But it is a tiger, with all a tiger's instincts, and its
progeny to the end of all time will be tigers.
In the same way, you can take an ape and develop it through a few
thousand generations until it loses its tail and becomes an altogether
superior ape. You can go on developing it through still a few more
thousands of generations until it gathers to itself out of the waste
vapours of eternity an intellect and a soul, by the aid of which it is
enabled to keep the original apish nature more or less under control.
But the ape is still there, and always will be, and every now and again,
when Constable Civilisation turns his back for a moment, as during
"Spanish Furies," or "September massacres," or Western mob rule, it
creeps out and bites and tears at quivering flesh, or plunges its hairy
arms elbow deep in blood, or dances round a burning nigger.
I knew a man once--or, rather, I knew of a man--who was a confirmed
drunkard. He became and continued a drunkard, not through weakness, but
through will. When his friends remonstrated with him, he told them to
mind their own business, and to let him mind his. If he saw any reason
for not getting drunk he would give it up. Meanwhile he liked getting
drunk, and he meant to get drunk as often as possible.
He went about it deliberately, and did it thoroughly.
Pages:
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170