The Story of My Heart
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Richard Jefferies >> The Story of My Heart
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I live by the sea now; I can see nothing of it in a day; why, I
do but get a breath of it, and the sun sinks before I have well
begun to think. Life is so little and so mean. I dream sometimes backwards
of the ancient times. If I could have the bow of Ninus, and the earth full
of wild bulls and lions, to hunt them down, there would be rest in that. To
shoot with a gun is nothing; a mere touch discharges it. Give me a bow, that
I may enjoy the delight of feeling myself draw the string and
the strong wood bending, that I may see the rush of the arrow, and the broad
head bury itself deep in shaggy hide. Give me an iron mace that I may crush
the savage beast and hammer him down. A spear to thrust through with, so
that I may feel the long blade enter and the push of the shaft. The
unwearied strength of Ninus to hunt unceasingly in the fierce sun. Still I
should desire greater strength and a stouter bow, wilder creatures to
combat. The intense life of the senses, there is never enough for them. I
envy Semiramis; I would have been ten times Semiramis. I envy Nero, because
of the great concourse of beauty he saw. I should like to be loved by every
beautiful woman on earth, from the swart Nubian to the white and divine
Greek.
Wine is pleasant and meat refreshing; but though I own with
absolute honesty that I like them, these are the least of all.
Of these two only have I ever had enough. The vehemence of exertion, the
vehemence of the spear, the vehemence of sunlight and life, the insatiate
desire of insatiate Semiramis, the still more insatiate desire of love,
divine and beautiful, the uncontrollable adoration of beauty, these--these:
give me these in greater abundance than was ever known to man or woman. The
strength of Hercules, the fulness of the senses, the richness of life, would
not in the least impair my desire of soul-life. On the reverse, with every
stronger beat of the pulse my desire of soul-life would expand. So it has
ever been with me; in hard exercise, in sensuous pleasure, in the embrace of
the sunlight,
even in the drinking of a glass of wine, my heart has been lifted the higher
towards perfection of soul. Fulness of physical life causes a deeper desire
of soul-life.
Let me be physically perfect, in shape, vigour, and movement.
My frame, naturally slender, will not respond to labour, and increase in
proportion to effort, nor will exposure harden a
delicate skin. It disappoints me so far, but my spirit rises with the
effort, and my thought opens. This is the only profit of frost, the pleasure
of winter, to conquer cold, and to feel braced and strengthened by that
whose province it is to wither and destroy, making of cold, life's enemy,
life's renewer. The black north wind hardens the resolution as steel is
tempered in ice-water. It is a sensual joy, as sensuous as the warm
embrace of the sunlight, but fulness of physical life ever brings to me a
more eager desire of soul-life.
Splendid it is to feel the boat rise to the roller, or forced through by the
sail to shear the foam aside like a share; splendid to undulate as the chest
lies on the wave, swimming, the brimming ocean round: then I know and feel
its deep strong tide, its immense fulness, and the sun glowing over;
splendid to climb the steep green hill: in these I feel myself, I drink the
exquisite joy of the senses, and my soul lifts itself with them. It is
beautiful even to watch a fine horse gallop, the long stride, the rush of
the wind as he passes--my heart beats quicker to the thud of the hoofs, and
I feel his strength. Gladly would I have the strength of the Tartar stallion
roaming the wild steppe; that very strength, what vehemence of soul-thought
would accompany it. But I should like it, too, for itself. For I believe,
with all my heart, in the body and
the flesh, and believe that it should be increased and made more
beautiful by every means. I believe--I do more than think--I
believe it to be a sacred duty, incumbent upon every one, man
and woman, to add to and encourage their physical life, by
exercise, and in every manner. A sacred duty each towards himself, and each
towards the whole of the human race. Each one of us should do some little
part for the physical good of the race--health, strength, vigour. here is
no harm therein to the soul: on the contrary, those who stunt their physical
life are most certainly stunting their souls.
I believe all manner of asceticism to be the vilest blasphemy--
blasphemy towards the whole of the human race. I believe in the
flesh and the body, which is worthy of worship--to see a perfect human body
unveiled causes a sense of worship. The ascetics are the only persons who
are impure. Increase of physical beauty is attended by increase of soul
beauty. The soul is the high even by gazing on beauty. Let me be fleshly
perfect.
It is in myself that I desire increase, profit, and exaltation
of body, mind, and soul. The surroundings, the clothes, the dwelling, the
social status, the circumstances are to me utterly indifferent. Let the
floor of the room be bare, let the furniture be a plank table, the bed a
mere pallet. Let the house be plain and simple, but in the midst of air and
light. These are enough--a cave would be enough; in a warmer climate the
open air would suffice. Let me be furnished in myself with health, safety,
strength, the perfection of physical existence; let my mind be furnished
with highest thoughts of soul-life. Let me be in myself myself fully. The
pageantry of power, the still more
foolish pageantry of wealth, the senseless precedence of place;
words fail me to express my utter contempt for such pleasure or
such ambitions. Let me be in myself myself fully, and those I
love equally so.
It is enough to lie on the sward in the shadow of green boughs,
to listen to the songs of summer, to drink in the sunlight, the air, the
flowers, the sky, the beauty of all. Or upon the hill-tops to watch the
white clouds rising over the curved hill-lines, their shadows descending the
slope. Or on the beach to listen to the sweet sigh as the smooth sea runs up
and recedes. It is lying beside the immortals, in-drawing the life of the
ocean, the earth, and the sun.
I want to be always in company with these, with earth, and sun,
and sea, and stars by night. The pettiness of house-life--chairs and
tables--and the pettiness of observances, the petty necessity of useless
labour, useless because productive of nothing, chafe me the year through. I
want to be always in company with the sun, and sea, and earth. These, and
the stars by night, are my natural companions.My heart looks back and
sympathises with all the joy and life of ancient time. With the circling
dance burned in still attitude on the vase; with the chase and the hunter
eagerly pursuing, whose javelin trembles to be thrown; with the extreme fury
of feeling, the whirl of joy in the warriors from Marathon to the last
battle of Rome, not with the slaughter, but with the passion--the life in
the passion; with the garlands and the flowers; with all the breathing busts
that have panted beneath the sun. O beautiful human life! Tears come in my
eyes as I think of it. So beautiful, so inexpressibly beautiful!
So deep is the passion of life that, if it were possible to live
again, it must be exquisite to die pushing the eager breast
against the sword. In the flush of strength to face the sharp
pain joyously, and laugh in the last glance of the sun--if only
to live again, now on earth, were possible. So subtle is the
chord of life that sometimes to watch troops marching in rhythmic order,
undulating along the column as the feet are lifted, brings tears in my eyes.
Yet could I have in my own heart all the passion, the love and joy, burned
in the breasts that have panted, breathing deeply, since the hour of Ilion,
yet still I should desire more. How willingly I would strew the paths of all
with flowers; how beautiful a delight to make the world joyous! The song
should never be silent, the dance never still, the laugh should sound like
water which runs for ever.
I would submit to a severe discipline, and to go without many
things cheerfully, for the good and happiness of the human race
in the future. Each one of us should do something, however small, towards
that great end. At the present time the labour of our predecessors in this
country, in all other countries of the earth, is entirely wasted. We
live--that is, we snatch an existence--and ourworks become nothing. The
piling up of fortunes, the building of cities, the establishment of immense
commerce, ends in a cipher. These objects are so outside my idea that I
cannot understand them, and look upon the struggle in amazement. Not even
the pressure of poverty can force upon me an understanding of, and sympathy
with, these things. It is the human being as the human being of whom I
think. That the human being as the human being, nude--apart altogether from
money, clothing, houses, properties--should enjoy greater health, strength,
safety, beauty, and happiness, I would gladly agree to a discipline like
that of Sparta. The Spartan method did produce the finest race of men, and
Sparta was famous in antiquity for the most beautiful women. So far,
therefore, it fits exactly to my ideas.
No science of modern times has yet discovered a plan to meet the
requirements of the millions who live now, no plan by which they might
attain similar physical proportion. Some increase of longevity, some slight
improvement in the general health is promised, and these are great things,
but far, far beneath the ideal. Probably the whole mode of thought of the
nations must be altered before physical progress is possible. Not while
money, furniture, affected show and the pageantry of wealth are the
ambitions of the multitude can the multitude become ideal in form. When the
ambition of the multitude is fixed on the ideal of form and beauty, then
that ideal will become immediately possible, and a marked advance towards it
could be made in three generations. Glad, indeed, should I be to discover
something that would help towards this end.
How pleasant it would be each day to think, To-day I have done
something that will tend to render future generations more
happy. The very thought would make this hour sweeter. It is absolutely
necessary that something of this kind should be discovered. First, we must
lay down the axiom that as yet nothing has been found; we have nothing to
start with; all has to be begun afresh. All courses or methods of human life
have hitherto been failures. Some course of life is needed based on things
that are, irrespective of tradition. The physical ideal must be kept
steadily in view.
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, mediaeval 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.
CHAPTER IX
IN human affairs everything happens by chance--that is, in defiance of human
ideas, and without any direction of an intelligence. A man bathes in a pool,
a crocodile seizes and lacerates his flesh. If any one maintains that an
intelligence directed that cruelty, I can only reply that his mind is under
an illusion. A man is caught by a revolving shaft and torn to pieces, limb
from limb. There is no directing intelligence in human affairs, no
protection, and no assistance. Those who act uprightly are not rewarded, but
they and their children often wander in the utmost indigence. Those who do
evil are not always punished, but frequently flourish and have happy
children. Rewards and punishments are purely human institutions, and if
government be relaxed they entirely disappear. No intelligence whatever
interferes in human affairs. There is a most senseless belief now prevalent
that effort, and work, and cleverness,
perseverance and industry, are invariably successful. Were this
the case, every man would enjoy a competence, at least, and be
free from the cares of money. This is an illusion almost equal
to the superstition of a directing intelligence, which every
fact and every consideration disproves.
How can I adequately express my contempt for the assertion that
all things occur for the best, for a wise and beneficent end,
and are ordered by a humane intelligence! It is the most utter
falsehood and a crime against the human race. Even in my brief
time I have been contemporary with events of the most horrible
character; as when the mothers in the Balkans cast their own
children from the train to parish in the snow; as when the Princess Alice
foundered, and six hundred human beings were smothered in foul water; as
when the hecatomb of two thousand maidens were burned in the church at
Santiago; as when the miserable creatures tore at the walls of the Vienna
theatre. Consider only the fates which overtake the little children. Human
suffering is so great, so endless, so awful that I can hardly write of it. I
could not go into hospitals and face it, as some do, lest my mind should be
temporarily overcome. The whole and the worst the worst pessimist can say is
far beneath the least particle of the truth, so immense is the misery of
man. It is the duty of all rational beings to acknowledge the truth. There
is not the least trace of directing intelligence in human affairs. This is
a foundation of hope, because, if the present condition of things were
ordered by a superior power, there would be no possibility of improving it
for the better in the spite of that power. Acknowledging that no such
direction exists, all things become at once plastic to our will.
The credit given by the unthinking to the statement that all
affairs are directed has been the bane of the world since the
days of the Egyptian papyri and the origin of superstition. So
long as men firmly believe that everything is fixed for them, so
long is progress impossible. If you argue yourself into the belief that you
cannot walk to a place, you cannot walk there.
But if you start you can walk there easily. Any one who will
consider the affairs of the world at large, and of the individual, will see
that they do not proceed in the manner they
would do for our own happiness if a man of humane breadth of
view were placed at their head with unlimited power, such as is
credited to the intelligence which does not exist. A man of
intellect and humanity could cause everything to happen in an
infinitely superior manner. Could one like the divine Julius--humane,
generous, broadest of view, deep thinking--wield such power, certainly every
human being would enjoy happiness.
But that which is thoughtlessly credited to a non-existent
intelligence should really be claimed and exercised by the human
race. It is ourselves who should direct our affairs, protecting
ourselves from pain, assisting ourselves, succouring and rendering our lives
happy. We must do for ourselves what
superstition has hitherto supposed an intelligence to do for us.
Nothing whatsoever is done for us. We are born naked, and not even protected
by a shaggy covering. Nothing is done for us.
The first and strongest command (using the word to convey the
idea only) that nature, the universe, our own bodies give, is to
do everything for ourselves. The sea does not make boats for us,
nor the earth of her own will build us hospitals. The injured lie bleeding,
and no invisible power lifts them up. The maidens were scorched in the midst
of their devotions, and their remains make a mound hundreds of yards long.
The infants perished in the snow, and the ravens tore their limbs. Those in
the theatre crushed each other to the death--agony. For how long, for how
many thousand years, must the earth and the sea, and the fire and the air,
utter these things and force them upon us before they are admitted in their
full significance?
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