THE UNDYING FIRE
I decline either the wild guesses of the Spookist and Providentialist—I must put you there, I'm afraid, Sir Eliphaz—or the metaphors of Mr. Huss. Fact. . . ."
Dr. Barrack paused. "I put my faith in Fact."
"There's a lot in Fact," said Mr. Dad, who found much that was congenial in the doctor's downright style.
"What do I see about me?" asked Dr. Barrack. "A struggle for existence. About that I ask a very plain and simple question: why try to get behind it? That is It. It made me. I study it and watch it. It put me up like a cockshy, and it keeps on trying to destroy me. I do my best to dodge its blows. It got my leg. My head is bloody but unbowed. I reproduce my kind—as abundantly as circumstances permit—I stamp myself upon the universe as much as possible. If I am right, if I do the right things and have decently good luck, I shall hold out until my waning instincts dispose me to rest. My breed and influence are the marks of my rightness. What else is there? You may call this struggle what you like. God, if you like. But God for me is an anthropomorphic idea. Call it The Process."
"Why not Evolution?" said Mr. Huss.
"I prefer The Process. The word Evolution rather begs the moral question. It's a cheap word. 'Shon!' Evolution seems to suggest just a simple and automatic unfolding. The Process is complex; it has its ups and downs—as Mr. Huss understands. It is more like a Will than an Automaton. A Will feeling about. It isn't indifferent to us as Mr. Huss suggests;
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