J.W. Hodge, M.D.
[The above article can be obtained in pamphlet form from the publisher. Wm. J. Furnival, Stone. Staffs.—Eds.]
THE NEW RACE.
(Specially written for The Healthy Life.)
A new race on the ruins of the old
Build we: a temple of the human form
Fairer than marble, since with life-blood warm,
Well crowned with its appointed crown of gold,
Russet or ebony; lines clear and bold
Beneath—a citadel no ills can storm,
Buttressed with health; a type to be the norm
In that great age the world shall yet behold.
For now the laws of Health and Heaven are seen
In their identity, life's body and soul;
Though, like divorce, disease may come between
What God hath joined; but at the human goal,
Where the New Race rules, splendid and serene,
Sit Health and Holiness, made one and whole.
S. Gertrude Ford.
THE PLAY SPIRIT.
We all long for reality. Most of the amusements in the world are imitations of the reality for which we long. They promise a satisfaction they are unable to give. Drink, mechanical love-making, all snatched gratification of the senses, religious excitement, revivalist meetings, and so forth, most theatre-going and sports, all simulate the real glory of life. They bring an illusion of well-being. They produce a glow in the nervous system. They cause the outlines of everyday life as we know it to grow suffused. They give us a momentary sense of heightened power and freedom. We float easily in a happy world. A sort of relaxation has been achieved. The less common forms of amusement bring us nearer to the gateway of reality. For some, they have been the rivers leading to the ocean of truth itself.
Art, for instance, the interpretation of life in terms of beauty; the “artist,” the man in whom sensuous perception is supreme, offers us a sublime aspect of reality. He dwells in the universe constructed for him by his senses and tells us of its glories. He achieves “freedom.” The veil covering reality is woven for him far thinner than for common men. He sees life moving eternally behind the forms he separates and “creates.” And to those of us who are akin to him, who are temperamentally artistic, he offers freedom of a kind. The contemplation of a work of art releases the tension of the nerves. To use the language of psychology it “arrests” us, suspends the functions of our everyday surface personality, abolishes for a moment time and space, allows the “free,” generally suppressed subconscious self to come up and flood the surface intelligence, allows us for a moment to be ourselves. But, still, this momentary relaxation, this momentary “play,” this holiday from the surface “I,” remains an affair dependent upon suggestive symbols coming from “without.” The supreme artist achieves freedom. We, who in matters of art are the imitative mass, can only have “change,” a new heaven and earth, a fresh “culture.”