This process of reproduction, by simple division, was early supplemented by another process of reproduction in which two living cells first fused or combined and then divided to form two or more daughter-cells. This form of reproduction seems to have added stimulus or vitality to the organisms. The supposed reason for this is that the isolated cell was inclined to weaken or lose its chemical balance or tone. The exact nature of this deterioration is not very clearly understood, but in a higher form of life it is well illustrated by the tendency of certain plants to "run out" when grown continually in the same soil, or of animals to become weakened when inbred. At least, all scientists concede that with the process of fusion or the combining of two cells there is added a stimulating and invigorating force which enables life to combat more successfully the unfavorable elements of its environment, and to change or evolve into higher forms.
Throughout the range of plant and animal life this process of cell union, or sexual reproduction, has grown and become elaborated into most varied and wonderful forms. Large volumes could be written describing the many wonderful adaptations of plant and animal life, the purpose of which is to secure sexual reproduction. All those who have studied botany are familiar with the many ways in which the seeds of plants are fertilized by pollen. For instance, certain species of orchids have a receptacle in the blossom, shaped like a teapot, which is filled with a fluid resembling water. This little teapot has an entrance and an exit. Near the entrance is sweet-scented nectar which attracts the bee. Fertilization of orchids As the bee passes through this gateway he is tripped up on a little trap-door arrangement and precipitated into the fluid. His wings having become wet, he is obliged to crawl out through the exit.
The object of this elaborate device is as follows: In the entrance passageway is located the stigma (female organ), while in the exit passageway the male or pollen-bearing organ of the orchid is found. The bee visits several of these flowers consecutively, and, as he makes his exit from each flower, he bears away on his body a portion of the pollen, which is transferred to the stigma of the next flower visited; while the bee, being forced to go through a "plunge bath" before visiting another flower, acquires a fresh load of pollen in each case. This scheme is a certain means of securing fertilization or sexual reproduction, and positively prevents inbreeding (the fertilization of a flower by its own pollen). This is merely one of the wonderful adaptations of nature in the solution of the sex problem.
In the animal kingdom the methods of sexual reproduction are also varied and wonderful. In many of the lower forms of animals, such as the various sea-creatures, the methods of reproduction may be those of division, as first mentioned, or a method combining division with true sexual reproduction. In the case of fishes, the eggs of the female are deposited in the bottom of a stream and are later fertilized by the sperm-cells of the male fishes. This involves a tremendous waste of reproductive cells, scarcely less extravagant than the waste of pollen in plants, such as is seen in a corn-field when Nature's wasteful methodsthe ground becomes yellow, during the tasseling season, with the myriads of pollen grains that failed to secure lodgment upon the silks of the young ears of corn.
In the types of animals that are of higher form than fishes, that is, reptiles, birds, and mammals, the fertilization of the germ-cell (egg) takes place within the body of the female. In the case of the latter group—mammals—the true egg is hatched within the body of the female, and the offspring, or embryo as it is known to scientists, grows there for a considerable period before birth.
The anatomy and the physiology of reproduction will not be considered in detail in this work, as this would require a very lengthy and technical treatise. The remainder of the lesson will be devoted to the relation of the reproductive functions to general health and happiness.
In the process of evolution this function of reproduction was vitally essential to the life of the race. As a result there developed in all animal life strong sexual or reproductive instincts. As is plainly evident, all animals, including man, with such instincts most strongly developed would be the most successful in producing young, and through these offsprings the race or species would inherit like reproductive desires.
In the case of man and the higher form of animals, this general instinct, the purpose of which was to produce offspring, became diversified in to many instincts. Not only does the reproductive instinct in this broad sense include what is commonly known as sexual passion in man, but it may very truly be said to be the essence of sexual love and parental love. Broad-minded scientists are even inclined to believe that the so-called social instinct or love for our fellowmen is but a distant reflection or shadow, as it were, of the original or natural instinct to produce offspring.
There has arisen among civilized man a tendency to separate and class as two distinct things the strictly physical element of sexual desire, and the associate emotion of intellectual love between the sexes. As a matter of fact there is no distinct line of demarcation.
That the former instinct has grown into disrepute and has come to be considered a forbidden topic in polite society, is due to the fact that sexual passion, like all other human acts which may be a source of gratification, can degenerate by overindulgence into a destructive and demoralizing vice. This is equally true of other forms of appetite, but the reason that the instinct of sex, when degenerated, becomes such a tremendous source of destruction and death is because of the important part played in the game of life by the reproductive function.
The functions of reproduction are, in both sexes, very intimately and closely associated with the nervous or vital mechanism of the entire body. For this reason, when the sexual function are perverted or abused the result is serious injury to the general nerve tone or vital force of the system. Likewise the contrary proposition is true; therefore, when for any reason, the general nervous tone or vital force of the body is deranged, the associated result is frequently abnormal passion or weakened sexual functions.
A great deal of literature has been written and circulated throughout the country by well-intentioned individuals purporting to give popular knowledge regarding the subject of sex. But such literature has greatly exaggerated the evils and the dangers connected with sexual health. Outside of specific germ dis-eases transmitted through the sexual organs, and which, while serious, have been painted much darker than the facts justify, there is little excuse for all this horror and scare about sexual weakness and perversion.
Sexual health, like mental or muscular health, is a matter of common sense and right living. Proper feeding, proper oxidation, proper circulation (exercise), perfect elimination of waste-products, and a suitable distribution of both mental and physical work will result in perfect nutrition. This means normal, wholesome body-fluids and body-cells. With these things gained, the sexual organs and sex-function will have a fair opportunity for normal existence, and the matter of sexual health, and the consequent happiness which accompanies it, is then simply a matter of temperance, common decency, and self-control.
Upon the growth of the human embryo, or so-called prenatal culture, there exists a great deal of popular superstition, which is utterly groundless from the standpoint of accurate science. The views that have been promulgated regarding prenatal culture are for the main part harmless, and, for that matter, may be productive of good.
The idea of the prenatal culturist is that the mental as well as the physical growth and development of the unborn child can be controlled by the mother. The only ground for this belief is as follows: The child is nourished from the blood or nutritive fluid of the mother, with the result that the growth and the development of the child may be very readily influenced by the nutrition of the mother.
The mental condition of the mother has an influence on the growth of the child, but it is indirect. All organs and functions of the human body are controlled by the nervous system, and if the nervous impulse be deranged or weakened it may result in a serious impairment of nutrition. For this reason fright, anger, and other strong passions may result in lasting injury to the unborn child, but this injury is at most a matter of stunting or malnutrition, and cannot result in the voluntary mental life of the mother being transmitted to the child.
As evidence of these assertions, I would call the reader's attention to the fact that there is no nervous connection whatever between the embryo and the mother, but after the fertilization of the germ-cell, the only way in which the mother can influence the growth of the child is by the nutrition which her blood supplies to the growing tissue of the embryo.
As further proof of these statements, I will cite the investigations of Darwin in regard to the popular superstition of birthmarks. At the instance of Mr. Darwin, some seven or eight hundred women of a London hospital were very carefully questioned before the birth of the child, as to any incidents which had happened that, according to popular notions, might result in birthmarks or deformities. In no instance was any incident given which resulted in the expected deformity; but the most interesting feature of the investigation was that several women whose children were born with birthmarks recalled, upon seeing the deformity, some incident which seemed to give a possible explanation, thus showing to the mind of anyone familiar with psychology that the true explanation of all so-called remarkable incidents of birthmarks and of prenatal influence is merely one of superstition or self-deception.
How often we hear someone remark upon the wonders of heredity. People are astonished because John should look like John's father. As a matter of fact, the astonishment should come the other way. The child is but a continuation of the life of the parents. The cells from which the child develops have within them the power to grow and to produce individuals like the parents. This is wonderful, but it is only another form of the wonder of a willow twig growing into a willow tree when placed in moist earth.
To the scientist, then, the wonder comes, not in the fact that the child resembles the parent, but in the fact that the child is not identical with the parent. Part of the explanation of this lack of identity, or, as it is known to science, variation, is due to the fact of sexual reproduction; that is, to the fact that the child has two parents instead of one.
The physiological process which takes place in the union of two reproductive cells is truly most wonderful. Of late years this has been studied under powerful microscopes and has resulted in some very wonderful revelations of the mysteries of Nature.
The nucleus (center of growth) of the parent cells contains little thread-like structures known as chromosoms. These chromosoms are considered to be the physical basis of heredity. In each species of animal there is a definite and a different number.
When the sperm-cell unites with the female or germ-cell, these thread-like chromosoms pair off and unite each chromosom with the corresponding structure from the other cell. The combined structures then divide, and half of each chromosom is cast out of the cell-nucleus, and plays no part in the life of the future being; the other half is retained and divides as each new cell is formed.
Thus we see that every part of the new individual is the result of the fusion or combination of the two parents. This explains the variation of inheritance, and through this source must be traced all traits of heredity. After the original fusion of these microscopic physical elements of heredity, the future development of the individual is wholly a matter of environment and nutrition.
What heredity is and what it is not will now be considered in a practical way. It is clearly a matter of heredity that a man is born a man and not a monkey. Likewise, it is clearly a matter of heredity that distinguishes the various races of men. We could go farther and trace out and describe many of the physical distinctions which mark families, and even individuals, such as general size of frame, form of countenance, color of hair and eyes, etc.
Among mental traits we can safely ascribe to heredity only general distinctions. Intellectual parents are more likely to give birth to intellectual children than are parents whose natural mental faculties are less developed. There is also no doubt that certain natural characteristics of mind, such as quick temper, musical ability, etc., may be inherited. The belief, however, in the inheritance of many less distinct features, both physical and mental, is not well established by scientific investigation. Strength of muscle, control of the nervous system, susceptibility to, or freedom from dis-ease, etc., are more matters of nutrition and environment than of inheritance. The idea that consumption, alcoholism, etc., are inherited, or that the education or training of parents along certain lines will result in children with faculties adapted to similar education, is not in accordance with scientific knowledge.
Throughout all nature we observe the phenomena of universal rhythm, manifested in opposing forces, such as heat and cold, light and darkness, construction and destruction, etc. The human body is as much affected by this rhythm as is any other form of life.
There are two forces continually at work within us, one toward destruction and disintegration, and the other toward construction and upbuilding. The common physiological terms for these activities are "waste" and "repair," and we observe them as one of the distinct manifestations of the universal laws of growth, progress, and evolution.
History moves in cycles. Even the life of nations depends somewhat upon this same principle of the interplay of the positive and negative forces of life.
We see the same thing in the changes of the seasons upon the face of the earth. Throughout autumn and winter there is a process of decay, death, and disintegration; leaves fall; plants and vegetables die; fruits ripen, fall and decay. This process continues until former beautiful and symmetrical bodies of matter are thoroughly disintegrated, and the particles once composing them are separated into their original elements, to be appropriated in new manifestations of life in springtime and summer.
We are inclined to think of the human body as a machine—a marvelous, intricate, and complex mechanism which serves our will and our desires; as a tool with which we work out our earthly destiny. But unlike man-made machines, it is self-repairing, self-adjusting, and contains within itself the forces of construction, which are constantly tending toward perfection, while our industrial machines are constantly tending toward their own disintegration and destruction.
Every movement of the body, conscious or unconscious, even thought and emotion, use up some part of the body-tissue which must be replaced by new material. This constant change in the texture and the make-up of the body we call "metabolism," involving the functions of digestion, absorption, assimilation, and elimination.
While we may regard the body as a machine, there are many points in which the favorite comparison to a steam-engine is not exact.
The inert metal composing the steam-engine has no power in itself, nor does power act through the different particles of metal, but it is controlled by the external application of force, which is the result of chemical changes caused by combustion in the fire-box. The metal of the engine has no part in the production of this energy. It does not need to take periods for rest, and if it were possible to supply it continually with water and fuel, it could run steadily from the time it was started until one or more of its essential parts were destroyed through friction.
But the engineer and the fireman who drive the engine find it necessary to rest from their labors at certain intervals, not merely for fuel and water, but to prevent serious destruction of body-tissue. This is true because man is compelled by hitherto unrecognized laws to give his body an opportunity, not only for readjustment in its composition, but also for the actual renewal of that power which animates him and makes him an intelligent, self-adjusting, and self-controlled being.
According to the teachings of the old physiology, our stomachs were fire-boxes of the human engine; food was fuel, and the stomach was supposed to transform this fuel into work or energy by a process not entirely clear. Just as it is impossible for the lifeless iron and steel, within itself to transform coal and water into dynamic power, and to apply that power to its own locomotion, so it is impossible and entirely incompatible with reason for mere muscular tissue of the body to extract enough energy from the food we eat to perform the workPhenomenon of rest and sleep necessary for that transformation itself, besides enough more to carry on all the functional activities of the system, and at the same time to do hundreds of foot-tons of physical labor. In this fact lies the key to some understanding of the phenomenon of rest and sleep.
The old physiology was really never able to explain how it was possible for the digestive apparatus to extract, from the amount of food consumed, the enormous amount of energy which the average person expends each day.
These terms are often confused. When one is engaged in some occupation or activity other than his regular vocation, it is commonly called "re-creation." This is a misconception, because it is merely a change in activity and must also be more or less destructive to other sets of nerves or muscular tissue. It is not in reality re-creation—it simply throws the life-power into a new channel, which is more responsive, and calls for less action from those parts of the mechanism which have been employed in the work from which one is seeking relief. It is for this reason that we find some pleasure in a new and different activity, though it, too, may be destructive to the human cell.
One may alternate from one kind of activity to another indefinitely, which would be better than no change, but the human mechanism would finally give way under such violation of fundamental law. The mental worker may change, however, to any manual labor requiring little thought, and the physical worker to some form of mental labor, with far better effect. But, in our present civilization, specialization has become so far advanced that the physical laborer is seldom qualified for mental work, and the mental worker has almost neglected manual training.
True rest and re-creation is found in mental tranquility and sleep.
From observation and study of the state we call sleep, we notice that as night approaches and the activities of the day wear upon us, both the nervous and the muscular organisms relax, so that it becomes more and more difficult to maintain a positive and an active attitude of mind. There is a tendency toward cessation and rest, which gradually brings upon us that passive condition called sleep.
In spite of the fatigue often experienced before we retire, we awake again on the morrow with renewed strength and power. From these and other reasons we are led to believe that during the hours of activity the body is constantly expending vital energy in both internal and external work, and that during the hours of sleep, through some unknown process, the body is charged with vital energy which is stored up and used gradually for carrying on the various functions and activities of the system.
Just what this energy is, just where it comes from, just how it is stored, just the manner in which it is delegated to the body, we cannot say. We can only observe its workings, or effects, and formulate therefrom a theory. We are led to believe, however, that this energy is stored in the nervous organism, perhaps most largely in the brain, as brain tissue is the last to break down or waste away in sickness, ill health, dis-ease, or starvation, often maintaining its full weight up to the point of death.
Even in sleep the expenditure of energy in the vital processes continues vigorously, depending upon conditions immediately preceding sleep, but usually in a much more passive degree than in the waking hours. These activities, however, are no more pronounced in their constructive action or repair, than in ordinary periods of rest during the waking hours.
The processes of nutrition, alone, demand the expenditure of much energy, and the degree of energy available from foods, even by perfect combustion, would yield but a fraction of the energy expended by the body.
The average laborer in shoveling coal, swinging an axe or a pick, expends energy far in excess of the amount that could possibly be obtained from his food. A day laborer may eat a piece of beefsteak, two or three potatoes, and a few slices of bread, and will shovel twenty tons of earth to a height of five feet; a Japanese soldier will carry a heavy load and walk all day, subsisting only on a handful of rice, and besides this, will do some thinking, which consumes energy.
We also have on record fasts, of from thirty to forty days, which, in some cases, show a slight gain in strength. There are also hundreds of students of natural living who adopted the "no breakfast plan" and again many, only one meal a day, limiting their consumption of food to comparatively small quantities of nuts, fruits, and vegetables, who have found thereby a remarkable increase in vitality, strength, and general physical and mental power.
Since the processes of nutrition, including digestion, circulation, assimilation and excretion consume energy, and notwithstanding this we are able to perform hundreds of foot-tons of labor a day besides; since we have found it possible to continue to live, and in some cases to even increase the amount of strength and work-power on a very limited diet; since it is a mathematical impossibility to produce as much energy from the food consumed as the body expends, we are forced to the conclusion that we do not obtain all our energy from food. Therefore, from a careful analysis of the phenomenon of sleep, we conclude that it is very closely connected with this mystery.
One of the most important of the vital functions is breathing. Physiologists, teachers, and lecturers continually remind us of the comparative time we could live without food or water, and the remarkably short time we could live if entirely deprived of air.
Oxygen is vitally necessary for the purpose of purifying the blood and supplying the various tissues and fluids in the body, of which oxygen forms an important constituent. However, oxygen is not the only necessary element which is utilized by the system in the process of breathing, as human beings die immediately upon being placed in a receptacle of undiluted oxygen. Just what this other factor is, science has not clearly defined, but that it is concerned with rest and sleep we have at least unconsciously recognized, as shown by our often referring to periods of rest as "breathing spells"; from the fact that we have found it of great importance to keep the air we are breathing moving constantly about us, especially while asleep. From all these facts we are forced to believe that sleep plays an important part in producing and maintaining body-energy, besides constantly recharging the system with oxygen.
That which tends to make a good business man, in the popular mind, is the establishment of great industries and enterprises, coupled with accumulation of money by the individual.
A careful review of the history of business men who have made a success along these lines shows that the majority of them sacrificed their health and their lives to their business. In the last and final analysis, therefore, these were not good business men.
The best musician is he who can bring more sounds into harmony. The best artist is he who can best harmonize colors and reproduce nature. Likewise, the best business man is he who can best harmonize or balance the affairs under his control.
Health being entirely under and within his control, if he disregards it—gives it no thought—violates the laws that govern it, and finally wrecks it, he is not a good business man, as all business depends upon the power of the individual, and the powers of the individual depend upon his health.
The man who, from a cheap tin store, founded "The Fair" in Chicago, and allowed the business to dethrone his reason, and to send him to his death before he was sixty, could hardly be considered a good business man. Measured on the same scale, Marshall Field, the merchant prince, was not a good business man. President Roberts, who arose from the ranks of a car-wheel molder, to the presidency of the Pennsylvania railroad, and died at the age of fifty, was not a good business man. J. P. Morgan, who accumulated many millions of dollars, and who died when he should have been in his prime, was not a good business man.
The accumulation of money and the founding of great industries is only one requisite of the business man, and by no means the most important one. What profiteth a man to make a great fortune; to put in motion a million spindles; to chain continents together with cables; to flash his silent voice over oceans and continents on currents of common air; to make the ocean's billowed bosom a commercial highway; to transform the oxcart into a palace, and set it on wheels and hitch it to the lightning; to build sky-scraping structures of stone and steel; to transfix human figures and faces on sensitized glass; to direct the methods of burrowing in the earth for coal and gold until his name is known around the world, and his fortune is a power in the land?—what boots it, I say, to know all these things and to glide blindly into the shambles of unrest and dis-ease, or to furnish a fashionable funeral at forty?
The religious fanatic who robes himself in sackcloth and eschews the razor; the food crank who cries out "back to nature," and takes to grass; the one-idea social reformer who preaches on the curb, and the business man who allows his business to become his absolute master and governor, are in reality all in the same class. The unfortunate thing is that the business man sits him down and weaves about himself the meshes of a prison. Every year puts in a new bar, every month a new bolt, and every day and hour a new stroke that rivets around him what he calls business, until he feels and really thinks he cannot escape.
A good business man is the man who can direct the wheels of industry, who can draw a trial balance between his income and his expenses, and who can measure his own ability on the yardstick of endurance.
He is a good business man who gives as much study to the laws of his own physical organization as he does to the organization of his business, and in the final analysis I doubt if he would not consider himself a better business man, "Penniless," and in good health at ninety, than sojourning in a sanatorium with a million at his call, but out of the fight at fifty.
It is truly unfortunate that the general laws of health and hygiene are not more universally taught and understood. We learn that best with which we are thrown in most frequent contact. The business man would absorb enough information on these subjects to extend his period of longevity and usefulness many years, if they were taught in our public schools, or were matters of general knowledge.
He rises between six and seven a. m., takes no exercise or fresh air; eats a breakfast composed largely of acid fruit, cereal starch, meat, and coffee. He then goes at once to his business, sits at a desk until noon, takes luncheon at a neighboring cafe. This repast is composed of meat, cereal, or potato starch, beer, or coffee. He hurries back to his business, sits at his desk five or six hours longer, hurries home, takes a dinner composed of more meat, more starch, more tea or coffee—no exercise, no diversion, no association with the great authors; no music, no poetry, no change.
A friend may come in, or he may go out to visit; then comes the soothing and soporiferous cigar which may have been his companion since breakfast. The market, the business, the chances for making or losing dollars are the topics of discussion. He is in the power of his master, "business," and must do him continual obeisance. Within the domain of the tyrant he lives, moves, and has his being. If he has a headache, sour stomach, indigestion, a tinge of rheumatism, dizziness, insomnia, nervousness, or any one of the thousand symptoms or warnings that Nature gives him for the violation of her laws, instead of thinking a little and trying to ascertain the cause, he sends, with "chesty pride," for His physician, and his physician writes out something in a dead language—the only suitable language. The local druggist sends over the "stuff," and it is swallowed with that childish confidence that fitly becomes the modern business man who knows a great deal about business, but nothing about himself.
The days and the months go on, the symptoms or signals become more numerous, more expressive, more impressive, more painful. His physician is called more often; the dead language paper goes to the druggist more frequently, and with faith he still swallows the drugs; they relieve him for a little while, usually by paralyzing the little nerve fibers that are carrying to the brain the messages of warning.
HIS physician finally acknowledges a trip, or a sanatorium. It is either this procedure or the fate that befell Messrs. Roberts, Morgan, Colonel Ingersoll, and the uncounted thousands who had no reputation beyond the domain of their own locality, and of whom we never hear.
Don't allow your business to become your master.
Don't discuss business at home, or in social life.
Immediately on rising, take a cool shower bath, followed by vigorous exercise before an open window.
Eat a very light breakfast an hour after rising, eliminating tea, coffee, white bread and meat.
Walk to your business, if possible; breathe deeply.
Eliminate woolen underwear; dress as lightly as possible.
Take an hour for luncheon. Omit tea, coffee, tobacco, beer, and sweets.
Keep your office well ventilated.
Secure competent help and trust them.
Love some one or some thing—a dog will do.
Leave your office early enough to walk home, or at least a part of the way.
Masticate your food infinitely fine, and by all means do not overeat. This is the crowning sin of the civilized table.
Take from ten to fifteen minutes exercise before retiring; sleep in a cold, thoroughly ventilated room. Spend as much time as possible in the sunshine and open air. Drive an automobile, play golf, join a gymnasium, dance, sing, kick and play with the boys, for it is infinitely better to dig in the ditch for your dinner and be able to digest and enjoy it, than to lie invalid in your self-made prison, and perhaps die. (Probably if the truth were written on your tombstone, it would read:
Every morning, just after arising, take a cup of water, and go through the following deep breathing exercises:
Stand erect, feet about 30 inches apart, extend arms above head, clasping hands and holding elbows rigid, inhale deeply. Bend toward the left and try to touch the floor with the clasped hands as far from the foot and to the rear as possible. Exhale while returning to position. Inhale deeply, reversing motion to the right. This movement should be repeated about 24 times.
Rest the body upon tips of toes and the palms of the hands. Move the body up and down as far as possible, bending only at the waist line. If this position is too strenuous the tension can be reduced by resting on the elbows, knees, or both, while executing the movement. Inhale deeply while taking this exercise, and exhaust the breath suddenly, as if coughing, with the downward motion. This movement should be repeated about 12 times.