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CHAPTER
XI. DR. BORDERSON, it seemed,
held the chair in Ethics at the
University. I knew a Borderson once and was very fond of him. Poor
Frank! If he
was alive he would have more likely reached a prison or a hospital than
a
professorship. Yet he was brilliant enough. We were great friends in
college,
and before; let me see — thirty-five years ago. But he was expelled for
improper conduct, and went from bad to worse. The last I had heard of
him was
in a criminal case — but he had run away and disappeared. I well
remembered the
grief and shame it was to me at the time to see such a promising young
life
ruined and lost so early. Thinking
of this, I was shown into the study of the great teacher of ethics, and
as I
shook hands I met the keen brown eyes of —
Frank Borderson. He had both my hands and shook them warmly. "Well,
John! It is good to see you again. How well you look; how little you
have
changed! It's a good world you've come back to, isn't it?" "You
are the most astonishing thing I've seen so far," I replied. "Do you
really mean it? Are you — a Professor of Ethics?" "When
I used to be a God-forsaken rascal, eh? Yes, it's really so. I've
taught Ethics
for twenty years, and gradually pushed along to this position. And I
was a good
deal farther off than Tibet, old man." I was tremendously
glad to see him. It was more like a touch of the old life than anything
I had
yet found — except Nellie, of course. We spoke for some time of those
years of
boyhood; of the good times we had had together; of our common friends. He kept me
to dinner; introduced me to his wife, a woman with a rather sad, sweet
face,
which seemed to bear marks of deep experience; and we settled down for
an
evening's talk. "I
think you have come to the right person, John; not only because of my
special
studies, but because of my special line of growth. If I can tell you
what
changed me, so quickly and so wholly, you won't be much puzzled about
the
others, eh?" I fully
agreed with him. The boy I knew was clever enough to dismiss all
theology, to
juggle with philosophy and pick ethics to pieces; but his best friends
had been
reluctantly compelled to admit that he had "no moral character." He
had, to my knowledge, committed a number of unquestionable "sins,"
and by hearsay I knew of vices and crimes that followed. And he was Dr.
Borderson! "I'll
take myself as a sample, Whitman fashion," said he. "There I was when
you knew me — conceited, ignorant, clever, self-indulgent, weak,
sensual,
dishonest. After I was turned out of college I broke a good many laws
and
nearly all the commandments. What was worse, in one way, was that my 'wages' were
being paid me in disease —
abominable disease. Also I had two drug habits — alchohol and cocaine.
Will you
take me as a sample?" I looked
at him. He had not the perfect health I saw so much of in the younger
people;
but he seemed in no way an invalid, much less a drug victim. His eyes
were
clear and bright, his complexion good, his hand steady, his manner
.ssured and
calm. "Frank,"
said I, "you beat anything I've seen yet. You stand absolutely to my
mind
as an illustration of 'Before Taking' and 'After Taking.' Now in the
name of
reason tell me what it was you Took!" "I
toak a new grip on Life — that's the whole answer. But you want to know
the
steps, and I'll tell you. The new stage of ethical perception we are in
now —
or, as you would probably say, this new religion — presents itself to
me in
this way: "The
business of the universe about us consists in the Transmission of
Energy. Some
of it is temporarily and partially arrested in material compositions;
some is
more actively expressed in vegetable and animal form; this stage of
expression
we call Life. We ourselves, the human animals, were specially adapted
for high
efficiency in storing and transmitting this energy; and so were able to
enter
into a combination still more efficient; that is, into social
relations.
Humanity, man in social relation, is the best expression of the Energy
that we
know. This Energy is what the human mind has been conscious of ever
since it
was conscious at all; and calls God. The relation between this God and
this
Humanity is in reality a very simple one. In common with all other life
forms,
the human being must express itself in normal functioning. Because of
its
special faculty of consciousness, this human engine can feel, see,
think, about
the power within it; and can use it more fully and wisely. All it has
to learn
is the right expression of its degree of life-force, of Social Energy."
He
beamed at me. "I think it's about all there, John." "You
may be a very good Professor of Ethics for these new-made minds, but
you don't
reach the old kind — not a little bit. To my mind you haven't said
anything —
yet." He seemed
a little disappointed, but took it mildly. "Perhaps I am a little out
of
touch. Wait a moment — let me go back and try to take up the old
attitude." He leaned
back in his chair and shut his eyes. I saw an expression of pain slowly
grow
and deepen on his face; and suddenly realized what he was doing. "Oh,
never mind, Frank; don't do it; don't try. I'll catch on somehow." He seemed
not to hear me; but dropped his face in his hands. When he raised it it
was
clear again. "Now I can make things clearer perhaps," he said.
"We had in our minds thirty years ago a strange hodge-podge of old and
new
ideas. What was called God was still largely patterned after the old
tribal
deity of the Hebrews. Our ideas of 'Sin' were still mostly of the
nature of
disobedience — wrong only because we were told not to do it. Sin as a
personal
offence against Somebody, and Somebody very much offended; that was it.
We were
beginning to see something of Social values, too, but not clearly. Our
progress
was in what we called 'The natural sciences'; and we did not think with
the
part of our minds wherein we stored religion. Yet there was very great
activity
and progress in religious thought; the whole field was in motion; the
new
churches widening and growing in every direction; the older ones
holding on
like grim death, trying not to change, and changing in spite of
themselves; and
Ethics being taught indeed, but with no satisfying basis. That's the
kind of
atmosphere you and I grew up in, John. Now here was I, an ill-assorted
team of
impulses and characteristics, prejudiced against religion, ignorant of
real
ethics, and generally going to the devil — as we used to call it! You
know how
far down I went — or something of it." "Don't
speak of it, Frank!" I said. "That was long ago; forget it, old
man!" But he turned toward me a smile of triumph. "Forget
it! I wouldn't forget one step of it if I could! Why, John, it's
because of my
intimate knowledge of these down-going steps that I can help other
people up
them!" "You
looked decidedly miserable just now, all the same, when you were
thinking them
over." "Oh,
bless you, John, I wasn't thinking of myself at all! I was thinking of
the
awful state of mind the world was in, and how it suffered! Of all the
horror
and misery and shame; all that misplaced, unnecessary cruelty we called
punishment; the Dark Ages we were still in, in spite of all we had to
boast of.
However, this new perception came." I
interrupted him. "What
came? Who came? Did you have a new revelation? Who did it? What do you
call it?
Nobody seems to be able to give me definite information." He smiled
broadly. "You're a beautiful proof of the kind of mental jumble I spoke
of. Knowledge of evolution did not come by a revelation, did it? Or did
any one
man, or two, give it to us? Darwin and Wallace were not the only minds
that
helped to see and express that great idea; and many more had to spread
it.
These great truths break into the world-mind through various
individuals, and
coalesce so that we cannot disconnect them. We have had many writers,
preachers, lecturers, who discoursed and explained; this new precept as
to the
relation between man and God came with such a general sweep that no one
even
tries to give personal credit for it. These things are not personal —
they are
world-percepts." "But
every religion has had its Founder, hasn't it?" "I don't call it a
religion, my dear
fellow! It's a science, like any other science. Ethics is The Science
of Human
Relation. It is called Applied Sociology — that's all." "How
does a thing like that touch one, personally?" I asked. "How
does any science touch one personally? One studies a science, one
teaches a
science, one uses a science. That's the point —
the use of it. Our old scheme of religion was a thing to 'believe,' or
'deny'; it was a sort of shibboleth, a test question one had to pass
examination in to get good marks! What I'm telling you about is a
general
recognition of right behavior, and a general grasp of the necessary
power." "You
leave out entirely the emotional side of religion." "Do
I? I did not intend to. You see, we do not distinguish religion from
life now,
and are apt to forget old terms. You are thinking, I suppose, of the
love of
God, and man, which we used to preach. We practice it now. "That
Energy I spoke of, when perceived by us, is called Love. Love, the real
thing
we had in mind when we said 'God is Love,' is beneficent energy. It is
the
impulse of service, the desire to do, to help, to make, to benefit.
That is the
'love' we were told to bestow on one another. Now we do." "Yes;
but what made you do it? What keeps you up to it?" "Just
nature, John. It is human nature. We used to believe otherwise." He was
quiet for a while. "One
of these new doctors got hold of me, when I was about as near the
bottom as one
can go and get back. Not a priest with a formula, nor a reformer with
an
exhortation; but a real physician, a soul-doctor, with a passionate
enthusiasm
for an interesting case. That's what I was, John; not a lost soul; not
even a
'sinner' — just 'a case.' Have you heard
about these moral sanitariums?" "Yes
— but not definitely." "Well,
as soon as this view of things took hold, they began to want to isolate
bad
cases, and cure them if they could. And they cured me." "How,
Frank — how? What did they tell you
that you didn't know before? What did they do to you?" "Sane,
strong, intelligent minds put themselves in connection with mine, John,
and
shared their strength with me. I was made to feel
that my individual failure was no great
matter, but that my social duty was that the whole of my dirty past was
as
nothing to all our splendid future, that whatever I had done was merely
to be
forgotten — the sooner the better, and that all life was open before me
— all
human life; endless, beautiful, profoundly interesting — the game was
on, and I
was in it. "John
— I wish I could make you feel it. It was
as if we had all along had inside us an enormous reservoir of love,
human love,
that had somehow been held in and soured! This new arrangement of our
minds let
it out — to our limitless relief and joy. No 'sin' — think of that!
Just let it
sink in. No such thing as sin. . . . We had, collectively and
privately, made
mistakes, and done the wrong thing, often. What of it? Of course we
had. A
growing race grew that way. "Now
we are wiser and need not keep on going wrong. We had learned that life
was far
easier, pleasanter, more richly satisfying when followed on these new
lines —
and the new lines were not hard to learn. Love was the natural element
of
social life. Love meant service, service meant doing one's special work
well,
and doing it for the persons served — of course! "All our
mistakes lay in our belated
Individualism. You cannot predicate Ethics of individuals; you cannot
fulfill
any religion as individuals. My fellow creatures took hold of me, you
see. That
power that was being used so extensively for physical healing in our
young days
had become a matter of common knowledge — and use." "How
many of these — moral hygienists — did you have?" "Scores,
hundreds, thousands — we all help one another now. If a person is tired
and
blue and has lost his grip, if he can't rectify it by change of diet
and change
of scene, he goes to a moral hygienist, as you rightly call it, and
gets help.
I do a lot of that sort of work." I
meditated awhile, and again shook my head. "I'm afraid it's no use. I
can't make it seem credible. I hear what you say and I see what you've
done —
but I do not get any clear understanding of the process. With people as
they
were, with all those casehardened old sinners, all the crass ignorance,
the
stupidity, the sodden prejudice, the apathy, the selfishness — to make
a world
like that see reason — in thirty years! — No — I don't get it." "You
are wrong in your premises, John. Human nature is, and was, just as
good as the
rest of nature. Two things kept us back —
wrong conditions, and wrong ideas; we have changed both. I think you
forget the sweeping advance in material conditions and its effect on
character.
What made the well-bred, well-educated, well-meaning, pleasant people
we used
to know? Good conditions, for them and their ancestors. There were just
as
pleasant people among the poor and among
their millions of children; they had every capacity for noble growth —
given
the chance. It took no wholesale change of heart to make people want
shorter
hours, better pay, better housing, food, clothes, amusements. As soon
as the
shameful pressure of poverty was taken off humanity it rose like a
freed
spring. Humanity's all right." "There
were some things all wrong," I replied, "that I know. You could not
obliterate hereditary disease in ten — or thirty years. You couldn't
make clean
women of hundreds of thousands of prostitutes. You couldn't turn an
invalid
tramp into a healthy gentleman." He stopped
me. "We could do better than that," he said, "and we have. I
begin to see your central difficulty, John; the difficulty that used to
hold us
all. You are looking at life as a personal affair — a matter of
personal
despair or salvation." "Of
course, what else is it?" "What else!
Why, that is no part of human
life! Human life is social, John, collectively, common, or it isn't
human life
at all. Hereditary disease looks pretty hopeless when you see one
generation or
two or three so cursed. But when you realize how swiftly the stream of
human
life can be cleansed of it, you take a fresh hold. The percentage of
hereditary
disease has sunk by more than half in thirty years, John, and at its
present
rate of decrease will be gone, clean gone, in another twenty. Remember
that
every case is known, and that they are either prevented from
transmitting the
inheritance, isolated, or voluntarily living single. Diseases from bad
conditions we no longer endure, nor diseases from ignorance, those from
bacilli
we are able to resist or cure; disease was never a permanent thing —
only an
accident. As for the prostitutes — we thought them 'ruined' because
they were
no longer suitable for our demands in marriage. As if that was
everything! I
tell you we opened a way out for them!" "Namely?" "Namely
all the rest of life! Sex-life isn't everything, John. Not fit to be a
mother,
we said to them; never mind — there is everything else in the world to
be. You
may remember, my friend, that thousands of men, as vicious as any
prostitutes,
and often as diseased, continued to live, to work, and to enjoy. Why
shouldn't
the women? You haven't ruined your lives, we said to them; only one
part. It's
a loss, a great loss, but never mind, the whole range of human life
remains
open to you, the great moving world of service and growth and
happiness. If
you're sick, you're sick — we'll cure it if possible. If not, you'll
die —
never mind, we all die — that's nothing." "Does
your new religion call death nothing?" "Certainly.
The fuss we made about death was wholly owing to the old religions; the
post-mortem religions, their whole basis was death." "Hold
on a bit. Do you mean to tell me the people aren't afraid of death any
more?" "Not
a bit. Why should they be? Every living thing dies; that's part of the
living.
We do not hide it from children now, we teach it to them." "Teach
death — to children! How horrible!" "Did
you see or hear anything horrible in your educational excursions, John?
I know
you didn't. No, they learn it naturally; in their gardens; in their
autumn and
winter songs; in their familiarity with insects and animals. Our
children learn
life, death, and immortality, from silk-worms; and, then only
incidentally. The
silk is what they are studying. "It
takes a great many silk-worms to make silk, generations of them. They
see them
born, live and die, as incidents in silk culture. So we show them how
people
are born, live and die, in the making of human history. The idea is
worked into
our new educational literature — and all our literature for that
matter. We see
human life as a continuous whole now. People are only temporary parts
of it.
Dying isn't any more trouble than being born. "People
feared death, originally, because it hurt; being chased and eaten was
not
pleasant. But natural dying does not hurt. Then they were made to fear
it by
the hell-school of religions. All that is gone by. Our religion rests
on
life." "The
life of this world or the life eternal?" "The
eternal life of this world, John. We have no quarrel with anyone's
belief as to
what may happen after death, that is a free field; but the glory and
power of
our religion is that it rests with assurance on common knowledge of the
beautiful facts of life. Here is Humanity, a continuing stream of life.
Its
line of advance is clear. That which makes Humanity stronger, wiser and
happier
is evidently what is right for it to do. We do teach it to all our
children." "And
they do it?" "Of
course they do it. Why shouldn't they?" "But
our evil tendencies — " "We
don't have evil tendencies, John — and never did. We have earlier and
later
tendencies; and it is perfectly possible to show the child which is
which." "But
surely it is easier to follow the lower impulses than the higher;
easier to
give way than to strive." "There's
the old misconception, John, that 'striving idea.' We assumed that it
was
'natural' to be 'bad' and 'unnatural' to be 'good' — that we had to
make
special efforts, painful and laborious, to become better. We had not
seen,
thirty years ago, that social evolution is as 'natural' as the
evolution of the
horse from the eohippus. If it was easier to be an eohippus than a
horse why
did the thing change? "As
to that army of 'fallen women' you are so anxious about, they just got
up
again, that's all, got up and went on. They had only fallen from one
position;
there was plenty of room left to stand and walk. Why they were not a
speck on
society compared to the 'fallen men.' Two hundred thousand prostitutes
in the
city of New York — well? How many patrons? A million, at the least.
They kept
on doing business, and enjoying life. I tell you, John, all the
unnecessary
evils of condition in the old days, were as nothing to the unnecessary
evils of
our foolish ideas! And ideas can be changed in the twinkling of an eye "As
to your hoboes and bums, that invalid tramp you instanced — I can
settle your
mind on that point. I was an invalid tramp, John; a drunkard, a cocaine
fiend,
a criminal, sick, desperate, as bad as they make them." "Which
brings us back to that 'moral sanitarium' I suppose?" "Yes.
I strayed away from it. I keep forgetting my own case. But it is an
excellent
one for illustration. I was taken hold of with the strong hand, and
given a
course of double treatment, deep and thorough. By double treatment I
mean
physical and mental at once; such a complete overhauling and wise care
as
enabled my exhausted vitality slowly to reassert itself, and at the
same time
such strong tender cheerful companionship, such well-devised
entertainment,
such interesting, irresistible instruction — Why, John — put a tramp
into
Paradise, and there's some hope of him." I was
about to say that tramps did not deserve Paradise, but as I remembered
what
this man had been, and saw what he was now, I refrained. He read my
mind at once. "It's
not a question of desert, John. We no longer deal in terms of personal
reward
or punishment. If I have a bad finger or a bad tooth I save it if I
can; not
because it deserves it, but because I need it. People who used to be
called
sinners are now seen to be diseased members of society, and society
turns all
its regenerative forces on at once. We never used to dream of that
flood of
power we had at hand — the Regenerative Forces of Society!" He sat
smiling, his fine eyes full of light. "Sometimes we had to amputate,"
he continued, "especially at first. It is very seldom necessary now." "You
mean you killed the worst people?" "We
killed many hopeless degenerates, insane, idiots, and real perverts,
after
trying our best powers of cure. But it is really astonishing to see how
much
can be done with what we used to call criminals, merely by first-class
physical
treatment. I can remember how strange it seemed to me, having elaborate
baths,
massage, electric stimulus, perfect food, clean comfortable beds,
beautiful
clothes, books, music, congenial company, and wonderful instruction. It
was
very confusing. It went far to rearrange all my ideas." "If
you treat — social invalids — like that, I should think they would lie
down;'
just to remain in hospital forever. Or go out and be bad in order to
get back
again." "Oh,
no," he said. "A healthy man can't lie around and do nothing very
long. Also it is good outside too, remember. Life is good, pleasant,
easy. Why
on earth should a man want to prowl around at night and steal when he
can have
all he wants, with less effort, in the daytime? Happy people do not
become
criminals. "But
I can tell you what treatment like that does to one. It gives a man a
new view
of human life, of what it is he belongs to. A sense of pride in our
common
accomplishment, of gratitude for the pleasure he receives, of a natural
desire
to contribute something. I took this new ethics — it satisfied me, it's
reasonable, it's necessary. We make it our basic study now, in all the
schools.
You must have noticed that?" Yes, I had
noticed it, as I looked back.
"But they don't call it that," I said. "No,
they don't call it anything to the children. It is just life, the rules
of
decent behavior." We sat
silent awhile after this. Things were clearing up a little in my mind. "A
sort of crystallization of chaotic progressive thought into clear
diamonds of
usable truth — is that about what happened?" I said. "That's
exactly it." "And
a general refutation and clearing out of — of —" "Of a
lot of things we deeply believed — that were not so. That is what was the
matter with us, John. Our minds were
full of what Mrs. Eddy christened error. I wish I could make you feel
what a
sunrise it was to the world when we left off believing lies and learned
the
facts." "Can
you, in a few words, outline a little of your new 'Ethics' to the lay
mind?" "Easily.
It is all 'lay' enough. We don't make a separate profession of
religion, or a
separate science of ethics. Ethics is social hygiene — it teaches how
humanity
must live in order to be well and strong. We show the child the patent
facts of
social relation, how all our daily life, our accumulated wealth and
beauty and
continuing power, rests on common action, on what people do together.
Everything about him teaches that. Then we show him the reasons why
such and
such actions are wrong, what the results are; how to avoid wrong lines
of
action and adopt right ones. It's no more difficult than teaching any
other
game, and far more interesting." I suppose
I looked unconvinced, for he added, "Remember we have nature on our
side.
It is natural for a social animal to develop social instincts; any
personal
desire which works against the social good is clearly a survival of a
lower
pre-social period; wrong, in that it is out of place. What we used to
call
criminals were relics of the past. By artificially maintaining low
conditions,
such as poverty, individual wealth, we bred low-grade types. We do not
breed
them any more." Again we
sat silent. I was nursing my knee and sat looking into the fire; the
soft
shimmering play of rosy light and warmth with which electricity now
gave jewels
to our rooms. He
followed my eyes. "That
clean, safe, beautiful power was always here, John — but we had not
learned of
it. The power of wind and water and steam were here — before we learned
to use
them. All this splendid power of human life was here — only we did not
know
it." After that
talk with Frank Borderson I felt a little clearer in my mind about what
had
taken place. I saw a good deal of him, and he introduced me to others
who were
in his line of work. Also I got to know his wife pretty well. She was
not so
great an authority on ethics as he; but an excellent teacher, widely
useful. One day I
said something to her about her lovely spirit, and what she must have
been to
him — such an uplifting influence. She
laughed outright. "I'll
have to tell you the facts, Mr. Robertson, as part of your instruction.
So far
from my uplifting him, he picked me out of the gutter, literally, dead
drunk in
the gutter, the lowest kind of wreck. He made me over. He gave me —
Life." Her eyes
shone. "We
work together," she added cheerfully. They did
work together, and evidently knew much happiness. I noted a sort of
deep close
understanding between them, as in those who have been through the wars
in
company. I found
Nellie knew about them. "Yes,
indeed," she said. "They are devoted to each other, and most united
in their work. He was just beginning to try to work, after his own
rebuilding;
but feeling pretty lonesome. He felt that he had no chance of any
personal
life, you see, and there were times when he missed it badly. He had no
right to
marry, of course; that is, with a well woman. And then he found this
broken
lily — and mended it. There can't be any children, but there is great
happiness, you can see that." "And
they are — received?" "Received?
— Oh, I remember! You mean they are invited to dinners and parties.
Why,
yes." "Not
among the best people, surely?" "Precisely
that, the very best; people who appreciate their wonderful lives." "Tell
me this, Sister; what happened to the Four Hundred — the F. F. V's —
and the
rest of the aristocracy?" "The
same thing that happened to all of us. They were only people, you see.
Their
atrophied social consciousness was electrified with the new thoughts
and
feelings. They woke up, too, most of them. Some just died out
harmlessly. They
were only byproducts." I
consulted a rather reactionary old professor of Sociology, Morris
Banks; one
who had been teaching Political Economy in my youth, and who ought to
be able
to remember things. I asked him if he would be so good as to show me
the dark
side of this shield. "Surely
there must have been opposition, misunderstanding, the usual
difficulties of
new adjustments," I said. "You remember the first years of change — I
wish you would give me a clear account of it." The old
man considered awhile: "Take any one state, any city, or country
locality,
and study back a little," he said, "and you find the story is about
the same. There was opposition and dissent, of course, but it decreased
very
rapidly. You see the improvements at first introduced were such
universal
benefits that there could not be any serious complaint. "By
the time we had universal suffrage the women were more than ready for
it, full
of working plans to carry out, and rich by the experience of the first
trials. "By
the time Socialism was generally adopted we had case after case of
proven good
in Socialistic methods; and also the instructive background of some
failures." "But
the big men who ran the country to suit themselves in my time, they
didn't give
up without a struggle surely? You must have had
some fighting," I said. He smiled
in cheerful reminiscence. "We had a good deal of noise, if that's what
you
mean. But there's no fighting to be done, with soldiers, if the
soldiers won't
fight. Our workingmen declined to shoot or to be shot any longer, and
left the
big capitalists to see what they could do alone." "But
they had the capital?" "Not
all of it. The revenues of the cities and of the United States
Government are
pretty considerable, especially when you save the seventy per cent. we
used to
spend on wars past and possible; and the ten or twenty more that went
in waste
and graft. With a Socialist State private Capital has no grip!" "Did
you confiscate it?" "Did
not have to. The people who were worth anything, swung into line and
went to
work like other people. Those that weren't were just let alone. Nobody
has any
respect for them now." "You
achieved Socialism without bloodshed?" "We
did. It did not happen all at once, you see; just spread and spread and
proved
its usefulness." |