man and superman-第6章

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grievances　complaining　that　the　world　will　not　devote　itself　to
making　you　happy。　And　also　the　only　real　tragedy　in　life　is　the
being　used　by　personally　minded　men　for　purposes　which　you
recognize　to　be　base。　All　the　rest　is　at　worst　mere　misfortune　or
mortality：　this　alone　is　misery；　slavery；　hell　on　earth；　and　the
revolt　against　it　is　the　only　force　that　offers　a　man's　work　to
the　poor　artist；　whom　our　personally　minded　rich　people　would　so
willingly　employ　as　pandar；　buffoon；　beauty　monger；
sentimentalizer　and　the　like。

It　may　seem　a　long　step　from　Bunyan　to　Nietzsche；　but　the
difference　between　their　conclusions　is　purely　formal。　Bunyan's
perception　that　righteousness　is　filthy　rags；　his　scorn　for　Mr
Legality　in　the　village　of　Morality；　his　defiance　of　the　Church
as　the　supplanter　of　religion；　his　insistence　on　courage　as　the
virtue　of　virtues；　his　estimate　of　the　career　of　the
conventionally　respectable　and　sensible　Worldly　Wiseman　as　no
better　at　bottom　than　the　life　and　death　of　Mr　Badman：　all　this；
expressed　by　Bunyan　in　the　terms　of　a　tinker's　theology；　is　what
Nietzsche　has　expressed　in　terms　of　post…Darwinian；
post…Schopenhaurian　philosophy；　Wagner　in　terms　of　polytheistic
mythology；　and　Ibsen　in　terms　of　mid…XIX　century　Parisian
dramaturgy。　Nothing　is　new　in　these　matters　except　their
novelties：　for　instance；　it　is　a　novelty　to　call　Justification　by
Faith　〃Wille；〃　and　Justification　by　Works　〃Vorstellung。〃　The　sole
use　of　the　novelty　is　that　you　and　I　buy　and　read　Schopenhaur's
treatise　on　Will　and　Representation　when　we　should　not　dream　of
buying　a　set　of　sermons　on　Faith　versus　Works。　At　bottom　the
controversy　is　the　same；　and　the　dramatic　results　are　the　same。
Bunyan　makes　no　attempt　to　present　his　pilgrims　as　more　sensible
or　better　conducted　than　Mr　Worldly　Wiseman。　Mr　W。　W。's　worst
enemies；　as　Mr　Embezzler；　Mr　Never…go…to…Church…on…Sunday；　Mr　Bad
Form；　Mr　Murderer；　Mr　Burglar；　Mr　Co…respondent；　Mr　Blackmailer；
Mr　Cad；　Mr　Drunkard；　Mr　Labor　Agitator　and　so　forth；　can　read　the
Pilgrim's　Progress　without　finding　a　word　said　against　them；
whereas　the　respectable　people　who　snub　them　and　put　them　in
prison；　such　as　Mr　W。W。　himself　and　his　young　friend　Civility；
Formalist　and　Hypocrisy；　Wildhead；　Inconsiderate；　and　Pragmatick
（who　were　clearly　young　university　men　of　good　family　and　high
feeding）；　that　brisk　lad　Ignorance；　Talkative；　By…Ends　of
Fairspeech　and　his　mother…in…law　Lady　Feigning；　and　other
reputable　gentlemen　and　citizens；　catch　it　very　severely。　Even
Little　Faith；　though　he　gets　to　heaven　at　last；　is　given　to
understand　that　it　served　him　right　to　be　mobbed　by　the　brothers
Faint　Heart；　Mistrust；　and　Guilt；　all　three　recognized　members　of
respectable　society　and　veritable　pillars　of　the　law。　The　whole
allegory　is　a　consistent　attack　on　morality　and　respectability；
without　a　word　that　one　can　remember　against　vice　and　crime。
Exactly　what　is　complained　of　in　Nietzsche　and　Ibsen；　is　it　not？
And　also　exactly　what　would　be　complained　of　in　all　the
literature　which　is　great　enough　and　old　enough　to　have　attained
canonical　rank；　officially　or　unofficially；　were　it　not　that
books　are　admitted　to　the　canon　by　a　compact　which　confesses
their　greatness　in　consideration　of　abrogating　their　meaning；　so
that　the　reverend　rector　can　agree　with　the　prophet　Micah　as　to
his　inspired　style　without　being　committed　to　any　complicity　in
Micah's　furiously　Radical　opinions。　Why；　even　I；　as　I　force
myself；　pen　in　hand；　into　recognition　and　civility；　find　all　the
force　of　my　onslaught　destroyed　by　a　simple　policy　of
non…resistance。　In　vain　do　I　redouble　the　violence　of　the
language　in　which　I　proclaim　my　heterodoxies。　I　rail　at　the
theistic　credulity　of　Voltaire；　the　amoristic　superstition　of
Shelley；　the　revival　of　tribal　soothsaying　and　idolatrous　rites
which　Huxley　called　Science　and　mistook　for　an　advance　on　the
Pentateuch；　no　less　than　at　the　welter　of　ecclesiastical　and
professional　humbug　which　saves　the　face　of　the　stupid　system　of
violence　and　robbery　which　we　call　Law　and　Industry。　Even
atheists　reproach　me　with　infidelity　and　anarchists　with　nihilism
because　I　cannot　endure　their　moral　tirades。　And　yet；　instead　of
exclaiming　〃Send　this　inconceivable　Satanist　to　the　stake；〃　the
respectable　newspapers　pith　me　by　announcing　〃another　book　by
this　brilliant　and　thoughtful　writer。〃　And　the　ordinary　citizen；
knowing　that　an　author　who　is　well　spoken　of　by　a　respectable
newspaper　must　be　all　right；　reads　me；　as　he　reads　Micah；　with
undisturbed　edification　from　his　own　point　of　view。　It　is
narrated　that　in　the　eighteenseventies　an　old　lady；　a　very　devout
Methodist；　moved　from　Colchester　to　a　house　in　the　neighborhood
of　the　City　Road；　in　London；　where；　mistaking　the　Hall　of　Science
for　a　chapel；　she　sat　at　the　feet　of　Charles　Bradlaugh　for　many
years；　entranced　by　his　eloquence；　without　questioning　his
orthodoxy　or　moulting　a　feather　of　her　faith。　I　fear　I　small　be
defrauded　of　my　just　martyrdom　in　the　same　way。

However；　I　am　digressing；　as　a　man　with　a　grievance　always　does。
And　after　all；　the　main　thing　in　determining　the　artistic　quality
of　a　book　is　not　the　opinions　it　propagates；　but　the　fact　that
the　writer　has　opinions。　The　old　lady　from　Colchester　was　right
to　sun　her　simple　soul　in　the　energetic　radiance　of　Bradlaugh's
genuine　beliefs　and　disbeliefs　rather　than　in　the　chill　of　such
mere　painting　of　light　and　heat　as　elocution　and　convention　can
achieve。　My　contempt　for　belles　lettres；　and　for　amateurs　who
become　the　heroes　of　the　fanciers　of　literary　virtuosity；　is　not
founded　on　any　illusion　of　mind　as　to　the　permanence　of　those
forms　of　thought　（call　them　opinions）　by　which　I　strive　to
communicate　my　bent　to　my　fellows。　To　younger　men　they　are
already　outmoded；　for　though　they　have　no　more　lost　their　logic
than　an　eighteenth　century　pastel　has　lost　its　drawing　or　its
color；　yet；　like　the　pastel；　they　grow　indefinably　shabby；　and
will　grow　shabbier　until　they　cease　to　count　at　all；　when　my
books　will　either　perish；　or；　if　the　world　is　still　poor　enough
to　want　them；　will　have　to　stand；　with　Bunyan's；　by　quite
amorphous　qualities　of　temper　and　energy。　With　this　conviction　I
cannot　be　a　bellettrist。　No　doubt　I　must　recognize；　as　even　the
Ancient　Mariner　did；　that　I　must　tell　my　story　entertainingly　if
I　am　to　hold　the　wedding　guest　spellbound　in　spite　of　the　siren
sounds　of　the　loud　bassoon。　But　〃for　art's　sake〃　alone　I　would
not　face　the　toil　of　writing　a　single　sentence。　I　know　that　there
are　men　who；　having　nothing　to　say　and　nothing　to　write；　are
nevertheless　so　in　love　with　oratory　and　with　literature　that
they　keep　desperately　repeating　as　much　as　they　can　understand　of
what　others　have　said　or　written　aforetime。　I　know　that　the
leisurely　tricks　which　their　want　of　conviction　leaves　them　free
to　play　with　the　diluted　and　misapprehended　message　supply　them
with　a　pleasant　parlor　game　which　they　call　style。　I　can　pity
their　dotage　and　even　sympathize　with　their　fancy。　But　a　true
original　style　is　never　achieved　for　its　own　sake：　a　man　may　pay
from　a　shilling　to　a　guinea；　according　to　his　means；　to　see；
hear；　or　read　another　man's　act　of　genius；　but　he　will　not　pay
with　his　whole　life　and　soul　to　become　a　mere　virtuoso　in
literature；　exhibiting　an　accomplishment　which　will　not　even　make
money　for　him；　like　fiddle　playing。　Effectiveness　of　assertion　is
the　Alpha　and　Omega　of　style。　He　who　has　nothing　to　assert　has　no
style　and　can　have　none：　he　who　has　something　to　assert　will　go
as　far　in　power　of　style　as　its　momentousness　and　his　conviction
will　carry　him。　Disprove　his　assertion　after　it　is　made；　yet　its
style　remains。　Darwin　has　no　more　destroyed　the　style　of　Job　nor
of　Handel　than　Martin　Luther　destroyed　the　style　of　Giotto。　All
the　assertions　get　disproved　sooner　or　later；　and　so　we　find　the
world　full　of　a　magnificent　debris　of　artistic　fossils；　with　the
matter…of…fact　credibility　gone　clean　out　of　them；　but　the　form
still　splendid。　And　that　is　why　the　old　masters　play　the　deuce
with　our　mere　susceptibles。　Your　Royal　Academician　thinks　he　can
get　the　style　of　Giotto　without　Giotto's　beliefs；　and　correct　his
perspective　into　the　bargain。　Your　man　of　letters　thinks　he　can
get　Bunyan's　or　Shakespear's　style　without　Bunyan's　conviction　or
Shakespear's　apprehension；　especially　if　he　takes　care　not　to
split　his　infinitives。　And　so　with　your　Doctors　of　Music；　who；
with　their　collections　of　discords　duly　prepared　and　resolved　or
retarded　or　anticipated　in　the　manner　of　the　great　composers；
think　they　can　learn　the　art　of　Palestrina　from　Cherubim's
treatise。　All　this　academic　art　is　far　worse　than　the　trade　in
sham　antique　furniture；　for　the　man　who　sells　me　an　oaken　chest
which　he　swears　was　made　in　the　XIII　century；　though　as　a　matter
of　fact　he　made　it　himself　only　yesterday；　at　least　does　not
pretend　that　there　are　any　modern　ideas　in　it；　whereas　your
academic　copier　of　fossils　offers　them　to　you　as　the　latest
outpouring　of　the　human　spirit；　and；　worst　of　all；　kidnaps　young
people　as　pupils　and　persuades　them　that　his　limitations　are
rules；　his　observances　dexterities；　his　timidities　good　taste；
and　his　emptinesses　purities。　And　when　he　declares　that　art
should　not　be　didactic；　all　the　people　who　have　nothing　to　teach
and　all　the　people　who　don't　want　to　learn　agree　with　him
emphatically。

I　pride　myself　on　not　being　one　of　these　susceptible：　If　you
study　the　electric　light　with　which　I　supply　you　in　that
Bumbledonian　public　capacity　of　mine　over　which　you　make　merry
from　time　to　time；　you　will　find　that　your　house　contains　a　great
quantity　of　highly　susceptible　copper　wire　which　gorges　itself
with　electricity　and　gives　you　no　light　whatever。　But　here　and
there　occurs　a　scrap　of　intensely　insusceptible；　intensely
resistant　material；　and　that　stubborn　scrap　grapples　with　the
current　and　will　not　let　it　through　until　it　has　made　itself
useful　to　you　as　those　two　vital　qualities　of　literature；　light
and　heat。　Now　if　I　am　to　be　no　mere　copper　wire　amateur　but　a
luminous　author；　I　must　also　be　a　most　intensely　refractory
person；　liable　to　go　out　and　to　go　wrong　at　inconvenient　moments；
and　with　incendiary　possibilities。　These　are　the　faults　of　my
qualities；　and　I　assure　you　that　I　sometimes　dislike　myself　so
much　that　when　some　irritable　reviewer　chances　at　that　moment　to
pitch　into　me　with　zest；　I　feel　unspeakably　relieved　and
obliged。　But　I　never　dream　of　reforming；　knowing　that　I　must　take
myself　as　I　am　and　get　what　work　I　can　out　of　myself。　All　this
you　will　understand；　for　there　is　community　of　material　between
us：　we　are　both　critics　of　life　as　well　as　of　art；　and　you　have
perhaps　said　to　yourself　when　I　have　passed　your　windows；　〃There；
but　for　the　grace　of　God；　go　I。〃　An　awful　and　chastening
reflection；　which　shall　be　the　closing　cadence　of　this
immoderately　long　letter　from　yours　faithfully；

G。　BERNARD　SHAW。

WOKING；　1903



ACT　I

Roebuck　Ramsden　is　in　his　study；　opening　the　morning　letters。　The
study；　handsomely　and　solidly　furnished；　proclaims　the　man　of
means。　Not　a　speck　of　dust　is　visible：　it　is　clear　that　there　are
at　least　two　house