a miscellany of men-第21部分

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perous　Europeans　who　like　to　get　work　done　and　pay　as　little　as　possible　for　it。

But　I　cannot　make　out　why；　with　his　enthusiasm　for　heathen　habits　and　traditions；　the　Dean　should　wish　to　spread　in　the　East　the　ideas　which　he　has　found　so　dreadfully　unsettling　in　the　West。　If　some　thousands　of　years　of　paganism　have　produced　the　patience　and　industry　that　Dean　Inge　admires；　and　if　some　thousand　years　of　Christianity　have　produced　the　sentimentality　and　sensationalism　which　he　regrets；　the　obvious　deduction　is　that　Dean　Inge　would　be　much　happier　if　he　were　a　heathen　Chinese。　Instead　of　supporting　Christian　missions　to　Korea　or　Japan；　he　ought　to　be　at　the　head　of　a　great　mission　in　London　for　converting　the　English　to　Taoism　or　Buddhism。　There　his　passion　for　the　moral　beauties　of　paganism　would　have　free　and　natural　play；　his　style　would　improve；　his　mind　would　begin　slowly　to　clear；　and　he　would　be　free　from　all　sorts　of　little　irritating　scrupulosities　which　must　hamper　even　the　most　Conservative　Christian　in　his　full　praise　of　sweating　and　the　sack。

In　Christendom　he　will　never　find　rest。　　The　perpetual　public　criticism　and　public　change　which　is　the　note　of　all　our　history　springs　from　a　certain　spirit　far　too　deep　to　be　defined。　　It　is　deeper　than　democracy；　nay；　it　may　often　appear　to　be　non…democratic；　for　it　may　often　be　the　special　defence　of　a　minority　or　an　individual。　　It　will　often　leave　the　ninety…and…nine　in　the　wilderness　and　go　after　that　which　is　lost。　　It　will　often　risk　the　State　itself　to　right　a　single　wrong；　and　do　justice　though　the　heavens　fall。　　Its　highest　expression　is　not　even　in　the　formula　of　the　great　gentlemen　of　the　French　Revolution　who　said　that　all　men　were　free　and　equal。　　Its　highest　expression　is　rather　in　the　formula　of　the　peasant　who　said　that　a　man's　a　man　for　a'　that。　　If　there　were　but　one　slave　in　England；　and　he　did　all　the　work　while　the　rest　of　us　made　merry；　this　spirit　that　is　in　us　would　still　cry　aloud　to　God　night　and　day。　　Whether　or　no　this　spirit　was　produced　by；　it　clearly　works　with；　a　creed　which　postulates　a　humanised　God　and　a　vividly　personal　immortality。　　Men　must　not　be　busy　merely　like　a　swarm；　or　even　happy　merely　like　a　herd；　for　it　is　not　a　question　of　men；　but　of　a　man。　　A　man's　meals　may　be　poor；　but　they　must　not　be　bestial；　there　must　always　be　that　about　the　meal　which　permits　of　its　comparison　to　the　sacrament。　A　man's　bed　may　be　hard；　but　it　must　not　be　abject　or　unclean：　there　must　always　be　about　the　bed　something　of　the　decency　of　the　death…bed。

This　is　the　spirit　which　makes　the　Christian　poor　begin　their　terrible　murmur　whenever　there　is　a　turn　of　prices　or　a　deadlock　of　toil　that　threatens　them　with　vagabondage　or　pauperisation；　and　we　cannot　encourage　the　Dean　with　any　hope　that　this　spirit　can　be　cast　out。　　Christendom　will　continue　to　suffer　all　the　disadvantages　of　being　Christian：　it　is　the　Dean　who　must　be　gently　but　firmly　altered。　　He　had　absent…mindedly　strayed　into　the　wrong　continent　and　the　wrong　creed。　　I　advise　him　to　chuck　it。

But　the　case　is　more　curious　still。　　To　connect　the　Dean　with　Confucian　temples　or　traditions　may　have　appeared　fantastic；　but　it　is　not。　　Dr。　Inge　is　not　a　stupid　old　Tory　Rector；　strict　both　on　Church　and　State。　Such　a　man　might　talk　nonsense　about　the　Christian　Socialists　being　〃court　chaplains　of　King　Demos〃　or　about　his　own　superb　valour　in　defying　the　democracy　that　rages　in　the　front　pews　of　Anglican　churches。　　We　should　not　expect　a　mere　old…fashioned　country　clergyman　to　know　that　Demos　has　never　been　king　in　England　and　precious　seldom　anywhere　else；　we　should　not　expect　him　to　realise　that　if　King　Demos　had　any　chaplains　they　would　be　uncommonly　poorly　paid。　　But　Dr。　Inge　is　not　old…fashioned；　he　considers　himself　highly　progressive　and　advanced。　　He　is　a　New　Theologian；　that　is；　he　is　liberal　in　theologyand　nothing　else。　　He　is　apparently　in　sober　fact；　and　not　as　in　any　fantasy；　in　sympathy　with　those　who　would　soften　the　superior　claim　of　our　creed　by　urging　the　rival　creeds　of　the　East；　with　those　who　would　absorb　the　virtues　of　Buddhism　or　of　Islam。　　He　holds　a　high　seat　in　that　modern　Parliament　of　Religions　where　all　believers　respect　each　other's　unbelief。

Now　this　has　a　very　sharp　moral　for　modern　religious　reformers。　　When　next　you　hear　the　〃liberal〃　Christian　say　that　we　should　take　what　is　best　in　Oriental　faiths；　make　quite　sure　what　are　the　things　that　people　like　Dr。　Inge　call　best；　what　are　the　things　that　people　like　Dr。　Inge　propose　to　take。　　You　will　not　find　them　imitating　the　military　valour　of　the　Moslem。　　You　will　not　find　them　imitating　the　miraculous　ecstasy　of　the　Hindoo。　　The　more　you　study　the　〃broad〃　movement　of　today；　the　more　you　will　find　that　these　people　want　something　much　less　like　Chinese　metaphysics；　and　something　much　more　like　Chinese　Labour。　　You　will　find　the　levelling　of　creeds　quite　unexpectedly　close　to　the　lowering　of　wages。　Dr。　Inge　is　the　typical　latitudinarian　of　to…day；　and　was　never　more　so　than　when　he　appeared　not　as　the　apostle　of　the　blacks；　but　as　the　apostle　of　the　blacklegs。　　Preached；　as　it　is；　almost　entirely　among　the　prosperous　and　polite；　our　brotherhood　with　Buddhism　or　Mohammedanism　practically　means　thisthat　the　poor　must　be　as　meek　as　Buddhists；　while　the　rich　may　be　as　ruthless　as　Mohammedans。　　That　is　what　they　call　the　reunion　of　all　religions。



THE　ROMANTIC　IN　THE　RAIN


The　middle　classes　of　modern　England　are　quite　fanatically　fond　of　washing；　and　are　often　enthusiastic　for　teetotalism。　　I　cannot　therefore　comprehend　why　it　is　that　they　exhibit　a　mysterious　dislike　of　rain。　Rain；　that　inspiring　and　delightful　thing；　surely　combines　the　qualities　of　these　two　ideals　with　quite　a　curious　perfection。　　Our　philanthropists　are　eager　to　establish　public　baths　everywhere。　　Rain　surely　is　a　public　bath；　it　might　almost　be　called　mixed　bathing。　　The　appearance　of　persons　coming　fresh　from　this　great　natural　lustration　is　not　perhaps　polished　or　dignified；　but　for　the　matter　of　that；　few　people　are　dignified　when　coming　out　of　a　bath。　　But　the　scheme　of　rain　in　itself　is　one　of　an　enormous　purification。　　It　realises　the　dream　of　some　insane　hygienist：　it　scrubs　the　sky。　　Its　giant　brooms　and　mops　seem　to　reach　the　starry　rafters　and　Starless　corners　of　the　cosmos；　it　is　a　cosmic　spring…　cleaning。

If　the　Englishman　is　really　fond　of　cold　baths；　he　ought　not　to　grumble　at　the　English　climate　for　being　a　cold　bath。　　In　these　days　we　are　constantly　told　that　we　should　leave　our　little　special　possessions　and　join　in　the　enjoyment　of　common　social　institutions　and　a　common　social　machinery。　　I　offer　the　rain　as　a　thoroughly　Socialistic　institution。　　It　disregards　that　degraded　delicacy　which　has　hitherto　led　each　gentleman　to　take　his　shower…bath　in　private。　　It　is　a　better　shower…bath；　because　it　is　public　and　communal；　and；　best　of　all；　because　somebody　else　pulls　the　string。

As　for　the　fascination　of　rain　for　the　water　drinker；　it　is　a　fact　the　neglect　of　which　I　simply　cannot　comprehend。　　The　enthusiastic　water　drinker　must　regard　a　rainstorm　as　a　sort　of　universal　banquet　and　debauch　of　his　own　favourite　beverage。　　Think　of　the　imaginative　intoxication　of　the　wine　drinker　if　the　crimson　clouds　sent　down　claret　or　the　golden　clouds　hock。　　Paint　upon　primitive　darkness　some　such　scenes　of　apocalypse；　towering　and　gorgeous　skyscapes　in　which　champagne　falls　like　fire　from　heaven　or　the　dark　skies　grow　purple　and　tawny　with　the　terrible　colours　of　port。　　All　this　must　the　wild　abstainer　feel；　as　he　rolls　in　the　long　soaking　grass；　kicks　his　ecstatic　heels　to　heaven；　and　listens　to　the　roaring　rain。　　It　is　he；　the　water　drinker；　who　ought　to　be　the　true　bacchanal　of　the　forests；　for　all　the　forests　are　drinking　water。　　Moreover；　the　forests　are　apparently　enjoying　it：　the　trees　rave　and　reel　to　and　fro　like　drunken　giants；　they　clash　boughs　as　revellers　clash　cups；　they　roar　undying　thirst　and　howl　the　health　of　the　world。

All　around　me　as　I　write　is　a　noise　of　Nature　drinking：　and　Nature　makes　a　noise　when　she　is　drinking；　being　by　no　means　refined。　　If　I　count　it　Christian　mercy　to　give　a　cup　of　cold　water　to　a　sufferer；　shall　I　complain　of　these　multitudinous　cups　of　cold　water　handed　round　to　all　living　things；　a　cup　of　water　for　every　shrub；　a　cup　of　water　for　every　weed？　　I　would　be　ashamed　to　grumble　at　it。　　As　Sir　Philip　Sidney　said；　their　need　is　greater　than　mineespecially　for　water。

There　is　a　wild　garment　that　still　carries　nobly　the　name　of　a　wild　Highland　clan：　a　elan　come　from　those　hills　where　rain　is　not　so　much　an　incident　as　an　atmosphere。　　Surely　every　man　of　imagination　must　feel　a　tempestuous　flame　of　Celtic　romance　spring　up　within　him　whenever　he　puts　on　a　mackintosh。　　I　could　never　reconcile　myself　to　carrying　all　umbrella；　it　is　a　pompous　Eastern　business；　carried　over　the　heads　of　despots　in　the　dry；　hot　lands。　　Shut　up；　an　umbrella　is　an　unmanageable　walking…　stick；　open；　it　is　an　inadequate　tent。　　For　my　part；　I　have　no　taste　for　pretending　to　be　a　walking　pavilion；　I　think　nothing　of　my　hat；　and　precious　little　of　my　head。　　If　I　am　to　be　protected　against　wet；　it　must　be　by　some　closer　and　more　careless　protection；　something　that　I　can　forget　altogether。　　It　might　be　a　Highland　plaid。　　It　might　be　that　yet　more　Highland　thing；　a　mackintosh。

And　there　is　really　something　in　the　mackintosh　of　the　military　qualities　of　the　Highlander。　　The　proper　cheap　mackintosh　has　a　blue　and　white　sheen　as　of　steel　or　iron；　it　gleams　like　armour。　　I　like　to　think　of　it　as　the　uniform　of　that　ancient　clan　in　some　of　its　old　and　misty　raids。　I　like　to　think　of　all　the　Macintoshes；　in　their　mackintoshes；　descending　on　some　doomed　Lowland　village；　their　wet　waterproofs　flashing　in　the　sun　or　moon。　　For　indeed　this　is　one　of　the　real　beauties　of　rainy　weather；　that　while　the　amount　of　original　and　direct　light　is　commonly　lessened；　the　number　of　things　that　reflect　light　is　unquestionably　increased。　There　is　less　sunshine；　but　there　are　more　shiny　things；　such　beautifully　shiny　things　as　pools　and　puddles　and　mackintoshes。　　It　is　like　moving　in　a　world　of　mirrors。

And　indeed　this　is　the　last　and　not　the　lea