orthodoxy-第15部分

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



one　shilling。







　　　　　These　subconscious　convictions　are　best　hit　off　by　the　colour



and　tone　of　certain　tales。　　Thus　I　have　said　that　stories　of　magic



alone　can　express　my　sense　that　life　is　not　only　a　pleasure　but　a



kind　of　eccentric　privilege。　　I　may　express　this　other　feeling　of



cosmic　cosiness　by　allusion　to　another　book　always　read　in　boyhood；



〃Robinson　Crusoe；〃　which　I　read　about　this　time；　and　which　owes



its　eternal　vivacity　to　the　fact　that　it　celebrates　the　poetry



of　limits；　nay；　even　the　wild　romance　of　prudence。　　Crusoe　is　a　man



on　a　small　rock　with　a　few　comforts　just　snatched　from　the　sea：　



the　best　thing　in　the　book　is　simply　the　list　of　things　saved　from



the　wreck。　　The　greatest　of　poems　is　an　inventory。　　Every　kitchen



tool　becomes　ideal　because　Crusoe　might　have　dropped　it　in　the　sea。　



It　is　a　good　exercise；　in　empty　or　ugly　hours　of　the　day；



to　look　at　anything；　the　coal…scuttle　or　the　book…case；　and　think



how　happy　one　could　be　to　have　brought　it　out　of　the　sinking　ship



on　to　the　solitary　island。　　But　it　is　a　better　exercise　still



to　remember　how　all　things　have　had　this　hair…breadth　escape：　



everything　has　been　saved　from　a　wreck。　　Every　man　has　had　one



horrible　adventure：　　as　a　hidden　untimely　birth　he　had　not　been；



as　infants　that　never　see　the　light。　　Men　spoke　much　in　my　boyhood



of　restricted　or　ruined　men　of　genius：　　and　it　was　common　to　say



that　many　a　man　was　a　Great　Might…Have…Been。　To　me　it　is　a　more



solid　and　startling　fact　that　any　man　in　the　street　is　a　Great



Might…Not…Have…Been。







　　　　　But　I　really　felt　（the　fancy　may　seem　foolish）　as　if　all　the　order



and　number　of　things　were　the　romantic　remnant　of　Crusoe's　ship。　



That　there　are　two　sexes　and　one　sun；　was　like　the　fact　that　there



were　two　guns　and　one　axe。　　It　was　poignantly　urgent　that　none　should



be　lost；　but　somehow；　it　was　rather　fun　that　none　could　be　added。　



The　trees　and　the　planets　seemed　like　things　saved　from　the　wreck：　



and　when　I　saw　the　Matterhorn　I　was　glad　that　it　had　not　been　overlooked



in　the　confusion。　　I　felt　economical　about　the　stars　as　if　they　were



sapphires　（they　are　called　so　in　Milton's　Eden）：　I　hoarded　the　hills。　



For　the　universe　is　a　single　jewel；　and　while　it　is　a　natural　cant



to　talk　of　a　jewel　as　peerless　and　priceless；　of　this　jewel　it　is



literally　true。　　This　cosmos　is　indeed　without　peer　and　without　price：　



for　there　cannot　be　another　one。







　　　　　Thus　ends；　in　unavoidable　inadequacy；　the　attempt　to　utter　the



unutterable　things。　　These　are　my　ultimate　attitudes　towards　life；



the　soils　for　the　seeds　of　doctrine。　　These　in　some　dark　way　I



thought　before　I　could　write；　and　felt　before　I　could　think：　



that　we　may　proceed　more　easily　afterwards；　I　will　roughly　recapitulate



them　now。　　I　felt　in　my　bones；　first；　that　this　world　does　not



explain　itself。　　It　may　be　a　miracle　with　a　supernatural　explanation；



it　may　be　a　conjuring　trick；　with　a　natural　explanation。　



But　the　explanation　of　the　conjuring　trick；　if　it　is　to　satisfy　me；



will　have　to　be　better　than　the　natural　explanations　I　have　heard。　



The　thing　is　magic；　true　or　false。　　Second；　I　came　to　feel　as　if　magic



must　have　a　meaning；　and　meaning　must　have　some　one　to　mean　it。　



There　was　something　personal　in　the　world；　as　in　a　work　of　art；



whatever　it　meant　it　meant　violently。　　Third；　I　thought　this



purpose　beautiful　in　its　old　design；　in　spite　of　its　defects；



such　as　dragons。　　Fourth；　that　the　proper　form　of　thanks　to　it



is　some　form　of　humility　and　restraint：　　we　should　thank　God



for　beer　and　Burgundy　by　not　drinking　too　much　of　them。　　We　owed；



also；　an　obedience　to　whatever　made　us。　　And　last；　and　strangest；



there　had　come　into　my　mind　a　vague　and　vast　impression　that　in　some



way　all　good　was　a　remnant　to　be　stored　and　held　sacred　out　of　some



primordial　ruin。　　Man　had　saved　his　good　as　Crusoe　saved　his　goods：　



he　had　saved　them　from　a　wreck。　　All　this　I　felt　and　the　age　gave　me



no　encouragement　to　feel　it。　　And　all　this　time　I　had　not　even　thought



of　Christian　theology。















V　THE　FLAG　OF　THE　WORLD











　　　　　When　I　was　a　boy　there　were　two　curious　men　running　about



who　were　called　the　optimist　and　the　pessimist。　　I　constantly　used



the　words　myself；　but　I　cheerfully　confess　that　I　never　had　any



very　special　idea　of　what　they　meant。　　The　only　thing　which　might



be　considered　evident　was　that　they　could　not　mean　what　they　said；



for　the　ordinary　verbal　explanation　was　that　the　optimist　thought



this　world　as　good　as　it　could　be；　while　the　pessimist　thought



it　as　bad　as　it　could　be。　　Both　these　statements　being　obviously



raving　nonsense；　one　had　to　cast　about　for　other　explanations。　



An　optimist　could　not　mean　a　man　who　thought　everything　right　and



nothing　wrong。　　For　that　is　meaningless；　it　is　like　calling　everything



right　and　nothing　left。　　Upon　the　whole；　I　came　to　the　conclusion



that　the　optimist　thought　everything　good　except　the　pessimist；



and　that　the　pessimist　thought　everything　bad；　except　himself。　



It　would　be　unfair　to　omit　altogether　from　the　list　the　mysterious



but　suggestive　definition　said　to　have　been　given　by　a　little　girl；



〃An　optimist　is　a　man　who　looks　after　your　eyes；　and　a　pessimist



is　a　man　who　looks　after　your　feet。〃　　I　am　not　sure　that　this　is　not



the　best　definition　of　all。　　There　is　even　a　sort　of　allegorical　truth



in　it。　　For　there　might；　perhaps；　be　a　profitable　distinction　drawn



between　that　more　dreary　thinker　who　thinks　merely　of　our　contact



with　the　earth　from　moment　to　moment；　and　that　happier　thinker



who　considers　rather　our　primary　power　of　vision　and　of　choice



of　road。







　　　　　But　this　is　a　deep　mistake　in　this　alternative　of　the　optimist



and　the　pessimist。　　The　assumption　of　it　is　that　a　man　criticises



this　world　as　if　he　were　house…hunting；　as　if　he　were　being　shown



over　a　new　suite　of　apartments。　　If　a　man　came　to　this　world　from



some　other　world　in　full　possession　of　his　powers　he　might　discuss



whether　the　advantage　of　midsummer　woods　made　up　for　the　disadvantage



of　mad　dogs；　just　as　a　man　looking　for　lodgings　might　balance



the　presence　of　a　telephone　against　the　absence　of　a　sea　view。　



But　no　man　is　in　that　position。　　A　man　belongs　to　this　world　before



he　begins　to　ask　if　it　is　nice　to　belong　to　it。　　He　has　fought　for



the　flag；　and　often　won　heroic　victories　for　the　flag　long　before　he



has　ever　enlisted。　　To　put　shortly　what　seems　the　essential　matter；



he　has　a　loyalty　long　before　he　has　any　admiration。







　　　　　In　the　last　chapter　it　has　been　said　that　the　primary　feeling



that　this　world　is　strange　and　yet　attractive　is　best　expressed



in　fairy　tales。　　The　reader　may；　if　he　likes；　put　down　the　next



stage　to　that　bellicose　and　even　jingo　literature　which　commonly



comes　next　in　the　history　of　a　boy。　　We　all　owe　much　sound　morality



to　the　penny　dreadfuls。　　Whatever　the　reason；　it　seemed　and　still



seems　to　me　that　our　attitude　towards　life　can　be　better　expressed



in　terms　of　a　kind　of　military　loyalty　than　in　terms　of　criticism



and　approval。　　My　acceptance　of　the　universe　is　not　optimism；



it　is　more　like　patriotism。　　It　is　a　matter　of　primary　loyalty。　



The　world　is　not　a　lodging…house　at　Brighton；　which　we　are　to



leave　because　it　is　miserable。　　It　is　the　fortress　of　our　family；



with　the　flag　flying　on　the　turret；　and　the　more　miserable　it



is　the　less　we　should　leave　it。　　The　point　is　not　that　this　world



is　too　sad　to　love　or　too　glad　not　to　love；　the　point　is　that



when　you　do　love　a　thing；　its　gladness　is　a　reason　for　loving　it；



and　its　sadness　a　reason　for　loving　it　more。　　All　optimistic　thoughts



about　England　and　all　pessimistic　thoughts　about　her　are　alike



reasons　for　the　English　patriot。　　Similarly；　optimism　and　pessimism



are　alike　arguments　for　the　cosmic　patriot。







　　　　　Let　us　suppose　we　are　confronted　with　a　desperate　thing



say　Pimlico。　　If　we　think　what　is　really　best　for　Pimlico　we　shall



find　the　thread　of　thought　leads　to　the　throne　or　the　mystic　and



the　arbitrary。　　It　is　not　enough　for　a　man　to　disapprove　of　Pimlico：　



in　that　case　he　will　merely　cut　his　throat　or　move　to　Chelsea。　



Nor；　certainly；　is　it　enough　for　a　man　to　approve　of　Pimlico：　



for　then　it　will　remain　Pimlico；　which　would　be　awful。　



The　only　way　out　of　it　seems　to　be　for　somebody　to　love　Pimlico：　



to　love　it　with　a　transcendental　tie　and　without　any　earthly　reason。　



If　there　arose　a　man　who　loved　Pimlico；　then　Pimlico　would　rise



into　ivory　towers　and　golden　pinnacles；　Pimlico　would　attire　herself



as　a　woman　does　when　she　is　loved。　　For　decoration　is　not　given



to　hide　horrible　things：　　but　to　decorate　things　already　adorable。　



A　mother　does　not　give　her　child　a　blue　bow　because　he　is　so　ugly



without　it。　　A　lover　does　not　give　a　girl　a　necklace　to　hide　her　neck。　



If　men　loved　Pimlico　as　mothers　love　children；　arbitrarily；　because　it



is　THEIRS；　Pimlico　in　a　year　or　two　might　be　fairer　than　Florence。　



Some　readers　will　say　that　this　is　a　mere　fantasy。　　I　answer　that　this



is　the　actual　history　of　mankind。　　This；　as　a　fact；　is　how　cities　did



grow　great。　　Go　back　to　the　darkest　roots　of　civilization　and　you



will　find　them　knotted　round　some　sacred　stone　or　encircling　some



sacred　well。　　People　first　paid　honour　to　a　spot　and　afterwards



gained　glory　for　it。