What can there be in common between these two types? Well, the point
I am coming to is that they may have one tragic similarity which
vitiates their lives equally, or almost equally. One may be vastly more
admirable than the other, and in many matters vastly more sensible.
And yet they may both have made the same stupendous mistake: the
misinterpretation of the significance of the word happiness. Towards
the close of existence, and even throughout existence, the second, in
spite of all her precautions, may suffer the secret and hidden pangs of
unhappiness just as acutely as the first; and her career may in the
end present itself to her as just as much a sham.
And for the same reason. The social butterfly was running after
something absurd, and the other woman knew that it was absurd and left
it alone. But the root of the matter was more profound. The social
butterfly’s chief error was not that she was running after something,
but that she was running away from something--something which I have
described as mysterious and sinister. And the other woman also may
be--and as a fact frequently is--running away from just that mysterious
and sinister something. And that something is neither more nor less
than life itself in its every essence. Both may be afraid of life and
may have to pay an equal price for their cowardice. Both may have
refused to listen to the voice within them, and will suffer equally for
the wilful shutting of the ear.
(It is true that the other woman may just possibly have a true vocation
for a career of resignation and altruism, and the spreading of a
sort of content in a thin layer over the entire length of existence.
If so, well and good. But it is also true that the social butterfly
may have a true vocation for being a social butterfly, and the thick
squandering of a sort of pleasure on the earlier part of existence, to
the deprivation of the latter part. Then neither the one nor the other
will have been guilty of the cowardice of running away from life.)
My point is that you may take refuge in good works or you may take
refuge in bad works, but that the supreme offence against life lies in
taking refuge from it, and that if you commit this offence you will
miss the only authentic happiness--which springs no more from content
and resignation than it springs from mere pleasure. It is indisputable
that the conscience can be, and is constantly narcotised as much by
relatively good deeds as by relatively bad deeds. Nevertheless, to
dope the conscience is always a crime, and is always punished by the
ultimate waking up of the conscience.