Chapter 2Book Two - The Harmony of Virtue

Book Two Keshav Ganesh [Desai] — Trevor — Broome Wilson Keshav — Ah, Broome, so the magnetism of thought has broken the chains of duty? May I introduce you? Mr.. Trevor of Kings, Mr.. Broome Wilson of Jesus. Would you like wine or coffee? Wilson — Perhaps for an evening of metaphysics wine is the most appropriate prelude. Keshav — You agree then with the Scythians who made a point of deliberating when drunk? They were perhaps right; one is inclined to think that most men are wiser drunk than sober. I have been endeavouring to explain my line of argument to Trevor, I am afraid with indifferent success. Wilson — Can I do anything to help you? Keshav — I have no doubt you can. Would you mind stating your difficulty, Trevor? I think you allow that every other basis of morality is unsound but uphold the utilitarian model as perfectly logical and consistent. Trevor — Yes, that is what I hold to, and I do not think, Desai, you have at all shaken its validity. Keshav — You do not admit that the epithets “good” and “bad” have a purely conventional force. Trevor — Yes, I admit that, but I add that we have fixed a definite meaning on the epithets and adhered to it all through our system. Keshav — If so, you are fortunate. Can you tell me the definite meaning to which you refer? Trevor — The basis of our system is this, that whatever is profitable, is good, whatever is the reverse, is evil. Is not that an unassailable basis? Keshav — I do not think so; for two ambiguous words you have merely substituted two others only less ambiguous.

The Harmony of Virtue Trevor — I fail to see your reasoning. Keshav — I will endeavour to show you what I mean. You will admit that one man’s meat is another man’s poison, will you not? Trevor — Yes, and that is where our system works so beau- tifully; for we bring in our arithmetical solution of balancing the good and the evil of an action and if the scale of the evil rises, we stamp it as good, if the scale of the good rises, we brand it as evil. What do you say to that? Keshav — Dear me! that does indeed sound simple and sat- isfying. I am afraid, Broome, we shall have to throw up our theory in favour of Bentham’s. Your system is really so attractive and transparent, Trevor, that I should dearly like to learn more about it. Trevor — Now you are indulging in irony, Desai; you know Bentham as well as I do. Keshav — Not quite so well as all that; but I avow I have studied him very carefully. Yet from some cause I have not dis- covered, his arguments seldom seemed to me to have any force, while you on the other hand do really strike home to the judg- ment. And therefore I should like to see whether you are entirely at one with Bentham. For example I believe you prefer the good of the community to the good of the individual, do you not? Trevor — Not at all: it is the individuals who are the com- munity. Keshav — It is gratifying to learn that: but if the interests of a few individuals conflict with the interests of the general body, you prefer the interests of the general body, do you not? Trevor — As a matter of course. Keshav — And, as a general rule, if you have to deal with a number of persons and the good of some is not reconcilable with the good of others, you prefer the good of the greater number? Trevor — That again is obvious. Keshav — So you accept the dogma “the greatest good of the greatest number”, for if one interest of a given person or number of persons conflict with another interest, you prefer the greater?

The Harmony of Virtue Trevor — Without hesitation. Keshav — And so the Athenians were right when they put Socrates to death. Trevor — What makes you advance so absurd a paradox? Keshav — Why, your arithmetical system of balancing the good and the evil. The injury to Socrates is not to be put in com- parison with the profit to the State, for we prefer the good of the greater number, and the pleasure experienced by the youths he corrupted in his discourse and the enjoyment of their corruption is not to be so much considered as the pain they would experi- ence from the effects of their corruption and the pain inflicted on the state by the rising generation growing up corrupt and dissolute, for among conflicting interests we prefer the greatest. Trevor — But Socrates did not corrupt the youth of Athens. Keshav — The Athenians thought he was corrupting their youth and they were bound to act on their opinion. Trevor — They were not bound to act on their opinion, but on the facts. Keshav — What is this you are telling me, Trevor? We are then only to act when we have a correct opinion, and, seeing that a definitely correct opinion can only be formed by posterity after we are dead, we are not to use your arithmetical balance or at least can only use it when we are dead? Then I do not see much utility in your arithmetical balance. Trevor — Now I come to think of it, the Athenians were right in putting Socrates to death. Keshav — And the Jews in crucifying Christ? Trevor — Yes. Keshav — I admire your fortitude, my dear Trevor. And if the English people had thought Bentham was corrupting their youth, they would have been right in hanging Bentham, would they not? Trevor — What a fellow you are, Desai! Of course what I mean is that the Athenians & the Jews did not listen to their honest opinion but purely to the voice of malice. Keshav — Then if these wicked people who put wise men to death not in honest folly but from malice, were to have said

The Harmony of Virtue to you, “Come now, you who accuse us of pure malice, are you not actuated by pure benevolence? If our approval is founded on sentiment, your disapproval is founded on the same flimsy basis; you have no reasonable objection to the poisoning of Socrates or the crucifixion of Christ or the hanging of Bentham as the case may be” and you were to tell them that your arithmetical balance said it was not profitable, would they not be justified in asking whether your arithmetical balance was infallible and whether you had a satisfactory principle which guided your calculations? Trevor — Yes, and I should tell them that I valued as prof- itable what conduces to happiness and as unprofitable what detracts from or does not add to happiness. Keshav — I am afraid that would not satisfy them, for the nature of happiness is just as disputable as the nature of profit. You do not think so? Well, for example do not some think that happiness lies in material comfort, while others look for it in the province of the intellect? Trevor — These distinctions are mere nonsense; both are alike essential. Keshav — Indeed we have reason to thank heaven that there are still some of the sages left who are sufficiently impartial to condemn every opinion but their own. Yet under correction, I should like to venture on a question; if the good that conduces to material comfort is not reconcilable with the good that conduces to intellectual pleasure, how do you manage your arithmetical balance? Trevor — Material comfort before all things! that is a ne- cessity, intellect a luxury. Keshav — You are a consistent change-artist, Trevor; yet may there not be diverse opinions on the point? Trevor — I do not see how it is possible. The human race may be happy without intellectual pleasure, but never without material comfort. Keshav — Have you any historical data to bear out your generalisation? Trevor — I cannot say I have, but I appeal to common sense.

The Harmony of Virtue Keshav — Oh, if you appeal to Caesar, I am lost; but be sure that if you bring your case before the tribunal of common sense, I will appeal not to common, but to uncommon sense — and that will arbitrate in my favour. Trevor — Well, we must agree to differ. Keshav — At any rate we have arrived at this, that you assign material comfort as the most important element in hap- piness, while I assign the free play of the intellect. Trevor — So it seems. Keshav — And you maintain that I am wrong because I disagree with you? Trevor — No, because you disagree with reason. Keshav — That is, with reason as you see it. Trevor — If you like. Keshav — And you think I am unique in my opinion? Trevor — No indeed! there are too many who agree with you. Keshav — Now we have gone a step farther. Apparently the nature of happiness is a matter of opinion. Trevor — Oh, of course, if you like to say so. Keshav — And happiness is the basis of morality. You agree? Very well, the nature of the basis is a matter of opinion, and it seems to follow that morality itself is a matter of opinion. And so we have come to this, that after rejecting as a basis of morality our individual sense of what is just and right, we have accepted our individual sense of what conduces to happiness. Therefore it is moral for you to refrain from stealing and for me to steal. Trevor — That is a comfortable conclusion at any rate. Keshav — Yet I think it is borne out by our premisses. Do you not imagine the security of property to be essential to happiness and anything that disturbs it immoral? Trevor — That goes without saying and I admit that it is immoral for me to steal. Keshav — Now I on the other hand am indeed of the opin- ion that material comfort is essential to happiness, for without it the intellect cannot have free play, but believing as I do that

The Harmony of Virtue the system of private property conduces to the comfort of the few, but its abolition will conduce to the comfort of the many, I, on the principle you have accepted, the greatest good of the greatest number, am opposed to the system of private property. And I believe that the prevalence of crimes against property will accelerate the day of abolition. I recognise indeed that the immediate effects will be evil, but put a greater value on the ultimate good than on the immediate evil. It follows that, if my reasoning be correct and we agreed that individual judgment must be the arbiter, it is perfectly moral for me to steal. Trevor — There is no arguing with you, Desai. You wrest the meaning of words until one does not remember what one is talking about. The enormous length to which you carry your sophistries is appalling. If I had time, I would stop and refute you. As it is, I will leave you to pour your absurdities into more congenial ears. Keshav — You are not going, Trevor? Trevor — I am afraid I must. Goodnight. Keshav — Goodnight. That was rather brisker towards the close. I hope you were not bored, Broome. Wilson — No, I was excellently amused. But do your argu- ments with him usually terminate in this abrupt fashion? Keshav — Very often they do so terminate. Trevor is a good fellow — a fine intellect spoiled — but he cannot bear adversity with an equal mind. Now let us resume our inquiry. I think we had gone so far as to discover that human life is the great element of discord in the Cosmos, and the best system of morality is that which really tends to restore the harmony of the universe, and we agreed that if we apply the principles gov- erning the universe to human life, we shall discover the highest principle of conduct. That was the point where we broke off, was it not? Wilson — Yes, we broke off just there. Keshav — So we profess to have found a sense in which the theory advanced by philosophers of every age has become true, that life ought to be lived in accordance with nature and not in

The Harmony of Virtue accordance with convention. The error we impute to them was that they failed to keep nature distinct from human nature and forgot that the latter was complicated by the presence of that fal- lible reason, of which conventions are the natural children. Thus men of genius like Rousseau reverted to the savage for a model and gave weight to the paradox that civilization is a mistake. Let us not forget that it is useless to look for unalloyed nature in the savage, so long as we cannot trace human development from its origin: to the original man the savage would seem nothing but a mass of conventions. We have nothing to learn from savages; but there is a vast deal to be learned from the errors of civilized peoples. Civilization is a failure, not a mistake. Wilson — That is a subtle distinction. Keshav — Not at all. Civilization was necessary, if the hu- man race was to progress at all. The pity of it is that it has taken the wrong turn and fallen into the waters of convention. There lies the failure. When man at the very first step of his history used his reason to confound the all-pervading Cosmos or harmonious arrangement of Nature, conventions became necessary in order to allure him into less faulty modes of reasoning, by which alone he could learn to rectify his error. But after the torrent had rolled for a time along its natural course and two broad rivers of Thought, the Greek and the Hindu, were losing themselves in the grand harmony, there was a gradual but perceptible swerve, and the forces of convention which had guided, began to misguide, and the Sophists in Greece, in India the Brahmans availed them- selves of these mighty forces to compass their own supremacy, and once at the helm of thought gave permanence to the power by which they stood, until two religions, the most hostile to Nature, in the east Buddhism, her step-child Christianity in the west, completed the evil their predecessors had begun. Hear the legend of Purush, the son of Prithivi, and his jour- ney to the land of Beulah, the land of blooming gardens and yellow-vested acres and wavering tree-tops, and two roads lead to it. One road is very simple, very brief, very direct, and this leads over the smiling summit of a double-headed peak, but the other through the gaping abysses of a lion-throated antre and

The Harmony of Virtue it is very long, very painful, very circuitous. Now the wise and beautiful instructress of Purush had indeed warned him that all other wayfarers had chosen the ascent of the beautiful hill, but had not explicitly forbidden him to select the untried and perilous route. And the man was indolent and thought it more facile to journey smoothly through a tunnel than to breast with arduous effort the tardy and panting slope, yet plumed himself on a nobler nature than all who had gone before him, because they had obeyed their monitress, but he was guided by his reason and honourably preferred the unknown and perilous to the safe and familiar. From this tangle of motives he chose the cavernous lion-throat of the gaping antre, not the swelling breasts of the fruitful mother. Very gaily he entered the cave singing wild ballads of the deeds his fathers wrought, of Krishna and Arjun and Ram and Ravan and their glory and their fall, but not so merrily did he journey in its entrails, but rather in hunger and thirst groped wearily with the unsleeping beak of the vulture Misery in his heart, and only now and then caught glimpses of an elusive light, yet did not realise his error but pursued with querulous re- proaches the beautiful gods his happy imagination had moulded or bitterly reviled the double-dealing he imputed to his lovely and wise instructress — “for she it was” he complained “who told me of the route through the cavern”. None the less he pers´evered until he was warmed by the genuine smiles of daylight and joy blossoming in his heart, made his step firmer and his body more erect. And he strode on until he arrived where the antre split in two branches, the one seeming dark as Erebus to his eyes, though indeed it was white and glorious as a naked girl and suffused by the light of the upper heaven with seas of billowing splendour, had not his eyes, grown dim from holding communion with the night and blinded by the unaccustomed brilliance, believed that the light was darkness, through which if he had pers´evered, he had arrived in brief space among the blooming gardens and the wavering tree-tops and the acres in their glorious golden garb and all the imperishable beauty of Beulah. And the other branch

The Harmony of Virtue he thought the avenue of the sunlight, because the glimmer was feeble enough to be visible, like a white arm through a sleeve of black lace. And down this branch he went, for ever allured by unreal glimpses of a dawning glory, until he has descended into the abysmal darkness and the throne of ancient night, where he walks blindly like a machine, carrying the white ashes of hope in the funeral urn of youth, and knows not whence to expect a rescue, seeing the only heaven above him is the terrible pillared roof, the only horizon around him the antre with its hateful unending columns and demogorgon veil of visible darkness, and the beautiful gods he imagined are dead and his heart is no longer sweetened with prayers, and his throat no longer bubbles with hymns of praise. His beautiful gods are dead and her who was his lovely guide and wise monitress, he no longer sees as the sweet and smiling friend of his boyhood, but as a fury slinging flame and a blind Cyclops hurling stones she knows not whither nor why and a ghastly skeleton only the more horrible for its hideous mimicry of life. He sends a wailing cry to heaven, but only jeering echoes fall from the impenetrable ceiling, for there is no heaven, and he sends a hoarse shriek for aid to hell, but only a gurgling horror rises from the impenetrable floor, for there is no hell, and he looks around for God, but his eyes cannot find him, and he gropes for God in the darkness, but his fingers cannot find him but only the clammy fingers of night, and goblin fancies are rioting in his brain, and hateful shapes pursue him with clutching fingers, and horrible figures go rustling past him half-discerned in the familiar gloom. He is weary of the dreadful vaulted ceiling, he is weary of the dreadful endless floor. And what shall he do but lie down and die, who if he goes on, will soon perish of weariness and famine and thirst? Yet did he but know it, he has only to turn back at a certain angle and he will see through a chink of the cavern a crocus moon with a triple zone of burning stars, which if he will follow, after not so very painful a journey, not so very long an elapse of hours, he will come into a land of perennial fountains, where he may quench his thirst, and glistening fruit-groves where he may fill his hunger, and sweet cool grass where he may solace

The Harmony of Virtue his weariness, and so pursue his journey by the nearest way to the wavering tree-tops, and the blooming gardens and the acres in their yellow gaberdines for which his soul has long panted. This is the legend of Purush, the son of Prithivi and his journey to the land of Beulah. Wilson — That is a fine apologue, Keshav; is it your own, may I ask? Keshav — It is an allegory conceived by Vallabha Swami, the Indian Epicurus, and revealed to me by him in a vision. Wilson — There we see the false economy of Nature; only they are privileged to see these beautiful visions, who can with- out any prompting conceive images not a whit less beautiful. Keshav — The germ of the story was really a dream, but the form and application are my own. The myth means, as I dare say you have found out, that our present servitude to conventions which are the machinery of thought and action, is principally due to weaknesses forming a large element in human nature. Our lives ought not to be lived in accordance with human nature which can nowhere be found apart from the disturbing element of reason, but according to nature at large where we find the principle of harmony pure and undefiled. Wilson — On that we are both at one; let us start directly from this base of operations. I am impatient to follow the crocus moon with her triple zone of burning stars into the Eden of murmuring brooks and golden groves and fields of asphodel. Keshav — The basis of morality is then the application to human life of the principles governing the universe; and the great principle of the universe is beauty, is it not? Wilson — So we have discovered. Keshav — And we described beauty as harmony in effect and proportion in detail. Wilson — That was our description. Keshav — Then the aim of morality must be to make hu- man life harmonious. Now the other types in the universe are harmonious not merely in relation to their internal parts, but in relation to each other and the sum of the universe, are they not?

The Harmony of Virtue Wilson — Yes. Keshav — We mean, I suppose, that the star fills its place in the Cosmos and the rose fills her place, but man does not fill his. Wilson — That is what we mean. Keshav — Then the human race must not only be harmo- nious within itself, but must be harmonious in relation to the star and the rose and so fill its place as to perfect the harmony of the universe. Wilson — Are we not repeating ourselves? Keshav — No, but we are in danger of it. I am aiming at a clear and accurate wording of my position and that is not easy to acquire at a moment’s notice. I think our best way would be to consider the harmony of man with the universe and leave the internal harmony of the race for subsequent inquiry. Wilson — Perhaps it would be best. Keshav — When we say that man should fill his place in the Cosmos, we mean that he should be in proportion with its other elements, just as the thorn is in proportion to the leaf and the leaf to the rose, for proportion is the ulterior cause of harmony. And we described proportion as a regular variety, or to use a more vivid phrase, a method in madness. If this is so, it is incumbent on man to be various in his development from the star, the rose and the other elements of the Cosmos, in a word to be original. Wilson — That follows. Keshav — But is it enough to be merely original? For in- stance if he were to hoist himself into the air by some mechanical contrivance and turn somersaults unto all eternity, that would be original, but he would not be helping much towards universal harmony, would he? Wilson — Well, not altogether. Keshav — Then if we want to describe the abstract idea of virtue, we want something more than originality. I think we said that proportion is not merely variety, but regular variety? Wilson — Yes, that is obvious. Keshav — Then man must be not merely original but regu- lar in his originality. Wilson — I cannot exactly see what you mean.

The Harmony of Virtue Keshav — I cannot at all see what I mean; yet, unless our whole theory is unsound, and that I am loth to believe, I must mean something. Let us try the plan we have already adopted with such success, when we discovered the nature of beauty. We will take some form of harmony and inquire how regularity enters into it; and it occurs to me that the art of calligraphy will be useful for the purpose, for a beautifully-written sentence has many letters just as the universe has many types and it seems that proportion is just as necessary to it. Wilson — Yes, calligraphy will do very well. Keshav — I recollect that we supposed beauty to have three elements, of which every type must possess at least one, better two, and as a counsel of perfection all three. If we inquire, we shall find that form is absolutely imperative, seeing that if the form of the letters is not beautiful or the arrangement of the lines not harmonious, then the sentence is not beautifully written. Colour too may be an element of calligraphy, for we all know what different effects we can produce by using inks of various colours. And if the art is to be perfect, I think that perfume will have to enter very largely into it. Let us write the word “beautiful”. Here you see the letters are beautifully formed, their arrangement is beautiful, this bright green ink I am using harmonizes well with the word, and moreover the sight of this peculiar combination of letters written in this peculiar way brings to my mind a peculiar association of ideas, which I call the perfume of the written word. Wilson — But is it not the combination, not of letters but of sounds, which lingers in your mind and calls up the idea? Keshav — I do not think so, for I often find sentences that seem to me beautiful in writing or in print, but, once I utter them aloud, become harsh and unmusical; and sometimes the reverse happens, especially in Meredith, in whom I have often at first sight condemned a sentence as harsh and ugly, which, when I read it aloud, I was surprised to find apt and harmonious. From this I infer that if a writer’s works appear beautiful in print or manuscript, but not beautiful when read aloud, he may be set down as a good artist in calligraphy, but a bad artist in literature,

The Harmony of Virtue since suggestion to the eye is the perfume of the written, but suggestion to the ear the perfume of the spoken word. In this however I seem to have been digressing to no purpose; for whatever else is uncertain, this much is certain, that form is essential to calligraphy, and this is really all that concerns us. Now if the form is to be beautiful it must be harmonious in effect, and to be harmonious in effect it must be proportionate in detail, and to be proportionate in detail, the words and letters of which it is made must exhibit a regular variety. We can easily see that the letters and words in a sentence are various, but how can they be said to be regular in their variety? Wilson — I do not know at present, but I can see that the variety is regular. Keshav — This we must find out without delay. Let us take the alphabet and see if the secret is patent there. Wilson — That is indeed looking for Truth at the bottom of a well. Keshav — Do you not see at a glance that the letters in the Latin alphabet are regular in this sense, that the dominant line is the curve and there is no written letter without it, for the straight lines are only used to prevent the monotony generated by an unrelieved system of curves? In the Bengali alphabet again, which is more elaborate, but less perfect than the Latin, there is a dominant combination of one or more straight lines with one or more curves and to obviate monotony letters purely composed of straight lines are set off by others purely composed of curves. In the Burmese and other dialects, I believe but from hearsay only, no line but the curve is admitted and I am told that the effect is undeniably pretty but a trifle monotonous. Here then we have a clue. If we consider, as we have previously considered, every type in the universe to be a word, then, if the sentence is to be beautifully written each word must not only be various from its near companions but must allow one dominant principle to de- termine the lines on which it must vary; and to avoid monotony there must be straight lines in the letters, that is to say each type must have individual types within it departing from the general type by acknowledging another dominant principle. I am afraid

The Harmony of Virtue this is rather intricate. Would you like it to be made clearer? Wilson — No, I perfectly understand; but I should like to guard myself against being misled by the analogy between a beautifully-written sentence and the beautifully-arranged uni- verse. If this rule does not apply to every other form of beauty, we may not justly compare the universe to one in which it does happen to apply. Keshav — I hope you will only require me to adduce exam- ples of perfect beauty, for the aim of morality is to arrange a perfect, not an imperfect harmony. Wilson — Oh certainly, that is all I am entitled to require. Keshav — Then you will admit that the stars are various, yet built on a dominant principle? Wilson — Without doubt. Keshav — And in making the flowers so various, the divine artist did not fail to remember a dominant principle which prevails in the structure and character of his episode in flowers. Wilson — But this is merely to take an unfair advantage of the method of species so largely indulged in by Nature. Keshav — Well, if you prefer particulars to generals, we will inquire into the beauty of a Greek design, for the Greeks were the only painters who understood the value of design, and we will as usual take an example of perfect beauty. Do you know the Nereid and Sea-Horse? Wilson — Very intimately. Keshav — Then, if you have not forgotten how in that in- comparable work of art to every mass there is another and answering mass and to the limbs floating forward limbs floating backwards and to every wisp of drapery an answering wisp of drapery, and in short how the whole design is built on the satisfying principle of balancing like by like, you will admit that here is a dominant idea regulating variety. And the principle of balancing like with like is not peculiar to Greek designing but prevalent in the designs of Nature, for example, the human face, where eye answers to luminous eye and both are luminous with one and the same brilliance, nor is one hazel while the other is azure, and the porches of hearing are two but similar in their

The Harmony of Virtue curious workmanship, and the sweep of the brow to one ear does not vary from the sweep of the brow to the other and the divergence of the chin describes a similar curve on either face of the design, nor is one cheek pallid with the touch of fear while the other blushes with the flag of joy and health, but in everything the artist has remembered the principle of balancing like with like, both here and in the emerald leaf and swaying apple which if you tear along the fibrous spine or slice through the centre of the core, will leave in your hands two portions, diverse in entity but alike in material and workmanship. And yet the impertinent criticism of the moderns claims for them- selves a keener appreciation of Nature, than those great pupils who learned her lessons so gloriously well. If you would like farther examples of the dominant principle regulating variety in a design, you need only look at a blowing rose, a wind-inspired frigate, an evergreen poem, and you will not be disappointed. With all this in your mind, you will surely admit that even if we compare the universe to a system of designs we shall not arrive at other results than when we compared it to God’s episode in flowers and his marshalled pomp of stars and a sentence beautifully written. Wilson — Yet I should like to ask one more question. Keshav — My dear Broome, you are at liberty to ask a thousand, for I am always ready to answer. Wilson — A single answer will satisfy me. Why do you compare the universe to a system of designs and not to a single design? Keshav — The universe itself is a system of designs, first the harmony of worlds and within it the lands and seas and on that the life of flowers and trees & the life of birds and beasts and fishes and the life of human beings. Imagine the Greeks in search of a dominant idea to regulate the variety of their designs and hitting on the human figure as their model; would they not have been foolish, if they had gone away from their study of the human figure and drawn a system, balancing like design by like design? Wilson — I suppose they would.

The Harmony of Virtue Keshav — Nor should we be less foolish to draw up an ideal universe or system of designs on the principle of a single design. Are you satisfied? Wilson — Perfectly. Keshav — And our conclusion is that we ought to regulate the variety of the types in the universe, not by balancing like with like, but by determining the lines of variance on one dominant principle. Wilson — That is the indisputable conclusion. Keshav — And so, now we have panted up to the ridge we once thought the crowning summit, we find that we have to climb another slope as arduous which was lying in wait for us behind. We have discovered the presence of a dominant idea in the variety of types, but we do not know what the idea may be. Wilson — That is what we have to find. Keshav — But if we find that all the diverging types observe a single requisite in divergence, shall we not infer that we have found the idea of which we are inquisitive? Wilson — Obviously. Keshav — And we shall find it most easily by comparing one type with another, shall we not? Wilson — That is our first idea. Keshav — But if we compare a rose to a star, we shall not find them agree in any respect except the brilliance of their hues and that is not likely to be the dominant idea. Wilson — They are both beautiful. Keshav — Exactly, but we wish to learn the elements of their beauty, and we agreed that these were variety, to begin with, and method in variety. Now we are inquiring what the method is they observe in their variety. We know that they are both beautiful; but we wish to know why they are both beautiful. Wilson — And how are you going to do it? Keshav — Well, since it will not do to compare a rose with a star, we will compare a star with a star; and here we find, that, however widely they differ, there is a large residuum of prop- erties, such as brilliance and light, which are invariably present in one and the other, and they diverge not in the possession

The Harmony of Virtue and absence of properties peculiar to a star, but in things ac- cidental, in their size and the exactness of their shape and the measure of their brilliance and the character of the orbits they are describing. And if we compare flower with flower, we shall find a residuum of properties invariably present in one and the other but the divergence of flower from flower, just like the divergence of star from star, not in properties peculiar to a flower, but in accidents like size and peculiarities of shape and varying vividness of hues and time and length of efflorescence. Moreover we perceive that the star is content to pierce the dark- ness with its rays and to burn like a brilliant diamond in the bodice of heaven, and is not ambitious to shed sweet perfumes upon space or to burden the heart of the night with song, but develops the virtues of a star without aspiring to the virtues of a flower or a bird, and the rose content to be an empress in colour and perfume and a gorgeous harmony of petals and is not ambitious to give light in the darkness or to murmur a noontide song in response to the bee, but develops the virtues of a rose without aspiring to the virtue of a bee or a star. And so if we compare with the help of this new light the rose and the star, we see that they are both alike in developing their own virtues without aspiring to the virtues of one another. And this is the case with every natural form of beauty animate or inanimate, is it not? Wilson — There can be no doubt of that. Keshav — Then have we not found the dominant idea which governs the variety of types? Wilson — I really believe we have. Keshav — And man if he wishes to be in proportion with the other elements of the Cosmos, must be content to develop the virtues of a man without aspiring to the virtues of a rose or a star, or any other element of the Cosmos? Wilson — So it seems. Keshav — And when we talk of the virtues of a star, do we not mean the inborn qualities and powers which are native to its sidereal character, for example brilliance and light? Wilson — Of course.

The Harmony of Virtue Keshav — And by the virtues of a flower the inborn quali- ties and powers which are native to its floral character, such as fragrance, colour, delicacy of texture? Wilson — Yes. Keshav — Then by the virtues of a man we shall have to mean the inborn qualities and powers which are native to his humanity, such as — what shall we say? Wilson — That we can discover afterwards. Keshav — Very well; but at any rate we can see already that some things are not inborn qualities and powers native to our hu- manity; and we know now why it is not an act of splendid virtue to turn somersaults in the air without any visible means of sup- port; for if we did that, we should not be developing the virtues of a man, but we should be aspiring to the virtues of a kite; or, to use one of our phrases, we should be mad without method. Wilson — That is evident. Keshav — So a man’s virtue lies not in turning somersaults without any visible means of support, but in the perfect evolu- tion of the inborn qualities and powers which are native to his humanity. Wilson — Yes, and I believe these are the very words in which you described virtue before we started on our voyage of discovery. Keshav — That is indeed gratifying: and if we have shown any constancy and perseverance in following our clue through the labyrinth, I at least am amply rewarded, who feel convinced by the identity of the idea I have derived from the pedestrian processes of logical inference with the idea I once caught on the wings of thought and instinct, that as far as human eyes are allowed to gaze on the glorious visage of Truth unveiled, we shall be privileged to unveil her and embrace her spiritual presence, and are not following a will-o’-the-wisp of the imagination to perish at last in a quagmire. We have then laid a firm hold on that clear and accurate wording, for which we were recently groping as blindly as Purush in his delusive cavern. And since the human brain is impatient of abstract ideas but easily fixed and taken by concrete

The Harmony of Virtue images, let me embody our ideas in a simile. I have an accurate remembrance of climbing a very steep and ragged rock on the Yorkshire beaches, where my only foothold was a ladder carved in the rock with the rungs so wide apart that I had to grasp tightly the juts and jags and so haul myself up as slowly as a lizard, if I did not prefer by a false step or misplaced confidence to drop down some thirty feet on a rough sediment of sharp and polished pebbles. It occurs to me that what I did then in the body, I am doing now in the spirit, and it is a reason for self-gratulation that I have mounted safely to the second rung of the perilous ladder and am not lying shattered on the harsh and rasping pebbles of disappointment. And if I aspire to the third rung, I shall have less cause for apprehension than in my Yorkshire peril, since I can hardly fall to the beach but shall merely slip back to the rung from which I am mounting. Let us then estimate our progress. Our first rung was the basis of morality which we may describe by the golden rule “apply to human life the principles dominant in the Cosmos”, and our second, as we now see, is the conception of abstract virtue or the perfect expression of the human being as a type in the Cosmos, and this we describe as “the consistent evolution of the inborn qualities and powers native to our humanity”. Here then we have two rungs of the ladder, we must now be very careful in our selection of the third. Wilson — Is it not obviously the next stage to discover what are the inborn qualities and powers native to our humanity? Keshav — Possibly. Yet have we not forgotten a signal omis- sion we made when we drew inferences from the comparison of a beautifully written sentence to the beautifully arranged universe? Wilson — I am afraid I at least have forgotten. What was it? Keshav — Did we not compare the broad types in the Cos- mos to the words in a sentence and infer that as the dominant principle governing the word was the prevalence of the curve, so there must be a dominant principle governing the type? Wilson — We did. Keshav — And also that as in the letters within the word

The Harmony of Virtue there were two prevalent lines, the curve and the straight line, so within the broad or generic type there are individual types governed by quite another principle. Wilson — That also. But surely you are not going to argue from analogies? Keshav — Did we not argue from the beautifully written sentence merely because the principles of calligraphy proved to be the principles of every sort of harmony? Wilson — I confess we did; otherwise all we have been saying would be merely a brilliant explosion of fancy. Keshav — Then we are logically justified in what we have been doing. Consider then how in a system of harmony, every part has to be harmonious in itself or else mar the universal music. Wilson — That is true. Keshav — And the human race is a part of such a system, is it not? Wilson — Yes. Keshav — Then must the human race become harmonious within itself or continue to spoil the universal harmony. Wilson — Of course. How foolish of me to lose sight of that. Keshav — And so we have been elucidating the harmony of man with the Cosmos and saying nothing about the harmony of man with man? Wilson — Did we not relegate that for subsequent inquiry? Keshav — We did, but I think the time for subsequent in- quiry has come. Wilson — It is too late in the day for me to distrust your guidance. Keshav — I do not think you will have reason to regret your confidence in me. Our line then will be to consider the internal harmony of the race before we proceed farther. Wilson — So it is best. Keshav — Here again we must start from our description of beauty as harmony in effect and proportion in detail and our description of the latter as a regular variety or method in

The Harmony of Virtue madness. Then just as in the Cosmos, the individual type must vary from all the other types, so in the human Cosmos the individual man must vary from all other men. Wilson — That is rather startling. Do you mean that there ought to be no point of contact? Keshav — No, Broome; for we must always remember that the elements of a generic type must have certain virtues without which they would not belong to the type: as the poet says One touch of nature makes the whole world kin. Wilson — Then where do you find your variety? Keshav — If you will compare the elements of those types in which the harmony is perfect, your ignorance will vanish like a mist. You will see at once that every planet develops indeed his planetary qualities, but varies from every other planet, and if Venus be the name and the star be feminine, is a dovelike white in complexion and yields an effulgence more tender than a girl’s blush, but if he is Mars, burns with the sanguine fire of battle and rolls like a bloodshot eye through space, and if he is Saturn, has seven moons in his starry seraglio, and is richly orange in complexion like vapour coloured by the sun’s pencil when he sets, and wears a sevenfold girdle of burning fire blue as a witch’s eye and green as Love’s parrot and red as the lips of Cleopatra and indeed of all manner of beautiful colours, and if he is Jupiter or any one of the planets, has the qualities of that planet and has not the qualities of another, but develops his own personality and has no regard for any model or the example of any other planet. And if you drop your eyes from the sublimer astral spaces to the modest gauds of Earth our mother, you will see that every flower has indeed the qualities of its floral nature, but varies widely from her sister beauties, and if she is a lily, hides in her argent beaker a treasure of golden dust and her beauty is a young and innocent bride on her marriage-morning, but if she is a crocus, has a bell-like beauty and is absorbed in the intoxication of her own loveliness and wears now the gleaming robe of sunrise and now a dark and delicate purple, and now a

The Harmony of Virtue soft and sorrowful pallor, but, if she is a rose, has the fragrance of a beautiful soul and the vivid colour of a gorgeous poem, yet conceals a sharp sting beneath the nestling luxury of her glorious petals, and if she is a hyacinth or honeysuckle or meadow-sweet, has the poisonous perfume of the meadow-sweet or the soul- subduing fragrance of the honeysuckle or the passionate cry of the hyacinth, and not the beautiful egoism of the crocus or the oriental splendour of the rose, but develops her own qualities without aspiring to the qualities of any and every flower. May we not then say that the dominant principle regulating the variety of individual types is the evolution of individual as distinct from generic virtues? Wilson — That is the logical consequence. Keshav — Then the description of individual virtue runs thus, the evolution by the human being of the inborn qualities and powers native to his personality; that is to say, just as every beautiful building has the solid earth for its basis but is built in a distinct style of architecture, so the beautiful human soul will rest on the solid basis of humanity but build up for itself a personality distinct and individual. Wilson — That is exactly what the virtuous man must do. Keshav — And so with infinite ease and smoothness we have glided up to the third rung of our ladder, as if we were running up a broad and marble stair-case. Here then let us stop and reflect on all we have said and consider whether from confusion of mind or inability to comprehend the whole situation we have made any mistake or omission. For my part I avow that my thoughts have not been so lucid tonight as I could have wished. We are then to continue the inquiry in the Gardens on Tuesday afternoon? I think that was what you suggested. Wilson — Yes, on Tuesday at half-past two. Keshav — Would you mind my bringing Prince Paradox with me? He is anxious to hear how we are dealing with our idea and as he will be perfectly willing to go the lengths we have so far gone, we need not fear that he will be a drag on us. Wilson — I am perfectly willing that he should come. The more, the merrier.

The Harmony of Virtue Keshav — Not at this stage; for this intellectual ascent up the precipice of discovery, is indeed very exciting and pleasant, but strains the muscles of the mind more than a year’s academical work; and I trust that next time we shall bring it to a satisfying conclusion. End of the Second Book