existence. Yet, before the typhoon, they took no other visible precaution
than to block up the gates of their subterranean town. And the spectacle of

their triumphant toil to-day impels me to attempt an essay on Ants.
I should have like to preface my disquisitions with something from the old

Japanese literature,-- something emotional or metaphysical. But all that my
Japanese friends were able to find for me on the subject,-- excepting some

verses of little worth,-- was Chinese. This Chinese material consisted
chiefly of strange stories; and one of them seems to me worth quoting,--

faute de mieux.
*

In the province of Taishu, in China, there was a pious man who, every day,
during many years, fervently worshiped a certain goddess. One morning,

while he was engaged in his devotions, a beautiful woman, wearing a yellow
robe, came into his chamber and stood before him. He, greatly surprised,

asked her what she wanted, and why she had entered unannounced. She
answered: "I am not a woman: I am the goddess whom you have so long and so

faithfully worshiped; and I have now come to prove to you that your
devotion has not been in vain... Are you acquainted with the language of

Ants?" The worshiper replied: "I am only a low-born and ignorant person,--
not a scholar; and even of the language of superior men I know nothing." At

these words the goddess smiled, and drew from her bosom a little box,
shaped like an incense box. She opened the box, dipped a finger into it,

and took therefrom some kind of ointment with which she anointed the ears
of the man. "Now," she said to him, "try to find some Ants, and when you

find any, stoop down, and listen carefully to their talk. You will be able
to understand it; and you will hear of something to your advantage... Only

remember that you must not frighten or vex the Ants." Then the goddess
vanished away.

The man immediately went out to look for some Ants. He had scarcely
crossed the threshold of his door when he perceived two Ants upon a stone

supporting one of the house-pillars. He stooped over them, and listened;
and he was astonished to find that he could hear them talking, and could

understand what they said. "Let us try to find a warmer place," proposed
one of the Ants. "Why a warmer place?" asked the other;-- "what is the

matter with this place?" "It is too damp and cold below," said the first
Ant; "there is a big treasure buried here; and the sunshine cannot warm the

ground about it." Then the two Ants went away together, and the listener
ran for a spade.

By digging in the neighborhood of the pillar, he soon found a number of
large jars full of gold coin. The discovery of this treasure made him a

very rich man.
Afterwards he often tried to listen to the conversation of Ants. But he

was never again able to hear them speak. The ointment of the goddess had
opened his ears to their mysterious language for only a single day.

*
Now I, like that Chinese devotee, must confess myself a very ignorant

person, and naturally unable to hear the conversation of Ants. But the
Fairy of Science sometimes touches my ears and eyes with her wand; and

then, for a little time, I am able to hear things inaudible, and to
perceive things imperceptible.

II
For the same reason that it is considered wicked, in sundry circles, to

speak of a non-Christian people having produced a civilization ethically
superior to our own, certain persons will not be pleased by what I am going

to say about ants. But there are men, incomparably wiser than I can ever
hope to be, who think about insects and civilizations independently of the

blessings of Christianity; and I find encouragement in the new Cambridge
Natural History, which contains the following remarks by Professor David

Sharp, concerning ants:--
"Observation has revealed the most remarkablephenomena in the lives of

these insects. Indeed we can scarcely avoid the conclusion that they have
acquired, in many respects, the art of living together in societies more

perfectly than our own species has; and that they have anticipated us in
the acquisition of some of the industries and arts that greatly facilitate

social life."
I suppose that a few well-informed persons will dispute this plain

statement by a trained specialist. The contemporary man of science is not
apt to become mental" target="_blank" title="a.感伤的；多愁善感的">sentimental about ants or bees; but he will not hesitate to

acknowledge that, in regard to social evolution, these insects appear to
have advanced "beyond man." Mr. Herbert Spencer, whom nobody will charge

with romantic tendencies, goes considerably further than Professor Sharp;
showing us that ants are, in a very real sense, ethically as well as

economically in advance of humanity,-- their lives being entirely devoted
to altruistic ends. Indeed, Professor Sharp somewhat needlessly qualifies

his praise of the ant with this cautious observation:--
"The competence of the ant is not like that of man. It is devoted to the

welfare of the species rather than to that of the individual, which is, as
it were, sacrificed or specialized for the benefit of the community."

-- The obvious implication,-- that any social state, in which the
improvement of the individual is sacrificed to the common welfare, leaves

much to be desired,-- is probably correct, from the actual human
standpoint. For man is yet imperfectly evolved; and human society has much

to gain from his further individualization. But in regard to social insects
the implied criticism is open to question. "The improvement of the

individual," says Herbert Spencer, "consists in the better fitting of him
for social cooperation; and this, being conducive to social prosperity, is

conducive to the maintenance of the race." In other words, the value of the
individual can be only in relation to the society; and this granted,

whether the sacrifice of the individual for the sake of that society be
good or evil must depend upon what the society might gain or lose through a

further individualization of its members... But as we shall presently see,
the conditions of ant-society that most deserve our attention are the

ethical conditions; and these are beyond human criticism, since they
realize that ideal of moral evolution described by Mr. Spencer as "a state

in which egoism and altruism are so conciliated that the one merges into
the other." That is to say, a state in which the only possible pleasure is

the pleasure of unselfish action. Or, again to quote Mr. Spencer, the
activities of the insect-society are "activities which postpone individual

well-being so completely to the well-being of the community that individual
life appears to be attended to only just so far as is necessary to make

possible due attention to social life,... the individual taking only just
such food and just such rest as are needful to maintain its vigor."

III
I hope my reader is aware that ants practise horticulture and agriculture;

that they are skillful in the cultivation of mushrooms; that they have
domesticated (according to present knowledge) five hundred and eighty-four

different kinds of animals; that they make tunnels through solid rock; that
they know how to provide against atmospheric changes which might endanger

the health of their children; and that, for insects, their longevity is
exceptional,-- members of the more highly evolved species living for a

considerable number of years.
But it is not especially of these matters that I wish to speak. What I

want to talk about is the awful propriety, the terrible morality, of the
ant [1]. Our most appalling ideals of conduct fall short of the ethics of

the ant,-- as progress is reckoned in time,-- by nothing less than millions
of years!... When I say "the ant," I mean the highest type of ant,-- not,

of course, the entire ant-family. About two thousand species of ants are
already known; and these exhibit, in their social organizations, widely

varying degrees of evolution. Certain social phenomena of the greatest
biological importance, and of no less importance in their strange relation

to the subject of ethics, can be studied to advantage only in the existence
of the most highly evolved societies of ants.

After all that has been written of late years about the probable value of
relative experience in the long life of the ant, I suppose that few persons

would venture to deny individual character to the ant. The intelligence of
the little creature in meeting and overcoming difficulties of a totally new

kind, and in adapting itself to conditions entirely foreign to its
experience, proves a considerable power of independent thinking. But this

at least is certain: that the ant has no individualitycapable of being
exercised in a purelyselfish direction;-- I am using the word "selfish" in

its ordinary acceptation. A greedy ant, a sensual ant, an ant capable of
any one of the seven deadly sins, or even of a small venial sin, is

unimaginable. Equally unimaginable, of course, a romantic ant, an
ideological ant, a poetical ant, or an ant inclined to metaphysical

speculations. No human mind could attain to the absolute matter-of-fact
quality of the ant-mind;-- no human being, as now constituted, could

cultivate a mental habit so impeccably practical as that of the ant. But
this superlatively practical mind is incapable of moral error. It would be

difficult, perhaps, to prove that the ant has no religious ideas. But it is
certain that such ideas could not be of any use to it. The being incapable

of moral weakness is beyond the need of "spiritual guidance."
Only in a vague way can we conceive the character of ant-society, and the

nature of ant-morality; and to do even this we must try to imagine some yet
impossible state of human society and human morals. Let us, then, imagine a

world full of people incessantly" target="_blank" title="ad.不断地，不停地">incessantly and furiouslyworking,-- all of whom seem
to be women. No one of these women could be persuaded or deluded into

taking a single atom of food more than is needful to maintain her strength;
and no one of them ever sleeps a second longer than is necessary to keep