heretics-第3节
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symbol of this epochthe man who is theoretically a practical man；
and practically more unpractical than any theorist。 Nothing in this
universe is so unwise as that kind of worship of worldly wisdom。
A man who is perpetually thinking of whether this race or that race
is strong； of whether this cause or that cause is promising； is the man
who will never believe in anything long enough to make it succeed。
The opportunist politician is like a man who should abandon billiards
because he was beaten at billiards； and abandon golf because he was
beaten at golf。 There is nothing which is so weak for working
purposes as this enormous importance attached to immediate victory。
There is nothing that fails like success。
And having discovered that opportunism does fail； I have been induced
to look at it more largely； and in consequence to see that it must fail。
I perceive that it is far more practical to begin at the beginning
and discuss theories。 I see that the men who killed each other
about the orthodoxy of the Homoousion were far more sensible
than the people who are quarrelling about the Education Act。
For the Christian dogmatists were trying to establish a reign of holiness；
and trying to get defined； first of all； what was really holy。
But our modern educationists are trying to bring about a religious
liberty without attempting to settle what is religion or what
is liberty。 If the old priests forced a statement on mankind；
at least they previously took some trouble to make it lucid。
It has been left for the modern mobs of Anglicans and Nonconformists
to persecute for a doctrine without even stating it。
For these reasons； and for many more； I for one have come
to believe in going back to fundamentals。 Such is the general
idea of this book。 I wish to deal with my most distinguished
contemporaries； not personally or in a merely literary manner；
but in relation to the real body of doctrine which they teach。
I am not concerned with Mr。 Rudyard Kipling as a vivid artist
or a vigorous personality； I am concerned with him as a Heretic
that is to say； a man whose view of things has the hardihood
to differ from mine。 I am not concerned with Mr。 Bernard Shaw
as one of the most brilliant and one of the most honest men alive；
I am concerned with him as a Hereticthat is to say； a man whose
philosophy is quite solid； quite coherent； and quite wrong。
I revert to the doctrinal methods of the thirteenth century；
inspired by the general hope of getting something done。
Suppose that a great commotion arises in the street about something；
let us say a lamp…post； which many influential persons desire to
pull down。 A grey…clad monk； who is the spirit of the Middle Ages；
is approached upon the matter； and begins to say； in the arid manner
of the Schoolmen； 〃Let us first of all consider； my brethren；
the value of Light。 If Light be in itself good〃 At this point
he is somewhat excusably knocked down。 All the people make a rush
for the lamp…post； the lamp…post is down in ten minutes； and they go
about congratulating each other on their unmediaeval practicality。
But as things go on they do not work out so easily。 Some people
have pulled the lamp…post down because they wanted the electric light；
some because they wanted old iron； some because they wanted darkness；
because their deeds were evil。 Some thought it not enough of a
lamp…post； some too much； some acted because they wanted to smash
municipal machinery； some because they wanted to smash something。
And there is war in the night； no man knowing whom he strikes。
So； gradually and inevitably； to…day； to…morrow； or the next day；
there comes back the conviction that the monk was right after all；
and that all depends on what is the philosophy of Light。
Only what we might have discussed under the gas…lamp； we now must
discuss in the dark。
II。 On the negative spirit
Much has been said； and said truly； of the monkish morbidity；
of the hysteria which as often gone with the visions of hermits or nuns。
But let us never forget that this visionary religion is； in one sense；
necessarily more wholesome than our modern and reasonable morality。
It is more wholesome for this reason； that it can contemplate the idea
of success or triumph in the hopeless fight towards the ethical ideal；
in what Stevenson called； with his usual startling felicity；
〃the lost fight of virtue。〃 A modern morality； on the other hand；
can only point with absolute conviction to the horrors that follow
breaches of law； its only certainty is a certainty of ill。
It can only point to imperfection。 It has no perfection to point to。
But the monk meditating upon Christ or Buddha has in his mind
an image of perfect health； a thing of clear colours and clean air。
He may contemplate this ideal wholeness and happiness far more than he ought；
he may contemplate it to the neglect of exclusion of essential THINGS
he may contemplate it until he has become a dreamer or a driveller；
but still it is wholeness and happiness that he is contemplating。
He may even go mad； but he is going mad for the love of sanity。
But the modern student of ethics； even if he remains sane； remains sane
from an insane dread of insanity。
The anchorite rolling on the stones in a frenzy of submission
is a healthier person fundamentally than many a sober man
in a silk hat who is walking down Cheapside。 For many
such are good only through a withering knowledge of evil。
I am not at this moment claiming for the devotee anything
more than this primary advantage； that though he may be making
himself personally weak and miserable； he is still fixing
his thoughts largely on gigantic strength and happiness；
on a strength that has no limits； and a happiness that has no end。
Doubtless there are other objections which can be urged without
unreason against the influence of gods and visions in morality；
whether in the cell or street。 But this advantage the mystic
morality must always haveit is always jollier。 A young man
may keep himself from vice by continually thinking of disease。
He may keep himself from it also by continually thinking of
the Virgin Mary。 There may be question about which method is
the more reasonable； or even about which is the more efficient。
But surely there can be no question about which is the more wholesome。
I remember a pamphlet by that able and sincere secularist；
Mr。 G。 W。 Foote； which contained a phrase sharply symbolizing and
dividing these two methods。 The pamphlet was called BEER AND BIBLE；
those two very noble things； all the nobler for a conjunction which
Mr。 Foote； in his stern old Puritan way； seemed to think sardonic；
but which I confess to thinking appropriate and charming。
I have not the work by me； but I remember that Mr。 Foote dismissed
very contemptuously any attempts to deal with the problem
of strong drink by religious offices or intercessions； and said
that a picture of a drunkard's liver would be more efficacious
in the matter of temperance than any prayer or praise。
In that picturesque expression； it seems to me； is perfectly
embodied the incurable morbidity of modern ethics。
In that temple the lights are low； the crowds kneel； the solemn
anthems are uplifted。 But that upon the altar to which all men
kneel is no longer the perfect flesh； the body and substance
of the perfect man； it is still flesh； but it is diseased。
It is the drunkard's liver of the New Testament that is marred
for us； which which we take in remembrance of him。
Now； it is this great gap in modern ethics； the absence of vivid
pictures of purity and spiritual triumph； which lies at the back
of the real objection felt by so many sane men to the realistic
literature of the nineteenth century。 If any ordinary man ever
said that he was horrified by the subjects discussed in Ibsen
or Maupassant； or by the plain language in which they are spoken of；
that ordinary man was lying。 The average conversation of average
men throughout the whole of modern civilization in every class
or trade is such as Zola would never dream of printing。
Nor is the habit of writing thus of these things a new habit。
On the contrary； it is the Victorian prudery and silence which is
new still； though it is already dying。 The tradition of calling
a spade a spade starts very early in our literature and comes
down very late。
