orthodoxy-第5章

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at　all；　that　it　leaves　the　flogger　flogging　and　the　kind　friend



exhorting　as　before。　　But　obviously　if　it　stops　either　of　them　it



stops　the　kind　exhortation。　　That　the　sins　are　inevitable　does　not



prevent　punishment；　if　it　prevents　anything　it　prevents　persuasion。　



Determinism　is　quite　as　likely　to　lead　to　cruelty　as　it　is　certain



to　lead　to　cowardice。　　Determinism　is　not　inconsistent　with　the



cruel　treatment　of　criminals。　　What　it　is　（perhaps）　inconsistent



with　is　the　generous　treatment　of　criminals；　with　any　appeal　to



their　better　feelings　or　encouragement　in　their　moral　struggle。　



The　determinist　does　not　believe　in　appealing　to　the　will；　but　he　does



believe　in　changing　the　environment。　　He　must　not　say　to　the　sinner；



〃Go　and　sin　no　more；〃　because　the　sinner　cannot　help　it。　　But　he



can　put　him　in　boiling　oil；　for　boiling　oil　is　an　environment。　



Considered　as　a　figure；　therefore；　the　materialist　has　the　fantastic



outline　of　the　figure　of　the　madman。　　Both　take　up　a　position



at　once　unanswerable　and　intolerable。







　　　　　Of　course　it　is　not　only　of　the　materialist　that　all　this　is　true。　



The　same　would　apply　to　the　other　extreme　of　speculative　logic。　



There　is　a　sceptic　far　more　terrible　than　he　who　believes　that



everything　began　in　matter。　　It　is　possible　to　meet　the　sceptic



who　believes　that　everything　began　in　himself。　　He　doubts　not　the



existence　of　angels　or　devils；　but　the　existence　of　men　and　cows。　



For　him　his　own　friends　are　a　mythology　made　up　by　himself。　



He　created　his　own　father　and　his　own　mother。　　This　horrible



fancy　has　in　it　something　decidedly　attractive　to　the　somewhat



mystical　egoism　of　our　day。　　That　publisher　who　thought　that　men



would　get　on　if　they　believed　in　themselves；　those　seekers　after



the　Superman　who　are　always　looking　for　him　in　the　looking…glass；



those　writers　who　talk　about　impressing　their　personalities　instead



of　creating　life　for　the　world；　all　these　people　have　really　only



an　inch　between　them　and　this　awful　emptiness。　　Then　when　this



kindly　world　all　round　the　man　has　been　blackened　out　like　a　lie；



when　friends　fade　into　ghosts；　and　the　foundations　of　the　world　fail；



then　when　the　man；　believing　in　nothing　and　in　no　man；　is　alone



in　his　own　nightmare；　then　the　great　individualistic　motto　shall



be　written　over　him　in　avenging　irony。　　The　stars　will　be　only　dots



in　the　blackness　of　his　own　brain；　his　mother's　face　will　be　only



a　sketch　from　his　own　insane　pencil　on　the　walls　of　his　cell。　



But　over　his　cell　shall　be　written；　with　dreadful　truth；　〃He　believes



in　himself。〃











　　　　　All　that　concerns　us　here；　however；　is　to　note　that　this



panegoistic　extreme　of　thought　exhibits　the　same　paradox　as　the



other　extreme　of　materialism。　　It　is　equally　complete　in　theory



and　equally　crippling　in　practice。　　For　the　sake　of　simplicity；



it　is　easier　to　state　the　notion　by　saying　that　a　man　can　believe



that　he　is　always　in　a　dream。　　Now；　obviously　there　can　be　no　positive



proof　given　to　him　that　he　is　not　in　a　dream；　for　the　simple　reason



that　no　proof　can　be　offered　that　might　not　be　offered　in　a　dream。　



But　if　the　man　began　to　burn　down　London　and　say　that　his　housekeeper



would　soon　call　him　to　breakfast；　we　should　take　him　and　put　him



with　other　logicians　in　a　place　which　has　often　been　alluded　to　in



the　course　of　this　chapter。　　The　man　who　cannot　believe　his　senses；



and　the　man　who　cannot　believe　anything　else；　are　both　insane；



but　their　insanity　is　proved　not　by　any　error　in　their　argument；



but　by　the　manifest　mistake　of　their　whole　lives。　　They　have　both



locked　themselves　up　in　two　boxes；　painted　inside　with　the　sun



and　stars；　they　are　both　unable　to　get　out；　the　one　into　the



health　and　happiness　of　heaven；　the　other　even　into　the　health



and　happiness　of　the　earth。　　Their　position　is　quite　reasonable；



nay；　in　a　sense　it　is　infinitely　reasonable；　just　as　a　threepenny



bit　is　infinitely　circular。　　But　there　is　such　a　thing　as　a　mean



infinity；　a　base　and　slavish　eternity。　　It　is　amusing　to　notice



that　many　of　the　moderns；　whether　sceptics　or　mystics；　have　taken



as　their　sign　a　certain　eastern　symbol；　which　is　the　very　symbol



of　this　ultimate　nullity。　　When　they　wish　to　represent　eternity；



they　represent　it　by　a　serpent　with　his　tail　in　his　mouth。　　There　is



a　startling　sarcasm　in　the　image　of　that　very　unsatisfactory　meal。　



The　eternity　of　the　material　fatalists；　the　eternity　of　the



eastern　pessimists；　the　eternity　of　the　supercilious　theosophists



and　higher　scientists　of　to…day　is；　indeed；　very　well　presented



by　a　serpent　eating　his　tail；　a　degraded　animal　who　destroys　even　himself。







　　　　　This　chapter　is　purely　practical　and　is　concerned　with　what



actually　is　the　chief　mark　and　element　of　insanity；　we　may　say



in　summary　that　it　is　reason　used　without　root；　reason　in　the　void。　



The　man　who　begins　to　think　without　the　proper　first　principles　goes　mad；



he　begins　to　think　at　the　wrong　end。　　And　for　the　rest　of　these　pages



we　have　to　try　and　discover　what　is　the　right　end。　　But　we　may　ask



in　conclusion；　if　this　be　what　drives　men　mad；　what　is　it　that　keeps



them　sane？　　By　the　end　of　this　book　I　hope　to　give　a　definite；



some　will　think　a　far　too　definite；　answer。　　But　for　the　moment　it



is　possible　in　the　same　solely　practical　manner　to　give　a　general



answer　touching　what　in　actual　human　history　keeps　men　sane。　



Mysticism　keeps　men　sane。　　As　long　as　you　have　mystery　you　have　health；



when　you　destroy　mystery　you　create　morbidity。　　The　ordinary　man　has



always　been　sane　because　the　ordinary　man　has　always　been　a　mystic。　



He　has　permitted　the　twilight。　　He　has　always　had　one　foot　in　earth



and　the　other　in　fairyland。　　He　has　always　left　himself　free　to　doubt



his　gods；　but　（unlike　the　agnostic　of　to…day）　free　also　to　believe



in　them。　　He　has　always　cared　more　for　truth　than　for　consistency。　



If　he　saw　two　truths　that　seemed　to　contradict　each　other；



he　would　take　the　two　truths　and　the　contradiction　along　with　them。　



His　spiritual　sight　is　stereoscopic；　like　his　physical　sight：　



he　sees　two　different　pictures　at　once　and　yet　sees　all　the　better



for　that。　　Thus　he　has　always　believed　that　there　was　such　a　thing



as　fate；　but　such　a　thing　as　free　will　also。　　Thus　he　believed



that　children　were　indeed　the　kingdom　of　heaven；　but　nevertheless



ought　to　be　obedient　to　the　kingdom　of　earth。　　He　admired　youth



because　it　was　young　and　age　because　it　was　not。　　It　is　exactly



this　balance　of　apparent　contradictions　that　has　been　the　whole



buoyancy　of　the　healthy　man。　　The　whole　secret　of　mysticism　is　this：　



that　man　can　understand　everything　by　the　help　of　what　he　does



not　understand。　　The　morbid　logician　seeks　to　make　everything　lucid；



and　succeeds　in　making　everything　mysterious。　　The　mystic　allows



one　thing　to　be　mysterious；　and　everything　else　becomes　lucid。　



The　determinist　makes　the　theory　of　causation　quite　clear；



and　then　finds　that　he　cannot　say　〃if　you　please〃　to　the　housemaid。　



The　Christian　permits　free　will　to　remain　a　sacred　mystery；　but　because



of　this　his　relations　with　the　housemaid　become　of　a　sparkling　and



crystal　clearness。　　He　puts　the　seed　of　dogma　in　a　central　darkness；



but　it　branches　forth　in　all　directions　with　abounding　natural　health。　



As　we　have　taken　the　circle　as　the　symbol　of　reason　and　madness；



we　may　very　well　take　the　cross　as　the　symbol　at　once　of　mystery　and



of　health。　　Buddhism　is　centripetal；　but　Christianity　is　centrifugal：　



it　breaks　out。　　For　the　circle　is　perfect　and　infinite　in　its　nature；



but　it　is　fixed　for　ever　in　its　size；　it　can　never　be　larger



or　smaller。　　But　the　cross；　though　it　has　at　its　heart　a　collision



and　a　contradiction；　can　extend　its　four　arms　for　ever　without



altering　its　shape。　　Because　it　has　a　paradox　in　its　centre　it　can



grow　without　changing。　　The　circle　returns　upon　itself　and　is　bound。　



The　cross　opens　its　arms　to　the　four　winds；　it　is　a　signpost　for　free



travellers。







　　　　　Symbols　alone　are　of　even　a　cloudy　value　in　speaking　of　this



deep　matter；　and　another　symbol　from　physical　nature　will　express



sufficiently　well　the　real　place　of　mysticism　before　mankind。　



The　one　created　thing　which　we　cannot　look　at　is　the　one　thing　in



the　light　of　which　we　look　at　everything。　　Like　the　sun　at　noonday；



mysticism　explains　everything　else　by　the　blaze　of　its　own



victorious　invisibility。　　Detached　intellectualism　is　（in　the



exact　sense　of　a　popular　phrase）　all　moonshine；　for　it　is　light



without　heat；　and　it　is　secondary　light；　reflected　from　a　dead　world。　



But　the　Greeks　were　right　when　they　made　Apollo　the　god　both　of



imagination　and　of　sanity；　for　he　was　both　the　patron　of　poetry



and　the　patron　of　healing。　　Of　necessary　dogmas　and　a　special　creed



I　shall　speak　later。　　But　that　transcendentalism　by　which　all　men



live　has　primarily　much　the　position　of　the　sun　in　the　sky。　



We　are　conscious　of　it　as　of　a　kind　of　splendid　confusion；



it　is　something　both　shining　and　shapeless；　at　once　a　blaze　and



a　blur。　　But　the　circle　of　the　moon　is　as　clear　and　unmistakable；



as　recurrent　and　inevitable；　as　the　circle　of　Euclid　on　a　blackboard。　



For　the　moon　is　utterly　reasonable；　and　the　moon　is　the　mother



of　lunatics　and　has　given　to　them　all　her　name。















III　THE　SUICIDE　OF　THOUGHT











　　　　　The　phrases　of　the　street　are　not　only　forcible　but　subtle：　



for　a　figure　of　speech　can　often　get　into　a　crack　too　small　for



a　definition。　　Phrases　like　〃put　out〃　or　〃off　colour〃　might　have



been　coined　by　Mr。　Henry　James　in　an　agony　of　verbal　precision。　



And　there　is　no　more　subtle　truth　than　that　of　the　everyday　phrase



about　a　man　having　〃his　heart　in　the　right　place。〃　　It　involves　the



idea　of　normal　proportion；　not　only　does　a　certain　function　exist；



but　it　is　rightly　related　to　other　functions。　　Indeed；　the　negation



of　this　phrase　would　describe　with　peculiar　accuracy　the　somewhat　morbid



mercy　and　perverse　tenderness　of　the　most　representative　moderns。　



If；　for　instance；　I　had　to　describe　with　fairness　the　character



of　Mr。　Bernard　Shaw；　I　could　not　express　myself　more　exactly



than　by　saying　that　he　has　a　heroically　large　and　generous　heart；



but　not　a　heart　in　the　right　place。　　And　this　is　so　of　the　typical



society　of　our　time。







　　　　　The　modern　world　is　not　evil；　in　some　ways