orthodoxy-第17章

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of　the　world。　　Nothing　ever　had　happened　since　existence　had　happened；



and　even　about　the　date　of　that　they　were　not　very　sure。







　　　　　The　modern　world　as　I　found　it　was　solid　for　modern　Calvinism；



for　the　necessity　of　things　being　as　they　are。　　But　when　I　came



to　ask　them　I　found　they　had　really　no　proof　of　this　unavoidable



repetition　in　things　except　the　fact　that　the　things　were　repeated。　



Now；　the　mere　repetition　made　the　things　to　me　rather　more　weird



than　more　rational。　　It　was　as　if；　having　seen　a　curiously　shaped



nose　in　the　street　and　dismissed　it　as　an　accident；　I　had　then



seen　six　other　noses　of　the　same　astonishing　shape。　　I　should　have



fancied　for　a　moment　that　it　must　be　some　local　secret　society。　



So　one　elephant　having　a　trunk　was　odd；　but　all　elephants　having



trunks　looked　like　a　plot。　　I　speak　here　only　of　an　emotion；



and　of　an　emotion　at　once　stubborn　and　subtle。　　But　the　repetition



in　Nature　seemed　sometimes　to　be　an　excited　repetition；　like　that　of



an　angry　schoolmaster　saying　the　same　thing　over　and　over　again。　



The　grass　seemed　signalling　to　me　with　all　its　fingers　at　once；



the　crowded　stars　seemed　bent　upon　being　understood。　　The　sun　would



make　me　see　him　if　he　rose　a　thousand　times。　　The　recurrences　of　the



universe　rose　to　the　maddening　rhythm　of　an　incantation；　and　I　began



to　see　an　idea。







　　　　　All　the　towering　materialism　which　dominates　the　modern　mind



rests　ultimately　upon　one　assumption；　a　false　assumption。　　It　is



supposed　that　if　a　thing　goes　on　repeating　itself　it　is　probably　dead；



a　piece　of　clockwork。　　People　feel　that　if　the　universe　was　personal



it　would　vary；　if　the　sun　were　alive　it　would　dance。　　This　is　a



fallacy　even　in　relation　to　known　fact。　　For　the　variation　in　human



affairs　is　generally　brought　into　them；　not　by　life；　but　by　death；



by　the　dying　down　or　breaking　off　of　their　strength　or　desire。　



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



Because　children　have　abounding　vitality；　because　they　are　in　spirit



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



after　generation；　and　yet　each　birth　be　his　positively　last



appearance。







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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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







　　　　　But　modern　thought　also　hit　my　second　human　tradition。　



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



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



Herbert　Spencer　would　have　been　greatly　annoyed　if　any　one　had



called　him　an　imperialist；　and　therefore　it　is　highly　regrettable



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



He　popularized　this　contemptible　notion　that　the　size　of　the　solar



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



way　been　conquered　and　annexed　by　the　astronomical　universe。　



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



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



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



in　the　most　spirited　and　honourable　of　later　scientific　authors；



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



have　in　an　exaggerated　way　represented　the　earth　as　wicked。　



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



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



our　ruin。







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



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



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



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



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



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



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



such　as　forgiveness　or　free　will。　　The　grandeur　or　infinity



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



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



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



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



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



So　these　exp