heretics-第7章

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the　man　who　is　really　fantastic　and　incalculable；　is　not　Mr。　Shaw；



but　the　average　Cabinet　Minister。　　It　is　Sir　Michael　Hicks…Beach　who



jumps　through　hoops。　　It　is　Sir　Henry　Fowler　who　stands　on　his　head。



The　solid　and　respectable　statesman　of　that　type　does　really



leap　from　position　to　position；　he　is　really　ready　to　defend



anything　or　nothing；　he　is　really　not　to　be　taken　seriously。



I　know　perfectly　well　what　Mr。　Bernard　Shaw　will　be　saying



thirty　years　hence；　he　will　be　saying　what　he　has　always　said。



If　thirty　years　hence　I　meet　Mr。　Shaw；　a　reverent　being



with　a　silver　beard　sweeping　the　earth；　and　say　to　him；



〃One　can　never；　of　course；　make　a　verbal　attack　upon　a　lady；〃



the　patriarch　will　lift　his　aged　hand　and　fell　me　to　the　earth。



We　know；　I　say；　what　Mr。　Shaw　will　be；　saying　thirty　years　hence。



But　is　there　any　one　so　darkly　read　in　stars　and　oracles　that　he　will



dare　to　predict　what　Mr。　Asquith　will　be　saying　thirty　years　hence？







The　truth　is；　that　it　is　quite　an　error　to　suppose　that　absence



of　definite　convictions　gives　the　mind　freedom　and　agility。



A　man　who　believes　something　is　ready　and　witty；　because　he　has



all　his　weapons　about　him。　　he　can　apply　his　test　in　an　instant。



The　man　engaged　in　conflict　with　a　man　like　Mr。　Bernard　Shaw　may



fancy　he　has　ten　faces；　similarly　a　man　engaged　against　a　brilliant



duellist　may　fancy　that　the　sword　of　his　foe　has　turned　to　ten　swords



in　his　hand。　　But　this　is　not　really　because　the　man　is　playing



with　ten　swords；　it　is　because　he　is　aiming　very　straight　with　one。



Moreover；　a　man　with　a　definite　belief　always　appears　bizarre；



because　he　does　not　change　with　the　world；　he　has　climbed　into



a　fixed　star；　and　the　earth　whizzes　below　him　like　a　zoetrope。



Millions　of　mild　black…coated　men　call　themselves　sane　and　sensible



merely　because　they　always　catch　the　fashionable　insanity；



because　they　are　hurried　into　madness　after　madness　by　the　maelstrom



of　the　world。







People　accuse　Mr。　Shaw　and　many　much　sillier　persons　of　〃proving　that　black



is　white。〃　　But　they　never　ask　whether　the　current　colour…language　is



always　correct。　　Ordinary　sensible　phraseology　sometimes　calls　black　white；



it　certainly　calls　yellow　white　and　green　white　and　reddish…brown　white。



We　call　wine　〃white　wine〃　which　is　as　yellow　as　a　Blue…coat　boy's　legs。



We　call　grapes　〃white　grapes〃　which　are　manifestly　pale　green。



We　give　to　the　European；　whose　complexion　is　a　sort　of　pink　drab；



the　horrible　title　of　a　〃white　man〃a　picture　more　blood…curdling



than　any　spectre　in　Poe。







Now；　it　is　undoubtedly　true　that　if　a　man　asked　a　waiter　in　a　restaurant



for　a　bottle　of　yellow　wine　and　some　greenish…yellow　grapes；　the　waiter



would　think　him　mad。　　It　is　undoubtedly　true　that　if　a　Government　official；



reporting　on　the　Europeans　in　Burmah；　said；　〃There　are　only　two



thousand　pinkish　men　here〃　he　would　be　accused　of　cracking　jokes；



and　kicked　out　of　his　post。　　But　it　is　equally　obvious　that　both



men　would　have　come　to　grief　through　telling　the　strict　truth。



That　too　truthful　man　in　the　restaurant；　that　too　truthful　man



in　Burmah；　is　Mr。　Bernard　Shaw。　　He　appears　eccentric　and　grotesque



because　he　will　not　accept　the　general　belief　that　white　is　yellow。



He　has　based　all　his　brilliancy　and　solidity　upon　the　hackneyed；



but　yet　forgotten；　fact　that　truth　is　stranger　than　fiction。



Truth；　of　course；　must　of　necessity　be　stranger　than　fiction；



for　we　have　made　fiction　to　suit　ourselves。







So　much　then　a　reasonable　appreciation　will　find　in　Mr。　Shaw



to　be　bracing　and　excellent。　　He　claims　to　see　things　as　they　are；



and　some　things；　at　any　rate；　he　does　see　as　they　are；



which　the　whole　of　our　civilization　does　not　see　at　all。



But　in　Mr。　Shaw's　realism　there　is　something　lacking；　and　that　thing



which　is　lacking　is　serious。







Mr。　Shaw's　old　and　recognized　philosophy　was　that　powerfully



presented　in　〃The　Quintessence　of　Ibsenism。〃　　It　was；　in　brief；



that　conservative　ideals　were　bad；　not　because　They　were　conservative；



but　because　they　were　ideals。　　Every　ideal　prevented　men　from　judging



justly　the　particular　case；　every　moral　generalization　oppressed



the　individual；　the　golden　rule　was　there　was　no　golden　rule。



And　the　objection　to　this　is　simply　that　it　pretends　to　free　men；



but　really　restrains　them　from　doing　the　only　thing　that　men　want　to　do。



What　is　the　good　of　telling　a　community　that　it　has　every　liberty



except　the　liberty　to　make　laws？　　The　liberty　to　make　laws　is　what



constitutes　a　free　people。　　And　what　is　the　good　of　telling　a　man



（or　a　philosopher）　that　he　has　every　liberty　except　the　liberty　to



make　generalizations。　　Making　generalizations　is　what　makes　him　a　man。



In　short；　when　Mr。　Shaw　forbids　men　to　have　strict　moral　ideals；



he　is　acting　like　one　who　should　forbid　them　to　have　children。



The　saying　that　〃the　golden　rule　is　that　there　is　no　golden　rule；〃



can；　indeed；　be　simply　answered　by　being　turned　round。



That　there　is　no　golden　rule　is　itself　a　golden　rule；　or　rather



it　is　much　worse　than　a　golden　rule。　　It　is　an　iron　rule；



a　fetter　on　the　first　movement　of　a　man。







But　the　sensation　connected　with　Mr。　Shaw　in　recent　years　has



been　his　sudden　development　of　the　religion　of　the　Superman。



He　who　had　to　all　appearance　mocked　at　the　faiths　in　the　forgotten



past　discovered　a　new　god　in　the　unimaginable　future。　　He　who　had　laid



all　the　blame　on　ideals　set　up　the　most　impossible　of　all　ideals；



the　ideal　of　a　new　creature。　　But　the　truth；　nevertheless；　is　that　any



one　who　knows　Mr。　Shaw's　mind　adequately；　and　admires　it　properly；



must　have　guessed　all　this　long　ago。







For　the　truth　is　that　Mr。　Shaw　has　never　seen　things　as　they　really　are。



If　he　had　he　would　have　fallen　on　his　knees　before　them。



He　has　always　had　a　secret　ideal　that　has　withered　all　the　things



of　this　world。　　He　has　all　the　time　been　silently　comparing　humanity



with　something　that　was　not　human；　with　a　monster　from　Mars；



with　the　Wise　Man　of　the　Stoics；　with　the　Economic　Man　of　the　Fabians；



with　Julius　Caesar；　with　Siegfried；　with　the　Superman。　　Now；　to　have



this　inner　and　merciless　standard　may　be　a　very　good　thing；



or　a　very　bad　one；　it　may　be　excellent　or　unfortunate；　but　it



is　not　seeing　things　as　they　are。　　it　is　not　seeing　things　as　they



are　to　think　first　of　a　Briareus　with　a　hundred　hands；　and　then　call



every　man　a　cripple　for　only　having　two。　　It　is　not　seeing　things



as　they　are　to　start　with　a　vision　of　Argus　with　his　hundred　eyes；



and　then　jeer　at　every　man　with　two　eyes　as　if　he　had　only　one。



And　it　is　not　seeing　things　as　they　are　to　imagine　a　demigod



of　infinite　mental　clarity；　who　may　or　may　not　appear　in　the　latter



days　of　the　earth；　and　then　to　see　all　men　as　idiots。　　And　this



is　what　Mr。　Shaw　has　always　in　some　degree　done。　　When　we　really　see



men　as　they　are；　we　do　not　criticise；　but　worship；　and　very　rightly。



For　a　monster　with　mysterious　eyes　and　miraculous　thumbs；



with　strange　dreams　in　his　skull；　and　a　queer　tenderness　for　this



place　or　that　baby；　is　truly　a　wonderful　and　unnerving　matter。



It　is　only　the　quite　arbitrary　and　priggish　habit　of　comparison　with



something　else　which　makes　it　possible　to　be　at　our　ease　in　front　of　him。



A　sentiment　of　superiority　keeps　us　cool　and　practical；　the　mere　facts



would　make；　our　knees　knock　under　as　with　religious　fear。　　It　is　the　fact



that　every　instant　of　conscious　life　is　an　unimaginable　prodigy。



It　is　the　fact　that　every　face　in　the　street　has　the　incredible



unexpectedness　of　a　fairy…tale。　The　thing　which　prevents　a　man



from　realizing　this　is　not　any　clear…sightedness　or　experience；



it　is　simply　a　habit　of　pedantic　and　fastidious　comparisons



between　one　thing　and　another。　　Mr。　Shaw；　on　the　practical　side



perhaps　the　most　humane　man　alive；　is　in　this　sense　inhumane。



He　has　even　been　infected　to　some　extent　with　the　primary



intellectual　weakness　of　his　new　master；　Nietzsche；　the　strange



notion　that　the　greater　and　stronger　a　man　was　the　more　he　would



despise　other　things。　　The　greater　and　stronger　a　man　is　the　more



he　would　be　inclined　to　prostrate　himself　before　a　periwinkle。



That　Mr。　Shaw　keeps　a　lifted　head　and　a　contemptuous　face　before



the　colossal　panorama　of　empires　and　civilizations；　this　does



not　in　itself　convince　one　that　he　sees　things　as　they　are。



I　should　be　most　effectively　convinced　that　he　did　if　I　found



him　staring　with　religious　astonishment　at　his　own　feet。



〃What　are　those　two　beautiful　and　industrious　beings；〃　I　can　imagine　him



murmuring　to　himself；　〃whom　I　see　everywhere；　serving　me　I　know　not　why？



What　fairy　godmother　bade　them　come　trotting　out　of　elfland　when　I



was　born？　　What　god　of　the　borderland；　what　barbaric　god　of　legs；



must　I　propitiate　with　fire　and　wine；　lest　they　run　away　with　me？〃







The　truth　is；　that　all　genuine　appreciation　rests　on　a　certain



mystery　of　humility　and　almost　of　darkness。　　The　man　who　said；



〃Blessed　is　he　that　expecteth　nothing；　for　he　shall　not　be　disappointed；〃



put　the　eulogy　quite　inadequately　and　even　falsely。　　The　truth　〃Blessed



is　he　that　expecteth　nothing；　for　he　shall　be　gloriously　surprised。〃



The　man　who　expects　nothing　sees　redder　roses　than　common　men　can　see；



and　greener　grass；　and　a　more　startling　sun。　　Blessed　is　he　that



expecteth　nothing；　for　he　shall　possess　the　cities　and　the　mountains；



blessed　is　the　meek；　for　he　shall　inherit　the　earth。　　Until　we



realize　that　things　might　not　be　we　cannot　realize　that　things　are。



Until　we　see　the　background　of　darkness　we　cannot　admire　the　light



as　a　single　and　created　thing。　　As　soon　as　we　have　seen　that　darkness；



all　light　is　lightening；　sudden；　blinding；　and　divine。



Until　we　picture　nonentity　we　underrate　the　victory　of　God；



and　can　realize　none　of　the　trophies　of　His　ancient　war。



It　is　one　of　the　million　wild　jests　of　truth　that　we　know　nothing



until　we　know　nothing；







Now　this　is；　I　say　deliberately；　the　only　defect　in　the　greatness



of　Mr。　Shaw；　the　only　answer　to　his　claim　to　be　a　great　man；



that　he　is　not　easily　pleased。　　He　is　an　almost　solitary　exception　to



the　general　and　essential　maxim；　that　little　things　please　great　minds。



And　from　this　absence　of　that　most　uproarious　of　all　things；　humility；



comes　incidentally　the　peculiar　insistence　on　the　Superman。



Af