All that death, that suffering, that destruction, are we worth all that? One certainly could see a tragic aspect to this question if one were so minded. Many philosophers have so seen it. But the answer depends, I think, on what we do with that energy. It may easily be wasted. It may just run through us, as much of our information runs through us, uncaught, unused, sacrificed for us, and nothing come of it. But it may be used right. When we come to think of our mental energies, are we any less incurably borrowers, incurably indebted to the universe, incurably wasters except in so far as we make use of what we borrow? Anybody who has not studied how the child learns to talk, does not realize what a borrowing the simplest acts of language are, what imitators we are from the earliest moments of our lives. And if we try to think back to the pieces out of which we have been actually made, our intellectual, moral, spiritual life, we could take ourselves apart like a piece of machinery and say where each piece came from. If we look into the generation of our own minds I think we shall be overcome with wonder as I often have been, by the consideration of how little there is left that is us if we take out what has been given us. I can say from whom every idea I have had came, from whom I had it as a free gift. I believe the greatest of all our borrowings are from people we never saw, from books, from music, from art, from personalities to whom we feel inexpressibly near although we never saw them in the flesh. Our spiritual borrowings are not only from sources such as I have mentioned, but from impersonal sources also, from beauty, from nature, that does not speak to us through any man. I have seen a hepatica on a rocky hillside under brown oak leaves, the sight of which made me conscious that I could never pay off my debts for life. I have heard a thrush singing in the early morning in wet dark woods, and known then and there that after the gift of that song I could never get even with the universe. Most of us have had that sort of experience many times; it goes on and on piling up our debt. But our obligation grows and grows when we think of our country, of the traditions of our race, and of what has been given us by the church or university or family in which we have found ourselves without our doing anything about it. What should we be without those? What shred of personality would remain? I do not think the figure of the body, as I have tried to describe its borrowings, is any more striking than that of the mind, the spirit, and the inexhaustible debts that it has laid up.