orthodoxy-第42节

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Benjamin　Disraeli　was　right　when　he　said　he　was　on　the　side　of



the　angels。　　He　was　indeed；　he　was　on　the　side　of　the　fallen　angels。　



He　was　not　on　the　side　of　any　mere　appetite　or　animal　brutality；



but　he　was　on　the　side　of　all　the　imperialism　of　the　princes



of　the　abyss；　he　was　on　the　side　of　arrogance　and　mystery；



and　contempt　of　all　obvious　good。　　Between　this　sunken　pride



and　the　towering　humilities　of　heaven　there　are；　one　must　suppose；



spirits　of　shapes　and　sizes。　　Man；　in　encountering　them；



must　make　much　the　same　mistakes　that　he　makes　in　encountering



any　other　varied　types　in　any　other　distant　continent。　　It　must



be　hard　at　first　to　know　who　is　supreme　and　who　is　subordinate。　



If　a　shade　arose　from　the　under　world；　and　stared　at　Piccadilly；



that　shade　would　not　quite　understand　the　idea　of　an　ordinary



closed　carriage。　　He　would　suppose　that　the　coachman　on　the　box



was　a　triumphant　conqueror；　dragging　behind　him　a　kicking　and



imprisoned　captive。　　So；　if　we　see　spiritual　facts　for　the　first　time；



we　may　mistake　who　is　uppermost。　　It　is　not　enough　to　find　the　gods；



they　are　obvious；　we　must　find　God；　the　real　chief　of　the　gods。　



We　must　have　a　long　historic　experience　in　supernatural　phenomena



in　order　to　discover　which　are　really　natural。　　In　this　light　I



find　the　history　of　Christianity；　and　even　of　its　Hebrew　origins；



quite　practical　and　clear。　　It　does　not　trouble　me　to　be　told



that　the　Hebrew　god　was　one　among　many。　　I　know　he　was；　without　any



research　to　tell　me　so。　　Jehovah　and　Baal　looked　equally　important；



just　as　the　sun　and　the　moon　looked　the　same　size。　　It　is　only



slowly　that　we　learn　that　the　sun　is　immeasurably　our　master；



and　the　small　moon　only　our　satellite。　　Believing　that　there



is　a　world　of　spirits；　I　shall　walk　in　it　as　I　do　in　the　world



of　men；　looking　for　the　thing　that　I　like　and　think　good。　



Just　as　I　should　seek　in　a　desert　for　clean　water；　or　toil　at



the　North　Pole　to　make　a　comfortable　fire；　so　I　shall　search　the



land　of　void　and　vision　until　I　find　something　fresh　like　water；



and　comforting　like　fire；　until　I　find　some　place　in　eternity；



where　I　am　literally　at　home。　　And　there　is　only　one　such　place　to



be　found。







　　　　　I　have　now　said　enough　to　show　（to　any　one　to　whom　such



an　explanation　is　essential）　that　I　have　in　the　ordinary　arena



of　apologetics；　a　ground　of　belief。　　In　pure　records　of　experiment　（if



these　be　taken　democratically　without　contempt　or　favour）　there　is



evidence　first；　that　miracles　happen；　and　second　that　the　nobler



miracles　belong　to　our　tradition。　　But　I　will　not　pretend　that　this　curt



discussion　is　my　real　reason　for　accepting　Christianity　instead　of　taking



the　moral　good　of　Christianity　as　I　should　take　it　out　of　Confucianism。







　　　　　I　have　another　far　more　solid　and　central　ground　for　submitting



to　it　as　a　faith；　instead　of　merely　picking　up　hints　from　it



as　a　scheme。　　And　that　is　this：　　that　the　Christian　Church　in　its



practical　relation　to　my　soul　is　a　living　teacher；　not　a　dead　one。　



It　not　only　certainly　taught　me　yesterday；　but　will　almost　certainly



teach　me　to…morrow。　Once　I　saw　suddenly　the　meaning　of　the　shape



of　the　cross；　some　day　I　may　see　suddenly　the　meaning　of　the　shape



of　the　mitre。　　One　fine　morning　I　saw　why　windows　were　pointed；



some　fine　morning　I　may　see　why　priests　were　shaven。　　Plato　has



told　you　a　truth；　but　Plato　is　dead。　　Shakespeare　has　startled　you



with　an　image；　but　Shakespeare　will　not　startle　you　with　any　more。　



But　imagine　what　it　would　be　to　live　with　such　men　still　living；



to　know　that　Plato　might　break　out　with　an　original　lecture　to…morrow；



or　that　at　any　moment　Shakespeare　might　shatter　everything　with　a



single　song。　　The　man　who　lives　in　contact　with　what　he　believes



to　be　a　living　Church　is　a　man　always　expecting　to　meet　Plato



and　Shakespeare　to…morrow　at　breakfast。　　He　is　always　expecting



to　see　some　truth　that　he　has　never　seen　before。　　There　is　one



only　other　parallel　to　this　position；　and　that　is　the　parallel



of　the　life　in　which　we　all　began。　　When　your　father　told　you；



walking　about　the　garden；　that　bees　stung　or　that　roses　smelt　sweet；



you　did　not　talk　of　taking　the　best　out　of　his　philosophy。　　When　the



bees　stung　you；　you　did　not　call　it　an　entertaining　coincidence。　



When　the　rose　smelt　sweet　you　did　not　say　〃My　father　is　a　rude；



barbaric　symbol；　enshrining　（perhaps　unconsciously）　the　deep



delicate　truths　that　flowers　smell。〃　　No：　you　believed　your　father；



because　you　had　found　him　to　be　a　living　fountain　of　facts；　a　thing



that　really　knew　more　than　you；　a　thing　that　would　tell　you　truth



to…morrow；　as　well　as　to…day。　And　if　this　was　true　of　your　father；



it　was　even　truer　of　your　mother；　at　least　it　was　true　of　mine；



to　whom　this　book　is　dedicated。　　Now；　when　society　is　in　a　rather



futile　fuss　about　the　subjection　of　women；　will　no　one　say　how　much



every　man　owes　to　the　tyranny　and　privilege　of　women；　to　the　fact



that　they　alone　rule　education　until　education　becomes　futile：　



for　a　boy　is　only　sent　to　be　taught　at　school　when　it　is　too　late



to　teach　him　anything。　　The　real　thing　has　been　done　already；



and　thank　God　it　is　nearly　always　done　by　women。　　Every　man



is　womanised；　merely　by　being　born。　　They　talk　of　the　masculine　woman；



but　every　man　is　a　feminised　man。　　And　if　ever　men　walk　to　Westminster



to　protest　against　this　female　privilege；　I　shall　not　join



their　procession。







　　　　　For　I　remember　with　certainty　this　fixed　psychological　fact；



that　the　very　time　when　I　was　most　under　a　woman's　authority；



I　was　most　full　of　flame　and　adventure。　　Exactly　because　when　my



mother　said　that　ants　bit　they　did　bite；　and　because　snow　did



come　in　winter　（as　she　said）；　therefore　the　whole　world　was　to　me



a　fairyland　of　wonderful　fulfilments；　and　it　was　like　living　in



some　Hebraic　age；　when　prophecy　after　prophecy　came　true。　　I　went



out　as　a　child　into　the　garden；　and　it　was　a　terrible　place　to　me；



precisely　because　I　had　a　clue　to　it：　　if　I　had　held　no　clue　it　would



not　have　been　terrible；　but　tame。　　A　mere　unmeaning　wilderness　is



not　even　impressive。　　But　the　garden　of　childhood　was　fascinating；



exactly　because　everything　had　a　fixed　meaning　which　could　be　found



out　in　its　turn。　　Inch　by　inch　I　might　discover　what　was　the　object



of　the　ugly　shape　called　a　rake；　or　form　some　shadowy　conjecture



as　to　why　my　parents　kept　a　cat。







　　　　　So；　since　I　have　accepted　Christendom　as　a　mother　and　not



merely　as　a　chance　example；　I　have　found　Europe　and　the　world



once　more　like　the　little　garden　where　I　stared　at　the　symbolic



shapes　of　cat　and　rake；　I　look　at　everything　with　the　old　elvish



ignorance　and　expectancy。　　This　or　that　rite　or　doctrine　may　look



as　ugly　and　extraordinary　as　a　rake；　but　I　have　found　by　experience



that　such　things　end　somehow　in　grass　and　flowers。　　A　clergyman　may



be　apparently　as　useless　as　a　cat；　but　he　is　also　as　fascinating；



for　there　must　be　some　strange　reason　for　his　existence。　　I　give



one　instance　out　of　a　hundred；　I　have　not　myself　any　instinctive



kinship　with　that　enthusiasm　for　physical　virginity；　which　has



certainly　been　a　note　of　historic　Christianity。　　But　when　I　look



not　at　myself　but　at　the　world；　I　perceive　that　this　enthusiasm



is　not　only　a　note　of　Christianity；　but　a　note　of　Paganism；　a　note



of　high　human　nature　in　many　spheres。　　The　Greeks　felt　virginity



when　they　carved　Artemis；　the　Romans　when　they　robed　the　vestals；



the　worst　and　wildest　of　the　great　Elizabethan　playwrights　clung　to



the　literal　purity　of　a　woman　as　to　the　central　pillar　of　the　world。　



Above　all；　the　modern　world　（even　while　mocking　sexual　innocence）



has　flung　itself　into　a　generous　idolatry　of　sexual　innocence



the　great　modern　worship　of　children。　　For　any　man　who　loves　children



will　agree　that　their　peculiar　beauty　is　hurt　by　a　hint　of　physical　sex。　



With　all　this　human　experience；　allied　with　the　Christian　authority；



I　simply　conclude　that　I　am　wrong；　and　the　church　right；　or　rather



that　I　am　defective；　while　the　church　is　universal。　　It　takes



all　sorts　to　make　a　church；　she　does　not　ask　me　to　be　celibate。　



But　the　fact　that　I　have　no　appreciation　of　the　celibates；



I　accept　like　the　fact　that　I　have　no　ear　for　music。　　The　best



human　experience　is　against　me；　as　it　is　on　the　subject　of　Bach。　



Celibacy　is　one　flower　in　my　father's　garden；　of　which　I　have



not　been　told　the　sweet　or　terrible　name。　　But　I　may　be　told　it



any　day。