Collected Works (Vol. II)

268 TIME man, with all his virtues, was, like the Eng- lishman, a savage.” And indeed we are too apt to think of you only as red-faced, drunken, beef-eating boors and ruffans, with no soul and less sense, as if you were all soldiers; or as prim, con- ceited, supercilious, opinionated prigs, as if you were all civilians; or as unspeakable stupidity incarnate in greedy oiliness, as if you were all missionaries. Your highest placed women make virtuous our courtezans by a comparison of costume and manners; if our advices be true, the morality test is suill in favour of our light ones. Your law wisely forbids your own venal women to set foot on Indian soil; a rumour is even got about that you have no such women: but political economy is to be thanked, if it be so. Now, though you know that I am aware that India is simply the refuse-heap for your vilest characters and your dullest brains, I see that you so little appreciate the compli- ment I am trying to pay you, that your foot is already itching to assault my person, and to cause me to remember that your cook never forgets to spit into your honour’s soup, were it not that we may find a refuge from difference of caste and race, custom and language, in the supreme unity, that of the ultimate force of which this universe is the expression. Scept. I have listened with patience to what is after all (you must admit) a rather spiteful tirade—— Myst. Forgive me if I interrupt. Do me the honour to remember that it was said in self-blame. I tried to give your honour “the giltie’’ (as one of your worst poets has said) ‘“to see yoursel as ithers see you,” the ‘‘ithers”’ in this case being average Hindus, as ignorant of your real character as you confess your untravelled folk to be of ours. Scept. Pray spare me Burns! We are— that is, you and I—on a better understanding now. Let us return, if you will, to the sub- 1 Cf. Crowley, Epigrams (1550 A.D.)— ‘¢ The bawds of the stews be turned al out ; But some think they inhabit al England throughout.”—A. C. ject we too lightly touched on yesterday ; that of TIME, and the real signification of that mysterious word, which isin the mouths of children, and which to affect not to under- stand is to stamp oneself, in the opinion of the so-called intellectual classes, as a fantastic. Myst. Yet who of us does understand it? I, at least, am at one with you in declaring its mystery. Scept. You are of the few. Even Huxley, the most luminous of modern philosophers, evidently misunderstands Kant’s true though partial dictum that it is subjective, or, in the pre-Kantian jargon, a form of the intellect. Myst. Lest we involve ourselves in con- troversy, Homeric body-snatchers of Patro- clus Kant, let us hastily turn to the question at issue itself. The scholastic method of dis- cussing a point by quotation of Brown's posi- tion against Smith may do for the weevilly brain ofa University don, but is well known to bring one no nearer to solution, satisfac- tory or otherwise, of the original problem. Scept. I heartily agree with you so far. We will therefore attack the question ad tnttio: I await you. . Myst. As exordium, therefore, may I ask you to recall what we agreed on yesterday with regard to Zat Sat, the existent, or real? Scept. That it was one, unknowable, absolute. Myst. Objective? Scept. Without doubt. Myst. Did Inot, however,observe that, how- ever that might be, all intuitions, if know- able, were subjective ; if objective, unknown? Scept. You did: to which I pointed out that Spencer had well shown how subjectivity, real or no, was a mere proof of objectivity. Myst. And vice versé.! Ah! my friend, we shall be tossed about, as the world this 2500 years, if we once enter this vortex. Let us remain where all is smooth in the certainty that the Unknowable is Unreal ! Scept. We agreed it to be real! 1 This is not an ignoratio elenchi, but a criticism, too extended in scope to introduce here.—A. C.