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小说: heroes and hero worship 字数: 每页4000字

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onable mind。  It is the mystic working of the mind; on the object it is _getting_ to know and believe。  Belief comes out of all this; above ground; like the tree from its hidden _roots_。  But now if; even on common things; we require that a man keep his doubts _silent_; and not babble of them till they in some measure become affirmations or denials; how much more in regard to the highest things; impossible to speak of in words at all!  That a man parade his doubt; and get to imagine that debating and logic (which means at best only the manner of _telling_ us your thought; your belief or disbelief; about a thing) is the triumph and true work of what intellect he has:  alas; this is as if you should _overturn_ the tree; and instead of green boughs; leaves and fruits; show us ugly taloned roots turned up into the air;and no growth; only death and misery going on!

For the Scepticism; as I said; is not intellectual only; it is moral also; a chronic atrophy and disease of the whole soul。  A man lives by believing something; not by debating and arguing about many things。  A sad case for him when all that he can manage to believe is something he can button in his pocket; and with one or the other organ eat and digest!  Lower than that he will not get。  We call those ages in which he gets so low the mournfulest; sickest and meanest of all ages。  The world's heart is palsied; sick:  how can any limb of it be whole?  Genuine Acting ceases in all departments of the world's work; dexterous Similitude of Acting begins。 The world's wages are pocketed; the world's work is not done。  Heroes have gone out; Quacks have come in。  Accordingly; what Century; since the end of the Roman world; which also was a time of scepticism; simulacra and universal decadence; so abounds with Quacks as that Eighteenth?  Consider them; with their tumid sentimental vaporing about virtue; benevolence;the wretched Quack…squadron; Cagliostro at the head of them!  Few men were without quackery; they had got to consider it a necessary ingredient and amalgam for truth。  Chatham; our brave Chatham himself; comes down to the House; all wrapt and bandaged; he 〃has crawled out in great bodily suffering;〃 and so on;_forgets_; says Walpole; that he is acting the sick man; in the fire of debate; snatches his arm from the sling; and oratorically swings and brandishes it!  Chatham himself lives the strangest mimetic life; half…hero; half…quack; all along。  For indeed the world is full of dupes; and you have to gain the _world's_ suffrage!  How the duties of the world will be done in that case; what quantities of error; which means failure; which means sorrow and misery; to some and to many; will gradually accumulate in all provinces of the world's business; we need not compute。

It seems to me; you lay your finger here on the heart of the world's maladies; when you call it a Sceptical World。  An insincere world; a godless untruth of a world!  It is out of this; as I consider; that the whole tribe of social pestilences; French Revolutions; Chartisms; and what not; have derived their being;their chief necessity to be。  This must alter。  Till this alter; nothing can beneficially alter。  My one hope of the world; my inexpugnable consolation in looking at the miseries of the world; is that this is altering。  Here and there one does now find a man who knows; as of old; that this world is a Truth; and no Plausibility and Falsity; that he himself is alive; not dead or paralytic; and that the world is alive; instinct with Godhood; beautiful and awful; even as in the beginning of days!  One man once knowing this; many men; all men; must by and by come to know it。  It lies there clear; for whosoever will take the _spectacles_ off his eyes and honestly look; to know!  For such a man the Unbelieving Century; with its unblessed Products; is already past; a new century is already come。  The old unblessed Products and Performances; as solid as they look; are Phantasms; preparing speedily to vanish。  To this and the other noisy; very great…looking Simulacrum with the whole world huzzaing at its heels; he can say; composedly stepping aside:  Thou art not _true_; thou art not extant; only semblant; go thy way!Yes; hollow Formulism; gross Benthamism; and other unheroic atheistic Insincerity is visibly and even rapidly declining。  An unbelieving Eighteenth Century is but an exception;such as now and then occurs。  I prophesy that the world will once more become _sincere_; a believing world; with _many_ Heroes in it; a heroic world!  It will then be a victorious world; never till then。

Or indeed what of the world and its victories?  Men speak too much about the world。  Each one of us here; let the world go how it will; and be victorious or not victorious; has he not a Life of his own to lead?  One Life; a little gleam of Time between two Eternities; no second chance to us forevermore!  It were well for us to live not as fools and simulacra; but as wise and realities。  The world's being saved will not save us; nor the world's being lost destroy us。  We should look to ourselves:  there is great merit here in the 〃duty of staying at home〃!  And; on the whole; to say truth; I never heard of 〃world's〃 being 〃saved〃 in any other way。  That mania of saving worlds is itself a piece of the Eighteenth Century with its windy sentimentalism。  Let us not follow it too far。  For the saving of the _world_ I will trust confidently to the Maker of the world; and look a little to my own saving; which I am more competent to!In brief; for the world's sake; and for our own; we will rejoice greatly that Scepticism; Insincerity; Mechanical Atheism; with all their poison…dews; are going; and as good as gone。

Now it was under such conditions; in those times of Johnson; that our Men of Letters had to live。  Times in which there was properly no truth in life。  Old truths had fallen nigh dumb; the new lay yet hidden; not trying to speak。  That Man's Life here below was a Sincerity and Fact; and would forever continue such; no new intimation; in that dusk of the world; had yet dawned。  No intimation; not even any French Revolution;which we define to be a Truth once more; though a Truth clad in hell…fire!  How different was the Luther's pilgrimage; with its assured goal; from the Johnson's; girt with mere traditions; suppositions; grown now incredible; unintelligible!  Mahomet's Formulas were of 〃wood waxed and oiled;〃 and could be burnt out of one's way:  poor Johnson's were far more difficult to burn。The strong man will ever find _work_; which means difficulty; pain; to the full measure of his strength。  But to make out a victory; in those circumstances of our poor Hero as Man of Letters; was perhaps more difficult than in any。  Not obstruction; disorganization; Bookseller Osborne and Fourpence…halfpenny a day; not this alone; but the light of his own soul was taken from him。  No landmark on the Earth; and; alas; what is that to having no loadstar in the Heaven!  We need not wonder that none of those Three men rose to victory。  That they fought truly is the highest praise。  With a mournful sympathy we will contemplate; if not three living victorious Heroes; as I said; the Tombs of three fallen Heroes!  They fell for us too; making a way for us。  There are the mountains which they hurled abroad in their confused War of the Giants; under which; their strength and life spent; they now lie buried。


I have already written of these three Literary Heroes; expressly or incidentally; what I suppose is known to most of you; what need not be spoken or written a second time。  They concern us here as the singular _Prophets_ of that singular age; for such they virtually were; and the aspect they and their world exhibit; under this point of view; might lead us into reflections enough!  I call them; all three; Genuine Men more or less; faithfully; for most part unconsciously; struggling to be genuine; and plant themselves on the everlasting truth of things。  This to a degree that eminently distinguishes them from the poor artificial mass of their contemporaries; and renders them worthy to be considered as Speakers; in some measure; of the everlasting truth; as Prophets in that age of theirs。 By Nature herself a noble necessity was laid on them to be so。  They were men of such magnitude that they could not live on unrealities;clouds; froth and all inanity gave way under them:  there was no footing for them but on firm earth; no rest or regular motion for them; if they got not footing there。  To a certain extent; they were Sons of Nature once more in an age of Artifice; once more; Original Men。

As for Johnson; I have always considered him to be; by nature; one of our great English souls。  A strong and noble man; so much left undeveloped in him to the last:  in a kindlier element what might he not have been;Poet; Priest; sovereign Ruler!  On the whole; a man must not complain of his 〃element;〃 of his 〃time;〃 or the like; it is thriftless work doing so。  His time is bad:  well then; he is there to make it better!Johnson's youth was poor; isolated; hopeless; very miserable。  Indeed; it does not seem possible that; in any the favorablest outward circumstances; Johnson's life could have been other than a painful one。  The world might have had mor

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