CHAPTER VIII

An enumeration of the useless would almost be an enumeration of

everything hitherto pursued. For instance, to go back as far as

possible, the study and labour expended on Egyptian inscriptions and

papyri, which contain nothing but doubtful, because laudatory history,

invocations to idols, and similar matters: all these labours are in

vain. Take a broom and sweep the papyri away into the dust. The

Assyrian terra-cotta tablets, some recording fables, and some even

sadder—contracts between men whose bodies were dust twenty centuries

since—take a hammer and demolish them. Set a battery to beat down the

pyramids, and a mind-battery to destroy the deadening influence of

tradition. The Greek statue lives to this day, and has the highest use

of all, the use of true beauty. The Greek and Roman philosophers have

the value of furnishing the mind with material to think from. Egyptian

and Assyrian, mediæval and eighteenth-century culture, miscalled, are

all alike mere dust, and absolutely useless.

There is a mass of knowledge so called at the present day equally

useless, and nothing but an encumbrance. We are forced by circumstances

to become familiar with it, but the time expended on it is lost. No

physical ideal—far less any soul-ideal—will ever be reached by it. In a

recent generation erudition in the text of the classics was considered

the most honourable of pursuits; certainly nothing could be less

valuable. In our own generation, another species of erudition is

lauded—erudition in the laws of matter—which, in itself, is but one

degree better. The study of matter for matter’s sake is despicable; if

any can turn that study to advance the ideal of life, it immediately

becomes most valuable. But not without the human ideal. It is nothing

to me if the planets revolve around the sun, or the sun around the

earth, unless I can thereby gather an increase of body or mind. As the

conception of the planets revolving around the sun, the present

astronomical conception of the heavens, is distinctly grander than that

of Ptolemy, it is therefore superior, and a gain to the human mind. So

with other sciences, not immediately useful, yet if they furnish the

mind with material of thought, they are an advance.

But not in themselves—only in conjunction with the human ideal. Once

let that slip out of the thought, and science is of no more use than

the invocations in the Egyptian papyri. The world would be the gainer

if the Nile rose and swept away pyramid and tomb, sarcophagus, papyri,

and inscription; for it seems as if most of the superstitions which

still to this hour, in our own country, hold minds in their sway,

originated in Egypt. The world would be the gainer if a Nile flood of

new thought arose and swept away the past, concentrating the effort of

all the races of the earth upon man’s body, that it might reach an

ideal of shape, and health, and happiness.

Nothing is of any use unless it gives me a stronger body and mind, a

more beautiful body, a happy existence, and a soul-life now. The last

phase of philosophy is equally useless with the rest. The belief that

the human mind was evolved, in the process of unnumbered years, from a

fragment of palpitating slime through a thousand gradations, is a

modern superstition, and proceeds upon assumption alone.

Nothing is evolved, no evolution takes place, there is no record of

such an event; it is pure assertion. The theory fascinates many,

because they find, upon study of physiology, that the gradations

between animal and vegetable are so fine and so close together, as if a

common web bound them together. But although they stand so near they

never change places. They are like the figures on the face of a clock;

there are minute dots between, apparently connecting each with the

other, and the hands move round over all. Yet ten never becomes twelve,

and each second even is parted from the next, as you may hear by

listening to the beat. So the gradations of life, past and present,

though standing close together never change places. Nothing is evolved.

There is no evolution any more than there is any design in nature. By

standing face to face with nature, and not from books, I have convinced

myself that there is no design and no evolution. What there is, what

was the cause, how and why, is not yet known; certainly it was neither

of these.

But it may be argued the world must have been created, or it must have

been made of existing things, or it must have been evolved, or it must

have existed for ever, through all eternity. I think not. I do not

think that either of these are “musts,” nor that any “must” has yet

been discovered; not even that there “must” be a first cause. There may

be other things—other physical forces even—of which we know nothing. I

strongly suspect there are. There may be other ideas altogether from

any we have hitherto had the use of. For many ages our ideas have been

confined to two or three. We have conceived the idea of creation, which

is the highest and grandest of all, if not historically true; we have

conceived the idea of design, that is of an intelligence making order

and revolution of chaos; and we have conceived the idea of evolution by

physical laws of matter, which, though now so much insisted on, is as

ancient as the Greek philosophers. But there may be another

alternative; I think there are other alternatives.

Whenever the mind obtains a wider view we may find that origin. For

instance, is not always due to what is understood by cause. At this

moment the mind is unable to conceive of anything happening, or of

anything coming into existence, without a cause. From cause to effect

is the sequence of our ideas. But I think that if at some time we

should obtain an altogether different and broader sequence of ideas, we

may discover that there are various other alternatives. As the world,

and the universe at large, was not constructed according to plan, so it

is clear that the sequence or circle of ideas which includes plan, and

cause, and effect, are not in the circle of ideas which would correctly

explain it. Put aside the plan-circle of ideas, and it will at once be

evident that there is no inherent necessity or “must.” There is no

inherent necessity for a first cause, or that the world and the

universe was created, or that it was shaped of existing matter, or that

it evolved itself and its inhabitants, or that the cosmos has existed

in varying forms for ever. There may be other alternatives altogether.

The only idea I can give is the idea that there is another idea.

In this “must”—“it must follow”—lies my objection to the logic of

science. The arguments proceed from premises to conclusions, and end

with the assumption “it therefore follows.” But I say that, however

carefully the argument be built up, even though apparently flawless,

there is no such thing at present as “it must follow.” Human ideas at

present naturally form a plan, and a balanced design; they might be

indicated by a geometrical figure, an upright straight line in the

centre, and branching from that straight line curves on either hand

exactly equal to each other. In drawing that is how we are taught, to

balance the outline or curves on one side with the curves on the other.

In nature and in fact there is no such thing. The stem of a tree

represents the upright line, but the branches do not balance; those on

one side are larger or longer than those on the other. Nothing is

straight, but all things curved, crooked, and unequal.

The human body is the most remarkable instance of inequality, lack of

balance, and want of plan. The exterior is beautiful in its lines, but

the two hands, the two feet, the two sides of the face, the two sides

of the profile, are not precisely equal. The very nails of the fingers

are set ajar, as it were, to the lines of the hand, and not quite

straight. Examination of the interior organs shows a total absence of

balance. The heart is not in the centre, nor do the organs correspond

in any way. The viscera are wholly opposed to plan. Coming, lastly, to

the bones, these have no humanity, as it were, of shape; they are

neither round nor square; the first sight of them causes a sense of

horror, so extra-human are they in shape; there is no balance of design

in them. These are very brief examples, but the whole universe, so far

as it can be investigated, is equally unequal. No straight line runs

through it, with balanced curves each side.

Let this thought now be carried into the realms of thought. The mind,

or circle, or sequence of ideas, acts, or thinks, or exists in a

balance, or what seems a balance to it. A straight line of thought is

set in the centre, with equal branches each side, and with a generally

rounded outline. But this corresponds to nothing in tangible fact.

Hence I think, by analogy, we may suppose that neither does it

correspond to the circle of ideas which caused us and all things to be,

or, at all events, to the circle of ideas which accurately understand

us and all things. There are other ideas altogether. From standing face

to face so long with the real earth, the real sun, and the real sea, I

am firmly convinced that there is an immense range of thought quite

unknown to us yet.

The problem of my own existence also convinces me that there is much

more. The questions are: Did my soul exist before my body was formed?

Or did it come into life with my body, as a product, like a flame, of

combustion? What will become of it after death? Will it simply go out

like a flame and become non-existent, or will it live for ever in one

or other mode? To these questions I am unable to find any answer

whatsoever. In our present range of ideas there is no reply to them. I

may have previously existed; I may not have previously existed. I may

be a product of combustion; I may exist on after physical life is

suspended, or I may not. No demonstration is possible. But what I want

to say is that the alternatives of extinction or immortality may not be

the only alternatives. There may be something else, more wonderful than

immortality, and far beyond and above that idea. There may be something

immeasurably superior to it. As our ideas have run in circles for

centuries, it is difficult to find words to express the idea that there

are other ideas. For myself, though I cannot fully express myself, I

feel fully convinced that there is a vast immensity of thought, of

existence, and of other things beyond even immortal existence.

The Story of My Heart: An Autobiography · 第 8 / 12 章