In order to expiate the crimes of the past he
must repeat the basal blunder that was the cause and source of them. For
this kind of sympathy we have only to say, in a somewhat vulgar phrase,
that we have no use whatever. The Englishman who "sympathises" with
Ireland is lost.
But the more general attitude differs widely from this. Confronting us
with a bluff and not unkindly demeanour, worthy of the nation that
invented cold baths as a tonic against all spiritual anguish, the
practical, modern Englishman speaks out his mind in straight-flung words
and few. "You fellows," he says, "brood too much over the past. After
all, this is the twentieth century, not the twelfth. What does it matter
whether my ancestors murdered yours or not? Both would be dead now in
any event. What does it matter whether yours were the saints and men of
letters and mine the savages, or whether the boot was on the other leg?
That's all over and done with. Imitate me. Let bygones be bygones."
Now this is, in some respects, the authentic voice of health.
Undoubtedly the most characteristic thing about the past is that it is
not present, and to lavish on it too tragic and intense a devotion is to
love death more than life.
Pages:
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45