruc- 
 tive to the sympathetic motive, which is the most 
 blessed concomitant of the work that is now done. 
 So long as a man gives from his own hand, or even 
 from that of a society that is near to him, his act is 
 charitable. "It blesses him that gives and him 
 that takes" alike. When done by the government 
 the act loses all personal quality; it becomes a mere 
 mechanical deed. The way to the end is straight- 
 forward on the path which has carried us so far: in 
 the closer interlacing of all the human relations, 
 especially those which are formed in the ordinary 
 duties of life, so that all who toil together shall feel 
 that they are brethren, each owing to the other the 
 help in trial that men can give. Used in this way 
 the incident of death may become, as it should 
 be in all affairs, the inspiration to a firmer bond 
 between men than any other basis of fellowship 
 can afford. 
 
220 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 There is another personal grief that death brings 
 which is above the plane of the meaner fears, m fact 
 is very human and with a trace of the sympathetic 
 motive. This is the sorrow which comes with the 
 certainty that one will soon be forgotten by his 
 kind, at least on earth. Few know how dear to ns 
 is this place we hold in the minds of our fellows 
 until we consider that a century hence it will be 
 only in some chance bit of record that our names 
 survive, and that for ninety-nine in a hundred even 
 this trifle of a name will be denied. Only one name 
 in perhaps a hundred million is known to men after 
 the lapse of a thousand years, and these memories 
 are but shadows.* 
 
 * This vanishing of men, even where they were persons of 
 no small importance, ■was forced upon my attention by an in- 
 stance which illustrates the point in a striking manner. About 
 thirty years ago, while looking up the history of New England 
 earthquakes, by chance I made the acquaintance of John Win- 
 throp, Hollisan Professor of Mathematics and Astronomy in 
 Harvard University in the eighteenth century. I found at once 
 that he was a man of power, who played a, large part in his 
 time ; that he had really founded the science of seismology in 
 that he had first applied computative methods to the obser- 
 vation of earthquakes ; that he had made excellent obser- 
 vations on the transit of Venus while on what was perhaps 
 the first scientific expedition in this country; that he was a 
 Fellow of the Eoyal Society and a member of the Governor's 
 council, the latter in those days an index of station of no mean 
 sort. Furthermore, that from his lectures probably came the 
 movement which led to the development of the interest of 
 
THE ATTITUDE OF MAN TOWARD DEATH 221 
 
 The strength of this desire for a memory that 
 the world must deny us because we have passed is 
 well shown by the fonn of religion which dominates 
 in China, which consists mainly in the worship of 
 ancestors. We have here the fullest possible expres- 
 sion of an effort to preserve the memory of the 
 dead, but the result is futile; it is indeed worse, as 
 the effect is an ultra-conservation which ends, as we 
 see it ending in a national and political life, borne 
 down by a devotion to a shadowy past. 
 
 The cure for the sorrow that the certainty of 
 forgetfulness brings to us is to be found, where 
 all other balm of the soul is found, in a more perfect 
 devotion to others — in the recognition of the fact 
 that we pass that the better may come. They have 
 their lives to live as we have had, full, caretaking 
 lives, such as call for the best of their strength, for 
 the service of the living: they should know us of the 
 silent realm only so far as we may afford them help 
 for their dutiful activities. To insist that they keep 
 
 Count Rumford and Benjamin Franklin in physical science. 
 Chagrined at never having heard of this master, I sought at 
 once to see how singular my ignorance was. I inquired in 
 succession of one hundred well-informed persons, including 
 all the members of the then faculty of Harvard College, and 
 found but three who had any recollection of the name. Te* 
 in the society of a college town there is a, greater likelihood 
 of traditions being preserved than in the ordinary associations 
 of men. 
 
222 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 US in mind for our own sake would be to burden and 
 not to bless them. 
 
 There are open to us all two other comforts in 
 this sense of parting from the memory of men: one 
 is that we go on our way along with all who could 
 really know us, for that distant memory called fame 
 is not memory at all; the other, that the real society 
 in which we belong is quite unbroken, it endures for- 
 ever. The work that a generation of men do in 
 their associated lives is one work. Its motives stay 
 with the race. If the men retain their individ- 
 uality after death they perhaps continue in some 
 kind of interchange of labour with one another. It 
 they sleep, they rest with their comrades. 
 
 There is good in this hunger for a memory be- 
 yond the grave, for it is part of the great longing 
 for companionship which has come to us from the 
 lower planes of being, which has indeed been 
 steadfastly gaining from the dawn of intelligence. 
 It exists because no man can find his best and dear- 
 est self within himself, but must seek it in his neigh- 
 bour. It is thus a part of the noble mystery of 
 friendship. There is evil in it too, for it is the 
 basis of that ignoble greed of fame which leads men 
 to labour, not that their deeds may be well done and 
 helpful, but that the world may long remember they 
 once were on it. As a whole, it is an evil that may 
 
THE ATTITUDE OF MAN TOWARD DEATH 223 
 
 be cured by contemplating the procession of life 
 in all its vastness, marching in its stately, endless 
 way across this path of the sun. Whoever makes 
 him a clear picture of this will find the impression 
 so vast that his personality will blend into it as a 
 raindrop in the sea. There wiU remain to him but 
 the sense that he is a part of this infinite splendour. 
 The sense of unity with the whole of Nature, 
 which is the largest lesson that the naturalist gains 
 from his study of the realm, and even more from 
 the contemplation of it, is not one of self-abasement 
 or of the infinitely small place of his individuality 
 in the cosmos; it is rather that he feels the whole 
 to be in a way a part of himself. That whereunto 
 his mind ranges is his, and that he is free to go, as 
 the poet has it, " through all the lands and the seas 
 and the depths of the heavens." There is, indeed, 
 a very great difference between the sense of personal 
 insignificance which the uninformed beholder of Na- 
 ture experiences and that which the devoted student 
 enjoys. So long as this maze of action is viewed 
 as something foreign to ourselves it can not appear 
 other than hostile, as brutal as the sea to the ship- 
 wrecked sailor who is fighting for his life in the 
 waves. But when we are reconciled to this realm, 
 when we feel that we are of it and it is of us in a 
 common interchange, when we know that we have 
 
224 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 come from it as a child from its mother's body, all 
 is changed; w-e are no longer as the drowning sailor, 
 hut as fish of that sea. It matters not that we are 
 small, the whole is our own. 
 
 Although the development of the altruistic mo- 
 tives has done much to clear away the personal 
 trouble of death, it has deepened the distress that 
 arises from the parting with the beloved. Among 
 primitive people, as among most animals, grief is 
 very transitory. It seems, indeed, to have been com- 
 monly so among our ancestors of three centuries 
 ago, when the widow was to be sought in marriage 
 by the grave of her husband. What of sorrow has 
 been taken from our own fate has gone to that 
 of those we hold dear, with the result that abiding 
 grief is one of the marks of our time. Eeligion in 
 its better forms does much to assuage the sorrow by 
 elevating the mind of the sufferer to the hope of the 
 future, and by reconciling it to the divine will. 
 But it has to contend with the ever-increasing capac- 
 ity for sorrow which arises from the enlargement 
 of the sympathetic motives that marks our time. 
 Only the observant know how great is the suffering 
 that this causes to the world: could it be measured, 
 it would doubtless be found to far outweigh all that is 
 entailed by the other sources of pain put together. 
 As the evident value of life increases very rapidly 
 
THE ATTITUDE OF MAN TOWARD DEATH 225 
 
 with our gains in culture and in the means of high 
 enjoyment, the regret for the loss of those who pass 
 from it has ever a better basis of reason. The ques- 
 tion arises as to the influence which any teachings 
 of Nature can have on this emotion. 
 
 While, at best, knowledge can have but little 
 effect in a direct way in controlling the emotions, 
 and perhaps least of all in hindering or lessening 
 that of grief, there are certain truths concerning 
 the history of death which have, when rightly seen, 
 a moral splendour which should give them value 
 to the sorrowful. First of these is the story, already 
 sufficiently told, of the place of death in the scheme 
 of Ufe. Whoever comes to see that death is the im- 
 memorial sacrifice of the individual to the good of 
 the whole, that it is the very foundation of all the 
 higher life, has attained an imderstanding that will 
 appeal not only to his reason, but to his emotions as 
 well. If he is so fortunate as to go yet further and to 
 comprehend in his view the majestic spectacle of 
 the ongoing of life, of which the individual is but 
 a noble incident, he will have at least the comfort 
 which comes from the addition of dignity to grief. 
 
 Though the enlargement of understanding as to 
 the place of death in the plan which science affords 
 may do something to diminish the personal bitter- 
 ness of sorrow, it may in another way add to it. As 
 
226 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 is at once seen, nearly all the deaths that occur, cer- 
 tainly ninety-nine per cent of the whole number, 
 are to be reckoned as accidental and, in a strict sense, 
 unnecessary at the time when the end comes. They 
 are really disasters which should be avoidable, and 
 doubtless in time will be avoided. It is true that in 
 the lower life, where the improvement of the species 
 is brought about by exposing large numbers of each 
 kind to the chance of death, the resulting selection 
 served to advance the grade of the being. Even 
 there, however, there is a distinct recognition of a 
 dumb sort that this waste is an evil; for at each 
 stage of the advance we find the progeny lessened in 
 number until, in the higher of our brute kindred, 
 even twins are unusual, there being commonly only 
 one at a birth, as in man. In place of the thou- 
 sands, sometimes hundreds of thousands, of young 
 which may come from one mother in the lower 
 species in order that at most two may attain matu- 
 rity, we have a fecundity which in the higher mam- 
 mals average less than a score. 
 
 This reduction in the sacrifice rate in the higher 
 brutes is a concomitant of the increasing care that 
 the parents and the herd can give the yotmg. So 
 far as it goes it marks the replacement of the an- 
 cient formal mechanical methods of control by 
 those which come from the sympathies. Although 
 
THE ATTITUDE OP MAN TOWAKD DEATH 227 
 
 at every step of the process the range and effective- 
 ness of mere selection is lessened, the advance of 
 life is in no wise diminished. On the contrary, the 
 heightened powers of the mind appear to send it up- 
 ward with greater speed than it attained before. 
 Thus, even in the brutes, we see the beginning of 
 the new dispensation in which the higher law of 
 sympathy is to take the place of the lower automatic 
 control, which was fit enough where it gave no pain. 
 
 When we come to the primitive estate of man we 
 find that the number of the young is still further 
 reduced from its average among the higher Mam- 
 malia. Though variable, the average is probably 
 not over half a dozen. Moreover, the influence of 
 natural selection, which has been long diminishing, 
 still further lessens with the increased parental and 
 social care. Something of the rude work of the sur- 
 vival of the fittest holds on in the savage tribe. 
 There is indeed a painful remnant of it in the high- 
 est civilization, but it evidently ceases to have value 
 in shaping the destinies of the kind. It remains as 
 a mere remnant, little more serviceable than many 
 parts of our body — such as the vermiform appendix 
 of the caecum — ^fit only to be the seat of disease, and 
 a way to unprofitable, because untimely, death. 
 
 Thus, from the point of view of the naturalist 
 
 as well as from that of the moral economist, pre- 
 16 
 
228 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 mature death is to be regarded as a great evil, as 
 the sorest tax from which man suffers in his present 
 state — the sorer for the fact that, unlike death, at 
 the end of the appointed time, it is remediable: in 
 large measure at once, almost, though not perhaps 
 in its entirety, in the foreseeable future. 
 
 There are those who will doubt the probability 
 of much reducing the death rate, and others who 
 for various reasons will question the advantage of 
 changing the present conditions. As for the doubt 
 of our ability to diminish the present hideous waste 
 of youthful lives, we have only to look to the dif- 
 ference in the longevity of different families and 
 classes of any society. Or, going further, to the 
 domesticated animals, we may note how with appro- 
 priate care the young of our cattle and horses are so 
 free from danger of death before maturity that the 
 owner has hardly to reckon on loss in this time. 
 For all the care man has had he has never begun to 
 attain the effective longevity of his domesticated ani- 
 mals. He sorely needs a herdsman's care. It is evi- 
 dent that he can not have it from without; it is un- 
 reasonable to suppose that the reproduction of his 
 species among its higher members can ever be 
 brought under the control of a master, as it is in the 
 case of our cattle. The care must come from the 
 understanding and the higher conscience of the indi- 
 
THE ATTITUDE OF MAN TOWARD DEATH 229 
 
 vidual, from a personal care that looks far beyond 
 the present to the good of generations yet to be. We 
 need a form of the moral sense, based on what our 
 modern knowledge of inheritance has given us — a 
 sense that to bring a human being into the world 
 without a fair assurance that it may have a sound 
 body and mind is a crime. As to those who are too 
 low in nature to feel and obey this motive, society 
 has the same rights that it has with other malefac- 
 tors, the right to prevent those actions which are 
 destructive to the higher interests. 
 
 We can not afford here to concern ourselves with 
 the means whereby the blood of our societies may 
 be purified so that the vast part of j)remature death 
 which is due to pollution may be avoided, nor can 
 we consider the better hygienic control which ex- 
 perience has shown can do so much to stamp out 
 maladies which once were allowed to go unhin- 
 dered on their ways. It may, however, be said that 
 even in this beginning of the noble service of pre- 
 ventive medicine a perfectly controlled community 
 could -be at once protected from nearly all those 
 noninherited diseases which ravage mankind. If 
 such a community were made up of families free 
 from the tendency to a certain limited number of 
 diseases, there is no reason why nearly all its mem- 
 bers should not attain to old age. There is no other 
 
230 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 field for the exercise of a wise philantliropy so good 
 as this, no other cause so deserving of help as this, 
 which looks to the lessening of the greatest bur- 
 dens our kind has to bear. 
 
 There is another side of the evil of premature 
 death which, though well known, is too often over- 
 looked. This is the vast economic loss which it 
 entails. It is easily seen that the most expensive 
 product of society is its youth. If we take the 
 youths of twenty in any association and reckon their 
 cost in terms of labour alone, we shall find that by 
 far the greater part of the earnings of the people 
 has gone to their rearing. It is likely, indeed, if we 
 could reckon in addition to this investment the con- 
 tingent value of their lives in terms of mere money, 
 the total would far exceed that of all the capital of 
 all sorts which has been accumulated by centuries of 
 labour. Yet of this precious product of our so- 
 cieties we lose by avoidable death far more than one 
 half, pay it as a tax on our stupidity, ignorance, or 
 lack of organizing capacity. 
 
 Those who contend against the view that prema- 
 ture death is the exceeding evil which I hold it to 
 be, may contend that it has advantages in that it in 
 a way maintains something of the good of the old 
 selective processes: that when it comes in war it 
 affords inspiring examples of self-devotion; and, fur- 
 
THE ATTITUDE OF MAN TOWAED DEATH 231 
 
 tlier, that there is no effective way in which its 
 ravages can be diminished without an interference 
 with the rights of the individual such as would en- 
 tail even greater evils than those we sought to re- 
 move. In a word, that we hetter suffer and sorrow 
 on, getting what light we can from above, until in 
 some way we attaia to a new dispensation. Sorrow 
 and suffering has been the lot of man from the time 
 he came to see into the deeps. He has grown by his 
 trials, he has yet to profit by them. 
 
 So far as the plea of the laissez alkr philosophers 
 has a foundation, it rests in the legitimate assump- 
 tion that man has not yet escaped from the state 
 where the control of his destinies was in the hands 
 of the ancient brutal forces. The contention that 
 the selective processes are of value ia society is true 
 only so far as sympathetic rational care has not 
 replaced them. No doubt many weaklings die in 
 youth to the profit of the race. Probably a greater 
 number, who would perish were the process of selec- 
 tion in full activity, survive to breed their infirmities. 
 It should be obvious that we can not expect to have 
 in the same society, working coincidently, the ancient 
 selective action and the sympathetic motives which 
 had gone far to displace it even in the higher brutes, 
 dearly the part of man is to do his work in the way 
 •of his kind, rationally, with the large understanding 
 
232 THE INDIVIDtrAL 
 
 with which he has been blessed. It is not for him 
 to leave any part of his task to the control of the 
 laws that have ceased to work for him, or can no 
 longer fitly help in his task. 
 
 The idea that the death of the yoimg under any 
 circumstances can be other than calamitous, that it 
 should not be fought against by all the agents that 
 we can bring to bear, finds its only real support 
 among those who hold to the notion that war is a 
 help to the better motives of man. Their conten- 
 tions are that the trials of the march and battle 
 develop the qualities of self-devotion, obedience, and 
 valour in a way that no other kind of activity can 
 accomplish, and that the price that we pay for these 
 gains in the occasional sacrifice of numbers of our 
 youth, though to be deplored, is no more than we 
 should be willing to give for the precious return. 
 They indignantly ask of those who are for peace 
 whether they are willing to purchase it at the cost 
 of all the hardy virtues and noble devotions which 
 uplift our race, and which indeed make life really 
 worth living. 
 
 The error of these unobservant persons is one 
 familiar to all those who have to do with the his- 
 tory of inquiry in any field. It is due to the com- 
 mon mistake of supposing that the qualities dis- 
 played in an action are derived from the action it- 
 
THE ATTITUDE OF MAN TOWARD DEATH 233 
 
 self, when, in fact, they are only exhibited and not 
 at all created in the particular activity. A man 
 does not derive the muscular strength he may use in 
 battle from the fight; he has probably gained it in 
 some kind of profitable labour. His courage, his 
 obedience, his endurance in the trials of a campaign 
 are not bred in it; they are the product of his whole 
 life and that of his ancestors, who gave binn his na- 
 ture and nurture. Men must have in them all the 
 qualities that go to make the soldier before they 
 approach the business of war. All that discipline 
 does is to give a certain mechanical readiness for 
 duty; it makes practically nothing of the soldierly 
 quality. 
 
 Those who doubt the statements just made 
 should look over the history of European states. 
 They would see that the most soldierly people of 
 that continent are the Swiss, who for a hundred 
 years have hardly felt the touch of war. Yet judges 
 of what makes the fighting man feel that at any 
 moment they would give an admirable account of 
 themselves. Their martial nature, bom of national 
 independence and hard, patient labour, with a sim- 
 ple military training to give it embodiment is 
 enough to deter the greedy folk about them from 
 disturbing their repose. Just beside Switzerland, 
 that has bred its soldiers in enduring peace, we see 
 
234 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 the French, a folk of endless warring, where hardly 
 a generation in a thousand years but has known 
 campaigns. "We hear from them the martial note in 
 their worship of arms and the glory that arms may 
 win; in their trust to the test of battle for the de- 
 cision of all important personal and national matters. 
 Surely if a people gain in the higher qualities by 
 the uses of war, we should find the profit here: for 
 rarely if ever before in the history of man has there 
 been so admirable a chance for this schooling to do 
 its work. What do we find as the result of this age- 
 long process of developing the higher virtues: cour- 
 age, high-mindedness, patriotic self-devotion, the 
 things for which we pay with the lives of our best 
 youth? No answer need be made to the inquiry. 
 Look at the other so-called Latin peoples. They 
 are the product of a militarism such as northern 
 Europe did not know until relatively modem times, 
 and which our own English-speaking people have 
 never been subjected to. What we find there con- 
 firms the judgment that, so far from developing 
 in a people the qualities of the soldier, the military 
 habit in some way hinders the growth of those quali- 
 ties. The way in which it does it is plain. 
 
 In noting the fact that natural selection, because 
 of the enlarged sympathies and the effective help 
 they afford to men, has almost ceased to act in hu- 
 
THE ATTITUDE OF MAN TOWAED DEATH 235 
 
 man society, the reservation should have been made 
 that in returning to the primitive conditions of war 
 man once again encounters those conditions which 
 act there ia a peculiar and most effective way. For 
 military service we necessarily take from our society 
 the best of its young men, the able-bodied and the 
 able-minded of their generation. The chance is 
 great that they fall ia battle, it is even more probable 
 that they die of diseases from which they would have 
 been protected if they remained within the shelter of 
 their civilization. Just so far as this business of war 
 goes, whether it be a thousand lives or a million 
 that are taken from the folk, the result is the im- 
 poverishment of the nation's blood. In another gen- 
 eration there will perhaps be no fewer people, for 
 all the losses that war has inflicted, but the quality 
 of the folk will inevitably be lowered. Keep up 
 this process for a few generations and the in- 
 evitable result will be the creation of such a de- 
 cadent folk as we find among the nations who have 
 most amply made the hideous experiment of breed- 
 ing nobility by sending their best to premature 
 death. 
 
 This is hardly the place to extend the considera- 
 tion of the evils of war to the full extent of the 
 matter, but we can not forbear to note that in the 
 present state of even the best races the proportion 
 
236 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 of the population that is fit for leadership is small; 
 probably not more than one ia fifty of the men 
 have any distinct capacity for guiding ia the move- 
 ments of social or economic advance. Yet in mod- 
 em war these are the men who must be taken to do 
 its diflicult and dangerous tasks. The mere burly 
 soldier will no longer serve for the purpose as he 
 did of old. The result is that society loses its 
 profitable saving remnant. It suffers as would a 
 herd if the master were insane enough to select the 
 best for the butcher. 
 
 These considerations point clearly to the conclu- 
 sion that the fancy that war is necessary to main- 
 tain the ideals of manly courage is as mistaken as 
 is the notion that the system of the duel was re- 
 quired to uphold the sense of personal honour. 
 There is good reason to believe that those societies 
 which have abandoned the latter evil custom have 
 gained in the very qualities that it was supposed to 
 foster. There is no room for doubting that a century 
 of absolute peace would find us far better provided 
 with all the so-called military virtues than we would 
 be if we had followed the example of France in our 
 worship of the war motives. 
 
 The sparing of woe which would be brought 
 about by the cessation of war can scarcely be im- 
 agined. In our civil war over half a million men 
 
THE ATTITUDE OF MAK TOWARD DEATH 237 
 
 went down to premature death. This means that 
 some millions of people were stricken. To this day 
 every community bears the impress of that sorrow; 
 it will take half a century to bury th^t vast burden. 
 Even the trifling conflict between the United States 
 and Spain has meant anguish to a great host on 
 the two sides of the sea. "We do not hear this grief, 
 but it is as real as the noisy exultation of the victors; 
 it will outlast their triumph. 
 
 Whoever would mitigate the supreme evil of 
 untimely death, whoever would give to this natu- 
 rally glad world a chance to win its happiness, can 
 not do better service than to contend against war. 
 Let him concede that it is necessary to keep our 
 youths ready to make the supreme sacrifice of life 
 for the good of their people, he can afford to await 
 those seldom occasions when war is fully justified. 
 If we can but spare the evitable wars — ^those which 
 could be avoided if all decent men saw the measure 
 of the iniquity — ^the world woidd be safely enough 
 at peace. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE RELATION OF SOCIETY TO DEATH 
 
 We have already noted certain evident ways in 
 which societies, beginning with those of the lower 
 species and afterward with those of man, have or- 
 dered their life with a view to avoiding so much of 
 the evil of death as might by any contrivance be 
 put aside. In fact, the maia result of all these asso- 
 ciations has been to provide against the ills which 
 arise from the brevity of life of their individual 
 members. Although in organized human societies 
 we have a host of arrangements which are designed 
 to obviate the evils of death, little consideration has 
 been given to the problem as a whole. There has 
 been no effort to organize the various endeavours so 
 that the state should be able to husband its re- 
 sources of life in the most effective manner. I pro- 
 pose in this chapter to consider what might be done 
 in a society of an ideal form, yet not altogether be- 
 yond the limits of reasonable expectation, to attain 
 this end. 
 
 338 
 
THE RELATION OP SOCIETY TO DEATH 239 
 
 Assiuning, as we must, that in any well-organized 
 society the normal individuals are to retain the full 
 measure of their freedom, as distinguished from 
 license, which the best existing systems afford, and 
 that the unit of the association is to be the family, 
 the question is. What can we hope, by means of pub- 
 lic opinion, or the law, to accomplish in the way of 
 further diminishing the evils that death entails? I 
 place public opinion first among these sources of 
 remedy, for the reason that there alone can we hope 
 to lay the foundations of any such improvements 
 as we would bring about. It is toward this better- 
 ment of public opinion as regards the evils of death 
 that we need to make the most strenuous endeavours, 
 for it is just there that we find an assemblage of 
 prejudices and miscomprehensions which go far to 
 block all progress on the way we would go. These 
 obstacles need first to be considered. Though in 
 their nature simple, their importance is such as to 
 demand some analysis. This can be best obtained 
 from a brief history of them. 
 
 It is easy to see that the present state of mind 
 of most men as to the place of death is shaped, as is 
 naturally the case, not on any rational considera- 
 tion of the matter, but on the sympathies. Very 
 few persons have been brought to see that death at 
 the fit time is essential to the great order, that it is 
 
240 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 beneficent; and that it is death at the unfit time, 
 and the disability that leads to it, which is the evil 
 to be contended against. To most people illness 
 which is out of the normal order is but a matter of 
 course, while death, coming even at the time when 
 it is due, is taken to be a visitation of an inscrutable 
 Providence. To better this opinion we should make 
 it clear what the economic results of premature death 
 and the illness which commonly precedes it really 
 are. It should, as before noted, be made plain to 
 all the generations that the tax which is thus im- 
 posed is, from the point of view of money alone, 
 the sorest paid by man. When we consider that, 
 owing to premature death and enfeeblement, we 
 win on the average less than one half the service 
 we have a right to expect from men who attain 
 an adult age, and that only a small proportion of 
 those who are born come to their full promise of 
 usefulness; that quite one tenth of the living in our 
 best-organized societies are, from disability, a bur- 
 den on the others, it becomes clear that the tax is, 
 in its aggregate, greater than all the others we pay 
 for the privileges of our associations. We are, in- 
 deed, so stripped by it that less than half the normal 
 earnings of those who remain in life and health are 
 left to them. 
 
 As to the way in which this idea of economic 
 
THE RELATION OF SOCIETY TO DEATH 241 
 
 value of life may be borne in on our people it is 
 not easy to prescribe. It may, however, be sug- 
 gested that it should enter into the teaching con- 
 cerning the duties and place of the citizen, which has 
 fairly established itself in our schools. At first 
 sight it may seem an unworthy thing to estimate 
 life and health in terms of mere money value. This, 
 too, is but a prejudice derived from a short-sighted 
 way of looking at things, for this measurement is 
 but a direct stating of a loss that can be adequately 
 expressed in no other manner. Properly set forth, 
 this idea of the value of the individual to his as- 
 sociates in action is indeed noble, for it clearly 
 presents the relation of the members of a society to 
 one another. It accentuates the truth that no man is 
 in it for himself, or even for those who know him; 
 that he is in possession of his society, of his state, and 
 of mankind; that with his iUness or death all his 
 fellow-men are poorer than they would be if he re- 
 mained vigorous in the fellowship. In fact, there is 
 no surer way to an extension of the altruistic mo- 
 tives in human society than by the development of 
 this conception as to the economic bond between 
 men. 
 
 Next in order, if, indeed, it should not have the 
 first place, is the need of a better knowledge as to 
 the essential interdependence of the generations. 
 
242 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 The Occidental state of mind, that which character- 
 izes all the vigorous folk of the world, leads to an 
 exceedtag magnification of the individual. He feels 
 it in an excessive and irrational degree of isolation 
 and power to act for himself. He looks neither 
 backward nor forward upon the tide of life of which 
 his personality is but the momentary accident. 
 There can be no question that this intense individ- 
 uality of the Western Aryan has had great value. 
 It has given us men endowed with rare vigour in ac- 
 tion. The time has, however, come for another and 
 wider view as to the true station of the person in the 
 generational chain. Our knowledge as to the facts 
 of organic succession makes it plaia that men, while 
 they may well retain all the majestic sense of origi- 
 nating power, need more and more to perceive that 
 their largest function is as trustees of life. They 
 receive the store of gains their predecessors have 
 won; they take with this wealth an obligation to 
 transmit it unimpaired because of their care, and 
 augmented by the additions which they may be able 
 to make to it. When these potent truths become 
 the common property of men, as they surely will, 
 we may expect iu the masses, as we now find in 
 the considerate individual of even general knowl- 
 edge, a sense that man is not here for himself, but 
 that he is a part of a vast order which he is bound 
 
THE RELATION OF SOCIETY TO DEATH 243 
 
 to serve; that his individuality has dignity and 
 beauty only in so far as it recognises this order and 
 intelligently shares in the work thereof. 
 
 The effect of this view as to the station of the 
 individual human being wUl be in many ways help- 
 ful in bettering the attitude of men toward death. 
 It will elevate their conception as to the place of 
 this event by showing them how it is the sacrifice 
 which we each pay for the good of all, because mor- 
 tality is the price set on advance in the scale of life. 
 The main gain, however, will most likely come from 
 the increased sense of responsibility to the life of 
 the unborn generations for the effective transmis- 
 sion of the store that has been committed to their 
 keeping. Much of this forethoughtful state of 
 mind has always existed among peoples who have 
 won their way above the most primitive estate; but 
 it has commonly related to public affairs only, to the 
 safety of distinguished institutions, families, or the 
 state. It has rarely been recognised that each is in 
 himself a commonwealth of inconceivable antiquity 
 and endowed with a peculiar dignity. That all the 
 worth which institutions have is but the harvest of 
 individual lives. When men come to see them- 
 selves as their natural history portrays them, they 
 will surely judge this duty as transmitters to be the 
 
 most sacred of their obligations and recognise the 
 17 
 
244 THE INDIVIDTJAL 
 
 seriousness of the command to take account of the 
 good and evil which they may hand on to their suc- 
 cessors. 
 
 Already we begin to perceive some of the effects 
 of this modem view as to the place of man as a 
 transmitter. It has been my good chance to see, 
 for more than the term which we count as a genera- 
 tion, year by year a great number of youths of the 
 better sort in a way that has shown me much as to 
 their motives. Within this time the gain in the 
 seriousness with which these yo\mg men look upon 
 the question of their duty by those who are to come 
 after them has been very evident. Without any 
 abatement in the joyful motive with which youth 
 should always face the world, they are evidently 
 affected by the bettered sense of what their lives 
 may be made to mean. It is on such gains as these 
 that we must hope to found the larger understand- 
 ing of men as to the place of death and the adjust- 
 ments of action we should make with reference to it. 
 
 In the new conceptions of duty concerning death 
 we may expect to find a clearer sense of the impor- 
 tance of so arranging the life of the individual that 
 the society of which he forms a part may obtain 
 the full value that he has to give. Although the 
 world in a blind kind of a way may be said to be 
 ever on the watch for persons of highly distin- 
 
THE RELATION OF SOCIETY TO DEATH 245 
 
 guished capacity, there is no recognition of the fact 
 that nearly all persons of sound mind, and some as 
 well who are not so, are, hecanse of the range of their 
 individuality, endowed with ability which might be, 
 but rarely is, turned to profitable account. It is, 
 indeed, one of the greatest evils of the common- 
 place way of looking at things that we instinctively 
 consider people as all alike, until here and there one 
 appears who is strong enough to prove that he is 
 exceptional. When we come to see that this iadi- 
 vidual person is the temporary manifestation of an 
 invisible procession which has marched on through 
 the ages; when we recognise that this unique em- 
 bodiment has never been before and can never be 
 again on this earth, that when it parts from us we 
 lose a combination of qualities which can never be 
 repeated, then we may hope adequately to begin 
 the greatest work of mankind, that of caring for it- 
 self in each of its incarnations. 
 
 There is another aspect of the relations of so- 
 ciety to death which is to be found in the rites and 
 observances concerning the dead. From the earliest 
 condition of man we have the custom of caring for 
 the body of the departed. In fact, this care may be 
 regarded as one of the distinguishing features of our 
 kind. There is no other formal relation to our 
 fellows which is more universal or has been more 
 
246 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 sanctified, none that has varied so little in the 
 course of our advance from the primitive estate. 
 There is good reason for the steadfastness of this 
 relation, for it is founded on an instinctive sense of 
 the value and permanence of the individual to him- 
 self and to his fellows. Whether he believe in the 
 doctrine of a personal conscious immortality or not, 
 no discerning person can doubt that this recognition 
 of the dead is good. Yet he may well protest 
 against certain of the ways in which the dead are 
 made to weigh upon the living. 
 
 The most serious of the burdens which our cus- 
 toms require that the living shall bear because of 
 the dead is that of appointed mourning. The pas- 
 sage of the beloved shoxdd and always will, while 
 the best part of man survives, arouse sorrow. It 
 should, however, be seen that this sorrow is not in 
 itself good; that it is but a mark of human imper- 
 fection. It should not be fostered. The com- 
 mand should be to put it aside, giving all the means 
 that is commonly spent on it to the better care of the 
 living, leaving good memory alone to be the monu- 
 ment of the departed. As it is, there is a prevailing 
 opinion that grief, even when it leads to the disability 
 of the bereaved, is a fit sacrifice to the beloved dead. 
 
 There is another evil in the existing customs of 
 society concerning death which leads to an eices- 
 
THE RELATION OF SOCIETY TO DEATH 247 
 
 sive expenditure of money in idly commemorating 
 the departed. There is in every heart a natural de- 
 sire to be remembered. To most people the inevita- 
 ble forgetfulness which comes quickly to all save the 
 rarer men seems a large part of the curse that death 
 is to bring to them. Even the best of us, when 
 we examine the sources of our satisfaction, find that 
 they in large part consist in the notice that others 
 take of our presence in the world. If we play the 
 hermit, there is most likely the satisfaction that as 
 hermit we are noteworthy by our absence from the 
 throng. So when we think of forgetfulness on our 
 own part or that of those we love we shrink from it 
 in a good and natural way. There are, indeed, few 
 sides of our many-faced human quality more pathet- 
 ically noble than this. But, like much else of our 
 good qualities, it is not yet in its best showing. We 
 do well to have our dead or ourselves commemorated; 
 but we do not seek the perpetuation in the fit way 
 when we display a mere name on a monument, how- 
 ever much a work of art it may be. The essential 
 quality of a human being is in its activities, and not 
 in its name, or even in its mere form. Yet we persist 
 at a vast expense in recording these features of the 
 dead. In many communities the cost of funeral 
 monuments much exceeds what is spent on school- 
 houses. There are no trustworthy statistics on this 
 
248 THE INDIVIDUAIi 
 
 matter, but from somewhat careful observations 
 made at three widely separated points in this coun- 
 try, I have been led to the conclusion that the cost of 
 unnecessary and generally reprehensible monuments 
 to the dead considerably exceeds that of aU the 
 investments of our educational system. 
 
 A proper understanding of the nature of an in- 
 dividual man makes it clear that the only suitable 
 monument is some beneficent action done in his 
 name. All of his quality while living — ^that, in- 
 deed, which made htm alive — depended on his ac- 
 tions, the effective part of them, in relation to his 
 fellow-beiags. All that by any possibility can en- 
 dure on this earth are his fruitful deeds. If he 
 has been a profitable member of the brotherhood, 
 his influence will flow right on in the stream of en- 
 deavour in which his drop has been merged — the 
 stream which nourishes all life. If we should seek 
 for our beloved, or for ourselves, some shadow of a 
 place among men after the time of going, the only 
 fit way to do so is by well-continued activities or in- 
 stitutions which we may set in motion, such as men 
 may see to be good and judge therefrom of those 
 thus commemorated. The variety of these monu- 
 mental activities is great. There are any number 
 of little beneficences which would cost less than 
 the average monuments in our cemeteries, yet would 
 
THE RELATION OF SOCIETY TO DEATH 249 
 
 serve to enrich our communities. A shapely drink- 
 ing place by the wayside, a seat that commands a 
 pleasing landscape, cost but little more than the 
 cheapest of the vain headstones that mark the place 
 of the dust. A bit of park groimd or a scholarship 
 in a school are less expensive than any one of a 
 thousand monuments such as vainly seek to attest 
 the virtues of the dead in our great burial places. 
 A wise use of the money expended in a single ceme- 
 tery well known to me would enrich the community 
 in which it lies with scores of precious institutions, 
 making it the wealthiest in resources for the helping 
 of man of any society the world has ever known. 
 
 Even for the sorry purpose of mere fame this sac- 
 rifice of wealth upon the grave is futile: it gives, at 
 most, the bare letters of a name. To persons of 
 true culture it is as hateful as the simple burial 
 places of earlier times with their plain tablets 
 are pleasing. A mile or so beyond the cemetery 
 where the wealth of a great city has been lavished in 
 competition for a vain notice of its dead, there is a 
 little field dotted over with the slate headstones 
 such as were in use in the earlier centuries. In pro- 
 portion to the number who rest in these neighbouring 
 fields the cost is perhaps as a hundred to one. So, 
 too, is the pleasure of the discerning eye, but the 
 advantage is with the unaffected, ancient place. 
 
250 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 When society comes to understand itself as the 
 present order of man; when it sees that the indi- 
 viduals which compose it are but the temporary in- 
 carnations of the spirit of the kind — as individuals 
 infinitely important, yet to the stream only as the 
 drops that melt into it — ^we may hope to see an end 
 of this clamorous endeavour to gain a brief memory 
 where forgetfulness is inevitable. When this stage 
 of thought is attained in the associations of men 
 we may reckon on a truer estimate of the place of 
 the person in this world. 
 
 A proper understanding of the problem of our 
 individuality in relation to society — ^to our race — 
 shows us that we should give up the impossible and 
 delusive ambition to be known of all men, and limit 
 our desires of this sort to the true fellows of our life, 
 those who march near us in the great procession. 
 This view, however, is but the counterpart of the 
 other understanding, that our individual lives are 
 but as heart beats of the greater body of life, for 
 the sake of which we came to be, and for the sake 
 of which we are to pass away. Our share of the life 
 of this whole is as real as though it be other than that 
 we have with our comrades. In the personal life it is 
 a happy immediate interchange with the kinsman. 
 In the race life it is pure devotion where we may fitly 
 seek no recognition, for such can not be given us. 
 
CHAPTEE Xn 
 
 BELATION OF PAEENT TO CHILD 
 
 The question may well be asked as to the exteni 
 to which the new doctrine concerning the nature of 
 individuality enforced by modem science is to affect 
 our view of kinship to those with whom we are near- 
 ly related in blood. It is evident that at present the 
 principal moral bond of our families and much of 
 the beliefs that unite men of allied races rest upon 
 the assumption that the child is essentially a reincar- 
 nation of the parent, and that the likeness between 
 the members of the same race, even where consan- 
 guinity can not be proved, is relatively close. If 
 we are to adopt the view that the individual of 
 our kind is the embodiment of the successes achieved 
 in an inconceivably numerous ancestry, of which 
 probably not the hundred-thousandth part had at- 
 tained the form of man, can we continue to attach 
 any considerable value to relationships that of old 
 appeared to be supremely important? If, in a word, 
 our child owes to our individually acquired quality 
 
 251 
 
252 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 perhaps not niore than the millionth part of what it 
 possesses, and has to credit the rest of the sum to a 
 series of ancestors extending back to the dawn of 
 life, is there any substantial basis for believing it to 
 be our child in any full sense of the word? 
 
 Before answering the above-noted question it 
 may be well to consider that the ancient view as to 
 the bodily and spiritual relations between parent and 
 child has evidently been long undergoing a change 
 which has distinctly altered the import of the bond. 
 Among the ancient Hebrews we find men longing 
 for children with a feeling that in them they were in 
 an actual way to live again. The early literature 
 of our own race is full of allusions that show a like 
 though less intense form of the same motive. In 
 our own day we rarely catch this note. It seems as 
 if the widening of the love of our kind had lessened 
 the olden longing for issue. There are reasons for 
 believing that the new view as to the conditions of 
 inheritance is not likely further to diminish the 
 sense of our identification with our kindred; it may, 
 indeed, rather serve to enhance it. These reasons 
 may be briefly stated as follows: 
 
 While it is true that if we could analyze the vast 
 body of anatomical, physiological, and mental parts 
 and qualities that go to make up a man, we should 
 very likely find that while not the ten-millionth of 
 
RELATIOK OF PARENT TO CHILD 253 
 
 the whole was due to the individual life of his im- 
 mediate parents, that part of the life which was 
 transmitted at birth, it by no means follows that the 
 relative value of the parental and remoter contribu- 
 tions is in anything like this disproportion. If we 
 could make the fancied analysis, we certainly should 
 find that the greater part of what we are is deter- 
 mined by the laws and conditions of the inorganic 
 materials which are the basis of our frames. Of the 
 organic results achieved in our bodies practically all 
 were shaped and sealed in their form before man 
 was. All that has been won to our bodily part by all 
 the generations of our species is a few details of pro- 
 portion and hue, together with some lesser peculiari- 
 ties, such as the shape and distribution of the hair. 
 It is in the intellectual parts that the experience of 
 the human progenitors has had determining value. 
 The primitive emotions, such as hate, fear, greed, 
 etc., were shaped ia the life below mankind. It is 
 probable that the aesthetic motive took its form in 
 the prehuman stages of our development. But the 
 reasoning power in man has so greatly qualified 
 these motives that they in character widely differ 
 from that which existed in the lower realm. Thus, 
 while there is a real basis of sympathy between man 
 and the lower animals — one that grows firmer as we 
 ascend in the scale of being — ^within our own spe- 
 
254 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 cies the kinship of the individuals as measured by 
 the identities of the conunon nature is vastly nearer 
 than with any of the lower animals. The nearness 
 of men to one another is not exaggerated by any of 
 the phrases that are commonly applied to it: ia 
 truth, we lack words wherewith to set forth the full 
 measure of the bond which links the most widely 
 parted men to one another. Between their species 
 and the nearest of the brutes there is an interval fit 
 to be compared with the spaces between the planets; 
 There can be no doubt that modem science has 
 strengthened the bond that links men together and 
 effectively separated them as regards intellectual 
 kinship from the brutes. 
 
 The bond that links all men together is the 
 stronger the nearer they are to one another in the 
 generational succession, for with each step in that 
 approach the likeness of ITature on which sympathy 
 rests is enhanced. The men of our own race prop- 
 erly claim our affection in larger measure than those 
 of other races, for the reason that we iastiiictively 
 comprehend them as we can not those of alien blood 
 and motive. The fellow-citizens of our common- 
 wealth, if they be really such, are closer to us than 
 our kindred beyond the seas, because of the social 
 and political motives we share with them. Our 
 cousins and other recognised members of our fami- 
 
RELATION OF PARENT TO CHILD 255 
 
 lies are nearer yet, for the links of common and dear 
 memories. The closest of all these relations, be- 
 cause it brings with it by far the surest basis of sym- 
 pathetic understanding, is that which ties parent to 
 child, or brothers and sisters to one another. 
 
 So far as the inheritances of the body are con- 
 cerned, our modern science clearly tends to break 
 down the ancient notion as to the relations of men 
 to their progeny. We now see that our successors 
 take their shape in a measurably small share from 
 ourselves. Of the qualities due to the personal ac- 
 tivities of their progenitors they probably receive 
 nothing whatever. As regards the mental capacities 
 of their immediate ancestors, which depend upon 
 culture and accomplishment, it is likely that nothing 
 is passed on. A child is therefore vastly more the 
 offspring of its race, or rather, we should say, of its 
 realm, than of those individuals to whom it imme- 
 diately owes its life. That this statement is true is 
 endlessly shown us by the failure of great men to 
 transmit their qualities to their children. There 
 are, it is true, families that send us from generation 
 to generation a measure of strength that appears to 
 inhere in their stock; but it is most rare that this 
 stream of power flows in identical channels. In the 
 light of our knowledge concerning the nature of 
 inheritance we can see why this should be as it is. 
 
256 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 for each child combines in itself the hosts of tend- 
 encies that exist in each of its parents, and the 
 equation of these inconceivably numerous factors 
 could only by the rarest chance be such as to make 
 the child perfectly resemble either parent. The 
 same conditions which in the formation of the body 
 lead to the endless diversification of its shape in like 
 manner lead to an equal or greater diversification of 
 the mind. It is, in a word, clear that nearly all of 
 what is transmitted from ourselves to our offspring 
 comes from that common store of life upon which all 
 our race or gens draws for its share of good or ill. 
 
 At first sight the fact that our descendants take 
 by process of birth so little of the qualities which we 
 recognise as most clearly our own, appears greatly to 
 limit the conception of our kinship with them and 
 our responsibility for their conduct. This is, how- 
 ever, a mistaken view of the situation, as will appear 
 on a little examination of the matter. It is evident 
 that every child of birth is a blending of the host 
 of impulses which, revealed or hidden, existed in its 
 parents. What was separately in their persons is 
 in union and interaction in his own. By far the 
 greater part of these inheritances are organic, and as 
 such quite beyond the limited field of consciousness. 
 From the interaction of the parental transmissions 
 the new life is shaped. So far as these inheritances 
 
EELATION OP PARENT TO CHILD 257 
 
 lie in tlie organic field they can be but little influ- 
 enced by the action of the parent: yet certain dis- 
 eases acquired by them may be transmitted directly 
 or in consequent maladies to their children. Vari- 
 ous conditions of body due to good or bad habits may 
 vitally affect the physical state of the offspring. It 
 appears, for instance, quite probable that a predis- 
 position to drunkenness curses the children of an 
 inebriate, and that it is due in some measure to the 
 indulgence of the parent in that vice. It is not 
 necessary to extend these considerations, for it is 
 evident that in many ways the actions of the parent 
 may serve their progeny for good or ill. 
 
 Our information concerning heredity does not 
 enable us to fix with any certainty the bounds of the 
 effect of parental habits on the offspring. It is, 
 however, certain that any habits injurious to the 
 body or the mind act to lower the quality of the off- 
 spring, to lessen its share of the race store, and most 
 likely to give it a tendency to the same evil doing. 
 If there were no other reason save that we are the 
 keepers of this ancestral quality which goes on 
 through us to our descendants, we should still have a 
 foundation for feeling that they are peculiarly our 
 own. But this is only a small part of the basis on 
 which rests our love for our children or theirs for us : 
 a greater is to be found in the understanding that in 
 
258 THE INDIVrDITAL 
 
 our child there are united two streams of tendencies, 
 one dear to us because it is personally our own, and 
 another that should be no less dear because it is de- 
 rived from the chosen companion. Because of our 
 scant knowledge of heredity we can not yet wia 
 what our successors surely will from this modem 
 conception of the parental relation. Still, this 
 double kinship, even in the simple and limited ways 
 in which men of all kinds have understood it, is a 
 most real basis for parental affection. 
 
 The surest foundation on which the love of par- 
 ent for child can rest is that which comes from the 
 care that is devoted to its education. Men are by 
 nature care-takers, and all they give of devotion, 
 even to inanimate things, brings with it a rewarding 
 movement of the sympathies. Much of this sympa- 
 thetic movement will be aroused even if the child 
 cared for is bound to us by no more than the common 
 bond of humanity, so that childless people do well 
 to rear the children of others. It is, however, only 
 when the infant is our own, when we know that all 
 its motives have been a part of our individuality or 
 of the other whom we have adopted into our life, 
 that the affection attains its perfect form. Then 
 our help is most effective, for it is given with ample 
 knowledge drawn from our own experience. We, 
 then, are in a way living our lives over again with 
 
RELATION OP PARENT TO CHILD 259 
 
 our better selves for a mentor. We are thus in the 
 most godlike situation which the world affords — ^that 
 in which intelligence seeks to mould its own im- 
 age. Something of this admirable relation between 
 mature persons and the young inheres in all educa- 
 tional work, but its perfection is found only in that 
 part of the task which the parent alone can perform. 
 
 It is quite evident that a mother who had never 
 seen her child would, on beholding it, be moved by 
 no motherly impulse; all the f orthgoing of her spirit 
 depends on the care she has taken of her offspring — 
 on the love that came of that care. The child is be- 
 loved, not because it is of her body, but because she 
 has made it of her soul. We thus see that while 
 there. is a marvellous organic relation between the 
 generations, the union is not of a kind on which the 
 sympathies are directly founded, for the reason that 
 the relation is in a way mechanical. It does not in- 
 timately concern our sympathies; their movement 
 depends upon the unison which care-taking affection 
 develops. The value of the connection between par- 
 ent and child consists in the opportunities it gives 
 for a complete presentation of one being to another 
 so that the identity in quality is intimately felt. 
 
 Marital affection may be very strong because in it 
 
 the appreciation of the other individuality is keen, 
 
 but it lacks the perspective which is gained by the 
 18 
 
260 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 study we give to the growing child. The memory 
 of our child combines a very numerous succession 
 of impressions, each relating to some stage of its 
 growth; in each of which we have in a way a share. 
 We thus by reiterated experiences attain a deeper, 
 firmer, and more varied basis of sympathy than is 
 won from any other mode of human intercourse. 
 
 If, as above maintained, the love for our children 
 is due not to the organic bond alone, or even mainly, 
 but in larger part to the mutual education in sym- 
 pathy which the relation brings about, it is clear 
 "that the new learning, so far from in any way lessen- 
 ing that love, is sure to increase its range in scope. 
 If men depended alone for their love of their off- 
 spring on the instinctive aifection which they inherit 
 from the lower life, there might be some reason to 
 fear that an understanding of the limits and condi- 
 tions of heredity would weaken the bond between 
 parent and child; but as this union has in our kind 
 come to be mainly the result of the educative rela- 
 tion, it necessarily and naturally tends to increase as 
 the demand for education advances. Am^ong ancient 
 men the amoim.t of help the child received was far 
 less than in our day. Even among the cultivated 
 people of antiquity the youth at puberty was very 
 generally reckoned to be beyond the need of parental 
 care, though, commonly under parental authority; 
 
RELATION OP PARENT TO CHILD 261 
 
 the family, in the better modern sense of the word, 
 was relatively undeveloped. In our day the relation 
 between parent and child is evidently undergoing a 
 profound though unrecognised readjustment. The 
 effect of this change will evidently be to establish a 
 better union than has existed before — one that rests 
 not on the idea that our children are our own, be- 
 cause they have sprung from us, but rather because 
 we have by sympathetic education drawn them into 
 mutual understanding. 
 
 All that has been here said concerniug parental 
 love applies equally well to that which the child owes 
 to its parents; it applies indeed to aU the affection 
 that is due from one kinsman to another, of whatever 
 degree. The reason why this greater measure of 
 sympathy is due to kindred and why it will ever be 
 given, is that among them, and in proportion to the 
 nearness of the relation, a common basis of motive 
 and understanding may be reckoned on. All sympa- 
 thetic intercourse evidently depends upon the exist- 
 ence of discoverable identities; the more numerous 
 these are the greater and more authoritative the 
 demand the fellow-being makes upon us. This de- 
 mand should be heeded from however far away it 
 comes: it is most imperative when it is heard from 
 our children, because of all this world we can best 
 understand "their cry. 
 
CHAPTEE XIII 
 
 THE PERIOD OF OLD AGE 
 
 In all the lower vertebrates, and in some meas- 
 ure in the invertebrates as well, the close of life, 
 except it end by accident, is preceded by a period 
 of decay. Professor Hyatt and others have shown by 
 extended studies of the matter that the phenomena 
 of old age occur in the higher Mollusca as well as in 
 other invertebrates, and that it is marked not only 
 in the individuals but in the specific and other 
 groups to which they belong. As this is a large 
 question, one which would lead us far if we under- 
 took to give it any extended discussion, we will 
 note only that the fact of decadence as a concomi- 
 tant of organic advance is pretty generally accepted 
 by well-informed naturalists, and that it applies' to 
 groups of organic forms as well as to their individ- 
 ual members. We see how the gens, the tribe, the 
 species, the genus, as well as the more inclusive 
 groups, each in turn become crippled and perish. It 
 262 
 
THE PERIOD OF OLD AGE 263 
 
 appears, indeed, as if these branches of the tree of 
 life, as well as the individual buds, were required to 
 drop away in order that new limbs might come forth. 
 All this is in accord with what we have noted con- 
 cerning the conditions under which the organic 
 world may perfect its education. We have seen that 
 any continuance of the person after its service had 
 been rendered was avoided. When their contribu- 
 tion was made they were fitted to pass away. 
 
 In the lower animals, because their contribution 
 to the life of their kind is almost altogether con- 
 nected with reproduction and the rearing of the 
 young, the end is appropriate as soon as this stage 
 in their work is finished. It is therefore almost a 
 inatter of course that the period intervening be- 
 tween the end of the reproductive term and death 
 should be, as we iind it, brief; so brief, in fact, that 
 it is of no consequence. In our domesticated ani- 
 mals there can hardly be said to be a normal old-age 
 period after the time of bearing young is passed. So 
 far as I have been able to learn, there is nothing like 
 the grand climacteric among these creatures. In 
 mankind it is otherwise: in the fifth decade, at a 
 point where rather less than half the normal lon- 
 gevity has been attained, the breeding time of the 
 female is definitely over. Among the males the 
 reproductive function normally continues for some 
 
264: THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 years longer, but it may be assumed that, generally 
 soon after the sixtieth year, this part of the life work 
 of most human beings is done. Yet, as we have seen, 
 there is what may be called a physiological expecta- 
 tion of a further life of some forty or more years. 
 
 How far the long period of normal senectitude 
 in man is due to the peculiar care which civilization 
 and even a decent barbarism devotes to elderly peo- 
 ple, and how far it is due to some peculiar develop- 
 ment of the organic motives in the species, it is not 
 easy to determine. It is indeed most likely that both 
 these influences contribute to the institution. The 
 fact that the reproductive period of the female in 
 man lasts only about thirty years, or less than one 
 and a third times the period required for the full 
 growth of the body, leads to the presumption that a 
 change has come in man which leads to the establish- 
 ment of an old age period. In all the other species of 
 the mammals which are, in this regard, well known to 
 us, the gestation period normally extends to three 
 times or more the term of growth. Thus, mares 
 which are grown at five or six may bear young from 
 their second until after their twentieth year. Some- 
 thing like this proportion is true of all our domesti- 
 cated mammals. It is therefore evident that the 
 limitation of child-bearing is a very novel feature in 
 the mammalian series. 
 
THE PERIOD OP OLD AGE 265 
 
 So far as I have been able to ascertain, the varia- 
 tion among different races of mankind, in the period 
 when child-bearing ceases, is not great. It is prob- 
 ably less than the range in the term of adolescence 
 or the time of puberty. It is thus evident that it 
 is no new occurrence in mankind. It must have 
 been established before the division of the species 
 into the several existing races took place. It may 
 weU. have been brought about in some form that 
 was prehuman. It may, for aU we know, exist 
 among the anthropoid apes, for concerning these 
 interesting species we know scarcely more than their 
 anatomy, which tells us little as to their physiolog- 
 ical relations to our kiad. 
 
 It is hardly to be supposed that the shortening 
 of the gestative term could have been in any way 
 due to the process of natural selection. It is in- 
 deed evident that there could have been no such 
 gain to the individuals as would serve to perpetuate 
 those varieties which come to have the shortened 
 term. It is difficult to see where the profit could 
 have been to the species which possessed the pecul- 
 iarity, for its result is considerably to limit the num- 
 ber of the progeny, making man the least fecund 
 of mammals, and thus to bring to the species a 
 state of weakness rather than of strength. Probably 
 a skilful special pleader of the cause would find some 
 
266 THE INDIVIDTJAL 
 
 conceiTable way in which the facts could he recon- 
 ciled with the principle of the survival of the fit- 
 test; hut in the direct reading of them we see only 
 an innovation which could have been of no par- 
 ticular account in any species before the human 
 estate or even to the savage man, but which fits ex- 
 ceedingly well into the scheme of our higher so- 
 cieties. 
 
 While, in the species of animals below the level 
 of man, we find occasional instances of survival to 
 the period of old age, such individuals are but a 
 burden to themselves as well as to their kind. They 
 take food which is never too plenty; they cumber 
 the herd which has for its important function to 
 reproduce as rapidly and effectively as possible and 
 to get onward by selection, or otherwise, as speedily 
 as it may. But, with the beginning of speech and 
 the varied enlargements that come therewith, all 
 the relations of the individual to the company in 
 which it dwelt underwent a great and ennobling 
 change. In place of being a mere apparatus for 
 increasing the numbers of the herd, and perhaps for 
 its defence, the individual becomes a storehouse of 
 acquired or traditional knowledge. It gains in wis- 
 dom which now, for the first time, comes to have 
 a distinct place and value in the organic association. 
 Such intellectual gains are, in general, the greater 
 
THE PERIOD OP OLD AGE 267 
 
 as life goes on to the v6rge of the exhaustion of the 
 vital powers. It is in this way that the shortening 
 of the reproductive period, or rather the prolon- 
 gation of life beyond its term, becomes of value to 
 man. 
 
 "We find an effective recognition of the value of 
 the aged members of the society as we advance from 
 the lower animals, through the savage tribes, the 
 barbarians, and so up to civilized man. Among the 
 brutes, even the gentlest, the superannuated are 
 either quite neglected or, as is often the case, killed 
 or driven from the association. In some cases it 
 appears as if with the cessation of the reproductive 
 powers the creatures were no longer instiiictively 
 regarded as members of the species, but as aliens. 
 Among the lowest savages like conditions prevail. 
 2^0 care is taken of the old members of the tribe. 
 In some of them they are slain as soon as they be- 
 come too enfeebled to take an effective part in the 
 rude duties of the society. As we rise ia the scale 
 of civilization to where there are traditions to keep 
 and grave councils to be held, to what we may term 
 the barbaric plane, we find at once a distinct value 
 is set upon the old people. They begin to receive 
 care and in time reverence from the younger genera- 
 tion. There is probably no better simple test as to 
 the separation between the mere savage and the men 
 
268 THE INDIVIDUAIi 
 
 of a distinctly higher estate, however savage-like he 
 may at first sight appear, than this difference in the 
 treatment of the aged folk, for much of importance 
 goes with it. It is a noticeable feature in the early 
 sacred writings of the Jews that, while they repre- 
 sent a very primitive condition of society, so far at 
 least as its impedimenta go, they are full of rever- 
 ence for age. In general, it may he said that when 
 the people begin to have a literature or a body of 
 traditions formed into an organized religion, the 
 aged comes to have a high place in its society, a 
 separate but dignified position. 
 
 As civilization advances to near its present state 
 another change comes over the treatment of old 
 people. They are no longer regarded as a folk to 
 be set apart from the active members of the society, 
 to be looked up to as a class with a certain rever- 
 ence and an obligation to maintain a fitting, digni- 
 fied and solemn demeanour. They are, as it were, 
 readopted into the association and are allowed to 
 go along with the business of life in the manner 
 of other men and women. This change of temper 
 is probably due, in part at least, to the fact that 
 modem skill, in the care of the body, has done a 
 great deal to remedy the defects that age brings, 
 especially those of the eyes and teeth, so that those 
 of fourscore can still appear as and do the work of 
 
THE PERIOD OP OLD AGE 269 
 
 younger men. The generation which has seen an 
 aged Gladstone guide an empire; a Von Moltke at 
 the threescore limit beat down France; and a Bis- 
 marck, at more than threescore, readjusting the pow- 
 ers of Europe, has naturally enough given up the 
 notion that a seat by the chimneyside was the only 
 place for the elders. 
 
 There is no reason to doubt that the present at- 
 titude of society toward old people is one that is 
 greatly to the advantage alike to old, mature, and 
 young. It brings into the centre of the social life 
 all the value which inheres ia age: the broad view 
 of life, the repose, the sense of relative values which* 
 is lacking ia the immature and scarcely attainable 
 by those who are in the full tide of living. The 
 change is indeed the complement of the introduc- 
 tion of the youth into the social relations of their 
 people which has also come about in our time. It 
 marks the modem passage from the earlier division 
 of men into ranks and occupations in which women, 
 youths, and the old were separated from the active 
 and militant class. The ancient system was bred 
 of the military spirit in conditions where the fight- 
 ing quality was of the utmost importance to a peo- 
 ple; when all the conceptions of human relations 
 were affected by considerations of war. The rela- 
 tive security of modem states has permitted a new 
 
270 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 classification, or rather a destruction of the old, 
 which leaves human beings to find places determined 
 by their qualities. It is this readjustment which has 
 served to better the position of the aged by keeping 
 them in closer relation with their fellows. 
 
 It is also evident that the value of aged people 
 in society has risen with the development of the 
 industrial side of our civilization. The ancient cus- 
 tom of putting them to death, though rude, was, in 
 a way, justifiable in a stage of society where there 
 was nothing to spare, and where the maintenance 
 of the aged meant insufficient food and raiment for 
 the young. The growth of wealth means, among 
 other things, that the society which possesses it has 
 become able to pay for other than immediate bodily 
 needs; it can and will support much that its ances- 
 tors of remote degree ia no wise valued; it can afford 
 to pay largely for all that makes for the spiritual 
 and intellectual environment of its life. There is 
 no doubt that the presence of three or four gen- 
 erations ia one social edifice gives to it far more 
 value than is afforded by one or two. The elders 
 are, it is true, of the past. They are relatively in- 
 active; they contribute little to the direct profit of 
 the association, but they serve, as nothing else can, 
 to unite the life of the community, to bridge the 
 gap between the successive generations. 
 
THE PERIOD OF OLD AGE 271 
 
 It is easy to see that as the body of the tradition, 
 which makes the spirit of a people, becomes the 
 greater, it is the more difficult to effect the trans- 
 mission of it, from stage to stage, in the succession. 
 Notwithstanding the vast resources of our printed 
 records, they do not completely convey the quality of 
 one time to that which succeeds it. As the spirit of 
 society, that vast entanglement of blended emotions 
 and understandings, grows more complicated and of 
 greater value to those who live in and by it, the dif- 
 ficulty of this transmission increases and with it 
 the risk that much that should go on is lost in the 
 passage. Thus, to take a new and striking instance 
 of such failure of the past experience to be trans- 
 mitted, we see in the outbreak of the late war with 
 Spain, as well as in the campaigns to which it led, 
 how imperfectly the traditions of one generation 
 are passed to that which succeeds. Of no war has 
 the record been so complete and apparently indeli- 
 ble as that of 1861-'65; but for all that, the new 
 generation lacked the true sense of what conflict 
 with arms meant. It went about it light-heartedly, 
 to be stricken with horror when they found that it 
 meant suffering and death. If the declaration of 
 war could have been left to those men and women 
 who had a knowledge of its real nature, it probably 
 would not have been undertaken. 
 
272 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 The same difficulty in transmittirig experience 
 by any record is shown ia the management of the 
 recent land campaigns. On the face of the matter 
 it would seem that there is no part of the acquisi- 
 tions of man that could be so well transmitted as 
 those which pertain to military duty. Every step is 
 well recorded; there is an elaborate framework to 
 hand on all that has been learned. Yet we see offi- 
 cers of more than common intelligence utterly neg- 
 lecting the very first duty of the commander, allow- 
 ing their men to lack the simplest and perish from 
 want of the most ordinary precautions. All doubt- 
 less tried to do their duty by their trusts, but the 
 only admirable successes in difficult tasks appear to 
 have been on the part of the elderly men who 
 brought to the work the experience gained in the 
 time of another generation. If we had lacked what 
 we had of the men of threescore, of men who, a cen- 
 tury or two ago, would have been regarded as super- 
 annuated, the result to our cause would doubtless 
 have been quite other than it was. 
 
 Considerations such as those which have just 
 been presented could be indefinitely multiplied, not 
 only in relation to the matters of war, but in those 
 of peace as well. They are marked in the repeti- 
 tion of political follies and the successions of com- 
 mercial disasters. They all show the need of add- 
 
THE PERIOD OP OLD AGE 273 
 
 ing, in every possible way, to the strength of the 
 bond between the generations, so that the life of onr 
 societies may thereby gain a larger unit of action 
 than is afforded by the experience of its most active 
 members. If we could make the deeds of any one 
 time result from the consensus of three or f ovix gen- 
 erations of experienced men, we might hope to gain 
 an element of steadiness in the development and in 
 the working of our institutions which would be of 
 great value to civilization. There would be fewer 
 recitals of failure; fewer of those reversions toward 
 savagery which set back progress. The machinery 
 of civilization would move with greater steadiness 
 and safety. 
 
 There are three ways in which we may hope for 
 the betterment of our means of passing on the val- 
 uable acquisitions of society. It may, in part, be 
 done by the improvement of the kind, by separating 
 the savage and brutal stocks from the better class, 
 so that degraded strains may not reproduce. To 
 the naturalist this appears the most obvious means 
 of gain, for the bettered life which would soon be 
 thus won would be quicker to respond to all good 
 influences. As yet society is nqt ready to adopt 
 this simple and essentially humane method of bet- 
 tering its estate. It prefers to punish the brutes 
 who successively appear rather than to prevent their 
 
2Y4 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 succession. The second way is by making our his- 
 toric record more effective, not only more complete 
 as regards its matter, but more perfect as regards 
 the lessons it conveys. Something may be done in 
 this way, but those who most need the profit of his- 
 tory can not be expected to obtain it. Moreover, it 
 has commonly to be written by men who are parted 
 from the spirit of the times they chronicle. The 
 only effective way of bridging the gulf is by keep- 
 ing in the life of the active generation as many 
 representatives as possible of those who have gone 
 before; retatuing them not as relicts but as active 
 sources of knowledge and sympathy. 
 
 It may be said that the endeavour to help society 
 to a better understanding of its past by extending 
 the life of as many of its members as possible is, 
 for several reasons, in vain. In the first place, it 
 may be urged that the proportion of those who may 
 live on beyond the active period is so limited that 
 they would not have a sensible influence on affairs, 
 and that when they survive beyond the usual limit 
 they are, because of their many infirmities, of no 
 value to the social system. The answer is that, even 
 in the present imperfect state of our care for life, 
 some do survive to the tenth decade with much of 
 their original quality in them, and that, as our experi- 
 ence with domesticated animals shows, whereunto 
 
THE PERIOD OP OLD AGE 275 
 
 any one member of a kind attains, all may, with pa- 
 tient care, be brought. There is no physiological 
 reason why the expectation of life at birth should not 
 be, in the course of time, brought somewhere nearer 
 to the fivescore years to which some few survive. It 
 is, furthermore, asserted that, after an age of about 
 seventy years, the enf eeblement of mind consequent 
 on the general decay of the body makes the value of 
 the individual very small. Here, again, the answer 
 is the men themselves — exceptional men, it is true, . 
 but within the possibilities of culture to make normal 
 men who have in the ninth decade done good work in 
 varied fields. Humboldt's Cosmos, the second part 
 of Goethe's Faust, and many other monumental 
 works in various branches of literature, serve to 
 prove the possible integrity of the faculties in ad- 
 vanced age. 
 
 It may be well again to note that the endeavour 
 to retain the aged is not an effort to preserve the 
 lives of the old alone. It is but a part of the larger 
 duty of avoiding premature death at all stages in 
 the history of the individual. The present waste 
 of endeavour and of promise which comes with the 
 loss of men and women before society has had the 
 value which they might have yielded is a grievous 
 and a shameful thing. We pride ourselves on the 
 
 economic successes of our civilizatiDn,.biii.give„ri6 
 19 
 
276 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 attention to the fact that as regards the most pre- 
 cious things with which we have to deal, the lives 
 that are in our care, we are utterly wasteful; doing 
 our work in a way that would bring a mill owner 
 to disgrace in the estimation of his fellows. We 
 have as yet devised no method whereby these lives 
 may come to us in a wholesome condition. Our 
 means for caring for them after they are with us 
 are entirely inadequate for the needs. The result 
 is that only a small fraction of the value which 
 should be harvested from a generation is really won 
 to use. Every step which is taken in the ways of 
 remedying this evil will help to increase the share 
 of the able-bodied and able-minded aged, who re- 
 main to enrich our civilization. 
 
 It is an interesting question whether, in the fu- 
 ture, anything can be done to extend the term of 
 life beyond the limit of about a century, at which it 
 appears now to be fixed. It is probably far too soon 
 to come to a conclusion on this point, for we lack 
 accurate knowledge of nearly all the data required 
 for the inquiry. There are, however, certain in- 
 dexes which have value; they may briefly be set 
 forth. A study of longevity as it is displayed 
 throughout the animal kingdom shows us that it 
 varies much and often rather quickly in relation to 
 the conditions of the environment. As before re- 
 
THE PERIOD OP OLD AGE 211 
 
 marked, in plants and animals alike it may in this 
 regard greatly difiEer in two rather closely related 
 species. Therefore, we may conclude that while the 
 system of the organic world calls for an essentially 
 brief duration of the individual, it allows a con- 
 siderable range in the length of the life period — 
 considerable in the sense in which time is reckoned 
 by us. It is also to be noted that since the coming 
 of man, or at least not far back in his ancestry, 
 there appears to have been a sudden loss of longev- 
 ity measured in terms of the period of growth. If 
 this really occurred, it may be that the term is less 
 fixed than we would expect it to be if the institution 
 were of more ancient date. Last of all, while the 
 upper limit appears, at least at present, to be some- 
 what rigidly established, the variation in the endur- 
 ance to the tax of life in different families is 
 marked, which seems to show that there is in this 
 regard a certain elasticity in the position of the 
 limit. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE UTILIZATION OF OLD AGE 
 
 The question before us is as to what we may do 
 to enlarge the meaning of old age, either by increas- 
 ing the proportion of those who attain to it or 
 by making that part of the lifetime to those to 
 whom it comes, more fruitful to the community. 
 Although there have been many incidental studies 
 of longevity in man, there has as yet been no suffi- 
 cient inquiry into the condition which determines the 
 survival of the individual in a state of sound body 
 and mind beyond the average period of life. There 
 have been more or less probable conjectures that this 
 or that personal habit, condition of society or of cli- 
 mate are influential in extending or diminishing the 
 length of life. But, so far, none of these working 
 hypotheses, if such they may be called, have been 
 verified. The only fact that appears to be fairly well 
 established is that the tendency to live to a con- 
 siderable age is like most other organic tendencies, 
 278 
 
THE UTILIZATION OF OLD AGE 279 
 
 a matter of iaheritance; it being decidedly more 
 common in certain families or strains of blood than 
 in others. Yet even this is but a general truth to 
 which there are numerous and striking exceptions. 
 
 From the nature of the question it is evident 
 that any determination as to the means whereby hu- 
 man life may, in serviceable shape, be prolonged 
 beyond its present average limit will be very diffi- 
 cult to effect. The only possible basis of the in- 
 quiry will be in experiments and observations, ex- 
 tended over a wide field applied to the higher Mam- 
 tnalia of species such as our domesticated animals, 
 as weU as to man. In the case of man, experiments 
 will be difficult if not impossible to accomplish, 
 unless perchance they were essayed either on life 
 prisoners or on persons who might be willing to 
 sacrifice much of their liberty for the good of their 
 kind. None of these classes of opportunity are 
 likely to have much value, at least in the present 
 state of public opinion as to the value and sacredness 
 of life. In the lower animals the difficulty of the 
 inquiry, so far as the physical side of the problem 
 is concerned, is not great. The trouble is that the 
 index as to the survival of the mental powers which 
 could there be obtained would not be satisfactory. 
 "We should thus miss the main point of the inquiry, 
 for the task is not merely to keep people alive up. 
 
280 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 to the organic limit of fivescore years, but to main- 
 tain them in their normal mental powers. To estab- 
 lish a body of folk in their second childhood would 
 be merely .to burden society with a larger number 
 of defectives than it has at present to care for. 
 
 Observations on the differences in the endurance 
 of the vital powers, bodily and mental alike, applied 
 to those engaged in diverse occupations and dwell- 
 ing in varied conditions of climate, would doubtless 
 throw much light on the question of longevity. So, 
 too, would a study of the physical conditions of 
 those families in which the endurance of the body 
 and mind was more than usually good. From such 
 studies in man and brute we may hope, in time, to 
 attain to the first stage of a system by which the in- 
 dividual might have a better chance to secure the 
 term of life which the conditions of his body evi- 
 dently tender him. 
 
 The question as to the means by which a soimd 
 old age may be more frequently attained should 
 not be left, as it now is, to accidental and unorgan- 
 ized inquiries. From the nature of the researches 
 demanded by the problem, they are beyond the 
 scope of individual study. They need to be under- 
 taken by some institution where there will be an 
 orderly and uninterrupted process of inquiry. Such 
 conditions may possibly be found in a government 
 
THE UTILIZATION OF OLD AGE 281 
 
 establishment, managed as are the bureaus of health 
 of some States, or, better still, by a society under the 
 control of some institutions of learning, academy or 
 university. With sufficient means to pay for a fit 
 staff, such an organization would even in a genera- 
 tion be able to do much in advancing these re- 
 searches. It would afford a centre about which 
 studies of the problem would gather, so that, in 
 time, perhaps within a few decades, we should be 
 able to discern, in part at least, what needs be done 
 to attain the desired end. 
 
 It may be well to note that, while the problem 
 of the development of old age to its fit state as a 
 normal and useful period of life is clearly related 
 to the whole problem of sanitation in the large 
 sense of that word; it is not quite identical with 
 it, for the reason that the question of normal lon- 
 gevity concerns other matters than the mere time 
 of death. It concerns the survival in a useful form 
 of the powers of mind and body which last beyond 
 the normal reproductive period and not the mere 
 physical life of the individual, which is indeed a 
 matter of small importance. Therefore, it is de- 
 sirable to separate the inquiry concerning the condi- 
 tions of a vigorous old age from those which relate to 
 the questions of public health in the ordinary under- 
 Standing of that matter. The fact that this differ- 
 
THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 ence exists is well shown by the absence of any con- 
 siderable attention to the problems of longevity on 
 the part of the existing bureaus of health. This ap- 
 parently indicates that the proposed task should not 
 be added to the burdens of our already encumbered 
 sanitary boards, but should be assigned to some other 
 organization. 
 
 Those who are ia the habit of carefully observ- 
 ing people may have noticed in women who have 
 passed the climacteric, or between the forty-fifth and 
 fiftieth years, a considerable enlargement of intellec- 
 tual interests. So general does this appear to be 
 that it may be regarded as normal, and as indicating 
 a natural tendency of the mind to claim its rights ia 
 the peculiar hiunan period of old age. Among men, 
 perhaps because there is no such distinct change in 
 the work of the body or the load of care, 'this en- 
 franchisement of the spirit is less often and less 
 clearly seen; yet there too, I am satisfied from the 
 instances I have observed, it tends also to occur, 
 and needs but a little fostering to become normal. 
 
 The question may well be asked. Why, if there 
 really exists this possibility of a distinct growth in the 
 period commonly regarded as one of decrepitiide, has 
 it not been long and well known ? I am disposed to 
 warrant even the ire of the reader who finds in my 
 suggestion something, that flies in the face of all 
 
THE UTILIZATION OP OLD AGE 283 
 
 Immaii experience, for what is more certain in this 
 world than the decline of man in old age? But, be- 
 fore he dismisses the suggestion as preposterous, it 
 wOl be well for him to consider the fact that there 
 is a curious weight of tradition supporting the view 
 as to the incompetence of old age, and that much of 
 this rests upon the habit of judging men by their 
 value in war. This tradition rests, moreover, upon 
 a body of experience formed in ages when the con- 
 ditions of life were such as to bring about enf eeble- 
 ment at a relatively early time. Among the greater 
 gains of civilization, we may count among the fore- 
 most the improvements which enable sound folk of 
 station to attain the best term of life almost un- 
 broken in body and the change in the basis on which 
 men are valued. Therefore, we are here in a meas- 
 ure dealing with a new problem, one that can not be 
 solved by a reference to the past. It seems clear 
 that the matter is worthy of a careful explanation. 
 It is evident that we have in the old age period of 
 man a gift of years which we should seek in all ways 
 to enrich. To effect this we need to ascertain the 
 possibilities of activity which it opens to those who 
 may attain to age. 
 
 The demands made on the body and mind dur- 
 ing the reproductive period of life are great. This 
 is, also the. time when the burden of care for the 
 
284 THE INDIVIDtJAL 
 
 youiig and for subsistence is most engrossing. It 
 commonly happens that at some stage of the middle 
 period, if at all, the man or woman is much freer 
 than before to live the intellectual life. If the 
 earlier years have been altogether given to com- 
 monplace affairs there is no chance that enlarge- 
 ment may come with the opportunity for it which 
 the falling away of other interests affords. If, how- 
 ever, the capacity for any intellectual work has been 
 kept alive, it may then find its chance of activity. I 
 have observed a mmiber of instances of such de- 
 velopment in people of some natural ability after 
 the middle of the term, say, between the fiftieth 
 and the sixtieth year. In some of these latent ca- 
 pacities of a nature unsuspected even by the per- 
 sons themselves, have appeared and attaiued a quality 
 which was in its way admirable. It is not at all prob- 
 able that great attainment will be won in an art or 
 science where it is taken up in middle life. All 
 its years are commonly too short for such winning, 
 but what is really the most important gain, that of 
 self-culture, can thus be had. There is, moreover, 
 a strong and wholesome sense of triumph to be 
 had from this late breaking into new fields, such as 
 youth with its manifold interests and scant knowl- 
 edge of life can not know. To the oldish person 
 who is a bit weary with the repetitions of his days. 
 
THE UTILIZATION OF OLD AGE 285 
 
 to whom the best of his profits have already a tire- 
 some sameness, the effect of a new accomplishment 
 is magical. It is like the discovery of an oasis in 
 the desert. It brings again the joy of youth, for the 
 most of the pleasure of that time lies in just such 
 excursions into the great unknown of the self. 
 
 Some anatomists tell us that the brain begins 
 to shrink at fifty, and certain of them venture to 
 assert that no original work can be done after that 
 time. The facts are, however, so against that asser- 
 tion as to deprive it of any value. Whatever may 
 be the truth as to the brain itself, a little knowledge 
 of its product in the way of masterpieces will show 
 that with persons of natural ability and sound body 
 the doing power may well last for a score or more 
 years past the half century. 
 
CHAPTEE XV 
 
 IMMOETALITT 
 
 Theeb are evident reasons why natural science 
 sliould not have nmch of value to say concerning 
 the conditions or the possibility of individual spirit- 
 ual life apart from the existence of the body. The 
 little that is said in this chapter finds its justifica- 
 tion mainly in the fact that some — indeed, we may 
 say many — physicists have, with unjustified assump- 
 tion of authority, stated too much on this question] 
 so that the naturalist is entitled to make his dis- 
 claimer and to set forth what seems to him the 
 reasonable interpretation of the truths relating to 
 it which come within the fields of his observation. 
 
 Before undertaking to set forth what may be 
 observed in the material world in relation to im- 
 mortality or fairly inferred from such observations, 
 it will be profitable to consider the position of the 
 investigator of phenomena, his limitations and the 
 nature of his successes. This by way of making 
 286 
 
IMMORTALITY 287 
 
 it plain as to how fax he can expect to see into the 
 depths of the world he seeks to explore. There is 
 a common notion, one unhappily shared by many 
 able students of Naturej and by the most of those 
 who regard themselves as naturalists, that by enter- 
 ing this procession they become ia some manner 
 curiously enlightened as to the mysteries of the uni- 
 verse — in a way made free to form safe judgments 
 concemirig all that goes on iu that realm. There is 
 much of the ancient notions concerning the powers 
 of priesthood in this claim to far-reaching knowl- 
 edge, a claim which is too freely accepted as valid. 
 An examination of the matter shows us that 
 those who are professionally engaged in what is 
 termed scientific inquiry are doing a work which 
 diifers in no essential way from that which men 
 have been engaged in since they entered on the 
 human estate. Standing in face of the vast com- 
 plex of Nature, men have ever been forced to ask 
 the questions of why and how. Out of the multi- 
 plicity of occurrences they have selected certain of 
 them and have endeavoured to find how they were 
 related to other happenings. At once they saw, 
 as the savage indeed sees, that very often an event 
 occurs because something was done before it came 
 about and certain other events follow in the same 
 train. This sense of the enchainment of actions 
 
288 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 has been the foundation of our conduct in all our 
 history as men. The naturalist, using this term 
 to designate all those who are intimately concerned 
 with scientific inquiry, differs from his fellows of 
 the more ancient employments in no other regard 
 save that he has learned, or at least should have 
 learned, certain rules, based on experience, which 
 serve somewhat to diminish the risks of error in 
 judgment and something of technical skill in the 
 application of his resources. Thus he should know 
 how to verify his data and to criticise his con- 
 clusions somewhat better than the mechanic or the 
 merchant ordinarily learns to do. As a matter of 
 fact, however, there is not much difference in the 
 measure of the verifying and criticising skill among 
 the abler men of any of the walks of life. Except 
 for the craft knowledge, the better men in the eco- 
 nomic field are as truly men of science as their breth- 
 ren to whom that term is commonly limited. 
 
 There is a difference between scientific and busi- 
 ness inquiries, in that the former confess no limits, 
 while the latter are bounded by the conditions 
 which make for gain. The result is that the natu- 
 ralist has been able, by using one discovery as a 
 stepping place for the next, to push his knowledge 
 as to the sequences of actions on many different 
 lines for a considerable distance beyond the boimds 
 
IMMORTALITY 289 
 
 of the self-evident. It is this penetration into the 
 fields imknovm by ordinary men which has given 
 the glamour captivating to the imagination, and 
 leads people to believe that those who see so far on 
 dark ways must be able to penetrate the mysteries of 
 life and death and make the imiverse plain. It is 
 hardly to be wondered that these successes have de- 
 ceived many of our path-breakers as to their accom- 
 plishments, causing them to feel that the gates of 
 all knowledge are opening to them. The results of 
 the last hundred years of active inquiry have been 
 again and again to double the mass of the informa- 
 tion which has been gathered in the centuries since 
 men began to question Nature. But all those who 
 see beyond the surface are forced to recognise the 
 truth that the proportion of what is known to that 
 which is knowable but undiscovered is in no wise 
 diminished for all the researches that have been 
 made. Each thread of action we follow up reveals 
 an endless number of other threads inwoven with 
 it in the fabric of causation. Thus the undulatory 
 theory of light, which at first glance seemed rela- 
 tively simple, has on further investigation led to the 
 conviction that there is not one such motion in the 
 ultimate particles of the ether, but an indetermi- 
 nable number of them coexisting in that substance, 
 each transmitting a peculiar quality of energy, dif-r 
 
290 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 f ering one from another as tlie waves of ordinary 
 light from those we term the Eontgen rays. It 
 now seems likely that we have but begun to un- 
 derstand the variety of effects which are thus 
 propagated by the motions of the ethereal me- 
 dium: they may be indeed essentially infinite in 
 number. 
 
 In whatever direction the naturalist penetrates 
 in the interminable forest of phenomena, he finds 
 the same tangle of causations. He selects, so to 
 speak, particular trees which he follows from their 
 roots in the unseen deeps of Nature, through their 
 evident branchings; but as there are no limits to 
 these groups of action, he ends always with the sense 
 that the known, however far his knowing may go, 
 must ever be to that which is to remain undis- 
 covered as one to infinity — as nothing to the whole. 
 He recognises, or should do so, that all he may 
 know lies as it were in one plane — ^that of his own 
 limited nature, that determined by his own features, 
 by his mind and the apparatus of his senses. The 
 realms of the infinitely great and the infinitely 
 small are beyond his approach. He easily recognises 
 that there may, indeed must, be other types of be- 
 ing beyond the infinitesimally small field which is to 
 his eye the universe. Less easily, yet still clearly 
 enough, he divines that the depths into which we 
 
IMMORTALITY 291 
 
 ineffectively peer with the microscope are as fath- 
 omless as those of the heavens, and that the order 
 of the molecule and the structure of the atom are 
 likely to be in dignity and complication of relations 
 as well as in their interminahle depth of a splendour 
 like to that of the stars. Such considerations, and 
 others of like quality, come to the discerning student 
 when he reflects on the state of man's knowledge, 
 existing or to he. How, then, is it that naturalists 
 are led to the false sense of certainty as to the value 
 of their explorations in determining such questions 
 as the immortality of the soul? The reasons for 
 this state of mind, apart from those of pure con- 
 ceit, appear to be as follows: 
 
 The most admirable result of natural inquiry 
 has been the conception that all the occurrences of 
 the visible universe are related in the maimer of 
 antecedent and consequent, or, as we say, as cause 
 and effect; that nothing lies without the enchain- 
 ment of actions. Along with this has come the con- 
 viction, eminently well founded, that the energy 
 involved in action is never lost, but only changes its 
 form of activity; so that when a given amount of 
 water rises into the air by virtue of the heat which 
 the sun has applied to it, it returns the same amount 
 of energy to the air or earth in its condensation, in 
 
 the friction it receives. in falling or in striking upon 
 20 
 
2Q2 THE INDIVIDUAIi 
 
 the surface. This doctrine of the conservation of 
 energy, as well as the clear conception as to the 
 liaked quality of all actions, has taken a firm hold 
 of the miads of all inquirers. They have together 
 shaped the modern state of opinion as to the control 
 of the universe. There can he no question as to 
 the truth of these opinions, but from any well-dem- 
 onstrated proposition it is possible to draw errone- 
 ous corollaries. In my opinion one such has been 
 drawn, not altogether unfairly, but inadvertently, 
 from the nature of causation and the conservation 
 of energy, which is likely to lead the unwary into 
 error. This is to the effect that because we find 
 the unending series of antecedents and consequents, 
 and of energy changing but in its mode of action, 
 all the operations of Kature involved in these series 
 keep from step to step the same quality. This idea 
 of the uniformity of action is rarely stated, but it 
 is tacitly assumed. It leads to the opinion that 
 sudden revolutions and changes in the modes of ac- 
 tion do not occur, that the consequent must be like 
 the antecedent — ^a proposition that has but to be 
 examined in the light of the simplest facts to be 
 disproved. For in any considerable natural series, 
 even where the factors are apparently of the sim- 
 plest, we are likely to find sudden diversions in the 
 trend of events which utterly change the path of 
 
IMMORTALITY 293 
 
 the actions, leading them, at some critical point, 
 into an entirely new realm. 
 
 The best, because the simplest, example of the 
 revolutions, often catastrophic in their nature, 
 ■which we may observe in endless variety in Nature, 
 is afforded by the behaviour of water under varying 
 degrees of heat. There appears to be no process of 
 a less complicated kind than that which we institute 
 when we change the temperature of this fluid. Be- 
 ginning at a high temperature, these elements are 
 necessarily dissociated. Lowering that temperature 
 to a certain point the gases which when united form 
 water will, under definite conditions, as by the ac- 
 tion of an electric spark, fly together; at the mo- 
 ment of their union producing a substance not 
 resembling either of the parent elements, or rather, 
 we should say, entirely different from either of 
 them. So far as we can give any meaniag to the 
 word there is then and there created a set of quali- 
 ties such as the universe did not know until the 
 first molecule of water was formed. On these quali- 
 ties, indeed, depend all the possibilities of organic 
 life. It is not too much to say that in passing the 
 critical point of temperature these two gases in an 
 instant originated all the possibilities of what we 
 know as life from its beginnings to the action of 
 the mind and hand which shapes this very phrase.- 
 
294: THE INDI\'IDUAL 
 
 Yet into this action there go only very simple ante- 
 cedents which we can hardly imagine to contain 
 in themselves all the consequences which they en- 
 tail. There has to be supposed some kind of origi- 
 nation in the effect; not an origination of energy, 
 but of direction or quality, be it what it may. 
 
 Following the history of water in relation to 
 lessened heat, we find that from the temperature at 
 which its constituent atoms may be associated in 
 the molecule of water to the boiling point, the mate- 
 rial is in a state of vapour, in no essential manner 
 resembling the elements of which it is composed. 
 As the temperature is lowered toward the boiling 
 point, the vapour undergoes only a proportionate 
 change in the distance of its units one from another; 
 but at the critical point, with a suddenness which is 
 like that with which it came into existence as water, 
 it then undergoes a revolution, becoming a fluid. 
 The difference in the actual temperature of water in 
 these two states of vapour and of fluid is immeasur- 
 ably small. It may indeed be assumed as infinitely 
 slight, yet the effect of this difference is vast; it 
 is most evident to the senses, though the hidden 
 changes are probably far more numerous than those 
 which are revealed. 
 
 Following yet further the action of water under 
 decreasing temperatures there are slight critical 
 
IMMORTALITY 295 
 
 points which may be noted, but the most interesting 
 of all we find when the freezing stage is attained. 
 There is here again a crisis: without a measurable 
 difference of heat, all the important qualities of the 
 material are at once altered. From being the agent 
 of wide-ranging activities and the basis of organic 
 activity, it becomes an almost inert substance, 
 effectively influenced by gravitation alone. We have 
 here another most momentous of the critical points 
 with which our own affairs are directly concerned, 
 for, as before noted, all the possibilities of life 
 are linked with the action of water in its fluid 
 state. 
 
 What has been said of water shows that at three 
 points in a narrow range of temperatures, say from 
 0° to 720° C. — a, very trifling part of the scale of 
 heat which exists in the solar system — we find three 
 sudden revolutions in the conditions, each introdu- 
 cing an unforeseeable group of qualities and an 
 entirely new group of relations to other things. 
 But for observation these crises would be entirely 
 unpredictable as to their point of occurrence or 
 the nature of their results. At each of them 
 we have in effect a place at which absolute origi- 
 nation of quality is in some way brought about. 
 It is evident that the results measured in terms of 
 energy do not differ, but with infinitesimal changes 
 
296 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 in this energy we have practically infinite altera- 
 tions in the modes of its operation. 
 
 Although from its relations to organic life the 
 critical points of water are of more far-going im- 
 portance than those of any other materials, they are 
 paralleled in the case of all the elements and most 
 of their compounds. "With variations in the energy 
 applied to them they exhibit like crises in passing 
 which the qualities and relations are revolutionized. 
 Though we have considered only the effects of heat 
 in relation to critical points, it is only one of the 
 agents by which such crises are produced. The 
 same element of the unexpected, we had better say 
 of creative action, is found in the chemical pro- 
 cesses where the skilful manipulator may by arti- 
 fice combine elements, or their combinations, so as 
 to produce results never before attained in this 
 world, if indeed they have ever come into existence 
 until they thus come into being at the hands of 
 the chemist. Again we find the same absolute 
 changes exhibited in the laws of motion. Between 
 an orbit of the extremest possible eccentricity and 
 a hyperbola there is but an infinitely slight differ- 
 ence, yet moving on the one a body returns on its 
 circling way, while on the other it departs from 
 it. This feature of crises not only penetrates all 
 the fields of the actual in Nature, giving at every 
 
IMMORTALITY 297 
 
 point distinct or indistinct creative centres, but it 
 is to be found even in mathematics, that shadowy 
 spirit of the phenomenal, for in certain of its series, 
 which resemble those of Nature, we have like breaks 
 in the order of succession. 
 
 It may well be asked, how it is that if there be, 
 in truth, this element of continued innovation in 
 Nature, the existing conception of serial uniformity, 
 of absolute unbroken succession, and of perfect pre- 
 dictability has ever come to exist. The answer is 
 not easy nor can I hope to make it complete. In 
 part, at least, it is due to two considerations which 
 may now be briefly stated. 
 
 The, concept of causation by the application of 
 energy passing onward from event to event appears 
 to be so implicit that it leads the mind to assume a 
 knowledge as to the nature of the action involved 
 which it does not really possess. Thus we almost 
 instinctively assume that, because we perceive the 
 continuity of the events, we take account of what 
 really occurs in these actions. The very words we 
 use in noting the phenomena become what Ben- 
 tham so well termed "question-begging epithets." 
 Thus it is that upon the well-laid foundations of 
 actual knowledge concerning infinitesimal portions 
 of the material world there has grown up a structure 
 of fancied completeness of knowledge which, on 
 
298 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 examination, we perceive to have no substantiality. 
 Yet, to the general public, and even to many suc- 
 cessful inquirers, it appears as a solid edifice. 
 Those who criticise their thought know, that for 
 all our discoveries, vast though they be, the real 
 nature of actions remains unknown; that each 
 event ia the streams of energy has in it something 
 that is not explained; and, further, that there is in- 
 volved in each turn of action which occurs at the 
 infinitely numerous critical points in the processes 
 of organic and inorganic change an origination we 
 know not how brought about, which may, and often 
 does, effect startling revolutions in the character of 
 the phenomena. 
 
 There is another influence which has made for 
 the existing limited and incorrect conception as to 
 the scope of our knowledge of the universe. This 
 may be defined as the idol of the commonplace or 
 the instinctive state of mind which leads us to as- 
 sume that what we see is all that is to be known. 
 The strength of this prepossession is easily and 
 naturally overlooked, for even more than other 
 prejudices it is self-protective, for it guards the 
 mind against impressions which might serve to per- 
 turb it. "We may gain some slight impression of its 
 efficacy in blunting the mind to the mystery of 
 things by a simple experiment. As I look across 
 
IMMORTALITY 299 
 
 my room my sight ranges through the air. This air 
 is instinctively postulated as simple in its nature 
 for the reason that I see through it and behold noth- 
 ing therein. My knowledge tells me that it is in fact 
 a plexus of actions and qualities so vast and com- 
 plicated that if I saw it with complete understand- 
 ing I should surely know more than all that has 
 yet been learned of matter. For the moment this 
 critical Adew makes a strong impression on my mind, 
 one so great that it seems likely to endure; but, 
 when after a moment of this thinking I look again, 
 there is the same apparent emptiness, and with it 
 the old suggestion of simplicity. So it is when- 
 ever we look and with whatever appliance we may 
 aid the vision. The mind can not build with other 
 materials than it has in its store. It must pos- 
 tulate emptiness as the common bond between its 
 fragments of knowledge. It must suppose the com- 
 monplace, the self-evident, the completely ex- 
 plained, all about it, in order to have any comfort 
 in life — a, life without this protecting envelope, a 
 world where the mysteries were allowed to crowd 
 against us would be mentally uninhabitable to crea- 
 tures of an estate like our own. It is well enough 
 to enjoy this familiar, domesticated relation with 
 our confined nature, but it should not be allowed to 
 hide the deeper from us in the manner it now does. 
 
300 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 We see the effects of the commonplace view of 
 things in a more adequate way if we note the natu- 
 ral history of this state of mind. We readily con- 
 ceive that to the animals below man any insight 
 into the realm was impossible. Nearly all their 
 impressions are of the simplest order. In the lower 
 races of men, and even in our own, down to very 
 recent times, hardly a man found his way beyond 
 the commonplace except through the momentary 
 excitations of the imaginative impulse. Even this 
 impulse rarely led to any sense of the complex 
 of Nature. In its scientific aspect this conception 
 of the infinite order about us is not only very 
 modem but has been attained by few, and held 
 only in rare moments, when the constructive im- 
 agination dealing with the data of science enables 
 us to see dimly, yet effectively, how false is the im- 
 pression which the commonplace view gives us of 
 the truths of Nature, and how a truer understand- 
 ing, such as we now obtain only in glimpses, is to 
 be the heritage of our successors of the larger time. 
 
 It may seem to the reader that overmuch has 
 been said in order to bring to light the limits of 
 our understanding of the natural realm; but if 
 he has had some experience with the prejudices 
 which have grown up concerning the function of 
 the investigator he will recognise the importance of 
 
IMMORTALITY 301 
 
 such a discussion. Only by a study of these condi- 
 tions can we make ready to examine the dicta sup- 
 posed to be scientific concerning the problem of hu- 
 man immortality which have been pronoimced by 
 able naturalists. "What has been said above con- 
 cerning the fundamental error of the greater part of 
 the reasoning which has been applied to the expla- 
 nation of natural processes will account for some 
 of the arguments against such survival. Beginniag 
 with the simplest, we find the ancient idea that the 
 separable spirit if present in the body must have a 
 definite abidiug place, some organ or its equivalent 
 by which it acts. It is easy to see that this notion 
 could have been held by those only who were per- 
 suaded that all a man is is revealed to the skilled 
 anatomist. This view represents a fairly logical 
 outcome of the old idea that the whole of a natural 
 process is no more than what appears to us. As 
 this argument, if such it may be called, is no longer 
 adduced, it needs no mention save as an index of 
 the primitive state of man's understanding as to the 
 modes of natural processes. 
 
 The argument which has taken the place of that 
 just above mentioned — ^which is indeed its much 
 improved successor, and now in its best estate — ^may 
 be briefly described as follows: The functions of 
 the body are but modes of expression of the energy 
 
302 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 which it obtains through the appropriation of food. 
 As regards their origin, these functions may be 
 compared to the force which drives the steam 
 engine, being essentially no more mysterious than 
 other mechanical processes. Ifow, the mind is but 
 one of the functions of the body, a very specialized 
 work of the parts known as the nervous system. "We 
 can trace the development of this mind in a toler- 
 ably continuous series from the lowest stages of 
 the nervous processes, such as we find in the Mo- 
 nera or kindred Protozoa to man. Thus it is ar- 
 gued that, though the mental work of our kind is in- 
 definitely more advanced than that of the primitive 
 animals, there is no good reason to believe that it is 
 other than a function of the body; that it is more 
 than a particular manifestation of the same forces 
 which guide digestion, contract muscles, or repair 
 a wound. Furthermore, as is well known, at death 
 all the functions of the organic body fall away to- 
 gether in the same manner and at essentially the 
 same time, so there is in fine no more reason to be- 
 lieve that the functions of the brain persist than 
 that a' like persistence occurs in the digestive func- 
 tion or in the blood-impelling power of the heart. 
 All this, and much more, can be said to show that 
 the phenomenon of death appears to possess us alto- 
 gether when we come to die. 
 
IMMORTALITY 303 
 
 To those who hold to the illogical idea that we 
 can ohserve all that happens in even the simplest 
 natural fact, the process of death may, in the form 
 above stated, appear as a sufficient basis for denying 
 the possibility of im mortality. But the naturalist 
 who has learned to limit his confidence in his dis- 
 covering powers will not be ready to say that these 
 facts do more than raise a certata presumption 
 against the continuance of the mind after death. If 
 he has made a study of those modes of change oc- 
 curring at what I have termed critical points, he will 
 be likely to suspect that much may take place in 
 the revolution that evidently occurs in. dissolution 
 which he does not see at all. There is, it is true, 
 nothing in the visible facts which in. any way leads 
 to the supposition that the mind lives on after the 
 breaking up of the body by which it is manifested. 
 But no well-trained observer who has carefully re- 
 membered his experiences with phenomena is likely 
 to affirm that he finds in those of death anything 
 that can fitly be termed proof that the mind does 
 not survive. 
 
 If the discreet naturalist were asked how he 
 could conceive the survival of the intelligence to 
 be effected after the machinery by which it had ap- 
 parently been engendered had disappeared, his an- 
 swer might be somewhat as follows: He would first 
 
304 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 call attention to the fact that in the process of re- 
 production all the experience of the antecedent life 
 is passed on from generation to generation, over 
 what we may term a molecular bridge. Thus, in 
 the case of man, a tiny mass of protoplasm, impon- 
 derably small, carries on from parents to child the 
 body, the miad, all indeed that the predecessors in 
 tens of thousands of specific forms and unimagi- 
 nable millions of individuals have won of enduring 
 profit from their experience. Therefore, even with- 
 in the narrow limits of the known there is evidence 
 that the seed from which an individual intelligence 
 may be evolved can be effectively guarded and nur- 
 tured in the keeping of an exceedingly small body 
 of matter. In a word, the facts of generation show 
 us that under certaiu conditions life as complicated 
 potentially as that which passes away from the body 
 at death may reside and be cradled in states of mat- 
 ter which are, as compared with the mature body, 
 very simple. It is difficult to resist the conviction 
 that it is in the process of generation, in the keep- 
 ing of the atoms, molecules, or whatever else be the 
 ultimate form of the transmitting agents. Be it 
 understood that this is not an argument to show 
 that the spirit of man goes forth in some part of the 
 dust of his body. The point is that the known 
 properties of matter are so complex and our igno- 
 
IMMORTALITY 305 
 
 ranee as to the range of these properties so great that 
 the facts of death can not be made a safe basis for 
 a conclusion as to the survival of the intelligence. 
 
 To the argument that all we know of intelligence 
 is limited to what we find incarnate in animals of 
 various degrees, and that all the supposed evidence 
 going to show either the survival of definite individ- 
 ualities after death or the existence of intellectual 
 powers in Nature has fallen before the assaults of 
 science, the careful naturalist has still to object that 
 the proof of these propositions is lacking. A num- 
 ber of men of no mean authority as naturalists, 
 some of them well trained in experimental science, 
 have, after long and apparently careful inquiry, 
 become convinced that there is evidence of the 
 survival of some minds after death. It is a sound 
 rule to trust the observations of men who are known 
 to be honest and able to the point of maintaining at 
 least a waiting mind until they are shown to be 
 mistaken. It is indeed in no other manner that 
 we can go forward on the ways of inquiry. There- 
 fore, until some demonstration is attained in this 
 matter, the work of those faithful observers who 
 are engaged in the painful and unprofitable business 
 of seeking the truth in the abysses of superstition 
 and fraud in which they have to labour, the fair- 
 minded observer must withhold his judgment as to 
 
306 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 the existence of positive experimental evidence con- 
 cerning the survival of the mind after death. 
 
 As for the assumption that there is no evidence 
 of intelligence in this world other than that exhib- 
 ited by man and his lower kindred, the critical ob- 
 server has again grave doubts to suggest. "Without 
 attaching much importance to the Paleyan argu- 
 ment or to any other like modes of teleological rea- 
 soning to prove from design the existence of con- 
 triving intelligence at work in Nature, he may give 
 his dogmatic brethren pause by forcing them to 
 consider the evident relation between the natural 
 order and the sBsthetic motives of our own minds. 
 The fact that Nature is beautiful to us, that its ac- 
 tions meet a swift response in our minds, is best 
 explained, indeed is hardly explicable otherwise, 
 by supposing that its informing spirit is akin to our 
 own. This argument might go further and hold 
 that because of our intellect we are forced to sup- 
 pose a like quality in the power that shaped us; 
 but that would be to go beyond the narrow limit 
 of the af&rmations which the naturalist. as such has a 
 right to make. 
 
 So far I have endeavoured to represent the crit- 
 ical attitude which the student of Nature is entitled, 
 we had better say bound, to take toward those per- 
 sons who, seeing a little of phenomena, venture, after. 
 
IMMORTALITY 30Y 
 
 the manner of the worst priests, to claim knowledge 
 which they can not have. There is, however, an- 
 other point of view, one from which the naturalist, 
 without altogether departing from his straightened 
 path, can give some little help to those who are 
 seeking an answer to the question of immortality.. 
 What he has to show, after the manner of all else 
 that is brought into this field of debate, is shadowy 
 and inconclusive; still, it may be of account. 
 
 It may, at the outset, be assumed that the inspec- 
 tion of the infinitesimally small part of the uni- 
 verse which is known to us raises no presumption of 
 value for or agaiast the doctrine of immortality.. 
 It might be said that there is some burden of proof 
 on the affirmative; but when we consider that the 
 realm in which we live is to be postulated as a uni- 
 verse in which anything may happen, we are justi- 
 fied in regarding the field of possibilities as quite 
 open. It may also be held that in criticising the 
 system of this natural realm we as men have to 
 judge of it from the point of view of our own under- 
 standing; when we consider that our minds have 
 come forth from the cosmos, that what they have has 
 been derived from immemorial training in brutes 
 and men, we see the more reason for trusting the 
 impressions which our minds have thus received. 
 
 Furthermore, all successful scientific inquiry shows 
 21 
 
308 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 us that the only way to interrogate ihe deeps is by 
 sending into them well-framed conjectures, hypoth- 
 eses which state what the order of events should 
 be in order to satisfy our minds. That this method 
 of exploration is good is shown by its exceeding 
 success: by it we have drawn from the darkness 
 all we have of light. It is indeed safe to say 
 that any general truth in science has been known 
 to the discoverer before it appeared in the facts, 
 as critically verified. Verification was sought for 
 the reason that it was demanded in order to recon- 
 cile the thought with the observations. It is not 
 necessary to say that many of these essays at in- 
 terpretation fail. They are most often found to 
 be more or less ill fitted to the actual. Yet it is a 
 remarkable fact that in the history of the important 
 hypotheses which have been applied to the realm, by 
 far the greater number have had some share of truth 
 in them. Even in the field of astronomy when the 
 errors have been the greatest, the successive errone- 
 ous guesses have in many cases helped toward an 
 understanding by assembling and correlating the 
 facts so far as known. Thus, though men at first 
 stagger and stumble in the path of inquiry, they still 
 move on toward the truth. It is their duty to go 
 forward, however dark the way, for they may be 
 sure from experience that it leads toward the light. 
 
IMMORTALITY 309 
 
 Therefore, we may with confidence proceed to ques- 
 tion the reahn with our constructive imaginations 
 as to the probability that intelligence may survive 
 the crisis of death. 
 
 The first point to be noted is that the order of 
 advancement in the physical realm leads, as before 
 noted, to the institution of more and more compli- 
 cated organization of the primitive xmits. The obvi- 
 ous tendency is for the atoms to gather iato mole- 
 cules, and these in turn to climb into more compli- 
 cated associations. For some way up in the series 
 these societies of matter, the molecules, the crystals, 
 the concretion of the celestial sphere, appear to win 
 no more than their own forms. At a critical point, 
 somewhere about the protoplasmic grade of organiza- 
 tion, they enter upon an altogether new field, one 
 that is entered by none of the inorganic forms. In 
 this field the aggregates become sensitive; they are 
 educable; they gain experience and transmit the 
 profit thereof to the successors of their bodies. 
 Thence onward in the scale of being to ourselves an 
 altogether new question is presented to these organic 
 individualities. This is the question as to the ways 
 in which the experience, the harvest of successive 
 individualities, may be preserved and transmitted. 
 How well this task has been accomplished on this 
 sphere is shown by our presence here in a shape to 
 
310 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 discuss the matter we have in mind. Without a 
 measure of direction, which in common phrase 
 seems miraculous, the successions of beiag necessary 
 to elaborate intelligence to the human station could 
 not have been attained. We have to believe that 
 something analogous to if not more nearly allied 
 with the sense of purpose in our own minds, has 
 guided in this work. The reasons for making this 
 preliminary hypothesis are, ia brief, as follows: 
 
 It is a fact that in the organic life of this world 
 but one series, that which leads to man, has attained 
 to a high measure of true intellect. The other se- 
 ries have developed that form of mental action we 
 term instiact. The birds have brought the emo- 
 tions to high degrees of perfection, but the only 
 commandiag mind is that of man. It is also evi- 
 dent that the possibility of man's development has 
 rested on the successive institution of species in 
 linked order reaching down at least to the level of, 
 the lower vertebrate life and back to a time proba- 
 bly at least as remote as the Devonian period. If, 
 in this succession of tens of thousands of species, 
 living through a series of millions of years, any of 
 these links of the human chain had been broken; 
 if any one of the species had failed to give birth to 
 its successor, the chance of the development of man 
 would have been lost. To the suggestion that there. 
 
IMMORTALITY 311 
 
 might have been a replacing branch from the same 
 tree of life, there is the answer that there are not, 
 and so far as the record shows there never have 
 been, any other candidates for the peculiar station 
 of our kind save our immediate kindred. So far 
 as we can see, the possibilities of our kind have been 
 limited to one enchained succession of species. So, 
 when we consider what the struggle for existence 
 means and has meant through all the ages, we are 
 forced by this evidence to believe that there has 
 most likely been a control of an intellectual nature 
 over the events. It may be that the result is merely 
 fortuitous; but, if so, it must have been almost as 
 one to infinity against the chance that the summit 
 should have been attained in man. 
 
 If we fancy a being of an appropriate intelli- 
 gence beholding the outset of the organic series on 
 its long journey through the ages, foreseeing the in- 
 tellectual goal, and on the way to it the innumer- 
 able chances of accident which would leave it short 
 of the supreme success, we may well imagine that 
 this success would have appeared to be practically 
 unattainable without the guidance of a controlling 
 power intent on the end. It is true that any one 
 of the steps toward man, say the first, may conceiv- 
 ably have been won by chance, and that the proba- 
 bility of the second fit advance occurring would not 
 
312 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 be lessened by the first success, and so on to the 
 end of the series; but the chance that the happy- 
 casts should have been continued without a fatally, 
 destructive break would have appeared to our sup- 
 posed observer as essentially impossible. 
 
 To put this matter into simpler form, let us 
 compare the construction of the series which led 
 up to man to the process of throwing dice. The 
 chance of throwing the bits so that double sixes 
 appear, is relatively small, as trial will readily show. 
 Yet it is certainty itself compared to the chance 
 that any group would by hazard develop toward 
 man. Now, if on a second throwing of the dice 
 double sixes again appeared, any critical mind would 
 begin to suspect that they were loaded; and if, on 
 hundreds of casts, a like result invariably appeared, 
 he would have the most absolute proof that can 
 possibly be had to show that chance did not deter- 
 mine the occurrences, or, in other words, he would 
 be compelled to support the existence of some ktad 
 of control leading to the particular result. This is, 
 in effect, what we find in the development of the 
 series of animals which leads to man. If we are to 
 judge that work by our intelligence we are led to the 
 conclusion that the succession was determined in 
 substantially the same way that we determine the re- 
 sults of our own contrivances. It is, of course, open 
 
IMMORTALITY 313 
 
 to those who have a mind to adopt the position to 
 choose the other horn of the dilemma, claiming that 
 the result is after all due to mere lav, or, what comes 
 to the same thing, that it arises from the mechan- 
 ics of a universe without intellectual control. But 
 such a conclusion is illogical, for the reason that it 
 does not account for the existence of something that 
 dominated chance. It is not likely to be adopted 
 by any one who has the spirit of inquiry in him. 
 
 The facts connected with the organic approach 
 to man afford what is perhaps the strongest argu- 
 ment, or at least the most condensed, in favour of 
 the opinion that there is an intelligent principle in 
 control of the universe. To those who have devoted 
 themselves to natural inquiry, at the same time 
 keeping their minds open to the larger impressions 
 which that field affords, there generally comes a 
 conviction as to the essential rationality of the 
 operations. They have to consider facts which can 
 not be otherwise explained, except on the supposi- 
 tion that a mighty kinsman of man is at work be- 
 hind it all. Again and again the naturalist feels 
 that this or that feature of the order exactly satisfies 
 him, just as he feels that the turn of a phrase or the 
 shape of a thought in an author is after his own 
 mind. In fact, to the inquirer this recognition of 
 himself, of his own intellectual quality in the events 
 
314 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 he is considering, gives the sense of the highest 
 pleasure which his occupation affords. By no 
 means all those who successfully make researches 
 perceive this quality of their work, yet I believe 
 that it is present with them all. Nor is it limited 
 to the naturalist. Much the same state of mind is 
 afforded by the contemplative state of mind with 
 which one views the beauty of the landscape, of a 
 flower, in fact any of the many expressions of the 
 realm. The joy we have in those exercises of the 
 intelligence arises in large measure from the fact 
 that we feel the kinsman in the thing we behold. 
 It is possible, indeed, that all our recognition 
 of a spirit akin to our own in the forces which give 
 rise to the harmonies of N'ature may be purely acci- 
 dental. It may be a mere delusion, something we 
 have sent out of ourselves, and not a thing which 
 comes from without to us. Here again we have to 
 treat the matter on the test of probability. If this 
 accord happened rarely, if Nature were only occa- 
 sionally in touch with our minds, we might take it 
 as the result of chance, but the phenomenon is so 
 persistent, so much part of man's very nature, that 
 we can not thus pass it by. We have to suppose 
 that there is an accord between the spirit of man 
 and the ultimate of the universe somewhat like the 
 correspondence which we find between the nwthe- 
 
IMMORTALITY 315 
 
 matical and the phenomenal order — the one being 
 to the other somewhat as shadow and substance. 
 
 There are very many illustrations going to show 
 in a cumulative way the Kkeness between the funda- 
 mental of natural processes and the mind of man. 
 Of these I can in the present writing note but one 
 group of facts which relates to the unprofitable com- 
 pletion of organic series involving the development 
 of some structure far beyond the limits of utility — ^in- 
 deed, to a point where it becomes positively injuri- 
 ous, so as to lead to the destruction of the species 
 which are affected by it. The clearest examples of 
 this kind are to be found in the lower invertebrates 
 where the baffling hypotheses of sexual selection 
 can not be applied, because either the sexes are 
 united in one body or there are no organs of vision. 
 At the risk of appearing to seek the recondite, I 
 shall cite the case of the Terehratula dyphia, a group 
 of the Brachiopoda, or so-called "lamp shells," 
 where, as in nearly all the genera of the class, there is 
 a sinus, or broad groove extending from the back to 
 the margin of one valve, with a corresponding ridge 
 in the other valve. So far as we can determine this 
 feature has no functional value. Being thus free 
 from the bonds of use, it is, as is common among ani- 
 mals, curiously played with. These mesial divisions 
 attain their maximum in a certain Mesozoic spe- 
 
31g THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 cies of the above-named group, where the sinus is 
 deepened and extended toward the hinge until the 
 cavity of the shell is practically cut in two parts, 
 the only connection being by a narrow tubelike 
 opening near the beaks. That all this is as un- 
 profitable from an economic standpoint as are most 
 of man's fashions will probably be clear even to 
 the extreme selectionist. The fact that the group 
 passed away, as such groups usually do, as soon as it 
 had completely worked out the theme, sufficiently 
 indicates that it was successful only in its perfect 
 accomplishment of an idea. This is but one of 
 hundreds of instances of like nature which a mere 
 glance at the field of ancient life has served to 
 show me. 
 
 To those persons who are committed to a solemn 
 view of Nature, the suggestion of there being any- 
 thing of the fashion motive in the realm will appear 
 preposterous if not impious; but to my understand- 
 ing there is just as much evidence of this frolicsome 
 spirit in the shapes of things as there is of rational 
 qualities. It would not be difficult to make, from 
 my own very limited knowledge of organic forms, a 
 list of one hundred instances in which features like 
 that described have been made the basis of extrava- 
 gant, economically profitless yet persistent varia- 
 tions which can only be logically accounted for on 
 
IMMORTALITY 317 
 
 the supposition that they are the result of an action 
 which leads to the same result as we find in the 
 work of the human fancy. Among existing organic 
 forms, below the plane where sexual selection is pos- 
 sible, a fair inquiry would doubtless show many 
 thousand such instances. It would be an interest- 
 ing task to bring together these evidences of a 
 quality in Nature which has been neglected by stu- 
 dents, but the matter must here be passed by with 
 this bare mention. 
 
 The foregoing reasons, which are much less ex- 
 tended than the matter deserves, show at least the 
 general method by which the naturalist may be led 
 to the conclusion that the universe is under the 
 control of power in ways like unto the mind of man, 
 The judgment does not lead to the assumption that 
 the likeness is complete. At most it gives little 
 save hints as to the degree of the kinship. But, im- 
 perfect as is the hypothesis, it is the only solution 
 of the facts which in any measure satisfies them. 
 It is more rational than any supposition which ex- 
 cludes intelligence from a pervading and controlling 
 position in the universe. Such, then, are our points 
 concerning the matter of fact as to the immortality 
 of the soul. We have the evidence from the trans- 
 mission of the potential qualities of man over the 
 frail molecular bridge of the egg that the spirit 
 
318 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 may safely be given into the keeping of other forms 
 of matter than the brain affords. This raises the 
 presumption that matter in certain forms far sim- 
 pler than the nerrous system can contain the germs 
 of an individualized intelligence. Next we have 
 the series of facts going to show that the presump- 
 tion is altogether in favour of an iatelligence of 
 some kind, presumably akin to our own, which abides 
 in or dominates over phenomena. 
 
 It is evident that a perfect demonstration of the 
 intellectual control of Nature, or of the capacity of 
 what we term matter to be converted into what we 
 term mind, or vice versa, would not serve to prove 
 the endurance of our individuality after the crisis 
 of death. In that condition of the universe we 
 might have a common store, a sea of consciousness 
 from which our individuality proceeds and to which 
 it returns even as the dewdrop slips from the leaf 
 into the stream and seeks the ocean. The only di- 
 rect evidence that can claim scientific inquiry, which 
 goes to show the persistence of the individual after 
 the body dies, is that afforded by the so-called occult 
 phenomena; by the alleged appearance of spirits, 
 or the communication with what appear to some 
 inquirers to be the minds of the departed. To some 
 enthusiastic persons it seems as if it would be an 
 easy task for the naturalist to turn his search into 
 
IMMORTALITY , 319 
 
 this field; that it is his duty by his profession 
 at once to set about the task; in fact, Mr. A. R. 
 "Wallace, in his account of the Nineteenth Century, 
 sets it down as one of the delinquencies of our age 
 that it has failed to devote a fit share of attention 
 to these mysteries. The reasons for this apparent 
 neglect of what at first sight may seem a great op- 
 portunity are at hand. They may thus be set forth: 
 The mass of appearances now termed occult has 
 been known to man ever since he began to watch 
 the depths about him. It entered into all his early 
 interpretations of Nature. Acting on his untrained 
 imagination it created a monstrous burden of super- 
 stitions which for ages weighed his intellect down. 
 Science with great difficulty crept from beneath 
 this oppression to find a clean and wholesome field 
 where slowly and carefully it has won its gains 
 from a reluctant but honest world as a reward for 
 patient labour. To ask it to go back to the study 
 of the "black art" is to bid it again into the 
 stronghold of its ancient enemy: from a field of 
 work where it can trust its foundations to one where 
 it can not see a safe place whereon to plant its feet. 
 In this there is justification enough for all the re- 
 luctance which most investigators feel to re-entering 
 the dark realm. 
 
 There are other reasons which have kept the. 
 
320 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 abler naturalists, with very rare exceptions, from 
 the study of occult phenomena. The experience 
 of those who have entered into those blind places 
 has shown that it is now as of old almost if not 
 quite impossible to obtain there data which have 
 the quality needed in physical inquiry. For such 
 researches we need facts altogether purified of 
 hearsay or self-deluding influences; such appear 
 to be practically unattainable in that dark coun- 
 try. Those students of Kature who have essayed 
 the methods of their art in that realm have gen- 
 erally found themselves in the position well sati- 
 rized by the Greeks when " one is milking a he- 
 goat and the other holding a sieve." Therefore, 
 while we may wish our courageous and self-devoted 
 brethren who are essaying the use of scientific 
 methods of inquiry in winnowing the scant grain 
 from the mass of chaff all possible success, we can not 
 be hopeful of the harvest that is to reward their 
 apparently hopeless imdertaking. 
 
 The soundest reason for the neglect, by natu- 
 ralists of the realm of spiritism is to be found in the 
 relative value they assign to the fields of possible 
 knowledge. In olden times the only questions of 
 real importance were felt to be those which immedi- 
 ately and effectively concerned men. The develop- 
 ment of natural science has bred in its votaries a 
 
IMMORTALITY 321 
 
 higher state of thinking, one ia which the great 
 realm is seen to be more important than any of its 
 parts, even our own personality; so that, in a way, 
 inconceivable to the ancients, many an inquirer 
 would be better pleased to know the real nature of 
 gravitation than to be assured that the duties of life 
 would still be demanded of him after the crisis of 
 death. 
 
 Notwithstanding their urgent disinclination to 
 meddle with or be muddled by the problems of spirit- 
 ism, the men of science have a natural interest in the 
 inquiries of the few true observers who are dredging 
 in that turbid sea. Trusting to the evident scien- 
 tific faithfulness of these hardy explorers, it appears 
 evident that they have brought up from that deep 
 certain facts which, though still shadowed by doubt, 
 indicate the persistence of the individual conscious- 
 ness after death. It has, moreover, to be confessed 
 that these few and as yet imperfect observations 
 are fortified by the fact that through all the ages 
 of his contact with Nature man has firmly held to 
 the notion that the world was peopled with disem- 
 bodied individualities which could appeal to his own 
 intelligence. Such a conviction is itself worth 
 something, though it be little; supported by any 
 critical evidence it becomes of much value. Thus 
 we may fairly conjecture that we may be on the 
 
322 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 verge of something like a demonstration that the 
 individual consciousness does survive the death of 
 the body by which it was nurtured. 
 
 It is a very extraordinary, though not, as Mr. 
 "Wallace thinks, a blameworthy condition of the 
 public mind that now when we appear to have some- 
 thing which looks to certain careful inquirers like 
 proof of immortality, men in general give but 
 little attention to the matter. But a century ago, 
 even in the last generation, when spiritism had its 
 great revival, such presumptions in favour of that 
 view as the society for psychic research has estab- 
 lished would have fired the minds of men. This 
 neglect of a subject in which we might expect peo- 
 ple to be greatly interested may fairly be ascribed 
 to the remarkable change which has been made 
 within the last half century in the attitude of men 
 toward Nature and consequently toward the prob- 
 lems of life. Of old, within the memories of those 
 who can look back for four decades, the popular 
 conception of the material realm was that of a more 
 or less repulsive chaos which of necessity concerned 
 man, but with which only an erratic naturalist had 
 really to do. It was, as it had been from the begin- 
 ning, an unfriendly place set over against the super- 
 natural as darkness against the light. It is perhaps 
 in part due to the series of brilliant discoveries 
 
IMMORTALITY 823 
 
 which have revealed a host of actions that have been 
 turned to the benefit of man that we owe this sym- 
 pathetic leaning of all intelligent people toward the 
 material world, and the acceptance of it in place of 
 the old ideal refuge in a realm of the purely spirit- 
 ual. In part the change is unquestionably due 
 to the modem understanding as to the relation of 
 man's life to that below his estate. Men have felt 
 the need of a celestial realm, less keenly since they 
 have found that they had not fallen from it, but 
 had been lifted from the dust by the forces which 
 inhere in the earth. 
 
 A yet more effective influence in bringing about 
 the change of attitude of intellectual people toward 
 the problem of immortality appears to have arisen 
 from an increased interest in their present life. 
 The widening of the sympathies, due to the increase 
 of education, and to the larger understanding of 
 the world's affairs, human and other, has made ex- 
 istence more attractive than it has been at any 
 period within the Christian centuries, if not in all 
 time. Moreover, there has been a gain in the sense 
 of duty by the tasks of life, a growing sense of the 
 seriousness of the business that it brings, which, if 
 I may trust to iny experience of thirty-five years as 
 a teacher of young men, is very distinct and as an 
 
 index of the temper of people, most telling. These 
 23 
 
324 THE IKDIVIDUAL 
 
 conditions make for a devotion to the interests of 
 life in this beautiful world, and against much con- 
 sideration of those which may come to us after the 
 crisis of death. They make for a sense "of unity in 
 our existence whatever be its term. 
 
 At first sight it may appear to many persons 
 that the evident decline of interest in the world to 
 come is a falling from the grace which was granted 
 to our fathers, that it is a debasement of those ideals 
 which led men to look past this life of trial and 
 temptation to the serenity of an upper realm. But, 
 on examination, we find that this conception of 
 man's place in Nature — ^this idea that there are two 
 realms, one of the flesh and the devU and the other 
 of celestial purity — ^is no part of the doctrine of the 
 great Teacher whom the churchmen profess to fol- 
 low, but it is the relict of a more ancient belief in 
 the power of evil spirits in the material universe. 
 Science is casting out those devils, giving the world 
 to man in all its beauty and perfect friendliness — 
 we had better say in its kinship to him. With this 
 abolition of the dualistic conception of the universe 
 the opposition of the natural to the supernatural 
 passes away. In its place arises the nobler idea of 
 one realm from which we are not to depart at death, 
 be then our fate what it may. If, as seems by far 
 the most probable, this life of man, so marvellously 
 
IMMORTALITY 325 
 
 nurtured through the ages and set forth in each 
 individual, is to be continued onward through the 
 ages even as the kind has continued, we may pre- 
 sume that it will take with it the same blessed bur- 
 dens of duty and provide opportunities of growth 
 such as we have here. Thus the conception of the 
 rational continuity of life serves to lessen the once 
 intense interest in immortality. 
 
 It should not be supposed that the effect of the 
 change in the conception of life which science has 
 brought about has diminished in any way the sense 
 of duty to the present or the future. This motive 
 is doubtless stronger than it has ever been before; 
 stronger, because men are beginning to feel that the 
 universe is their own; that they dwell in their Fa- 
 ther's house, and that they remain in it, whatever 
 may befall them at death. To the man of old, the 
 assurance of a happy immortality had the blessed 
 effect that it relieved him of the fear that he might 
 fall a prey to demons. 'Now that he believes that 
 his danger is from himself alone, the assurance has 
 less value to him. If he is conscious of doing his 
 duty as well as he can, any processes of life here- 
 after will naturally appear no more interesting than 
 his earthly conditions years hence. So we may 
 judge that the present concern of our people in the 
 moment and its deeds, to the exclusion of the old 
 
326 THE INDIVIDUAli 
 
 interest in a life to come, is not imdutiful; it means 
 a bettered sense of the conditions and relations of 
 they that are living. 
 
 Although it is the purpose of this writing to keep 
 near to the body of fact with which the naturalist 
 has fitly to do, leaving aside the matters of faith 
 and of metaphysics, it is worth while to note some 
 points which, though they are aside from the path 
 we are traversing, are within its field of view. First 
 of these is one set forth in an interesting discussion 
 of the problem of immortality by Prof. William 
 James. In it he fairly meets the old argument that 
 consciousness is but a function of the brain, sub- 
 stantially as contractility is a feature of the mus- 
 cles by the suggestion that the mechanism of the 
 brain does not directly produce consciousness, but 
 acts merely as a path by which an infinite con- 
 sciousness finds its way to its expression in the in- 
 dividual life. In his argument he neatly turns the 
 point of the so-called materialists, who, noting that 
 a defect or lesion of a particular part of the brain is 
 attended by the loss of some faculty of the mind, 
 claim that the damaged part produced the faculty. 
 Not so, he says; the part should be considered as 
 the channel of the quality of the mind and not as 
 its source. Expressed otherwise than he states it, 
 the brain might thus be likened to a number of 
 
nUMOETALITY 327 
 
 channels which admitted consciousness to the ex- 
 pression which it finds in the body. In this condi- 
 tion the failure of the particular element of the 
 mind on the injury of the part of the brain through 
 which it manifests itself may be accounted for on 
 the supposition that the access of the spirit is 
 blocked. 
 
 While this conception of the brain as a means 
 of communication between a universally diffused 
 consciousness and the individual is philosophically 
 interesting and is supported in a way by many in- 
 teresting analogies, it can not at present be sub- 
 jected to critical verification, and therefore does 
 not Ue within the limits of scientific inquiry. We 
 have, it is true, something like evidence of a per- 
 vadiug intelligence ia the natural realm. It is not 
 unreasonable to conjecture that this universal mind 
 may tend to localize itself in individual forms, just 
 as the matter of the universe so wins iudividualiza- 
 tion; but so far as we can see, this view must remain 
 in the field of speculation, for the reason that proof 
 in the sense that the naturalist uses the term can 
 not well be had. 
 
 It may also be noted that while religious faith 
 in immortality in the full meaning of the term lies 
 quite beyond the narrow and direct way of scientific 
 inquiry, the phenomenal aspect of such belief, ita 
 
328 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 existence as an element in the nature of man, does 
 come within the scope of the naturalist's observa- 
 tion. There can be no question that faith in the 
 unknown is one of the intellectual characteristics 
 of mankind. It appears in each of the subspecies, 
 and in all with a curious intensity. It has the same 
 organic right to the exercise of its soaring spirit 
 that may be claimed for the trailing motive of 
 science, which is indeed but an offshoot from that 
 more ancient mode of traversing the realm. Ob- 
 serving as we do the evidence that the organic forms 
 move forth in their development toward the pos- 
 sibilities of knowledge in a way which indicates 
 some guidance in their quest, we may fairly ask 
 ourselves whether this explaining motive which is 
 directed toward the spiritual field is not making its 
 way blindly toward the light in much the same man- 
 ner that our kind broke its path upward through 
 the lower life, or that the eye came to its task of 
 seeing. This hypothesis could be, in a way, sup- 
 ported so far as its general validity is concerned by 
 many phenomena in the organic world, which go to 
 show that parts and capacities relating to work as 
 yet unaccomplished come into existence before they 
 have any substantial use. Thus, to take but one 
 instance out of many: the air- or swim-bladder of 
 the fishes, which appears on examination of the 
 
IMMORTALITY 329 
 
 habits of the creature to be not at all related to 
 swimnimg, and to be in the lower forms of no dis- 
 tinct functional value, is nevertheless the founda- 
 tion of the lung in the higher vertebrates. Even 
 in our own brains there appears to be a forerunning 
 of function by structure, for that organ in the lower 
 savage is nearly as large as it is in the civilized man, 
 so that a great part of its power is potential, await- 
 ing the caU to activity. 
 
 This naturalistic view of the religious motive 
 should not be taken as patronizing. The investi- 
 gator in the realm, of Ifature is justified in feeling 
 that he holds a commission to inquire wherever he 
 finds matter fit for such work. He, too, is act- 
 ing as he believes are all his honest brethren in 
 the order of his appointment in carrying out 
 the better motives of the great inheritance. His 
 means for such inquiry are limited to what is dis- 
 closed in the sequence of actions. One such se- 
 quence he observes in the motive of faith and the 
 work to which it leads. At the same time he dis- 
 cerns that the ways of that faith can not fairly be 
 submitted to the process of verification. Some ob- 
 servers, with the human disposition to contemn other 
 ways than their own, have scouted all faith depend- 
 ing on the evidence of things unseen. This is not 
 the fit course of the naturalist, whose part it is to see 
 
330 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 what the world really is like; to apply his methods 
 where they are suitable, and to pass by such fields 
 as those of art, poetry, or religion, with a full sense 
 of the limitations of his methods and a confidence 
 that the universe is a large place, of which only a 
 part is for him to conquer. 
 
 Some attention has already been called to the 
 state of mind in which men of to-day who have 
 caught the spirit of their time view the question of 
 a life beyond the body. It is clear to all who have 
 attended to the matter that this state is undergoing a 
 rapid change. The key to this alteration is to be 
 found in the conviction that this world is not evil; 
 that it is not parted from whatever else the universe 
 may contain as evil from good; and, further, that 
 man has not been cast down from a higher estate, but 
 has been led up through the ages through incon- 
 ceivable stages of being to his noble station of 
 understanding. This, and all else which we have 
 won, has brought about a marvellous reconciliation 
 with the world of the creature so long parted 
 from it. In large measure man's ancient fear has 
 gone with the ancient ignorance which aroused it. 
 There is no longer the apparent need of a refuge 
 in a realm of another kind from that in which he 
 is bom, where he might be safe from Satan in the 
 protection of the Lord. Happily, those centuries of 
 
IMMORTALITY 331 
 
 torment are with the past. Men may now as Chris- 
 tians look upon existence even m.ore cheerfully than 
 the pagan Greeks in their best days; with a deeper 
 joy, for they see further into the deeps. 
 
 Looking forward on the path on which men are 
 so rapidly advancing, we can discern ia some part 
 the state to which he is to attain when his recon- 
 ciliation with the Nature about him is more com- 
 pletely effected. "We can see that the meaning of 
 man's organic history is to be borne in upon him 
 with such effect as to give him a perspective un- 
 dreamed of by the ancients. He is to see himself as 
 far more truly divine in origin than the old ideas of 
 his creation led him to believe. He will see that 
 his life is, by way of the generations, inconceivably 
 enduring; that his individuality, in one sense but 
 a momentary manifestation of the life of the kind, 
 is absolute and inseparable, imique even in a uni- 
 verse of individualities. 
 
 To these conceptions of the historic place of 
 man and the relation of his selfhood to the stream 
 of life in which it appears, there is possibly, in time, 
 to be added evidence going to show that his intelli- 
 gence in a personal form endures after the critical 
 point of death. By these three considerations, par- 
 ticularly on the two first mentioned, for they most 
 distinctly relate to dutiful action, we may reason- 
 
332 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 ably conjecture that his behaviour with reference to 
 death will be maialy shaped. As we see by the effect 
 of the relatiyely limited appreciation which people 
 have gained as to the order of Nature, the extension 
 of this knowledge is likely to bring about an affec- 
 tionate relation between man and his surroundings. 
 Seeing that the ancient task of elevating the kind 
 which was long conunitted to external powers has 
 now, by the gift of reason, come into his hands, we 
 may well believe that he will find in toil for this 
 end a pleasure unknown before. To the old noble 
 motives of charity will be added a higher intellec- 
 tual pleasure, such as may be had in advancing a 
 great work. 
 
 The faith iu the actual world about them which 
 is now opening to men is no new kind of confidence; 
 it is but an extension of the old faith over the fields 
 which science has won. It in no wise denies the 
 trust in heaven; it only denies that the earth is an- 
 other and separate realm. When men come to know 
 this truth in its fulness we may expect an intensity 
 of devotion to the cause of betterment which was 
 impossible imder the old conviction that the world 
 was very evil, and that the only cure for it was its 
 destruction. With this motive of rational help in 
 mending ills will go a new conviction as to the rela- 
 tion of one creature to another. The ancient con- 
 
IMMORTALITY 333 
 
 ception of this relation as through the common 
 hond with the infinite was, with most men, too re- 
 mote and unsubstantial to affect conduct. The new 
 view of the nature of the imion, that it is a vital 
 connection re-enforced by a sense of the beauty of 
 aU organisms, has already, as we see in the advance 
 which this century has made as regards cruelty to 
 animals, gone far toward lifting the conception of 
 the matter to a high plane. In time we may look 
 to it for a far-reaching reconstruction of the atti- 
 tude of men to their f eUow-sharers in the blessings 
 of life. 
 
 In these conditions of the future, which are now 
 iu their beginnings with us, we may expect that men 
 living to their utmost with the cares which their 
 understanding of their place in life has imposed 
 upon them, giving their lives iu the happy ex- 
 change of services, will live on with no fear of the 
 hereafter. Seeing a real though impersonal im- 
 mortality in the past of their life as it has come up 
 through the ages, they will look forward with a 
 perfect confidence to the future which awaits them, 
 sure in their belief, with a certainty denied to their 
 fathers, that the Power that has brought them here 
 wiU deal well with them in the hereafter. 
 
 To those who may protest that this view leaves 
 out of account all the vast mass of suffering the 
 
334 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 world contains, that this sufEering cries to Heaven, 
 the student of the situation can answer that in so 
 far as life is not beautiful, that it does not bring 
 happiness, it is for man to mend. To him, because 
 of his intelligence, belong powers of creative ac- 
 tivity which can overcome the evils which mar the 
 nobility of his existence. In contending against 
 them he may find what remains to be found to take 
 him away from the fear of death. It is in going 
 forth to the fellow-man that the last of this pain 
 may be stilled, for the man who dwells completely 
 with his fellow-man leaves this life without passing 
 through the dark portals. 
 
 The progress in the development of the individ- 
 ual in the inorganic series is relatively slow and the 
 measure of the differentiation attained but slight. 
 We reasonably postulate essential indifference 
 among the atoms of the same element: the variety 
 there may be limited to that presented by the sev- 
 eral species of matter. In the molecules it is prob- 
 able that there is nearly if not quite the same uni- 
 formity of constitution, except it may be in those 
 of the more complicated order, where we may fairly 
 conjecture that some slight variations occur. In the 
 protoplasmic unit, if such exists, there may be con- 
 siderable individuality, for in that phase of matter 
 the external world begins to bear in on the organi* 
 
IMMORTALITY 335 
 
 zation, inducmg vaxiety in its features. As a whole, 
 however, the realm of the atomic societies appears, 
 so far as we can penetrate into the microscopic 
 depths of Nature, to be near the foundations of 
 the process of individualization. Yet, from what 
 we know of the visible world, we are almost forced 
 to imagine that the atoms in turn are compounded 
 in stage below stage into the depths of the infinitely 
 small. 
 
 The larger aggregates of molecules in the mas- 
 sive substances and crystals have a far more distinct 
 individuality than we are compelled to postulate as 
 occurring among the molecules. Thus, among the. 
 crystals, we find that each has its own shape, so dif- 
 fering from the others of its kind that no two are 
 exactly alike. It is evident that in this plane of 
 organization the structure feels the influence of en- 
 vironment and marks the results of the action of the 
 external in its abundant individual variations, each 
 indicating a reaction between the internal motives 
 and those which come from without. 
 
 In the largest individuals of the universe, the 
 celestial spheres, excluding in the consideration the 
 organic life they may bear, the individualizing pro- 
 cesses at work in the inorganic realm attain the 
 summit of their action. So far as we can judge 
 from the few of these bodies we know about, each 
 
336 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 has its peculiar stamp, each acts and reacts on its 
 surroundiQgs in a measure different from all others. 
 Thus, in the case of our earth and its moon, we have 
 two bodies differing the one from the other in very 
 many features. The one is a mere mass of matter 
 in a sense inert, and the other quick with a host of 
 varied impulses. So, too, the sun and Mars, the 
 bodies next in the order of knowledge, are each sep- 
 arated in quality from all others we know. It is 
 likely that a complete account of the hundred or 
 so million suns, and perhaps the thousand million 
 planets withia the range of vision, would show us 
 no repetitions, but ordered individualities, each 
 stamped with the mark of its varied relations to 
 environment. It should be noted that these varia- 
 tions are not really stamped in the sense that they 
 are due to one impression. They are the product 
 of continued action and reaction, such as makes 
 each particle of matter in the universe dependent 
 on every other throughout all time and space. 
 Thus, our earth each day receives a vast tide of 
 energy from the sun which it appropriates to ac- 
 tivities, ranging from the currents of the sea to 
 those of our own veins, while every atom feels the 
 pull of every other in the realm and marks the 
 result in its doings. No one can conceive these ac- 
 tivities of a celestial sphere without feeling, with the 
 
IMMOBTALITY 337 
 
 great Kepler, that they are really living bodies, as lie 
 deemed the earth to be. They have indeed an or- 
 ganized life, lacking only the singular complications 
 to which the organic body attains, which afEords a 
 capacity to store experience and to transmit it to 
 successors. 
 
 Out of this great world of physical individuali- 
 ties which knows no other bond than that which 
 unites the units of each kind in a simple classifica- 
 tion, all alike within their several species, there 
 comes no advance. Such as they are, save for minor 
 variations impressed upon them by their environ- 
 ment, they are throughout the universe. There is in 
 them no evident sense in which each unit forms a 
 part leading toward ultimate remote purpose. The 
 individuals, except perhaps the atoms, come into ex- 
 istence and pass away; but these comings and goings 
 are not organized in any evident order; there is no 
 true birth or death. There is no perception of the 
 environment; when it affects these structures it does 
 so directly in a mechanical way. There is no record 
 of the action save in the form it brings about. The 
 tendency of each of these low-grade individuals of 
 the iaorganic world is to attain their fit shape and 
 to remain thereiu unchangeably. They are, in a 
 word, static equilibriums. Their state marks the 
 perfect equipoise of all the forces which enter into 
 
338 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 their making. What to the higher organic indi- 
 viduals is death, is their perfection. 
 
 Somewhere in the advancing complexity of the 
 inorganic, doubtless in the compounds made possible 
 by the properties of water, there came upon the 
 hitherto lifeless earth a living form. It would be 
 futile to conjecture the shape of this creature or 
 even its chemical composition. The only point of 
 which we may be sure is that it was in the larger 
 meaning of the word septient; that it in some way 
 and in some measure took account of its environ- 
 ment by means of impressions of the environment 
 on the organism. It is a fair supposition that this 
 primal organic body had a more definite mode of 
 appropriating materials for its services than any 
 of the inorganic forms; that it was more distinctly 
 endowed with a capacity for multiplying itself than 
 any of them have. It is also probable that it was a 
 definitely limited form and not a dififused sheet of 
 living matter on the floor of the waters in which' 
 it originated, such as the so-called Bathybius was 
 at one time supposed to be. But the essential point 
 was that this new aggregate of matter had passed a 
 critical point, like that which is passed when solid 
 water enters the fluid state, a new realm was opened 
 to the sentient and therefore educable, ever-ex- 
 panding being. 
 
IMMORTALITY 339 
 
 From the beginning of the organic individual 
 to man we have the history of the new type of indi- 
 viduality — ^the type that progressively, more and 
 more, is fitted to appropriate knowledge from the 
 outer world, to wia profit therefrom, and to trans- 
 mit that profit to the successors of their bodies. 
 These harvesting and storing individuals contiaue 
 to gain iu station, but all the while doiag their 
 work unconsciously with no sense of what it means; 
 doing it through the life of innumerable species, 
 until finally the plane of man is attained. Then 
 there comes another critical point, of the first order, 
 so to speak, one equal in. importance to that which 
 led from the non-sentient to the sentient. This 
 crisis came with the development of self-conscious- 
 ness and with it the moral estate. The rest of the 
 story — ^it is that of a day against the ages of lower 
 life — shows us the progressive enlargement of 
 knowledge and of the sense of duty which comes 
 therewith. So far as we can see, this enlargement, 
 as yet perhaps hardly begun, will close the account 
 of life on this sphere. 
 
 Looking back over the series of events which 
 have led to the development of man, the most strik- 
 ing feature in the history is the progressive aggran- 
 dizement of the individuals which form the long 
 
 stairway. At each step upward we find the crea- 
 23 
 
340 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 tures receiving more of the store which the ancestry 
 has harvested from the environment. Even where 
 it is least, this body of winnings from experience in 
 action defies the imagination which seeks to measure 
 it; but when we come to man it is magnified many 
 thousandfold. Yet this store is not a mere common 
 stock of impressions, a like gift for each of the units 
 of the series; it is, on the contrary, so dealt out to 
 them that each has a portion distinct from every 
 other. In a word, these inheritances are profound- 
 ly interactive among themselves, in such a manner 
 that it is almost inconceivable that a like store be- 
 comes the property of any two individuals. 
 
 It is at once so important and so diificult to ap- 
 preciate the full meaning of organic individuality 
 that it is well to consider some of the familiar facts 
 of the matter as they are exhibited among men. It 
 is a common observation that while all human be- 
 ings resemble one another in a general way and some 
 are nearly alike, there has never been a case when 
 two of the greatest similarity were brought into a 
 close comparison where the individuality of bodily 
 features was not at once apparent. It is probable 
 that of all the men who have ever lived no two were 
 ever so identical in form that a tolerably skilful 
 observer would not be able to distinguish them. 
 Yet these features of the exterior are but a minute 
 
IMMORTALITY 341 
 
 part of the aggregate that makes up a human being. 
 When we consider the intimate structure, especially 
 that of the brain, we see that it would indeed be 
 miraculous if there were not a very great number 
 of peculiarities characteristic of each of the human 
 units. From what we can judge of the comparative 
 mental states, it seems most probable that the differ- 
 ences in the mental qualities of men are far greater 
 than those of their bodies, so that if we could ex- 
 pose these hidden features to view we would have, in 
 place of our specifically similar comrades, a wonder- 
 ful — indeed, we may say almost horrible — diversity 
 before our eyes; a diversity exceeding all that is 
 presented to us by the wide range of bodily form 
 which the whole vertebrate series presents. Some- 
 thing of this we recognise in the minds of those 
 people we have known well; more of it we can ap- 
 preciate when we think of the difference in ca- 
 pacities of particular kinds, such as those for music 
 or mathematics, where the capacities may range from 
 nearly nothing to the highest point in the scale 
 which we can conceive. 
 
 There is reason to believe that the inheritances 
 which shape the body and the mind alike are pro- 
 foundly interactive in the germinal stage during 
 which the individual is in process of construction. 
 In all the higher life two beings join in giving their 
 
342 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 dissimilar stores of inherited experience to the nas- 
 cent unit. Before birth, and in less measure after 
 birth, these diverse stores of transmitted influences 
 interact. We can not imagine the range or scope of 
 the interaction, but we are sure that it is between 
 innumerable hosts, and that the adjustment can not 
 in any two cases be exactly the same; at least the 
 chance is practically as one to infinity against a re- 
 sulting identity either in body or mind. It is, as I 
 here find, quite impossible to convey to the reader 
 an adequate sense of the conditions of inheritance, 
 which make for individuality even in the simpler 
 organic forms; but these operate with vastly greater 
 effect as the complication of the transmitted influ- 
 ences is increased as we find them in man. 
 
 As soon as the new life is established in the 
 egg, even before it sees the light, it begins to be 
 afPected by the environment which sends in its mul- 
 titudinous impressions. Each of these reacts on 
 and qualifies the ancestral store of capacities until, 
 at the adult stage, every part of the old store has 
 been more or less readjusted by the new experiences. 
 This last process completes the individualization of 
 the creature, leaving him distinct and separate in 
 the world — a being the like of which has never 
 before been and will never again appear. To finish 
 the individualizing process in man there comes 
 
IMMORTALITY 343 
 
 the self-consciousness, and with it the moral sense 
 which causes the creature to feel, though happily 
 not in its full truth, the degree in which he is 
 parted from his kindred and from the universe. 
 
 It is hardly possible adequately to state the isola- 
 tion of the iadiTidual man. Notwithstanding all his 
 endeavours through friendly association to win a 
 sense of identity with his fellow and with Nature, he 
 is doomed to remaia apart and in large measure 
 alone. He has to live and to bear as best he may the ' 
 tragedy of his individuality. His only way to relief 
 is by the sacrifice of his self to his fellows; in. casting 
 so far as he can his personality into the stream of life 
 where it may in a measure be merged in the com- 
 mon larger being. Yet for all the relief this pre- 
 cious resource may give, this sovereign individual 
 has to remain isolated, waiting what may be for 
 him in the future of the series of actions which 
 have lifted him from the dust to this great estate. 
 With this sense of isolation goes that of the ap- 
 parent temporariness of the individuality. This 
 quality has only been fully appreciated since we 
 have come to an adequate conception or rather pos- 
 tulation of the duration of the past, for the truth 
 is beyond all understanding. Against these ages 
 the life of the person is scarcely more than that 
 of a wave of light in the path the impulse follows 
 
344: THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 on its way from the sun to the earth. As a matter 
 of proportion it is a mere nothing, or at least of no 
 more than atomic value. 
 
 At first sight these features of isolation and of 
 brevity make a very powerful impression on the 
 beholder, one which is the gravest note in all lyric 
 thought and poetry. The cry of "What is man?" 
 from the Hebrew singer has been re-echoed in all 
 ages and lands wherever men have attained to the 
 dignity of contemplation. Our better knowledge, 
 while it manifolds our sense of the separateness of 
 the individual life and of its brief duration, has 
 gone past those distressing features to show us, in 
 part, what they mean. It sets forth the person as 
 a unique storehouse of experience; as a garner of 
 the times that have been; as the embodied his- 
 tory of the past. In a word, it gives a value to the 
 organic individual of all grades which exists in 
 nothing else we know in the realms about us. 
 
 While something . of the singular value of the 
 individual pertains to all the units of organic life, 
 it is essentially peculiar to that of man; for in him 
 we have not only the vast store of experience, but 
 the newly added feature of self-consciousness and 
 all that goes therewith. This addition to the an- 
 cient qualities of the animal places our kind in a 
 distinct sphere, separated from that which is lower 
 
IMMORTALITY 345 
 
 by an interval effectively as great as that which 
 parts the group of organic units from those of the 
 inorganic realm. It may be, as some have sup- 
 posed, that self-consciousness and the moral sense 
 have their beginnings in the higher brutes. They 
 most likely have in the dog, a creature which has, 
 in a way, been forced to acquire something of 
 human nature. Even if this be the case, the value 
 of the crises which induced the perception of the 
 selfhood we find in man remains. Its importance 
 is not changed, even if it prove less sharply sepa- 
 rated from the lower life than it appears at first 
 to be. 
 
 The great significance of the individual man 
 fairly raises the presumption that his place in Na- 
 ture has a meaning that is not to be measured by 
 the length of his life in the body. Looking as we 
 must do for a purpose that justifies to our under- 
 standing aU this doing of Nature, is it not reason- 
 able to suppose that one at least of the designed 
 results is attained in the creation of these his- 
 toric personalities? May we not fairly regard 
 these persons as containing and preserving the 
 permanent gain which comes from the work of 
 the visible universe: as the indestructible profit 
 of a work which otherwise would offend us by its 
 apparent resultlessness? I am aware that these 
 
346 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 conjectures are open to the objection that they 
 seek to explain Nature by man, but there is no 
 other way to this explanation save by the human 
 understandings won from ages of selected experi- 
 ence with this world whence it came. It is not, 
 as was of old imagined, a stranger in a strange 
 land who makes such judgments, but a very native, 
 with the right to an opinion on what is in fact a part 
 of himself. 
 
IITDEX 
 
 Aged, the, appreciation of, 267. 
 the place of in society, 268-270. 
 as links between the genera- 
 tions, 271-275. 
 Animal forms, development of, 
 
 113, 114. 
 Atoms, 2. 
 
 Bjerkena, experiments of, 10. 
 
 Catastrophic changes, 292. 
 Causations, the tangle of, 290, 291. 
 Commonplace view, the, 293-300. 
 Consciousness, imperfection of, 
 82, 83. 
 
 and the brain, Prof. William 
 James on, 326, 327. 
 Conservation of energy, 291, 292. 
 Critical points, 298-297. 
 
 in development, 338, 339. 
 Crystals, 6. 
 
 individual peculiarities of, 8. 
 
 Dead, the, grief for, 224. 
 observances concerning, 245, 
 246. 
 Death, a corollary of advance- 
 ment, 24, 25. 
 some aspects of, 27. 
 a fundamental fact, 49. 
 the advantage of, 50. 
 
 Death, suppression of the selfish 
 dread of, 214. 
 altruistic dread of, 215. 
 the place of, in the scheme of 
 ' life, 225. 
 public opinion regarding, 239, 
 
 240. 
 premature, an evil, 226-228. 
 protection against premature, 
 
 228, 229. 
 economic loss by premature, 
 230. 
 Demonology, 204, 205. 
 Diversities, infinite, 340, 341. 
 Duty, sense of, 325. 
 
 Enchainment of actions, 291, 292. 
 Ether, the, 13, 14. 
 Evolution, intellectual control of, 
 309-312, 317, 318. 
 hazards of chance, 312. 
 the mechanical theory of, illogi- 
 cal, 313. 
 Existence, the new view of, 330. 
 Expression and intellectual work, 
 151, 152. 
 various degrees and motives of, 
 
 153-155. 
 in the face, 155-159. 
 insufficiency of words for, 156, 
 157. 
 
 347 
 
348 
 
 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 Externalizatlon of the inner life, 
 150, 151. 
 
 Face, tlie, natural history of, 157- 
 160. 
 
 in the study of individuality, 
 163. 
 Faces, of the lower animals, 157. 
 158. 
 
 of mammals, 159. 
 
 of monkeys, 160. 
 
 of cultivated men, 161. 
 ■^f children, 162. 
 
 study of; 162, 163, 181, 182. 
 Faith, religious, 327. 
 
 the naturalistic view oT, 329. 
 Fear, 188. 
 
 as a quiokener of the intelli- 
 gence, 189, 190. 
 
 original necessity of, 190. 
 
 in early man, 190. 
 
 valour, the complement of, 191. 
 Fear, the, of death, 193. 
 
 wanting in animals, 193, 194. 
 
 activity as a cure for, 199, 200. 
 
 altruism as a remedy for, 201, 
 202. 
 Fears of the imagination, 194. 
 Fellowship, our true, 250. 
 Forerunner, a, 328. 
 
 Generation and the survival of 
 
 mind, 303-305. 
 Generations, the interdependence 
 
 of, 241-243. 
 Gravitation, 9. 
 
 HoUisan, Professor, 220. 
 
 Human relations, the higher order 
 
 of, 176, 177. 
 Hypothetical inquiry, legitimacy 
 
 of, 307, 308. 
 
 Immortality, the belief in, 208. 
 
 the search for further evidence 
 of, 208, 209. 
 
 some arguments against, re- 
 viewed, 301-306. 
 
 experimental evidences of, 
 doubtful, 305. 
 
 presumptive evidence of, 317, 
 318. 
 
 facts indicative of, 321. 
 
 religious faith in, 327-330. 
 Individual, definition of, 70. 
 
 the, a centre of natural forces, 
 71-75. 
 
 the, a centre of organization, 75. 
 
 development, the process of, 334. 
 
 life, the place of, in Nature, xi. 
 
 man, the isolation of, 343. 
 
 man, the place of, in Nature, 345. 
 Individualities, order of, 76. 
 
 greater and lesser, 77. 
 
 aggregated, 78, 79. 
 
 secondary, 80, 81. 
 
 associations of, 81, 82. 
 
 human societies the culmina- 
 tion of, 82. 
 Individuality, organic, beginning 
 and growth of, 338, 339. 
 
 familiar facts of, 340. 
 
 value of the understanding of, 
 179-181. 
 
 in relation to the conduct of 
 life, 182, 183. 
 
 in relation to intercourse, 183, 
 184. 
 
 in relation to posterity, 184, 185. 
 
 as a help to self-appreciation, 1 85. 
 
 appreciation of other, 164, 165 
 
 as affected by love and affec- 
 tion, 165, 166. 
 
 as affected by enlarged under- 
 standing, 167. 
 
IKDEX 
 
 349 
 
 Individuality, appreciation of 
 other, as affected by relations 
 of friendship, 168, 169. 
 obstacles to, 169. 
 
 Individualizing process, the uni- 
 versal, 15-17. 
 
 Inheritances, interaction of, 341, 
 342. 
 
 Inorganic individualities, invaria- 
 bility of, 22. 
 
 Insects and vertebrates, mental 
 processes in, 125, 126. 
 importance of the differences, 
 127. 
 
 Instinct, 115, 118-120. 
 
 Institutional life of civilized so- 
 cieties, 144, 145. 
 
 Intelligence in Nature, man^s rec- 
 ognition of, 313-315. 
 
 Intelligences, individual, en- 
 chainment of, 84, 85. 
 
 Kinship, 251-254. 
 
 degrees of, 254. 
 
 double, 258. 
 Knowledge, unreached depths of, 
 289-291. 
 
 Latent capacities, 234, 285. 
 Life, the term of, 25-27, 43. 
 economic value of, 240, 241. 
 economy and waste of, 275, 276. 
 possibilities of extending, 276, 
 
 277. 
 prolongation of effective, 279- 
 281. 
 Life insurance, 217. 
 Likeness, the essential, of men, 
 
 the assumption of, 170-172. 
 Living, the, and the non-living, 
 
 18-23. 
 Longevity, determination of, 43-49. 
 
 Longevity, a specific character- 
 istic, 51. 
 of the lower life, 52, 53. 
 of the vertebrates, 54-58. 
 indefinite, 55, 56. 
 period of growth and, 59-61. 
 shortening of man's, 61-67. 
 limit of man's, 67-69. 
 conditions of extended, 278. 
 
 Man an individual, 1. 
 
 Material Nature, changed views 
 
 of, 322. 
 Memorial beneficences, 248, 249. 
 Molecules, 4. 
 
 individual peculiarity of, 7. 
 Monuments, 246-248. 
 Mortality the price set on ad- 
 vance, 243. 
 Motives, gainful, 142, 143. 
 
 the new, 331. 
 
 exalting character of, 332. 
 Mourning, 246. 
 Mud wasp, the, 35-37. 
 
 Natural, the, and the supernat- 
 ural one realm, 324, 325. 
 Nervous system, the, 114^117. 
 
 Oblivion, dread of, 220-223. 
 Occult phenomena, 318. 
 
 not taken up by science, 319-321. 
 Old age, period of, 262-267. 
 mental vigor in, 282, 283. 
 Organic, the, changeableness and 
 
 educability of, 22-24, 42. 
 Organic body, the lower, 106, 107. 
 apparent simplicity but real 
 
 complexity of, 108. 
 capacity of, for storage and 
 transmission of inheritance, 
 109,110. 
 
350 
 
 THE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 Organic life, aud temperature, 98, 
 
 99. 
 and time, 99-101. 
 and quantity of matter, 101, 102. 
 and space, 103. 
 and the mass of activities, 103, 
 
 104. 
 
 Parental care, 258-261. 
 Plants and animals, 111, 112. 
 Play of birds and animals, 132. 
 Present life, enlarged Interest in, 
 
 323. 
 Punishment, cruel doctrines of, 
 
 206, 207. 
 
 Beactions, mechanical and psy- 
 chic, 149. 
 Keason, 125. 
 
 Belief associations and brother- 
 hoods, 217. 
 Kelief, private, and government 
 
 pensions, 219. 
 Eeproduction, by offshoots, 28. 
 sexual, or double, 29, 30. 
 the egg and the seed, 31, 32. 
 provisions for the new life, 34- 
 41. 
 
 Science and religion, 199. 
 
 Scientific concepts, emotional con- 
 tent of, 177, 178. 
 
 Scientific inquiry, scope of, 286- 
 288. 
 
 Self, the, a part of the whole, 186, 
 187. 
 
 Self-consoiousneas and the moral 
 sense, 344, 345. 
 
 Self-devotion, an alleviative of 
 death, 143, 144. 
 courageous forms of, 195, 196. 
 
 Self-sacrifice, 140. 
 
 Separation, increase of, with ad- 
 vancing organization, 178, 179. 
 
 Skeletons, vertebrate and articu- 
 late, 117-123. 
 
 Social advance, basis of, 147. 
 
 Societies, animal and human, 141, 
 142. 
 
 Society, the saving quality of, 146, 
 147. 
 
 Spiritualism, conditions of, sci- 
 entific inquiry into, 210-212. 
 
 Spiritual revelations, supposed, 
 triviality of, 209, 210. 
 
 Superstitions, 197, 198. 
 
 Swiss, the, and the Latins, 233, 
 234. 
 
 Sympathetic action and motives 
 in animals, 128-132. 
 
 Sympathetic motives, in man, 133. 
 speech and, 133, 134. 
 religion and, 134 
 war and, 184, 185. 
 property and, 135. 
 
 Sympathies, the, rationalizing of, 
 136. 
 expansion of, 137, 138. 
 
 Sympathy and self-interest, 137. 
 
 Sympathy, helpfulness of, 139. 
 secondary influences of, 139, 
 140. 
 
 Terebratula dyphia, 315. 
 Thought, inherited, 87, 92. 
 " seeds of," 89. 
 spontaneous, 90-95. 
 and the conception of indi- 
 viduality, 95, 96. 
 as a source of intellectual values, 
 96, 97. 
 Transmission of material features, 
 85, 86. 
 of thought, 86, 87. 
 
INDEX 
 
 351 
 
 TransmiBsion of qualities, 255-257. 
 of experiences, failures in, 271, 
 272. 
 Transmitters, men's duties as, 
 243-245. 
 
 Universe, the, the anthropocen- 
 tric view of, 104, 105. 
 our possession, 223, 224. 
 Units, organic and inorganic, 75, 
 
 76. 
 Unperceived processes, 297. 
 Unrecognized greatness, 173. 
 
 Valour, evolution of, 191. 
 the type of highest, 199. 
 Variations, structural, extrava- 
 gant, 815-317. 
 
 War, the argument for, 230, 231. 
 ■ fallacy of, 232, 233, 236. 
 wastes of, 234-237. 
 Will, the instruments of, 123, 
 
 124. 
 Women, heroism of, 215. 
 Worlds, 11, 12. 
 interchanged action among, 13. 
 
 m 
 
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