man and superman-第4节

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petticoat；　happy　if　he　be　poor　enough　to　be　pushed　out　of　the
house　to　outface　his　ignominy　by　drunken　rejoicings。　But　when　the
crisis　is　over　he　takes　his　revenge；　swaggering　as　the
breadwinner；　and　speaking　of　Woman's　〃sphere〃　with　condescension；
even　with　chivalry；　as　if　the　kitchen　and　the　nursery　were　less
important　than　the　office　in　the　city。　When　his　swagger　is
exhausted　he　drivels　into　erotic　poetry　or　sentimental
uxoriousness；　and　the　Tennysonian　King　Arthur　posing　as　Guinevere
becomes　Don　Quixote　grovelling　before　Dulcinea。　You　must　admit
that　here　Nature　beats　Comedy　out　of　the　field：　the　wildest
hominist　or　feminist　farce　is　insipid　after　the　most　commonplace
〃slice　of　life。〃　The　pretence　that　women　do　not　take　the
initiative　is　part　of　the　farce。　Why；　the　whole　world　is　strewn
with　snares；　traps；　gins　and　pitfalls　for　the　capture　of　men　by
women。　Give　women　the　vote；　and　in　five　years　there　will　be　a
crushing　tax　on　bachelors。　Men；　on　the　other　hand；　attach
penalties　to　marriage；　depriving　women　of　property；　of　the
franchise；　of　the　free　use　of　their　limbs；　of　that　ancient　symbol
of　immortality；　the　right　to　make　oneself　at　home　in　the　house　of
God　by　taking　off　the　hat；　of　everything　that　he　can　force　Woman
to　dispense　with　without　compelling　himself　to　dispense　with　her。
All　in　vain。　Woman　must　marry　because　the　race　must　perish
without　her　travail：　if　the　risk　of　death　and　the　certainty　of
pain；　danger　and　unutterable　discomforts　cannot　deter　her；
slavery　and　swaddled　ankles　will　not。　And　yet　we　assume　that　the
force　that　carries　women　through　all　these　perils　and　hardships；
stops　abashed　before　the　primnesses　of　our　behavior　for　young
ladies。　It　is　assumed　that　the　woman　must　wait；　motionless；　until
she　is　wooed。　Nay；　she　often　does　wait　motionless。　That　is　how
the　spider　waits　for　the　fly。　But　the　spider　spins　her　web。　And
if　the　fly；　like　my　hero；　shows　a　strength　that　promises　to
extricate　him；　how　swiftly　does　she　abandon　her　pretence　of
passiveness；　and　openly　fling　coil　after　coil　about　him　until　he
is　secured　for　ever！

If　the　really　impressive　books　and　other　art…works　of　the　world
were　produced　by　ordinary　men；　they　would　express　more　fear　of
women's　pursuit　than　love　of　their　illusory　beauty。　But　ordinary
men　cannot　produce　really　impressive　art…works。　Those　who　can　are
men　of　genius：　that　is；　men　selected　by　Nature　to　carry　on　the
work　of　building　up　an　intellectual　consciousness　of　her　own
instinctive　purpose。　Accordingly；　we　observe　in　the　man　of　genius
all　the　unscrupulousness　and　all　the　〃self…sacrifice〃　（the　two
things　are　the　same）　of　Woman。　He　will　risk　the　stake　and　the
cross；　starve；　when　necessary；　in　a　garret　all　his　life；　study
women　and　live　on　their　work　and　care　as　Darwin　studied　worms　and
lived　upon　sheep；　work　his　nerves　into　rags　without　payment；　a
sublime　altruist　in　his　disregard　of　himself；　an　atrocious
egotist　in　his　disregard　of　others。　Here　Woman　meets　a　purpose　as
impersonal；　as　irresistible　as　her　own；　and　the　clash　is
sometimes　tragic。　When　it　is　complicated　by　the　genius　being　a
woman；　then　the　game　is　one　for　a　king　of　critics：　your　George
Sand　becomes　a　mother　to　gain　experience　for　the　novelist　and　to
develop　her；　and　gobbles　up　men　of　genius；　Chopins；　Mussets　and
the　like；　as　mere　hors　d'oeuvres。

I　state　the　extreme　case；　of　course；　but　what　is　true　of　the
great　man　who　incarnates　the　philosophic　consciousness　of　Life
and　the　woman　who　incarnates　its　fecundity；　is　true　in　some
degree　of　all　geniuses　and　all　women。　Hence　it　is　that　the
world's　books　get　written；　its　pictures　painted；　its　statues
modelled；　its　symphonies　composed；　by　people　who　are　free　of　the
otherwise　universal　dominion　of　the　tyranny　of　sex。　Which　leads
us　to　the　conclusion；　astonishing　to　the　vulgar；　that　art；
instead　of　being　before　all　things　the　expression　of　the　normal
sexual　situation；　is　really　the　only　department　in　which　sex　is　a
superseded　and　secondary　power；　with　its　consciousness　so
confused　and　its　purpose　so　perverted；　that　its　ideas　are　mere
fantasy　to　common　men。　Whether　the　artist　becomes　poet　or
philosopher；　moralist　or　founder　of　a　religion；　his　sexual
doctrine　is　nothing　but　a　barren　special　pleading　for　pleasure；
excitement；　and　knowledge　when　he　is　young；　and　for　contemplative
tranquillity　when　he　is　old　and　satiated。　Romance　and　Asceticism；
Amorism　and　Puritanism　are　equally　unreal　in　the　great　Philistine
world。　The　world　shown　us　in　books；　whether　the　books　be
confessed　epics　or　professed　gospels；　or　in　codes；　or　in
political　orations；　or　in　philosophic　systems；　is　not　the　main
world　at　all：　it　is　only　the　self…consciousness　of　certain
abnormal　people　who　have　the　specific　artistic　talent　and
temperament。　A　serious　matter　this　for　you　and　me；　because　the
man　whose　consciousness　does　not　correspond　to　that　of　the
majority　is　a　madman；　and　the　old　habit　of　worshipping　madmen　is
giving　way　to　the　new　habit　of　locking　them　up。　And　since　what　we
call　education　and　culture　is　for　the　most　part　nothing　but　the
substitution　of　reading　for　experience；　of　literature　for　life；
of　the　obsolete　fictitious　for　the　contemporary　real；　education；
as　you　no　doubt　observed　at　Oxford；　destroys；　by　supplantation；
every　mind　that　is　not　strong　enough　to　see　through　the　imposture
and　to　use　the　great　Masters　of　Arts　as　what　they　really　are　and
no　more：　that　is；　patentees　of　highly　questionable　methods　of
thinking；　and　manufacturers　of　highly　questionable；　and　for　the
majority　but　half　valid　representations　of　life。　The　schoolboy
who　uses　his　Homer　to　throw　at　his　fellow's　head　makes　perhaps
the　safest　and　most　rational　use　of　him；　and　I　observe　with
reassurance　that　you　occasionally　do　the　same；　in　your　prime；
with　your　Aristotle。

Fortunately　for　us；　whose　minds　have　been　so　overwhelmingly
sophisticated　by　literature；　what　produces　all　these　treatises
and　poems　and　scriptures　of　one　sort　or　another　is　the　struggle
of　Life　to　become　divinely　conscious　of　itself　instead　of　blindly
stumbling　hither　and　thither　in　the　line　of　least　resistance。
Hence　there　is　a　driving　towards　truth　in　all　books　on　matters
where　the　writer；　though　exceptionally　gifted　is　normally
constituted；　and　has　no　private　axe　to　grind。　Copernicus　had　no
motive　for　misleading　his　fellowmen　as　to　the　place　of　the　sun　in
the　solar　system：　he　looked　for　it　as　honestly　as　a　shepherd
seeks　his　path　in　a　mist。　But　Copernicus　would　not　have　written
love　stories　scientifically。　When　it　comes　to　sex　relations；　the
man　of　genius　does　not　share　the　common　man's　danger　of　capture；
nor　the　woman　of　genius　the　common　woman's　overwhelming
specialization。　And　that　is　why　our　scriptures　and　other　art
works；　when　they　deal　with　love；　turn　from　honest　attempts　at
science　in　physics　to　romantic　nonsense；　erotic　ecstasy；　or　the
stern　asceticism　of　satiety　（〃the　road　of　excess　leads　to　the
palace　of　wisdom〃　said　William　Blake；　for　〃you　never　know　what　is
enough　unless　you　know　what　is　more　than　enough〃）。

There　is　a　political　aspect　of　this　sex　question　which　is　too　big
for　my　comedy；　and　too　momentous　to　be　passed　over　without
culpable　frivolity。　It　is　impossible　to　demonstrate　that　the
initiative　in　sex　transactions　remains　with　Woman；　and　has　been
confirmed　to　her；　so　far；　more　and　more　by　the　suppression　of
rapine　and　discouragement　of　importunity；　without　being　driven　to
very　serious　reflections　on　the　fact　that　this　initiative　is
politically　the　most　important　of　all　the　initiatives；　because
our　political　experiment　of　democracy；　the　last　refuge　of　cheap
misgovernment；　will　ruin　us　if　our　citizens　are　ill　bred。

When　we　two　were　born；　this　country　was　still　dominated　by　a
selected　class　bred　by　political　marriages。　The　commercial　class
had　not　then　completed　the　first　twenty…five　years　of　its　new
share　of　political　power；　and　it　was　itself　selected　by　money
qualification；　and　bred；　if　not　by　political　marriage；　at　least
by　a　pretty　rigorous　class　marriage。　Aristocracy　and　plutocracy
still　furnish　the　figureheads　of　politics；　but　they　are　now
dependent　on　the　votes　of　the　promiscuously　bred　masses。　And
this；　if　you　please；　at　the　very　moment　when　the　political
problem；　having　suddenly　ceased　to　mean　a　very　limited　and
occasional　interference；　mostly　by　way　of　jobbing　public
appointments；　in　the　mismanagement　of　a　tight　but　parochial
little　island；　with　occasional　meaningless　prosecution　of
dynastic　wars；　has　become　the　industrial　reorganization　of
Britain；　the　construction　of　a　practically　international
Commonwealth；　and　the　partition　of　the　whole　of　Africa　and
perhaps　the　whole　of　Asia　by　the　civilized　Powers。　Can　you
believe　that　the　people　whose　conceptions　of　society　and　conduct；
whose　power　of　attention　and　scope　of　interest；　are　measured　by
the　British　theatre　as　you　know　it　to…day；　can　either　handle　this
colossal　task　themselves；　or　understand　and　support　the　sort　of
mind　and　character　that　is　（at　least　comparatively）　capable　of
handling　it？　For　remember：　what　our　voters　are　in　the　pit　and
gallery　they　are　also　in　the　polling　booth。　We　are　all　now　under
what　Burke　called　〃the　hoofs　of　the　swinish　mul