The Autobiography of Mark Rutherford, Edited by his friend Reuben Shapcott — John Shaqi
The Autobiography of Mark Rutherford, Edited by his friend Reuben ShapcottWhite, William Hale
General
The Autobiography of Mark Rutherford, Edited by his friend Reuben Shapcott
White, William Hale
Religious fiction
It is not only a duty to ourselves, but it is a duty to others to take
this course. Great men do the world much good, but not without some
harm, and we have no business to be troubling ourselves with their dreams
if we have duties which lie nearer home amongst persons to whom these
dreams are incomprehensible. Many a man goes into his study, shuts
himself up with his poetry or his psychology, comes out, half
understanding what he has read, is miserable because he cannot find
anybody with whom he can talk about it, and misses altogether the far
more genuine joy which he could have obtained from a game with his
children or listening to what his wife had to tell him about her
neighbours.
“Lor, miss, you haven’t looked at your new bonnet to-day,” said a servant
girl to her young mistress.
“No, why should I? I did not want to go out.”
“Oh, how can you? why, I get mine out and look at it every night.”
She was happy for a whole fortnight with a happiness cheap at a very high
price.
That same young mistress was very caustic upon the women who block the
pavement outside drapers’ shops, but surely she was unjust. They always
seem unconscious, to be enjoying themselves intensely and most
innocently, more so probably than an audience at a Wagner concert. Many
persons with refined minds are apt to depreciate happiness, especially if
it is of “a low type.” Broadly speaking, it is the one thing worth
having, and low or high, if it does no mischief, is better than the most
spiritual misery.
Metaphysics and theology, including all speculations on the why and the
wherefore, optimism, pessimism, freedom, necessity, causality, and so
forth, are not only for the most part loss of time, but frequently
ruinous. It is no answer to say that these things force themselves upon
us, and that to every question we are bound to give or try to give an
answer. It is true, although strange, that there are multitudes of
burning questions which we must do our best to ignore, to forget their
existence; and it is not more strange, after all, than many other facts
in this wonderfully mysterious and defective existence of ours. One
fourth of life is intelligible, the other three-fourths is unintelligible
darkness; and our earliest duty is to cultivate the habit of not looking
round the corner.
“Go thy way, eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy wine with a merry
heart; for God hath already accepted thy works. Let thy garments be
always white, and let not thy head lack ointment. Live joyfully with the
wife whom thou lovest all the days of the life of thy vanity, which He
hath given thee under the sun, all the days of thy vanity: for that is
thy portion in life.”
R. S.
* * * * *
_This is the night when I must die_,
_And great Orion walketh high_
_In silent glory overhead_:
_He’ll set just after I am dead_.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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