orthodoxy-第10节

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you　must　draw　him　with　a　long　neck。　　If；　in　your　bold　creative　way；



you　hold　yourself　free　to　draw　a　giraffe　with　a　short　neck；



you　will　really　find　that　you　are　not　free　to　draw　a　giraffe。　



The　moment　you　step　into　the　world　of　facts；　you　step　into　a　world



of　limits。　　You　can　free　things　from　alien　or　accidental　laws；



but　not　from　the　laws　of　their　own　nature。　　You　may；　if　you　like；



free　a　tiger　from　his　bars；　but　do　not　free　him　from　his　stripes。　



Do　not　free　a　camel　of　the　burden　of　his　hump：　　you　may　be　freeing　him



from　being　a　camel。　　Do　not　go　about　as　a　demagogue；　encouraging　triangles



to　break　out　of　the　prison　of　their　three　sides。　　If　a　triangle



breaks　out　of　its　three　sides；　its　life　comes　to　a　lamentable　end。　



Somebody　wrote　a　work　called　〃The　Loves　of　the　Triangles〃；



I　never　read　it；　but　I　am　sure　that　if　triangles　ever　were　loved；



they　were　loved　for　being　triangular。　　This　is　certainly　the　case



with　all　artistic　creation；　which　is　in　some　ways　the　most



decisive　example　of　pure　will。　　The　artist　loves　his　limitations：　



they　constitute　the　THING　he　is　doing。　　The　painter　is　glad



that　the　canvas　is　flat。　　The　sculptor　is　glad　that　the　clay



is　colourless。







　　　　　In　case　the　point　is　not　clear；　an　historic　example　may　illustrate



it。　　The　French　Revolution　was　really　an　heroic　and　decisive　thing；



because　the　Jacobins　willed　something　definite　and　limited。　



They　desired　the　freedoms　of　democracy；　but　also　all　the　vetoes



of　democracy。　　They　wished　to　have　votes　and　NOT　to　have　titles。　



Republicanism　had　an　ascetic　side　in　Franklin　or　Robespierre



as　well　as　an　expansive　side　in　Danton　or　Wilkes。　　Therefore　they



have　created　something　with　a　solid　substance　and　shape；　the　square



social　equality　and　peasant　wealth　of　France。　　But　since　then　the



revolutionary　or　speculative　mind　of　Europe　has　been　weakened　by



shrinking　from　any　proposal　because　of　the　limits　of　that　proposal。　



Liberalism　has　been　degraded　into　liberality。　　Men　have　tried



to　turn　〃revolutionise〃　from　a　transitive　to　an　intransitive　verb。　



The　Jacobin　could　tell　you　not　only　the　system　he　would　rebel　against；



but　（what　was　more　important）　the　system　he　would　NOT　rebel　against；



the　system　he　would　trust。　　But　the　new　rebel　is　a　Sceptic；



and　will　not　entirely　trust　anything。　　He　has　no　loyalty；　therefore　he



can　never　be　really　a　revolutionist。　　And　the　fact　that　he　doubts



everything　really　gets　in　his　way　when　he　wants　to　denounce　anything。　



For　all　denunciation　implies　a　moral　doctrine　of　some　kind；　and　the



modern　revolutionist　doubts　not　only　the　institution　he　denounces；



but　the　doctrine　by　which　he　denounces　it。　　Thus　he　writes　one　book



complaining　that　imperial　oppression　insults　the　purity　of　women；



and　then　he　writes　another　book　（about　the　sex　problem）　in　which　he



insults　it　himself。　　He　curses　the　Sultan　because　Christian　girls　lose



their　virginity；　and　then　curses　Mrs。　Grundy　because　they　keep　it。　



As　a　politician；　he　will　cry　out　that　war　is　a　waste　of　life；



and　then；　as　a　philosopher；　that　all　life　is　waste　of　time。　



A　Russian　pessimist　will　denounce　a　policeman　for　killing　a　peasant；



and　then　prove　by　the　highest　philosophical　principles　that　the



peasant　ought　to　have　killed　himself。　　A　man　denounces　marriage



as　a　lie；　and　then　denounces　aristocratic　profligates　for　treating



it　as　a　lie。　　He　calls　a　flag　a　bauble；　and　then　blames　the



oppressors　of　Poland　or　Ireland　because　they　take　away　that　bauble。　



The　man　of　this　school　goes　first　to　a　political　meeting；　where　he



complains　that　savages　are　treated　as　if　they　were　beasts；　then　he



takes　his　hat　and　umbrella　and　goes　on　to　a　scientific　meeting；



where　he　proves　that　they　practically　are　beasts。　　In　short；



the　modern　revolutionist；　being　an　infinite　sceptic；　is　always



engaged　in　undermining　his　own　mines。　　In　his　book　on　politics　he



attacks　men　for　trampling　on　morality；　in　his　book　on　ethics　he



attacks　morality　for　trampling　on　men。　　Therefore　the　modern　man



in　revolt　has　become　practically　useless　for　all　purposes　of　revolt。　



By　rebelling　against　everything　he　has　lost　his　right　to　rebel



against　anything。







　　　　　It　may　be　added　that　the　same　blank　and　bankruptcy　can　be　observed



in　all　fierce　and　terrible　types　of　literature；　especially　in　satire。　



Satire　may　be　mad　and　anarchic；　but　it　presupposes　an　admitted



superiority　in　certain　things　over　others；　it　presupposes　a　standard。　



When　little　boys　in　the　street　laugh　at　the　fatness　of　some



distinguished　journalist；　they　are　unconsciously　assuming　a　standard



of　Greek　sculpture。　　They　are　appealing　to　the　marble　Apollo。　



And　the　curious　disappearance　of　satire　from　our　literature　is



an　instance　of　the　fierce　things　fading　for　want　of　any　principle



to　be　fierce　about。　　Nietzsche　had　some　natural　talent　for　sarcasm：　



he　could　sneer；　though　he　could　not　laugh；　but　there　is　always　something



bodiless　and　without　weight　in　his　satire；　simply　because　it　has　not



any　mass　of　common　morality　behind　it。　　He　is　himself　more　preposterous



than　anything　he　denounces。　　But；　indeed；　Nietzsche　will　stand　very



well　as　the　type　of　the　whole　of　this　failure　of　abstract　violence。　



The　softening　of　the　brain　which　ultimately　overtook　him　was　not



a　physical　accident。　　If　Nietzsche　had　not　ended　in　imbecility；



Nietzscheism　would　end　in　imbecility。　　Thinking　in　isolation



and　with　pride　ends　in　being　an　idiot。　　Every　man　who　will



not　have　softening　of　the　heart　must　at　last　have　softening　of　the　brain。







　　　　　This　last　attempt　to　evade　intellectualism　ends　in　intellectualism；



and　therefore　in　death。　　The　sortie　has　failed。　　The　wild　worship　of



lawlessness　and　the　materialist　worship　of　law　end　in　the　same　void。　



Nietzsche　scales　staggering　mountains；　but　he　turns　up　ultimately



in　Tibet。　　He　sits　down　beside　Tolstoy　in　the　land　of　nothing



and　Nirvana。　　They　are　both　helplessone　because　he　must　not



grasp　anything；　and　the　other　because　he　must　not　let　go　of　anything。　



The　Tolstoyan's　will　is　frozen　by　a　Buddhist　instinct　that　all



special　actions　are　evil。　　But　the　Nietzscheite's　will　is　quite



equally　frozen　by　his　view　that　all　special　actions　are　good；



for　if　all　special　actions　are　good；　none　of　them　are　special。　



They　stand　at　the　crossroads；　and　one　hates　all　the　roads　and



the　other　likes　all　the　roads。　　The　result　iswell；　some　things



are　not　hard　to　calculate。　　They　stand　at　the　cross…roads。







　　　　　Here　I　end　（thank　God）　the　first　and　dullest　business



of　this　bookthe　rough　review　of　recent　thought。　　After　this　I



begin　to　sketch　a　view　of　life　which　may　not　interest　my　reader；



but　which；　at　any　rate；　interests　me。　　In　front　of　me；　as　I　close



this　page；　is　a　pile　of　modern　books　that　I　have　been　turning



over　for　the　purposea　pile　of　ingenuity；　a　pile　of　futility。　



By　the　accident　of　my　present　detachment；　I　can　see　the　inevitable　smash



of　the　philosophies　of　Schopenhauer　and　Tolstoy；　Nietzsche　and　Shaw；



as　clearly　as　an　inevitable　railway　smash　could　be　seen　from



a　balloon。　　They　are　all　on　the　road　to　the　emptiness　of　the　asylum。　



For　madness　may　be　defined　as　using　mental　activity　so　as　to　reach



mental　helplessness；　and　they　have　nearly　reached　it。　　He　who



thinks　he　is　made　of　glass；　thinks　to　the　destruction　of　thought；



for　glass　cannot　think。　　So　he　who　wills　to　reject　nothing；



wills　the　destruction　of　will；　for　will　is　not　only　the　choice



of　something；　but　the　rejection　of　almost　everything。　　And　as　I



turn　and　tumble　over　the　clever；　wonderful；　tiresome；　and　useless



modern　books；　the　title　of　one　of　them　rivets　my　eye。　　It　is　called



〃Jeanne　d'Arc；〃　by　Anatole　France。　　I　have　only　glanced　at　it；



but　a　glance　was　enough　to　remind　me　of　Renan's　〃Vie　de　Jesus。〃　



It　has　the　same　strange　method　of　the　reverent　sceptic。　　It　discredits



supernatural　stories　that　have　some　foundation；　simply　by　telling



natural　stories　that　have　no　foundation。　　Because　we　cannot　believe



in　what　a　saint　did；　we　are　to　pretend　that　we　know　exactly　what



he　felt。　　But　I　do　not　mention　either　book　in　order　to　criticise　it；



but　because　the　accidental　combination　of　the　names　called　up　two



startling　images　of　Sanity　which　blasted　all　the　books　before　me。　



Joan　of　Arc　was　not　stuck　at　the　cross…roads；　either　by　rejecting



all　the　paths　like　Tolstoy；　or　by　accepting　them　all　like　Nietzsche。　



She　chose　a　path；　and　went　down　it　like　a　thunderbolt。　　Yet　Joan；



when　I　came　to　think　of　her；　had　in　her　all　that　was　true