the professor at the breakfast table- 第3部分

our　inheriting　it。　　Otherwise　you　would　not　give　the　Mahometan　a　fair

chance　to　become　a　convert　to　a　better　religion。



The　second　thing　would　be　to　depolarize　every　fixed　religious　idea　in

the　mind　by　changing　the　word　which　stands　for　it。



I　don't　know　what　you　mean　by　〃depolarizing〃　an　idea；said　the

divinity…student。



I　will　tell　you；I　said。　…When　a　given　symbol　which　represents　a

thought　has　lain　for　a　certain　length　of　time　in　the　mind；　it

undergoes　a　change　like　that　which　rest　in　a　certain　position　gives

to　iron。　　It　becomes　magnetic　in　its　relations；it　is　traversed　by

strange　forces　which　did　not　belong　to　it。　　The　word；　and

consequently　the　idea　it　represents；　is　polarized。



The　religious　currency　of　mankind；　in　thought；　in　speech；　and　in

print；　consists　entirely　of　polarized　words。　　Borrow　one　of　these

from　another　language　and　religion；　and　you　will　find　it　leaves　all

its　magnetism　behind　it。　　Take　that　famous　word；　O'm；　of　the　Hindoo

mythology。　　Even　a　priest　cannot　pronounce　it　without　sin；　and　a　holy

Pundit　would　shut　his　ears　and　run　away　from　you　in　horror；　if　you

should　say　it　aloud。　　What　do　you　care　for　O'm？　　If　you　wanted　to　get

the　Pundit　to　look　at　his　religion　fairly；　you　must　first　depolarize

this　and　all　similar　words　for　him。　　The　argument　for　and　against　new

translations　of　the　Bible　really　turns　on　this。　　Skepticism　is　afraid

to　trust　its　truths　in　depolarized　words；　and　so　cries　out　against　a

new　translation。　　I　think；　myself；　if　every　idea　our　Book　contains

could　be　shelled　out　of　its　old　symbol　and　put　into　a　new；　clean；

unmagnetic　word；　we　should　have　some　chance　of　reading　it　as

philosophers；　or　wisdom…lovers；　ought　to　read　it；which　we　do　not

and　cannot　now　any　more　than　a　Hindoo　can　read　the　〃Gayatri〃　as　a

fair　man　and　lover　of　truth　should　do。　　When　society　has　once　fairly

dissolved　the　New　Testament；　which　it　never　has　done　yet；　it　will

perhaps　crystallize　it　over　again　in　new　forms　of　language。



I　did　n't　know　you　was　a　settled　minister　over　this　parish；said　the

young　fellow　near　me。



A　sermon　by　a　lay…preacher　may　be　worth　listeningI　replied；　calmly。

It　gives　the　parallax　of　thought　and　feeling　as　they　appear　to　the

observers　from　two　very　different　points　of　view。　　If　you　wish　to　get

the　distance　of　a　heavenly　body；　you　know　that　you　must　take　two

observations　from　remote　points　of　the　earth's　orbit；in　midsummer

and　midwinter；　for　instance。　　To　get　the　parallax　of　heavenly　truths；

you　must　take　an　observation　from　the　position　of　the　laity　as　well

as　of　the　clergy。　　Teachers　and　students　of　theology　get　a　certain

look；　certain　conventional　tones　of　voice；　a　clerical　gait；　a

professional　neckcloth；　and　habits　of　mind　as　professional　as　their

externals。　　They　are　scholarly　men　and　read　Bacon；　and　know　well

enough　what　the　〃idols　of　the　tribe〃　are。　　Of　course　they　have　their

false　gods；　as　all　men　that　follow　one　exclusive　calling　are　prone　to

do。　The　clergy　have　played　the　part　of　the　flywheel　in　our　modern

civilization。　　They　have　never　suffered　it　to　stop。　　They　have　often

carried　on　its　movement；　when　other　moving　powers　failed；　by　the

momentum　stored　in　their　vast　body。　　Sometimes；　too；　they　have　kept

it　back　by　their　vis　inertia；　when　its　wheels　were　like　to　grind　the

bones　of　some　old　canonized　error　into　fertilizers　for　the　soil　that

yields　the　bread　of　life。　　But　the　mainspring　of　the　world's　onward

religious　movement　is　not　in　them；　nor　in　any　one　body　of　men；　let　me

tell　you。　　It　is　the　people　that　makes　the　clergy；　and　not　the　clergy

that　makes　the　people。　　Of　course；　the　profession　reacts　on　its

source　with　variable　energy。　But　there　never　was　a　guild　of　dealers

or　a　company　of　craftsmen　that　did　not　need　sharp　looking　after。



Our　old　friend；　Dr。　Holyoke；　whom　we　gave　the　dinner　to　some　time

since；　must　have　known　many　people　that　saw　the　great　bonfire　in

Harvard　College　yard。



Bonfire？shrieked　the　little　man。　The　bonfire　when　Robert

Calef's　book　was　burned？



The　same；I　said；when　Robert　Calef　the　Boston　merchant's　book　was

burned　in　the　yard　of　Harvard　College；　by　order　of　Increase　Mather；

President　of　the　College　and　Minister　of　the　Gospel。　　You　remember

the　old　witchcraft　revival　of　'92；　and　how　stout　Master　Robert　Calef；

trader　of　Boston；　had　the　pluck　to　tell　the　ministers　and　judges　what

a　set　of　fools　and　worse　than　fools　they　were…



Remember　it？said　the　little　man。　I　don't　think　I　shall　forget　it；

as　long　as　I　can　stretch　this　forefinger　to　point　with；　and　see　what

it　wears。　　There　was　a　ring　on　it。



May　I　look　at　it？I　said。



Where　it　is；said　the　little　man；it　will　never　come　off；　till　it

falls　off　from　the　bone　in　the　darkness　and　in　the　dust。



He　pushed　the　high　chair　on　which　he　sat　slightly　back　from　the

table；　and　dropped　himself；　standing；　to　the　floor；his　head　being

only　a　little　above　the　level　of　the　table；　as　he　stood。　　With　pain

and　labor；　lifting　one　foot　over　the　other；　as　a　drummer　handles　his

sticks；　he　took　a　few　steps　from　his　place；his　motions　and　the

deadbeat　of　the　misshapen　boots　announcing　to　my　practised　eye　and

ear　the　malformation　which　is　called　in　learned　language　talipes

varus；　or　inverted　club…foot。



Stop！　　stop！　I　said；let　me　come　to　you。



The　little　man　hobbled　back；　and　lifted　himself　by　the　left　arm；　with

an　ease　approaching　to　grace　which　surprised　me；　into　his　high　chair。

I　walked　to　his　side；　and　he　stretched　out　the　forefinger　of　his

right　hand；　with　the　ring　upon　it。　　The　ring　had　been　put　on　long

ago；　and　could　not　pass　the　misshapen　joint。　　It　was　one　of　those

funeral　rings　which　used　to　be　given　to　relatives　and　friends　after

the　decease　of　persons　of　any　note　or　importance。　　Beneath　a　round

fit　of　glass　was　a　death's　head。　　Engraved　on　one　side　of　this；　〃L。

B。　　AEt。　　22；〃on　the　other；　〃Ob。　1692



My　grandmother's　grandmother；said　the　little　man。　Hanged　for　a

witch。　　It　does　n't　seem　a　great　while　ago。　　I　knew　my　grandmother；

and　loved　her。　　Her　mother　was　daughter　to　the　witch　that　Chief

Justice　Sewall　hanged　and　Cotton　Mather　delivered　over　to　the　Devil。…

…That　was　Salem；　though；　and　not　Boston。　　No；　not　Boston。　　Robert

Calef；　the　Boston　merchant；　it　was　that　blew　them　all　to…



Never　mind　where　he　blew　them　to；I　said；　for　the　little　man　was

getting　red　in　the　face；　and　I　did　n't　know　what　might　come　next。



This　episode　broke　me　up；　as　the　jockeys　say；　out　of　my　square

conversational　trot；　but　I　settled　down　to　it　again。



A　man　that　knows　men；　in　the　street；　at　their　work；　human　nature　in

its　shirt…sleeves；　who　makes　bargains　with　deacons；　instead　of

talking　over　texts　with　them；　a　man　who　has　found　out　that　there　are

plenty　of　praying　rogues　and　swearing　saints　in　the　world；above

all；　who　has　found　out；　by　living　into　the　pith　and　core　of　life；

that　all　of　the　Deity　which　can　be　folded　up　between　the　sheets　of

any　human　book　is　to　the　Deity　of　the　firmament；　of　the　strata；　of

the　hot　aortic　flood　of　throbbing　human　life；　of　this　infinite；

instantaneous　consciousness　in　which　the　soul's　being　consists；an

incandescent　point　in　the　filament　connecting　the　negative　pole　of　a

past　eternity　with　the　positive　pole　of　an　eternity　that　is　to　come；…

…that　all　of　the　Deity　which　any　human　book　can　hold　is　to　this

larger　Deity　of　the　working　battery　of　the　universe　only　as　the　films

in　a　book　of　gold…leaf　are　to　the　broad　seams　and　curdled　lumps　of

ore　that　lie　in　unsunned　mines　and　virgin　placers；Oh！I　was　saying

that　a　man　who　lives　out…of…doors；　among　live　people；　gets　some

things　into　his　head　he　might　not　find　in　the　index　of　his　〃Body　of

Divinity。〃



I　tell　you　what；the　idea　of　the　professions'　digging　a　moat　round

their　close　corporations；　like　that　Japanese　one　at　Jeddo；　on　the

bottom　of　which；　if　travellers　do　not　lie；　you　could　put　Park　Street

Church　and　look　over　the　vane　from　its　side；　and　try　to　stretch

another　such　spire　across　it　without　spanning　the　chasm；that　idea；

I　say；　is　pretty　nearly　worn　out。　　Now　when　a　civilization　or　a

civilized　custom　falls　into　senile　dementia；　there　is　commonly　a

judgment　ripe　for　it；　and　it　comes　as　plagues　come；　from　a　breath；

as　fires　come；　from　a　spark。



Here；　look　at　medicine。　　Big　wigs；　gold…headed　canes；　Latin

prescriptions；　shops　full　of　abominations；　recipes　a　yard　long；

〃curing〃　patients　by　drugging　as　sailors　bring　a　wind　by　whistling；

selling　lies　at　a　guinea　apiece；a　routine；　in　short；　of　giving

unfortunate　sick　people　a　mess　of　things　either　too　odious　to　swallow

or　too　acrid　to　hold；　or；　if　that　were　possible；　both　at　once。



You　don't　know　what　I　mean；　indignant　and　not　unintelligent

country…practitioner？　　Then　you　don't　know　the　history　of　medicine；

and　that　is　not　my　fault。　　But　don't　expose　yourself　in　any　outbreak

of　eloquence；　for；　by　the　mortar　in　which　Anaxarchus　was　pounded！　　I

did　not　bring　home　Schenckius　an