orthodoxy-第13章
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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 expanders of the universe had nothing to show us except
more and more infinite corridors of space lit by ghastly suns
and empty of all that is divine。
In fairyland there had been a real law； a law that could be broken；
for the definition of a law is something that can be broken。
But the machinery of this cosmic prison was something that could
not be broken； for we ourselves were only a part of its machinery。
We were either unable to do things or we were destined to do them。
The idea of the mystical condition quite disappeared； one can neither
have the firmness of keeping laws nor the fun of breaking them。
The largeness of this universe had nothing of that freshness and
airy outbreak which we have praised in the universe of the poet。
This modern universe is literally an empire； that is； it was vast；
but it is not free。 One went into larger and larger windowless rooms；
rooms big with Babylonian perspective； but one never found the smallest
window or a whisper of outer air。
Their infernal parallels seemed to expand with distance；
but for me all good things come to a point； swords for instance。
So finding the boast of the big cosmos so unsatisfactory to my
emotions I began to argue about it a little； and I soon found that
the whole attitude was even shallower than could have been expected。
According to these people the cosmos was one thing since it had
one unbroken rule。 Only （they would say） while it is one thing；
it is also the only thing there is。 Why； then； should one worry
particularly to call it large？ There is nothing to compare it with。
It would be just as sensible to call it small。 A man may say；
〃I like this vast cosmos； with its throng of stars and its crowd
of varied creatures。〃 But if it comes to that why should not a
man say； 〃I like this cosy little cosmos； with its decent number
of stars and as neat a provision of live stock as I wish to see〃？
One is as good as the other； they are both mere sentiments。
It is mere sentiment to rejoice that the sun is larger than the earth；
it is quite as sane a sentiment to rejoice that the sun is no larger
than it is。 A man chooses to have an emotion about the largeness
of the world； why should he not choose to have an emotion about
its smallness？
It happened that I had that emotion。 When one is fond of
anything one addresses it by diminutives； even if it is an elephant
or a life…guardsman。 The reason is； that anything； however huge；
that can be conceived of as complete； can be conceived of as small。
If military moustaches did not suggest a sword or tusks a tail；
then the object would be vast because it would be immeasurable。 But the
moment you can imagine a guardsman you can imagine a small guardsman。
The moment you really see an elephant you can call it 〃Tiny。〃
If you can make a statue of a thing you can make a statuette of it。
These people professed that the universe was one coherent thing；
but they were not fond of the universe。 But I was frightfully fond
of the universe and wanted to address it by a diminutive。 I often
did so； and it never seemed to mind。 Actually and in truth I did feel
that these dim dogmas of vitality were better expressed by calling
the world small than by calling it large。 For about infinity there
was a sort of carelessness which was the reverse of the fierce and pious
care which I felt touching the pricelessness and the peril of life。
They showed only a dreary waste； but I felt a sort of sacred thrift。
For economy is far more romantic than extravagance。 To them stars
were an unending income of halfpence； but I felt about the golden sun
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 f
