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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Joyous Gard + +Author: Arthur Christopher Benson + +Release Date: January 22, 2007 [EBook #20423] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOYOUS GARD *** + + + + +Produced by R. Cedron, Diane Monico, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<h1>JOYOUS GARD</h1> + + +<h2>ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON<br /><br /><br /><br /></h2> + + +<h4>LONDON<br /> +JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.</h4> + +<h5>1913</h5> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + +<p class="center">TO<br /> +ALL MY FRIENDS<br /> +KNOWN AND UNKNOWN<br /> +I DEDICATE THIS BOOK<br /> +</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2>PREFACE</h2> + + +<p><i>It is a harder thing than it ought to be to write +openly and frankly of things private and sacred. +"Secretum meum mihi!"—"My secret is my +own!"—cried St. Francis in a harrowed moment. +But I believe that the instinct to guard and hoard +the inner life is one that ought to be resisted. +Secrecy seems to me now a very uncivilised kind of +virtue, after all! We have all of us, or most of +us, a quiet current of intimate thought, which flows +on, gently and resistlessly, in the background +of our lives, the volume and spring of which we +cannot alter or diminish, because it rises far away +at some unseen source, like a stream which flows +through grassy pastures, and is fed by rain which +falls on unknown hills from the clouds of heaven. +This inner thought is hardly affected by the busy +incidents of life—our work, our engagements, our +public intercourse; but because it represents the +self which we are always alone with, it makes up +the greater part of our life, and is much more our +real and true life than the life which we lead in +public. It contains the things which we feel and +hope, rather than what we say; and the fact that +we do not speak our inner thoughts is what more +than anything else keeps us apart from each other.</i></p> + +<p><i>In this book I have said, or tried to say, just +what I thought, and as I thought it; and since it is +a book which recommends a studied quietness and +a cheerful serenity of life, I have put my feelings +to a vigorous test, by writing it, not when I was at +ease and in leisure, but in the very thickest and +fullest of my work. I thought that if the kind of +quiet that I recommended had any force or weight +at all, it should be the sort of quiet which I still +could realise and value in a life full of engagements +and duties and business, and that if it could +be developed on a background of that kind, it might +have a worth which it could not have if it were +gently conceived in peaceful days and untroubled +hours.</i></p> + +<p><i>So it has all been written in spaces of hard-driven +work, when the day never seemed long +enough for all I had to do, between interruptions +and interviews and teaching and meetings. But +the sight and scent that I shall always connect +with it, is that of a great lilac-bush which stands +just outside my study window, and which day by +day in this bright and chilly spring has held up +its purple clusters, overtopping the dense, rich, +pale foliage, against a blue and cloudless sky; +and when the wind has been in the North, as it +has often been, has filled my room with the scent +of breaking buds. How often, as I wrote, have I +cast a sidelong look at the lilac-bush! How often +has it appeared to beckon me away from my +papers to a freer and more fragrant air outside! +But it seemed to me that I was perhaps obeying +the call of the lilac best—though how far away from +its freshness and sweetness!—if I tried to make +my own busy life, which I do not pretend not +to enjoy, break into such flower as it could, and +give out what the old books call its 'spicery,' +such as it is.</i></p> + +<p><i>Because the bloom, the colour, the scent, are all +there, if I could but express them. That is the +truth! I do not claim to make them, to cause +them, to create them, any more than the lilac could +engender the scent of roses or of violets. Nor do +I profess to do faithfully all that I say in my book +that it is well to do. That is the worst, and yet +perhaps it is the best, of books, that one presents +in them one's hopes, dreams, desires, visions; +more than one's dull and mean performances. +'Als ich kann!' That is the best one can do +and say.</i></p> + +<p><i>It is our own fault, and not the fault of our +visions, that we cannot always say what we think +in talk, even to our best friends. We begin to +do so, perhaps, and we see a shadow gather. +Either the friend does not understand, or he does +not care, or he thinks it all unreal and affected; +and then there falls on us a foolish shyness, and +we become not what we are, but what we think +the friend would like to think us; and so he +'gets to know' as he calls it, not what is really +there, but what he chooses should be there.</i></p> + +<p><i>But with pen in hand, and the blessed white +paper before one, there is no need to be anything +in the world but what one is. Our dignity must +look after itself, and the dignity that we claim +is worth nothing, especially if it is falsely claimed. +But even the meanest flower that blows may claim +to blossom as it can, and as indeed it must. In +the democracy of flowers, even the dandelion has a +right to a place, if it can find one, and to a vote, +if it can get one; and even if it cannot, the wind +is kind to it, and floats its arrowy down far afield, +by wood and meadow, and into the unclaimed +waste at last.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="toc"> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER</td><td></td><td align='right'>PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>I.</td><td align='left'>JOYOUS GARD, PRELUDE</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>II.</td><td align='left'>IDEAS</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>III.</td><td align='left'>POETRY</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IV.</td><td align='left'>POETRY AND LIFE</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>V.</td><td align='left'>ART</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VI.</td><td align='left'>ART AND MORALITY</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VII.</td><td align='left'>INTERPRETATION</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VIII.</td><td align='left'>EDUCATION</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IX.</td><td align='left'>KNOWLEDGE</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>X.</td><td align='left'>GROWTH</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XI.</td><td align='left'>EMOTION</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XII.</td><td align='left'>MEMORY</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIII.</td><td align='left'>RETROSPECT</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIV.</td><td align='left'>HUMOUR</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XV.</td><td align='left'>VISIONS</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVI.</td><td align='left'>THOUGHT</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVII.</td><td align='left'>ACCESSIBILITY</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVIII.</td><td align='left'>SYMPATHY</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIX.</td><td align='left'>SCIENCE</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XX.</td><td align='left'>WORK</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXI.</td><td align='left'>HOPE</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXII.</td><td align='left'>EXPERIENCE</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXIII.</td><td align='left'>FAITH</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXIV.</td><td align='left'>PROGRESS</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXV.</td><td align='left'>THE SENSE OF BEAUTY</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_212">212</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXVI.</td><td align='left'>THE PRINCIPLE OF BEAUTY</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_220">220</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXVII.</td><td align='left'>LIFE</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_228">228</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<h1><a name="JOYOUS_GARD" id="JOYOUS_GARD"></a>JOYOUS GARD</h1> + +<h2>I</h2> + +<h2>PRELUDE</h2> + + +<p>The Castle of <i>Joyous Gard</i> in the <i>Morte +D'Arthur</i> was Sir Lancelot's own castle, that +he had won with his own hands. It was +full of victual, and all manner of mirth and +disport. It was hither that the wounded +knight rode as fast as his horse might run, +to tell Sir Lancelot of the misuse and capture +of Sir Palamedes; and hence Lancelot +often issued forth, to rescue those that were +oppressed, and to do knightly deeds.</p> + +<p>It was true that Lancelot afterwards named +it <i>Dolorous Gard</i>, but that was because he +had used it unworthily, and was cast out +from it; but it recovered its old name +again when they conveyed his body thither,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> +after he had purged his fault by death. It +was on the morning of the day when they +set out, that the Bishop who had been +with him when he died, and had given him +all the rites that a Christian man ought +to have, was displeased when they woke +him out of his sleep, because, as he said, +he was so merry and well at ease. And +when they inquired the reason of his mirth, +the Bishop said, "Here was Lancelot with +me, with more angels than ever I saw men +upon one day." So it was well with that +great knight at the last!</p> + +<p>I have called this book of mine by the +name of <i>Joyous Gard</i>, because it speaks of +a stronghold that we can win with our own +hands, where we can abide in great content, +so long as we are not careful to linger there +in sloth and idleness, but are ready to ride +abroad at the call for help. The only time +in his life when Lancelot was deaf to that +call, was when he shut himself up in the +castle to enjoy the love that was his single +sin. And it was that sin that cost him so +dear, and lost the Castle its old and beautiful +name. But when the angels made glad +over the sinner who repented, as it is their +constant use to do, and when it was only<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> +remembered of Lancelot that he had been +a peerless knight, the name came back to +the Castle; and that name is doubtless +hidden now under some name of commoner +use, whatever and wherever it may be.</p> + +<p>In the <i>Pilgrim's Progress</i> we read how +willing Mr. Interpreter was, in the House +that was full of so many devices and surprises, +to explain to the pilgrims the meaning of all +the fantastic emblems and comfortable sights +that he showed them. And I do not think it +spoils a parable, but rather improves it, that +it should have its secret meaning made plain.</p> + +<p>The Castle of <i>Joyous Gard</i> then, which +each of us can use, if we desire it, is the +fortress of beauty and joy. We cannot walk +into it by right, but must win it; and in a +world like this, where there is much that is +anxious and troublesome, we ought, if we +can, to gain such a place, and provide it with +all that we need, where we may have our +seasons of rest and refreshment. It must +not be idle and selfish joyance that we take +there; it must be the interlude to toil and +fight and painful deeds, and we must be +ready to sally out in a moment when it is +demanded of us. Now, if the winning of +such a fortress of thought is hard, it is also<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +dangerous when won, because it tempts us +to immure ourselves in peace, and only +observe from afar the plain of life, which +lies all about the Castle, gazing down +through the high windows; to shut out the +wind and the rain, as well as the cries and +prayers of those who have been hurt and +dismayed by wrongful usage. If we do that, +the day will come when we shall be besieged +in our Castle, and ride away vanquished and +disgraced, to do what we have neglected and +forgotten.</p> + +<p>But it is not only right, it is natural and +wise, that we should have a stronghold in +our minds, where we should frequent courteous +and gentle and knightly company—the +company of all who have loved beauty wisely +and purely, such as poets and artists. Because +we make a very great mistake if we +allow the common course and use of the +world to engulph us wholly. We must not +be too dainty for the work of the world, but +we may thankfully believe that it is only a +mortal discipline, and that our true life is +elsewhere, hid with God. If we grow to +believe that life and its cares and business +are all, we lose the freshness of life, just as +we lose the strength of life if we reject its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +toil. But if we go at times to our <i>Joyous +Gard</i>, we can bring back into common life +something of the grace and seemliness and +courtesy of the place. For the end of life is +that we should do humble and common +things in a fine and courteous manner, and +mix with simple affairs, not condescendingly +or disdainfully, but with all the eagerness +and modesty of the true knight.</p> + +<p>This little book then is an account, as far +as I can give it, of what we may do to help +ourselves in the matter, by feeding and +nurturing the finer and sweeter thought, +which, like all delicate things, often perishes +from indifference and inattention. Those of +us who are sensitive and imaginative and +faint-hearted often miss our chance of better +things by not forming plans and designs for +our peace. We lament that we are hurried +and pressed and occupied, and we cry,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>"Yet, oh, the place could I but find!"</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But that is because we expect to be conducted +thither, without the trouble of the +journey! Yet we can, like the wise King +of Troy, build the walls of our castle to +music, if we will, and see to the fit providing +of the place; it only needs that we should +set about it in earnest; and as I have often<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> +gratefully found that a single word of another +can fall into the mind like a seed, and quicken +to life while one sleeps, breaking unexpectedly +into bloom, I will here say what +comes into my mind to say, and point out +the towers that I think I discern rising +above the tangled forest, and glimmering +tall and shapely and secure at the end of +many an open avenue.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h2> + +<h2>IDEAS</h2> + + +<p>There are certain great ideas which, if we +have any intelligence and thoughtfulness at +all, we cannot help coming across the track +of, just as when we walk far into the deep +country, in the time of the blossoming of +flowers, we step for a moment into a waft of +fragrance, cast upon the air from orchard or +thicket or scented field of bloom.</p> + +<p>These ideas are very various in quality; +some of them deliciously haunting and +transporting, some grave and solemn, some +painfully sad and strong. Some of them +seem to hint at unseen beauty and joy, +some have to do with problems of conduct +and duty, some with the relation in which +we wish to stand or are forced to stand with +other human beings; some are questionings +born of grief and pain, what the meaning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +of sorrow is, whether pain has a further intention, +whether the spirit survives the life +which is all that we can remember of existence; +but the strange thing about all these +ideas is that we find them suddenly in the +mind and soul; we do not seem to invent +them, though we cannot trace them; and +even if we find them in books that we read +or words that we hear, they do not seem +wholly new to us; we recognise them as +things that we have dimly felt and perceived, +and the reason why they often have so mysterious +an effect upon us is that they seem to +take us outside of ourselves, further back +than we can recollect, beyond the faint +horizon, into something as wide and great +as the illimitable sea or the depths of sunset +sky.</p> + +<p>Some of these ideas have to do with the +constitution of society, the combined and +artificial peace in which human beings live, +and then they are political ideas; or they +deal with such things as numbers, curves, +classes of animals and plants, the soil of the +earth, the changes of the seasons, the laws of +weight and mass, and then they are scientific +ideas; some have to do with right and wrong +conduct, actions and qualities, and then they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +are religious or ethical ideas. But there is +a class of thoughts which belong precisely to +none of these things, but which are concerned +with the perception of beauty, in +forms and colours, musical sounds, human +faces and limbs, words majestic or sweet; +and this sense of beauty may go further, +and may be discerned in qualities, regarded +not from the point of view of their rightness +and justice, but according as they are fine +and noble, evoking our admiration and our +desire; and these are poetical ideas.</p> + +<p>It is not of course possible exactly to +classify ideas, because there is a great overlapping +of them and a wide interchange. +The thought of the slow progress of man +from something rude and beastlike, the +statement of the astronomer about the +swarms of worlds swimming in space, may +awaken the sense of poetry which is in its +essence the sense of wonder. I shall not attempt +in these few pages to limit and define +the sense of poetry. I shall merely attempt +to describe the kind of effect it has or may +have in life, what our relation is or may be +to it, what claim it may be said to have upon +us, whether we can practise it, and whether +we ought to do so.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h2> + +<h2>POETRY</h2> + + +<p>I was reading the other day a volume of +lectures delivered by Mr. Mackail at Oxford, +as Professor of Poetry there. Mr. Mackail +began by being a poet himself; he married +the daughter of a great and poetical artist, +Sir Edward Burne-Jones; he has written +the <i>Life of William Morris</i>, which I think is +one of the best biographies in the language, +in its fine proportion, its seriousness, its +vividness; and indeed all his writing has +the true poetical quality. I hope he even +contrives to communicate it to his departmental +work in the Board of Education!</p> + +<p>He says in the preface to his lectures, +"Poetry is the controller of sullen care and +frantic passion; it is the companion in youth +of desire and love; it is the power which in +later years dispels the ills of life—labour,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +penury, pain, disease, sorrow, death itself; +it is the inspiration, from youth to age, and +in all times and lands, of the noblest human +motives and ardours, of glory, of generous +shame, of freedom and the unconquerable +mind."</p> + +<p>In these fine sentences it will be seen that +Mr. Mackail makes a very high and majestic +claim indeed for poetry: no less than the +claim of art, chivalry, patriotism, love, and +religion all rolled into one! If that claim +could be substantiated, no one in the world +could be excused for not putting everything +else aside and pursuing poetry, because it +would seem to be both the cure for all the +ills of life, and the inspirer of all high-hearted +effort. It would be indeed the one +thing needful!</p> + +<p>But what I do not think Mr. Mackail makes +quite clear is whether he means by poetry +the expression in verse of all these great +ideas, or whether he means a spirit much +larger and mightier than what is commonly +called poetry; which indeed only appears +in verse at a single glowing point, as the +electric spark leaps bright and hot between +the coils of dark and cold wire.</p> + +<p>I think it is a little confusing that he does<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +not state more definitely what he means by +poetry. Let us take another interesting and +suggestive definition. It was Coleridge who +said, "The opposite of poetry is not prose +but science; the opposite of prose is not +poetry but verse." That seems to me an +even more fertile statement. It means that +poetry is a certain sort of emotion, which +may be gentle or vehement, but can be +found both in verse and prose; and that its +opposite is the unemotional classification +of phenomena, the accurate statement of +material laws; and that poetry is by no +means the rhythmical and metrical expression +of emotion, but emotion itself, +whether it be expressed or not.</p> + +<p>I do not wholly demur to Mr. Mackail's +statement, if it may be held to mean that +poetry is the expression of a sort of rapturous +emotion, evoked by beauty, whether that +beauty is seen in the forms and colours of +earth, its gardens, fields, woods, hills, seas, +its sky-spaces and sunset glories; or in the +beauty of human faces and movements; or +in noble endurance or generous action. For +that is the one essential quality of poetry, +that the thing or thought, whatever it is, +should strike the mind as beautiful, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +arouse in it that strange and wistful longing +which beautiful things arouse. It is hard to +define that longing, but it is essentially a +desire, a claim to draw near to something +desirable, to possess it, to be thrilled by it, +to continue in it; the same emotion which +made the apostle say at the sight of his Lord +transfigured in glory, "Master, it is good for +us to be here!"</p> + +<p>Indeed we know very well what beauty is, +or rather we have all within us a standard +by which we can instinctively test the beauty +of a sight or a sound; but it is not that we +all agree about the beauty of different things. +Some see a great deal more than others, and +some eyes and ears are delighted and pleased +by what to more trained and fastidious senses +seems coarse and shocking and vulgar. But +that makes little difference; the point is that +we have within us an apprehension of a +quality which gives us a peculiar kind of +delight; and even if it does not give us that +delight when we are dull or anxious or +miserable, we still know that the quality is +there. I remember how when I had a long +and dreary illness, with much mental depression, +one of my greatest tortures was to +be for ever seeing the beauty in things, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +not to be able to enjoy it. The part of the +brain that enjoyed was sick and uneasy; but +I was never in any doubt that beauty was +there, and had power to please the soul, if +only the physical machinery were not out of +gear, so that the pain of transmission overcame +the sense of delight.</p> + +<p>Poetry is then in its essence the discerning +of beauty; and that beauty is not only the +beauty of things heard and seen, but may +dwell very deep in the mind and soul, and +be stirred by visions which seem to have no +connection with outside things at all.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h2> + +<h2>POETRY AND LIFE</h2> + + +<p>Now I will try to say how poetry enters +into life for most of us; and this is not an +easy thing to express, because one can only +look into the treasure of one's own experience, +wander through the corridors and +halls of memory, and see the faded tapestries, +the pictures, and, above all, the portraits +which hang upon the walls. I suppose that +there are many people into whose spirits +poetry only enters in the form of love, when +they suddenly see a face that they have +beheld perhaps often before, and have +vaguely liked, and realise that it has suddenly +put on some new and delicate charm, +some curve of cheek or floating tress; or +there is something in the glance that was +surely never there before, some consciousness +of a secret that may be shared, some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +signal of half-alarmed interest, something that +shows that the two lives, the two hearts, have +some joyful significance for each other; and +then there grows up that marvellous mood +which men call love, which loses itself in +hopes of meeting, in fears of coldness, in +desperate desires to please, to impress; and +there arise too all sorts of tremulous +affectations, which seem so petty, so absurd, +and even so irritating, to the spectators of +the awakening passion; desires to punish +for the pleasure of forgiving, to withdraw +for the joy of being recalled; a wild elated +drama in which the whole world recedes +into the background, and all life is merged +for the lover in the half-sweet, half-fearful +consciousness of one other soul,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whose lightest whisper moves him more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than all the rangéd reasons of the world.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And in this mood it is curious to note how +inadequate common speech and ordinary +language appear, to meet the needs of expression. +Even young people with no +literary turn, no gift of style, find their +memory supplying for them all sorts of +broken echoes and rhetorical phrases, picked +out of half-forgotten romances; speech must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +be <i>soigneux</i> now, must be dignified, to meet +so uplifting an experience. How oddly like +a book the young lover talks, using so +naturally the loud inflated phrases that seem +so divorced from common-sense and experience! +How common it is to see in law-reports, +in cases which deal with broken +engagements of marriage, to find in the +excited letters which are read and quoted +an irresistible tendency to drop into doggerel +verse! It all seems to the sane reader such +a grotesque kind of intoxication. Yet it is +as natural as the airs and graces of the +singing canary, the unfurling of the peacock's +fan, the held breath and hampered strut of +the turkey—a tendency to assume a greatness +and a nobility that one does not +possess, to seem impressive, tremendous, +desirable. Ordinary talk will not do; it +must rhyme, it must march, it must glitter, +it must be stuck full of gems; accomplishments +must be paraded, powers must be +hinted at. The victor must advance to +triumph with blown trumpets and beaten +drums; and in solitude there must follow +the reaction of despair, the fear that one has +disgraced oneself, seemed clumsy and dull, +done ignobly. Every sensitive emotion is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +awake; and even the most serene and +modest natures, in the grip of passion, can +become suspicious and self-absorbed, because +the passion which consumes them is +so fierce that it shrivels all social restraints, +and leaves the soul naked, and bent upon +the most uncontrolled self-emphasis.</p> + +<p>But apart from this urgent passion, +there are many quieter ways in which the +same spirit, the same emotion, which is +nothing but a sense of self-significance, +comes into the soul. Some are so inspired +by music, the combinations of melodies, the +intricate conspiracy of chords and ordered +vibrations, when the orchestra is at work, +the great droning horns with their hollow +reluctant voices sustaining the shiver and +ripple of the strings; or by sweeter, simpler +cadences played at evening, when the garden +scents wafted out of the fragrant dusk, the +shaded lamps, the listening figures, all +weave themselves together into a mysterious +tapestry of the sense, till we wonder +what strange and beautiful scene is being +enacted, and wherever we turn, catch hints +and echoes of some bewildering and gracious +secret, just not revealed!</p> + +<p>Some find it in pictures and statues, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +mellow liquid pageant of some old master-hand, +a stretch of windspent moor, with its +leaning grasses and rifted crags, a dark +water among glimmering trees at twilight, +a rich plain running to the foot of haze-hung +mountains, the sharp-cut billows of a racing +sea; or a statue with its shapely limbs +and its veiled smile, or of the suspended +strength of some struggling Titan: all these +hold the same inexplicable appeal to the +senses, indicating the efforts of spirits who +have seen, and loved, and admired, and +hoped, and desired, striving to leave some +record of the joy that thrilled and haunted, +and almost tortured them; and to many +people the emotion comes most directly +through the words and songs of poetry, that +tell of joys lived through, and sorrows +endured, of hopes that could not be satisfied, +of desires that could not know fulfilment; +pictures, painted in words, of scenes such +as we ourselves have moved through in +old moods of delight, scenes from which +the marvellous alchemy of memory has +abstracted all the base and dark elements, +leaving only the pure gold of remembered +happiness—the wide upland with the far-off +plain, the garden flooded with sun, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +grasses crisped with frost, the snow-laden +trees, the flaming autumn woods, the sombre +forest at shut of day, when the dusk creeps +stealthily along the glimmering aisles, the +stream passing clear among large-leaved +water-plants and spires of bloom; and the +mood goes deeper still, for it echoes the +marching music of the heart, its glowing +hopes, its longing for strength and purity +and peace, its delight in the nearness of +other hearts, its wisdom, its nobility.</p> + +<p>But the end and aim of all these various +influences is the same; their power lies in +the fact that they quicken in the spirit the +sense of the energy, the delight, the greatness +of life, the share that we can claim in +them, the largeness of our own individual +hope and destiny; and that is the real work +of all the thoughts that may be roughly +called poetical; that they reveal to us something +permanent and strong and beautiful, +something which has an irrepressible energy, +and which outlines itself clearly upon the +dark background of days, a spirit with which +we can join hands and hold deep communication, +which we instinctively feel is the +greatest reality of the world. In such +moments we perceive that the times when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +we descend into the meaner and duller and +drearier businesses of life are interludes +in our real being, into which we have to +descend, not because of the actual worth +of the baser tasks, but that we may practise +the courage and the hope we ought to +bring away from the heavenly vision. The +more that men have this thirst for beauty, +for serene energy, for fulness of life, the +higher they are in the scale, and the less +will they quarrel with the obscurity and +humility of their lives, because they are +confidently waiting for a purer, higher, more +untroubled life, to which we are all on our +way, whether we realise it or no!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V</h2> + +<h2>ART</h2> + + +<p>It is not uncommon for me to receive letters +from young aspirants, containing poems, and +asking me for an opinion on their merits. +Such a letter generally says that the writer +feels it hardly worth while to go on writing +poetry unless he or she is assured that the +poems are worth something. In such cases +I reply that the answer lies there! Unless +it seems worth while, unless indeed poetry +is the outcome of an irrepressible desire to +express something, it is certainly not worth +while writing. On the other hand, if the +desire is there, it is just as well worth +practising as any other form of artistic +expression. A man who liked sketching in +water-colours would not be restrained from +doing so by the fear that he might not +become an Academician, a person who liked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +picking out tunes on a piano need not desist +because there is no prospect of his earning +money by playing in public!</p> + +<p>Poetry is of all forms of literary expression +the least likely to bring a man credit or cash. +Most intelligent people with a little gift of +writing have a fair prospect of getting prose +articles published. But no one wants third-rate +poetry; editors fight shy of it, and +volumes of it are unsaleable.</p> + +<p>I have myself written so much poetry, +have published so many volumes of verse, +that I can speak sympathetically on the +subject. I worked very hard indeed at +poetry for seven or eight years, wrote little +else, and the published volumes form only +a small part of my output, which exists in +many manuscript volumes. I achieved no +particular success. My little books were +fairly well received, and I sold a few +hundred copies; I have even had a few +pieces inserted in anthologies. But though +I have wholly deserted the practice of +poetry, and though I can by no means claim +to be reckoned a poet, I do not in the +least regret the years I gave to it. In the +first place it was an intense pleasure to +write. The cadences, the metres, the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>language, +the rhymes, all gave me a rapturous +delight. It trained minute observation—my +poems were mostly nature-poems—and +helped me to disentangle the salient points +and beauties of landscapes, hills, trees, +flowers, and even insects. Then too it is +a very real training in the use of words; +it teaches one what words are musical, +sonorous, effective; while the necessity of +having to fit words to metre increases one's +stock of words and one's power of applying +them. When I came back to writing prose, +I found that I had a far larger and more +flexible vocabulary than I had previously +possessed; and though the language of +poetry is by no means the same as that +of prose—it is a pity that the two kinds of +diction are so different in English, because +it is not always so in other languages—yet +it made the writing of ornamental and +elaborate prose an easier matter; it gave +one too a sense of form; a poem must have +a certain balance and proportion; so that +when one who has written verse comes to +write prose, a subject falls easily into divisions, +and takes upon itself a certain order +of course and climax.</p> + +<p>But these are only consequences and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>resulting +advantages. The main reason for +writing poetry is and must be the delight +of doing it, the rapture of perceiving a +beautiful subject, and the pleasure of expressing +it as finely and delicately as one +can. I have given it up because, as William +Morris once said of himself, "to make poetry +just for the sake of making it is a crime for +a man of my age and experience!"</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One's feelings lose poetic flow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soon after twenty-seven or so!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>One begins to think of experience in a different +sort of way, not as a series of glowing +points and pictures, which outline themselves +radiantly upon a duller background, +but as a rich full thing, like a great tapestry, +all of which is important, if it is not all +beautiful. It is not that the marvel and +wonder of life is less; but it is more +equable, more intricate, more mysterious. +It does not rise at times, like a sea, into +great crested breakers, but it comes marching +in evenly, roller after roller, as far as +the eye can reach.</p> + +<p>And then too poetry becomes cramped +and confined for all that one desires to +say. One lived life, as a young man, rather<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +for the sake of the emotions which occasionally +transfigured it, with a priestly sense of +its occasional splendour; there was not time +to be leisurely, humorous, gently interested. +But as we grow older, we perceive that +poetical emotion is but one of many forces, +and our sympathy grows and extends +itself in more directions. One had but little +patience in the old days for quiet, prosaic, +unemotional people; but now it becomes +clear that a great many persons live life on +very simple and direct lines; one wants +to understand their point of view better, one +is conscious of the merits of plainer stuff; +and so the taste broadens and deepens, and +becomes like a brimming river rather than +a leaping crystal fount. Life receives a +hundred affluents, and is tinged with many +new substances; and one begins to see that +if poetry is the finest and sweetest interpretation +of life, it is not always the completest +or even the largest.</p> + +<p>If we examine the lives of poets, we +too often see how their inspiration flagged +and failed. Milton indeed wrote his noblest +verse in middle-age, after a life immersed in +affairs. Wordsworth went on writing to +the end, but all his best poetry was written<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +in about five early years. Tennyson went +on to a patriarchal age, but there is little +of his later work that bears comparison +with what he wrote before he was forty. +Browning produced volume after volume, +but, with the exception of an occasional +fine lyric, his later work is hardly more +than an illustration of his faults of writing. +Coleridge deserted poetry very early; Byron, +Shelley, Keats, all died comparatively young.</p> + +<p>The Letters of Keats give perhaps a more +vivid and actual view of the mind and soul +of a poet than any other existing document. +One sees there, naïvely and nobly expressed, +the very essence of the poetical nature, the +very soil out of which poetry flowers. It is +wonderful, because it is so wholly sane, +simple, and unaffected. It is usual to say +that the Letters give one a picture of rather +a second-rate and suburban young man, +with vulgar friends and <i>banal</i> associations, +with one prodigious and matchless faculty. +But it is that very background that constitutes +the supreme force of the appeal. +Keats accepted his circumstances, his friends, +his duties with a singular modesty. He +was not for ever complaining that he was +unappreciated and underestimated. His<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +commonplaceness, when it appears, is not +a defect of quality, but an eager human +interest in the personalities among whom +his lot was cast. But every now and then +there swells up a poignant sense of passion +and beauty, a sacred, haunting, devouring +fire of inspiration, which leaps high and +clear upon the homely altar.</p> + +<p>Thus he writes: "This morning poetry +has conquered—I have relapsed into those +abstractions which are my only life—I feel +escaped from a new, strange, and threatening sorrow.... +There is an awful warmth +about my heart, like a load of immortality." +Or again: "I feel more and more every day, +as my imagination strengthens, that I do not +live in this world alone, but in a thousand +worlds." And again: "I have loved the +principle of beauty in all things."</p> + +<p>One sees in these passages that there not +only is a difference of force and passion, but +an added quality of some kind in the mind of +a poet, a combination of fine perception and +emotion, which instantaneously and instinctively +translates itself into words.</p> + +<p>For it must never be forgotten how essential +a part of the poet is the knack of words. +I do not doubt that there are hundreds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +of people who are haunted and penetrated +by a lively sense of beauty, whose emotions +are fiery and sweet, but who have not just +the intellectual store of words, which must +drip like honey from an overflowing jar. It +is a gift as definite as that of the sculptor +or the musician, an exuberant fertility and +swiftness of brain, that does not slowly and +painfully fit a word into its place, but which +breathes thought direct into music.</p> + +<p>The most subtle account of this that I +know is given in a passage in Shelley's +<i>Defence of Poetry</i>. He says: "A man cannot +say 'I will compose poetry'—the greatest +poet even cannot say it; for the mind in +creation is like a fading coal, which some +invisible influence, like an inconstant wind, +awakes to transitory brightness. The power +arises from within, like the colour of a +flower which fades and changes as it is +developed, and the conscious portions of our +nature are unprophetic either of its approach +or its departure. When composition begins, +inspiration is already on the decline."</p> + +<p>That I believe is as true as it is beautiful. +The best poetry is written in a sudden rapture, +and probably needs but little reconsideration +or retouching. One knows for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +instance how the <i>Ode to the Nightingale</i> was +scribbled by Keats on a spring morning, in +an orchard at Hampstead, and so little +regarded that it was rescued by a friend +from the volume into which he had crammed +the slips of manuscript. Of course poets +vary greatly in their method; but one may +be sure of this, that no poem which was not +a great poem in its first transcript, ever +becomes a great poem by subsequent handling. +There are poets indeed like Rossetti +and FitzGerald who made a worse poem out +of a better by scrupulous correction; and +the first drafts of great poems are generally +the finest poems of all. A poem has sometimes +been improved by excision, notably in +the case of Tennyson, whose abandoned +stanzas, printed in his Life, show how strong +his instinct was for what was best and +purest. A great poet, for instance, never, +like a lesser poet, keeps an unsatisfactory +stanza for the sake of a good line. Tennyson, +in a fine homely image, said that a poem +must have a certain curve of its own, like +the curve of the rind of a pared apple +thrown on the floor. It must have a perfect +evolution and progress, and this can sometimes +be best arrived at by the omission of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +stanzas in which the inconstant or flagging +mind turned aside from its design.</p> + +<p>But it is certain that if the poet gets so +much into the habit of writing poetry, that +even when he has no sense of inspiration +he must still write to satisfy a craving, the +result will be worthless, as it too often was +in the case of Wordsworth. Because such +poems become literary instead of poetical; +and literary poetry has no justification.</p> + +<p>If we take a book like Rossetti's <i>House +of Life</i>, we shall find that certain sonnets +stand out with a peculiar freshness and +brightness, as in the golden sunlight of an +autumn morning; while many of the sonnets +give us the sense of slow and gorgeous +evolution, as if contrived by some poetical +machine. I was interested to find, in studying +the <i>House of Life</i> carefully, that all the +finest poems are early work; and when I +came to look at the manuscripts, I was rather +horrified to see what an immense amount of +alternatives had been produced. There +would be, for instance, no less than eight +or nine of those great slowly moving words, +like 'incommunicable' or 'importunate' +written down, not so much to express an +inevitable idea as to fill an inevitable space;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +and thus the poems seem to lose their +pungency by the slow absorption of painfully +sought agglutinations of syllables, with +a stately music of their own, of course, but +garnered rather than engendered. Rossetti's +great dictum about the prime necessity for +poetry being 'fundamental brainwork' led +him here into error. The brainwork must +be fundamental and instinctive; it must all +have been done before the poem is conceived; +and very often a poet acquires his power +through sacrificing elaborate compositions +which have taught him certainty of touch, +but are not in themselves great poetry. +Subsequent brainwork often merely clouds +the effect, and it was that on which Rossetti +spent himself in vain.</p> + +<p>The view which Keats took of his own +<i>Endymion</i> is a far larger and bolder one. "I +will write independently," he said. "I have +written independently <i>without judgment</i>. I +may write independently and <i>with judgment</i> +hereafter. The genius of poetry must work +out its own salvation in a man. It cannot +be matured by law and precept, but by +sensation and watchfulness in itself."</p> + +<p>Of course, fine craftsmanship is an absolute +necessity; but it is craftsmanship which is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +not only acquired by practice, but which +is actually there from the first, just as Mozart, +as a child of eight, could play passages which +would tax the skill of the most accomplished +virtuoso. It was not learnt by practice, that +swift correspondence of eye and hand, any +more than the little swallow learns to fly; +it knows it all already, and is merely finding +out what it knows.</p> + +<p>And therefore there is no doubt that +a man cannot become a poet by taking +thought. He can perhaps compose impressive +verse, but that is all. Poetry is, as +Plato says, a divine sort of experience, some +strange blending of inherited characteristics, +perhaps the fierce emotion of some dumb +ancestress combining with the verbal skill +of some unpoetical forefather. The receipt +is unknown, not necessarily unknowable.</p> + +<p>Of course if one has poetry in one's soul, +it is a tremendous temptation to desire its +expression, because the human race, with +its poignant desire for transfiguring visions, +strews the path of the great poet with bays, +and remembers him as it remembers no +other human beings. What would one not +give to interpret life thus, to flash the loveliness +of perception into desirous minds, to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +set love and hope and yearning to music, +to inspire anxious hearts with the sense that +there is something immensely large, tender, +and significant behind it all! That is what +we need to be assured of—our own significance, +our own share in the inheritance +of joy; and a poet can teach us to wait, to +expect, to arise, to adore, when the circumstances +of our lives are wrapped in mist and +soaked with dripping rain. Perhaps that +is the greatest thing which poetry does for +us, to reassure us, to enlighten us, to send +us singing on our way, to bid us trust in God +even though He is concealed behind calamity +and disaster, behind grief and heaviness, misinterpreted +to us by philosophers and priests, +and horribly belied by the wrongful dealings +of men.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI</h2> + +<h2>ART AND MORALITY</h2> + + +<p>There is a perpetual debate going on—one +of those moulting shuttlecocks that serve to +make one's battledore give out a merry sound—about +the relation of art to morals, and +whether the artist or the poet ought to +attempt to <i>teach</i> anything. It makes a good +kind of debate, because it is conducted in +large terms, to which the disputants attach +private meanings. The answer is a very +simple one. It is that art and morality are +only beauty realised in different regions; +and as to whether the artist ought to attempt +to teach anything, that may be summarily +answered by the simple dictum that no artist +ought ever to attempt to teach anything, +with which must be combined the fact that +no one who is serious about anything can +possibly help teaching, whether he wishes +or no!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> + +<p>High art and high morality are closely +akin, because they are both but an eager +following of the law of beauty; but the artist +follows it in visible and tangible things, and +the moralist follows it in the conduct and +relations of life. Artists and moralists must +be for ever condemned to misunderstand +each other, because the votary of any art +cannot help feeling that it is the one thing +worth doing in the world; and the artist +whose soul is set upon fine hues and forms +thinks that conduct must take care of itself, +and that it is a tiresome business to analyse +and formulate it; while the moralist who +loves the beauty of virtue passionately, will +think of the artist as a child who plays with +his toys, and lets the real emotions of life go +streaming past.</p> + +<p>This is a subject upon which it is as well +to hear the Greeks, because the Greeks were +of all people who ever lived the most +absorbingly interested in the problems of +life, and judged everything by a standard +of beauty. The Jews, of course, at least +in their early history, had the same fiery +interest in questions of conduct; but it +would be as absurd to deny to Plato an +interest in morals as to withhold the title<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +of artist from Isaiah and the author of the +Book of Job!</p> + +<p>Plato, as is well known, took a somewhat +whimsical view of the work of the poet. He +said that he must exclude the poets from his +ideal State, because they were the prophets +of unreality. But he was thinking of a kind +of man very different from the men whom +we call poets. He thought of the poet as a +man who served a patron, and tried to gloze +over his patron's tyranny and baseness, +under false terms of glory and majesty; or +else he thought of dramatists, and considered +them to be men who for the sake of credit +and money played skilfully upon the sentimental +emotions of ordinary people; and he +fought shy of the writers who used tragic +passions for the amusement of a theatre. +Aristotle disagreed with Plato about this, +and held that poetry was not exactly moral +teaching, but that it disposed the mind to +consider moral problems as interesting. He +said that in looking on at a play, a spectator +suffered, so to speak, by deputy, but all the +same learned directly, if unconsciously, the +beauty of virtue. When we come to our +own Elizabethans, there is no evidence that +in their plays and poetry they thought about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +morals at all. No one has any idea whether +Shakespeare had any religion, or what it +was; and he above all great writers that +ever lived seems to have taken an absolutely +impersonal view of the sins and affections of +men and women. No one is scouted or +censured or condemned in Shakespeare; one +sees and feels the point of view of his villains +and rogues; one feels with them that they +somehow could hardly have done otherwise +than they did; and to effect that is perhaps +the crown of art.</p> + +<p>But nowadays the poet, with whom one +may include some few novelists, is really a +very independent person. I am not now +speaking of those who write basely and +crudely, to please a popular taste. They +have their reward; and after all they are +little more than mountebanks, the end of +whose show is to gather up pence in the +ring.</p> + +<p>But the poet in verse is listened to by +few people, unless he is very great indeed; +and even so his reward is apt to be intangible +and scanty; while to be deliberately a lesser +poet is perhaps the most unworldly thing +that a man can do, because he thus courts derision; +indeed, if there is a bad sign of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +world's temper just now, it is that men will +listen to politicians, scientists, men of commerce, +and journalists, because these can +arouse a sensation, or even confer material +benefits; but men will not listen to poets, +because they have so little use for the small +and joyful thoughts that make up some of +the best pleasures of life.</p> + +<p>It is quite true, as I have said, that no +artist ought ever deliberately to try to teach +people, because that is not his business, and +one can only be a good artist by minding +one's business, which is to produce beautiful +things; and the moment one begins to try +to produce improving things, one goes off +the line. But in England there has been of +late a remarkable fusion of morality and art. +Ruskin and Browning are clear enough +proof that it is possible to be passionately +interested in moral problems in an artistic +way; while at the same time it is true, as I +have said, that if any man cares eagerly for +beauty, and does his best to present it, he +cannot help teaching all those who are +searching for beauty, and only require to be +shown the way.</p> + +<p>The work of all real teachers is to make +great and arduous things seem simple and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +desirable and beautiful. A teacher is not a +person who provides short-cuts to knowledge, +or who only drills a character out of +slovenly intellectual faults. The essence of +all real teaching is a sort of inspiration. +Take the case of a great teacher, like Arnold +or Jowett; Arnold lit in his pupils' minds a +kind of fire, which was moral rather than +intellectual; Jowett had a power of putting +a suggestive brilliancy into dull words and +stale phrases, showing that they were but +the crystallised formulas of ideas, which men +had found wonderful or beautiful. The secret +of such teaching is quite incommunicable, but +it is a very high sort of art. There are many +men who feel the inspiration of knowledge +very deeply, and follow it passionately, who +yet cannot in the least communicate the glow +to others. But just as the great artist can +paint a homely scene, such as we have seen +a hundred times, and throw into it something +mysterious, which reaches out hands of desire +far beyond the visible horizon, so can a great +teacher show that ideas are living things all +bound up with the high emotions of men.</p> + +<p>And thus the true poet, whether he writes +verses or novels, is the greatest of teachers, +not because he trains and drills the mind,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +but because he makes the thing he speaks of +appear so beautiful and desirable that we are +willing to undergo the training and drilling +that are necessary to be made free of the +secret. He brings out, as Plato beautifully +said, "the beauty which meets the spirit like a +breeze, and imperceptibly draws the soul, +even in childhood, into harmony with the +beauty of reason." The work of the poet then +is "to elicit the simplest principles of life, to +clear away complexity, by giving a glowing +and flashing motive to live nobly and +generously, to renew the unspoiled growth +of the world, to reveal the secret hope +silently hidden in the heart of man."</p> + +<p><i>Renovabitur ut aquila juventus tua</i>—thy +youth shall be renewed as an eagle—that +is what we all desire! Indeed it would +seem at first sight that, to gain happiness, +the best way would be, if one could, to +prolong the untroubled zest of childhood, +when everything was interesting and exciting, +full of novelty and delight. Some +few people by their vitality can retain that +freshness of spirit all their life long. I +remember how a friend of R. L. Stevenson +told me, that Stevenson, when alone in London, +desperately ill, and on the eve of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +solitary voyage, came to see him; he himself +was going to start on a journey the following +day, and had to visit the lumber-room to get +out his trunks; Stevenson begged to be +allowed to accompany him, and, sitting on +a broken chair, evolved out of the drifted +accumulations of the place a wonderful +romance. But that sort of eager freshness +we most of us find to be impossible as we +grow older; and we are confronted with the +problem of how to keep care and dreariness +away, how to avoid becoming mere trudging +wayfarers, dully obsessed by all we have +to do and bear. Can we not find some medicine +to revive the fading emotion, to renew +the same sort of delight in new thoughts and +problems which we found in childhood in all +unfamiliar things, to battle with the dreariness, +the daily use, the staleness of life?</p> + +<p>The answer is that it is possible, but only +possible if we take the same pains about it +that we take to provide ourselves with comforts, +to save money, to guard ourselves +from poverty. Emotional poverty is what +we most of us have to dread, and we must +make investments if we wish for revenues. +We are many of us hampered, as I have +said, by the dreariness and dulness of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +education we receive. But even that is no +excuse for sinking into melancholy bankruptcy, +and going about the world full of +the earnest capacity for woe, disheartened +and disheartening.</p> + +<p>A great teacher has the extraordinary +power, not only of evoking the finest capacities +from the finest minds, but of actually +giving to second-rate minds a belief that +knowledge is interesting and worth attention. +What we have to do, if we have +missed coming under the influence of a great +teacher, is resolutely to put ourselves in +touch with great minds. We shall not burst +into flame at once perhaps, and the process +may seem but the rubbing of one dry stick +against another; one cannot prescribe a +path, because we must advance upon the +slender line of our own interests; but we +can surely find some one writer who revives +us and inspires us; and if we persevere, we +find the path slowly broadening into a road, +while the landscape takes shape and design +around us. The one thing fortunately of +which there is enough and to spare in the +world is good advice, and if we find ourselves +helpless, we can consult some one who +seems to have a view of finer things, whose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +delight is fresh and eager, whose handling +of life seems gracious and generous. It is +as possible to do this, as to consult a doctor +if we find ourselves out of health; and here +we stiff and solitary Anglo-Saxons are often +to blame, because we cannot bring ourselves +to speak freely of these things, to be importunate, +to ask for help; it seems to us at +once impertinent and undignified; but it is +this sort of dreary consideration, which is +nothing but distorted vanity, and this still +drearier dignity, which withholds from us so +much that is beautiful.</p> + +<p>The one thing then that I wish to urge is +that we should take up the pursuit in an +entirely practical way; as Emerson said, +with a splendid mixture of common sense +and idealism, "hitch our waggon to a star." +It is easy enough to lose ourselves in a vague +sentimentalism, and to believe that only our +cramped conditions have hindered us from +developing into something very wonderful. +It is easy too to drift into helpless materialism, +and to believe that dulness is the natural lot of +man. But the realm of thought is a very +free citizenship, and a hundred doors will +open to us if we only knock at them. Moreover, +that realm is not like an over-populated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +country; it is infinitely large, and virgin +soil; and we have only to stake out our +claim; and then, if we persevere, we shall +find that our <i>Joyous Gard</i> is really rising into +the air about us—where else should we build +our castles?—with all the glory of tower and +gable, of curtain-wall and battlement, terrace +and pleasaunce, hall and corridor; our own +self-built paradise; and then perhaps the +knight, riding lonely from the sunset woods, +will turn in to keep us company, and the +wandering minstrel will bring his harp; and +we may even receive other visitors, like the +three that stood beside the tent of Abraham +in the evening, in the plain of Mamre, of +whom no one asked the name or lineage, +because the answer was too great for mortal +ears to hear.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII</h2> + +<h2>INTERPRETATION</h2> + + +<p>Is the secret of life then a sort of literary +rapture, a princely thing, only possible +through costly outlay and jealously selected +hours, like a concert of stringed instruments, +whose players are unknown, bursting on the +ear across the terraces and foliaged walls of +some enchanted garden? By no means! +That is the shadow of the artistic nature, +that the rare occasions of life, where sound +and scent and weather and sweet companionship +conspire together, are so exquisite, so +adorable, that the votary of such mystical +raptures begins to plan and scheme and +hunger for these occasions, and lives in +discontent because they arrive so seldom.</p> + +<p>No art, no literature, are worth anything +at all unless they send one back to life with +a renewed desire to taste it and to live it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +Sometimes as I sit on a sunny day writing in +my chair beside the window, a picture of +the box-hedge, the tall sycamores, the stone-tiled +roof of the chapel, with the blue sky +behind, globes itself in the lense of my +spectacles, so entrancingly beautiful, that it +is almost a disappointment to look out on +the real scene. We like to see things +mirrored thus and framed, we strangely +made creatures of life; why, I know not, +except that our finite little natures love to +select and isolate experiences from the mass, +and contemplate them so. But we must +learn to avoid this, and to realise that if a +particle of life, thus ordered and restricted, +is beautiful, the thing itself is more beautiful +still. But we must not depend helplessly +upon the interpretations, the skilled reflections, +of finer minds than our own. If we +learn from a wise interpreter or poet the +quality and worth of a fraction of life, it is +that we may gain from him the power to do +the same for ourselves elsewhere; we must +learn to walk alone, not crave, like a helpless +child, to be for ever led and carried in kindly +arms. The danger of culture, as it is unpleasantly +called, is that we get to love +things because poets have loved them, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +as they loved them; and there we must not +stay; because we thus grow to fear and +mistrust the strong flavours and sounds of +life, the joys of toil and adventure, the desire +of begetting, giving life, drawing a soul from +the unknown; we come to linger in a half-lit +place, where things reach us faintly +mellowed, as in a vision, through enfolding +trees and at the ends of enchanted glades. +This book of mine lays no claim to be a +pageant of all life's joys; it leaves many +things untouched and untold; but it is a +plea for this; that those who have to endure +the common lot of life, who cannot go where +they would, whose leisure is but a fraction +of the day, before the morning's toil and +after the task is done, whose temptation it is +to put everything else away except food and +sleep and work and anxiety, not liking life +so but finding it so;—it is a plea that such +as these should learn how experience, even +under cramped conditions, may be finely and +beautifully interpreted, and made rich by +renewed intention. Because the secret lies +hid in this, that we must observe life intently, +grapple with it eagerly; and if we +have a hundred lives before us, we can +never conquer life till we have learned to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +ride above it, not welter helplessly below it. +And the cramped and restricted life is all +the grander for this, that it gives us a nobler +chance of conquest than the free, liberal, +wealthy, unrestrained life.</p> + +<p>In the <i>Romaunt of the Rose</i> a little square +garden is described, with its beds of flowers, +its orchard-trees. The beauty of the place +lies partly in its smallness, but more still in +its running waters, its shadowy wells, +wherein, as the writer says quaintly enough, +are "<i>no frogs</i>," and the conduit-pipes that +make a "noise full-liking." And again in +that beautiful poem of Tennyson's, one of +his earliest, with the dew of the morning +upon it, he describes <i>The Poet's Mind</i> as a +garden:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">In the middle leaps a fountain<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Like sheet lightning,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ever brightening<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a low melodious thunder;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All day and all night it is ever drawn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the brain of the purple mountain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which stands in the distance yonder: ...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the mountain draws it from Heaven above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it sings a song of undying love.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>That is a power which we all have, in +some degree, to draw into our souls, or to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +set running through them, the streams of +Heaven—for like water they will run in the +dullest and darkest place if only they be led +thither; and the lower the place, the +stronger the stream! I am careful not to +prescribe the source too narrowly, for it +must be to our own liking, and to our own +need. And so I will not say "love this and +that picture, read this and that poet!" +because it is just thus, by following direction +too slavishly, that we lose our own particular +inspiration. Indeed I care very little about +fineness of taste, fastidious critical rejections, +scoffs and sneers at particular fashions and +details. One knows the epicure of life, the +man who withdraws himself more and more +from the throng, cannot bear to find himself +in dull company, reads fewer and fewer +books, can hardly eat and drink unless all +is exactly what he approves; till it becomes +almost wearisome to be with him, because it +is such anxious and scheming work to lay +out everything to please him, and because +he will never take his chance of anything, +nor bestir himself to make anything out of +a situation which has the least commonness +or dulness in it. Of course only with the +command of wealth is such life possible;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +but the more delicate such a man grows, the +larger and finer his maxims become, and +the more he casts away from his philosophy +the need of practising anything. One must +think, such men say, clearly and finely, one +must disapprove freely, one must live only +with those whom one can admire and love; +till they become at last like one of those sad +ascetics, who spent their time on the top of +pillars, and for ever drew up stones from +below to make the pillar higher yet.</p> + +<p>One is at liberty to mistrust whatever +makes one isolated and superior; not of +course that one's life need be spent in a sort +of diffuse sociability; but one must practise +an ease that is never embarrassed, a frankness +that is never fastidious, a simplicity +that is never abashed; and behind it all +must spring the living waters, with the +clearness of the sky and the cleanness of +the hill about them, running still swiftly +and purely in our narrow garden-ground, +and meeting the kindred streams that flow +softly in many other glad and desirous +hearts.</p> + +<p>In the beautiful old English poem, <i>The +Pearl</i>, where the dreamer seems to be instructed +by his dead daughter Marjory in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +the heavenly wisdom, she tells him that +"all the souls of the blest are equal in +happiness—that they are all kings and +queens."<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> That is a heavenly kind of kingship, +when there are none to be ruled or +chidden, none to labour and serve; but it +means the fine frankness and serenity of +mind which comes of kingship, the perfect +ease and dignity which springs from not +having to think of dignity or pre-eminence at +all.</p> + +<p>Long ago I remember how I was sent for +to talk with Queen Victoria in her age, and +how much I dreaded being led up to her by +a majestic lord-in-waiting; she sate there, +a little quiet lady, so plainly dressed, so +simple, with her hands crossed on her lap, +her sanguine complexion, her silvery hair, +yet so crowned with dim history and +tradition, so great as to be beyond all pomp +or ceremony, yet wearing the awe and +majesty of race and fame as she wore her +plain dress. She gave me a little nod and +smile, and began at once to talk in the sweet +clear voice that was like the voice of a child. +Then came my astonishment. She knew,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +it seemed, all about me and my doings, and +the doings of my relations and friends—not +as if she had wished to be prepared to +surprise me; but because her motherly heart +had wanted to know, and had been unable +to forget. The essence of that charm, which +flooded all one's mind with love and loyalty, +was not that she was great, but that she was +entirely simple and kind; because she loved, +not her great part in life, but life itself.</p> + +<p>That kingship and queenship is surely +not out of the reach of any of us; it depends +upon two things: one, that we keep our +minds and souls fresh with the love of life, +which is the very dew of heaven; and the +other that we claim not rights but duties, +our share in life, not a control over it; if all +that we claim is not to rule others, but to be +interested in them, if we will not be shut out +from love and care, then the sovereignty is +in sight, and the nearer it comes the less +shall we recognise it; for the only dignity +worth the name is that which we do not +know to be there.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> See Professor W. P. Ker's <i>English Literature, Mediæval</i>, +p. 194.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII</h2> + +<h2>EDUCATION</h2> + + +<p>It is clear that the progress of the individual +and the world alike depends upon the +quickening of ideas. All civilisation, all law, +all order, all controlled and purposeful life, +will be seen to depend on these ideas and +emotions. The growing conception of the +right of every individual to live in some +degree of comfort and security is nothing +but the taking shape of these ideas and +emotions; for the end of all civilisation is to +ensure that there shall be freedom for all +from debasing and degrading conditions, and +that is perhaps as far as we have hitherto +advanced; but the further end in sight is to +set all men and women free to some extent +from hopeless drudgery, to give them leisure, +to provide them with tastes and interests; +and further still, to contrive, if possible, that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +human beings shall not be born into the +world of tainted parentage, and thus to +stamp out the tyranny of disease and imbecility +and criminal instinct. More and more +does it become clear that all the off-scourings +and failures of civilisation are the outcome +of diseased brains and nerves, and that self-control +and vigour are the results of nature +rather than nurture. All this is now steadily +in sight. The aim is personal freedom, the +freedom which shall end where another's +freedom begins; but we recognise now that +it is no use legislating for social and political +freedom, if we allow the morally deficient +to beget offspring for whom moral freedom +is an impossibility. And perhaps the best +hope of the race lies in firmly facing this +problem.</p> + +<p>But, as I say, we have hardly entered upon +this stage. We have to deal with things as +they are, with many natures tainted by +moral feebleness, by obliquity of vision, by +lack of proportion. The hope at present +lies in the endeavour to find some source of +inspiration, in a determination not to let +men and women grow up with fine emotions +atrophied; and here the whole system of +education is at fault. It is all on the lines<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +of an intellectual gymnastic; little or nothing +is done to cultivate imagination, to feed the +sense of beauty, to arouse interest, to awaken +the sleeping sense of delight. There is no +doubt that all these emotions are dormant +in many people. One has only to reflect on +the influence of association, to know how +children who grow up in a home atmosphere +which is fragrant with beautiful influences, +generally carry on those tastes and habits +into later life. But our education tends +neither to make men and women efficient for +the simple duties of life, nor to-arouse the +gentler energies of the spirit. "You must +remember you are translating poetry," said +a conscientious master to a boy who was +construing Virgil. "It's not poetry when +I translate it!" said the boy. I look back at +my own schooldays, and remember the bare, +stately class-rooms, the dry wind of intellect, +the dull murmur of work, neither enjoyed +nor understood; and I reflect how small a +part any fanciful or beautiful or leisurely +interpretation ever played in our mental +exercises; the first and last condition of any +fine sort of labour—that it should be enjoyed—was +put resolutely out of sight, not so +much as an impossible adjunct, as a thing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +positively enervating and contemptible. Yet +if one subtracts the idea of enjoyment from +labour, there is no beauty-loving spirit which +does not instantly and rightly rebel. There +must be labour, of course, effective, vigorous, +brisk labour, overcoming difficulties, mastering +uncongenial details; but the end should +be enjoyment; and it should be made clear +that the greater the mastery, the richer the +enjoyment; and that if one cannot enjoy a +thing without mastering it, neither can one +ever really master it without enjoying it.</p> + +<p>What we need, in education, is some sense +of far horizons and beautiful prospects, some +consciousness of the largeness and mystery +and wonder of life. To take a simple +instance, in my own education. I read the +great books of Greece and Rome; but I +knew hardly anything of the atmosphere, +the social life, the human activity out of +which they proceeded. One did not think +of the literature of the Greeks as of a +fountain of eager beauty springing impulsively +and instinctively out of the most +ardent, gracious, sensitive life that any nation +has ever lived. One knew little of the +stern, businesslike, orderly, grasping Roman +temperament, in which poetry flowered so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +rarely, and the arts not at all, until the +national fibre began to weaken and grow +dissolute. One studied history in those days, +as if one was mastering statute-books, blue-books, +gazettes, office-files; one never grasped +the clash of individualities, or the real +interests and tastes of the nations that fought +and made laws and treaties. It was all a +dealing with records and monuments, just +the things that happened to survive decay—as +though one's study of primitive man +were to begin and end with sharpened +flints!</p> + +<p>What we have now to do, in this next +generation, is not to leave education a dry +conspectus of facts and processes, but to try +rather that children should learn something +of the temper and texture of the world at +certain vivid points of its history; and above +all perceive something of the nature of the +world as it now is, its countries, its nationalities, +its hopes, its problems. That is the +aim, that we should realise what kind of a +thing life is, how bright and yet how narrow +a flame, how bounded by darkness and +mystery, and yet how vivid and active +within its little space of sun.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX</h2> + +<h2>KNOWLEDGE</h2> + + +<p>"Knowledge is power," says the old adage; +and yet so meaningless now, in many respects, +do the words sound, that it is hard +even to recapture the mental outlook from +which it emanated. I imagine that it dates +from a time when knowledge meant an +imagined acquaintance with magical secrets, +short cuts to wealth, health, influence, fame. +Even now the application of science to the +practical needs of man has some semblance +of power about it; the telephone, wireless +telegraphy, steam engines, anæsthetics—these +are powerful things. But no man is +profited by his discoveries; he cannot keep +them to himself, and use them for his own +private ends. The most he can do is to make +a large fortune out of them. And as to other +kinds of knowledge, erudition, learning, how<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +do they profit the possessor? "No one +knows anything nowadays," said an eminent +man to me the other day; "it is not worth +while! The most learned man is the man +who knows best where to find things." +There still appears, in works of fiction, +with pathetic persistence, a belief that learning +still lingers at Oxford and Cambridge; +those marvellous Dons, who appear in the +pages of novels, men who read folios all the +morning and drink port all the evening, +where are they in reality? Not at Cambridge, +certainly. I would travel many +miles, I would travel to Oxford, if I thought +I could find such an adorable figure. But +the Don is now a brisk and efficient man of +business, a paterfamilias with provision to +make for his family. He has no time for +folios and no inclination for port. Examination +papers in the morning, and a glass of +lemonade at dinner, are the notes of his +leisure days. The belief in uncommercial +knowledge has indeed died out of England. +Eton, as Mr. Birrell said, can hardly be +described as a place of education; and to +what extent can Oxford and Cambridge be +described as places of literary research? A +learned man is apt to be considered a bore,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +and the highest compliment that can be paid +him is that one would not suspect him of +being learned.</p> + +<p>There is, indeed, a land in which knowledge +is respected, and that is America. If +we do not take care, the high culture will +desert our shores, like Astræa's flying hem, +and take her way Westward, with the course +of Empire.</p> + +<p>A friend of mine once told me that he +struggled up a church-tower in Florence, a +great lean, pale brick minaret, designed, I +suppose, to be laminated with marble, but +cheerfully abandoned to bareness; he came +out on to one of those high balustraded balconies, +which in mediæval pictures seem to +have been always crowded with fantastically +dressed persons, and are now only visited by +tourists. The silvery city lay outspread +beneath him, with the rapid mud-stained +river passing to the plain, the hill-side +crowded with villas embowered in green +gardens, and the sad-coloured hills behind. +While he was gazing, two other tourists, +young Americans, came quietly out on to the +balcony, a brother and sister, he thought. +They looked out for a time in silence, leaning +on the parapet; and then the brother said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +softly, "How much we should enjoy all this, +if we were not so ignorant!" Like all +Americans, they wanted to know! It was +not enough for them to see the high houses, +the fantastic towers, the great blind blocks +of mediæval palaces, thrust so grimly out +above the house-tops. It all meant life and +history, strife and sorrow, it all needed +interpreting and transfiguring and re-peopling; +without that it was dumb and +silent, vague and bewildering. One does +not know whether to admire or to sigh! +Ought one not to be able to take beauty as +it comes? What if one does not want to +know these things, as Shelley said to his +lean and embarrassed tutor at Oxford? If +knowledge makes the scene glow and live, +enriches it, illuminates it, it is well. And +perhaps in England we learn to live so +incuriously and naturally among historical +things that we forget the existence of tradition, +and draw it in with the air we breathe, +just realising it as a pleasant background +and not caring to investigate it or master it. +It is hard to say what we lose by ignorance, +is hard to say what we should gain by +knowledge. Perhaps to want to know would +be a sign of intellectual and emotional<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +activity; but it could not be done as a +matter of duty—only as a matter of enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>The poet Clough once said, "It makes a +great difference to me that Magna Charta was +signed at Runnymede, but it does not make +much difference to me to know that it was +signed." The fact that it was so signed +affects our liberties, the knowledge only +affects us, if it inspires us to fresh desire of +liberty, whatever liberty may be. It is even +more important to be interested in life than +to be interested in past lives. It was Scott, +I think, who asked indignantly,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lives there the man with soul so dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who never to himself hath said<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This is my own, my native land?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I do not know how it may be in Scotland! +Dr. Johnson once said rudely that the finest +prospect a Scotchman ever saw was the high +road that might take him to England; but I +should think that if Scott's is a fair test of +deadness of soul, there must be a good many +people in England who are as dead as door-nails! +The Englishman is not very imaginative; +and a farmer who was accustomed +to kneel down like Antæus, and kiss the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +soil of his orchard, would be thought an +eccentric!</p> + +<p>Shall we then draw a cynical conclusion +from all this, and say that knowledge is a +useless burden; or if we think so, why do +we think it? I have very little doubt in my +own mind that why so many young men +despise and even deride knowledge is because +knowledge has been presented to them +in so arid a form, so little connected with +anything that concerns them in the remotest +degree. We ought, I think, to wind our +way slowly back into the past from the +present; we ought to start with modern +problems and modern ideas, and show people +how they came into being; we ought to +learn about the world, as it is, first, and +climb the hill slowly. But what we do is to +take the history of the past, Athens and +Rome and Judæa, three glowing and shining +realms, I readily admit; but we leave the +gaps all unbridged, so that it seems remote, +abstruse, and incomprehensible that men +should ever have lived and thought so.</p> + +<p>Then we deluge children with the old +languages, not teaching them to read, but to +construe, and cramming the little memories +with hideous grammatical forms. So the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +whole process of education becomes a dreary +wrestling with the uninteresting and the +unattainable; and when we have broken the +neck of infantile curiosity with these uncouth +burdens, we wonder that life becomes +a place where the only aim is to get a good +appointment, and play as many games as +possible.</p> + +<p>Yet learning need not be so cumbrously +carried after all! I was reading a few days +ago a little book by Professor Ker, on +mediæval English, and reading it with a +species of rapture. It all came so freshly +and pungently out of a full mind, penetrated +with zest and enjoyment. One followed the +little rill of literary craftsmanship so easily +out of the plain to its high source among the +hills, till I wondered why on earth I had not +been told some of these delightful things +long ago, that I might have seen how our +great literature took shape. Such scraps of +knowledge as I possess fell into shape, and +I saw the whole as in a map outspread.</p> + +<p>And then I realised that knowledge, if it +was only rightly directed, could be a beautiful +and attractive thing, not a mere fuss about +nothing, dull facts reluctantly acquired, +readily forgotten.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> + +<p>All children begin by wanting to know, +but they are often told not to be tiresome, +which generally means that the elder person +has no answer to give, and does not like to +appear ignorant. And then the time comes +for Latin Grammar, and Cicero de Senectute, +and Cæsar's Commentaries, and the bewildered +stripling privately resolves to have +no more than he can help to do with these +antique horrors. The marvellous thing +seems to him to be that men of flesh and +blood could have found it worth their while +to compose such things.</p> + +<p>Erudition, great is thy sin! It is not that +one wants to deprive the savant of his knowledge; +one only wants a little common-sense +and imaginative sympathy. How can a little +boy guess that some of the most beautiful +stories in the world lie hid among a mass of +wriggling consonants, or what a garden +lurks behind the iron gate, with βλωσκω +and μολουμαι to guard the threshold?</p> + +<p>I am not going here to discuss the old +curriculum. "Let 'em 'ave it!" as the parent +said to the schoolmaster, under the impression +that it was some instrument of flagellation—as +indeed it is, I look round my +book-lined shelves, and reflect how much of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +interest and pleasure those parallel rows +have meant to me, and how I struggled into +the use of them outside of and not because +of my so-called education; and how much +they might mean to others if they had not +been so conscientiously bumped into paths +of peace.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," said Pater, speaking of art in +one of his finest passages, "nothing which +has ever engaged the great and eager +affections of men and women can ever +wholly lose its charm." Not to the initiated, +perhaps! But I sometimes wonder if anything +which has been taught with dictionary +and grammar, with parsing and construing, +with detention and imposition, can ever +wholly regain its charm. I am afraid that +we must make a clean sweep of the old +processes, if we have any intention of +interesting our youth in the beauty of +human ideas and their expression. But +while we do not care about beauty and +interest in life, while we conscientiously +believe, in spite of a cataract of helpless +facts, in the virtues of the old grammar-grind, +so long shall we remain an uncivilised +nation. Civilisation does not consist in commercial +prosperity, or even in a fine service<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +of express trains. It resides in quick apprehension, +lively interest, eager sympathy ... +at least I suspect so.</p> + +<p>"Like a crane or a swallow, so did I +chatter!" said the rueful prophet. I do not +write as a pessimist, hardly as a critic; still +less as a censor; to waste time in deriding +others' theories of life is a very poor substitute +for enjoying it! I think we do very fairly +well as we are; only do not let us indulge +in the cant in which educators so freely +indulge, the claim that we are interested in +ideas intellectual or artistic, and that we are +trying to educate our youth in these things. +We do produce some intellectual athletes, +and we knock a few hardy minds more or less +into shape; but meanwhile a great river of +opportunities, curiosity, intelligence, taste, +interest, pleasure, goes idly weltering, +through mud-flats and lean promontories +and bare islands to the sea. It is the loss, +the waste, the folly, of it that I deplore.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X</h2> + +<h2>GROWTH</h2> + + +<p>As the years go on, what one begins to +perceive about so many people—though one +tries hard to believe it is not so—is that +somehow or other the mind does not grow, +the view does not alter; life ceases to be +a pilgrimage, and becomes a journey, such +as a horse takes in a farm-cart. He is +pulling something, he has got to pull it, he +does not care much what it is—turnips, hay, +manure! If he thinks at all, he thinks of +the stable and the manger. The middle-aged +do not try experiments, they lose all +sense of adventure. They make the usual +kind of fortification for themselves, pile up a +shelter out of prejudices and stony opinions. +It is out of the wind and rain, and the +prospect is safely excluded. The landscape +is so familiar that the entrenched spirit does<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +not even think about it, or care what lies +behind the hill or across the river.</p> + +<p>Now of course I do not mean that people +can or should play fast and loose with life, +throw up a task or a position the moment +they are bored with it, be at the mercy of +moods. I am speaking here solely of the +possible adventures of mind and soul; it is +good, wholesome, invigorating, to be tied to +a work in life, to have to discharge it whether +one likes it or no, through indolence and +disinclination, through depression and restlessness. +But we ought not to be immured +among conventions and received opinions. +We ought to ask ourselves why we believe +what we take for granted, and even if we +do really believe it at all. We ought not +to condemn people who do not move along +the same lines of thought; we ought to +change our minds a good deal, not out of +mere levity, but because of experience. We +ought not to think too much of the importance +of what we are doing, and still less of +the importance of what we have done; we +ought to find a common ground on which to +meet distasteful people; we ought to labour +hard against self-pity as well as against +self-applause; we ought to feel that if we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +have missed chances, it is out of our own +heedlessness and stupidity. Self-applause +is a more subtle thing even than self-pity, +because, if one rejects the sense of credit, +one is apt to congratulate oneself on being +the kind of person who does reject it, +whereas we ought to avoid it as instinctively +as we avoid a bad smell. Above all, we +ought to believe that we can do something +to change ourselves, if we only try; that +we can anchor our conscience to a responsibility +or a personality, can perceive that the +society of certain people, the reading of +certain books, does affect us, make our +mind grow and germinate, give us a sense +of something fine and significant in life. +The thing is to say, as the prim governess +says in Shirley, "You acknowledge the +inestimable worth of principle?"—it is +possible to get and to hold a clear view, as +opposed to a muddled view, of life and its +issues; and the blessing is that one can +do this in any circle, under any circumstances, +in the midst of any kind of work. +That is the wonderful thing about thought, +that it is like a captive balloon which is +anchored in one's garden. It is possible to +climb into it and to cast adrift; but so many<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +people, as I have said, seem to end by +pulling the balloon in, letting out the gas, +and packing the whole away in a shed. Of +course the power of doing all this varies +very much in different temperaments; but I +am sure that there are many people who, +looking back at their youth, are conscious +that they had something stirring and +throbbing within them which they have +somehow lost; some vision, some hope, +some faint and radiant ideal. Why do they +lose it, why do they settle down on the +lees of life, why do they snuggle down +among comfortable opinions? Mostly, I am +sure, out of a kind of indolence. There are +a good many people who say to themselves, +"After all, what really matters is a solid +defined position in the world; I must make +that for myself, and meanwhile I must not +indulge myself in any fancies; it will be +time to do that when I have earned my +pension and settled my children in life." +And then when the time arrives, the frail +and unsubstantial things are all dead and +cannot be recovered; for happiness cannot +be achieved along these cautious and heavy +lines.</p> + +<p>And so I say that we must deliberately<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +aim at something different from the first. +We must not block up the further views and +wider prospects; we must keep the horizon +open. What I here suggest has nothing +whatever that is unpractical about it; it is +only a deeper foresight, a more prudent +wisdom. We must say to ourselves that +whatever happens, the soul shall not be +atrophied; and we should be as anxious +about it, if we find that it is losing its zest +and freedom, as we should be if we found +that the body were losing its appetite!</p> + +<p>It is no metaphor then, but sober earnest, +when I say that when we take our place in +the working world, we ought to lay the +foundations of that other larger stronghold +of the soul, <i>Joyous Gard</i>. All that matters +is that we should choose a fair site for it in +free air and beside still waters; and that +we should plan it for ourselves, set out +gardens and plantations, with as large a +scheme as we can make for it, expecting the +grace and greenery that shall be, and the +increase which God gives. It may be that +we shall have to build it slowly, and we may +have to change the design many times; but +it will be all built out of our own mind and +hope, as the nautilus evolves its shell.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> + +<p>I am not speaking of a scheme of self-improvement, +of culture followed that it may +react on our profession or bring us in touch +with useful people, of mental discipline, of +correct information. The <i>Gard</i> is not to be +a factory or an hotel; it must be frankly built +<i>for our delight</i>. It is delight that we must +follow, everything that brims the channel +of life, stimulates, freshens, enlivens, tantalises, +attracts. It must at all costs be +beautiful. It must embrace that part of +religion that glows for us, the thing which +we find beautiful in other souls, the art, the +poetry, the tradition, the love of nature, the +craft, the interests we hanker after. It need +not contain all these things, because we can +often do better by checking diffuseness, and +by resolute self-limitation. It is not by +believing in particular books, pictures, +tunes, tastes, that we can do it. That ends +often as a mere prison to the thought; it is +rather by meeting the larger spirit that lies +behind life, recognising the impulse which +meets us in a thousand forms, which forces +us not to be content with narrow and petty +things, but emerges as the energy, whatever +it is, that pushes through the crust of life, +as the flower pushes through the mould.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +Our dulness, our acquiescence in monotonous +ways, arise from our not realising +how infinitely important that force is, how +much it has done for man, how barren life +is without it. Here in England many of us +have a dark suspicion of all that is joyful, +inherited perhaps from our Puritan ancestry, +a fear of yielding ourselves to its influence, +a terror of being grimly repaid for indulgence, +an old superstitious dread of somehow +incurring the wrath of God, if we aim +at happiness at all. We must know, many +of us, that strange shadow which falls upon +us when we say, "I feel so happy to-day +that some evil must be going to befal +me!" It is true that afflictions must come, +but they are not to spoil our joy; they are +rather to refine it and strengthen it. And +those who have yielded themselves to joy +are often best equipped to get the best out +of sorrow.</p> + +<p>We must aim then at fulness of life; not +at husbanding our resources with meagre +economy, but at spending generously and +fearlessly, grasping experience firmly, nurturing +zest and hope. The frame of mind +we must be beware of, which is but a stingy +vanity, is that which makes us say, "I am<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +sure I should not like that person, that book, +that place!" It is that closing-in of our own +possibilities that we must avoid.</p> + +<p>There is a verse in the Book of Proverbs +that often comes into my mind; it is spoken +of a reprobate, whose delights indeed are +not those that the soul should pursue; but +the temper in which he is made to cling to +the pleasure which he mistakes for joy, +is the temper, I am sure, in which one should +approach life. He cries, "<i>They have stricken +me, and I was not sick; they have beaten me, +and I felt it not. When shall I awake? I will +seek it yet again.</i>"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI</h2> + +<h2>EMOTION</h2> + + +<p>We are a curious nation, we English! +Stendhal says that our two most patent +vices are bashfulness and cant. That is to +say, we are afraid to say what we think, +and when we have gained the courage to +speak, we say more than we think. We are +really an emotional nation at heart, easily +moved and liking to be moved; we are +largely swayed by feeling, and much stirred +by anything that is picturesque. But we +are strangely ashamed of anything that +seems like sentiment; and so far from +being bluff and unaffected about it, we are +full of the affectation, the pretence of not +being swayed by our emotions. We have +developed a curious idea of what men and +women ought to be; and one of our pretences +is that men should affect not to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +understand sentiment, and to leave, as we +rudely say, "all that sort of thing to the +women." Yet we are much at the mercy +of clap-trap and mawkish phrases, and we +like rhetoric partly because we are too shy +to practise it. The result of it is that we +believe ourselves to be a frank, outspoken, +good-natured race; but we produce an unpleasant +effect of stiffness, angularity, discourtesy, +and self-centredness upon more +genial nations. We defend our bluffness +by believing that we hold emotion to be +too rare and sacred a quality to be talked +about, though I always have a suspicion +that if a man says that a subject is too +sacred to discuss, he probably also finds it +too sacred to think about very much either; +yet if one can get a sensible Englishman to +talk frankly and unaffectedly about his feelings, +it is often surprising to find how +delicate they are.</p> + +<p>One of our chief faults is our love of +property, and the consequence of that is +our admiration for what we call "businesslike" +qualities. It is really from the struggle +between the instinct of possession and the +emotional instinct that our bashfulness +arises; we are afraid of giving ourselves<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +away, and of being taken advantage of; we +value position and status and respectability +very high; we like to know who a man is, +what he stands for, what his influence +amounts to, what he is worth; and all this +is very injurious to our simplicity, because +we estimate people so much not by their +real merits but by their accumulated influence. +I do not believe that we shall ever +rise to true greatness as a nation until we +learn not to take property so seriously. It +is true that we prosper in the world at +present, we keep order, we make money, +we spread a bourgeois sort of civilisation, +but it is not a particularly fine or fruitful +civilisation, because it deals so exclusively +with material things. I do not wish to +decry the race, because it has force, toughness, +and fine working qualities; but we +do not know what to do with our prosperity +when we have got it; we can make very +little use of leisure; and our idea of success +is to have a well-appointed house, expensive +amusements, and to distribute a dull and +costly hospitality, which ministers more to +our own satisfaction than to the pleasure +of the recipients.</p> + +<p>There really can be few countries where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +men are so contented to be dull! There is +little speculation or animation or intelligence +or interest among us, and people who desire +such an atmosphere are held to be fanciful, +eccentric, and artistic. It was not always so +with our race. In Elizabethan times we had +all the inventiveness, the love of adventure, +the pride of dominance that we have now; +but there was then a great interest in things +of the mind as well, a lively taste for ideas, +a love of beautiful things and thoughts. +The Puritan uprising knocked all that on +the head, but Puritanism was at least preoccupied +with moral ideas, and developed +an excitement about sin which was at all +events a sign of intellectual ferment. And +then we did indeed decline into a comfortable +sort of security, into a stale classical +tradition, with pompous and sonorous writing +on the one hand, and with neatness, +literary finish, and wit rather than humour on +the other. That was a dull, stolid, dignified +time; and it was focussed into a great figure +of high genius, filled with the combative +common-sense which Englishmen admire, +the figure of Dr. Johnson. His influence, +his temperament, portrayed in his matchless +biography, did indeed dominate literary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +England to its hurt; because the essence +of Johnson was his freshness, and in his +hands the great rolling Palladian sentences +contrived to bite and penetrate; but his +imitators did not see that freshness was the +one requisite; and so for a generation the +pompous rotund tradition flooded English +prose; but for all that, England was saved in +literature from mere stateliness by the sudden +fierce interest in life and its problems which +burst out like a spring in eighteenth-century +fiction; and so we come to the Victorian +era, when we were partially submerged by +prosperity, scientific invention, commerce, +colonisation. But the great figures of the +century arose and had their say—Carlyle, +Tennyson, Browning, Ruskin, William +Morris; it was there all the time, that +spirit of fierce hope and discontent and +emotion, that deep longing to penetrate the +issues and the significance of life.</p> + +<p>It may be that the immense activity of +science somewhat damped our interest in +beauty; but that is probably a temporary +thing. The influence exerted by the early +scientists was in the direction of facile +promises to solve all mysteries, to analyse +everything into elements, to classify, to track<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +out natural laws; and it was believed that +the methods and processes of life would be +divested of their secrecy and their irresponsibility; +but the effect of further investigation +is to reveal that life is infinitely more +complex than was supposed, and that the +end is as dim as ever; though science did +for a while make havoc of the stereotyped +imaginative systems of faith and belief, so +that men supposed that beauty was but +an accidental emphasis of law, and that the +love of it could be traced to very material +preferences.</p> + +<p>The artist was for a time dismayed, at +being confronted by the chemist who held +that he had explained emotion because he +had analysed the substance of tears; and +for a time the scientific spirit drove the +spirit of art into cliques and coteries, so +that artists were hidden, like the Lord's +prophets, by fifties in caves, and fed upon +bread and water.</p> + +<p>What mostly I would believe now injures +and overshadows art, is that artists are +affected by the false standard of prosperous +life, are not content to work in poverty and +simplicity, but are anxious, as all ambitious +natures who love applause must be, to share<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +in the spoils of the Philistines. There are, +I know, craftsmen who care nothing at all for +these things, but work in silence and even in +obscurity at what seems to them engrossing +and beautiful; but they are rare; and when +there is so much experience and pleasure +and comfort abroad, and when security and +deference so much depend upon wealth, +the artist desires wealth, more for the sake +of experience and pleasure than for the sake +of accumulation.</p> + +<p>But the spirit which one desires to see +spring up is the Athenian spirit, which finds +its satisfaction in ideas and thoughts and +beautiful emotions, in mental exploration +and artistic expression; and is so absorbed, +so intent upon these things that it can +afford to let prosperity flow past like a +muddy stream. Unfortunately, however, the +English spirit is solitary rather than social, +and the artistic spirit is jealous rather +than inclusive; and so it comes about that +instead of artists and men of ideas consorting +together and living a free and simple +life, they tend to dwell in lonely fortresses +and paradises, costly to create, costly to +maintain. The English spirit is against +communities. If it were not so, how easy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +it would be for people to live in groups +and circles, with common interests and +tastes, to encourage each other to believe +in beautiful things, and to practise ardent +thoughts and generous dreams. But this +cannot be done artificially, and the only +people who ever try to do it are artists, +who do occasionally congregate in a place, +and make no secret to each other of what +they are pursuing. I have sometimes +touched the fringe of a community like +that, and have been charmed by the sense +of a more eager happiness, a more unaffected +intercourse of spirits than I have +found elsewhere. But the world intervenes! +domestic ties, pecuniary interests, +civic claims disintegrate the group. It is +sad to think how possible such intercourse +is in youth, and in youth only, as one sees +it displayed in that fine and moving book +<i>Trilby</i>, which does contrive to reflect the joy +of the buoyant companionship of art. But +the flush dies down, the insouciance departs, +and with it the ardent generosity of life. +Some day perhaps, when life has become +simpler and wealth more equalised, when +work is more distributed, when there is +less production of unnecessary things, these<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +groups will form themselves, and the frank, +eager, vivid spirit of youth will last on into +middle-age, and even into age itself. I do +not think that this is wholly a dream; +but we must first get rid of much of the +pompous nonsense about money and position, +which now spoils so many lives; and +if we could be more genuinely interested +in the beauty and complex charm and joy +of life, we should think less and less of +material things, be content with shelter, +warmth, and food, and grudge the time we +waste in providing things for which we +have no real use, simply in order that, like +the rich fool, we may congratulate ourselves +on having much goods laid up for many +years, when the end was hard at hand!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII</h2> + +<h2>MEMORY</h2> + + +<p>Memory is for many people the only form of +poetry which they indulge. If a soul turns +to the future for consolation in a sad or +wearied or disappointed present, it is in +religion that hope and strength are sometimes +found; but if it is a retrospective +nature—and the poetical nature is generally +retrospective, because poetry is concerned +with the beauty of actual experience and +actual things, rather than with the possible +and the unknown—then it finds its medicine +for the dreariness of life in memory. Of +course there are many simple and healthy +natures which do not concern themselves +with visions at all—the little businesses, the +daily pleasures, are quietly and even eagerly +enjoyed. But the poetical nature is the +nature that is not easily contented, because<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +it tends to idealisation, to the thought that +the present might easily be so much happier, +brighter, more beautiful, than it is.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An eager soul that looks beyond<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shivers in the midst of bliss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That cries, "I should not need despond,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If this were otherwise, and this!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And so the soul that has seen much and +enjoyed much and endured much, and whose +whole life has been not spoiled, of course, +but a little shadowed by the thought that +the elements of happiness have never been +quite as pure as it would have wished, turns +back in thought to the old scenes of love +and companionship, and evokes from the +dark, as from the pages of some volume of +photographs and records, the pictures of the +past, retouching them, it is true, and adapting +them, by deftly removing all the broken +lights and intrusive anxieties, not into what +they actually were, but into what they +might have been. Carlyle laid his finger +upon the truth of this power, when he said +that the reason why the pictures of the past +were always so golden in tone, so delicate +in outline, was because the quality of fear +was taken from them. It is the fear of what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +may be and what must be that overshadows +present happiness; and if fear is taken from +us we are happy. The strange thing is that +we cannot learn not to be afraid, even +though all the darkest and saddest of our +experiences have left us unscathed; and if +we could but find a reason for the mingling +of fear with our lives, we should have +gone far towards solving the riddle of the +world.</p> + +<p>This indulgence of memory is not necessarily +a weakening or an enervating thing, +so long as it does not come to us too early, +or disengage us from needful activities. It +is often not accompanied by any shadow of +loss or bitterness. I remember once sitting +with my beloved old nurse, when she was +near her ninetieth year, in her little room, +in which was gathered much of the old +nursery furniture, the tiny chairs of the +children, the store-cupboard with the farmyard +pictures on the panel, the stuffed pet-birds—all +the homely wrack of life; and we +had been recalling many of the old childish +incidents with laughter and smiles. When +I rose to go, she sate still for a minute, and +her eyes filled with quiet tears, "Ah, those +were happy days!" she said. But there was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +no repining about it, no sense that it was +better to forget old joys—rather a quiet +pleasure that so much that was beautiful +and tender was laid away in memory, and +could neither be altered nor taken away. +And one does not find in old people, whose +memory of the past is clear, while their +recollection of the present grows dim, any +sense of pathos, but rather of pride and +eagerness about recalling the minutest +details of the vanished days. To feel the +pathos of the past, as Tennyson expressed +it in that wonderful and moving lyric, +<i>Tears, idle tears</i>, is much more characteristic +of youth. There is rather in serene old age +a sense of pleasant triumph at having safely +weathered the storms of fate, and left the +tragedies of life behind. The aged would +not as a rule live life over again, if they +could. They are not disappointed in life. +They have had, on the whole, what they +hoped and desired. As Goethe said, in that +deep and large maxim, "Of that which a +man desires in his youth, he shall have +enough in his age." That is one of the +most singular things in life—at least this is +my experience—how the things which one +really desired, not the things which one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +ought to have desired, are showered upon +one. I have been amazed and even stupefied +sometimes to consider how my own little +petty, foolish, whimsical desires have been +faithfully and literally granted me. We most +of us do really translate into fact what we +desire, and as a rule we only fail to get the +things which we have not desired enough. +It is true indeed that we often find that +what we desired was not worth getting; +and we ought to be more afraid of our +desires, not because we shall not get them, +but because we shall almost certainly have +them fulfilled. For myself I can only think +with shame how closely my present conditions +do resemble my young desires, in +all their petty range, their trivial particularity. +I suppose I have unconsciously +pursued them, chosen them, grasped at +them; and the shame of it is that if I had +desired better things, I should assuredly +have been given them. I see, or seem to +see, the same thing in the lives of many that +I know. What a man sows he shall reap! +That is taken generally to mean that if he +sows pleasure, he shall reap disaster; but it +has a much truer and more terrible meaning +than that—namely, that if a man sows the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +seed of small, trivial, foolish joys, the grain +that he reaps is small, trivial, and foolish too. +God is indeed in many ways an indulgent +Father, like the Father in the parable of the +Prodigal Son; and the best rebuke that He +gives, if we have the wisdom to see it, is +that He so often does hand us, with a smile, +the very thing we have desired. And thus +it is well to pray that He should put into +our minds good desires, and that we should +use our wills to keep ourselves from dwelling +too much upon small and pitiful desires, +for the fear is that they will be abundantly +gratified.</p> + +<p>And thus when the time comes for recollection, +it is a very wonderful thing to look +back over life, and see how eagerly gracious +God has been to us. He knows very well +that we cannot learn the paltry value of the +things we desire, if they are withheld from +us, but only if they are granted to us; and +thus we have no reason to doubt His fatherly +intention, because He does so much dispose +life to please us. And we need not take it +for granted that He will lead us by harsh +and provocative discipline, though when He +grants our desire, He sometimes sends leanness +withal into our soul. Yet one of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +things that strikes one most forcibly, as one +grows older and learns something of the +secrets of other lives, is how lightly and +serenely men and women do often bear what +might seem to be intolerable calamities. +How universal an experience it is to find +that when the expected calamity does come, +it is an easier affair than we thought it, so +that we say under the blow, "Is that really +all?" In that wonderful book, the Diary of +Sir Walter Scott, when his bankruptcy fell +upon him, and all the schemes and designs +that he had been carrying out, with the +joyful zest of a child—his toy-castle, his +feudal circle, his wide estate—were suddenly +suspended, he wrote with an almost amused +surprise that he found how little he really +cared, and that the people who spoke tenderly +and sympathetically to him, as though he +must be reeling under the catastrophe, would +themselves be amazed to find that he found +himself as cheerful and undaunted as ever. +Life is apt, for all vivid people, to be a +species of high-hearted game: it is such fun +to play it as eagerly as one can, and to +persuade oneself that one really cares about +the applause, the money, the fine house, the +comforts, the deference, the convenience of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +it all. And yet, if there is anything noble +in a man or woman, when the game is +suddenly interrupted and the toys swept +aside, they find that there is something exciting +and stimulating in having to do without, +in adapting themselves with zest to the +new conditions. It was a good game enough, +but the new game is better! The failure is +to take it all heavily and seriously, to be +solemn about it; for then failure is disconcerting +indeed. But if one is interested in +experience, but yet has the vitality to see +how detached one really is from material +things, how little they really affect us, then +the change is almost grateful. It is the +spirit of the game, the activity, the energy, +that delights us, not the particular toy. And +so the looking back on life ought never to +be a mournful thing; it ought to be light-hearted, +high-spirited, amusing. The spirit +survives, and there is yet much experience +ahead of us. We waste our sense of pathos +very strangely over inanimate things. We +get to feel about the things that surround +us, our houses, our very chairs and tables, +as if they were somehow things that were +actually attached to us. We feel, when the +old house that has belonged to our family<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +passes into other hands, as though the rooms +resented the intruders; as though our sofas +and cabinets could not be at ease in other +hands, as if they would almost prefer shabby +and dusty inaction in our own lumber-room, +to cheerful use in some other circle. This +is a delusion of which we must make haste +to get rid. It is the weakest sort of sentiment, +and yet it is treasured by many +natures as if it were something refined and +noble. To yield to it, is to fetter our life +with self-imposed and fantastic chains. +There is no sort of reason why we should +not love to live among familiar things; but +to break our hearts over the loss of them is +a real debasing of ourselves. We must +learn to use the things of life very lightly +and detachedly; and to entrench ourselves +in trivial associations is simply to court +dreariness and to fall into a stupor of the +spirit.</p> + +<p>And thus even our old memories must be +treated with the same lightness and unaffectedness. +We must do all we can to +forget grief and disaster. We must not +consecrate a shrine to sorrow and make the +votive altar, as Dido did, into a <i>causa doloris</i>, +an excuse for lamentation. We must not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +think it an honourable and chivalrous and +noble thing to spend our time in broken-hearted +solemnity in the vaults of perished +joys. Or if we do it, we must frankly confess +it to be a weakness and a languor of +spirit, not believe it to be a thing which +others ought to admire and respect. It was +one of the base sentimentalities of the last +century, a real sign of the decadence of life, +that people felt it to be a fine thing to +cherish grief, and to live resolutely with +sighs and tears. The helpless widow of +nineteenth-century fiction, shrouded in crape, +and bursting into tears at the smallest sign +of gaiety, was a wholly unlovely, affected, +dramatic affair. And one of the surest signs +of our present vitality is that this attitude +has become not only unusual, but frankly +absurd and unfashionable. There is an +intense and gallant pathos about a nature +broken by sorrow, making desperate attempts +to be cheerful and active, and not to cast a +shadow of grief upon others. There is no +pathos at all in the sight of a person bent +on emphasising his or her grief, on using it +to make others uncomfortable, on extracting +a recognition of its loyalty and fidelity and +emotional fervour.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> + +<p>Of course there are some memories and +experiences that must grave a deep and +terrible mark upon the heart, the shock of +which has been so severe, that the current +of life must necessarily be altered by them. +But even then it is better as far as possible +to forget them and to put them away from +us—at all events, not to indulge them or +dwell in them. To yield is simply to delay +the pilgrimage, to fall exhausted in some +unhappy arbour by the road. The road has +to be travelled, every inch of it, and it is +better to struggle on in feebleness than to +collapse in despair.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Charles Kingsley, in her widowhood, +once said to a friend, "Whenever I find +myself thinking too much about Charles, I +simply force myself to read the most exciting +novel I can. He is there, he is waiting +for me; and hearts were made to love with, +not to break."</p> + +<p>And as the years go on, even the most +terrible memories grow to have the grace +and beauty which nature lavishes on all the +relics of extinct forces and spent agonies. +They become like the old grey broken castle, +with the grasses on its ledges, and the crows +nesting in its parapets, rising blind and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> +dumb on its green mound, with the hamlet +at its feet; or like the craggy islet, severed +by the raging sea from the towering headland, +where the samphire sprouts in the rift, +and the sea-birds roost, at whose foot the +surges lap, and over whose head the landward +wind blows swiftly all the day.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a>XIII</h2> + +<h2>RETROSPECT</h2> + + +<p>But one must not forget that after all +memory has another side, too often a rueful +side, and that it often seems to turn sour +and poisonous in the sharp decline of fading +life; and this ought not to be. I would +like to describe a little experience of my own +which came to me as a surprise, but showed +me clearly enough what memory can be and +what it rightly is, if it is to feed the spirit +at all.</p> + +<p>Not very long ago I visited Lincoln, +where my father was Canon and Chancellor +from 1872 to 1877. I had only been there +once since then, and that was twenty-four +years ago. When we lived there I was a +small Eton boy, so that it was always holiday +time there, and a place which recalls nothing +but school holidays has perhaps an unfair<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +advantage. Moreover it was a period quite +unaccompanied, in our family life, by any +sort of trouble, illness, or calamity. The +Chancery of Lincoln is connected in my +mind with no tragic or even sorrowful event +whatever, and suggests no painful reminiscence. +How many people, I wonder, can +say that of any home that has sheltered +them for so long?</p> + +<p>Of course Lincoln itself, quite apart from +any memories or associations, is a place to +kindle much emotion. It was a fine sunny +day there, and the colour of the whole place +was amazing—the rich warm hue of the +stone of which the Minster is built, which +takes on a fine ochre-brown tinge where it is +weathered, gives it a look of homely comfort, +apart from the matchless dignity of clustered +transept and soaring towers. Then the +glowing and mellow brick of Lincoln, its +scarlet roof tiles—what could be more satisfying +for instance than the dash of vivid red +in the tiling of the old Palace as you see it +on the slope among its gardens from the opposite +upland?—its smoke-blackened façades, +the abundance, all over the hill, of old +embowered gardens, full of trees and thickets +and greenery, its grassy spaces, its creeper-clad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +houses; the whole effect is one of +extraordinary richness of hue, of age vividly +exuberant, splendidly adorned.</p> + +<p>I wandered transported about Cathedral +and close, and became aware then of how +strangely unadventurous in the matter of +exploration one had always been as a boy. +It was true that we children had scampered +with my father's master-key from end to end +of the Cathedral—wet mornings used constantly +to be spent there—so that I know +every staircase, gallery, clerestory, parapet, +triforium, and roof-vault of the building—but +I found in the close itself many houses, alleys, +little streets, which I had actually never seen, +or even suspected their existence.</p> + +<p>It was all full of little ghosts, and a tiny +vignette shaped itself in memory at every +corner, of some passing figure—a good-natured +Canon, a youthful friend, Levite or +Nethinim, or some deadly enemy, the son +perhaps of some old-established denizen of +the close, with whom for some unknown +reason the Chancery schoolroom proclaimed +an inflexible feud.</p> + +<p>But when I came to see the old house +itself—so little changed, so distinctly recollected—then +I was indeed amazed at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +torrent of little happy fragrant memories +which seemed to pour from every doorway +and window—the games, the meals, the +plays, the literary projects, the readings, the +telling of stories, the endless, pointless, +enchanting wanderings with some breathless +object in view, forgotten or transformed +before it was ever attained or executed, of +which children alone hold the secret.</p> + +<p>Best of all do I recollect long summer +afternoons spent in the great secluded high-walled +garden at the back, with its orchard, +its mound covered with thickets, and the +old tower of the city wall, which made a +noble fortress in games of prowess or adventure. +I can see the figure of my father +in his cassock, holding a little book, walking +up and down among the gooseberry-beds +half the morning, as he developed one of his +unwritten sermons for the Minster on the +following day.</p> + +<p>I do not remember that very affectionate +relations existed between us children; it was +a society, based on good-humoured tolerance +and a certain democratic respect for liberty, +that nursery group; it had its cliques, its +sections, its political emphasis, its diplomacies; +but it was cordial rather than emotional,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +and bound together by common interests +rather than by mutual devotion.</p> + +<p>This, for instance, was one of the ludicrous +incidents which came back to me. There +was an odd little mediæval room on the +ground-floor, given up as a sort of study, in +the school sense, to my elder brother and +myself. My younger brother, aged almost +eight, to show his power, I suppose, or to +protest against some probably quite real +grievance or tangible indignity, came there +secretly one morning in our absence, took a +shovelful of red-hot coals from the fire, laid +them on the hearth-rug, and departed. The +conflagration was discovered in time, the +author of the crime detected, and even the +most tolerant of supporters of nursery +anarchy could find nothing to criticise or +condemn in the punishment justly meted out +to the offender.</p> + +<p>But here was the extraordinary part of +it all. I am myself somewhat afraid of +emotional retrospect, which seems to me as +a rule to have a peculiarly pungent and +unbearable smart about it. I do not as a +rule like revisiting places which I have loved +and where I have been happy; it is simply +incurring quite unnecessary pain, and quite<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +fruitless pain, deliberately to unearth buried +memories of happiness.</p> + +<p>Now at Lincoln the other day I found, to +my wonder and relief, that there was not +the least touch of regret, no sense of sorrow +or loss in the air. I did not want it all back +again, nor would I have lived through it +again, even if I could have done so. The +thought of returning to it seemed puerile; +it was charming, delightful, all full of golden +prospects and sunny mornings, but an experience +which had yielded up its sweetness +as a summer cloud yields its cooling rain, +and passes over. Yet it was all a perfectly +true, real, and actual part of my life, something +of which I could never lose hold and +for which I could always be frankly grateful. +Life has been by no means a scene of +untroubled happiness since then; but there +came to me that day, walking along the +fragrant garden-paths, very clearly and distinctly, +the knowledge that one would not +wish one's life to have been untroubled! +Halcyon calm, heedless innocence, childish +joy, was not after all the point—pretty things +enough, but only as a change and a relief, or +perhaps rather as a prelude to more serious +business! I was, as a boy, afraid of life,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +hated its noise and scent, suspected it of +cruelty and coarseness, wanted to keep it at +arm's length. I feel very differently about +life now; it's a boisterous business enough, +but does not molest one unduly; and a very +little courage goes a long way in dealing +with it!</p> + +<p>True, on looking back, the evolution was +dim and obscure; there seemed many blind +alleys and passages, many unnecessary winds +and turns in the road; but for all that the +trend was clear enough, at all events, to +show that there was some great and not +unkindly conspiracy about me and my concerns, +involving every one else's concerns as +well, some good-humoured mystery, with a +dash of shadow and sorrow across it perhaps, +which would be soon cleared up; some secret +withheld as from a child, the very withholder +of which seems to struggle with good-tempered +laughter, partly at one's dulness in +not being able to guess, partly at the pleasure +in store.</p> + +<p>I think it is our impatience, our claim to +have everything questionable made instantly +and perfectly plain to us, which does the +mischief—that, and the imagination which +never can forecast any relief or surcease of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +pain, and pays no heed whatever to the +astounding brevity, the unutterable rapidity +of human life.</p> + +<p>So, as I walked in the old garden, I simply +rejoiced that I had a share in the place which +could not be gainsaid; and that, even if the +high towers themselves, with their melodious +bells, should crumble into dust, I still +had my dear memory of it all: the old life, +the old voices, looks, embraces, came back +in little glimpses; yet it was far away, long +past, and I did not wish it back; the present +seemed a perfectly natural and beautiful +sequence, and that past life an old sweet +chapter of some happy book, which needs +no rewriting.</p> + +<p>So I looked back in joy and tenderness—and +even with a sort of compassion; the child +whom I saw sauntering along the grass paths +of the garden, shaking the globed rain out +of the poppy's head, gathering the waxen +apples from the orchard grass, he was myself +in very truth—there was no doubting that; +I hardly felt different. But I had gained +something which he had not got, some opening +of eye and heart; and he had yet to bear, +to experience, to pass through, the days +which I had done with, and which, in spite<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +of their much sweetness, had yet a bitterness, +as of a healing drug, underneath them, and +which I did not wish to taste again. No, I +desired no renewal of old things, only the +power of interpreting the things that were +new, and through which even now one was +passing swiftly and carelessly, as the boy +ran among the fruit-trees of the garden; but +it was not the golden fragrant husk of happiness +that one wanted, but the seed hidden +within it—experience was made sweet just +that one might be tempted to live! Yet the +end of it all was not the pleasure or the joy +that came and passed, the gaiety, even the +innocence of childhood, but something stern +and strong, which hardly showed at all at +first, but at last seemed like the slow work +of the graver of gems brushing away the +glittering crystalline dust from the intaglio.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a>XIV</h2> + +<h2>HUMOUR</h2> + + +<p>The Castle of <i>Joyous Gard</i> was always full +of laughter; not the wild giggling, I think, +of reckless people, which the writer of Proverbs +said was like the crackling of thorns +under a pot; that is a wearisome and even +an ugly thing, because it does not mean that +people are honestly amused, but have some +basely exciting thing in their minds. +Laughter must be light-hearted, not light-minded. +Still less was it the dismal tittering +of ill-natured people over mean gossip, +which is another of the ugly sounds of +life. No, I think it was rather the laughter +of cheerful people, glad to be amused, who +hardly knew that they were laughing; that +is a wholesome exercise enough. It was the +laughter of men and women, with heavy +enough business behind them and before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> +them, but yet able in leisurely hours to find +life full of merriment—the voice of joy and +health! And I am sure too that it was not +the guarded condescending laughter of saints +who do not want to be out of sympathy +with their neighbours, and laugh as precisely +and punctually as they might respond +to a liturgy, if they discover that they are +meant to be amused!</p> + +<p>Humour is one of the characteristics of +<i>Joyous Gard</i>, not humour resolutely cultivated, +but the humour which comes from +a sane and healthy sense of proportion; and +is a sign of light-heartedness rather than a +thing aimed at; a thing which flows naturally +into the easy spaces of life, because it finds +the oddities of life, the peculiarities of +people, the incongruities of thought and +speech, both charming and delightful.</p> + +<p>It is a great misfortune that so many +people think it a mark of saintliness to be +easily shocked, whereas the greatest saints +of all are the people who are never shocked; +they may be distressed, they may wish +things different; but to be shocked is often +nothing but a mark of vanity, a self-conscious +desire that others should know how high +one's standard, how sensitive one's conscience<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +is. I do not of course mean that one is +bound to join in laughter, however coarse +a jest may be; but the best-bred and finest-tempered +people steer past such moments +with a delicate tact; contrive to show that +an ugly jest is not so much a thing to be +disapproved of and rebuked, as a sign that +the jester is not recognising the rights of his +company, and outstepping the laws of civility +and decency.</p> + +<p>It is a very difficult thing to say what +humour is, and probably it is a thing that is +not worth trying to define. It resides in the +incongruity of speech and behaviour with +the surrounding circumstances.</p> + +<p>I remember once seeing two tramps disputing +by the roadside, with the gravity +which is given to human beings by being +slightly overcome with drink. I suppose +that one ought not to be amused by the +effects of drunkenness, but after all one does +not wish people to be drunk that one may be +amused. The two tramps in question were +ragged and infinitely disreputable. Just as +I came up, the more tattered of the two +flung his hat on the ground, with a lofty +gesture like that of a king abdicating, and +said, "I'll go no further with you!" The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +other said, "Why do you say that? Why +will you go no further with me?" The first +replied, "No, I'll go no further with you!" +The other said, "I must know why you +will go no further with me—you must tell +me that!" The first replied, with great +dignity, "Well, I will tell you that! It +lowers my self-respect to be seen with a +man like you!"</p> + +<p>That is the sort of incongruity I mean. +The tragic solemnity of a man who might +have changed clothes with the nearest +scarecrow without a perceptible difference, +and whose life was evidently not ordered by +any excessive self-respect, falling back on +the dignity of human nature in order to be +rid of a companion as disreputable as himself, +is what makes the scene so grotesque, +and yet in a sense so impressive, because it +shows a lurking standard of conduct which +no pitiableness of degradation could obliterate. +I think that is a good illustration of +what I mean by humour, because in the +presence of such a scene it is possible to +have three perfectly distinct emotions. One +may be sorry with all one's heart that men +should fall to such conditions, and feel that +it is a stigma on our social machinery that it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +should be so. Those two melancholy figures +were a sad blot upon the wholesome countryside! +Yet one may also discern a hope in +the mere possibility of framing an ideal under +such discouraging circumstances, which will +be, I have no sort of doubt, a seed of good in +the upward progress of the poor soul which +grasped it; because indeed I have no doubt +that the miserable creature <i>is</i> on an upward +path, and that even if there is no prospect for +him in this life of anything but a dismal stumbling +down into disease and want, yet I do +not in the least believe that that is the end +of his horizon or his pilgrimage; and thirdly, +one may be genuinely and not in the least +evilly amused at the contrast between the +disreputable squalor of the scene and the +lofty claim advanced. The three emotions +are not at all inconsistent. The pessimistic +moralist might say that it was all +very shocking, the optimistic moralist might +say that it was hopeful, the unreflective +humourist might simply be transported +by the absurdity; yet not to be amused at +such a scene would appear to me to be +both dull and priggish. It seems to me to +be a false solemnity to be shocked at any +lapses from perfection; a man might as well<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +be shocked at the existence of a poisonous +snake or a ravening tiger. One must "see +life steadily and see it whole," and though +we may and must hope that we shall struggle +upwards out of the mess, we may still be +amused at the dolorous figures we cut in the +mire.</p> + +<p>I was once in the company of a grave, +decorous, and well-dressed person who fell +helplessly into a stream off a stepping-stone. +I had no wish that he should fall, and I was +perfectly conscious of intense sympathy with +his discomfort; but I found the scene quite +inexpressibly diverting, and I still simmer +with laughter at the recollection of the disappearance +of the trim figure, and his furious +emergence, like an oozy water-god, from the +pool. It is not in the least an ill-natured +laughter. I did not desire the catastrophe, +and I would have prevented it if I could; +but it was dreadfully funny for all that; +and if a similar thing had happened to myself, +I should not resent the enjoyment of +the scene by a spectator, so long as I was +helped and sympathised with, and the merriment +decently repressed before me.</p> + +<p>I think that what is called practical joking, +which aims at deliberately producing such<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +situations, is a wholly detestable thing. But +it is one thing to sacrifice another person's +comfort to one's laughter, and quite another +to be amused at what a fire-insurance policy +calls the act of God.</p> + +<p>And I am very sure of this, that the sane, +healthy, well-balanced nature must have a +fund of wholesome laughter in him, and +that so far from trying to repress a sense of +humour, as an unkind, unworthy, inhuman +thing, there is no capacity of human nature +which makes life so frank and pleasant a +business. There are no companions so +delightful as the people for whom one +treasures up jests and reminiscences, because +one is sure that they will respond to them +and enjoy them; and indeed I have found +that the power of being irresponsibly amused +has come to my aid in the middle of really +tragic and awful circumstances, and has +relieved the strain more than anything else +could have done.</p> + +<p>I do not say that humour is a thing to be +endlessly indulged and sought after; but to +be genuinely amused is a sign of courage +and amiability, and a sign too that a man +is not self-conscious and self-absorbed. It +ought not to be a settled pre-occupation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +Nothing is more wearisome than the +habitual jester, because that signifies that +a man is careless and unobservant of the +moods of others. But it is a thing which +should be generously and freely mingled +with life; and the more sides that a man +can see to any situation, the more rich and +full his nature is sure to be.</p> + +<p>After all, our power of taking a light-hearted +view of life is proportional to our +interest in it, our belief in it, our hopes of it. +Of course, if we conclude from our little +piece of remembered experience, that life is a +woeful thing, we shall be apt to do as the old +poets thought the nightingale did, to lean our +breast against a thorn, that we may suffer +the pain which we propose to utter in liquid +notes. But that seems to me a false sentiment +and an artificial mode of life, to luxuriate +in sorrow; even that is better than being +crushed by it; but we may be sure that if +we wilfully allow ourselves to be one-sided, +it is a delaying of our progress. All +experience comes to us that we may not be +one-sided; and if we learn to weep with +those that weep, we must remember that it +is no less our business to rejoice with those +that rejoice. We are helped beyond measure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +by those who can tell us and convince us, +as poets can, that there is something beautiful +in sorrow and loss and severed ties; by +those who show us the splendour of courage +and patience and endurance; but the true +faith is to believe that the end is joy; and +we therefore owe perhaps the largest debt +of all to those who encourage us to enjoy, +to laugh, to smile, to be amused.</p> + +<p>And so we must not retire into our fortress +simply for lonely visions, sweet contemplation, +gentle imagination; there are rooms in +our castle fit for that, the little book-lined +cell, facing the sunset, the high parlour, +where the gay, brisk music comes tripping +down from the minstrels' gallery, the dim +chapel for prayer, and the chamber called +<i>Peace</i>—where the pilgrim slept till break of +day, "and then he awoke and sang"; but +there is also the well-lighted hall, with +cheerful company coming and going; where +we must put our secluded, wistful, sorrowful +thought aside, and mingle briskly with +the pleasant throng, not steeling ourselves +to mirth and movement, but simply glad and +grateful to be there.</p> + +<p>It was while I was writing these pages +that a friend told me that he had recently<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +met a man, a merchant, I think, who did me +the honour to discuss my writings at a +party and to pronounce an opinion upon +them. He said that I wrote many things +which I did not believe, and then stood +aside, and was amused in a humorous mood +to see that other people believed them. It +would be absurd to be, or even to feel, +indignant at such a travesty of my purpose as +this, and indeed I think that one is never +very indignant at misrepresentation unless +one's mind accuses itself of its being true or +partially true.</p> + +<p>It is indeed true that I have said things +about which I have since changed my mind, +as indeed I hope I shall continue to change +it, and as swiftly as possible, if I see that +the former opinions are not justified. To +be thus criticised is, I think, the perfectly +natural penalty of having tried to be serious +without being also solemn; there are many +people, and many of them very worthy people, +like our friend the merchant, who cannot +believe one is in earnest if one is not also +heavy-handed. Earnestness is mixed up in +their minds with bawling and sweating; and +indeed it is quite true that most people who +are willing to bawl and sweat in public, feel<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +earnestly about the subjects to which they +thus address themselves. But I do not see +that earnestness is in the least incompatible +with lightness of touch and even with +humour, though I have sometimes been +accused of displaying none. Socrates was +in earnest about his ideas, but the penalty +he paid for treating them lightly was that +he was put to death for being so sceptical. +I should not at all like the idea of being put +to death for my ideas; but I am wholly in +earnest about them, and have never consciously +said anything in which I did not +believe.</p> + +<p>But I will go one step further and say +that I think that many earnest men do great +harm to the causes they advocate, because +they treat ideas so heavily, and divest them +of their charm. One of the reasons why +virtue and goodness are not more attractive +is because they get into the hands of +people without lightness or humour, and +even without courtesy; and thus the pursuit +of virtue seems not only to the young, +but to many older people, to be a boring +occupation, and to be conducted in an +atmosphere heavy with disapproval, with +dreariness and dulness and tiresomeness<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +hemming the neophyte in, like fat bulls of +Bashan. It is because I should like to +rescue goodness, which is the best thing +in the world, next to love, from these +growing influences, that I have written as I +have done; but there is no lurking cynicism +in my books at all, and the worst thing I +can accuse myself of is a sense of humour, +perhaps whimsical and childish, which seems +to me to make a pleasant and refreshing +companion, as one passes on pilgrimage in +search of what I believe to be very high and +heavenly things indeed.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="XV" id="XV"></a>XV</h2> + +<h2>VISIONS</h2> + + +<p>I used as a child to pore over the Apocalypse, +which I thought by far the most +beautiful and absorbing of all the books of +the Bible; it seemed full of rich and dim +pictures, things which I could not interpret +and did not wish to interpret, the shining +of clear gem-like walls, lonely riders, +amazing monsters, sealed books, all of which +took perfectly definite shape in the childish +imagination. The consequence is that I can +no more criticise it than I could criticise old +tapestries or pictures familiar from infancy. +They are there, just so, and any difference +of form is inconceivable.</p> + +<p>In one point, however, the strange visions +have come to hold for me an increased +grandeur; I used to think of much of it +as a sort of dramatic performance, self-consciously<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +enacted for the benefit of the +spectator; but now I think of it as an awful +and spontaneous energy of spiritual life +going on, of which the prophet was enabled +to catch a glimpse. Those 'voices crying +day and night' 'the new song that was sung +before the throne,' the cry of "Come and +see"—these were but part of a vast and +urgent business, which the prophet was +allowed to overhear. It is not a silent place, +that highest heaven, of indolence and placid +peace, but a scene of fierce activity and the +clamour of mighty voices.</p> + +<p>And it is the same too of another strange +scene—the Transfiguration; not an impressive +spectacle arranged for the apostles, +but a peep into the awful background behind +life. Let me use a simple parable: imagine +a man who had a friend whom he greatly +admired and loved, and suppose him to be +talking with his friend, who suddenly excuses +himself on the plea of an engagement and +goes out; and the other follows him, out +of curiosity, and sees him meet another man +and talk intently with him, not deferentially +or humbly, but as a man talks with an equal. +And then drawing nearer he might suddenly +see that the man his friend has gone out to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +meet, and with whom he is talking so intently, +is some high minister of State, or +even the King himself!</p> + +<p>That is a simple comparison, to make clear +what the apostles might have felt. They +had gone into the mountain expecting to +hear their Master speak quietly to them or +betake himself to silent prayer; and then +they find him robed in light and holding +converse with the spirits of the air, telling +his plans, so to speak, to two great prophets +of the ancient world.</p> + +<p>If this had been but a pageant enacted for +their benefit to dazzle and bewilder them, +it would have been a poor and self-conscious +affair; but it becomes a scene of portentous +mystery, if one thinks of them as being permitted +to have a glimpse of the high, urgent, +and terrifying things that were going on all +the time in the unseen background of the +Saviour's mind. The essence of the greatness +of the scene is that it was <i>overheard</i>. +And thus I think that wonder and beauty, +those two mighty forces, take on a very +different value for us when we can come to +realise that they are small hints given us, +tiny glimpses conceded to us, of some very +great and mysterious thing that is pressingly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +and speedily proceeding, every day and +every hour, in the vast background of life; +and we ought to realise that it is not only +human life as we see it which is the active, +busy, forceful thing; that the world with +all its noisy cities, its movements and its +bustle, is not a burning point hung in darkness +and silence, but that it is just a little +fretful affair with infinitely larger, louder, +fiercer, stronger powers, working, moving, +pressing onwards, thundering in the background; +and that the huge forces, laws, +activities, behind the world, are not perceived +by us any more than we perceive +the vast motion of great winds, except in +so far as we see the face of the waters +rippled by them, or the trees bowed all one +way in their passage.</p> + +<p>It is very easy to be so taken up with the +little absorbing businesses, the froth and +ripple of life, that we forget what great and +secret influences they must be that cause +them; we must not forget that we are only +like children playing in the nursery of a +palace, while in the Council-room beneath +us a debate may be going on which is to +affect the lives and happiness of thousands +of households.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p> + +<p>And therefore the more that we make up +our little beliefs and ideas, as a man folds +up a little packet of food which he is to eat +on a journey, and think in so doing that we +have got a satisfactory explanation of all our +aims and problems, the more utterly we are +failing to take in the significance of what is +happening. We must never allow ourselves +to make up our minds, and to get our theories +comfortably settled, because then experience +is at an end for us, and we shall see no more +than we expect to see. We ought rather +to be amazed and astonished, day by day, +at all the wonderful and beautiful things we +encounter, the marvellous hints of loveliness +which we see in faces, woods, hills, gardens, +all showing some tremendous force at work, +often thwarted, often spoiled, but still working, +with an infinity of tender patience, to +make the world exquisite and fine. There +are ugly, coarse, disgusting things at work +too—we cannot help seeing that; but even +many of them seem to be destroying, in +corruption and evil odour, something that +ought not to be there, and striving to be +clean and pure again.</p> + +<p>I often wonder whose was the mind that +conceived the visions of the Apocalypse;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +if we can trust tradition, it was a confined +and exiled Christian in a lonely island, +whose spirit reached out beyond the little +crags and the beating seas of his prison, and +in the seeming silent heaven detected the +gathering of monsters, the war of relentless +forces—and beyond it all the radiant energies +of saints, glad to be together and unanimous, +in a place where light and beauty at last +could reign triumphant.</p> + +<p>I know no literature more ineffably dreary +than the parcelling out of these wild and +glorious visions, the attaching of them to +this and that petty human fulfilment. That +is not the secret of the Apocalypse! It is +rather as a painter may draw a picture of +two lovers sitting together at evening in a +latticed chamber, holding each other's hands, +gazing in each other's eyes. He is not +thinking of particular persons in an actual +house; it is rather a hint of love making +itself manifest, recognising itself to be met +with an answering rapture. And what I +think that the prophet meant was rather to +show that we must not be deceived by cares +and anxieties and daily business; but that +behind the little simmering of the world was +a tumult of vast forces, voices crying and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +answering, thunder, fire, infinite music. It is +all a command to recognise unseen greatness, +to take every least experience we can, and +crush from it all its savour; not to be afraid +of the great emotions of the world, love and +sorrow and loss; but only to be afraid of +what is petty and sordid and mean. And +then perhaps, as in that other vision, we +may ascend once into a mountain, and there +in weariness and drowsiness, dumbly bewildered +by the night and the cold and the +discomforts of the unkindly air, life may be +for a moment transfigured into a radiant +figure, still familiar though so glorified; +and we may see it for once touch hands and +exchange words with old and wise spirits; +and all this not only to excite us and bewilder +us, but so that by the drawing of the +veil aside, we may see for a moment that +there is some high and splendid secret, some +celestial business proceeding with solemn +patience and strange momentousness, a rite +which if we cannot share, we may at least +know is there, and waiting for us, the moment +that we are strong enough to take our part!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="XVI" id="XVI"></a>XVI</h2> + +<h2>THOUGHT</h2> + + +<p>A friend of mine had once a strange dream; +he seemed to himself to be walking in a day +of high summer on a grassy moorland leading +up to some fantastically piled granite crags. +He made his way slowly thither; it was terribly +hot there among the sun-warmed rocks, +and he found a little natural cave, among +the great boulders, fringed with fern. There +he sate for a long time while the sun passed +over, and a little breeze came wandering up +the moor. Opposite him as he sate was the +face of a great pile of rocks, and while his +eye dwelt upon it it suddenly began to wink +and glisten with little moving points, dots +so minute that he could hardly distinguish +them. Suddenly, as if at a signal, the little +points dropped from the rock, and the whole +surface seemed alive with gossamer threads,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +as if a silken, silvery curtain had been let +down; presently the little dots reached the +grass and began to crawl over it; and then +he saw that each of them was attached to +one of the fine threads; and he thought that +they were a colony of minute spiders, living +on the face of the rocks. He got up to see +this wonder close at hand, but the moment +he moved, the whole curtain was drawn up +with incredible swiftness, as if the threads +were highly elastic; and when he reached +the rock, it was as hard and solid as before, +nor could he discover any sign of the little +creatures. "Ah," he said to himself in the +dream, "that is the meaning of the <i>living</i> +rock!" and he became aware, he thought, +that all rocks and stones on the surface of +the earth must be thus endowed with life, +and that the rocks were, so to speak, but +the shell that contained these innumerable +little creatures, incredibly minute, living, +silken threads, with a small head, like boring +worms, inhabiting burrows which went far +into the heart of the granite, and each with +a strong retractile power.</p> + +<p>I told this dream to a geologist the other +day, who laughed, "An ingenious idea," he +said, "and there may even be something in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +it! It is not by any means certain that +stones do not have a certain obscure life of +their own; I have sometimes thought that +their marvellous cohesion may be a sign of +life, and that if life were withdrawn, a mountain +might in a moment become a heap of +sliding sand."</p> + +<p>My friend said that the dream made such +an impression upon him that for a time he +found it hard to believe that stones and +rocks had not this strange and secret life +lurking in their recesses; and indeed it has +since stood to me as a symbol of life, haunting +and penetrating all the very hardest +and driest things. It seems to me that just +as there are almost certainly more colours +than our eyes can perceive, and sounds +either too acute or too deliberate for our +ears to hear, so the domain of life may be +much further extended in the earth, the air, +the waters, than we can tangibly detect.</p> + +<p>It seems too to show me that it is our +business to try ceaselessly to discover the +secret life of thought in the world; not to +conclude that there is no vitality in thought +unless we can ourselves at once perceive it. +This is particularly the case with books. +Sometimes, in our College Library, I take<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +down an old folio from the shelves, and as +I turn the crackling, stained, irregular pages—it +may be a volume of controversial divinity +or outworn philosophy—it seems impossible +to imagine that it can ever have been woven +out of the live brain of man, or that any one +can ever have been found to follow those +old, vehement, insecure arguments, starting +from unproved data, and leading to erroneous +and fanciful conclusions. The whole thing +seems so faded, so dreary, so remote from +reality, that one cannot even dimly imagine +the frame of mind which originated it, and +still less the mood which fed upon such +things.</p> + +<p>Yet I very much doubt if the aims, ideas, +hopes of man, have altered very much since +the time of the earliest records. When one +comes to realise that geologists reckon a +period of thirty million years at least, while +the Triassic rocks, that is the lowest stratum +that shows signs of life, were being laid +down; and that all recorded history is but +an infinitesimal drop in the ocean of unrecorded +time, one sees at least that the +force behind the world, by whatever name +we call it, is a force that cannot by any +means be hurried, but that it works with a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +leisureliness which we with our brief and +hasty span of life cannot really in any sense +conceive. Still it seems to have a plan! +Those strange horned, humped, armoured +beasts of prehistoric rocks are all bewilderingly +like ourselves so far as physical construction +goes; they had heart, brain, eyes, +lungs, legs, a similarly planned skeleton; it +seems as if the creative spirit was working +by a well-conceived pattern, was trying to +make a very definite kind of thing; there is +not by any means an infinite variety, when +one considers the sort of creatures that even +a man could devise and invent, if he tried.</p> + +<p>There is the same sort of continuity and +unity in thought The preoccupations of +man are the same in all ages—to provide +for his material needs, and to speculate what +can possibly happen to his spirit, when the +body, broken by accident or disease or +decay, can no longer contain his soul. The +best thought of man has always been +centred on trying to devise some sort of +future hope which could encourage him to +live eagerly, to endure patiently, to act +rightly. As science opens her vast volume +before us, we naturally become more and +more impatient of the hasty guesses of man,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +in religion and philosophy, to define what +we cannot yet know; but we ought to be +very tender of the old passionate beliefs, +the intense desire to credit noble and lofty +spirits, such as Buddha and Mahomet, +with some source of divinely given knowledge. +Yet of course there is an inevitable +sadness when we find the old certainties +dissolving in mist; and we must be very +careful to substitute for them, if they slip +from our grasp, some sort of principle which +will give us freshness and courage. To me, +I confess, the tiny certainties of science are +far more inspiring than the most ardent +reveries of imaginative men. The knowledge +that there is in the world an inflexible order, +and that we shall see what we shall see, and +not what we would like to believe, is infinitely +refreshing and sustaining. I feel +that I am journeying onwards into what is +unknown to me, but into something which +is inevitably there, and not to be altered by +my own hopes and fancies. It is like taking +a voyage, the pleasure of which is that the +sights in store are unexpected and novel; +for a voyage would be a very poor thing if +we knew exactly what lay ahead, and poorer +still if we could determine beforehand what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +we meant to see, and could only behold the +pictures of our own imaginations. That is +the charm and the use of experience, that it +is not at all what we expect or hope. It is +in some ways sadder and darker; but it is in +most ways far more rich and wonderful and +radiant than we had dreamed.</p> + +<p>What I grow impatient of are the censures +of rigid people, who desire to limit the +hopes and possibilities of others by the little +foot-rule which they have made for themselves. +That is a very petty and even a +very wicked thing to do, that old persecuting +instinct which says, "I will make it as unpleasant +for you as I can, if you will not +consent at all events to pretend to believe +what I think it right to believe." A man of +science does not want to persecute a child +who says petulantly that he will not believe +the law of gravity. He merely smiles and +goes on his way. The law of gravity can +look after itself! Persecution is as often as +not an attempt to reassure oneself about +one's own beliefs; it is not a sign of an +untroubled faith.</p> + +<p>We must not allow ourselves to be shaken +by any attempt to dictate to us what we +should believe. We need not always protest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +against it, unless we feel it a duty to +do so; we may simply regard another's +certainties as things which are not and +cannot be proved. Argument on such subjects +is merely a waste of time; but at the +same time we ought to recognise the vitality +which lies behind such tenacious beliefs, and +be glad that it is there, even if we think it +to be mistaken.</p> + +<p>And this brings me back to my first point, +which is that it is good for us to try to +realise the hidden life of the world, and to +rejoice in it even though it has no truth for +us. We must never disbelieve in life, even +though in sickness and sorrow and age it +may seem to ebb from us; and we must try +at all costs to recognise it, to sympathise +with it, to put ourselves in touch with it, +even though it takes forms unintelligible +and even repugnant to ourselves.</p> + +<p>Let me try to translate this into very +practical matters. We many of us find ourselves +in a fixed relation to a certain circle +of people. We cannot break with them or +abandon them. Perhaps our livelihood depends +upon them, or theirs upon us. Yet +we may find them harsh, unsympathetic, +unkind, objectionable. What are we to do?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +Many people let the whole tangle go, and +just creep along, doing what they do not +like, feeling unappreciated and misunderstood, +just hoping to avoid active collisions +and unpleasant scenes. That is a very +spiritless business! What we ought to do +is to find points of contact, even at the cost +of some repression of our own views and +aims. And we ought too to nourish a fine +life of our own, to look into the lives of +other people, which can be done perhaps +best in large books, fine biographies, great +works of imagination and fiction. We must +not drowse and brood in our own sombre +corner, when life is flowing free and full +outside, as in some flashing river. However +little chance we may seem to have of +<i>doing</i> anything, we can at least determine +to <i>be</i> something; not to let our life be filled, +like some base vessel, with the offscourings +and rinsings of other spirits, but to remember +that the water of life is given freely to all +who come. That is the worst of our dull +view of the great Gospel of Christ. We +think—I do not say this profanely but seriously—of +that water of life as a series of +propositions like the Athanasian Creed!</p> + +<p>Christ meant something very different by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +the water of life. He meant that the soul +that was athirst could receive a draught of +a spring of cool refreshment and living joy. +He did not mean a set of doctrines; doctrines +are to life what parchments and title-deeds +are to an estate with woods and waters, +fields and gardens, houses and cottages, and +live people moving to and fro. It is of no +use to possess the title-deed if one does not +visit one's estate. Doctrines are an attempt +to state, in bare and precise language, ideas +and thoughts dear and fresh to the heart. +It is in qualities, hopes, and affections that +we live; and if our eyes are opened, we can +see, as my friend dreamed he saw, the +surface of the hard rock full of moving +points, and shimmering with threads of +swift life, when the sun has fallen from the +height, and the wind comes cool across the +moor from the open gates of the evening.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="XVII" id="XVII"></a>XVII</h2> + +<h2>ACCESSIBILITY</h2> + + +<p>I was greatly interested the other day by +seeing a photograph, in his old age, of Henry +Phillpotts, the redoubtable Bishop of Exeter, +who lost more money in lawsuits with +clergymen than any Bishop, I suppose, who +ever lived. He sate, the old man, in his +clumsily fitting gaiters, bowed or crouched +in an arm-chair, reading a letter. His face +was turned to the spectator; with his stiff, +upstanding hair, his out-thrust lip, his corrugated +brow, and the deep pouched lines +beneath his eyes, he looked like a terrible +old lion, who could no longer spring, but +who had not forgotten how to roar. His +face was full of displeasure and anger. I +remembered that a clergyman once told me +how he had been sitting next the Bishop at +a dinner of parsons, and a young curate,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +sitting on the other side of the Bishop, +affronted him by believing him to be deaf, +and by speaking very loudly and distinctly +to him. The Bishop at last turned to him, +with a furious visage, and said, "I would +have you to understand, sir, that I am not +deaf!" This disconcerted the young man +so much that he could neither speak nor +eat. The old Bishop turned to my friend, +and said, in a heavy tone, "I'm not fit for +society!" Indeed he was not, if he could +unchain so fierce a beast on such slight +provocation.</p> + +<p>And there are many other stories of the +bitter things he said, and how his displeasure +could brood like a cloud over a whole company. +He was a gallant old figure, it is +true, very energetic, very able, determined +to do what he thought right, and infinitely +courageous. I mused over the portrait, +thought how lifelike and picturesque it was, +and how utterly unlike one's idea of an aged +Christian or a chief shepherd. In his beautiful +villa by the sea, with its hanging woods +and gardens, ruling with diligence, he seemed +to me more like a stoical Roman Emperor, +or a tempestuous Sadducee, the spirit of the +world incarnate. One wondered what it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +could have been that had drawn him to +Christ, or what part he would have taken +if he had been on the Sanhedrin that judged +Him!</p> + +<p>It seems to me that one of the first characteristics +which one ought to do one's best to +cast out of one's life is that of formidableness. +Yet to tell a man that he is formidable +is not an accusation that is often resented. +He may indulgently deprecate it, but it +seems to most people a sort of testimonial +to their force and weight and influence, a +penalty that they have to pay for being +effective, a matter of prestige and honour. +Of course, an old, famous, dignified man +who has played a great part on the stage +of life must necessarily be approached by +the young with a certain awe. But there +is no charm in the world more beautiful +than the charm which can permeate dignity, +give confidence, awake affection, dissipate +dread. But if a man of that sort indulges +his moods, says what he thinks bluntly and +fiercely, has no mercy on feebleness or +ignorance, he can be a very dreadful personage +indeed!</p> + +<p>Accessibility is one of the first of Christian +virtues; but it is not always easy to practise,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +because a man of force and ability, who is +modest and shy, forgets as life goes on how +much more his influence is felt. He himself +does not feel at all different from what he +was when he was young, when he was +snubbed and silenced and set down in argument. +Perhaps he feels that the world is a +kinder and an easier place, as he grows into +deference and esteem, but it is the surest +sign of a noble and beautiful character if the +greater he becomes the more simple and +tender he also becomes.</p> + +<p>I was greatly interested the other day in +attending a meeting at which, among other +speakers, two well-known men spoke. The +first was a man of great renown and prestige, +and he made a very beautiful, lofty, and +tender discourse; but, from some shyness +or gravity of nature, he never smiled nor +looked at his audience; and thus, fine +though his speech was, he never got into +touch with us at all. The second speech +was far more obvious and commonplace, but +the speaker, on beginning, cast a friendly +look round and smiled on the audience; and +he did the same all the time, so that one had +at once a friendly sense of contact and +geniality, and I felt that every word was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +addressed to me personally. That is what +it is to be accessible!</p> + +<p>One of the best ways in which we can +keep the spirit of poetry—by which I mean +the higher, sweeter, purer influences of +thought—alive in one's heart, is by accessibility—by +determining to speak freely of +what one admires and loves, what moves +and touches one, what keeps one's mind +upon the inner and finer life. It is not +always possible or indeed convenient for +younger people to do this, for reasons which +are not wholly bad reasons. Young people +ought not to be too eager to take the lead +in talk, nor ought they to be too openly +impatient of the more sedate and prosaic +discourse of their elders; and then, too, +there is a time for all things; one cannot +keep the mind always on the strain; and +the best and most beautiful things are apt +to come in glimpses and hints, and are not +always arrived at by discussion and argument.</p> + +<p>There is a story of a great artist full of +sympathy and kindness, to whom in a single +day three several people came to confide sad +troubles and trials. The artist told the story +to his wife in the evening. He said that he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +was afraid that the third of the visitors +thought him strangely indifferent and even +unkind. "The fact was," he said, "that my +capacity for sympathy was really exhausted. +I had suffered so much from the first two +recitals that I could not be sorry any more. +I <i>said</i> I was sorry, and I <i>was</i> sorry far down +in my mind, but I could not <i>feel</i> sorry. I +had given all the sympathy I had, and it was +no use going again to the well when there +was no more water." This shows that one +cannot command emotion, and that one +must not force even thoughts of beauty upon +others. We must bide our time, we must +adapt ourselves, and we must not be instant +in season and out of season. Yet neither +must we be wholly at the mercy of moods. +In religion, the theory of liturgical worship +is an attempt to realise that we ought to +practise religious emotion with regularity. +We do not always feel we are miserable +sinners when we say so, and we sometimes +feel that we are when we do not say it; but +it is better to confess what we know to be +true, even if at that moment we do not feel +it to be true.</p> + +<p>We ought not then always, out of modesty, +to abstain from talking about the things for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +which we care. A foolish shyness will +sometimes keep two sympathetic people +from ever talking freely together of their +real hopes and interests. We are terribly +afraid in England of what we call priggishness. +It is on the whole a wholesome +tendency, but it is the result of a lack of +flexibility of mind. What we ought to be +afraid of is not seriousness and earnestness, +but of solemnity and pomposity. We ought +to be ready to vary our mood swiftly, and +even to see the humorous side of sacred and +beautiful things. The oppressiveness of +people who hold a great many things sacred, +and cannot bear that they should be jested +about, is very great. There is nothing that +takes all naturalness out of intercourse more +quickly than the habit which some people +have of begging that a subject may not be +pursued "because it is one on which I feel +very deeply." That is the essence of priggishness, +to feel that our reasons are better, +our motives purer, than the reasons of other +people, and that we have the privilege of +setting a standard. Conscious superiority +is the note of the prig; and we have the +right to dread it.</p> + +<p>But the Gospel again is full of precepts in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> +favour of frankness, outspokenness, letting +light shine out, speaking sincerely; only it +must not be done provokingly, condescendingly, +solemnly. It is well for every one to +have a friend or friends with whom he can +talk quite unaffectedly about what he cares +for and values; and he ought to be able to +say to such a friend, "I cannot talk about +these things now; I am in a dusty, prosaic, +grubby mood, and I want to make mud-pies"; +the point is to be natural, and yet to keep a +watch upon nature; not to force her into +cramped postures, and yet not to indulge +her in rude, careless, and vulgar postures. +It is a bad sign in friendship, if intimacy +seems to a man to give him the right to +be rude, coarse, boisterous, censorious, if +he will. He may sometimes be betrayed +into each and all of these things, and be glad +of a safety-valve for his ill-humours, knowing +that he will not be permanently misunderstood +by a sympathetic friend. But there +must be a discipline in all these things, and +nature must often give way and be broken +in; frankness must not degenerate into +boorishness, and liberty must not be the +power of interfering with the liberty of +the friend. One must force oneself to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +courteous, interested, sweet-tempered, when +one feels just the contrary; one must keep +in sight the principle, and if violence must +be done, it must not be done to the better +nature. Least of all must one deliberately +take up the rôle of exercising influence. +That is a sad snare to many fine natures. +One sees a weak, attractive character, and +it seems so tempting to train it up a stick, +to fortify it, to mould it. If one is a professed +teacher, one has to try this sometimes; +but even then, the temptation to +drive rather than lead must be strenuously +resisted.</p> + +<p>I have always a very dark suspicion of +people who talk of spheres of influence, and +who enjoy consciously affecting other lives. +If this is done professionally, as a joyful sort +of exercise, it is deadly. The only excuse +for it is that one really cares for people +and longs to be of use; one cannot pump +one's own tastes and character into others. +The only hope is that they should develop +their own qualities. Other people ought +not to be 'problems' to us; they may be +mysteries, but that is quite another thing. +To love people, if one can, is the only way. +To find out what is lovable in them and not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +to try to discover what is malleable in them +is the secret. A wise and witty lady, who +knows that she is tempted to try to direct +other lives, told me that one of her friends +once remonstrated with her by saying that +she ought to leave something for God to do!</p> + +<p>I know a very terrible and well-meaning +person, who once spoke severely to me for +treating a matter with levity. I lost my +temper, and said, "You may make me +ashamed of it, if you can, but you shall not +bully me into treating a matter seriously +which I think is wholly absurd." He said, +"You do not enough consider the grave +issues which may be involved." I replied +that to be for ever considering graver issues +seemed to me to make life stuffy and unwholesome. +My censor sighed and shook +his head.</p> + +<p>We cannot coerce any one into anything +good. We may salve our own conscience +by trying to do so, we may even level an +immediate difficulty; but a free and generous +desire to be different is the only hope of vital +change. The detestable Puritan fibre that +exists in many of us, which is the most +utterly unchristian thing I know, tempts us +to feel that no discipline is worth anything<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +unless it is dark and gloomy; but that is +the discipline of the law-court and the prison, +and has never remedied anything since the +world began. Wickedness is nearly always, +perhaps always, a moral invalidism, and we +shall see some day that to punish men for +crime by being cruel to them is like condemning +a man to the treadmill for having +typhoid fever. I can only say that the more +I have known of human beings, and the +older I grow, the more lovable, gentle, +sweet-tempered I have found them to be.</p> + +<p>The life of Carlyle seems to me to be one +of the most terrible and convincing documents +in the world in proof of what I have +been saying. The old man was so bent on +battering and bumping people into righteousness, +so in love with spluttering and vituperating +and thundering all over the place, that +he missed the truest and sweetest ministry +of love. He broke his wife's heart, and it is +idle to pretend he did not. Mrs. Carlyle +was a sharp-edged woman too, and hurt her +own life by her bitter trenchancy. But +there was enough true love and loyalty and +chivalry in the pair to furnish out a hundred +marriages. Yet one sees Carlyle stamping +and cursing through life, and never seeing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +what lay close to his hand. I admire his +life not because it was a triumph, but because +it was such a colossal failure, and so finely +atoned for by the noble and great-minded +repentance of a man who recognised at last +that it was of no use to begin by trying to +be ruler over ten cities, unless he was first +faithful in a few things.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="XVIII" id="XVIII"></a>XVIII</h2> + +<h2>SYMPATHY</h2> + + +<p>But there is one thing which we must +constantly bear in mind, and which all enthusiastic +people must particularly recollect, +namely, that our delight and interest in life +must be large, tolerant, and sympathetic, and +that we must not only admit but welcome +an immense variety of interest. We must +above all things be just, and we must be +ready to be both interested and amused by +people whom we do not like. The point +is that minds should be fresh and clear, +rather than stagnant and lustreless. Enthusiastic +people, who feel very strongly +and eagerly the beauty of one particular +kind of delight, are sadly apt to wish to +impose their own preferences upon other +minds, and not to believe in the worth of +others' preferences. Thus the men who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +feel very ardently the beauty of the Greek +Classics are apt to insist that all boys shall +be brought up upon them; and the same +thing happens in other matters. We must +not make a moral law out of our own tastes +and preferences, and we must be content +that others should feel the appeal of other +sorts of beauty; that was the mistake which +dogged the radiant path of Ruskin from +first to last, that he could not bear that +other people should have their own preferences, +but considered that any dissidence +from his own standards was of the nature +of sin. If we insist on all agreeing with +ourselves it is sterile enough; but if we +begin to call other people hard names, and +suspecting or vituperating their motives for +disagreeing with us, we sin both against +Love and Light. It was that spirit which +called forth from Christ the sternest denunciation +which ever fell from his lips. The +Pharisees tried to discredit His work by representing +Him as in league with the powers +of evil; and this sin, which is the imputing +of evil motives to actions and beliefs that +appear to be good, because our own beliefs +are too narrow to include them, is the sin +which Christ said could find no forgiveness.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> + +<p>I had a personal instance of this the other +day which illustrates so clearly what I mean +that I will quote it. I wrote a book called +<i>The Child of the Dawn</i>, the point of which was +to represent, in an allegory, my sincere belief +that the after-life of man must be a life of +effort, and experience, and growth. A lady +wrote me a very discourteous letter to say +that she believed the after-life to be one of +Rest, and that she held what she believed to +be my view to be unchristian and untrue. +The notion that ardent, loving, eager spirits +should be required to spend eternity in a +sort of lazy contentment, forbidden to stir +a finger for love and truth and right, is surely +an insupportable one! What would be the +joy of heaven to a soul full of energy and +love, condemned to such luxurious apathy, +forced to drowse through the ages in +epicurean ease? If heaven has any meaning +at all, it must satisfy our best and most +active aspirations; and a paradise of utter +and eternal indolence would be purgatory or +hell to all noble natures. But this poor +creature, tired no doubt by life and its +anxieties, overcome by dreariness and +sorrow, was not only desirous of solitary +and profound repose, but determined to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +impose her own theory upon all the world +as well. I blame no one for desiring rest; +but to wish, as she made no secret that she +wished, to crush and confound one who +thought and hoped otherwise, does seem to +me a very mean and wretched point of view. +That, alas, is what many people mean when +they say that they <i>believe</i> a thing, namely that +they would be personally annoyed if it turned +out to be different from what they hoped.</p> + +<p>I am sure that we ought rather to welcome +with all our might any evidence of +strength and energy and joy, even if they +seem to spring from principles entirely +opposite to our own. The more we know +of men and women, the more we ought to +perceive that half the trouble in the world +comes from our calling the same principles +by different names. We are not called upon +to give up our own principles, but we +must beware of trying to meddle with the +principles of other people.</p> + +<p>And therefore we must never be disturbed +and still less annoyed by other people +finding fault with our tastes and principles, +calling them fantastic and sentimental, weak +and affected, so long as they do not seek to +impose their own beliefs upon us. That they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +should do so is of course a mistake; but we +must recognise that it comes either from the +stupidity which is the result of a lack of +sympathy, or else from the nobler error of +holding an opinion strongly and earnestly. +We must never be betrayed into making the +same mistake; we may try to persuade, and +it is better done by example than by argument, +but we must never allow ourselves to +scoff and deride, and still less to abuse and +vilify. We must rather do our best to +understand the other point of view, and to +acquiesce in the possibility of its being held, +even if we cannot understand it. We must +take for granted that every one whose life +shows evidence of energy, unselfishness, +joyfulness, ardour, peacefulness, is truly inspired +by the spirit of good. We must +believe that they have a vision of beauty +and delight, born of the spirit. We must +rejoice if they are making plain to other +minds any interpretation of life, any enrichment +of motive, any protest against things +coarse and low and mean. We may wish—and +we may try to persuade them—that their +hopes and aims were wider, more bountiful, +and more inclusive, but if we seek +to exclude those hopes and aims, however<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +inconsistent they may be with our own, that +moment the shadow involves our own hopes, +because our desire must be that the world +may somehow become happier, fuller, more +joyful, even if it is not on the lines which +we ourselves approve.</p> + +<p>I know so many good people who are +anxious to increase happiness, but only on +their own conditions; they feel that they +estimate exactly what the quantity and +quality of joy ought to be, and they treat +the joy which they do not themselves feel as +an offence against truth. It is from these +beliefs, I have often thought, that much of +the unhappiness of family circles arises, the +elders not realising how the world moves +on, how new ideas come to the front, how +the old hopes fade or are transmuted. They +see their children liking different thoughts, +different occupations, new books, new +pleasures; and instead of trying to enter +into these things, to believe in their innocence +and their naturalness, they try to +crush and thwart them, with the result that +the boys and girls just hide their feelings +and desires, and if they are not shamed out +of them, which sometimes happens, they +hold them secretly and half sullenly, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +plan how to escape as soon as they can +from the tender and anxious constraint into +a real world of their own. And the saddest +part of all is that the younger generation +learn no experience thus; but when they +form a circle of their own and the same +expansion happens, they do as their parents +did, saying to themselves, "My parents lost +my confidence by insisting on what was not +really important; but <i>my</i> objections are +reasonable and justifiable, and my children +must trust me to know what is right."</p> + +<p>We must realise then that elasticity and +sympathy are the first of duties, and that if +we embark upon the crusade of joy, we +must do it expecting to find many kinds of +joy at work in the world, and some which +we cannot understand. We may of course +mistrust destructive joy, the joy of selfish +pleasure, rough combativeness, foolish wastefulness, +ugly riot—all the joys that are +evidently dogged by sorrow and pain; but +if we see any joy that leads to self-restraint +and energy and usefulness and activity, we +must recognise it as divine.</p> + +<p>We may have then our private fancies, +our happy pursuits, our sweet delights; we +may practise them, sure that the best proof<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +of their energy is that they obviously and +plainly increase and multiply our own +happiness. But if we direct others at all, +it must be as a signpost, pointing to a +parting of roads and making the choice +clear, and not as a policeman enforcing the +majesty of our self-invented laws.</p> + +<p>Everything that helps us, invigorates us, +comforts us, sustains us, gives us life, is +right for us; of that we need never be in +any doubt, provided always that our delight +is not won at the expense of others; and we +must allow and encourage exactly the same +liberty in others to choose their own rest, +their own pleasure, their own refreshment. +What would one think of a host, whose one +object was to make his guests eat and drink +and do exactly what he himself enjoyed? +And yet that is precisely what many of the +most conscientious people are doing all day +long, in other regions of the soul and +mind.</p> + +<p>The one thing which we have to fear, in +all this, is of lapsing into indolence and +solitary enjoyment, guarding and hoarding +our own happiness. We must measure the +effectiveness of our enjoyment by one thing +and one thing alone—our increase of affection<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +and sympathy, our interest in other minds and +lives. If we only end by desiring to be apart +from it all, to gnaw the meat we have torn +from life in a secret cave of our devising, to +gain serenity by indifference, then we must +put our desires aside; but if it sends us into +the world with hope and energy and interest +and above all affection, then we need have +no anxiety; we may enter like the pilgrims +into comfortable houses of refreshment, +where we can look with interest at pictures +and spiders and poultry and all the pleasant +wonders of the place; we may halt in wayside +arbours to taste cordials and confections, +and enjoy from the breezy hill-top the +pleasant vale of Beulah, with the celestial +mountains rising blue and still upon the far +horizon.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="XIX" id="XIX"></a>XIX</h2> + +<h2>SCIENCE</h2> + + +<p>I read the other day a very downright book, +with a kind of dry insolence about it, by a +man who was concerned with stating what +he called the <i>mechanistic</i> theory of the universe. +The worlds, it seemed, were like a +sandy desert, with a wind that whirled the +sands about; and indeed I seemed, as I +looked out on the world through the writer's +eyes, to see nothing but wind and sand! +One of his points was that every thought +that passed through the mind was preceded +by a change in the particles of the brain; so +that philosophy, and religion, and life itself +were nothing but a shifting of the sand by +the impalpable wind—matter and motion, +that was all! Again and again he said, in +his dry way, that no theory was of any use +that was not supported by facts; and that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +though there was left a little corner of +thought, which was still unexplained, we +should soon have some more facts, and the +last mystery would be hunted down.</p> + +<p>But it seemed to me, as I read it, that the +thoughts of man were just as much facts as +any other facts, and that when a man had a +vision of beauty, or when a hope came to him +in a bitter sorrow, it was just as real a thing +as the little particle of the brain which +stirred and crept nearer to another particle. +I do not say that all theories of religion and +philosophy are necessarily true, but they +are real enough; they have existed, they +exist, they cannot die. Of course, in making +out a theory, we must not neglect one set of +facts and depend wholly on another set of +facts; but I believe that the intense and +pathetic desire of humanity to know why +they are here, why they feel as they do, +why they suffer and rejoice, what awaits +them, are facts just as significant as the +blood that drips from the wound, or the +leaf that unfolds in the sun. The comforting +and uplifting conclusion which the writer +came to was that we were just a set of +animated puppets, spun out of the drift of +sand and dew by the thing that he called<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +force. But if that is so, why are we not +all perfectly complacent and contented, why +do we love and grieve and wish to be different? +I do still believe that there is a spirit +that mingles with our hopes and dreams, +something personal, beautiful, fatherly, pure, +something which is unwillingly tied to earth +and would be free if it could. The sense +that we are ourselves wholly separate and +distinct, with experience behind us and experience +before us, seems to me a fact beside +which all other facts pale into insignificance. +And next in strength to that seems the fact +that we can recognise, and draw near to, and +be amazingly desirous of, as well as no less +strangely hostile to, other similar selves; +that our thought can mingle with theirs, +pass into theirs, as theirs into ours, forging +a bond which no accident of matter can +dissolve.</p> + +<p>Does it really satisfy the lover, when he +knows that his love is answered, to realise +that it is all the result of some preceding +molecular action of the brain? That does +not seem to me so much a truculent statement +as a foolish statement, shirking, like a +glib and silly child, the most significant of +data. And I think we shall do well to say<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> +to our scientist, as courteously as Sir +Lancelot said to the officious knight, who +proffered unnecessary service, that we have +no need for him at this time.</p> + +<p>Now, I am not saying, in all this, that the +investigation of science is wrong or futile. +It is exactly the reverse; the message of +God is hidden in all the minutest material +things that lie about us; and it is a very +natural and even noble work to explore it; +but it is wrong if it leads us to draw any +conclusions at present beyond what we can +reasonably and justly draw. It is the inference +that what explains the visible scheme +of things can also explain the invisible. +That is wrong!</p> + +<p>Let me here quote a noble sentence, which +has often given me much-needed help, and +served to remind me that thought is after all +as real a thing as matter, when I have been +tempted to feel otherwise. It was written +by a very wise and tender philosopher, +William James, who was never betrayed +by his own severe standard of truth and +reality into despising the common dreams +and aspirations of simpler men. He wrote:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I find it preposterous to suppose that if +there be a feeling of unseen reality, shared<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +by numbers of the best men in their best +moments, responded to by other men in +their deep moments, good to live by, +strength-giving—I find it preposterous, I +say, to suppose that the goodness of that +feeling for living purposes should be held to +carry no objective significance, and especially +preposterous if it combines harmoniously +with an otherwise grounded philosophy of +objective truth."</p></div> + +<p>That is a very large and tolerant utterance, +both in its suspension of impatient +certainties and in its beautiful sympathy +with all ardent visions that cannot clearly +and convincingly find logical utterance.</p> + +<p>What I am trying to say in this little book +is not addressed to professional philosophers +or men of science, who are concerned with +intellectual investigation, but to those who +have to live life as it is, as the vast majority +of men must always be. What I rather beg +of them is not to be alarmed and bewildered +by the statements either of scientific or +religious dogmatists. No doubt we should +like to know everything, to have all our perplexities +resolved; but we have reached that +point neither in religion nor in philosophy, +nor even in science. We must be content<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +not to know. But because we do not know, +we need not therefore refuse to feel; there +is no excuse for us to thrust the whole +tangle away and out of sight, and just to do +as far as possible what we like. We may +admire and hope and love, and it is our +business to do all three. The thing that +seems to me—and I am here only stating a +personal view—both possible and desirable, +is to live as far as we can by the law of +beauty, not to submit to anything by which +our soul is shamed and insulted, not to be +drawn into strife, not to fall into miserable +fault-finding, not to allow ourselves to be +fretted and fussed and agitated by the cares +of life; but to say clearly to ourselves, +"that is a petty, base, mean thought, and I +will not entertain it; this is a generous and +kind and gracious thought, and I will welcome +it and obey it."</p> + +<p>One of the clearly discernible laws of life +is that we can both check and contract +habits; and when we begin our day, we can +begin it if we will by prayer and aspiration +and resolution, as much as we can begin it +with bath and toilet. We can say, "I will +live resolutely to-day in joy and good-humour +and energy and kindliness." Those<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +powers and possibilities are all there; and +even if we are overshadowed by disappointment +and anxiety and pain, we can say to +ourselves that we will behave as if it were +not so; because there is undoubtedly a very +real and noble pleasure in putting off +shadows and troubles, and not letting them +fall in showers on those about us. We need +not be stoical or affectedly bright; we often +cannot give those who love us greater joy +than to tell them of our troubles and let +them comfort us. And we can be practical +too in our outlook, because much of the +grittiest irritation of life is caused by indulging +indolence when we ought not, and +being hurried when we might be leisurely. +It is astonishing how a little planning will +help us in all this, and how soon a habit +is set up. We do not, it is true, know the +limits of our power of choice. But the illusion, +if it be an illusion, that we have a +power of choice, is an infinitely more real +fact to most of us than the molecular motion +of the brain particles.</p> + +<p>And then too there is another fact, which +is becoming more and more clear, namely, +what is called the power of suggestion. That +if we can put a thought into our mind, not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +into our reason, but into our inner mind of +instinct and force, whether it be a base +thought or a noble thought, it seems to soak +unconsciously into the very stuff of the mind, +and keep reproducing itself even when we +seem to have forgotten all about it. And +this is, I believe, one of the uses of prayer, +that we put a thought into the mind, which +can abide with us, secretly it may be, all the +day; and that thus it is not a mere pious +habit or tradition to have a quiet period at +the beginning of the day, in which we can +nurture some joyful and generous hope, +but as real a source of strength to the +spirit as the morning meal is to the body. +I have myself found that it is well, if one +can, to read a fragment of some fine, +generous, beautiful, or noble-minded book +at such an hour.</p> + +<p>There is in many people who work hard +with their brains a curious and unreal mood +of sadness which hangs about the waking +hour, which I have thought to be a sort of +hunger of the mind, craving to be fed; and +this is accompanied, at least in me, by a very +swift, clear, and hopeful apprehension, so +that a beautiful thought comes to me as a +draught of water to a thirsty man. So I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +make haste, as often as may be, just to drop +such a thought at those times into the mind; +it falls to the depths, as one may see a bright +coin go gleaming and shifting down to the +depths of a pool; or to use a homelier +similitude, like sugar that drops to the +bottom of a cup, sweetening the draught.</p> + +<p>These are little homely things; but it is +through simple use and not through large +theory that one can best practise joy.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="XX" id="XX"></a>XX</h2> + +<h2>WORK</h2> + + +<p>I came out of the low-arched door with a +sense of relief and passed into the sunshine; +the meeting had broken up, and we went +our ways. We had sate there an hour or +two in the old panelled room, a dozen full-blooded +friendly men discussing a small +matter with wonderful ingenuity and zest; +and I had spoken neither least nor most +mildly, and had found it all pleasant enough. +Then I mounted my bicycle and rode out +into the fragrant country alone, with all +its nearer green and further blue; there in +that little belt of space, between the thin +air above and the dense-dark earth beneath, +was the pageant of conscious life enacting +itself so visibly and eagerly. In the sunlit +sky the winds raced gaily enough, with the +void silence of moveless space above it;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +below my feet what depths of cold stone, +with the secret springs; below that perhaps +a core of molten heat and imprisoned +fire!</p> + +<p>What was it all about? What were we +all doing there? What was the significance +of the little business that had been engaging +our minds and tongues? What part did it +play in the mighty universe?</p> + +<p>The thorn-tree thick with bloom, pouring +out its homely spicy smell—it was doing +too, beautifully enough, what we had been +doing clumsily. It was living, intent on its +own conscious life, the sap hurrying, the +scent flowing, the bud waxing. The yellow-hammer +poising and darting along the hedge, +the sparrow twittering round the rick, the +cock picking and crowing, were all intent +on life, proclaiming that they were alive and +busy. Something vivid, alert, impassioned +was going forward everywhere, something +being effected, something uttered—and yet +the cause how utterly hidden from me and +from every living thing!</p> + +<p>The memory of old poetry began to flicker +in my mind like summer lightning. In the +orchard, crammed with bloom, two unseen +children were calling to each other; a sunburned,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +careless, graceful boy, whose rough +clothes could not conceal his shapely limbs +and easy movements, came driving some +cows along the lane. He asked me the time +in Dorian speech. The shepherds piping +together on the Sicilian headland could not +have made a fairer picture; and yet the boy +and I could hardly have had a thought in +common!</p> + +<p>All the poets that ever sang in the pleasant +springtime can hardly have felt the joyful +onrush of the season more sweetly than I +felt it that day; and yet no philosopher or +priest could have given me a hint of what +the mystery was, why so ceaselessly renewed; +but it was clear to me at least that +the mind behind it was joyful enough, and +wished me to share its joy.</p> + +<p>And then an hour later I was doing for +no reason but that it was my business the +dullest of tasks—no less than revising a +whole sheaf of the driest of examination +papers. Elaborate questions to elicit knowledge +of facts arid and meaningless, which +it was worth no human being's while to +know, unless he could fill out the bare +outlines with some of the stuff of life. +Hundreds of boys, I dare say, in crowded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +schoolrooms all over the country were +having those facts drummed into them, +with no aim in sight but the answering of +the questions which I was manipulating. +That was a bewildering business, that we +should insist on that sort of drilling becoming +a part of life. Was that a relation it +was well to establish? As the fine old, +shrewd, indolent Dr. Johnson said, he for +his part, while he lived, never again desired +even to hear of the Punic War! And again +he said, "You teach your daughters the +diameters of the planets, and wonder, when +you have done, why they do not desire your +company."</p> + +<p>Cannot we somehow learn to simplify +life? Must we continue to think that we +can inspire children in rows? Is it not +possible for us to be a little less important +and pompous and elaborate about it all, to +aim at more direct relations, to say more +what we feel, to do more what nature bids +us do?</p> + +<p>The heart sickens at the thought of how +we keep to the grim highways of life, and +leave the pleasant spaces of wood and field +unvisited! And all because we want more +than we need, and because we cannot be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +content unless we can be envied and admired.</p> + +<p>The cure for all this, it seems to me, is +a resolute avoidance of complications and +intricacies, a determination to live life more +on our own terms, and to open our eyes +to the simpler pleasures which lie waiting +in our way on every side.</p> + +<p>I do not believe in the elaborate organisation +of life; and yet I think it is possible +to live in the midst of it, and yet not to be +involved in it. I do not believe in fierce +rebellion, but I do believe in quiet transformation; +and here comes in the faith +that I have in <i>Joyous Gard</i>. I believe that +day by day we should clear a space to live +with minds that have felt, and hoped, and +enjoyed. That is the first duty of all; and +then that we should live in touch with the +natural beauty of the earth, and let the +sweetness of it enter into our minds and +hearts; for then we come out renewed, to +find the beauty and the fulness of life in the +hearts and minds of those about us. Life +is complicated, not because its issues are +not simple enough, but because we are most +of us so afraid of a phantom which we create—the +criticism of other human beings.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> + +<p>If one reads the old books of chivalry, +there seems an endless waste of combat +and fighting among men who had the same +cause at heart, and who yet for the pettiest +occasions of dispute must need try to inflict +death on each other, each doing his best +to shatter out of the world another human +being who loved life as well. Two doughty +knights, Sir Lamorak and Sir Meliagraunce, +must needs hew pieces off each other's +armour, break each other's bones, spill each +other's blood, to prove which of two ladies +is the fairer; and when it is all over, nothing +whatever is proved about the ladies, nothing +but which of the two knights is the stronger! +And yet we seem to be doing the same thing +to this day, except that we now try to wound +the heart and mind, to make a fellow-man +afraid and suspicious, to take the light out +of his day and the energy out of his work. +For the last few weeks a handful of earnest +clergymen have been endeavouring in a +Church paper, with floods of pious Billingsgate, +to make me ridiculous about a technical +question of archæological interest, and all +because my opinion differs from their own! +I thankfully confess that as I get older, I +care not at all for such foolish controversy,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> +and the only qualms I have are the qualms +I feel at finding human beings so childish +and so fretful.</p> + +<p>Well, it is all very curious, and not without +its delight too! What I earnestly desire is +that men and women should not thus waste +precious time and pleasant life, but go +straight to reality, to hope. There are a +hundred paths that can be trodden; only +let us be sure that we are treading our +own path, not feebly shifting from track to +track, not following too much the bidding +of others, but knowing what interests us, +what draws us, what we love and desire; +and above all keeping in mind that it is +our business to understand and admire and +conciliate each other, whether we do it in +a panelled room, with pens and paper on +the table, and the committee in full cry; or +out on the quiet road, with one whom we +trust entirely, where the horizon runs, field +by field and holt by holt, to meet the soft +verge of encircling sky.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="XXI" id="XXI"></a>XXI</h2> + +<h2>HOPE</h2> + + +<p>The other day I took up idly some magazine +or other, one of those great lemon-coloured, +salmon-hued, slaty paper volumes which lie +in rows on the tables of my club. I will not +stop now to enquire why English taste +demands covers which show every mean +stain, every soiled finger-print; but these +volumes are always a reproach to me, +because they show me, alas! how many +subjects, how many methods of presenting +subjects, are wholly uninteresting and unattractive +to my trivial mind. This time, +however, my eye fell upon a poem full of +light and beauty, and of that subtle grace +which seems so incomprehensible, so uncreated—a +lyric by Mr. Alfred Noyes. It +was like a spell which banished for an +instant the weariness born of a long, hot,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +tedious committee, the oppression which +always falls on me at the sight and sound +of the cataract of human beings and vehicles, +running so fiercely in the paved channels of +London. A beautiful poem, but how immeasurably +sad, an invocation to the memory +and to the spirit of Robert Browning, not +speaking of him in an elegiac strain as of a +great poet who had lived his life to the full +and struck his clear-toned harp, solemnly, +sweetly, and whimsically too, year after +year; but as of something great and noble +wholly lost and separated from the living +world.</p> + +<p>This was a little part of it:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Singer of hope for all the world,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is it still morning where thou art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or are the clouds that hide thee furled<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Around a dark and silent heart?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sacred chords thy hand could wake<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are fallen on utter silence here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hearts too little even to break<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have made an idol of despair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">————<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come back to England, where thy May<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Returns, but not that rapturous light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God is not in His heaven to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And with thy country nought is right.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I think that almost magically beautiful! But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +is it true? I hope not and I think not. The +poet went on to say that Paradox had destroyed +the sanctity of Truth, and that +Science had done nothing more than strip +the skeleton of the flesh and blood that +vested it, and crown the anatomy with glory. +One cannot speak more severely, more +gloomily, of an age than to say that it is +deceived by analysis and paradox, and cares +nothing for nobler and finer things. It +seems to me to be a sorrowful view of life +that, to have very little faith or prospect +about it. It is true indeed that the paradox-maker +is popular now; but that is because +men are interested in interpretations of life; +and it is true too that we are a little +impatient now of fancy and imagination, +and want to get at facts, because we feel +that fancy and imagination, which are not +built on facts, are very tricksy guides to +life. But the view seems to me both depressed +and morbid which cannot look +beyond, and see that the world is passing +on in its own great unflinching, steady +manner. It is like the view of a child who, +confronted with a pain, a disagreeable incident, +a tedious day of drudgery, wails that +it can never be happy again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> + +<p>The poem ends with a fine apostrophe to +Browning as one "who stormed through +death, and laid hold of Eternity." Did he +indeed do that? I wish I felt it! He had, +of course, an unconquerable optimism, which +argued promise from failure and perfection +from incompleteness. But I cannot take +such hopes on the word of another, however +gallant and noble he may be. I do not +want hopes which are only within the reach +of the vivid and high-hearted; the crippled, +drudging slave cannot rejoice because he +sees his warrior-lord gay, heroic, and strong. +I must build my creed on my own hopes and +possibilities, not on the strength and cheerfulness +of another.</p> + +<p>And then my eye fell on a sentence +opposite, out of an article on our social +problems; and this was what I read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"... the tears of a hunger-bitten philosophy, +which is so appalled by the common +doom of man—that he must eat his bread +by the sweat of his brow—that it can talk, +write, and think of nothing else."</p></div> + +<p>I think there is more promise in that, rough +and even rude as the statement is, because +it opens up a real hope for something that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +is coming, and is not a mere lamentation +over a star that is set.</p> + +<p>"A hunger-bitten philosophy"—is it not +rather that there is creeping into the world +an uneasy sense that we must, if we are to +be happy, <i>share</i> our happiness? It is not +that the philosopher is hungry, it is that he +cannot bear to think of all the other people +who are condemned to hunger; and why it +occupies his tongue and his pen, is that it +clouds his serenity to know that others +cannot now be serene. All this unrest, this +grasping at the comfort of life on the one +hand, and the patience, the justice, the +tolerance, with which such claims are viewed +by many possessors on the other, is because +there is a spirit of sympathy growing up, +which has not yet become self-sacrifice, but +is on its way to become so.</p> + +<p>Then we must ask ourselves what our +duty is. Not, I think, with all our comforts +about us, to chant loud odes about its being +all right with the world, but to see what we +can do to make it all right, to equalise, to +share, to give.</p> + +<p>The finest thing, of course, would be if +those who are set in the midst of comfort +could come calmly out of it, and live simpler,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +kinder, more direct lives; but apart from +that, what can we do? Is it our duty, in +the face of all that, to surrender every +species of enjoyment and delight, to live +meanly and anxiously because others have +to live so? I am not at all sure that it +would not prove our greatness if the thought +of all the helpless pain and drudgery of the +world, the drift of falling tears, were so +intolerable to us that we simply could not +endure the thought; but I think that would +end in quixotism and pessimism of the worst +kind, if one would not eat or drink, because +men starve in Russia or India, if one would +not sleep because sufferers toss through the +night in pain. That seems a morbid and +self-sought suffering.</p> + +<p>No, I believe that we must share our joy +as far as we can, and that it is our duty +rather to have joy to share, and to guard +the quality of it, make it pure and true. +We do best if we can so refine our happiness +as to make it a thing which is not +dependent upon wealth or ease; and the +more natural our life is, the more can +we be of use by the example which is not +self-conscious but contagious, by showing +that joy does not depend upon excitement<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +and stimulus, but upon vivid using of the +very stuff of life.</p> + +<p>Where we fail, many of us, is in the +elaborateness of our pleasures, in the fact +that we learn to be connoisseurs rather than +viveurs, in losing our taste for the ancient +wholesome activities and delights.</p> + +<p>I had caught an hour, that very day, to +visit the Academy; it was a doubtful pleasure, +though if I could have had the great +rooms to myself it would have been a +delightful thing enough; but to be crushed +and elbowed by such numbers of people +who seemed intent not on looking at anything, +but on trying to see if they could +recognise any of their friends! It was a +curious collection certainly! So many pictures +of old disgraceful men, whose faces +seemed like the faces of toads or magpies; +dull, blinking, malign, or with the pert +brightness of acquisition. There were pictures +too of human life so-called, silly, +romantic, insincerely posed; some fatuous +allegorical things, like ill-staged melodramas; +but the strength of English art came +out for all that in the lovely landscapes, rich +fields, summer streams, far-off woodlands, +beating seas; and I felt in looking at it all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +that the pictures which moved one most +were those which gave one a sudden hunger +for the joy and beauty of earth, not ill-imagined +fantastic places, but scenes that +one has looked upon a hundred times with +love and contentment, the corn-field, the +mill with its brimming leat, the bathing-place +among quiet pastures, the lake set +deep in water-plants, the old house in the +twilight garden—all the things consecrated +throughout long ages by use and life and +joy.</p> + +<p>And then I strayed into the sculpture +gallery; and I cannot describe the thrill +which half a dozen of the busts there gave +me—faces into which the wonder and the +love and the pain of life seemed to have +passed, and which gave me a sudden sense +of that strange desire to claim a share in the +past and present and future of the form and +face in which one suddenly saw so much +to love. One seemed to feel hands held out; +hearts crying for understanding and affection, +breath on one's cheek, words in one's ears; +and thus the whole gallery melted into a +great throng of signalling and beckoning +presences, the air dense with the voices of +spirits calling to me, pressing upon me;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +offering and claiming love, all bound upon +one mysterious pilgrimage, none able to +linger or to stay, and yet willing to clasp +one close by the roadside, in wonder at the +marvellous inscrutable power behind it all, +which at the same moment seemed to say, +"Rest here, love, be loved, enjoy," and at +the same moment cried, "Go forward, experience, +endure, lament, come to an end."</p> + +<p>There again opened before one the awful +mystery of the beauty and the grief of life, +the double strain which we must somehow +learn to combine, the craving for continuance, +side by side with the knowledge of interruption +and silence. If one is real, the other +cannot be real! And I for one have no +doubt of which reality I hold to. Death and +silence may deceive us; life and joy cannot. +There may be something hidden beneath the +seeming termination of mortal experience; +indeed, I fully believe that there is; but even +if it were not so, nothing could make love +and joy unreal, or destroy the consciousness +of what says within us, "This Is I." +Our one hope then is not to be deceived or +beguiled or bewildered by the complexity +and intricacy of life; the path of each of us +lies clear and direct through the tangle.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> + +<p>And thus, as I have said, our task is not +to be defrauded of our interior peace. No +power that we know can do more than dissolve +and transmute our mortal frame; it +can melt into the earth, it can be carried into +the depths of the sea, but it cannot be +annihilated; and this is infinitely more true +of our spirits; they may undergo a thousand +transformations and transmutations, but they +must be eternally there.</p> + +<p>So let us claim our experience bravely +and accept it firmly, never daunted by it, +never utterly despairing, leaping back into +life and happiness as swiftly as we can, +never doubting that it is assured to us. +The time that we waste is that which is +spent in anxious, trivial, conventional things. +We have to bear them in our burdens, many +of us, but do not let us be for ever examining +them, weighing them in our hands, wishing +them away, whining over them; we must +not let them beguile us of the better part. +If the despairing part of us cries out that +it is frightened, wearied, anxious, we must +not heed it; we must again and again assure +ourselves that the peace is there, and that +we miss it by our own fault. Above all let +us not make pitiable excuses for ourselves.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +We must be like the woman in the parable +who, when she lost the coin, did not sit +down to bewail her ill-luck, but swept the +house diligently until she found it. There +is no such thing as loss in the world; what +we lose is merely withheld until we have +earned the right to find it again. We must +not cultivate repentance, we must not yield +to remorse. The only thing worth having +is a wholesome sorrow for not having done +better; but it is ignoble to remember, if our +remembrance has anything hopeless about +it; and we do best utterly to forget our +failures and lapses, because of this we may +be wholly sure, that joys are restored to +us, that strength returns, and that peace +beyond measure is waiting for us; and not +only waiting for us, but as near us as a +closed door in the room in which we sit. +We can rise up, we can turn thither, we can +enter if we will and when we will.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="XXII" id="XXII"></a>XXII</h2> + +<h2>EXPERIENCE</h2> + + +<p>It is very strange to contemplate the steady +plunge of good advice, like a cataract of ice-cold +water, into the brimming and dancing +pool of youth and life, the maxims of +moralists and sages, the epigrams of cynics, +the sermons of priests, the good-humoured +warnings of sensible men, all crying out that +nothing is really worth the winning, that +fame brings weariness and anxiety, that love +is a fitful fever, that wealth is a heavy +burden, that ambition is a hectic dream; to +all of which ejaculations youth does not +listen and cannot listen, but just goes on its +eager way, trying its own experiments, +believing in the delight of triumph and +success, determined, at all events, to test +all for itself. All this confession of disillusionment +and disappointment is true,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +but only partially true. The struggle, the +effort, the perseverance, does bring fine +things with it—things finer by far than the +shining crown and the loud trumpets that +attend it.</p> + +<p>The explanation of it seems to be that +men require to be tempted to effort, by the +dream of fame and wealth and leisure and +imagined satisfaction. It is the experience +that we need, though we do not know it; +and experience, by itself, seems such a +tedious, dowdy, tattered thing, like a flag +burnt by sun, bedraggled by rain, torn by +the onset, that it cannot by itself prove +attractive. Men are heavily preoccupied +with ends and aims, and the recognised +values of the objects of desire and hope are +often false and distorted values. So singularly +constituted are we, that the hope +of idleness is alluring, and some people are +early deceived into habits of idleness, +because they cannot know what it is that +lies on the further side of work. Of course +the bodily life has to be supplied, but when +a man has all that he needs—let us say food +and drink, a quiet shelter, a garden and a +row of trees, a grassy meadow with a +flowing stream, a congenial task, a household<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +of his own—it seems not enough! Let +us suppose all that granted to a man: he +must consider next what kind of life he has +gained; he has the cup in his hands; with +what liquor is it to be filled? That is the +point at which the imagination of man seems +to fail; he cannot set himself to vigorous, +wholesome life for its own sake. He has to +be ever looking past it and beyond it for +something to yield him an added joy.</p> + +<p>Now, what we all have to do, if we can, +is to regard life steadily and generously, to +see that life, experience, emotion, are the +real gifts; not things to be hurried through, +thrust aside, disregarded, as a man makes a +hasty meal before some occasion that excites +him. One must not use life like the passover +feast, to be eaten with loins girded and staff +in hand. It is there to be lived, and what +we have to do is to make the quality of it +as fine as we can.</p> + +<p>We must provide then, if we can, a certain +setting for life, a sufficiency of work and +sustenance, and even leisure; and then we +must give that no further thought. How +many men do I not know, whose thought +seems to be "when I have made enough +money, when I have found my place, when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> +I have arranged the apparatus of life about +me, then I will live as I should wish to +live." But the stream of desires broadens +and thickens, and the leisure hour never +comes!</p> + +<p>We must not thus deceive ourselves. +What we have to do is to make life, instantly +and without delay, worthy to be +lived. We must try to enjoy all that we +have to do, and take care that we do not do +what we do not enjoy, unless the hard task +we set ourselves is sure to bring us something +that we really need. It is useless +thus to elaborate the cup of life, if we find +when we have made it, that the wine which +should have filled it has long ago evaporated.</p> + +<p>Can I say what I believe the wine of life +to be? I believe that it is a certain energy +and richness of spirit, in which both mind +and heart find full expression. We ought +to rise day by day with a certain zest, a clear +intention, a design to make the most out +of every hour; not to let the busy hours +shoulder each other, tread on each other's +heels, but to force every action to give up +its strength and sweetness. There is work +to be done, and there are empty hours to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> +filled as well. It is happiest of all, for man +and woman, if those hours can be filled, not +as a duty but as a pleasure, by pleasing +those whom we love and whose nearness is +at once a delight. We ought to make time +for that most of all. And then there ought +to be some occupation, not enforced, to +which we naturally wish to return. Exercise, +gardening, handicraft, writing, even if +it be only leisurely letters, music, reading—something +to occupy the restless brain +and hand; for there is no doubt that both +physically and mentally we are not fit to be +unoccupied.</p> + +<p>But most of all, there must be something +to quicken, enliven, practise the soul. We +must not force this upon ourselves, or it will +be fruitless and dreary; but neither must we +let it lapse out of mere indolence. We must +follow some law of beauty, in whatever way +beauty appeals to us and calls us. We must +not think that appeal a selfish thing, because +it is upon that and that alone that our +power of increasing peace and hope and vital +energy belongs.</p> + +<p>I have a man in mind who has a simple +taste for books. He has a singularly pure +and fine power of selecting and loving what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +is best in books. There is no self-consciousness +about him, no critical contempt +of the fancies of others; but his own love +for what is beautiful is so modest, so perfectly +natural and unaffected, that it is +impossible to hear him speak of the things +that he loves without a desire rising up in +one's mind to taste a pleasure which brings +so much happiness to the owner. I have +often talked with him about books that I had +thought tiresome and dull; but he disentangles +so deftly the underlying idea of +the book, the thought that one must be on +the look-out for the motive of the whole, +that he has again and again sent me back +to a book which I had thrown aside, with an +added interest and perception. But the +really notable thing is the effect on his own +immediate circle. I do not think his family +are naturally people of very high intelligence +or ability. But his mind and heart seem to +have permeated theirs, so that I know no +group of persons who seem to have imbibed +so simply, without strain or effort, a delight +in what is good and profound. There is no +sort of dryness about the atmosphere. It is +not that they keep talk resolutely on their +own subjects; it is merely that their outlook<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +is so fresh and quick that everything seems +alive and significant. One comes away from +the house with a horizon strangely extended, +and a sense that the world is full of live +ideas and wonderful affairs.</p> + +<p>I despair of describing an effect so subtle, +so contagious. It is not in the least +that everything becomes intellectual; that +would be a rueful consequence; there is no +parade of knowledge, but knowledge itself +becomes an exciting and entertaining thing, +like a varied landscape. The wonder is, +when one is with these people, that one did +not see all the fine things that were staring +one in the face all the time, the clues, the connections, +the links. The best of it is that it +is not a transient effect; it is rather like the +implanting of a seed of fire, which spreads +and glows, and burns unaided.</p> + +<p>It is this sacred fire of which we ought all +to be in search. Fire is surely the most +wonderful symbol in the world! We sit in +our quiet rooms, feeling safe, serene, even +chilly, yet everywhere about us, peacefully +confined in all our furniture and belongings, +is a mass of inflammability, stored with +gases, which at a touch are capable of leaping +into flame. I remember once being in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +house in which a pile of wood in a cellar +had caught fire; there was a short delay, +while the hose was got out, and before an +aperture into the burning room could be +made. I went into a peaceful dining-room, +which was just above the fire, and it was +strangely appalling to see little puffs of +smoke fly off from the kindled floor, while +we tore the carpets up and flew to take the +pictures down, and to know the room was +all crammed with vehement cells, ready to +burst into vapour at the fierce touch of the +consuming element.</p> + +<p>I saw once a vast bonfire of wood kindled +on a grassy hill-top; it was curiously +affecting to see the great trunks melt into +flame, and the red cataract pouring so softly, +so unapproachably into the air. It is so +with the minds of men; the material is all +there, compressed, welded, inflammable; and +if the fire can but leap into our spirits from +some other burning heart, we may be amazed +at the prodigal force and heat that can burst +forth, the silent energy, the possibility of +consumption.</p> + +<p>I hold it to be of supreme value to each of +us to try to introduce this fire of the heart +into our spirits. It is not like mortal fire, a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> +consuming, dangerous, truculent element. It +is rather like the furnace of the engine, which +can convert water into steam—the softest, +feeblest, purest element into irresistible and +irrepressible force. The materials are all at +hand in many a spirit that has never felt the +glowing contact; and it is our business first +to see that the elements are there, and then +to receive with awe the fiery touch. It must +be restrained, controlled, guarded, that fierce +conflagration; but our joy cannot only consist +of pure, clear, lambent, quiescent +elements. It must have a heart of flame.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="XXIII" id="XXIII"></a>XXIII</h2> + +<h2>FAITH</h2> + + +<p>We ought to learn to cultivate, train, regulate +emotion, just as we train other faculties. +The world has hardly reached this point +yet. First man trains his body that he may +be strong, when strength is supreme. When +almost the only argument is force, the man +who is drawn to play a fine part in the +world must above everything be strong, +courageous, gallant, so that he may go to +combat joyful and serene, like a man inspired. +Then when the world becomes +civilised, when weakness combines against +strength, when men do not settle differences +of feeling by combat and war, but by peaceable +devices like votes and arbitrations, the +intellect comes to the front, and strength of +body falls into the background as a pleasant +enough thing, a matter of amusement or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> +health, and intellect becomes the dominant +force. But we shall advance beyond even +that, and indeed we have begun to advance. +Buddhism and the Stoic philosophy were +movements dictated more by reason than by +emotion, which recognised the elements of +pain and sorrow as inseparable from human +life, and suggested to man that the only +way to conquer evils such as these was by +turning the back upon them, cultivating +indifference to them, and repressing the +desires which issued in disappointment. +Christianity was the first attempt of the +human spirit to achieve a nobler conquest +still; it taught men to abandon the idea +of conquest altogether; the Christian was +meant to abjure ambition, not to resist oppression, +not to meet violence by violence, +but to yield rather than to fight.</p> + +<p>The metaphor of the Christian soldier +is wholly alien to the spirit of the Gospel, +and the attempt to establish a combative +ideal of Christian life was one of the many +concessions that Christianity in the hands +of its later exponents made to the instincts +of men. The conception of the Christian +in the Gospel was that of a simple, uncomplicated, +uncalculating being, who was to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> +be so absorbed in caring for others that the +sense of his own rights and desires and aims +was to fall wholly into the background. +He is not represented as meant to have +any intellectual, political, or artistic pursuits +at all. He is to accept his place in +the world as he finds it; he is to have no +use for money or comforts or accumulated +resources. He is not to scheme for dignity +or influence, nor even much to regard +earthly ties. Sorrow, loss, pain, evil, are +simply to be as shadows through which he +passes, and if they have any meaning at all +for him, they are to be opportunities for +testing the strength of his emotions. But +the whole spirit of the Christian revelation +is that no terms should be made with the +world at all. The world must treat the +Christian as it will, and there are to be no +reprisals; neither is there the least touch of +opportunism about it. The Christian is not +to do the best he can, but the best; he is +frankly to aim at perfection.</p> + +<p>How then is this faith to be sustained? +It is to be nourished by a sense of direct +and frank converse with a God and Father. +The Christian is never to have any doubt +that the intention of the Father towards him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> +is absolutely, kind and good. He attempts +no explanation of the existence of sin and +pain; he simply endures them; and he +looks forward with serene certainty to the +continued existence of the soul. There is +no hint given of the conditions under which +the soul is to continue its further life, of +its desires or occupations; the intention +obviously is that a Christian should live +life freely and fully; but love, and interest +in human relations are to supersede all +other aims and desires.</p> + +<p>It has been often said that if the world +were to accept the teaching of the Sermon +on the Mount literally, the social fabric of +the world would be dissolved in a month. +It is true; but it is not generally added that +it would be because there would be no need +of the social fabric. The reason why the +social fabric would be dissolved is because +there would doubtless be a minority which +would not accept these principles, and would +seize upon the things which the world +agrees to consider desirable. The Christian +majority would become the slaves of the +unchristian minority, and would be at their +mercy. Christianity, in so far as it is a +social system at all, is the purest kind of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> +socialism, a socialism not of compulsion but +of disinterestedness. It is easy, of course, to +scoff at the possibility of so far disintegrating +the vast and complex organisation of society, +as to arrange life on the simpler lines; but +the fact remains that the very few people in +the world's history, like St. Francis of +Assisi, for instance, who have ever dared +to live literally in the Christian manner, +have had an immeasurable effect upon the +hearts and imaginations of the world. The +truth is not that life cannot be so lived, but +that humanity dares not take the plunge; +and that is what Christ meant when He said +that few would find the narrow way. The +really amazing thing is that such immense +numbers of people have accepted Christianity +in the world, and profess themselves +Christians without the slightest doubt of +their sincerity, who never regard the +Christian principles at all. The chief aim, +it would seem, of the Church, has been not +to preserve the original revelation, but to +accommodate it to human instincts and +desires. It seems to me to resemble the +very quaint and simple old Breton legend, +which relates how the Saviour sent the +Apostles out to sell stale fish as fresh; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> +when they returned unsuccessful, He was +angry with them, and said, "How shall I +make you into fishers of men, if you cannot +even persuade simple people to buy stale +fish for fresh?" That is a very trenchant +little allegory of ecclesiastical methods! And +perhaps it is even so that it has come to +pass that Christianity is in a sense a failure, +or rather an unfulfilled hope, because it has +made terms with the world, has become +pompous and respectable and mundane +and influential and combative, and has deliberately +exalted civic duty above love.</p> + +<p>It seems to me that it is the business of +all serious Christians deliberately to face +this fact; and equally it is not their business +to try to destroy the social organisation of +what is miscalled Christianity. That is as +much a part of the world now as the Roman +Empire was a part of the world when Christ +came; but we must not mistake it for +Christianity. Christianity is not a doctrine, +or an organisation, or a ceremonial, or a +society, but an atmosphere and a life. The +essence of it is to train emotion, to believe +and to practise the belief that all human +beings have in them something interesting, +lovable, beautiful, pathetic; and to make<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +the recognition of that fact, the establishment +of simple and kind relations with +every single person with whom one is +brought into contact, the one engrossing +aim of life. Thus the essence of Christianity +is in a sense artistic, because it depends +upon freely recognising the beauty both +of the natural world and the human spirit. +There are enough hints of this in the Gospel, +in the tender observation of Christ, His love +of flowers, birds, children, the fact that He +noted and reproduced in His stories the +beauty of the homely business of life, the +processes of husbandry in field and vineyard, +the care of the sheepfold, the movement +of the street, the games of boys and +girls, the little festivals of life, the wedding +and the party; all these things appear in +His talk, and if more of it were recorded, +there would undoubtedly be more of such +things. It is true that as opposition and +strife gathered about Him, there falls a +darker and sadder spirit upon the page, +and the anxieties and ambitions of His followers +reflect themselves in the record of +denunciations and censures. But we must +not be misled by this into thinking that the +message is thus obscured.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> + +<p>What then we have to do, if we would +follow the pure Gospel, is to lead quiet lives, +refresh the spirit of joy within us by feeding +our eyes and minds with the beautiful sounds +and sights of nature, the birds' song, the +opening faces of flowers, the spring woods, +the winter sunset; we must enter simply +and freely into the life about us, not seeking +to take a lead, to impress our views, to +emphasise our own subjects; we must not +get absorbed in toil or business, and still +less in plans and intrigues; we must not +protest against these things, but simply not +care for them; we must not be burdensome +to others in any way; we must not be +shocked or offended or disgusted, but +tolerate, forgive, welcome, share. We must +treat life in an eager, light-hearted way, not +ruefully or drearily or solemnly. The old +language in which the Gospel comes to us, +the formality of the antique phrasing, the +natural tendency to make it dignified and +hieratic, disguise from us how utterly natural +and simple it all is. I do not think that +reverence and tradition and awe have done +us any more grievous injury than the fact +that we have made the Saviour into a figure +with whom frank communication, eager, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>impulsive +talk, would seem to be impossible. +One thinks of Him, from pictures and from +books, as grave, abstracted, chiding, precise, +mournfully kind, solemnly considerate. +I believe it in my heart to have been wholly +otherwise, and I think of Him as one with +whom any simple and affectionate person, +man, woman, or child, would have been +entirely and instantly at ease. Like all +idealistic and poetical natures, he had little +use, I think, for laughter; those who are +deeply interested in life and its issues care +more for the beauty than the humour of life. +But one sees a flash of humour here and +there, as in the story of the unjust judge, +and of the children in the market-place; and +that He was disconcerting or cast a shadow +upon natural talk and merriment I do not +for an instant believe.</p> + +<p>And thus I think that the Christian has +no right to be ashamed of light-heartedness; +indeed I believe that he ought to cultivate +and feed it in every possible way. He ought +to be so unaffected, that he can change without +the least incongruity from laughter to +tears, sympathising with, entering into, developing +the moods of those about him. The +moment that the Christian feels himself to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> +be out of place and affronted by scenes of +common resort—the market, the bar, the +smoking-room—that moment his love of +humanity fails him. He must be charming, +attractive, genial, everywhere; for the severance +of goodness and charm is a most +wretched matter; if he affects his company +at all, it must be as innocent and beautiful +girlhood affects a circle, by its guilelessness, +its sweetness, its appeal. I have known +Christians like this, wise, beloved, simple, +gentle people, whose presence did not bring +constraint but rather a perfect ease, and was +an evocation of all that was best and finest in +those near them. I am not recommending +a kind of silly mildness, interested only in +improving conversation, but rather a zest, +a shrewdness, a bonhomie, not finding natural +interests common and unclean, but passionately +devoted to human nature—so impulsive, +frail, unequal, irritable, pleasure-loving, +but yet with that generous, sweet, wholesome +fibre below, that seems to be evoked +in crisis and trial from the most apparently +worthless human beings. The outcasts of +society, the sinful, the ill-regulated, would +never have so congregated about our Saviour +if they had felt Him to be shocked or indignant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> +at sin. What they must rather have +felt was that He understood them, loved +them, desired their love, and drew out all the +true and fine and eager and lovable part of +them, because he knew it to be there, wished +it to emerge. "He was such a comfortable +person!" as a simple man once said to me +of one of the best of Christians: "if you had +gone wrong, he did not find fault, but tried +to see the way out; and if you were in pain +or trouble, he said very little; you only felt +it was all right when he was by."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="XXIV" id="XXIV"></a>XXIV</h2> + +<h2>PROGRESS</h2> + + +<p>We must always hopefully and gladly +remember that the great movements, doctrines, +thoughts, which have affected the life +of the world most deeply, are those which +are most truly based upon the best and +truest needs of humanity. We need never +be afraid of a new theory or a new doctrine, +because such things are never imposed upon +an unwilling world, but owe their strength +to the closeness with which they interpret +the aims and wants of human beings. Still +more hopeful is the knowledge which one +gains from looking back at the history of +the world, that no selfish, cruel, sensual, or +wicked interpretation of life has ever established +a vital hold upon men. The selfish +and the cruel elements of humanity have +never been able to band themselves together +against the power of good for very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +long, for the simple reason that those who +are selfish and evil have a natural suspicion +of other selfish and evil people; and no +combination of men can ever be based upon +anything but mutual trust and affection. +And thus good has always a power of combination, +while evil is naturally solitary and +disjunctive.</p> + +<p>Take such an attempt as that of Nietzsche +to establish a new theory of life. His +theory of the superman is simply this, that +the future of the world was in the hands +of strong, combative, powerful, predatory +people. Those are the supermen, a natural +aristocracy of force and unscrupulousness +and vigour. But such individuals carry with +them the seed of their own failure, because +even if Nietzsche's view that the weak and +broken elements of humanity were doomed +to perish, and ought even to be helped to +perish, were a true view, even if his supermen +at last survived, they must ultimately +be matched one against another in some +monstrous and unflinching combat.</p> + +<p>Nietzsche held that the Christian doctrine +of renunciation was but a translating into +terms of a theory the discontent, the disappointment, +the failure of the weak and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +diseased element of humanity, the slavish +herd. He thought that Christianity was a +glorification, a consecration of man's weakness +and not of his strength. But he misjudged +it wholly. It is based in reality +upon the noble element in humanity, the +power of love and trust and unselfishness +which rises superior to the ills of life; and +the force of Christianity lies in the fact that +it reveals to men the greatness of which +they are capable, and the fact that no squalor +or wretchedness of circumstances can bind +the thought of man, if it is set upon what is +high and pure. The man or woman who +sees the beauty of inner purity cannot ever +be very deeply tainted by corruption either +of body or of soul.</p> + +<p>Renunciation is not a wholly passive +thing; it is not a mere suspicion of all that +is joyful, a dull abnegation of happiness. +It is not that self-sacrifice means a frame of +mind too despondent to enjoy, so fearful of +every kind of pleasure that it has not the +heart to take part in it. It is rather a +vigorous discrimination between pleasure +and joy, an austerity which is not deceived +by selfish, obvious, apparent pleasure, but +sees what sort of pleasure is innocent,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +natural, social, and what sort of pleasure is +corroding, barren, and unreal.</p> + +<p>In the Christianity of the Gospel there is +very little trace of asceticism. The delight +in life is clearly indicated, and the only sort +of self-denial that is taught is the self-denial +that ends in simplicity of life, and in the +joyful and courageous shouldering of inevitable +burdens. Self-denial was not to be +practised in a spiritless and timid way, but +rather as a man accepts the fatigues and +dangers of an expedition, in a vigorous and +adventurous mood. One does not think of +the men who go on some Arctic exploration, +with all the restrictions of diet that they +have to practise, all the uncomfortable rules +of life they have to obey, as renouncing the +joys of life; they do so naturally, in order +that they may follow a livelier inspiration. +It is clear from the accounts of primitive +Christians that they impressed their heathen +neighbours not as timid, anxious, and despondent +people, but as men and women +with some secret overflowing sense of joy +and energy, and with a curious radiance +and brightness about them which was not +an affected pose, but the redundant happiness +of those who have some glad knowledge<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> +in heart and mind which they cannot +repress.</p> + +<p>Let us suppose the case of a man gifted +by nature with a great vitality, with a keen +perception of all that is beautiful in life, all +that is humorous, all that is delightful. +Imagine him extremely sensitive to nature, +art, human charm, human pleasure, doing +everything with zest, interest, amusement, +excitement. Imagine him, too, deeply sensitive +to affection, loving to be loved, +grateful, kindly, fond of children and animals, +a fervent lover, a romantic friend, +alive to all fine human qualities. Suppose, +too, that he is ambitious, desirous of fame, +liking to play an active part in life, fond of +work, wishing to sway opinion, eager that +others should care for the things for which +he cares. Well, he must make a certain +choice, no doubt; he cannot gratify all these +things; his ambition may get in the way of +his pleasure, his affections may interrupt +his ambitions. What is his renunciation to +be? It obviously will not be an abnegation +of everything. He will not feel himself +bound to crush all enjoyment, to refuse to +love and be loved, to enter tamely and +passively into life. He will inevitably choose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> +what is dearest to his heart, whatever that +may be, and he will no doubt instinctively +eliminate from his life the joys which are +most clouded by dissatisfaction. If he sets +affection aside for the sake of ambition, and +then finds that the thought of the love he +has slighted or disregarded wounds and +pains him, he will retrace his steps; if he +sees that his ambitions leave him no time +for his enjoyment of art or nature, and finds +his success embittered by the loss of those +other enjoyments, he will curb his ambition; +but in all this he will not act anxiously +and wretchedly. He will be rather like a man +who has two simultaneous pleasures offered +him, one of which must exclude the other. He +will not spoil both, but take what he desires +most, and think no more of what he rejects.</p> + +<p>The more that such a man loves life, the +less is he likely to be deceived by the shows +of life; the more wisely will he judge what +part of it is worth keeping, and the less will +he be tempted by anything which distracts +him from life itself. It is fulness of life, after +all, that he is aiming at, and not vacuity; and +thus renunciation becomes not a feeble withdrawal +from life, but a vigorous affirmation +of the worth of it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> + +<p>But of course we cannot all expect to deal +with life on this high-handed scale. The +question is what most of us, who feel ourselves +sadly limited, incomplete, fractious, +discontented, fitful, unequal to the claims +upon us, should do. If we have no sense of +eager adventure, but are afraid of life, overshadowed +by doubts and anxieties, with no +great spring of pleasure, no passionate emotions, +no very definite ambitions, what are +we then to do?</p> + +<p>Or perhaps our case is even worse than +that; we are meanly desirous of comfort, +of untroubled ease, we have a secret love +of low pleasures, a desire to gain rather +than to deserve admiration and respect, a +temptation to fortify ourselves against life +by accumulating all sorts of resources, with +no particular wish to share anything, but +aiming to be left alone in a circle which we can +bend to our will and make useful to us; that +is the hard case of many men and women; +and even if by glimpses we see that there +is a finer and a freer life outside, we may +not be conscious of any real desire to issue +from our stuffy parlour.</p> + +<p>In either case our duty and our one hope +is clear; that we have got somehow, at all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> +costs and hazards, to find our way into the +light of day. It is such as these, the anxious +and the fearful on the one hand, the gross +and sensual on the other, who need most of +all a <i>Joyous Gard</i> of their own. Because +we are coming to the light, as Walt Whitman +so splendidly says:—"The Lord advances +and yet advances ... always the shadow +in front, always the reach'd hand bringing +up the laggards."</p> + +<p>Our business, if we know that we are laggards, +if we only dimly suspect it, is not to +fear the shadow, but to seize the outstretched +hands. We must grasp the smallest clue +that leads out of the dark, the resolute fight +with some slovenly and ugly habit, the telling +of our mean troubles to some one whose +energy we admire and whose disapproval +we dread; we must try the experiment, +make the plunge; all at once we realise +that the foundations are laid, that the wall +is beginning to rise above the rubbish and +the débris; we must build a home for the +new-found joy, even if as yet it only sings +drowsily and faintly within our hearts, like +the awaking bird in the dewy thicket, when +the fingers of the dawn begin to raise the +curtain of the night.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="XXV" id="XXV"></a>XXV</h2> + +<h2>THE SENSE OF BEAUTY</h2> + + +<p>There is one difficulty which stands at the +threshold of dealing with the sense of beauty +so as to give it due importance and preponderance, +and that is that it seems with +many people to be so frail a thing, and to +visit the mind only as the last grace of +a mood of perfect serenity and well-being. +Many people, and those not the least thoughtful +and intelligent, find by experience that +it is almost the first thing to disappear in +moments of stress and pressure. Physical +pain, grief, pre-occupation, business, anxiety, +all seem to have the power of quenching it +instantaneously, until one is apt to feel +that it is a thing of infinite delicacy and +tenderness, and can only co-exist with a +tranquillity which it is hard in life to secure. +The result of this no doubt is that many<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> +active-minded and forcible people are ready +to think little of it, and just regard it as a +mood that may accompany a well-earned holiday, +and even so to be sparingly indulged.</p> + +<p>It is also undoubtedly true that in many +robust and energetic people the sense of +what is beautiful is so far atrophied that +it can only be aroused by scenes and places +of almost melodramatic picturesqueness, by +ancient buildings clustered on craggy eminences, +great valleys with the frozen horns +of mountains, wind-ravaged and snow-streaked, +peering over forest edges, the +thunder and splendour of great sea-breakers +plunging landward under rugged headlands +and cliff-fronts. But all this pursuit of sensational +beauty is to mistake its quality; the +moment it is thus pursued it ceases to be +the milk and honey of life, and it becomes +a kind of stimulant which excites rather +than tranquillises. I do not mean that one +should of set purpose avoid the sight of +wonderful prospects and treasure-houses of +art, or act as the poet Gray did when he +was travelling with Horace Walpole in the +Alps, when they drew up the blinds of their +carriage to exclude the sight of such prodigious +and unmanning horrors!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p> + +<p>Still I think that if one is on the right +track, and if beauty has its due place and +value in life, there will be less and less +impulse to go far afield for it, in search of +something to thrill the dull perception and +quicken it into life. I believe that people +ought to be content to live most of their +lives in the same place, and to grow to love +familiar scenes. Familiarity with a scene +ought not to result in the obliteration of all +consciousness of it: one ought rather to find +in use and affection an increased power of +subtle interpretation, a closer and finer +understanding of the qualities which underlie +the very simplest of English landscapes. +I live, myself, for most of the year in a +countryside that is often spoken of by its +inhabitants as dull, tame, and featureless; +yet I cannot say with what daily renewal +of delight I wander in the pastoral Cambridge +landscape, with its long low lines +of wold, its whitewalled, straw-thatched +villages embowered in orchards and elms, +its slow willow-bound streams, its level +fenland, with the far-seen cloud-banks +looming overhead: or again in the high-ridged, +well-wooded land of Sussex, where +I often live, the pure lines of the distant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> +downs seen over the richly coloured intervening +weald grow daily more dear and +intimate, and appeal more and more closely +to the deepest secrets of sweetness and +delight. For as we train ourselves to the +perception of beauty, we become more and +more alive to a fine simplicity of effect; we +find the lavish accumulation of rich and magnificent +glories bewildering and distracting.</p> + +<p>And this is the same with other arts; we +no longer crave to be dazzled and flooded +by passionate and exciting sensation, we +care less and less for studied mosaics of +word and thought, and more and more for +clearness and form and economy and +austerity. Restless exuberance becomes unwelcome, +complexity and intricacy weary +us; we begin to perceive the beauty of what +Fitzgerald called the 'great still books.' +We do not desire a kaleidoscopic pageant of +blending and colliding emotions, but crave +for something distinctly seen, entirely +grasped, perfectly developed. Because we +are no longer in search of something stimulating +and exciting, something to make us +glide and dart among the surge and spray +of life, but what we crave for is rather a +calm and reposeful absorption in a thought<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> +which can yield us all its beauty, and assure +us of the existence of a principle in which +we can rest and abide. As life goes on, we +ought not to find relief from tedium only +in a swift interchange and multiplication of +sensations; we ought rather to attain a +simple and sustained joyfulness which can +find nurture in homely and familiar things.</p> + +<p>If again the sense of beauty is so frail a +thing that it is at the mercy of all intruding +and jarring elements, it is also one of the +most patient and persistent of quiet forces. +Like the darting fly which we scare from us, +it returns again and again to settle on the +spot which it has chosen. There are, it is +true, troubled and anxious hours when the +beauty round us seems a cruel and intrusive +thing, mocking us with a peace which we +cannot realise, and torturing us with the +reminder of the joy we have lost. There +are days when the only way to forget our +misery is to absorb ourselves in some +practical energy; but that is because we +have not learned to love beauty in the right +way. If we have only thought of it as a +pleasant ingredient in our cup of joy, as a +thing which we can just use as we can use +wine, to give us an added flush of unreasonable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> +content, then it will fail us when we +need it most. When a man is under +the shadow of a bereavement, he can test +for himself how he has used love. If he +finds that the loving looks and words and +caresses of those that are left to him are a +mere torture to him, then he has used love +wrongly, just as a selfish and agreeable +delight; but if he finds strength and comfort +in the yearning sympathy of friend and +beloved, reassurance in the strength of the +love that is left him, and confidence in the +indestructibility of affection, then he has +used love wisely and purely, loving it for +itself, for its beauty and holiness, and not +only for the warmth and comfort it has +brought him.</p> + +<p>So, if we have loved beauty well, have +seen in it a promise of ultimate joy, a sign +of a deliberate intention, a message from a +power that does not send sorrow and +anxiety wantonly, cruelly and indifferently, +an assurance of something that waits to +welcome and bless us, then beauty is not +a mere torturing menace, a heartless and +unkind parading of joy which we cannot +feel, but a faithful pledge of something +secure and everlasting, which will return<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> +to us again and again in ever fuller +measure, even if the flow of it be sometimes +suspended.</p> + +<p>We ought then to train and practise our +sense of beauty, not selfishly and luxuriously, +but so that when the dark hour comes it may +help us to realise that all is not lost, may +alleviate our pain by giving us the knowledge +that the darkness is the interruption, +but that the joy is permanent and deep and +certain.</p> + +<p>Thus beauty, instead of being for us but +as the melody swiftly played when our +hearts are high, a mere momentary ray, +a happy accident that befalls us, may +become to us a deep and vital spring of +love and hope, of which we may say that +it is there waiting for us, like the home that +awaits the traveller over the weary upland +at the foot of the far-looming hill. It may +come to us as a perpetual sign that we are +not forgotten, and that the joy of which it +makes mention survives all interludes of +strife and uneasiness. It is easy to slight +and overlook it, but if we do that, we are +deluded by the passing storm into believing +that confusion and not peace is the end. +As George Meredith nobly wrote, during<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> +the tragic and fatal illness of his wife, +"Here I am in the very pits of tragic life.... +Happily for me, I have learnt to live much +in the spirit, and see brightness on the other +side of life, otherwise this running of my +poor doe with the inextricable arrow in her +flanks would pull me down too." The spirit, +the brightness of the other side, that is the +secret which beauty can communicate, and +the message which she bears upon her +radiant wings.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="XXVI" id="XXVI"></a>XXVI</h2> + +<h2>THE PRINCIPLE OF BEAUTY</h2> + + +<p>"I have loved," said Keats, "the <i>principle</i> of +beauty in all things." It is that to which all +I have said has been leading, as many roads +unite in one. We must try to use discrimination, +not to be so optimistic that we see +beauty if it is not there, not to overwhelm +every fling that every craftsman has at beauty +with gush and panegyric; not to praise +beauty in all companies, or to go off like a +ripe broom-pod, at a touch. When Walter +Pater was confronted with something which +courtesy demanded that he should seem to +admire, he used to say in that soft voice of +his, which lingered over emphatic syllables, +"Very costly, no doubt!"</p> + +<p>But we must be generous to all beautiful +intention, and quick to see any faintest +beckoning of the divine quality; and indeed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> +I would not have most people aim at too +critical an attitude, for I believe it is more +important to enjoy than to appraise; still +we must keep the principle in sight, and not +degenerate into mere collectors of beautiful +impressions. If we simply try to wallow in +beauty, we are using it sensually; while if +on the other hand we aim at correctness of +taste, which is but the faculty of sincere +concurrence with the artistic standards of +the day, we come to a sterile connoisseurship +which has no living inspiration about it. It +is the temperate use of beauty which we +must aim at, and a certain candour of observation, +looking at all things, neither that we +may condemn if we can, nor that we may +luxuriously abandon ourselves to sensation, +but that we may draw from contemplation +something of the inner light of life.</p> + +<p>I have not here said much about the arts—music, +sculpture, painting, architecture—because +I do not want to recommend any +specialisation in beauty. I know, indeed, +several high-minded people, diligent, unoriginal, +faithful, who have begun by +recognising in a philosophical way the +worth and force of beauty, but who, having +no direct instinct for it, have bemused <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>themselves +by conventional and conscientious +study, into the belief that they are on the +track of beauty in art, when they have no +real appreciation of it at all, no appetite for +it, but are only bent on perfecting temperament, +and whose unconscious motive has +been but a fear of not being in sympathy +with men whose ardour they admire, but +whose love of beauty they do not really +share. Such people tend to gravitate to early +Italian painting, because of its historical +associations, and because it can be categorically +studied. They become what is +called 'purists,' which means little more +than a learned submissiveness. In literature +they are found to admire Carlyle, +Ruskin, and Browning, not because of their +method of treating thought, but because of +the ethical maxims imbedded—as though one +were to love a conserve of plums for the +sake of the stones!</p> + +<p>One should love great writers and great +artists not because of their great thoughts—there +are plenty of inferior writers who +traffic in great thoughts—but because great +artists and writers are the people who can +irradiate with a heavenly sort of light +common thoughts and motives, so as to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> +show the beauty which underlies them and +the splendour that breaks from them. It is +possible to treat fine thoughts in a heavy +way so as to deprive them of all their rarity +and inspiration. The Gospel contains some +of the most beautiful thoughts in the world, +beautiful because they are common thoughts +which every one recognises to be true, yet set +in a certain light, just as the sunset with its +level, golden, remote glow has the power of +transfiguring a familiar scene with a glory of +mystery and desire. But one has but to turn +over a volume of dull sermons, or the pages +of a dreary commentary, to find the thoughts +of the Gospel transformed into something +that seems commonplace and uninspiring. +The beauty of ordinary things depends upon +the angle at which you see them and the +light which falls upon them; and the work +of the great artist and the great writer is to +show things at the right angle, and to shut +off the confusing muddled cross-lights which +conceal the quality of the thing seen.</p> + +<p>The recognition of the principle of beauty +lies in the assurance that many things have +beauty, if rightly viewed, and in the determination +to see things in the true light. Thus +the soul that desires to see beauty must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> +begin by believing it to be there, must +expect to see it, must watch for it, must not +be discouraged by those who do not see it, +and least of all give heed to those who would +forbid one to discern it except in definite +and approved forms. The worst of æsthetic +prophets is that, like the Scribes, they make +a fence about the law, and try to convert the +search for principle into the accumulation of +detailed tenets.</p> + +<p>Let us then never attempt to limit beauty +to definite artistic lines; that is the mistake +of the superstitious formalist who limits +divine influences to certain sanctuaries and +fixed ceremonials. The use of the sanctuary +and the ceremonial is only to concentrate at +one fiery point the wide current of impulsive +ardour. The true lover of beauty will await +it everywhere, will see it in the town, with +its rising roofs and its bleached and blackened +steeples, in the seaport with its quaint +crowded shipping, in the clustered hamlet +with its orchard-closes and high-roofed +barns, in the remote country with its wide +fields and its converging lines, in the beating +of the sea on shingle-bank and promontory; +and then if he sees it there, he will see it +concentrated and emphasised in pictures of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> +these things, the beauty of which lies so +often in the sense of the loving apprehension +of the mystery of lights and hues; and then +he will trace the same subtle spirit in the +forms and gestures and expressions of those +among whom he lives, and will go deeper +yet and trace the same spirit in conduct and +behaviour, in the free and gallant handling +of life, in the suppression of mean personal +desires, in doing dull and disagreeable things +with a fine end in view, in the noble affection +of the simplest people; until he becomes +aware that it is a quality which runs through +everything he sees or hears or feels, and +that the eternal difference is whether one +views things dully and stupidly, regarding +the moment hungrily and greedily, as a dog +regards a plateful of food, or whether one +looks at it all as a process which has some +fine and distant end in view, and sees that all +experience, whether it be of things tangible +and visible, or of things intellectual and +spiritual, is only precious because it carries +one forward, forms, moulds, and changes +one with a hope of some high and pure +resurrection out of things base and hurried +into things noble and serene.</p> + +<p>The need, the absolute need for all and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> +each of us, is to find something strong and +great to rest and repose upon. Otherwise +one simply falls back on the fact that one +exists and on the whole enjoys existing, +while one shuns the pain and darkness of +ceasing to exist. As life goes on, there +comes such an impulse to say, "Life is +attractive and might be pleasant, but there +is always something shadowing it, spoiling +it, gnawing at it, a worm in the bud, of +which one cannot be rid." And so one sinks +into a despairing apathy.</p> + +<p>What then is one born for? Just to live +and forget, to be hurt and healed, to be +strong and grow weak? That as the spirit +falls into faintness, the body should curdle +into worse than dust? To give each a +memory of things sharp and sweet, that no +one else remembers, and then to destroy +that?</p> + +<p>No, that is not the end! The end is rather +to live fully and ardently, to recognise the +indestructibility of the spirit, to strip off +from it all that wounds and disables it, not +by drearily toiling against haunting faults, +but by rising as often as we can into serene +ardour and deep hopefulness. That is the +principle of beauty, to feel that there is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> +something transforming and ennobling us, +which we can lay hold of if we wish, and +that every time we see the great spirit at +work and clasp it close to our feeble will, +we soar a step higher and see all things with +a wider and a clearer vision.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="XXVII" id="XXVII"></a>XXVII</h2> + +<h2>LIFE</h2> + + +<p>But in all this, and indeed beyond all this, +we must not dare to forget one thing; that +it is life with which we are confronted, and +that our business is to live it, and to live it +in our own way; and here we may thankfully +rejoice that there is less and less tendency +in the world for people to dictate +modes of life to us; the tyrant and the +despot are not only out of date—they are +out of fashion, which is a far more disabling +thing! There is of course a type of person +in the world who loves to call himself robust +and even virile—heaven help us to break +down that bestial ideal of manhood!—who +is of the stuff that all bullies have been +made since the world began, a compound +of courage, stupidity, and complacency; to +whom the word 'living' has no meaning,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> +unless it implies the disturbing and disquieting +of other people. We are gradually +putting him in his right place, and the +kindlier future will have little need of him; +because a sense is gradually shaping itself in +the world that life is best lived on peaceful +and orderly lines.</p> + +<p>But if the robust <i>viveur</i> is on the wrong +tack, so long as he grabs and uses, and +neither gives nor is used, so too the more +peaceable and poetical nature makes a very +similar mistake, if his whole heart is bent +upon receiving and enjoying; for he too is +filching and conveying away pleasure out +of life, though he may do it more timidly +and unobtrusively. Such a man or woman +is apt to make too much out of the occasions +and excitements of life, to over-value the +æsthetic kind of success, which is the delicate +impressing of other people, claiming their +admiration and applause, and being ill-content +if one is not noticed and praised. +Such an one is apt to overlook the common +stuff and use of life—the toil, the endurance, +the discipline of it; to flutter abroad only +on sunshiny days, and to sit sullenly with +folded wing when the sky breaks into rain +and chilly winds are blowing. The man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> +who lives thus, is in danger of over-valuing +the raptures and thrills of life, of being fitful +and moody and fretful; what he has to do +is to spread serenity over his days, and +above all to be ready to combine, to minister, +to sympathise, to serve. <i>Joyous Gard</i> is a +very perilous place, if we grow too indolent +to leave it; the essence of it is refreshment +and not continuance. There are two conditions +attached to the use of it; one is that +we should have our own wholesome work +in the world, and the second that we should +not grow too wholly absorbed in labour.</p> + +<p>No great moral leaders and inspirers of +men have ever laid stress on excessive +labour. They have accepted work as one +of the normal conditions of life, but their +whole effort has been to teach men to look +away from work, to find leisure to be happy +and good. There is no essential merit in +work, apart from its necessity. Of course +men may find themselves in positions +where it seems hard to avoid a fierce absorption +in work. It is said by legislators +that the House of Commons, for instance, +is a place where one can neither work +nor rest! And I have heard busy men in +high administrative office, deplore rhetorically<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> +the fact that they have no time to +read or think. It is almost as unwholesome +never to read or think as it is to be always +reading and thinking, because the light +and the inspiration fade out of life, and +leave one a gaunt and wolfish lobbyist, +who goes about seeking whom he may indoctrinate. +But I have little doubt that +when the world is organised on simpler +lines, we shall look back to this era, as an +era when men's heads were turned by work, +and when more unnecessary things were +made and done and said than has ever been +the case since the world began.</p> + +<p>The essence of happy living is never to +find life dull, never to feel the ugly weariness +which comes of overstrain; to be fresh, +cheerful, leisurely, sociable, unhurried, well-balanced. +It seems to me that it is impossible +to be these things unless we have time +to consider life a little, to deliberate, to select, +to abstain. We must not help ourselves +either to work or to joy as if we were +helping ourselves to potatoes! If life ought +not to be perpetual drudgery, neither can +it be a perpetual feast. What I believe we +ought to aim at is to put interest and zest +into the simplest acts, words, and relations<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> +of life, to discern the quality of work and +people alike. We must not turn our whole +minds and hearts to literature or art or +work, or even to religion; but we must go +deeper, and look close at life itself, which +these interpret and out of which they flow. +For indeed life is nobler and richer than any +one interpretation of it. Let us take for a +moment one of the great interpreters of life, +Robert Browning, who was so intensely +interested above all things in personality. +The charm of his writing is that he contrives, +by some fine instinct, to get behind +and within the people of whom he writes, +sees with their eyes, hears with their ears, +though he speaks with his own lips. But +one must observe that the judgment of none +of his characters is a final judgment; the +artist, the lover, the cynic, the charlatan, +the sage, the priest—they none of them +provide a solution to life; they set out on +their quest, they make their guesses, they +reveal their aims, but they never penetrate +the inner secret. It is all inference and +hope; Browning himself seems to believe +in life, not because of the reasons which +his characters give for believing in it, but +in spite of all their reasons. Like little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> +boats, the reasons seem to strand, one by +one, some sooner, some later, on the sands +beneath the shallow sea; and then the great +serene large faith of the poet comes flooding +in, and bears them on their way.</p> + +<p>It is somewhat thus that we must deal +with life; it is no good making up a +philosophy which just keeps us gay when +all is serene and prosperous. Unpleasant, +tedious, vexing, humiliating, painful, shattering +things befall us all by the way. That is +the test of our belief in life, if nothing daunts +us, if nothing really mars our serenity of +mood.</p> + +<p>And so what this little book of mine tries +to recommend is that we should bestir ourselves +to design, plan, use, practise life; not +drift helplessly on its current, shouting for +joy when all is bright, helplessly bemoaning +ourselves when all is dark; and that we +should do this by guarding ourselves from +impulse and whim, by feeding our minds +and hearts on all the great words, high +examples, patient endurances, splendid acts, +of those whom we recognise to have been +the finer sort of men. One of the greatest +blessings of our time is that we can do that +so easily. In the dullest, most monotonous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> +life we can stay ourselves upon this heavenly +manna, if we have the mind. We need not +feel alone or misunderstood or unappreciated, +even if we are surrounded by harsh, +foolish, dry, discontented, mournful persons. +The world is fuller now than it ever was of +brave and kindly people who will help us +if we ask for help. Of course if we choose +to perish without a struggle, we can do that. +And my last word of advice to people into +whose hands this book may fall, who are +suffering from a sense of dim failure, timid +bewilderment, with a vague desire in the +background to make something finer and +stronger out of life, is to turn to some one +whom they can trust—not intending to +depend constantly and helplessly upon +them—and to get set in the right road.</p> + +<p>Of course, as I have said, care and sorrow, +heaviness and sadness—even disillusionment—must +come; but the reason of that +is because we must not settle too close to +the sweet and kindly earth, but be ready +to unfurl our wings for the passage over +sea; and to what new country of God, what +unknown troops and societies of human +spirits, what gracious reality of dwelling-place, +of which our beloved fields and woods<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> +and streams are nothing but the gentle and +sweet symbols, our flight may bear us, I +cannot tell; but that we are all in the mind +of God, and that we cannot wander beyond +the reach of His hand or the love of His +heart, of this I am more sure than I am +of anything else in this world where +familiarity and mystery are so strangely +entwined.</p> + + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Joyous Gard, by Arthur Christopher Benson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOYOUS GARD *** + +***** This file should be named 20423-h.htm or 20423-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/4/2/20423/ + +Produced by R. 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