orthodoxy-第3章

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that　necessity。　　They　began　with　the　fact　of　sina　fact　as　practical



as　potatoes。　　Whether　or　no　man　could　be　washed　in　miraculous



waters；　there　was　no　doubt　at　any　rate　that　he　wanted　washing。　



But　certain　religious　leaders　in　London；　not　mere　materialists；



have　begun　in　our　day　not　to　deny　the　highly　disputable　water；



but　to　deny　the　indisputable　dirt。　　Certain　new　theologians　dispute



original　sin；　which　is　the　only　part　of　Christian　theology　which　can



really　be　proved。　　Some　followers　of　the　Reverend　R。J。Campbell；　in



their　almost　too　fastidious　spirituality；　admit　divine　sinlessness；



which　they　cannot　see　even　in　their　dreams。　　But　they　essentially



deny　human　sin；　which　they　can　see　in　the　street。　　The　strongest



saints　and　the　strongest　sceptics　alike　took　positive　evil　as　the



starting…point　of　their　argument。　　If　it　be　true　（as　it　certainly　is）



that　a　man　can　feel　exquisite　happiness　in　skinning　a　cat；



then　the　religious　philosopher　can　only　draw　one　of　two　deductions。　



He　must　either　deny　the　existence　of　God；　as　all　atheists　do；　or　he



must　deny　the　present　union　between　God　and　man；　as　all　Christians　do。　



The　new　theologians　seem　to　think　it　a　highly　rationalistic　solution



to　deny　the　cat。







　　　　　In　this　remarkable　situation　it　is　plainly　not　now　possible



（with　any　hope　of　a　universal　appeal）　to　start；　as　our　fathers　did；



with　the　fact　of　sin。　　This　very　fact　which　was　to　them　（and　is　to　me）



as　plain　as　a　pikestaff；　is　the　very　fact　that　has　been　specially



diluted　or　denied。　　But　though　moderns　deny　the　existence　of　sin；



I　do　not　think　that　they　have　yet　denied　the　existence　of　a



lunatic　asylum。　　We　all　agree　still　that　there　is　a　collapse　of



the　intellect　as　unmistakable　as　a　falling　house。　　Men　deny　hell；



but　not；　as　yet；　Hanwell。　　For　the　purpose　of　our　primary　argument



the　one　may　very　well　stand　where　the　other　stood。　　I　mean　that　as



all　thoughts　and　theories　were　once　judged　by　whether　they　tended



to　make　a　man　lose　his　soul；　so　for　our　present　purpose　all　modern



thoughts　and　theories　may　be　judged　by　whether　they　tend　to　make



a　man　lose　his　wits。







　　　　　It　is　true　that　some　speak　lightly　and　loosely　of　insanity



as　in　itself　attractive。　　But　a　moment's　thought　will　show　that　if



disease　is　beautiful；　it　is　generally　some　one　else's　disease。　



A　blind　man　may　be　picturesque；　but　it　requires　two　eyes　to　see



the　picture。　　And　similarly　even　the　wildest　poetry　of　insanity　can



only　be　enjoyed　by　the　sane。　　To　the　insane　man　his　insanity　is



quite　prosaic；　because　it　is　quite　true。　　A　man　who　thinks　himself



a　chicken　is　to　himself　as　ordinary　as　a　chicken。　　A　man　who　thinks



he　is　a　bit　of　glass　is　to　himself　as　dull　as　a　bit　of　glass。　



It　is　the　homogeneity　of　his　mind　which　makes　him　dull；　and　which



makes　him　mad。　　It　is　only　because　we　see　the　irony　of　his　idea



that　we　think　him　even　amusing；　it　is　only　because　he　does　not　see



the　irony　of　his　idea　that　he　is　put　in　Hanwell　at　all。　　In　short；



oddities　only　strike　ordinary　people。　　Oddities　do　not　strike



odd　people。　　This　is　why　ordinary　people　have　a　much　more　exciting　time；



while　odd　people　are　always　complaining　of　the　dulness　of　life。　



This　is　also　why　the　new　novels　die　so　quickly；　and　why　the　old



fairy　tales　endure　for　ever。　　The　old　fairy　tale　makes　the　hero



a　normal　human　boy；　it　is　his　adventures　that　are　startling；



they　startle　him　because　he　is　normal。　　But　in　the　modern



psychological　novel　the　hero　is　abnormal；　the　centre　is　not　central。　



Hence　the　fiercest　adventures　fail　to　affect　him　adequately；



and　the　book　is　monotonous。　　You　can　make　a　story　out　of　a　hero



among　dragons；　but　not　out　of　a　dragon　among　dragons。　　The　fairy



tale　discusses　what　a　sane　man　will　do　in　a　mad　world。　　The　sober



realistic　novel　of　to…day　discusses　what　an　essential　lunatic　will



do　in　a　dull　world。







　　　　　Let　us　begin；　then；　with　the　mad…house；　from　this　evil　and　fantastic



inn　let　us　set　forth　on　our　intellectual　journey。　　Now；　if　we　are



to　glance　at　the　philosophy　of　sanity；　the　first　thing　to　do　in　the



matter　is　to　blot　out　one　big　and　common　mistake。　　There　is　a　notion



adrift　everywhere　that　imagination；　especially　mystical　imagination；



is　dangerous　to　man's　mental　balance。　　Poets　are　commonly　spoken　of　as



psychologically　unreliable；　and　generally　there　is　a　vague　association



between　wreathing　laurels　in　your　hair　and　sticking　straws　in　it。　



Facts　and　history　utterly　contradict　this　view。　　Most　of　the　very



great　poets　have　been　not　only　sane；　but　extremely　business…like；



and　if　Shakespeare　ever　really　held　horses；　it　was　because　he　was　much



the　safest　man　to　hold　them。　　Imagination　does　not　breed　insanity。　



Exactly　what　does　breed　insanity　is　reason。　　Poets　do　not　go　mad；



but　chess…players　do。　　Mathematicians　go　mad；　and　cashiers；



but　creative　artists　very　seldom。　　I　am　not；　as　will　be　seen；



in　any　sense　attacking　logic：　　I　only　say　that　this　danger　does



lie　in　logic；　not　in　imagination。　　Artistic　paternity　is　as



wholesome　as　physical　paternity。　　Moreover；　it　is　worthy　of　remark



that　when　a　poet　really　was　morbid　it　was　commonly　because　he　had



some　weak　spot　of　rationality　on　his　brain。　　Poe；　for　instance；



really　was　morbid；　not　because　he　was　poetical；　but　because　he



was　specially　analytical。　　Even　chess　was　too　poetical　for　him；



he　disliked　chess　because　it　was　full　of　knights　and　castles；



like　a　poem。　　He　avowedly　preferred　the　black　discs　of　draughts；



because　they　were　more　like　the　mere　black　dots　on　a　diagram。　



Perhaps　the　strongest　case　of　all　is　this：　　that　only　one　great　English



poet　went　mad；　Cowper。　　And　he　was　definitely　driven　mad　by　logic；



by　the　ugly　and　alien　logic　of　predestination。　　Poetry　was　not



the　disease；　but　the　medicine；　poetry　partly　kept　him　in　health。　



He　could　sometimes　forget　the　red　and　thirsty　hell　to　which　his



hideous　necessitarianism　dragged　him　among　the　wide　waters　and



the　white　flat　lilies　of　the　Ouse。　　He　was　damned　by　John　Calvin；



he　was　almost　saved　by　John　Gilpin。　　Everywhere　we　see　that　men



do　not　go　mad　by　dreaming。　　Critics　are　much　madder　than　poets。　



Homer　is　complete　and　calm　enough；　it　is　his　critics　who　tear　him



into　extravagant　tatters。　　Shakespeare　is　quite　himself；　it　is　only



some　of　his　critics　who　have　discovered　that　he　was　somebody　else。　



And　though　St。　John　the　Evangelist　saw　many　strange　monsters　in



his　vision；　he　saw　no　creature　so　wild　as　one　of　his　own　commentators。　



The　general　fact　is　simple。　　Poetry　is　sane　because　it　floats



easily　in　an　infinite　sea；　reason　seeks　to　cross　the　infinite　sea；



and　so　make　it　finite。　　The　result　is　mental　exhaustion；



like　the　physical　exhaustion　of　Mr。　Holbein。　　To　accept　everything



is　an　exercise；　to　understand　everything　a　strain。　　The　poet　only



desires　exaltation　and　expansion；　a　world　to　stretch　himself　in。　



The　poet　only　asks　to　get　his　head　into　the　heavens。　　It　is　the　logician



who　seeks　to　get　the　heavens　into　his　head。　　And　it　is　his　head



that　splits。







　　　　　It　is　a　small　matter；　but　not　irrelevant；　that　this　striking



mistake　is　commonly　supported　by　a　striking　misquotation。　　We　have



all　heard　people　cite　the　celebrated　line　of　Dryden　as　〃Great　genius



is　to　madness　near　allied。〃　　But　Dryden　did　not　say　that　great　genius



was　to　madness　near　allied。　　Dryden　was　a　great　genius　himself；



and　knew　better。　　It　would　have　been　hard　to　find　a　man　more　romantic



than　he；　or　more　sensible。　　What　Dryden　said　was　this；　〃Great　wits



are　oft　to　madness　near　allied〃；　and　that　is　true。　　It