NATURE'S IDEAL
If we have been right so far, we have arrived at the position that
Nature is a Personal Being in process of realising an ideal operating
within herself. We have now to satisfy ourselves as to the character
of that ideal. What is the full ideal working in the whole of Nature
we cannot possibly know. We can only know so much of it as can be
detected with our imperfect faculties on this minute atom of the
Universe on which we dwell. We cannot be sure we have even
discerned the highest levels of the ideal. For there may be higher
beings than ourselves on the planets of the stars, and among those
higher beings higher qualities than any we know of, or can conceive,
may have emerged. Love is the highest quality we know. But love in
any true sense of the word--love as a self-conscious activity--has
only emerged with man, and man has only appeared within the last
half-million of the Earth's four or five hundred million years of
existence as the Earth. We cannot, therefore, presume to say what is
the ideal in its highest development for the whole of Nature.
But from our experience here we can see what that ideal is up to
(what for us is) a very high level, and we can make out what is
apparently its fundamental characteristic. I obtained my best
conception of it on the evening I left Lhasa at the conclusion of my
Mission to Tibet in 1904, when I had an experience of such value
for determining Nature's ideal, and, for me at any rate, so
convincingly corroborative of the conclusions which others who
have had similar experiences have drawn from them as to Nature's
ideal, that I hope I may be excused for relating in some detail the
circumstances in which it came to me.
These circumstances, though not the experience itself, were
somewhat exceptional. I was at that particular moment at the highest
pitch of existence--that is to say, of my own existence. I had had an
unusually wide experience of the wild countries of that most
interesting and varied of the continents--Asia, and for that reason
had been specially selected for the charge of a Mission to Tibet.
However ill-qualified I might be for other tasks, for this particular
business of establishing neighbourly relations with a very secluded
and seclusive Asiatic people, difficult of approach both on account
of their natural disposition and of the mighty mountain barrier which
stood between them and the rest of the world, I was esteemed to
have peculiar qualifications. My comrades were also men selected
for their special qualifications--one for his knowledge of the
Tibetans, another for his knowledge of the Chinese, another for his
knowledge of geology, and so on. The troops engaged were selected
for their experience in frontier warfare, and each man had had to
pass a medical test. We were at the top of our physical fitness and
ripe in experience.
Besides British officers and a few British troops, there were among
the soldiers Sikhs, Pathans, Gurkhas, a few Bengalis, a few Rajputs
and Dogras; and among the followers were Bhutias and Lepchas
from Sikkim, Baltis from Kashmir, Bhutanese from Bhutan. There
were thus Christians, Mohammedans, Hindus, and Buddhists: men
from an island in the Atlantic, and men from the remotest valleys of
the Himalaya. And our destination had been a sacred city hidden
two hundred miles behind the loftiest range of mountains in the
world.
On our way we had had to battle with the elements of Nature in very
nearly their extremest forms and in every variety. We started in the
sweltering heat of the plains of India in the hottest season. We
passed the lower outer ranges of the Himalaya in the midst of
torrential rain, like the heaviest thunder-shower in England,
continuing all day long and day after day with scarcely a break, and
penetrating through a waterproof coat as if it were paper. Following
this we had to cross the main axis of the Himalaya in January, to
pass the winter at an altitude of 15,000 feet above sea-level, and face
blizzards which cut through heavy fur coats and left us as if we were
standing before it in our bare bones.
We had also had to battle with the Tibetans--not only in actual
fighting, but in diplomacy as well. I had deliberately risked my life
in order to effect a settlement by persuasion and without resort to
arms. Officers and men at my request had done the same.
Subsequently we had both attacked and been attacked. Five hundred
of us had for two months to face the attacks of eight thousand
Tibetans. Later, again, we had had a long, tough, diplomatic contest
with the Tibetans.
Besides battling with the elements and with the Tibetans, I had also
had to battle with my own people--as is always and inevitably the
case on such occasions. Military and political considerations had to
contend against each other. This local question between India and
Tibet was part of the general international question of the relations
of European nations, Russia, France, Germany, Italy, America, with
China, for Tibet was under the suzerainty of China. Local
considerations had therefore to contend with international
considerations. Then from the local point of view the permanent
settlement of this particular question was desirable, whereas those
responsible for the international situation would not object to a
temporary arrangement of this single question as long as the whole
general situation could be favourably secured. The Tibetan question
was part of the whole question of our relations with Russia. Our
relations with Russia were connected with our relations with France.
We were coming to an arrangement with France as regards Egypt
and Morocco. If we did anything in Tibet which vexed Russia she
might be troublesome as regards Egypt, and make it difficult to
come to an arrangement with France and to bring off the
Anglo-French Entente. Of all these international considerations I was kept
aware by Government even in the heart of Tibet. But my position
required that I should stand up for the political as against the
military, the local as against the international, and the permanent
settlement as against the temporary arrangement. It was my duty
vigorously to battle for this--as it was equally the duty of the
military and those responsible for international affairs to battle for
their own point of view. And of course I had to submit, after
contesting my standpoint, to the decision of those in authority;
though I had to contend for the particular, it was the general which
had to prevail.
In the end a settlement was reached, and in this remote city we had
received congratulations from many different people in many
different lands. The troops, my staff, and all about me were filled
with delight at the success of our enterprise. Even the Tibetans
themselves seemed pleased at the settlement; at any rate, they asked
to be taken under our protection. On the morning we left Lhasa the
Lama Regent, who in the absence of the Dalai Lama had conducted
negotiations with us, paid us a farewell visit and gave us the
impression of genuine goodwill towards us. We and the Tibetans
had contended strongly against one another. But it seemed that a
way had been found by which good relations between us could be
maintained. We had discovered that fundamentally we were
perfectly well-disposed towards each other, and means had been
found for composing our differences. Throughout the Mission we
had kept before us the supreme importance of securing this goodwill
eventually. The Tibetan frontier runs with the Indian frontier for a
thousand miles, and it would have been the height of folly to have
stirred up in the Tibetans a lasting animosity. Far more important,
then, than securing the actual treaty we regarded securing the
permanent goodwill; and when I felt that through the exertion of my
Staff and the good behaviour of the troops as well as through my
own efforts the goodwill of the Tibetans really had been secured, my
satisfaction was profound.
It was after enduring all these hardships, after running all these risks,
and after battling in all these controversies, that this deep
satisfaction came upon me. For though at times I felt, as every
leader feels in like circumstances, that success must have been due
to everyone else besides myself--to the backing and firm direction I
had received from Government, to the sound advice and help of my
Staff, to the bravery and endurance of the troops, without all or any
one of which aids success would have been unattainable--yet I could
not help also feeling that I had often on my own responsibility to
make decisions and run risks, and to give advice to Government;
and that if I had erred in my decisions or in the advice I gave or in
taking the risks, success most assuredly would not have been
achieved, however much support I received from elsewhere. I had,
therefore, that satisfaction a man naturally feels when his special
qualifications and training and the experience he has gained during
the best part of his life have proved of acknowledged good to his
country. And this was the frame of mind in which I rode out of
Lhasa on our march homeward.
These were the circumstances in which I had the experience I now
venture to describe. After arrival in camp I went off into the
mountains alone. It was a heavenly evening. The sun was flooding
the mountain slopes with slanting light. Calm and deep peace lay
over the valley below me--the valley in which Lhasa lay. I seemed
in tune with all the world and all the world seemed in tune with me.
My experiences in many lands--in dear distant England; in India and
China; in the forests of Manchuria, Kashmir, and Sikkim; in the
desert of Gobi and the South African veldt; in the Himalaya
mountains; and on many an ocean voyage; and experiences with
such varied peoples as the Chinese and Boers, Tibetans and
Mahrattas, Rajputs and Kirghiz--seemed all summed up in that
moment. And yet here on the quiet mountain-side, filled as I was
with the memories of many experiences that I had had in the high
mountain solitudes and in the deserts of the world away from men, I
seemed in touch with the wide Universe beyond this Earth as well.
After the high tension of the last fifteen months, I was free to let my
soul relax. So I let it open itself out without restraint. And in its
sensitive state it was receptive of the finest impressions and quickly
responsive to every call. I seemed to be truly in harmony with the
Heart of Nature. My vision seemed absolutely clear. I felt I was
seeing deep into the true heart of things. With my soul's eye I
seemed to see what was really in men's hearts, in the heart of
mankind as a whole and in the Heart of Nature as a whole.
And my experience was this--and I try to describe it as accurately as
I can. I had a curious sense of being literally in love with the world.
There is no other way in which I can express what I then felt. I felt
as if I could hardly contain myself for the love which was bursting
within me. It seemed to me as if the world itself were nothing but
love. We have all felt on some great occasion an ardent glow of
patriotism. This was patriotism extended to the whole Universe. The
country for which I was feeling this overwhelming intensity of love
was the entire Universe. At the back and foundation of things I was
certain was love--and not merely placid benevolence, but active,
fervent, devoted love and nothing less. The whole world seemed in a
blaze of love, and men's hearts were burning to be in touch with one
another.
It was a remarkable experience I had on that evening. And it was not
merely a passing roseate flush due to my being in high spirits, such
as a man feels who has had a good breakfast or has heard that his
investments have paid a big dividend. I am not sure that I was at the
moment in what are usually called high spirits. What I felt was more
of the nature of a deep inner soul-satisfaction. And what I saw
amounted to this--that evil is the superficial, goodness the
fundamental characteristic of the world; affection and not animosity
the root disposition of men towards one another. Men are inherently
good not inherently wicked, though they have an uphill fight of it to
find scope and room for their goodness to declare itself, and though
they are placed in hard conditions and want every help they can to
bring their goodness out. Fundamentally men are consuming with
affection for one another and only longing for opportunity to exert
that affection. They want to behave straightly, honourably, and in a
neighbourly fashion towards one another, and are only too thankful
when means and conditions can be found which will let them
indulge this inborn feeling of fellowship. Wickedness, of course,
exists. But wickedness is not the essential characteristic of men. It is
due to ignorance, immaturity, and neglect, like the naughtinesses of
children. It springs from the conditions in which men find
themselves, and not from any radical inclination within themselves.
With maturity and reasonable conditions the innate goodness which
is the essential characteristic will assert itself. This is what came to
me with burning conviction. And it arose from no ephemeral sense
of exhilaration, nor has it since evaporated away. It has remained
with me for fifteen years, and so I suppose will last for the rest of
my life. Of course in a sense there has been disillusionment, both as
to myself and as to the world. As one comes into the dull round of
everyday life the glow fades away and all seems grey and colourless.
Nevertheless, the conviction remains that the glow was the _real,_
and that the grey is the superficial. The glow was at the heart and is
what some day _will_ be--or, anyhow, _might_ be.
An additional ground I have for believing it to be true is that on that
mountain-side near Lhasa I had a specially favourable opportunity
of looking at the world from, as it were, a proper focal distance. And
it is only from a proper focal distance that we can see what things
really are. If we put ourselves right up against a picture in the
National Gallery we cannot possibly see its beauty--see what the
picture really is. No man is a hero to his own valet. And that is not
because a man is not a hero, but because the valet is too close to see
the real man. Cecil Rhodes at close quarters was peevish, irritable,
and like a big spoilt child. Now at a distance we know him, with all
his faults, to have been a great-souled man. Social reformers near at
hand are often intolerable bores and religious fanatics frequently a
pestilential nuisance. We have to get well away from a man to see
him as he really is. And so it is with mankind as a whole.
So I become more and more certain that my vision was true. And the
experience of the Great War strengthens my conviction. As we
recede from it, what will stand out, we may be sure, are not the
crimes and cruelties that have been committed and the suffering that
has been caused, but the astounding heroism which was displayed,
the self-sacrifice, the devotion and love of country that were
shown--heroism and devotion such as have never before in the world's
history been approached, and which was manifested by common
everyday men and women in every branch of life and in every
country.
* * *
The conclusion I reach from this experience is that I was, at the
moment I had it, intimately in touch with the true Heart of Nature. In
my exceptionally receptive mood I was directly experiencing the
genius of Nature in the very act of inspiring and vitalising the whole.
I was seeing the Divinity in the Heart streaming like light and heat
through every part of Nature, and with the dominating forcefulness
of love lifting each to its own high level.
And my experience was no unique experience. It was an experience
the like of which has come to many men and many women in every
land in all ages. It may not be common; but it is not unusual. And in
all cases it gives the same certainty of conviction that the Heart of
Nature is _good,_ that men are not the sport of chance, but that
Divine Love is a real, an effectively determining and the dominant
factor in the processes of Nature, and Divine fellowship the essence
of the ideal which is working throughout Nature and compelling all
things unto itself.