A STARFISH AND A DAISY 



DAY after day the forms of horses, dogs, 

 birds, and other creatures pass before our 

 eyes. We look at them and call them by the 

 names which we have given them, and yet — we 

 see them not. That is to say, we say that they 

 have a head, a tail; they run or fly; they are of 

 one colour beneath, another above, but beyond 

 these bare meaningless facts most of us never go. 

 Let us think of the meaning of form. Take, 

 for example, a flower — a daisy. Now, if we could 

 imagine such an impossible thing as that a daisy 

 blossom should leave its place of growth, creep 

 down the stem and go wandering off through the 

 grass, soon something would probably happen to 

 its shape. It would perhaps get in the habit of 

 creeping with some one ray always in front, and 

 the friction of the grass stems on either side 

 would soon wear and fray the ends of the side 

 rays, while those behind might grow longer and 

 longer. If we further suppose that this strange 

 daisy flower did not like the water, the rays in 

 front might be of service in warning it to turn 

 aside. When their tips touched the surface and 

 were wet by the water of some pool, the ambula- 

 tory blossom would draw back and start out in a 

 new direction. Thus a theoretical head (with the 



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