第五十三章
凯里先生拿着报纸回书房去了。菲利普换了个座位，坐到他大伯刚才坐的椅子上（这是房间里绝无仅有的一张舒服椅子），望着窗外瓢泼般的大雨。即使在这样阴郁的天气，那一片绵连天际的翠绿田野仍不失其固有的怡然气氛。这幅田园景色里，自有一股令人感到亲切的魅力，菲利普想不起自己以前曾否有过这样的感受。两年的旅法生活，启迪了他的心智，使他察觉到自己家乡的美之所在。
菲利普想起他大伯的话，嘴角不由得漾起一丝浅笑。他的脾性还幸亏是倾向于轻狂的呢！他开始意识到双亲早亡，使他蒙受了多大的损失。这是他人生道路中一个与众不同的地方，使他不能袭用一般世人的眼光来观察事物。唯有父母的舐犊之情，才算得上是真正无私的感情。置身于陌生人中间，他好歹总算长大成人了，但是别人对待他，往往既无耐心，又不加克制。他颇为自己的自制力感到自豪。他的这股自制力，硬是伙伴们的冷嘲热讽锤炼出来的，到头来，他们反说他玩世不恭、薄情寡义。他在待人接物方面，学会了沉着应付，在大多数情况下，能做到不露声色，久而久之，现在再也没法使自己的情感见之于言表。人家说他是个冷血动物，可他心里明白自己极易动感情，有谁偶尔帮了他点什么忙，他就感动得什么似的，有时甚至连口也不敢开，生怕让人发觉自己的声音在发抖。他回想起痛苦的学生时代以及那时所忍受的种种屈屏，回想起同学们对他的讪笑如何造成了他唯恐在旁人面前出丑的病态心理。最后，他还想到自己始终感到落落寡合，而踏上社会之后，由于自己想象力活跃。对人生充满憧憬，但现实生活却是那么无情，两者之间的悬殊，导致了幻想和希望的破灭。尽管如此，他还是能客观地剖析自己，而且轻松地付之一笑。
"天哪！要不是我生性轻狂，我真要去上吊呢！"他心情轻松地暗自嘀咕。
菲利普又想到刚才他回答他大伯的话。他在巴黎学到了点什么？实际上，他学到的远比他告诉给大伯听的要多。同克朗肖的一席谈话，令他永生难忘；克朗肖随口说出的任何一句话，虽说是再普通不过，却使菲利普心窍大开。
"我的老弟，世界上根本就不存在'抽象的道德准则'这种玩意儿。"
想当初菲利普放弃了对基督教的信仰，颇有如释重负之感。在此之前，他的一举一动都直接关系到不朽灵魂的安宁，决不敢稍有玩忽。在此之后，那种束缚他手脚的责任感被抛开了，他感到无牵无挂，好不自在。但是现在他知道，这只是一种幻觉。他是在宗教的熏陶之下成长起来的。尽管他抛弃了宗教，但是却把作为宗教重要组成部分的道德观念完整无损地保留了下来。所以，他下了决心，今后事事须经自己的独立思考，绝不为各种偏见所左右。他把有关德行与罪恶的陈腐观念以及有关善与恶的现存法则，统统从脑子里清除了出去，并抱定宗旨，要给自己另外找出一套生活的准则。他不知道生活中是否非要有准则不可。这也是他要想摸清楚的事物之一。显然，世间许多"道理"他之所以觉得言之成理，无非是因为从小人们就是这么教育他的，如此而已。他读过的书不可谓不多，但是全帮不了他什么忙，因为这些著作无一不是基于基督教的道德观念之上的，甚至那些口口声声自称不信基督教义的作者，最后也还是满足于依照基督登山训众的戒律，制定出一整套的道德训条来。一本皇皇巨著，如果说来说去无非是劝人随波逐流，遇事切莫越雷池一步，那么此书似乎也根本不值一读。菲利普要想弄清楚，自己究竟该如何为人处世，他相信能把握住自己，不为周围舆论所左右。不管怎么说，他还得活下去，所以在确立一套处世哲学之前，他先给自己规定了一条临时性的准则。
"尽可随心所欲，只是得适当留神街角处的警察。"
他认为他在旅居巴黎期间最宝贵的收获，就是精神上得到了彻底的解脱。他终于感到自己绝对自由了。他曾随意浏览过大量哲学著作，而现在可望安享今后几个月的闲暇。他开始博览群书。他怀着激动的心情涉猎各种学说体系，指望从中找到支配自己行动的指南。他觉得自己好像置身于异国他乡的游子，一面在爬山涉水，一往无前，一面由于身历奇境而感到心荡神移。他读着各种哲学著作，心潮起伏，就像别人研读纯文学作品一样。当他在意境高雅的字里行间，发现了自己早已朦胧感觉到的东西时，他的心就止不住怦怦直跳。他那适合于形象思维的脑袋，一旦涉及抽象观念的领域就不怎么听使唤了。即使他有时无法把握作者的推理，然而随着作者迂回曲折的思路，在玄奥艰深的学海边缘上巧妙穿行，也能领受到一番异趣。有时候，大哲学家们似乎对他已无话可说，有时候，他又从他们的声音中辨认出了一个自己所熟悉的智者。他仿佛是深入中非腹地的探险家，突然闯入了一片开阔的高地，只见高地上奇树参天，其间错落着一片片如茵的草地，他竟以为自己是置身在英国的公园之中。菲利普喜欢托马斯·霍布斯富有生命力且通俗易懂的见解，对斯宾诺莎则充满了敬畏之意。在此以前，他还从未接触过如此高洁、如此矜持严峻的哲人，这使他联想起他所热烈推崇的罗丹雕塑《青铜时代》。还有休谟，这位迷人的哲学家的怀疑主义也轻轻拨动了菲利普的心弦。菲利普十分喜欢他笔下的清澈见底的文体，这种文体似乎能把复杂的思想演绎成具有音乐感和节奏感的简洁语言，所以他在阅读休漠的著作时，就像在欣赏小说那样，嘴角上挂着一丝愉快的微笑。然而，在所有这些书里，菲利普就是找不到自己所需要的东西。他似乎曾在哪一本书里看到过这种说法：一个人究竟是柏拉图主义者还是亚里士多德的信徒，是禁欲主义者还是享乐主义者，都是天生就注定了的。乔奇·亨利·刘易斯的一生经历（除了告诉世人哲学无非是一场空谈之外）正表明了这样一个事实：每个哲学家的思想，总是同他的为人血肉相联的；只要了解哲学家其人，就可以在很大程度上猜测到他所阐述的哲学思想。看来，似乎并不因为你是按某种方式思维，所以才接某种方式行事；实际上，你之所以按某种方式思维，倒是因为你是按某种方式造就而成的。真理与此毫不相干。压根儿就没有"真理"这种东西。每个人都有其一套哲学。过去的伟人先哲所煞费苦心炮制的整套整套观念，仅仅对著作者自己有效。
这么说来，问题的症结所在，就是得搞清楚你自己是什么样的人，这点清楚了，你的一套哲学体系也就水到渠成了。在菲利普看来，有三件事需要了解清楚：一个人同他借以存身的世界关系如何；一个人同生活在他周围的人关系如何；一个人同他自己的关系如何。菲利普精心制定了一份学习计划。
生活在国外有这样一个好处：你既能具体接触到周围人们的风俗习惯，又能作为旁观者客观地加以观察，从而发现那些被当地人视为须臾不可缺少的风俗习惯，其实并无遵从的必要。你不会不注意到这样的情况：一些在你看来似乎是天经地义的信仰，在外国人眼里却显得荒唐可笑。菲利普先在德国生活过一年，后又在巴黎呆了很长一段时期，这就为他接受怀疑论学说作好思想准备，所以现在当这种学说摆在他面前时，他一拍即合，感到有种说不出的快慰。他看到世间的事物本无善恶之分，无非是为了适应某种目的而存在的。他读了《物种起源》，许多使他感到困惑的问题似乎都迎刃而解了。他现在倒像个这样的自然考察者：根据推论，他料定大自然必然会展现某些特点，然后，溯大河而上，果然不出所料，发现此处有一条支流，那儿有人口稠密的沃野，再过去则是连绵起伏的群山。每当有了某种重大发现，世人日后总会感到奇怪：为何当初没有立即为人们所接受？为何对那些承认其真实性的人竟然也没有产生任何重大影响？《物种起源》一书最早的读者，虽然在理性上接受了该书的观点，但是他们行动的基础--情感，却未被触动。从这本巨著问世到菲利普出生，中间隔了整整一代人；书中许多曾使上代人不胜骇然的内容，渐渐为这一代的多数人所接受，所以菲利普现在尽可怀着轻松的心情来阅读这部巨著。菲利普被蔚为壮观的生存竞争深深打动了，这种生存竞争所提出的道德准则，似乎同他原有的思想倾向完全吻合。他暗暗对自己说，是啊，强权即公理嘛。在这种斗争中，社会自成一方--社会是个有机体，有其自身的生长及自我保存的规律--而个人则为另一方。凡是对社会有利的行为，皆被誉为善举；凡是于社会有害的行为，则被唤作恶行。所谓善与恶，无非就是这个意思。而所谓"罪孽"，实在是自由人应加以摆脱的一种偏见……
菲利普觉得，如果就个人来说并不存在谁是谁非的问题，那么良心也就随之失去了约束的力量。他发出一声胜利的欢呼，一把抓住这个吃里爬外的恶棍，把他从自己的胸膛里狠狠摔了出去。然而，他并没有比以往更接近人生的真谛。为什么要有这个大千世界存在？人类的产生又是为何来着？这些问题仍像以前那样无从解释。当然罗，原因肯定是有的。他想到克朗肖所打的那个"波斯地毯"比方。克朗肖打那个比方算是对生活之谜的解答。记得他还故弄玄虚地加了一句：答案得由你自己找出来，否则就不成其为答案。
"鬼才知道他葫芦里卖的什么药，"菲利普笑了。
就这样，在九月份的最后一天，急于实施新的处世哲学的菲利普，带着一千六百镑的财产，拖着那条瘸腿，第二次前往伦敦。这是他人生道路上的第三个开端。
taking the paper with him mr. carey retired to his study. philip changed his chair for that in which his uncle had been sitting (it was the only comfortable one in the room), and looked out of the window at the pouring rain. even in that sad weather there was something restful about the green fields that stretched to the horizon. there was an intimate charm in the landscape which he did not remember ever to have noticed before. two years in france had opened his eyes to the beauty of his own countryside.
he thought with a smile of his uncle’s remark. it was lucky that the turn of his mind tended to flippancy. he had begun to realise what a great loss he had sustained in the death of his father and mother. that was one of the differences in his life which prevented him from seeing things in the same way as other people. the love of parents for their children is the only emotion which is quite disinterested. among strangers he had grown up as best he could, but he had seldom been used with patience or forbearance. he prided himself on his self-control. it had been whipped into him by the mockery of his fellows. then they called him cynical and callous. he had acquired calmness of demeanour and under most circumstances an unruffled exterior, so that now he could not show his feelings. people told him he was unemotional; but he knew that he was at the mercy of his emotions: an accidental kindness touched him so much that sometimes he did not venture to speak in order not to betray the unsteadiness of his voice. he remembered the bitterness of his life at school, the humiliation which he had endured, the banter which had made him morbidly afraid of making himself ridiculous; and he remembered the loneliness he had felt since, faced with the world, the disillusion and the disappointment caused by the difference between what it promised to his active imagination and what it gave. but notwithstanding he was able to look at himself from the outside and smile with amusement.
‘by jove, if i weren’t flippant, i should hang myself,’ he thought cheerfully.
his mind went back to the answer he had given his uncle when he asked him what he had learnt in paris. he had learnt a good deal more than he told him. a conversation with cronshaw had stuck in his memory, and one phrase he had used, a commonplace one enough, had set his brain working.
‘my dear fellow,’ cronshaw said, ‘there’s no such thing as abstract morality.’
when philip ceased to believe in christianity he felt that a great weight was taken from his shoulders; casting off the responsibility which weighed down every action, when every action was infinitely important for the welfare of his immortal soul, he experienced a vivid sense of liberty. but he knew now that this was an illusion. when he put away the religion in which he had been brought up, he had kept unimpaired the morality which was part and parcel of it. he made up his mind therefore to think things out for himself. he determined to be swayed by no prejudices. he swept away the virtues and the vices, the established laws of good and evil, with the idea of finding out the rules of life for himself. he did not know whether rules were necessary at all. that was one of the things he wanted to discover. clearly much that seemed valid seemed so only because he had been taught it from his earliest youth. he had read a number of books, but they did not help him much, for they were based on the morality of christianity; and even the writers who emphasised the fact that they did not believe in it were never satisfied till they had framed a system of ethics in accordance with that of the sermon on the mount. it seemed hardly worth while to read a long volume in order to learn that you ought to behave exactly like everybody else. philip wanted to find out how he ought to behave, and he thought he could prevent himself from being influenced by the opinions that surrounded him. but meanwhile he had to go on living, and, until he formed a theory of conduct, he made himself a provisional rule.
‘follow your inclinations with due regard to the policeman round the corner.’
he thought the best thing he had gained in paris was a complete liberty of spirit, and he felt himself at last absolutely free. in a desultory way he had read a good deal of philosophy, and he looked forward with delight to the leisure of the next few months. he began to read at haphazard. he entered upon each system with a little thrill of excitement, expecting to find in each some guide by which he could rule his conduct; he felt himself like a traveller in unknown countries and as he pushed forward the enterprise fascinated him; he read emotionally, as other men read pure literature, and his heart leaped as he discovered in noble words what himself had obscurely felt. his mind was concrete and moved with difficulty in regions of the abstract; but, even when he could not follow the reasoning, it gave him a curious pleasure to follow the tortuosities of thoughts that threaded their nimble way on the edge of the incomprehensible. sometimes great philosophers seemed to have nothing to say to him, but at others he recognised a mind with which he felt himself at home. he was like the explorer in central africa who comes suddenly upon wide uplands, with great trees in them and stretches of meadow, so that he might fancy himself in an english park. he delighted in the robust common sense of thomas hobbes; spinoza filled him with awe, he had never before come in contact with a mind so noble, so unapproachable and austere; it reminded him of that statue by rodin, l’age d’airain, which he passionately admired; and then there was hume: the scepticism of that charming philosopher touched a kindred note in philip; and, revelling in the lucid style which seemed able to put complicated thought into simple words, musical and measured, he read as he might have read a novel, a smile of pleasure on his lips. but in none could he find exactly what he wanted. he had read somewhere that every man was born a platonist, an aristotelian, a stoic, or an epicurean; and the history of george henry lewes (besides telling you that philosophy was all moonshine) was there to show that the thought of each philospher was inseparably connected with the man he was. when you knew that you could guess to a great extent the philosophy he wrote. it looked as though you did not act in a certain way because you thought in a certain way, but rather that you thought in a certain way because you were made in a certain way. truth had nothing to do with it. there was no such thing as truth. each man was his own philosopher, and the elaborate systems which the great men of the past had composed were only valid for the writers.
the thing then was to discover what one was and one’s system of philosophy would devise itself. it seemed to philip that there were three things to find out: man’s relation to the world he lives in, man’s relation with the men among whom he lives, and finally man’s relation to himself. he made an elaborate plan of study.
the advantage of living abroad is that, coming in contact with the manners and customs of the people among whom you live, you observe them from the outside and see that they have not the necessity which those who practise them believe. you cannot fail to discover that the beliefs which to you are self-evident to the foreigner are absurd. the year in germany, the long stay in paris, had prepared philip to receive the sceptical teaching which came to him now with such a feeling of relief. he saw that nothing was good and nothing was evil; things were merely adapted to an end. he read the origin of species. it seemed to offer an explanation of much that troubled him. he was like an explorer now who has reasoned that certain natural features must present themselves, and, beating up a broad river, finds here the tributary that he expected, there the fertile, populated plains, and further on the mountains. when some great discovery is made the world is surprised afterwards that it was not accepted at once, and even on those who acknowledge its truth the effect is unimportant. the first readers of the origin of species accepted it with their reason; but their emotions, which are the ground of conduct, were untouched. philip was born a generation after this great book was published, and much that horrified its contemporaries had passed into the feeling of the time, so that he was able to accept it with a joyful heart. he was intensely moved by the grandeur of the struggle for life, and the ethical rule which it suggested seemed to fit in with his predispositions. he said to himself that might was right. society stood on one side, an organism with its own laws of growth and self-preservation, while the individual stood on the other. the actions which were to the advantage of society it termed virtuous and those which were not it called vicious. good and evil meant nothing more than that. sin was a prejudice from which the free man should rid himself. society had three arms in its contest with the individual, laws, public opinion, and conscience: the first two could be met by guile, guile is the only weapon of the weak against the strong: common opinion put the matter well when it stated that sin consisted in being found out; but conscience was the traitor within the gates; it fought in each heart the battle of society, and caused the individual to throw himself, a wanton sacrifice, to the prosperity of his enemy. for it was clear that the two were irreconcilable, the state and the individual conscious of himself. that uses the individual for its own ends, trampling upon him if he thwarts it, rewarding him with medals, pensions, honours, when he serves it faithfully; this, strong only in his independence, threads his way through the state, for convenience’ sake, paying in money or service for certain benefits, but with no sense of obligation; and, indifferent to the rewards, asks only to be left alone. he is the independent traveller, who uses cook’s tickets because they save trouble, but looks with good-humoured contempt on the personally conducted parties. the free man can do no wrong. he does everything he likes—if he can. his power is the only measure of his morality. he recognises the laws of the state and he can break them without sense of sin, but if he is punished he accepts the punishment without rancour. society has the power.
but if for the individual there was no right and no wrong, then it seemed to philip that conscience lost its power. it was with a cry of triumph that he seized the knave and flung him from his breast. but he was no nearer to the meaning of life than he had been before. why the world was there and what men had come into existence for at all was as inexplicable as ever. surely there must be some reason. he thought of cronshaw’s parable of the persian carpet. he offered it as a solution of the riddle, and mysteriously he stated that it was no answer at all unless you found it out for yourself.
‘i wonder what the devil he meant,’ philip smiled.
and so, on the last day of september, eager to put into practice all these new theories of life, philip, with sixteen hundred pounds and his club-foot, set out for the second time to london to make his third start in life.