ce to know that
he is a member of a chorus." I suspect myself of being a Typical Case.
The scientific mind has taken possession of all the land. It has assumed
the right of eminent domain in it, and there must be other human beings
here and there, I am sure, standing aghast at learning in our modern
day, even as I am, their whys and wherefores working within them, trying
to wonder their way out in this matter.

All that is necessary, as I take it, is for one or the other of us to
speak up in the world, barely peep in it, make himself known wherever he
is, tell how he feels, and he will find he is not alone. Then we will
get together. We will keep each other in countenance. We will play with
our minds if we want to. We will take the liberty of knowing rows of
things we don't know all about, and we will be as happy as we like, and
if we keep together we will manage to have a fairly educated look
besides. I am very sure of this. But it is the sort of thing a man
cannot do alone. If he tries to do it with any one else, any one that
happens along, he is soon come up with. It cannot be done in that way.
There is no one to whom to turn. Almost every mind one knows in this
modern educated world is a suspicious, unhappy, abject, helpless,
scientific mind.

It is almost impossible to find a typical educated mind, either in this
country or in Europe or anywhere, that is not a rolled-over mind,
jealous and crushed by knowledge day and night, and yet staring at its
ignorance everywhere. The scientist is almost always a man who takes his
mind seriously, and he takes the universe as seriously as he takes his
mind. Instead of glorying in a universe and being a little proud of it
for being such an immeasurable, unspeakable, unknowable success, his
whole state of being is one of worry about it. The universe seems to
irritate him somehow. Has he not spent years of hard labour in making
his mind over, in drilling it into not-thinking, into not-inferring
things, into not-knowing anything he does not know all of? And yet here
he is and here is his whole life--does it not consist in being baffled
by germs and bacilli, crowed over by atoms, trampled on by the stars? It
is getting so that there is but one thing left that the modern, educated
scientific mind feels that it knows and that is the impossibility of
knowledge. Certainly if there is anything in this wide world that can
possibly be in a more helpless, more pulp-like state than the scie