synchronicity and the meaningful coherence within one archetype. Why did vocal cords, warm-bloodedness, and an emotional brain evolve simultaneously in birds and mammals if they represent two evolutionary branches separated long ago? Why would birds grow beautiful together with flowers if they do not pollinate them? Why would the larch join in and bloom with red cones if it does not need pollinators? Why would plants begin to generate heat just when animals became warmblooded? A long line of facts that fit together as pieces in a meaningful mosaic as soon as we admit that all nature was permeated by one creative spiritual impulse which is in us, too. And they break down into a number of barely comprehensible coincidences if we want to explain them by reductionist bottom-up causation. It was only at the threshold of the 21st century that evolutionary biology ploddingly came to realize that the wing came about as a result of love, and warmth is related to emotional attachments. A hundred years long, discussion took place over whether the wing could evolve gradually, since tiny wings do not enable flight and constitute no evolutionary advantage. The wing was the fan of love that allowed birds to charm one another during mating rituals. It grew with enamouredness until birds were able to free themselves from the ground and take off. Language itself expresses the connection between heat and devoted, warm relationships with such words as ardour and fervency. Every young girl can tell me where heat originates. Only the evolutionary biologist is the last to find out. Through tedious work with facts he learned that warm-bloodedness evolved in connection with emotional bonds and parental care. Warm-blooded animals are good parents. In these and many more cases, sound intuition could have guided the researcher without straying straight towards the end. Similarly, everybody knows that one’s voice is an expression of the soul. When rejoicing, we start to sing; but we also cry out when we get a fright. A person unencumbered by education understands that a frog seeing a stork cries out because it is scared. And when the frog finds itself in the stork’s beak, it sends out a dramatic shrill that every soul immediately understands to be an expression of panic. For the Darwinist mind, a great puzzle starts here: why does the frog cry? Perhaps it will attract a secondary predator who will scare away the stork – that is why frogs that do not send out distress calls are no longer here. And why does it draw attention to itself when it is not otherwise taken any notice of? The frog is not such a social animal that it would gain some genetic advantage by dying while warning its fellow frogs. It is simply a mystery. This soulless view of nature is something appalling. The nightingale does not sing for his mate because he loves her – he is simply genetically programmed like a mechanical gadget issuing a sound. Ecology will acquire a deeper dimension only when we start protecting nature for more than its economic merit alone. Not until we tell our children that nature has an inwardness, too; and it is the soul of man and his own feelings and desires that flow through nature and reside there in the form of animals. 62 (26) Emil Páleš
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