四季随笔-the private papers of henry ryecroft(英文版)-第26章

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with　a　sort　of　disgust。　〃An　ounce　of　civet；　good　apothecary！〃　Why　it　should　be　so　with　me　I　cannot　say。　I　am　as　indifferent　to　the　facts　or　fancies　of　spiritualism　as　I　am；　for　instance；　to　the　latest　mechanical　application　of　electricity。　Edisons　and　Marconis　may　thrill　the　world　with　astounding　novelties；　they　astound　me；　as　every　one　else；　but　straightway　I　forget　my　astonishment；　and　am　in　every　respect　the　man　I　was　before。　The　thing　has　simply　no　concern　for　me；　and　I　care　not　a　volt　if　to…morrow　the　proclaimed　discovery　be　proved　a　journalist's　mistake　or　invention。
Am　I；　then；　a　hidebound　materialist？　If　I　know　myself；　hardly　that。　Once；　in　conversation　with　G。　A。；　I　referred　to　his　position　as　that　of　the　agnostic。　He　corrected　me。　〃The　agnostic　grants　that　there　MAY　be　something　beyond　the　sphere　of　man's　knowledge；　I　can　make　no　such　admission。　For　me；　what　is　called　the　unknowable　is　simply　the　non…existent。　We　see　what　is；　and　we　see　all。〃　Now　this　gave　me　a　sort　of　shock；　it　seemed　incredible　to　me　that　a　man　of　so　much　intelligence　could　hold　such　a　view。　So　far　am　I　from　feeling　satisfied　with　any　explanation；　scientific　or　other；　of　myself　and　of　the　world　about　me；　that　not　a　day　goes　by　but　I　fall　a…　marvelling　before　the　mystery　of　the　universe。　To　trumpet　the　triumphs　of　human　knowledge　seems　to　me　worse　than　childishness；　now；　as　of　old；　we　know　but　one　thing……that　we　know　nothing。　What！　Can　I　pluck　the　flower　by　the　wayside；　and；　as　I　gaze　at　it；　feel　that；　if　I　knew　all　the　teachings　of　histology；　morphology；　and　so　on；　with　regard　to　it；　I　should　have　exhausted　its　meanings？　What　is　all　this　but　words；　words；　words？　Interesting；　yes；　as　observation；　but；　the　more　interesting；　so　much　the　more　provocative　of　wonder　and　of　hopeless　questioning。　One　may　gaze　and　think　till　the　brain　whirls……till　the　little　blossom　in　one's　hand　bees　as　overwhelming　a　miracle　as　the　very　sun　in　heaven。　Nothing　to　be　known？　The　flower　simply　a　flower；　and　there　an　end　on't？　The　man　simply　a　product　of　evolutionary　law；　his　senses　and　his　intellect　merely　availing　him　to　take　account　of　the　natural　mechanism　of　which　he　forms　a　part？　I　find　it　very　hard　to　believe　that　this　is　the　conviction　of　any　human　mind。　Rather　I　would　think　that　despair　at　an　insoluble　problem；　and　perhaps　impatience　with　those　who　pretend　to　solve　it；　bring　about　a　resolute　disregard　of　everything　beyond　the　physical　fact；　and　so　at　length　a　self…deception　which　seems　obtuseness。
X
It　may　well　be　that　what　we　call　the　unknowable　will　be　for　ever　the　unknown。　In　that　thought　is　there　not　a　pathos　beyond　words？　It　may　be　that　the　human　race　will　live　and　pass　away；　all　mankind；　from　him　who　in　the　world's　dawn　first　shaped　to　his　fearful　mind　an　image　of　the　Lord　of　Life；　to　him　who；　in　the　dusking　twilight　of　the　last　age；　shall　crouch　before　a　deity　of　stone　or　wood；　and　never　one　of　that　long　lineage　have　learnt　the　wherefore　of　his　being。　The　prophets；　the　martyrs；　their　noble　anguish　vain　and　meaningless；　the　wise　whose　thought　strove　to　eternity；　and　was　but　an　idle　dream；　the　pure　in　heart　whose　life　was　a　vision　of　the　living　God；　the　suffering　and　the　mourners　whose　solace　was　in　a　world　to　e；　the　victims　of　injustice　who　cried　to　the　Judge　Supreme……all　gone　down　into　silence；　and　the　globe　that　bare　them　circling　dead　and　cold　through　soundless　space。　The　most　tragic　aspect　of　such　a　tragedy　is　that　it　is　not　unthinkable。　The　soul　revolts；　but　dare　not　see　in　this　revolt　the　assurance　of　its　higher　destiny。　Viewing　our　life　thus；　is　it　not　easier　to　believe　that　the　tragedy　is　played　with　no　spectator？　And　of　a　truth；　of　a　truth；　what　spectator　can　there　be？　The　day　may　e　when；　to　all　who　live；　the　Name　of　Names　will　be　but　an　empty　symbol；　rejected　by　reason　and　by　faith。　Yet　the　tragedy　will　be　played　on。
It　is　not；　I　say；　unthinkable；　but　that　is　not　the　same　thing　as　to　declare　that　life　has　no　meaning　beyond　the　sense　it　bears　to　human　intelligence。　The　intelligence　itself　rejects　such　a　supposition；　in　my　case；　with　impatience　and　scorn。　No　theory　of　the　world　which　ever　came　to　my　knowledge　is　to　me　for　one　moment　acceptable；　the　possibility　of　an　explanation　which　would　set　my　mind　at　rest　is　to　me　inconceivable；　no　whit　the　less　am　I　convinced　that　there　is　a　Reason　of　the　All；　one　which　transcends　my　understanding；　one　no　glimmer　of　which　will　ever　touch　my　apprehension；　a　Reason　which　must　imply　a　creative　power；　and　therefore；　even　whilst　a　necessity　of　my　thought；　is　by　the　same　criticized　into　nothing。　A　like　antinomy　with　that　which　affects　our　conception　of　the　infinite　in　time　and　space。　Whether　the　rational　processes　have　reached　their　final　development；　who　shall　say？　Perhaps　what　seem　to　us　the　impassable　limits　of　thought　are　but　the　conditions　of　a　yet　early　stage　in　the　history　of　man。　Those　who　make　them　a　proof　of　a　〃future　state〃　must　necessarily　suppose　gradations　in　that　futurity；　does　the　savage；　scarce　risen　above　the　brute；　enter　upon　the　same　〃new　life〃　as　the　man　of　highest　civilization？　Such　gropings　of　the　mind　certify　our　ignorance；　the　strange　thing　is　that　they　can　be　held　by　any　one　to　demonstrate　that　our　ignorance　is　final　knowledge。
XI
Yet　that；　perhaps；　will　be　the　mind　of　ing　man；　if　not　the　final　attainment　of　his　intellectual　progress；　at　all　events　a　long　period　of　self…satisfaction；　assumed　as　finality。　We　talk　of　the　〃ever　aspiring　soul〃；　we　take　for　granted　that　if　one　religion　passes　away；　another　must　arise。　But　what　if　man　presently　find　himself　without　spiritual　needs？　Such　modification　of　his　being　cannot　be　deemed　impossible；　many　signs　of　our　life　to…day　seem　to　point　towards　it。　If　the　habits　of　thought　favoured　by　physical　science　do　but　sink　deep　enough；　and　no　vast　calamity　e　to　check　mankind　in　its　advance　to　material　contentment；　the　age　of　true　positivism　may　arise。　Then　it　will　be　the　mon　privilege；　〃rerum　cognoscere　causas〃；　the　word　supernatural　will　have　no　sense；　superstition　will　be　a　dimly　understood　trait　of　the　early　race；　and　where　now　we　perceive　an　appalling　Mystery；　everything　will　be　lucid　and　serene　as　a　geometric　demonstration。　Such　an　epoch　of　Reason　might　be　the　happiest　the　world　could　know。　Indeed；　it　would　either　be　that；　or　it　would　never　e　about　at　all。　For　suffering　and　sorrow　are　the　great　Doctors　of　Metaphysic；　and；　remembering　this；　one　cannot　count　very　surely　upon　the　rationalist　millennium。
XII
The　free　man；　says　Spinoza；　thinks　of　nothing　less　often　than　of　death。　Free；　in　his　sense　of　the　word；　I　may　not　call　myself。　I　think　of　death　very　often；　the　thought；　indeed；　is　ever　in　the　background　of　my　mind；　yet　free　in　another　sense　I　assuredly　am；　for　death　inspires　me　with　no　fear。　There　was　a　time　when　I　dreaded　it；　but　that；　merely　because　it　meant　disaster　to　others　who　depended　upon　my　labour；　the　cessation　of　being　has　never　in　itself　had　power　to　afflict　me。　Pain　I　cannot　well　endure；　and　I　do　indeed　think　with　apprehension　of　being　subjected　to　the　trial　of　long　deathbed　torments。　It　is　a　sorry　thing　that　the　man　who　has　fronted　destiny　with　something　of　manly　calm　throughout　a　life　of　stress　and　of　striving；　may；　when　he　nears　the　end；　be　dishonoured　by　a　weakness　which　is　mere　disease。　But　happily　I　am　not　often　troubled　by　that　dark　anticipation。
I　always　turn　out　of　my　way　to　walk　through　a　country　churchyard；　these　rural　resting…places　are　as　attractive　to　me　as　a　town　cemetery　is　repugnant。　I　read　the　names　upon　the　stones；　and　find　a　deep　solace　in　thinking　that　for　all　these　the　fret　and　the　fear　of　life　are　over。　There　es　to　me　no　touch　of　sadness；　whether　it　be　a　little　child　or　an　aged　man；　I　have　the　same　sense　of　happy　acplishment；　the　end　having　e；　and　with　it　the　eternal　peace；　what　matter　if　it　came　late　or　soon？　There　is　no　such　gratulation　as　Hic　jacet。　There　is　no　such　dignity　as　that　of　death。　In　the　path　trodden　by　the　noblest　of　mankind　these　have　followed；　that　which　of　all　who　live　is　the　utmost　thing　demanded；　these　have　achieved。　I　cannot　sorrow　for　them；　but　the　thought　of　their　vanished　life　moves　me　to　a　brotherly　tenderness。　The　dead；　amid　this　leafy　silence；　seem　to　whisper　encouragement　to　him　whose　fate　yet　li