Men and Women Part 7

Prepare together for our voyage, then; Each note and check the other in his work-- Here's mine, a bishop's outfit; criticise!

What's wrong? why won't you be a bishop too?

Why first, you don't believe, you don't and can't, 150 (Not statedly, that is, and fixedly And absolutely and exclusively) In any revelation called divine.

No dogmas nail your faith; and what remains But say so, like the honest man you are?

First, therefore, overhaul theology!

Nay, I too, not a fool, you please to think, Must find believing every whit as hard: And if I do not frankly say as much, The ugly consequence is clear enough. 160

Now wait, my friend: well, I do not believe-- If you'll accept no faith that is not fixed, Absolute and exclusive, as you say.

You're wrong--I mean to prove it in due time.

Meanwhile, I know where difficulties lie I could not, cannot solve, nor ever shall, So give up hope accordingly to solve-- (To you, and over the wine). Our dogmas then With both of us, though in unlike degree, Missing full credence--overboard with them! 170 I mean to meet you on your own premise: Good, there go mine in company with yours!

And now what are we? unbelievers both, Calm and complete, determinately fixed To-day, to-morrow and forever, pray?

You'll guarantee me that? Not so, I think!

In no wise! all we've gained is, that belief, As unbelief before, shakes us by fits, Confounds us like its predecessor. Where's The gain? how can we guard our unbelief, 180 Make it bear fruit to us?--the problem here.

Just when we are safest, there's a sunset-touch, A fancy from a flower-bell, some one's death, A chorus-ending from Euripides-- And that's enough for fifty hopes and fears As old and new at once as nature's self, To rap and knock and enter in our soul, Take hands and dance there, a fantastic ring, Round the ancient idol, on his base again-- The grand Perhaps! We look on helplessly. 190 There the old misgivings, crooked questions are-- This good G.o.d--what he could do, if he would, Would, if he could--then must have done long since: If so, when, where and how? some way must be-- Once feel about, and soon or late you hit Some sense, in which it might be, after all.

Why not, "The Way, the Truth, the Life?"

--That way Over the mountain, which who stands upon Is apt to doubt if it be meant for a road; While, if he views it from the waste itself, 200 Up goes the line there, plain from base to brow, Not vague, mistakable! what's a break or two Seen from the unbroken desert either side?

And then (to bring in fresh philosophy) What if the breaks themselves should prove at last The most consummate of contrivances To train a man's eye, teach him what is faith?

And so we stumble at truth's very test!

All we have gained then by our unbelief Is a life of doubt diversified by faith, 210 For one of faith diversified by doubt: We called the chess-board white--we call it black.

"Well," you rejoin, "the end's no worse, at least; We've reason for both colors on the board: Why not confess then, where I drop the faith And you the doubt, that I'm as right as you?"

Because, friend, in the next place, this being so, And both things even--faith and unbelief Left to a man's choice--we'll proceed a step, Returning to our image, which I like. 220

A man's choice, yes--but a cabin-pa.s.senger's-- The man made for the special life o' the world-- Do you forget him? I remember though!

Consult our s.h.i.+p's conditions and you find One and but one choice suitable to all; The choice, that you unluckily prefer, Turning things topsy-turvy--they or it Going to the ground. Belief or unbelief Bears upon life, determines its whole course, Begins at its beginning. See the world 230 Such as it is--you made it not, nor I; I mean to take it as it is--and you, Not so you'll take it--though you get naught else.

I know the special kind of life I like, What suits the most my idiosyncrasy, Brings out the best of me and bears me fruit In power, peace, pleasantness and length of days.

I find that positive belief does this For me, and unbelief, no whit of this.

--For you, it does, however?--that, we'll try! 240 'T is clear, I cannot lead my life, at least, Induce the world to let me peaceably, Without declaring at the outset, "Friends, I absolutely and peremptorily Believe!"--I say, faith is my waking life: One sleeps, indeed, and dreams at intervals, We know, but waking's the main point with us, And my provision's for life's waking part.

Accordingly, I use heart, head and hand All day, I build, scheme, study, and make friends; 250 And when night overtakes me, down I lie, Sleep, dream a little, and get done with it, The sooner the better, to begin afresh.

What's midnight's doubt before the dayspring's faith?

You, the philosopher, that disbelieve, That recognize the night, give dreams their weight-- To be consistent you should keep your bed, Abstain from healthy acts that prove you man, For fear you drowse perhaps at unawares!

And certainly at night you'll sleep and dream, 260 Live through the day and bustle as you please.

And so you live to sleep as I to wake, To unbelieve as I to still believe?

Well, and the common sense o' the world calls you Bed-ridden--and its good things come to me.

Its estimation, which is half the fight, That's the first-cabin comfort I secure: The next . . . but you perceive with half an eye!

Come, come, it's best believing, if we may; You can't but own that!

Next, concede again, 270 If once we choose belief, on all accounts We can't be too decisive in our faith, Conclusive and exclusive in its terms, To suit the world which gives us the good things.

In every man's career are certain points Whereon he dares not be indifferent; The world detects him clearly, if he dare, As baffled at the game, and losing life.

He may care little or he may care much For riches, honor, pleasure, work, repose, 280 Since various theories of life and life's Success are extant which might easily Comport with either estimate of these; And whoso chooses wealth or poverty, Labor or quiet, is not judged a fool Because his fellow would choose otherwise; We let him choose upon his own account So long as he's consistent with his choice.

But certain points, left wholly to himself, When once a man has arbitrated on, 290 We say he must succeed there or go hang.

Thus, he should wed the woman he loves most Or needs most, whatsoe'er the love or need-- For he can't wed twice. Then, he must avouch, Or follow, at the least, sufficiently, The form of faith his conscience holds the best, Whate'er the process of conviction was: For nothing can compensate his mistake On such a point, the man himself being judge: He cannot wed twice, nor twice lose his soul. 300

Well now, there's one great form of Christian faith I happened to be born in--which to teach Was given me as I grew up, on all hands, As best and readiest means of living by; The same on examination being proved The most p.r.o.nounced moreover, fixed, precise And absolute form of faith in the whole world-- Accordingly, most potent of all forms For working on the world. Observe, my friend!

Such as you know me, I am free to say, 310 In these hard latter days which hamper one, Myself--by no immoderate exercise Of intellect and learning, but the tact To let external forces work for me, --Bid the street's stones be bread and they are bread; Bid Peter's creed, or rather, Hildebrand's, Exalt me o'er my fellows in the world And make my life an ease and joy and pride; It does so--which for me 's a great point gained, Who have a soul and body that exact 320 A comfortable care in many ways.

There's power in me and will to dominate Which I must exercise, they hurt me else: In many ways I need mankind's respect, Obedience, and the love that's born of fear: While at the same time, there's a taste I have, A toy of soul, a t.i.tillating thing, Refuses to digest these dainties crude.

The naked life is gross till clothed upon: I must take what men offer, with a grace 330 As though I would not, could I help it, take An uniform I wear though over-rich-- Something imposed on me, no choice of mine; No fancy-dress worn for pure fancy's sake And despicable therefore! now folk kneel And kiss my hand--of course the Church's hand.

Thus I am made, thus life is best for me, And thus that it should be I have procured; And thus it could not be another way, I venture to imagine.

You'll reply, 340 So far my choice, no doubt, is a success; But were I made of better elements, With n.o.bler instincts, purer tastes, like you, I hardly would account the thing success Though it did all for me I say.

But, friend, We speak of what is; not of what might be, And how 'twere better if 'twere otherwise.

I am the man you see here plain enough: Grant I'm a beast, why, beasts must lead beasts' lives!

Suppose I own at once to tail and claws; 350 The tailless man exceeds me: but being tailed I'll lash out lion fas.h.i.+on, and leave apes To dock their stump and dress their haunches up.

My business is not to remake myself, But make the absolute best of what G.o.d made.

Or--our first simile--though you prove me doomed To a viler berth still, to the steerage-hole, The sheep-pen or the pig-stye, I should strive To make what use of each were possible; And as this cabin gets upholstery, 360 That hutch should rustle with sufficient straw.

But, friend, I don't acknowledge quite so fast I fail of all your manhood's lofty tastes Enumerated so complacently, On the mere ground that you forsooth can find In this particular life I choose to lead No fit provision for them. Can you not?

Say you, my fault is I address myself To grosser estimators than should judge?

And that's no way of holding up the soul, 370 Which, n.o.bler, needs men's praise perhaps, yet knows One wise man's verdict outweighs all the fools'-- Would like the two, but, forced to choose, takes that.

I pine among my million imbeciles (You think) aware some dozen men of sense Eye me and know me, whether I believe In the last winking Virgin, as I vow, And am a fool, or disbelieve in her And am a knave--approve in neither case, Withhold their voices though I look their way: 380 Like Verdi when, at his worst opera's end (The thing they gave at Florence--what's its name?) While the mad houseful's plaudits near outbang His orchestra of salt-box, tongs and bones, He looks through all the roaring and the wreaths Where sits Rossini patient in his stall.

Nay, friend, I meet you with an answer here-- That even your prime men who appraise their kind Are men still, catch a wheel within a wheel, See more in a truth than the truth's simple self, 390 Confuse themselves. You see lads walk the street Sixty the minute; what's to note in that?

You see one lad o'erstride a chimney-stack; Him you must watch--he's sure to fall, yet stands!

Our interest's on the dangerous edge of things.

The honest thief, the tender murderer, The superst.i.tious atheist, demirep That loves and saves her soul in new French books-- We watch while these in equilibrium keep The giddy line midway: one step aside, 400 They're cla.s.sed and done with. I, then, keep the line Before your sages--just the men to shrink From the gross weights, coa.r.s.e scales and labels broad You offer their refinement. Fool or knave?

Why needs a bishop be a fool or knave When there's a thousand diamond weights between?

So, I enlist them. Your picked twelve, you'll find, Profess themselves indignant, scandalized At thus being held unable to explain How a superior man who disbelieves 410 May not believe as well: that's Sch.e.l.ling's way!

It's through my coming in the tail of time, Nicking the minute with a happy tact.

Had I been born three hundred years ago They'd say, "What's strange? Blougram of course believes;"

And, seventy years since, "disbelieves of course."

But now, "He may believe; and yet, and yet How can he?" All eyes turn with interest.

Whereas, step off the line on either side-- You, for example, clever to a fault, 420 The rough and ready man who write apace, Read somewhat seldomer, think perhaps even less-- You disbelieve! Who wonders and who cares?

Lord So-and-so--his coat bedropped with wax, All Peter's chains about his waist, his back Brave with the needlework of Noodledom-- Believes! Again, who wonders and who cares?

But I, the man of sense and learning too, The able to think yet act, the this, the that, I, to believe at this late time of day! 430 Enough; you see, I need not fear contempt.

--Except it's yours! Admire me as these may, You don't. But whom at least do you admire?

Present your own perfection, your ideal, Your pattern man for a minute--oh, make haste, Is it Napoleon you would have us grow?

Concede the means; allow his head and hand, (A large concession, clever as you are) Good! In our common primal element Of unbelief (we can't believe, you know-- 440 We're still at that admission, recollect!) Where do you find--apart from, towering o'er The secondary temporary aims Which satisfy the gross taste you despise-- Where do you find his star?--his crazy trust G.o.d knows through what or in what? it's alive And s.h.i.+nes and leads him, and that's all we want.

Have we aught in our sober night shall point Such ends as his were, and direct the means Of working out our purpose straight as his, 450 Nor bring a moment's trouble on success With after-care to justify the same?

--Be a Napoleon, and yet disbelieve-- Why, the man's mad, friend, take his light away!

What's the vague good o' the world, for which you dare With comfort to yourself blow millions up?

We neither of us see it! we do see The blown-up millions--spatter of their brains And writhing of their bowels and so forth, In that bewildering entanglement 460 Of horrible eventualities Past calculation to the end of time!

Can I mistake for some clear word of G.o.d (Which were my ample warrant for it all) His puff of hazy instinct, idle talk, "The State, that's I," quack-nonsense about crowns, And (when one beats the man to his last hold) A vague idea of setting things to rights, Policing people efficaciously, More to their profit, most of all to his own; 470 The whole to end that dismallest of ends By an Austrian marriage, cant to us the Church, And resurrection of the old regime?

Would I, who hope to live a dozen years, Fight Austerlitz for reasons such and such?

No: for, concede me but the merest chance Doubt may be wrong--there's judgment, life to come With just that chance, I dare not. Doubt proves right?

This present life is all?--you offer me Its dozen noisy years, without a chance 480 That wedding an archd.u.c.h.ess, wearing lace, And getting called by divers new-coined names, Will drive off ugly thoughts and let me dine, Sleep, read and chat in quiet as I like!

Therefore I will not.

Take another case; Fit up the cabin yet another way.

What say you to the poets? shall we write Hamlet, Oth.e.l.lo--make the world our own, Without a risk to run of either sort?

I can't!--to put the strongest reason first. 490 "But try," you urge, "the trying shall suffice; The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life: Try to be Shakespeare, leave the rest to fate!"

Spare my self-knowledge--there's no fooling me!

If I prefer remaining my poor self, I say so not in self-dispraise but praise.

If I'm a Shakespeare, let the well alone; Why should I try to be what now I am?

If I'm no Shakespeare, as too probable-- His power and consciousness and self-delight 500 And all we want in common, shall I find-- Trying forever? while on points of taste Wherewith, to speak it humbly, he and I Are dowered alike--I'll ask you, I or he, Which in our two lives realizes most?

Much, he imagined--somewhat, I possess.