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Father Payne
Chapter 55. Of Life-Force
Arthur C.Benson
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       _ CHAPTER LV. OF LIFE-FORCE
       I walked one afternoon with Father Payne just as winter turned to spring, in the pastures. There was a mound at the corner of one of his fields, on which grew a row of beech trees of which Father Payne was particularly fond. He pointed out to me to-day how the most southerly of the trees, exposed as it was to the full force of the wind, grew lower and sturdier than the rest, and how as the trees progressed towards the north, each one profiting more by the shelter of his comrades, they grew taller and more graceful. "I like the way that stout little fellow at the end grows," said Father Payne. "He doesn't know, I suppose, that he is protecting the rest, and giving them room to expand. But he holds on; and though he isn't so tall, he is bulkier and denser than his brethren. He knows that he has to bear the brunt of the wind, so he puts out no sail. He just devotes himself to standing four-square--he is not going to be bullied! He would like to be as smooth and as shapely as the rest, but he knows his own business, and he has adapted himself, like a sensible fellow, to his rough conditions."
       A little later Father Payne stopped to look at a great sow-thistle that was growing vigorously under a hedge-row. "Did you ever see such a bit of pure force?" said Father Payne. "I see a fierce conscious life in every inch of that plant. Look at the way he clips himself in, and strains to the earth: look at his great rays of leaves, thrust out so geometrically from the centre, with the sharp, horny, uncompromising thorns. And see how he flattens down his leaves over the surrounding grasses: they haven't a chance; he just squeezes them down and strangles them. There is no mild and delicate waving of fronds in the air. He means to sit down firmly on the top of his comrades. I don't think I ever saw anything with such a muscular pull on--you can't lift his leaves up; look, he resists with all his might! Just consider the immense force which he is using: he is not merely snuggling down: he is just hauling things about. You don't mean to tell me that this thistle isn't conscious! He knows he has enemies, but he is going to make the place his very own--and all that out of a drifting little arrow of down!"
       "Now that may not be a sympathetic or even Christian way of doing things," he went on presently, "but for all that, I do love to see the force of life, the intentness of living. I like our friend the beech a little better, because he is helping his friends, though he doesn't know it, and the thistle is only helping himself. But I am sure that it is the right way to go at it! We mustn't be always standing aside and making room: we mustn't obliterate ourselves. We have a right to our joy in life, and we mustn't be afraid of it. If we give away what we have got, it must cost us something--it must not be a mere relinquishing."
       "It is rather hard to combine the two principles," I said--"the living of life, I mean, and the giving away of life."
       "Well, I think that devotion is better than self-sacrifice," said Father Payne. "On the whole I mistrust weakness more than I mistrust strength. It's easy to dislike violence--but I rather worship vitality. I would almost rather see a man forcing his way through with some callousness, than backing out, smiling and apologising. You can convert strength, you can't do anything with weakness. Take the sort of work you fellows do. I always feel I can chasten and direct exuberance: what I can't do is to impart vigour. If a man says his essay is short because he can't think of anything to write, I feel inclined to say, 'Then for goodness' sake hold your tongue!' It's the people who can't hold their tongue, who go on roughly pointing things out, and commenting, and explaining, and thrusting themselves in front of the show, who do something. Of course force has to be kept in order, but there it is--it lives, it must have its say. What you have to learn is to insinuate yourself into life, like ivy, but without spoiling other people's pleasure. That's liberty! The old thistle has no respect for liberty, and that is why he is rooted up. But it's rather sad work doing it, because he does so very much want to be alive. But it isn't liberty simply to efface yourself, because you may interfere with other people. The thing is to fit in, without disorganising everything about you."
       He mused for a little in silence; then he said, "It's like almost everything else--it's a weighing of claims! I don't want you fellows to be either tyrannical or slavish. It's tyrannical to bully, it's slavish to defer. The thing is to have a firm opinion, not to be ashamed of it or afraid of it; to say it reasonably and gently, and to stick to it amiably. Good does not attack, though if it is attacked it can slay. Good fights evil, but it knows what it is fighting, while evil fights good and evil alike. I think that is true. I don't want you people to be controversial or quarrelsome in what you write, and to go in for picking holes in others' work. If you want to help a man to do better, criticise him privately--don't slap him in public, to show how hard you can lay on. Make your own points, explain if you like, but don't apologise. The great writers, mind you, are the people who can go on. It's volume rather than delicacy that matters in the end. It must flow like honey--good solid stuff--not drip like rain, out of mere weakness. But the thing is to flow, and largeness of production is better than little bits of overhandled work. Mind that, my boy! It's force that tells: and that's why I don't want you to be over-interested in your work. You must go on filling up with experience; but it doesn't matter where or how you get it, as long as it is eagerly done. Be on the side of life! _Amor fati_, that's the motto for a man--to love his destiny passionately, and all that is before him; not to droop, or sentimentalise, or submit, but to plunge on, like a 'sea-shouldering whale'! You remember old Kit Smart--
       'Strong against tide, the enormous whale
       Emerges as he goes.'
       "Mind you _emerge!_ Never heed the tide: there's plenty of room for it as well as for you!" _
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本书目录

Preface
Chapter 1. Father Payne
Chapter 2. Aveley
Chapter 3. The Society
Chapter 4. The Summons
Chapter 5. The System
Chapter 6. Father Payne
Chapter 7. The Men
Chapter 8. The Method
Chapter 9. Father Payne
Chapter 10. Characteristics
Chapter 11. Conversation
Chapter 12. Of Going To Church
Chapter 13. Of Newspapers
Chapter 14. Of Hate
Chapter 15. Of Writing
Chapter 16. Of Marriage
Chapter 17. Of Loving God
Chapter 18. Of Friendship
Chapter 19. Of Phyllis
Chapter 20. Of Certainty
Chapter 21. Of Beauty
Chapter 22. Of War
Chapter 23. Of Cads And Pharisees
Chapter 24. Of Continuance
Chapter 25. Of Philanthropy
Chapter 26. Of Fear
Chapter 27. Of Aristocracy
Chapter 28. Of Crystals
Chapter 29. Early Life
Chapter 30. Of Bloodsuckers
Chapter 31. Of Instincts
Chapter 32. Of Humility
Chapter 33. Of Meekness
Chapter 34. Of Criticism
Chapter 35. Of The Sense Of Beauty
Chapter 36. Of Biography
Chapter 37. Of Possessions
Chapter 38. Of Loneliness
Chapter 39. Of The Writer's Life
Chapter 40. Of Waste
Chapter 41. Of Education
Chapter 42. Of Religion
Chapter 43. Of Critics
Chapter 44. Of Worship
Chapter 45. Of A Change Of Religion
Chapter 46. Of Affection
Chapter 47. Of Respect Of Persons
Chapter 48. Of Ambiguity
Chapter 49. Of Belief
Chapter 50. Of Honour
Chapter 51. Of Work
Chapter 52. Of Companionship
Chapter 53. Of Money
Chapter 54. Of Peaceableness
Chapter 55. Of Life-Force
Chapter 56. Of Conscience
Chapter 57. Of Rank
Chapter 58. Of Biography
Chapter 59. Of Exclusiveness
Chapter 60. Of Taking Life
Chapter 61. Of Bookishness
Chapter 62. Of Consistency
Chapter 63. Of Wrens And Lilies
Chapter 64. Of Pose
Chapter 65. Of Revenants
Chapter 66. Of Discipline
Chapter 67. Of Increase
Chapter 68. Of Prayer
Chapter 69. The Shadow
Chapter 70. Of Weakness
Chapter 71. The Bank Of The River
Chapter 72. The Crossing
Chapter 73. After-Thoughts
Chapter 74. Departure