orthodoxy-第14部分

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A　man　varies　his　movements　because　of　some　slight　element　of　failure



or　fatigue。　　He　gets　into　an　omnibus　because　he　is　tired　of　walking；



or　he　walks　because　he　is　tired　of　sitting　still。　　But　if　his　life



and　joy　were　so　gigantic　that　he　never　tired　of　going　to　Islington；



he　might　go　to　Islington　as　regularly　as　the　Thames　goes　to　Sheerness。　



The　very　speed　and　ecstasy　of　his　life　would　have　the　stillness



of　death。　　The　sun　rises　every　morning。　　I　do　not　rise　every　morning；



but　the　variation　is　due　not　to　my　activity；　but　to　my　inaction。　



Now；　to　put　the　matter　in　a　popular　phrase；　it　might　be　true　that



the　sun　rises　regularly　because　he　never　gets　tired　of　rising。　



His　routine　might　be　due；　not　to　a　lifelessness；　but　to　a　rush



of　life。　　The　thing　I　mean　can　be　seen；　for　instance；　in　children；



when　they　find　some　game　or　joke　that　they　specially　enjoy。　　A　child



kicks　his　legs　rhythmically　through　excess；　not　absence；　of　life。　



Because　children　have　abounding　vitality；　because　they　are　in　spirit



fierce　and　free；　therefore　they　want　things　repeated　and　unchanged。　



They　always　say；　〃Do　it　again〃；　and　the　grown…up　person　does　it



again　until　he　is　nearly　dead。　　For　grown…up　people　are　not　strong



enough　to　exult　in　monotony。　　But　perhaps　God　is　strong　enough



to　exult　in　monotony。　　It　is　possible　that　God　says　every　morning；



〃Do　it　again〃　to　the　sun；　and　every　evening；　〃Do　it　again〃　to　the　moon。　



It　may　not　be　automatic　necessity　that　makes　all　daisies　alike；



it　may　be　that　God　makes　every　daisy　separately；　but　has　never　got　tired



of　making　them。　　It　may　be　that　He　has　the　eternal　appetite　of　infancy；



for　we　have　sinned　and　grown　old；　and　our　Father　is　younger　than　we。　



The　repetition　in　Nature　may　not　be　a　mere　recurrence；　it　may　be



a　theatrical　ENCORE。　　Heaven　may　ENCORE　the　bird　who　laid　an　egg。　



If　the　human　being　conceives　and　brings　forth　a　human　child　instead



of　bringing　forth　a　fish；　or　a　bat；　or　a　griffin；　the　reason　may　not



be　that　we　are　fixed　in　an　animal　fate　without　life　or　purpose。　



It　may　be　that　our　little　tragedy　has　touched　the　gods；　that　they



admire　it　from　their　starry　galleries；　and　that　at　the　end　of　every



human　drama　man　is　called　again　and　again　before　the　curtain。　



Repetition　may　go　on　for　millions　of　years；　by　mere　choice；　and　at



any　instant　it　may　stop。　　Man　may　stand　on　the　earth　generation



after　generation；　and　yet　each　birth　be　his　positively　last



appearance。







　　　　　This　was　my　first　conviction；　made　by　the　shock　of　my　childish



emotions　meeting　the　modern　creed　in　mid…career。　I　had　always　vaguely



felt　facts　to　be　miracles　in　the　sense　that　they　are　wonderful：　



now　I　began　to　think　them　miracles　in　the　stricter　sense　that　they



were　WILFUL。　　I　mean　that　they　were；　or　might　be；　repeated　exercises



of　some　will。　　In　short；　I　had　always　believed　that　the　world



involved　magic：　　now　I　thought　that　perhaps　it　involved　a　magician。　



And　this　pointed　a　profound　emotion　always　present　and　sub…conscious；



that　this　world　of　ours　has　some　purpose；　and　if　there　is　a　purpose；



there　is　a　person。　　I　had　always　felt　life　first　as　a　story：　



and　if　there　is　a　story　there　is　a　story…teller。







　　　　　But　modern　thought　also　hit　my　second　human　tradition。　



It　went　against　the　fairy　feeling　about　strict　limits　and　conditions。　



The　one　thing　it　loved　to　talk　about　was　expansion　and　largeness。　



Herbert　Spencer　would　have　been　greatly　annoyed　if　any　one　had



called　him　an　imperialist；　and　therefore　it　is　highly　regrettable



that　nobody　did。　　But　he　was　an　imperialist　of　the　lowest　type。　



He　popularized　this　contemptible　notion　that　the　size　of　the　solar



system　ought　to　over…awe　the　spiritual　dogma　of　man。　　Why　should



a　man　surrender　his　dignity　to　the　solar　system　any　more　than　to



a　whale？　　If　mere　size　proves　that　man　is　not　the　image　of　God；



then　a　whale　may　be　the　image　of　God；　a　somewhat　formless　image；



what　one　might　call　an　impressionist　portrait。　　It　is　quite　futile



to　argue　that　man　is　small　compared　to　the　cosmos；　for　man　was



always　small　compared　to　the　nearest　tree。　　But　Herbert　Spencer；



in　his　headlong　imperialism；　would　insist　that　we　had　in　some



way　been　conquered　and　annexed　by　the　astronomical　universe。　



He　spoke　about　men　and　their　ideals　exactly　as　the　most　insolent



Unionist　talks　about　the　Irish　and　their　ideals。　　He　turned　mankind



into　a　small　nationality。　　And　his　evil　influence　can　be　seen　even



in　the　most　spirited　and　honourable　of　later　scientific　authors；



notably　in　the　early　romances　of　Mr。　H。G。Wells。　Many　moralists



have　in　an　exaggerated　way　represented　the　earth　as　wicked。　



But　Mr。　Wells　and　his　school　made　the　heavens　wicked。　



We　should　lift　up　our　eyes　to　the　stars　from　whence　would　come



our　ruin。







　　　　　But　the　expansion　of　which　I　speak　was　much　more　evil　than　all　this。　



I　have　remarked　that　the　materialist；　like　the　madman；　is　in　prison；



in　the　prison　of　one　thought。　　These　people　seemed　to　think　it



singularly　inspiring　to　keep　on　saying　that　the　prison　was　very　large。　



The　size　of　this　scientific　universe　gave　one　no　novelty；　no　relief。　



The　cosmos　went　on　for　ever；　but　not　in　its　wildest　constellation



could　there　be　anything　really　interesting；　anything；　for　instance；



such　as　forgiveness　or　free　will。　　The　grandeur　or　infinity



of　the　secret　of　its　cosmos　added　nothing　to　it。　　It　was　like



telling　a　prisoner　in　Reading　gaol　that　he　would　be　glad　to　hear



that　the　gaol　now　covered　half　the　county。　　The　warder　would



have　nothing　to　show　the　man　except　more　and　more　long　corridors



of　stone　lit　by　ghastly　lights　and　empty　of　all　that　is　human。　



So　these　expanders　of　the　universe　had　nothing　to　show　us　except



more　and　more　infinite　corridors　of　space　lit　by　ghastly　suns



and　empty　of　all　that　is　divine。







　　　　　In　fairyland　there　had　been　a　real　law；　a　law　that　could　be　broken；



for　the　definition　of　a　law　is　something　that　can　be　broken。　



But　the　machinery　of　this　cosmic　prison　was　something　that　could



not　be　broken；　for　we　ourselves　were　only　a　part　of　its　machinery。　



We　were　either　unable　to　do　things　or　we　were　destined　to　do　them。　



The　idea　of　the　mystical　condition　quite　disappeared；　one　can　neither



have　the　firmness　of　keeping　laws　nor　the　fun　of　breaking　them。　



The　largeness　of　this　universe　had　nothing　of　that　freshness　and



airy　outbreak　which　we　have　praised　in　the　universe　of　the　poet。　



This　modern　universe　is　literally　an　empire；　that　is；　it　was　vast；



but　it　is　not　free。　　One　went　into　larger　and　larger　windowless　rooms；



rooms　big　with　Babylonian　perspective；　but　one　never　found　the　smallest



window　or　a　whisper　of　outer　air。







　　　　　Their　infernal　parallels　seemed　to　expand　with　distance；



but　for　me　all　good　things　come　to　a　point；　swords　for　instance。　



So　finding　the　boast　of　the　big　cosmos　so　unsatisfactory　to　my



emotions　I　began　to　argue　about　it　a　little；　and　I　soon　found　that



the　whole　attitude　was　even　shallower　than　could　have　been　expected。　



According　to　these　people　the　cosmos　was　one　thing　since　it　had



one　unbroken　rule。　　Only　（they　would　say）　while　it　is　one　thing；



it　is　also　the　only　thing　there　is。　　Why；　then；　should　one　worry



particularly　to　call　it　large？　　There　is　nothing　to　compare　it　with。　



It　would　be　just　as　sensible　to　call　it　small。　　A　man　may　say；



〃I　like　this　vast　cosmos；　with　its　throng　of　stars　and　its　crowd



of　varied　creatures。〃　　But　if　it　comes　to　that　why　should　not　a



man　say；　〃I　like　this　cosy　little　cosmos；　with　its　decent　number



of　stars　and　as　neat　a　provision　of　live　stock　as　I　wish　to　see〃？



One　is　as　good　as　the　other；　they　are　both　mere　sentiments。　



It　is　mere　sentiment　to　rejoice　that　the　sun　is　larger　than　the　earth；



it　is　quite　as　sane　a　sentiment　to　rejoice　that　the　sun　is　no　larger



than　it　is。　　A　man　chooses　to　have　an　emotion　about　the　largeness



of　the　world；　why　should　he　not　choose　to　have　an　emotion　about



its　smallness？







　　　　　It　happened　that　I　had　that　emotion。　　When　one　is　fond　of



anything　one　addresses　it　by　diminutives；　even　if　it　is　an　elephant



or　a　life…guardsman。　The　reason　is；　that　anything；　however　huge；



that　can　be　conceived　of　as　complete；　can　be　conceived　of　as　small。　



If　military　moustaches　did　not　suggest　a　sword　or　tusks　a　tail；



then　the　object　would　be　vast　because　it　would　be　immeasurable。　　But　the



moment　you　can　imagine　a　guardsman　you　can　imagine　a　small　guardsman。　



The　moment　you　really　see　an　elephant　you　can　call　it　〃Tiny。〃　



If　you　can　make　a　statue　of　a　thing　you　can　make　a　statuette　of　it。　



These　people　professed　that　the　universe　was　one　coherent　thing；



but　they　were　not　fond　of　the　universe。　　But　I　was　frightfully　fond



of　the　universe　and　wanted　to　address　it　by　a　diminutive。　　I　often



did　so；　and　it　never　seemed　to　mind。　　Actually　and　in　truth　I　did　feel



that　these　dim　dogmas　of　vitality　were　better　expressed　by　calling



the　world　small　than　by　calling　it　large。　　For　about　infinity　there



was　a　sort　of　carelessness　which　was　the　reverse　of　the　fierce　and　pious



care　which　I　felt　touching　the　pricelessness　and　the　peril　of　life。　



They　showed　only　a　dreary　waste；　but　I　felt　a　sort　of　sacred　thrift。　



For　economy　is　far　more　romantic　than　extravagance。　　To　them　stars



were　an　unending　income　of　halfpence；　but　I　felt　about　the　golden　sun



and　the　silver　moon　as　a　schoolboy　feels　if　he　has　one　sovereign　and



one　shilling。