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rusty…red iron cluking on pointless carts； high white wool…
packs； grey horses； bay horses； black teams； sunlight sparkling
on brass harness； gleaming from carriage panels； jingle； jingle；
jingle！ An intermixed and intertangled； ceaselessly changing jingle； too；of
colour； flecks of colour champed； as it were； like bits in the horses'
teeth； frothed and strewn about； and a surface always of dark…dressed people
winding like the curves on fast…flowing water。 This is the vortex and
whirlpool； the centre of human life today on the earth。 Now the tide rises
and now it sinks； but the flow of these rivers always continues。 Here it
seethes and whirls； not for an hour only； but for all present time； hour by
hour； day by day； year by year。
Here it rushes and pushes； the atoms triturate and grind； and；
eagerly thrusting by； pursue their separate ends。 Here it
appears in its unconcealed personality； indifferent to all else
but itself； absorbed and rapt in eager self； devoid and stripped
of conventional gloss and politeness； yielding only to get its own way；
driving； pushing； carried on in a stress of feverish force like a bullet；
dynamic force apart from reason or will； like the force that lifts the tides
and sends the clouds onwards。 The friction of a thousand interests evolves a
condition of electricity in which men are moved to and fro without
considering their steps。 Yet the agitated pool of life is stonily
indifferent； the thought is absent or preoccupied； for it is evident that
the mass are unconscious of the scene in
which they act。
But it is more sternly real than the very stones； for all these
men and women that pass through are driven on by the push of
accumulated circumstances； they cannot stay； they must go；
their necks are in the slave's ring； they are beaten like
seaweed against the solid walls of fact。 In ancient times；
Xerxes； the king of kings； looking down upon his myriads； wept to think that
in a hundred years not one of them would be left。 Where will be these
millions of to…day in a hundred years？ But； further than that； let us ask；
Where then will be the sum and outcome of their labour？ If they wither away
like summer grass； will not at least a result be left which those of a
hundred years hence may be the better for？ No； not one jot！ There will not
be any sum or outcome or result of this ceaseless labour and movement； it
vanishes in the moment that it is done； and in a hundred years nothing will
be there； for nothing is there now。 There will be no more sum or result than
accumulates from the motion of a revolving cowl on a housetop。 Nor do they
receive any more sunshine during their lives； for they are unconscious of
the sun。
I used to come and stand near the apex of the promontory of pavement which
juts out towards the pool of life； I still go there to ponder。 Burning in
the sky； the sun shone on me as when I rested in the narrow valley carved in
prehistoric time。
Burning in the sky； I can never forget the sun。 The heat of summer is dry
there as if the light carried an impalpable dust； dry； breathless heat that
will not let the skin respire； but
swathes up the dry fire in the blood。 But beyond the heat and light； I felt
the presence of the sun as I felt it in the solitary valley； the presence of
the resistless forces of the
universe； the sun burned in the sky as I stood and pondered。 Is there any
theory； philosophy； or creed； is there any system or
culture； any formulated method able to meet and satisfy each separate item
of this agitated pool of human life？ By which they may be guided； by which
hope； by which look forward？ Not a mere illusion of the craven
heartsomething real； as real as the solid walls of fact against which；
like drifted sea…weed； they are dashed； something to give each separate
personality sunshine and a flower in its own existence now； something to
shape this million…handed labour to an end and outcome that will leave more
sunshine and more flowers to those who must succeed？ Something real now； and
not in the spirit…land； in this hour now； as I stand and the sun burns。 Can
any creed； philosophy； system； or culture endure the test and remain
unmolten in this fierce focus ofhuman life？
Consider； is there anything slowly painted on the once mystic and now
commonplace papyri of ancient； ancient Egypt； held on the mummy's withered
breast？ In that elaborate ritual； in the procession of the symbols； in the
winged circle； in the laborious sarcophagus？ Nothing； absolutely nothing！
Before the
fierce heat of the human furnace； the papyri smoulder away as paper
smoulders under a lens in the sun。 Remember Nineveh and
the cult of the fir…cone； the turbaned and bearded bulls of
stone； the lion hunt； the painted chambers loaded with tile
books； the lore of the arrow…headed writing。 What is in
Assyria？ There are sand； and failing rivers； and in Assyria's
writings an utter nothing。 The aged caves of India； who shall
tell when they were sculptured？ Far back when the sun was
burning； burning in the sky as now in untold precedent time。
Is there any meaning in those ancient caves？ The indistinguish…able noise
not to be resolved； born of the human struggle； mocks in answer。
In the strange characters of the Zend； in the Sanscrit； in the
effortless creed of Confucius； in the Aztec coloured…string
writings and rayed stones； in the uncertain marks left of the
sunken Polynesian continent； hieroglyphs as useless as those of
Memphis； nothing。 Nothing！ They have been tried； and were found an illusion。
Think then； to…day； now looking from this apex
of the pavement promontory outwards from our own land to the utmost bounds
of the farthest sail； is there any faith or culture at this hour which can
stand in this fierce heat？ From the various forms of Semitic； Aryan； or
Turanian creed now existing； from the printing…press to the palm…leaf volume
on to those who call on the jewel in the lotus； can aught be gathered which
can face this； the Reality？ The indistinguishable noise； non…resolvable；
roars a loud contempt。
Turn； then； to the calm reasoning of Aristotle； is there
anything in that？ Can the half…divine thought of Plato； rising
in storeys of sequential ideas； following each other to the
conclusion； endure here？ No！ All the philosophers in Diogenes
Laertius fade away： the theories of medimval days； the organon
of experiment； down to this hourthey are useless alike。 The
science of this hour； drawn from the printing…press in an endless web of
paper； is powerless here； the indistinguishable noise echoed from the
smoke…shadowed walls despises the whole。 A thousand footsteps； a thousand
hoofs； a thousand wheels roll over and utterly contemn them in complete
annihilation。 Mere illusions of heart or mind； they are tested and thrust
aside by the irresistible push of a million converging feet。
Burning in the sky； the sun shines as it shone on me in the
solitary valley； as it burned on when the earliest cave of India
was carved。 Above the indistinguishable roar of the many feet I
feel the presence of the sun； of the immense forces of the
universe； and beyond these the sense of the eternal now； of the
immortal。 Full well aware that all has failed； yet； side by
side with the sadness of that knowledge； there lives on in me an
unquenchable belief； thought burning like the sun； that there is yet
something to be found； something real； something to give each separate
personality sunshine and flowers in its own existence now。 Something to
shape this million…handed labour to an end and outcome； leaving accumulated
sunshine and flowers to those who shall succeed。 It must be dragged forth by
might of thought from the immense forces of the universe。
To prepare for such an effort； first the mind must be cleared of
the conceit that； because we live to…day； we are wiser than the
ages gone。 The mind must acknowledge its ignorance； all the
learning and lore of so many eras must be erased from it as an
encumbrance。 It is not from past or present knowledge； science
or faith； that it is to be drawn。 Erase these altogether as they are erased
under the fierce heat of the focus before me。 Begin wholly afresh。 Go
straight to the sun； the immense forces of the universe； to the Entity
unknown； go higher than a god； deeper than prayer； and open a new day。 That
I might but have a fragment of Caesar's intellect to find a fragment of this
desire！
》From my home near London I made a pilgrimage almost daily to an
aspen by a brook。 It was a mile and a quarter along the road；
far enough for me to walk off the concentration of mind
necessary for work。 The idea of the pilgrimage was to get away
from the endless and nameless circumstances of everyday
existence； which by degrees build a wall about the mind so that
it travels in a constantly narrowing circle。 This tether of the
faculties tends to make them accept present knowledge； and
present things； as all that can be attained to。 This is all
there is nothing moreis the iterated preaching of house…life。
Remain； becontent； go round and round in one barren path； a
little money； a little food and sleep； some ancient fables；
old age and death。 Of all the inventions of casuistry