按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
table and before guests who were strangers to me。 It was the sort
of error he was always ready to repent； but always certain to
repeat； and on this occasion he spoke so freely that I soon made an
excuse and left the house with the firm purpose of returning no
more。 About a month later； I met him at dinner at a common
friend's。 'Now；' said he； on the stairs； 'I engage you … like a
lady to dance … for the end of the evening。 You have no right to
quarrel with me and not give me a chance。' I have often said and
thought that Fleeming had no tact； he belied the opinion then。 I
remember perfectly how； so soon as we could get together； he began
his attack： 'You may have grounds of quarrel with me； you have
none against Mrs。 Jenkin； and before I say another word； I want you
to promise you will come to HER house as usual。' An interview thus
begun could have but one ending： if the quarrel were the fault of
both； the merit of the reconciliation was entirely Fleeming's。
When our intimacy first began； coldly enough； accidentally enough
on his part； he had still something of the Puritan； something of
the inhuman narrowness of the good youth。 It fell from him slowly；
year by year； as he continued to ripen； and grow milder； and
understand more generously the mingled characters of men。 In the
early days he once read me a bitter lecture； and I remember leaving
his house in a fine spring afternoon； with the physical darkness of
despair upon my eyesight。 Long after he made me a formal
retractation of the sermon and a formal apology for the pain he had
inflicted； adding drolly； but truly； 'You see； at that time I was
so much younger than you！' And yet even in those days there was
much to learn from him； and above all his fine spirit of piety；
bravely and trustfully accepting life； and his singular delight in
the heroic。
His piety was； indeed； a thing of chief importance。 His views （as
they are called） upon religious matters varied much； and he could
never be induced to think them more or less than views。 'All dogma
is to me mere form；' he wrote； 'dogmas are mere blind struggles to
express the inexpressible。 I cannot conceive that any single
proposition whatever in religion is true in the scientific sense；
and yet all the while I think the religious view of the world is
the most true view。 Try to separate from the mass of their
statements that which is common to Socrates； Isaiah； David； St。
Bernard； the Jansenists； Luther； Mahomet； Bunyan … yes； and George
Eliot： of course you do not believe that this something could be
written down in a set of propositions like Euclid； neither will you
deny that there is something common and this something very
valuable。 。 。 。 I shall be sorry if the boys ever give a moment's
thought to the question of what community they belong to … I hope
they will belong to the great community。' I should observe that as
time went on his conformity to the church in which he was born grew
more complete； and his views drew nearer the conventional。 'The
longer I live； my dear Louis；' he wrote but a few months before his
death； 'the more convinced I become of a direct care by God … which
is reasonably impossible … but there it is。' And in his last year
he took the communion。
But at the time when I fell under his influence； he stood more
aloof； and this made him the more impressive to a youthful atheist。
He had a keen sense of language and its imperial influence on men；
language contained all the great and sound metaphysics； he was wont
to say； and a word once made and generally understood； he thought a
real victory of man and reason。 But he never dreamed it could be
accurate； knowing that words stand symbol for the indefinable。 I
came to him once with a problem which had puzzled me out of
measure： what is a cause？ why out of so many innumerable millions
of conditions； all necessary； should one be singled out and
ticketed 'the cause'？ 'You do not understand；' said he。 'A cause
is the answer to a question： it designates that condition which I
happen to know and you happen not to know。' It was thus； with
partial exception of the mathematical； that he thought of all means
of reasoning： they were in his eyes but means of communication； so
to be understood； so to be judged； and only so far to be credited。
The mathematical he made； I say； exception of： number and measure
he believed in to the extent of their significance； but that
significance； he was never weary of reminding you； was slender to
the verge of nonentity。 Science was true； because it told us
almost nothing。 With a few abstractions it could deal； and deal
correctly； conveying honestly faint truths。 Apply its means to any
concrete fact of life； and this high dialect of the wise became a
childish jargon。
Thus the atheistic youth was met at every turn by a scepticism more
complete than his own； so that the very weapons of the fight were
changed in his grasp to swords of paper。 Certainly the church is
not right； he would argue； but certainly not the anti…church
either。 Men are not such fools as to be wholly in the wrong； nor
yet are they so placed as to be ever wholly in the right。
Somewhere； in mid air between the disputants； like hovering Victory
in some design of a Greek battle； the truth hangs undiscerned。 And
in the meanwhile what matter these uncertainties？ Right is very
obvious； a great consent of the best of mankind； a loud voice
within us （whether of God； or whether by inheritance； and in that
case still from God）； guide and command us in the path of duty。 He
saw life very simple； he did not love refinements； he was a friend
to much conformity in unessentials。 For （he would argue） it is in
this life as it stands about us； that we are given our problem； the
manners of the day are the colours of our palette； they condition；
they constrain us； and a man must be very sure he is in the right；
must （in a favourite phrase of his） be 'either very wise or very
vain；' to break with any general consent in ethics。 I remember
taking his advice upon some point of conduct。 'Now；' he said； 'how
do you suppose Christ would have advised you？' and when I had
answered that he would not have counselled me anything unkind or
cowardly； 'No；' he said； with one of his shrewd strokes at the
weakness of his hearer； 'nor anything amusing。' Later in life； he
made less certain in the field of ethics。 'The old story of the
knowledge of good and evil is a very true one；' I find him writing；
only （he goes on） 'the effect of the original dose is much worn
out； leaving Adam's descendants with the knowledge that there is
such a thing … but uncertain where。' His growing sense of this
ambiguity made him less swift to condemn； but no less stimulating
in counsel。 'You grant yourself certain freedoms。 Very well；' he
would say； 'I want to s