Meditation1 On Finality
In the Grand Canyon2 of Arizona, that most exhilarating of all natural phenomena3, Nature has for once so focussed her effects, that the result is a framed and final work of Art. For there, between two high lines of plateau, level as the sea, are sunk the wrought4 thrones of the innumerable gods, couchant, and for ever revering5, in their million moods of light and colour, the Master Mystery.
Having seen this culmination6, I realize why many people either recoil7 before it, and take the first train home, or speak of it as a “remarkable formation.” For, though mankind at large craves8 finality, it does not crave9 the sort that bends the knee to Mystery. In Nature, in Religion, in Art, in Life, the common cry is: “Tell me precisely10 where I am, what doing, and where going! Let me be free of this fearful untidiness of not knowing all about it!” The favoured religions are always those whose message is most finite. The fashionable professions — they that end us in assured positions. The most popular works of fiction, such as leave nothing to our imagination. And to this craving11 after prose, who would not be lenient12, that has at all known life, with its usual predominance of our lower and less courageous13 selves, our constant hankering after the cosey closed door and line of least resistance? We are continually begging to be allowed to know for certain; though, if our prayer were granted, and Mystery no longer hovered14, made blue the hills, and turned day into night, we should, as surely, wail15 at once to be delivered of that ghastliness of knowing things for certain!
Now, in Art, I would never quarrel with a certain living writer who demands of it the kind of finality implied in what he calls a “moral discovery”— using, no doubt, the words in their widest sense. I would maintain, however, that such finality is not confined to positively16 discovering the true conclusion of premises17 laid down; but that it may also distil18 gradually, negatively from the whole work, in a moral discovery, as it were, of Author. In other words, that, permeation19 by an essential point of view, by emanation of author, may so unify20 and vitalize a work, as to give it all the finality that need be required of Art. For the finality that is requisite21 to Art, be it positive or negative, is not the finality of dogma, nor the finality of fact, it is ever the finality of feeling — of a spiritual light, subtly gleaned22 by the spectator out of that queer luminous23 haze24 which one man’s nature must ever be to others. And herein, incidentally, it is that Art acquires also that quality of mystery, more needful to it even than finality, for the mystery that wraps a work of Art is the mystery of its maker25, and the mystery of its maker is the difference between that maker’s soul and every other soul.
But let me take an illustration of what I mean by these two kinds of finality that Art may have, and show that in essence they are but two halves of the same thing. The term “a work of Art” will not be denied, I think, to that early novel of M. Anatole France, “Le Lys Rouge26.” Now, that novel has positive finality, since the spiritual conclusion from its premises strikes one as true. But neither will the term “a work of Art” be denied to the same writer’s four “Bergeret” volumes, whose negative finality consists only in the temperamental atmosphere wherein they are soaked. Now, if the theme of “Le Lys Rouge” had been treated by Tolstoy, Meredith, or Turgenev, we should have had spiritual conclusions from the same factual premises so different from M. France’s as prunes27 from prisms, and yet, being the work of equally great artists, they would, doubtless, have struck us as equally true. Is not, then, the positive finality of “Le Lys Rouge,” though expressed in terms of a different craftsmanship28, the same, in essence, as the negative finality of the “Bergeret” volumes? Are not both, in fact, merely flower of author true to himself? So long as the scent29, colour, form of that flower is strong and fine enough to affect the senses of our spirit, then all the rest, surely, is academic — I would say, immaterial.
But here, in regard to Art, is where mankind at large comes on the field. “‘Flower of author,’” it says, “‘Senses of the spirit!’ Phew! Give me something I can understand! Let me know where I am getting to!” In a word, it wants a finality different from that which Art can give. It will ask the artist, with irritation30, what his solution, or his lesson, or his meaning, really is, having omitted to notice that the poor creature has been giving all the meaning that he can, in every sentence. It will demand to know why it was not told definitely what became of Charles or Mary in whom it had grown so interested; and will be almost frightened to learn that the artist knows no more than itself. And if by any chance it be required to dip its mind into a philosophy that does not promise it a defined position both in this world and the next, it will assuredly recoil, and with a certain contempt say: “No, sir! This means nothing to me; and if it means anything to you — which I very much doubt — I am sorry for you!”
It must have facts, and again facts, not only in the present and the past, but in the future. And it demands facts of that, which alone cannot glibly32 give it facts. It goes on asking facts of Art, or, rather, such facts as Art cannot give — for, after all, even “flower of author” is fact in a sort of way.
Consider, for instance, Synge’s masterpiece, “The Playboy of the Western World!” There is flower of author! What is it for mankind at large? An attack on the Irish character! A pretty piece of writing! An amusing farce33! Enigmatic cynicism leading nowhere! A puzzling fellow wrote it! Mankind at large has little patience with puzzling fellows.
Few, in fact, want flower of author. Moreover, it is a quality that may well be looked for where it does not exist. To say that the finality which Art requires is merely an enwrapping mood, or flower of author, is not by any means to say that any robust34 fellow, slamming his notions down in ink, can give us these. Indeed, no! So long as we see the author’s proper person in his work, we do not see the flower of him. Let him retreat himself, if he pretend to be an artist. There is no less of subtle skill, no less impersonality35, in the “Bergeret” volumes than in “Le Lys Rouge.” No less labour and mental torturing went to their making, page by page, in order that they might exhale36 their perfume of mysterious finality, their withdrawn37 but implicit38 judgment39. Flower of author is not quite so common as the buttercup, the Californian poppy, or the gay Texan gaillardia, and for that very reason the finality it gives off will never be robust enough for a mankind at large that would have things cut and dried, and labelled in thick letters. For, consider — to take one phase alone of this demand for factual finality — how continual and insistent40 is the cry for characters that can be worshipped; how intense and persistent41 the desire to be told that Charles was a real hero; and how bitter the regret that Mary was no better than she should be! Mankind at large wants heroes that are heroes, and heroines that are heroines — and nothing so inappropriate to them as unhappy endings.
Travelling away, I remember, from that Grand Canyon of Arizona were a young man and a young woman, evidently in love. He was sitting very close to her, and reading aloud for her pleasure, from a paper-covered novel, heroically oblivious42 of us all:
“‘Sir Robert,’ she murmured, lifting her beauteous eyes, ‘I may not tempt31 you, for you are too dear to me!’ Sir Robert held her lovely face between his two strong hands. ‘Farewell!’ he said, and went out into the night. But something told them both that, when he had fulfilled his duty, Sir Robert would return . . . .” He had not returned before we reached the Junction43, but there was finality about that baronet, and we well knew that he ultimately would. And, long after the sound of that young man’s faithful reading had died out of our ears, we meditated44 on Sir Robert, and compared him with the famous characters of fiction, slowly perceiving that they were none of them so final in their heroism45 as he. No, none of them reached that apex46. For Hamlet was a most unfinished fellow, and Lear extremely violent. Pickwick addicted47 to punch, and Sam Weller to lying; Bazarof actually a Nihilist, and Irina ——! Levin and Anna, Pierre and Natasha, all of them stormy and unsatisfactory at times. “Un Coeur Simple” nothing but a servant, and an old maid at that; “Saint Julien l’Hospitalier” a sheer fanatic48. Colonel Newcome too irritable49 and too simple altogether. Don Quixote certified50 insane. Hilda Wangel, Nora, Hedda — Sir Robert would never even have spoken to such baggages! Mon sieur Bergeret — an amiable51 weak thing! D’Artagnan — a true swashbuckler! Tom Jones, Faust, Don Juan — we might not even think of them: And those poor Greeks: Prometheus — shocking rebel. OEdipus for a long time banished52 by the Censor53. Phaedra and Elektra, not even so virtuous54 as Mary, who failed of being what she should be! And coming to more familiar persons Joseph and Moses, David and Elijah, all of them lacked his finality of true heroism — none could quite pass muster55 beside Sir Robert . . . . Long we meditated, and, reflecting that an author must ever be superior to the creatures of his brain, were refreshed to think that there were so many living authors capable of giving birth to Sir Robert; for indeed, Sir Robert and finality like his — no doubtful heroes, no flower of author, and no mystery is what mankind at large has always wanted from Letters, and will always want.
As truly as that oil and water do not mix, there are two kinds of men. The main cleavage in the whole tale of life is this subtle, all pervading56 division of mankind into the man of facts and the man of feeling. And not by what they are or do can they be told one from the other, but just by their attitude toward finality. Fortunately most of us are neither quite the one nor quite the other. But between the pure-blooded of each kind there is real antipathy57, far deeper than the antipathies58 of race, politics, or religion — an antipathy that not circumstance, love, goodwill59, or necessity will ever quite get rid of. Sooner shall the panther agree with the bull than that other one with the man of facts. There is no bridging the gorge60 that divides these worlds.
Nor is it so easy to tell, of each, to which world he belongs, as it was to place the lady, who held out her finger over that gorge called Grand Canyon, and said:
“It doesn’t look thirteen miles; but they measured it just there! Excuse my pointing!”
1912.
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1
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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canyon
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| n.峡谷，溪谷 | |
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phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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revering
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的现在分词 ) | |
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culmination
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| n.顶点；最高潮 | |
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recoil
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| vi.退却，退缩，畏缩 | |
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craves
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| 渴望，热望( crave的第三人称单数 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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crave
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| vt.渴望得到，迫切需要，恳求，请求 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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11
craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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lenient
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| adj.宽大的，仁慈的 | |
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courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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distil
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| vt.蒸馏；提取…的精华，精选出 | |
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permeation
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| 渗入，透过 | |
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unify
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| vt.使联合，统一；使相同，使一致 | |
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requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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gleaned
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| v.一点点地收集（资料、事实）( glean的过去式和过去分词 )；（收割后）拾穗 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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rouge
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| n.胭脂，口红唇膏；v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
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prunes
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| n.西梅脯，西梅干( prune的名词复数 )v.修剪（树木等）( prune的第三人称单数 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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craftsmanship
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| n.手艺 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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glibly
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| adv.流利地，流畅地；满口 | |
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farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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impersonality
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| n.无人情味 | |
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36
exhale
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| v.呼气，散出，吐出，蒸发 | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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implicit
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| a.暗示的，含蓄的，不明晰的，绝对的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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apex
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| n.顶点，最高点 | |
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addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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fanatic
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| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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50
certified
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| a.经证明合格的；具有证明文件的 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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censor
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| n./vt.审查，审查员；删改 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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pervading
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
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antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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antipathies
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| 反感( antipathy的名词复数 )； 引起反感的事物； 憎恶的对象； （在本性、倾向等方面的）不相容 | |
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goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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