essays on life, art and science-第8章

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as　one　goes　on。　　One　cannot　make　the　best　of　such　impossibilities；
and　the　question　is　doubly　fatuous　until　we　are　told　which　of　our
two　livesthe　conscious　or　the　unconsciousis　held　by　the　asker　to
be　the　truer　life。　　Which　does　the　question　contemplatethe　life　we
know；　or　the　life　which　others　may　know；　but　which　we　know　not？

Death　gives　a　life　to　some　men　and　women　compared　with　which　their
so…called　existence　here　is　as　nothing。　　Which　is　the　truer　life　of
Shakespeare；　Handel；　that　divine　woman　who　wrote　the　〃Odyssey；〃　and
of　Jane　Austenthe　life　which　palpitated　with　sensible　warm　motion
within　their　own　bodies；　or　that　in　virtue　of　which　they　are　still
palpitating　in　ours？　　In　whose　consciousness　does　their　truest　life
consisttheir　own；　or　ours？　　Can　Shakespeare　be　said　to　have　begun
his　true　life　till　a　hundred　years　or　so　after　he　was　dead　and
buried？　　His　physical　life　was　but　as　an　embryonic　stage；　a　coming
up　out　of　darkness；　a　twilight　and　dawn　before　the　sunrise　of　that
life　of　the　world　to　come　which　he　was　to　enjoy　hereafter。　　We　all
live　for　a　while　after　we　are　gone　hence；　but　we　are　for　the　most
part　stillborn；　or　at　any　rate　die　in　infancy；　as　regards　that　life
which　every　age　and　country　has　recognised　as　higher　and　truer　than
the　one　of　which　we　are　now　sentient。　　As　the　life　of　the　race　is
larger；　longer；　and　in　all　respects　more　to　be　considered　than　that
of　the　individual；　so　is　the　life　we　live　in　others　larger　and　more
important　than　the　one　we　live　in　ourselves。　　This　appears　nowhere
perhaps　more　plainly　than　in　the　case　of　great　teachers；　who　often
in　the　lives　of　their　pupils　produce　an　effect　that　reaches　far
beyond　anything　produced　while　their　single　lives　were　yet
unsupplemented　by　those　other　lives　into　which　they　infused　their
own。

Death　to　such　people　is　the　ending　of　a　short　life；　but　it　does　not
touch　the　life　they　are　already　living　in　those　whom　they　have
taught；　and　happily；　as　none　can　know　when　he　shall　die；　so　none　can
make　sure　that　he　too　shall　not　live　long　beyond　the　grave；　for　the
life　after　death　is　like　money　before　itno　one　can　be　sure　that　it
may　not　fall　to　him　or　her　even　at　the　eleventh　hour。　　Money　and
immortality　come　in　such　odd　unaccountable　ways　that　no　one　is　cut
off　from　hope。　　We　may　not　have　made　either　of　them　for　ourselves；
but　yet　another　may　give　them　to　us　in　virtue　of　his　or　her　love；
which　shall　illumine　us　for　ever；　and　establish　us　in　some　heavenly
mansion　whereof　we　neither　dreamed　nor　shall　ever　dream。　　Look　at
the　Doge　Loredano　Loredani；　the　old　man's　smile　upon　whose　face　has
been　reproduced　so　faithfully　in　so　many　lands　that　it　can　never
henceforth　be　forgottenwould　he　have　had　one　hundredth　part　of　the
life　he　now　lives　had　he　not　been　linked　awhile　with　one　of　those
heaven…sent　men　who　know　che　cosa　e　amor？　　Look　at　Rembrandt's　old
woman　in　our　National　Gallery；　had　she　died　before　she　was　eighty…
three　years　old　she　would　not　have　been　living　now。　　Then；　when　she
was　eighty…three；　immortality　perched　upon　her　as　a　bird　on　a
withered　bough。

I　seem　to　hear　some　one　say　that　this　is　a　mockery；　a　piece　of
special　pleading；　a　giving　of　stones　to　those　that　ask　for　bread。
Life　is　not　life　unless　we　can　feel　it；　and　a　life　limited　to　a
knowledge　of　such　fraction　of　our　work　as　may　happen　to　survive　us
is　no　true　life　in　other　people；　salve　it　as　we　may；　death　is　not
life　any　more　than　black　is　white。

The　objection　is　not　so　true　as　it　sounds。　　I　do　not　deny　that　we
had　rather　not　die；　nor　do　I　pretend　that　much　even　in　the　case　of
the　most　favoured　few　can　survive　them　beyond　the　grave。　　It　is　only
because　this　is　so　that　our　own　life　is　possible；　others　have　made
room　for　us；　and　we　should　make　room　for　others　in　our　turn　without
undue　repining。　　What　I　maintain　is　that　a　not　inconsiderable　number
of　people　do　actually　attain　to　a　life　beyond　the　grave　which　we　can
all　feel　forcibly　enough；　whether　they　can　do　so　or　notthat　this
life　tends　with　increasing　civilisation　to　become　more　and　more
potent；　and　that　it　is　better　worth　considering；　in　spite　of　its
being　unfelt　by　ourselves；　than　any　which　we　have　felt　or　can　ever
feel　in　our　own　persons。

Take　an　extreme　case。　　A　group　of　people　are　photographed　by
Edison's　new　processsay　Titiens；　Trebelli；　and　Jenny　Lind；　with
any　two　of　the　finest　men　singers　the　age　has　knownlet　them　be
photographed　incessantly　for　half　an　hour　while　they　perform　a　scene
in　〃Lohengrin〃；　let　all　be　done　stereoscopically。　　Let　them　be
phonographed　at　the　same　time　so　that　their　minutest　shades　of
intonation　are　preserved；　let　the　slides　be　coloured　by　a　competent
artist；　and　then　let　the　scene　be　called　suddenly　into　sight　and
sound；　say　a　hundred　years　hence。　　Are　those　people　dead　or　alive？
Dead　to　themselves　they　are；　but　while　they　live　so　powerfully　and
so　livingly　in　us；　which　is　the　greater　paradoxto　say　that　they
are　alive　or　that　they　are　dead？　　To　myself　it　seems　that　their　life
in　others　would　be　more　truly　life　than　their　death　to　themselves　is
death。　　Granted　that　they　do　not　present　all　the　phenomena　of　life
who　ever　does　so　even　when　he　is　held　to　be　alive？　　We　are　held　to
be　alive　because　we　present　a　sufficient　number　of　living　phenomena
to　let　the　others　go　without　saying；　those　who　see　us　take　the　part
for　the　whole　here　as　in　everything　else；　and　surely；　in　the　case
supposed　above；　the　phenomena　of　life　predominate　so　powerfully　over
those　of　death；　that　the　people　themselves　must　be　held　to　be　more
alive　than　dead。　　Our　living　personality　is；　as　the　word　implies；
only　our　mask；　and　those　who　still　own　such　a　mask　as　I　have
supposed　have　a　living　personality。　　Granted　again　that　the　case
just　put　is　an　extreme　one；　still　many　a　man　and　many　a　woman　has　so
stamped　him　or　herself　on　his　work　that；　though　we　would　gladly　have
the　aid　of　such　accessories　as　we　doubtless　presently　shall　have　to
the　livingness　of　our　great　dead；　we　can　see　them　very　sufficiently
through　the　master　pieces　they　have　left　us。

As　for　their　own　unconsciousness　I　do　not　deny　it。　　The　life　of　the
embryo　was　unconscious　before　birth；　and　so　is　the　lifeI　am
speaking　only　of　the　life　revealed　to　us　by　natural　religionafter
death。　　But　as　the　embryonic　and　infant　life　of　which　we　were
unconscious　was　the　most　potent　factor　in　our　after　life　of
consciousness；　so　the　effect　which　we　may　unconsciously　produce　in
others　after　death；　and　it　may　be　even　before　it　on　those　who　have
never　seen　us；　is　in　all　sober　seriousness　our　truer　and　more
abiding　life；　and　the　one　which　those　who　would　make　the　best　of
their　sojourn　here　will　take　most　into　their　consideration。

Unconsciousness　is　no　bar　to　livingness。　　Our　conscious　actions　are
a　drop　in　the　sea　as　compared　with　our　unconscious　ones。　　Could　we
know　all　the　life　that　is　in　us　by　way　of　circulation；　nutrition；
breathing；　waste　and　repair；　we　should　learn　what　an　infinitesimally
small　part　consciousness　plays　in　our　present　existence；　yet　our
unconscious　life　is　as　truly　life　as　our　conscious　life；　and　though
it　is　unconscious　to　itself　it　emerges　into　an　indirect　and
vicarious　consciousness　in　our　other　and　conscious　self；　which
exists　but　in　virtue　of　our　unconscious　self。　　So　we　have　also　a
vicarious　consciousness　in　others。　　The　unconscious　life　of　those
that　have　gone　before　us　has　in　great　part　moulded　us　into　such　men
and　women　as　we　are；　and　our　own　unconscious　lives　will　in　like
manner　have　a　vicarious　consciousness　in　others；　though　we　be　dead
enough　to　it　in　ourselves。

If　it　is　again　urged　that　it　matters　not　to　us　how　much　we　may　be
alive　in　others；　if　we　are　to　know　nothing　about　it；　I　reply　that
the　common　instinct　of　all　who　are　worth　considering　gives　the　lie
to　such　cynicism。　　I　see　here　present　some　who　have　achieved；　and
others　who　no　doubt　will　achieve；　success　in　literature。　　Will　one
of　them　hesitate　to　admit　that　it　is　a　lively　pleasure　to　her　to
feel　that　on　the　other　side　of　the　world　some　one　may　be　smiling
happily　over　her　work；　and　that　she　is　thus　living　in　that　person
though　she　knows　nothing　about　it？　　Here　it　seems　to　me　that　true
faith　comes　in。　　Faith　does　not　consist；　as　the　Sunday　School　pupil
said；　〃in　the　power　of　believing　that　which　we　know　to　be　untrue。〃
It　consists　in　holding　fast　that　which　the　healthiest　and　most
kindly　instincts　of　the　best　and　most　sensible　men　and　women　are
intuitively　possessed　of；　without　caring　to　require　much　evidence
further　than　the　fact　that　such　people　are　so　convinced；　and　for　my
own　part　I　find　the　best　men　and　women　I　know　unanimous　in　feeling
that　life　in　others；　even　though　we　know　nothing　about　it；　is
nevertheless　a　thing　to　be　desired　and　gratefully　accepted　if　we　can
get　it　either　before　death　or　after。　　I　observe　also　that　a　large
number　of　men　and　women　do　actually　attain　to　such　life；　and　in　some
cases　continue　so　to　live；　if　not　for　ever；　yet　to　what　is
practically　much　the　same　thing。　　Our　life　then　in　this　world　is；　to
natural　religion　as　much　as　to　revealed；　a　period　of　probation。　　The
use　we　make　of　it　is　to　settle　how　far　we　are　to　enter　into　another；
and　whether　that　other　is　to　be　a　heaven　of　just　affection　or　a　hell
of　righteous　condemnation。

Who；　then；　are　the　most　likely　so　to　run　that　they　may　obtain　this
veritable　prize　of　our　high　calling？　　Setting　aside　such　lucky
numbers　drawn　as　it　were　in　the　lottery　of　immortality；　which　I　have
referred　to　casually　above；　and　setting　aside　also　the　chances　and
changes　from　which　even　immortality　is　not　exempt；　who　on　the　whole
are　most　likely　to　live　anew　in　the　affectionate　thoughts　of　those
who　never　so　much　as　saw　them　in　the　flesh；　and　know　not　even　their
names？　　There　is　a　nisus；　a　straining　in　the　dull　dumb　economy　of
things；　in　virtue　of　which　some；　whether　they　will　it　and　know　it　or
no；　are　more　likely　to　live　after　death　than　others；　and　who　are
these？　　Those　who　aimed　at　it　as　by　some　great　thing　that　they　would
do　to　make　them　famous？　　Those　who　have　lived　most　in　themselves　and
for　themselves；　or　those　who　have　been　most　ensouled　consciously；
but　perhaps　better　unconsciously；　directly　but　more　often
indirectly；　by　the　most　living　souls　past　and　present　that　have
flitted　near　them？　　Can　we　think　of　a　man　or　woman　who　grips　us
firmly；　at　the　thought　of　whom　we　kindle　when　we　are　alone　in　our
honest　daw's　plumes；　with　none　to　admire　or　shrug　his　shoulders；　can
we　think　of　one　such；　the　secret　of　whose　power　does　not　lie　in　the
charm　of　his　or　her　personalitythat　is　to　say；　in　the　wideness　of
his　or　her　sympathy　with；　and　therefore　life　in　and　communion　with
other　people？　　In　the　wreckage　that　comes　ashore　from　the　sea　of
time　there　is　much　tinsel　stuff　that　we　must　preserve　and　study　if
we　would　know　our　own　times　and　people；　granted　that　many　a　dead
charlatan　lives　long　and　enters　largely　and　necessarily　into　our　own
lives；　we　use　them　and　throw　them　away　when　we　have　done　with　them。
I　do　not　speak　of　these；　I　do　not　speak　of　the　Virgils　and　Alexander
Popes；　and　who　can　say　how　many　more　whose　names　I　dare　not　mention
for　fear　of　offending。　　They　are　as　stuffed　birds　or　beasts　in　a
Muse