gained all there was to be got out of mathematics.”
She said: “I think you are right. I understand that.”
Now when Ruth insisted again that matter was something binding,
something to be left behind, Alfred said:
“I don’t think it is binding.”
“Neither do I,” said Virginia.
“Neither do I,” said I, “for we can always express ourselves in a new
way. The man who has written a book is not dumb afterward.”
The meeting was very short and unsatisfactory. I believe that the
children went home disappointed, for I could see that we had not got at
anything that the children had not understood. Since then Virginia’s
mother told me that Virginia did not enjoy it as much as the other
meetings; that it was too deep for her. Florence’s “big brother Arthur”
told me that she, too, did not enjoy it as much, and that when he
questioned her she seemed to understand clearly only the fact that there
was no sharp distinction between mind and matter. Otherwise, as he put
it, she “talked woolly.” During the meeting she yawned once.
Well, then, this meeting was a failure. As such, I want to use it. What
was the cause? Of course, one of the chief causes was the difficulty of
the subject, and yet the unavoidability of it. How could I go on to
speak of immortality to children with such absurd notions? I don’t think
it could be “skipped.” Of course, I would at first suppose that my
method of tackling the subject was at fault. It may be so, but at
present I can think of no other method. I think that the real and
remediable cause of the difficulty was this: That the children did not
have a good enough conception of the philosophy of science, actual
knowledge of cosmic facts, to understand my point of view. I should have
had the talk on evolution first. To remedy this as much as possible, I
am going to have the talk on evolution next. To speak of immortality now
would cause still more confusion. I await next Sunday with some
uncertainty and doubt. For the next meeting must be good, or the club
will be a failure. We must learn by experience, they as well as I. I
will go forward with courage, if my little army does not fail me.
If I were giving again the talk on matter and spirit, I would do it
differently. I would not say “matter is the expression of spirit,” but
“matter is the medium through which spirit expresses itself.” For matter
is something, though we know not what, and never know it except as form,
which seems to us always an expression of will. But we know that,
whatever it be, it passes from one controlling will to another. (Of
course, it is too difficult to be discussed in this fashion by boys and
girls.)
FOURTH MEETING
After all, the last meeting was not such a failure as I had supposed. I
asked Alfred to come earlier, and questioned him before the others
arrived. He answered me with precision and common sense. He said: “All
matter was once spirit, is the result of spirit.” When I said: “What we
call matter is the medium through which spirit expresses itself,” he
answered: “Yes, but spirit expresses itself in other ways, too.” “Think
a minute,” said I, “does it? Can the spirit express itself through any
other medium?” “No,” he said, after thinking a moment, “no, of course
not.” “Nor,” said I, “do we at all know matter except through the
intellect.” I told him that I wanted to speak to him alone because he
was so silent at the club. Then Henry arrived. He said he enjoyed the
last meeting very much, and thought he understood it all. The paper he
wrote proved that he understood far better than I had supposed:
“To-day we first went over what we had said last week. The question
arose as to which class of evil disease belongs. We came to the
conclusion that it is the result or price of progress. We also spoke
about the idea of a trinity. We had said at the last meeting that God is
a divine self within us, and that when we know each other we will know
God. Connecting each one of us to the other, there is a feeling of
sympathy, a third element. That is to say, there is you, and myself,
and, making the third part, that sympathetic understanding which brings
us closer together.
“The chief topic to-day was that of Matter and Spirit. At first there
was a little difference of opinion, but we finally agreed that in
reality everything is spirit, and that which we call matter is only the
expression of the spirit. As an example we took the sculptor, who,
getting an idea through the mind, expresses this spirit in a statue,
which we call matter. We speak of the body as matter, but it is spirit,
in as much as it is the medium through which the spirit manifests
itself.”
When I told the children I had decided to take up evolution before
immortality, because evolution was the problem of creation, they were
all satisfied and interested.
Then I read aloud Marian’s little paper:
“On Sunday, October 25th, the Seekers held a regular meeting. We first
reviewed our discussion of the last week, and then took up the subject
of Matter and Spirit. Our discussion was long, and the conclusion we
reached was that matter is an expression of spirit. In the first place,
matter is that which has form or qualities. Every material thing is the
expression of a thought. If a man makes a table, he does so because he
wishes to, because it is his will to do so. If he writes a book, that
book is an expression of his thought, but it is what is commonly called
matter. Matter is, in short, a result of spirit, is an expression of
spirit. Our bodies are the expression of our minds, and the way in which
we express ourselves to each other. If our bodies are not perfect, if
they are diseased, it is merely that our minds have not advanced far
enough to express the perfect body. Our talk this week helped me a great
deal. Although we did not cover much ground, we reached a conclusion on
one of the most difficult subjects, and I think almost every one was
convinced.”
Ruth said she had thought all the week of what I had told them, and that
she was sure she agreed with me now. The children’s thoughts seem to
develop during the week, as if they shaped afterward, and slowly, all
that had been said.
Virginia disagreed with Marian, that the perfect mind would make the
perfect body. She said: “People with perfect bodies are often fools. And
sickly people are often the most intelligent and fine spirited.”
Marian and Ruth both protested, but could not express themselves. So I
said: “That is true. But still I believe the perfect mind would have the
perfect body. Our bodies may be imperfect for several reasons: Perhaps
we are suffering for the wrong spirit of our ancestors, through
heredity. Or, again, the body which may be good enough, and quite
perfect, even, with the fool’s mind, might not be strong enough for the
active mind. That mind would have to create for itself a more perfect
body. So, you see, our bodily imperfections are the price of progress.
Our upright position, for instance, which is so great a help to the
mind, is a strain on the body, and the cause of many of our ills.”
Ruth said: “I think our bodies will become so much better than they are
now, that the best we know now will seem very poor.”
Virginia had written a little paper, which seemed to me at the first
reading so vague and uncomprehending, that I did not wish to read it
aloud. I was glad I did read it aloud, however, as her explanation and
interpretation of herself showed that she understood. This is the paper:
MY IDEA OF MATTER
“Matter is a part of mind. Without it there would be no
improvement of the mind. Mind, without matter, would be like a
stunted child. It would still exist, but it would not grow. It
seems as if matter were the medium between mind and progress.”
Virginia said that was her own idea, whether we agreed or not. It means,
according to Virginia, that matter is the medium of expression of mind,
and that mind could not grow without this medium. Very good, it seems to
me; and we do agree.
I said, and Ruth and Henry joined me, that one must make a distinction,
for convenience, at least, between the words “spirit” and “matter.”
Marian said they had been separated so long, so completely and so
foolishly, that she was glad to dwell upon their sameness.
Now I went on to speak of evolution.[1] I showed them how the theory of
evolution, or descent from a common ancestor or ancestors, was a
creation theory, just as much as Genesis was a creation theory.
I said: “There is no reason why you should believe this any more than
any other history, or story, unless the proofs convince you.”
Alfred and Virginia said it was a reasonable, convincing theory. Marian
saw what I meant, and, not knowing so much as they, asked for the proof.
I first gave them the proof of likeness of structure, and showed them
pictures of the resemblances of bone and organ structure in various
animals. Ruth said she was quite sure all little babies were like
monkeys.
Then I gave the proof of the race-likeness of the young. (Examples and
illustrations.)
Then that of rudimentary organs. (Examples and illustrations.)
Virginia suggested the geological proof in the finding of fossils. I
enlarged on this, and spoke of series of living and extinct shells, etc.
I traced the general progress of evolution, the division into groups and
branches.
I told them—what some knew—that evolution was an ancient,
philosophical theory, and only the method of evolution Darwinian. Some
of them said Darwin’s name always made them think of monkeys.
I now went on to explain Darwin’s theory of natural selection; spoke of
variation in all directions as the law of life; then explained the
struggle for food and place, and then protective colorings, and
consequent elimination. The children gave as many examples and instances
as myself. Then I went on to tell what artificial selection had been
able to do, and showed a group of pictures of the dog, domesticated from
a wolf-like animal. The pictures included prize bulldogs, St. Bernards,
French poodles, tiny Japanese dogs and great Danes.
Now Florence, who has just had instruction in evolution by her helpful
big brother, said:
“But a great many scientists no longer accept natural selection and the
survival of the fittest as an explanation of development. There is the
theory of isolation, too.”
“Yes,” I said, “and I am one of those who believe in natural selection
only in part, but I wanted you to hear it all. Florence, explain the
effect of isolation to us.”
She explained it, and gave a very good example, that of some birds in a
species having stronger wings than others, and so flying farther to
nest.
When I asked what any theory of the process of evolution failed to
explain, Ruth answered “immortality.” I told her that evolutionary
theories did not attempt to explain that.
I showed them how no theory explained change itself, explained the
initial variation. I showed them, too, the limits of natural selection.
When I took the eye as an example of a specialized organ too complex to
be easily accounted for by natural selection, I found them hard to
convince, because they did not realize the complexity of the eye. But
when I spoke of the life and death value of any organic change as
necessary for its selection, they saw how that limited selection in many
ways.
We spoke of the relation of evolution to our idea of life. At once they
said it was a proof of progress.
I insisted on its being a self-evolving, a will in life. They saw that.
Alfred said: “Could the one-celled creature will; did it know enough?”
Marian answered that it was a subconscious will.
Henry said: “Within living things is the inner will. But how about the
earth? Isn’t there a will outside for other things?”
I answered that even the earth seemed self-impelled; that within the
universe seemed to be an immense will, and we were a part of that will;
it was our will within us.
I said that creatures could change only because they wanted to be
different, because something wanted to be different. I said to change,
and to change always in one direction, was progress; that what we wanted
to do, and thought we had done, was to find that direction.
They saw at once how physical death was necessary to race progress, how
the old died to make room for the young, and how each newborn creature
had new possibilities of progress.
But when I spoke of all the progress of evolution, of even struggle and
selection leading toward harmony, fitness and relationship, which is the
thing we want, Ruth said:
“I don’t see how the lobster killing its fellows because it had a larger
claw could lead to harmony and better relationship.”
That was a good point. But I scarcely had a chance to answer it, for
Marian said that creatures had to develop themselves first.
Then I spoke again, in this relation, of changing standards of good and
bad, how what was right for an animal, for the lobster, for instance,
was wrong for us. I showed them how all animals were selfish, and had to
be selfish and self-evolving alone; how we had to be unselfish only
because we realized how vast we were. Marian spoke again of the
criminal. She said: “If he were behind us, he, from his own point of
view, would not be bad.”
“But he would have to be punished,” said Ruth, “and made to be good.”
“Yes,” I answered, “for he is human, and we expect human actions of him.
But we would not dare to blame him.”
Henry said we would punish him not as a punishment to hurt him, but to
teach him.
We spoke again of diversity as necessary to comprehension, to
understanding. I told them I had a whimsical fancy that the first
one-celled creature divided because it wanted company. If creatures
never divided, and became different, they certainly could never
understand each other. Marian said:
“I see now. It is like a girl who had always lived in her own family and
developed pretty well there, but the more different people she met the
better she would develop.”
“Yes,” I answered, “unlikeness gives us recognition.”
Virginia said: “If we were all one self, life would be uninteresting.”
“Yes,” said I, “but we might reach a self-conscious self which is
unthinkable to us now. There is one way, however, in which evolution
helps us, and that is such an obvious way that none of you has thought
of it.”
For a moment they were puzzled. Then Alfred said: “It is that we are
really all one self.”
“Oh, I see,” said Marian.
“Yes,” I answered, “it is that we are all physically related with all
life.”
Then I went on to say that no one knew how life began, that there were
theories, but they might be no better than fairy tales. They wanted to
hear some. I said:
“One theory is that life is eternal in the shape of life-germs, or
organic matter, and that these pass from planet to planet throughout the
ether forever. But it is only a theory, and a doubtful one.”
“I like that theory,” said Virginia.
I said I thought beginnings concerned us no more than ends, that all
things, histories, science, knowledge, theories concerned us only in so
far as they helped us to understand, as they served the large aim of
life and showed us how to go. I made Henry repeat again that the aim of
life was complete understanding. I said: “To me it is like a measure by
which I measure and value all things.” We tried to measure various
things by it, such as the relative advancement of monkeys, birds and
ants, and the greatness of Napoleon and Shakespeare. We came to few
conclusions, except that the love of man made man lovable, and that
Shakespeare must have been a lover of men.
Henry said: “I think he worked for his own sake, and not for others.”
“Yes,” I answered; “but he loved and understood his fellows, so he could
not help serving them in serving himself. It was his joy.”
I said if we had that standard of understanding love, we would need no
other morality. I quoted from St. Augustine’s Confessions:
“Love God, and do as you please.”
“But,” I said, “most of us do not love God, or the great good, enough to
be able to do as we please without thinking. We still have to stop to
measure.”
As they were going home, I said: “Next week we will speak of
immortality.”
“Really, this time?” asked Ruth.
“Now, after this meeting,” said Marian, “I am afraid you may tell us,
what I have sometimes heard, that we are immortal in the race. Will
you?”
“No,” I answered, “I will not.”
-----
[1] For examples and illustrations I used the first volume of Romanes’
“Darwin and After Darwin” as more convenient and compact than Darwin
himself.
FIFTH MEETING
Henry said: “I told some one lately about our club and what we did, and
he thought we spoke of things that were too deep and philosophical.”
“Do you think so?” I asked.
“No,” he answered, “of course I don’t.”
I said: “We are doing something unusual for boys and girls of your age.
Most people would think you not able to understand and enjoy it. But I
know you do, and you know it.”
Marian said: “Why should we not be able to talk of these things in a
club, when we certainly do talk of them among ourselves?”
I read Henry’s paper:
“To-day we spoke on the theory of evolution. The theory tells us that we
are descended from a single, one-celled animal. This animal grew and was
divided into several cells, which in turn were divided. We find that
when a race of animals needs something with which to protect itself, or
with which to get food, that thing usually grows, as in the case of the
mother bird, whose feathers are usually the color of the place where she
has her nest. In this manner the one-celled animals may have developed,
as the increasing numbers made it harder to get food, and brought other
difficulties. Another way in which species may develop is that of
isolation. For example, while a flock of birds is flying south to escape
the cold, some of the weaker ones are left on the way. Here the cold may
cause many feathers to grow, and the other conditions may have such an
effect as to develop an entirely new kind of bird. We can also take as
an example the different colors of men, caused by the conditions in
which they live.
“The disappearance of certain species while others survive is, according
to the idea of natural selection, only the survival of the fittest. We
find that long ago there were animals larger than any of to-day, but
they have completely died out, perhaps because they could not find food,
while the smaller, weaker animals have survived because they were better
fitted for the conditions. Looking back at history, we can see how at
different periods one nation would wipe out another which was weaker, or
how one people, more advanced than others, could better protect itself
from the elements, and, therefore, lived while others died. The
similarity of different animals gives a good foundation for this theory.
A baby will often take attitudes exactly like those of a monkey, and
while it is young crawl on all fours like animals. Different kinds of
animals have bones and all other parts of the body just alike, and also
like those of men.
“This theory teaches progression and is therefore useful. It teaches
that we were once one, and we should therefore have sympathy with one
another.”
I next read Florence’s paper:
“In our last talk we spoke of evolution and its bearing on progress. I
shall simply try to give an idea of what we said about evolution itself.
By evolution we mean that we all sprang from a common ancestral source,
and have gradually developed into higher and different forms. In
general, this change has been from the greatest simplicity, which we
find in the one-celled animal, to the highest complexity.
“Darwin, although not the first to advance the theory of evolution, was
the first to enlarge and further it. His deductions rest on three main
theories—heredity, variation and natural selection. He thought that the
offspring always inherited the parents’ qualities with something new in
its composition. By natural selection Darwin meant the survival of the
fittest, that is, that only the most fitted for life should live. In
this way the offspring receiving traits from its parents, if they be to
its advantage, will live and continue them, and those who have not got
them will be killed. In other words, Darwin believed that the terrible
struggle for existence, which usually destroys nine-tenths of each
generation, must favor those who possess the best variation for their
environment; and that these will in turn hand on to their successors
these favoring variations. In this next generation the same process will
be repeated, and in this way we get a steady though very gradual
advance.
“To-day, however, looking at it broadly, we can see that all heredity
and variation need is some way of separating those individuals having
some peculiar variation from those who do not possess any. This we call
isolation, and it can easily be seen that natural selection is only a
subhead under this title. Another form of isolation beside natural
selection is geographical.
“Our theories have advanced to this stage, and although it is quite a
large move from the original ideas of Darwin, there are many questions
still puzzling us, which have yet to be solved.”
Then came Marian’s paper:
“On Sunday, November 1st, the Seekers held a very interesting meeting.
The subject we discussed was Evolution. The very lowest form of life is
a one-celled animal. This divides into a two-celled one, which in turn
continues to divide and differentiate until it takes the form of a plant
or animal. All animals must have had some common ancestor. The proof of
this is the existence of rudimentary organs, such as the appendix in man
and the bones in the flipper of a whale where we should expect legs.
Another proof is to be found in the remains and knowledge we have of
prehistoric animals. Some of them were shaped like reptiles, and yet had
wings. In connection with evolution, there are the theories of _natural
selection_ and _isolation_. _Natural selection_ is the belief in the
survival of the fittest. For instance, if one lobster happened to grow a
large claw, which enabled it to fight better, its young were likely to
inherit this tendency, and their young also, etc., until the
larger-clawed lobsters, being better able to fight, would kill off most
of the others. This theory would not always hold good, however. The
theory of _isolation_ is very interesting. If, for instance, a bird of
one species was born with a longer bill than most of the others, and
this bird found a warmer climate was better for it, and, after mating,
flew farther south, its young would probably inherit this longer bill,
and would also fly farther south than most of the species. Soon they
would become entirely separated from the original species, and would
become a new class of birds. The connection that _Evolution_ has with
our work is that evolution is progress and that our aim is progress.
Evolution also helps us to understand animals and plants, and to come
into a better understanding with nature. Disease is the price of
progress. As we progress, one part goes ahead, often at the expense of
some other part. Thus disease may be called the price of progress.”
Marian admitted that she was rather mixed up about the cells dividing
and the long-billed bird going south for his health. But this is doing
well for the unscientific Marian, who said a while ago that she did not
see how science could have any effect on our view of life.
Then I read Virginia’s paper:
THEORY OF EVOLUTION
“The first life that appeared on the earth was a one-celled
animal or plant that appeared beneath the water. The germs of
life travel through the ether, and wherever there are conditions
in which living things can thrive, there they settle. So that
was the way in which life began on the earth.
“This one-celled animal, after a while, divided into more cells,
and thus became more complicated. When land appeared, land
animals and plants came into existence. And these animals became
higher and higher. First the animals without a spine, then a
more complicated specimen, in the lower forms of vertebrates.
Then the reptiles, out of which came two branches, the birds and
the immense reptiles of which none have survived that I know of.
But out of them came the mammals. And after many thousands of
years, man appeared.