292 THE HUMAN FORM. 



has thrown it into such peevish atheism, as that great plain gift 

 which we accept every moment from the Author of our being and 

 the Founder of our faith. They cruelly say that life is mysterious, 

 hut learned ignorance alone is mysterious : how can life be myste- 

 rious, when light is truth, and light and life are one ? 



Let us look at our predicament physiologically, that we may see 

 where we stand, and what we have to do. The living body is the 

 field which we are to explore. What course are we obliged to take ? 

 We are compelled to dissect the dead : but does this give the infor- 

 mation which we seek ? Evidently not, for dead organs are the 

 antipodes of our quest. What is to be done, to raise the dead man, 

 and unbind his grave clothes? What divine voice shall cry to 

 physiology, " Lazarus, come forth ?" Life must be brought from 

 the living, from the quick body and mind ; also from the great 

 forum of men, which we call life par excellence. Tell us whither 

 else can we carry it into the sciences than from the mighty reser- 

 voirs of history and humanity ? Beyond a doubt it can only come 

 from where it is, that is to say, from the land of the living. 



Here the question of life loses its mystery, and shines with 

 understanding by its own inherent effulgence. There are not two 

 lives, but one; not a human life here, and a physiological life 

 totally different there. That which is life in humanity, that which 

 is life in society, that which is life in persons, and in the moral 

 soul, is also life, and the only life, in the organs of the frame. 

 Ends, motives, passions, affections, likings, loves, virtues, are 

 human vitality, and there is none other. For what is our life, and 

 the measure of it ? What is our experience thereof ? What is it 

 that sets us in motion, and opens us for sensation ? Why do we 

 do anything, or think anything, or keep ourselves awake to feel 

 anything ? Most surely because our being lies in cherished ends, 

 in which success is delight, and delight the flaming of our lives. 

 Remove these ends, and we stare without seeing, and sit in corners 

 with hideous apathy and indecorum, miserably disheveled and 

 vegetalized ; for life has nothing to do, and is taking its departure : 

 as in the Metamorphosis we are growing into trees, and the needy 

 soil shall swallow us. 



Apply this to the body and its parts, and we find that the ends 



