PARTISAN REVIEW
ble with its moral neither before me nor behind me; I wrote it under–
standing and not understanding what it means. And if I find it
amusing (as, in spite of certain misgivings that I should write such
things, I do) is it because I understand or do not understand what
I've done?
So
when the moral lies everywhere and the choice is impossible
not because it is too fine (as
in
the first case), but too gross (as in
this), it is our impulse to look beyond morality
(if
we can) and
find some meaning greater than the one that concerns us. And
greater precisely because it does not concern us. Thus, astro!lomers
are the true moralists. But here in hand is still a human thing; the
stars do not hang so close to home. What is the meaning beyond
the moral? I see only that it is logical; the parable as a whole has
reason in it. Not instinct, not habit, but reason informs it. Draw
whatever moral you may, or submit it instead to a psychoanalyst,
there's still reason to contend with and shudder at. But what becomes
of morality if we shudder at reason, for isn't the moral world pre–
eminently a rational one?
c.
THE CYCLIST
Here's a perfect trifle, the poorest of the lot; yet this is the one
I understand and can tell you the most about. It is a parable of
the imagination and the moral-the young man is right-is that the
world of the imagination is an outer world, as much a real and
accomplished one as the world of valleys,
hills,
and mountains. We
travel in it as high as we can, and there are vehicles, whatever our
art, that take us there. The genius is he who travels effortlessly so
long as he remains in sight; what happens thereafter, no one knows.
(Ease and the capacity for taking infinite pains are one and the
same thing: of course it is painful to ride up hill-yet look how he
goes!) And so on and so forth....
But I am so sure of all this, that I fear I must be overlooking
something. Can the writers, say, be right after all? That the young
man is not telling the truth, or foolishly wasting himself; that a work
of the imagination is not an already created thing, but the very con–
trary of landscape? And then, "Mind has mountains . . . " etc.–
it's no such easy ride (even as defined).
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