Volume 1, Page 64: "The highest centers do probably contain nothing

but arrangements for representing impressions and movements, and other arrangements for coupling the activities of these arrangements, which in turn excite others, until at last a motor discharge occurs."

Page 29: "Can we tell precisely in what the feelings of the central active self consists? When I forsake general principles and grapple with particular it is difficult for me to detect any pure spiritual elements at all."

Page 107: "The currents, once in, must find their way out. In getting out they leave their track. The only thing they can do, in short, is to deepen old paths or make new ones, and the whole plasticity of the brain sums itself up in two words, when we call the brain an organ in which currents passing in from the sense organs make paths which do not easily disappear."

The reader will here observe that James refers to motor discharges and brain paths as though he actually believed, or that there was evidence, that such things existed.

All through his works he quotes freely from agnostic and atheistic authors who have been attacking religion for about three hundred years, from which I will copy samples:

_Spinoza_: "Extension is invisible thought, thought is invisible extension. Man is not free-willed--God neither thinks nor creates."

_John Locke_: "Whatever any man may know, or reasonably believe in, or even conceive, is dependent on human experience."

_David Hume_: "Ideas are but weakened copies of impressions."

_Herbert Spencer_: "No idea or feeling arises save as the result of some physical force expended in producing it."

The teachings of this school of instructors are peculiar, inasmuch as no such ambiguity concerning reason or will power has heretofore been taught at large or sanctioned by any class of instructors in the history of our world. The attempt to shelter under the wing of the ancient Greeks is plainly a misconstruction, for the wise Greek bowed in wonder before unknown cause.

_Pythagoras_, 582 B. C., used as the base of his arguments transmigration of the soul. One of his expressions was: "The soul is a harmony chained to the body."

_Socrates_: "Design proves that existence is God."

_Aristotle_: "Thinking or thought is God Theology--Soul always thinking is immortal."

Thus I might quote from deep thinkers from Zoroaster down to our times. If one feels disposed to study the works of those self-styled liberal exponders from Spinoza to James, they will find their arguments running essentially in the same groove, virtually this: Animals, including men, are not possessed by an invisible guide. That something which discerns between right and wrong and dictates to the body whether it should follow the path of desire or virtue, they absolutely ignore. Because they cannot comprehend the mysteries of the soul, they dwell upon and cling to tangible material effects, actually assuming effect without cause. They disallow that the good Samaritan and the Levite had exactly the same exterior stimuli. They are like the woman at Jacob's well, who could comprehend the well and mountain, but could not comprehend the invisible spring. She awoke when told how her secrets were known, but they awake not, as the result of intention.

James makes a feeble attempt to prove that matter thinks when he says: "Every individual cell has its own consciousness, which no other cell knows anything about--associated by brain paths."

What profound reasoning; think of it. Betts tells us that there are three thousand million cells, or neurons, in an adult nervous system; then think of the paths leading from one cell to the other. We learn that light, or electricity, would travel around our world eight times in one second; I wonder, if at the same rate of speed, how long it would take an exterior stimulus to cover the distance over one of his brain paths, from cell to cell.

"Oh," but one says, "Richardson, you do not understand James." Allowed, but if a man of my experience does not understand materialism, how is a youth of twenty years expected to understand it?

Man cannot explain memory, but he knows it is the principle in the ego, or soul. To illustrate: In a crowd I overhear a voice. I say to the talker, "I recognize your voice, but I cannot place you." "Think again," he says. Now, I start back over life's trail, listening to voices, one-two-twenty-forty years, then I say, "your name is Edwin Pease." "Yes," he says, "we were boys together fifty years ago."

Did this familiar voice, the true External Stimulus, awaken something which existed, or did it create something in my brain?

James calls this a motor discharge, which we will admit, but he wavers when he says, "Why any state of consciousness should precede a movement we do not know." Then he adds, "The soul presents nothing herself and creates nothing."

Exterior Stimuli, he assumes, awakens the sinews, which in turn cause the body to act. Do not External Stimuli cause the vegetable to act! Go set your little geranium in the south window and see how soon it turns its pretty face to the sun. These acts may receive their origin in the law of inclination, permitted but not emitted, while every act of a sane animal is an exhibition of intention. Exterior Stimuli are individual causes. Intentional response is of invisible individual origin. Reflex action would be nothing but continued Exterior Stimuli.

The invisible actor is the man; see him out on the wings of the soul in the far away Eternity, weighing the stars, predicting their course, calculating their velocity and testing their elements.

See our Edison bottling up the lightning's wild vim and causing it, in its attempt to regain liberty, to serve man silently and safely. Would the Stimuli which cause Edison to invent cause any other man of the same experience and education to evolve the same results? Answer yes, and you expose your weakness. Answer no, and you establish the mysterious, invisible thinking soul.

Materialism is an educational attempt to compel the religious world to prove that which they do not profess to comprehend. Knowledge is the accumulation of past earthly experience. Send a weakling through college and he has obtained knowledge, but he is the same simple Simon.

Wisdom is innate; it consists of individual ability to comprehend. It is peculiar to each self, and cannot be obtained through experience or education.

According to James, self is the body, clothes and surroundings. According to Genesis it is the image of God. Is God an animal? Jesus said to the Samaritan woman: "God is spirit." Is Jesus authority? Man's body, wealth and surroundings are not even his, they are simply under his control for a season. Self is that strange quality which designates one person from another. Memory and self are closely connected. It may be that the soul possesses memory of experience in other worlds, which, like all absent memory, awaits recall.

Sleep represents a mysterious condition of the soul. When the veil of consciousness begins to vanish one enters a sphere which is not controlled by reason, but rather by emotion; which, in dreaming, is often very intense and dictates wildly.

The lower animals are possessed of a soul, but if they have a sense of right and wrong it is undeveloped, in fact, the connecting link between man and beast may be consciousness of wrong.

Faith is an easy couch on which to repose; as a bridge it spans dark rivers of uncertainty, but it requires no faith to believe in the soul.

Even Spinoza must have observed that desire, reason and conscience are under the control of a distant power which can brush them all aside and go on its way, but it does not control memory.

Unconsciousness, whether in sleep or in death, ought not to frighten us. If in sleep it does not impair memory, it does not in death, as they are both simply the veil which shuts off our view.

In short, the soul appears through the body as its organ, giving us a view of its wonder through the flashlight of sensibility, one view at a time and no more.

In some mysterious, incomprehensible way the past travels with the present. Memory, anticipation and dreams are often far more real than when face to face with animal activity.

We cannot comprehend first cause; result is our only guide, but we dimly comprehend the apparent steps from the mineral to the spiritual.

Mineral life is inspiring in that it represents the star-lit Eternity into which we gaze in wonder and contemplate the incessant transformation.

Vegetable life creeps softly after, in obedience to the law of inclination, the roots search in darkness for moisture while the foliage turns to the morning sun in gladness.

Animal life cuts clear from vegetable moorings mysteriously equipped with an invisible guide.

GLADSTONE

Spiritual life is the soul unincumbered by material bondage.

To prove that extinction or enfeeblement of the body does not impair the soul, we will consider the life of Gladstone, for if we find an isolated case whose mind did not weaken along with the body, it is positive proof that all so-called dotage or drowsiness of the aged is simply the effect of the live soul impeded in its effort to recall familiar occurrences through impaired organs. This is obvious from the fact that when the object has been recalled the spiritual vision of the object appears in all its original minuteness.

Everyone who reads knows that Gladstone when he carried the Home Rule Bill in the House of Commons, at the age of eighty-four, was as elegant, scrutinizing, and powerful in his debates as when forty-four years old. Still at that age his sight, hearing, power of recall of names, and tottering form were incessantly passing away.

Is not this evidence that two distinct agencies were at the time involved, life and death.

According to James' no-soul theory, his speech was involuntary reflex action, governed by neither will nor memory, while according to reason the spirit which controlled this wonderful man's feeble, tottering form was as clear and bright as it had been in days gone by.

Falling asleep in death is not a new venture. We are unconscious through life of all we know except as momentary knowledge comes forth through the organs, which in sleep as in death are unconscious of surrounding existence.

Jesus said, "I go that I may wake him out of sleep." "She is not dead but sleepeth."

If man is simply a creation of animated matter, he dies like a vegetable, if he is a dual creature, soul and body, when one part ceases to be, the other is not self, but if man is a spiritual being temporarily inhabiting and partially controlling a creation of animation the dissolution of the animated form must set him free and leave the spiritual being intact.

In memory, of childhood days, we apparently go back and view the scenes again, but if we really did go back we would see them as they are and not as they were, so we must give up that theory.

The most prevalent materialistic doctrine is that memory is an impression of the occurrences stamped on the brain. This theory when turned upon itself plainly establishes the invisible soul as the being who discerns the impressions.

The most modern atheistic theory is that memory is not a retained impression, but rather a new creation caused by immediate external stimuli. See Volume 1, page 649, of James' Psychology.

As all sane expressions are based on foreknowledge, this theory assumes that the cold exterior stimuli at the motor discharge instantly re-create the experience of our entire passed life.

This fallacy, together with the brain path theory, proves that excess of possessions coupled with classical education creates degeneracy.

Under the guise of philosophy and science these instructors are not only attacking the church but the vital spark of life.

I have spent years in the principal parts of the world studying the people and their modes of worship and I have found that all religions are one and beautiful in that they teach that at death the soul will be free. The righteous and wicked will be separated and our future destination will depend upon our personal motives while living in the body.

Whether our soul theory be a myth, mystery or truism, one thing is obvious, those living under the conviction that their apparent secret motives are in some way actually known, and will stand for or against them at death, will lead more pure lives, and make better parents, citizens and neighbors than those who imbibe materialism through faithless instructors who apparently hope there will be no reckoning day.

The immortal soul has been the staff of hope on which frail humanity has leaned for ages. The American Indian stood in the evening gloom, shading his brows with his feeble hand as he tried to look over the cold waves of death just to get a glimpse of the unexplored happy hunting ground. John, while on the isle of Patmos invented pearly gates and golden streets. He had caught the symbolic mode of teaching from Jesus in that ideas transformed into object lessons are more easily comprehended.

Jesus taught the soul theory from start to finish. "The kingdom of God cometh not by observation--the kingdom of God is within you." "Fear not them which kill the body but rather fear Him who is able to destroy both body and soul in Hell." "It is the spirit that quickeneth, the flesh profiteth nothing." "The words I speak unto you are spirit and are life." Still he illustrated his ideas through object lessons.

Many who do not profess actually believe in the immortality of the soul. When unprofessing parents weep at the death of their sweet babe; they somehow believe that after life's dark storms are all passed, they will find that their pet has been in the care of loved ones who have gone before.

Any thoughtful person when observing their hand must discern two distinct forces in existence, spiritual and material or visible and invisible. And that the invisible is the force which knows and drives the material. Thus, as the exterior stimuli through the ear or other senses awaken the reason, so the invisible through the different functions of the brain emit their conclusion, based on world experience and scrutinized by the spirit, or a God-given power we call reason, which is often swayed by sly will power.

The aged are continually calling up minor incidents of forty years ago, while yesterday's events evade recall. Why is this?

It is not that the obscurity of vision, confusion of results and uncertainty of doubt which befogs life today darkened the path in the same way fifty years ago, but time has removed the obscurity and the original appears. Could we live another fifty years, might not the cloud which now befogs our path have vanished and we again remember the glance of recognition of yesterday, which now seems hard to recall.

No one contends but that our journey of life is traveled in utter darkness. No recall of the past, no discernment of the future. If then one unimportant act or thought of the long ago did record itself, may not all have done the same, and may it not be that when the veil of obscurity is drawn aside, all the minute details of life will blend the awakened past with the present, and we discover that our birth was not a beginning but rather a forgetting, and death the welcome morning call.

I stood with the mother of the James boys, beside the grave of Jesse, in her door yard, when she told how that once when Jesse thought he was dying he took his watch charm and handed it to a comrade, saying, "Take this to sister Anna and tell her to pray that we meet in Heaven."

That mother's tears did not seem to me like crocodile tears. In fact there is something about the deadly bandit which we sometimes admire, but if there is anything fascinating about Harvard James and his sympathizers who sneak in under the cloak of morality to influence the young to turn against the great thinking spiritual world, I, for one, cannot see it.

I may be too blunt and plain in my remarks concerning soulless advocates but I feel that these teachers are not only swinging to the other extreme from religion, but through selfishness or ignorance they are creating unrest and war.

Most of our national leaders have been drilled in these theories and while many are too wise to accept them there are those who accept what they are taught just as a calf takes milk from the cow.

These thoughtless learned often become political leaders. Especially where finances are concerned, for with this no soul theory in view, their only object in life can be aggrandizement and luxury tinctured with animal passion.

EVENING OF MY LIFE DAY

Years have passed since my cycling days and yet I am strong and athletic.

My daughter Minnie and her husband, Dr. B. H. Chamberlain, with their only boy Hiland, have lately sold their home on Washington boulevard and are not yet settled again.

Arthur and Jessie, with three children, Marvin and the twins, Jean and Willard, have an elegant home on Keystone avenue, Rivert Forest. He owns the Inland Whitelead Co., which is a large concern.

Alberta and her husband, George Carlson, with their three bright girls, Mary, Mildred and Frances, live in their comfortable home near me in Oak Park. George is captain of our fire department.

Thus I have my children and grandchildren around me, all in good health and standing in the community.

I am still conducting my manufacture of copper and tinware on my property, corner Washington boulevard and Curtis street. My 75 years does not seem to trouble me, for I feel as well as I did fifty years ago.

Mary Hoyt, my first wife, long since entered the shadows where faults and failings grow dim, while virtues and charms blend the past, present and future into one eternal morning of gladness.

In 1902, I married Mrs. Williamson, whose maiden name was Mary Prickett, of Goshen, Ind. Our days together have been continued sunshine and joy. Evenings when I return home each tells of the day's joys, troubles and ludicrous incidents.

My Mary not only runs the home, buying, paying, attending to her church trotting and downtown shopping, but she is interested in my ups and downs at the factory. Inquires all about Dorfman, my factory superintendent; Bilthouse, my mechanical engineer, and carries in mind my business associates, knows their names and who they represent.

To me, a man who expects his wife to stay in her place, never deserving of praise, misses much he might enjoy if he knew enough to appreciate her worth. Many a man's success in life is owing to the genius of his wife, a fact which neither seems to understand.

Our home, northwest corner East and Chicago avenue, Oak Park, we built in 1909 and 1910. The house is spacious and elegant, but the gem of Fair Oaks subdivision is our large yard.

Of the six stately burr oaks, known to be hundreds of years old, one stands near our sleeping room window, on which is the house or home of a mother squirrel, who when she has babies allows no other squirrel to even climb the tree. Each day she comes down to the kitchen for dinner, often sitting on Mrs. Richardson's shoulder while eating and does not even care if her tail does brush the ladies' eyes.

There are about forty other large trees in the yard besides, on either side of the bridge, a dense thicket of thorn and crab apple trees. Here the wrens and robins raise their broods in harmony with the saucy sparrows who live with us all the year, eat that which would be thrown away, and never disturb other birds' nests. They all bathe in the same pool and actually seem to appreciate our little dog Joe, who assumes great responsibility in keeping the cats from catching the young birds and the boys from climbing over our high iron fence.

FIFTY-FOUR MILES' HIKE

The latest excitement in our neighborhood has been the exploit of myself and my son Arthur, with several other aspirants, attempting without training, to walk to Channel Lake, fifty-four miles, in one day.

Our plan was for the men to leave Oak Park at sundown and walk in the dark thirty miles, and the ladies leave home, in automobile, at 3:30 in the morning, then all take breakfast together at Libertyville, from where the ladies would accompany the men on the last twenty-four miles.

The evening before the start we had a laughable wrangle as to who, of the men, could or could not pull through to Libertyville, as the heavy fall rains had so impaired the roads that there would be much high stepping and low dipping as we stumbled along in the dark. Also, we knew that the journey from Libertyville to Antioch, being over clay hills, would be either slip-slop or hard and sharp for the feet of the ladies, but everybody seemed anxious to make a record.

Jessie, Arthur's wife, and Mrs. Buhler felt dubious about the outcome of the ladies' walk, but my wife declared she would like to see the man who had walked thirty miles in the night that she could not accompany through the following day.

Of the very many aspirants all found plausible excuses except the two Richardsons and their wives, Eugene Buhler, and Paul Highland and their wives, Albert Hauter, Edd Hauter and Bruce Tate.

Accordingly, as the autumn sun was casting its last gleam through the old oaks we seven men grouped for a picture, by a neighbor lady, who declared it would be nice for the survivors, if any, to look at after they had become weaker and wiser.

After kissing all the kissable ladies and promising to take it easy, we, in spite of ourselves, lit out at a pace that would have done justice to trained pedestrians.

In River Forest we turned north on Keystone avenue and then on to the country road, when we broke step and strung out, each man attending to his own feet.

It was understood that we stop for supper at Desplaines, but when we arrived at Kolze, seven miles out, the two Hauters, Highland and Tate ordered ham and eggs, while Buhler, Arthur and myself pegged on fast, because the others had declared they would catch us before we reached Desplaines, but they did not.

At Desplaines, thirteen miles out, we found the summer restaurant closed, but in a sort of hotel annex we found a damsel of about 12 years ready to prepare for us ham, eggs and coffee.

She did step around like a regular woman, for which we recompensed her liberally, for she was exceptionally quaint and interesting for a child.

While we were eating, the rear guard arrived, when Albert and Paul came in, saying Bruce and Edd were waiting outside.

When we were ready to start Edd and Bruce were nowhere to be found. We inquired, called and whistled, but no response, so concluded they had either become discouraged and taken the train for Chicago or gone on ahead to fool us, so we five struck out for Wheeling.

At every house the dogs came out barking, which set the dogs at the next house agoing, who, together with the dogs at the last house, which had not yet stopped barking, gave us real dog encouragement.

To keep up our spirits we accompanied the dogs by striking up "Old Black Joe." Really we lacked only a bagpipe to have made the farmers think Gabriel was at hand calling the elect from their graves.

At every bend in the old Desplaines River the water babbled loudly, seeming to join in our merriment, as we jested, told stories and laughed through the joyous hours of our moonlight escapade along the winding stream.

At Wheeling, twenty-two miles out, Buhler began to realize he ought not to have attempted so strenuous an effort, but said he would stick it out forty miles, to Gray's Lake, after which we could continue our foolishness if we did not know enough to get in and ride.

Tate and Ed Hauter put in their appearance at Libertyville, just before the ladies arrived, and to prove they had actually walked all the way, exhibited blisters on their heels.

The ladies teased us and seemed greatly amused while arousing us for breakfast, but soon we were all out in the glorious dawn while the sun was yet lingering beyond old Lake Michigan.

Our way was over the hills which overlook the head waters of the sleepy Desplaines. Touched with a glimmer of pathos at the golden dawn, Arthur and I stopped to listen to my wife's sentimental refrain:

"Not so long ago the red men with their squaws and papooses gathered here, when the leaves were falling, to celebrate their autumn pow-wow, feasting on wild rice, berries and venison, never dreaming that a pale-faced foe lurked on an unknown shore who would soon appear to drive them far away from their own hunting ground, never more to return to join in the chase or the young braves to woo the sun-burned Indian maids."

This little day dream of long ago seemed to awaken serious thought, into which Arthur took part thus:

"Isn't this lovely away from the great city of catch as catch can--to enjoy the inspiration of these quiet hills and valleys? I wonder if this morning may not be just a glimmer of worlds in the far away Eternity more beautiful than ours. Do you think, father, there are other worlds like ours?"

"Not exactly like ours, my boy, there are no two cherries on the tree just alike, still like folks they are all similar. Eternity is the abode of millions of worlds--see, there, our party are climbing the next hill; no more monologues here, we must overtake them."

From Gray's Lake, when our party of eleven had dwindled to five, Arthur, Hauter and Highland pegged steadily on, while Mary and I lagged to enjoy the beautiful northern hilly country.

We really did enjoy our lark, as Mary called it. She observed every interesting thing. Listened to the barking of the squirrels, songs of the birds and strayed into the woods for pretty autumn leaves and berries until her arms were full.

Our daughter Vida, at Carroll College, who knew of our contemplated walk, telephoned to Chicago and on learning we had actually started took the train to Antioch and came down the road to surprise us.

We were loafing along when our Weiders (Vida), whom we had not seen in eight weeks, sprang from a concealment and grabbed us.

Surely I would not have been much more surprised if one of the fair sex from the planet Mars had accosted us.

After the shower of kisses Mary and I forgot our sore toes, and, with her, hurried on, visiting all the way until we neared our destination, when in the woods, a flood of red bitter-sweet berries attracted their attention and, in spite of all I could do or say, they left the road and began browsing again.

Vida's animation reached serene heights, when from a perch on a fallen tree she cried, "Oh, Papa, see how I can climb. Come up here and see the rippling wave of old Fox Lake dance in the blushing rays of the evening sun. Oh, isn't it a pity that girls cannot fly."

When we arrived at the home of my brother, G. M. Richardson, we found Arthur, Hauter and Highland, with many friends, awaiting us, all pleased to learn that the Richardsons were far from being played out.

After dinner, and Amanda (my brother's wife) had taken Mary and me to the kitchen and exhibited their 24-pound turkey for dinner next day, we gathered in the big living room, when even those who were tired were able to tease and tell stories which had the semblance of truth.

It was not intended for a Richardson reunion, still there were Richardsons enough to render the occasion one of merriment and joy.

Besides mates and friends, the following Richardsons were present.

My brother Gordon. His son Perin. His son Merrick. His son Lawrence. His son George. His daughter Gertie. His daughter Elma. Myself--Merrick Abner. My son--Merrick Arthur. And--Vida.

We had a high old time, for the Richardsons when teasing are said to be somewhat given to exaggeration, so one can easily understand that when they cut loose no one felt sleepy.

BACK HOME

The following evening a few of our immediate friends gathered to congratulate us, among whom were two of Vida's college chums, (Bob) Barbary Beaver and (Peter) Fannie Peterson, who with our Weiders made an interesting trio of entertainers.

Really, when Bob was acting "When Angelina Johnson Came Swinging Down the Line," one could see the pretty colored girl, right from the cotton fields, shaking her heels to the tune of the "Old Virginia Reel."

Peter singing "Maggie, Maggie, the Cows Are in the Clover," was enough to make the most sedate forget themselves, especially the last verse, where Maggie had gone to the county fair and was up in a balloon spooning with her lover, when away in the distance from the kitchen door she faintly heard that old familiar scream, "Maggie, Maggie"--

The cows are in the clover, They've trampled there since morn. Go and drive them, Maggie, To the old red barn.

Thus ended our glad, eccentric lark to Channel Lake, but our hikes still continue. Since our Channel Lake episode, our neighbor, Mrs. Wm. F. Kraft, together with Mrs. Richardson and myself, walked in one day to Elgin, thirty miles, and really these two interesting dames did give me a right lively chase.

I close this book with regret that I am unable, through language, to express my conviction of the immortality of the soul of both man and beast. Consummated life on earth consists of coming from and returning to; creation, action and dissolution of the body do not account for the personal, invisible cause of action. You, dear reader, and myself are now cloaked in garments of dust. When this mantle is laid aside we shall know each other. We shall remember more distinctly; see more clearly; love more dearly; enjoy more purely and wonder that our faith while on earth was so weak.

MERRICK ABNER RICHARDSON.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

-Obvious print and punctuation errors fixed.

-Several errors found in the List of Illustrations in original book; corrected by transcriber.

End of Project Gutenberg's Looking Back, by Merrick Abner Richardson