A Fairly Honourable Defeat (34 page)

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Authors: Iris Murdoch

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‘Nature, the countryside. How I hate all that. And no more small-town life for me either. From now on I want great big European cities. That was why I left Dibbins.’
‘Surely there were other reasons for that decision.’
‘Well, I was bored with that detestable squawky little campus and that unspeakably insipid main street. I can’t think how I stood it for so long.’
‘You’re the only man I know who enjoys presenting himself in an unfavourable light.’
‘Yes, I got fed up with the research too, but not for the reason you think. In the end it was aesthetically unpleasing.’
‘I can imagine that one’s general respect for the human race—’
‘I have no general respect for the human race. They are a loathsome crew and don’t deserve to survive. But they are destroying themselves quite fast enough without my assistance.’
‘You always profess cynicism, Julius. I wonder how many people you take in?’
‘It isn’t cynicism. These little games will end civilization and probably end human life on this paltry planet in the not too distant future. Why are people ill now so much of the time with mysterious virus ailments? Little escapees from establishments like Dibbins—and there are such establishments all over the place and there will be more of them and more and more and more—filter into the outside world at regular intervals. It’s practically impossible to prevent it, though of course these accidents are always hushed up. One day some really sensational virus, the absolute pet of some biochemical hack like myself, will get out and all human life will cease in a matter of months. This isn’t science fiction, Rupert. Of course you won’t believe me. A truth like that can’t be believed. That’s why the whole thing will go merrily on until it brings the whole rotten human experiment to an end for good and all.’
Rupert was silent for a moment, studying his friend. Julius’s face was calm and rather inward. It might have been the face of a man listening to music. The heavy-lidded violet-brown eyes were drowsy and unfocused, the long mouth serene and faintly smiling.
‘I hope you’re wrong,’ said Rupert. ‘Meanwhile we have to work on the assumption that there’s a future. And of course there are plenty of things which we as free responsible citizens can do to make our leaders realize—’
‘Rupert, Rupert, Rupert, your voice comes to me out of the past, out of some old history book, millennia away.’
‘I don’t understand you, Julius.’
‘You just don’t see what makes things happen in this locality. Never mind. You’ll be accusing me of cynicism again. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?’
‘Oh well,’ said Rupert, shifting his chair. ‘I just wanted to see you. And to be quite honest I’m rather worried about Morgan.’
‘Aha,’ said Julius, his attention now keenly on Rupert. ‘So you summoned me. The action of a free responsible citizen, of a free responsible brother-in-law. If you intend to horsewhip me you haven’t got off to a very convincing start.’
‘Don’t be an ass, Julius. I want your help. Hilda and I saw Tallis on Tuesday and he’s obviously not going to make any move, and I thought—’
‘Rupert, confess that you
despise
Tallis.’
‘Of course I don’t,’ said Rupert irritably. ‘I think he’s completely spineless—’
‘But you don’t despise him. All right, all right. Now where do I come in?’ Julius took off his glasses and leaned forward with an air of enjoyment, his dark eyes a-glitter with a benign twinkle.
‘I should have thought you
are
in!’ said Rupert.
‘Ah. In a moment you will say “We are men of the world” and “What are your intentions”. How wonderfully you illustrate the unreality of time!’
‘We are not men of the world,’ said Rupert. ‘Let us pay ourselves that compliment. As for your intentions—well, what are they?’
‘None, none, my dear Rupert. I have never been more innocent of intentions in my life!’
‘Come, come,’ said Rupert. ‘You know how unstable Morgan is. And as far as I can see she’s still in love with you.’
‘So?’
‘So, to be extremely crude and blunt, I think you ought either to come to her and at least help her to decide whether she wants to divorce Tallis, or else you should clear off altogether.’
‘You mean leave London?’
‘Yes, for the time being.’
‘Oh but Rupert, I adore London. I’ve just decided to buy a house in the Boltons.’
‘
Have
you?’ The thought of having Julius living two hundred yards away down the road struck Rupert as surprisingly alarming. Not exactly unpleasant, but alarming.
‘Well, it’s an idea. Perhaps I shall change my mind.’
‘You must be a rich man,’ said Rupert rather sourly.
‘But it is
the
place to live. Don’t you agree?’
‘Yes, yes. But about Morgan—She can’t make balanced decisions while you’re sort of here and not here. You obviously paralyse her.’
‘Why don’t you persuade
her
to go away?’
‘She has duties here,’ said Rupert. ‘Surely you see—’
‘Tormenting her husband? Of course. Poor old hubbie.’
‘Have you seen her lately, by the way?’
‘Not since a rather curious encounter some days ago. But I’ve had a long letter from her.’
‘What sort of thing did she say, if that’s not an indiscreet question? ’
‘Not at all. I’ll show you the letter. Oh dear, I haven’t got it on me. I must have thrown it away. It was rather ecstatic. All about some new era of love and freedom which she proposed to inaugurate. She is such an intense girl.’
‘Morgan’s a fool,’ said Rupert. ‘She’s always lived in one dream world after another.’
‘Don’t we all?’
‘Tallis was one of Morgan’s dreams. Tallis represented holy poverty or some such stuff. Then she woke up one morning and saw she just had a weak and unsuccessful man for a husband. That hurt her pride.’
‘So you don’t blame me too much?’
‘No. You were an efficient but not a formal cause.’
‘You relieve my mind! Tell me something about Tallis. Do you think he’s epileptic?’
‘Epileptic?’ said Rupert, surprised. ‘No. That’s never been suggested. As far as I know Tallis enjoys perfect health. He’s tough as nails. Whatever put that idea into your head?’
‘A passing thought, never mind. May I say that I think you are worrying too much about Morgan?’
‘I just want the girl to be happy.’
‘Few people
just
want other people to be happy, dear Rupert. Most of us prefer our friends in tears. If by any unusual chance anyone does want others to be happy, he invariably wants them to be so as a result of his own busybodying.’
‘Possibly. But at my age, Julius, I don’t worry too much about my motives. It’s enough for me if I can see the right thing to do and do it.’
‘That’s beautiful. I hope it comes in your book. Is that your book over there on the table, all those fat yellow notebooks? May I look at it?’
‘Yes, certainly. It’s pretty well finished now. Hilda wants us to celebrate. She’ll be sending you an invitation.’
‘How charming. Shall we all have to make philosophical speeches like in the
Symposium
? I should enjoy that.’
Rupert watched uneasily while Julius adjusted his spectacles and leaned over the table, opening the notebooks at random and tilting them towards the light of the nearest lamp, blinking and smiling his sly coy smile.
‘You are well defended against pessimism, Rupert. All this cosy Platonic uplift. You ought to have been a parson.’
‘I hope it doesn’t sound too high-minded. It’s supposed to be philosophy, of a sort.’
‘Philosophy, philosophy,’ said Julius, returning towards his chair. ‘All human beings fly from consciousness. Drink, love, art are methods of flight. Philosophy is another one, perhaps the subtlest of them all. Even subtler than theology.’
‘One can at least attempt to be truthful, Julius. The attempt has meaning.’
‘About these things, no. The Venerable Bede observed that human life was like a sparrow that flies through a lighted hall, in one door and out the other. What can that poor sparrow know? Nothing. These attempted truths are tissues of illusion.
Theories.
’
Rupert was silent for a moment. He knew that Julius was trying to upset him and he was determined not to be upset. He smiled at Julius who was still standing, staring very intently, leaning a little on the back of his chair, and Julius smiled back with a flicker of his coy eyelids.
‘I think you are the theorist,’ said Rupert. ‘You seem to hold some general view which makes you blind to obvious immediate things in human life. We
experience
the difference between good and evil, the dreariness of wickedness, the life-givingness of good. We experience the pure joys of art and nature. We are not pitiful sparrows and it is theological romanticism to say that we are. All right, we are without guarantees, but we do know some things for certain.’
‘Such as what?’
‘That Tintoretto is a better painter than Puvis de Chavannes.’
‘
Touché!
You know my passion for the Venetian masters! But we talk a lot of nonsense about art really, dear Rupert. What we actually experience is minute and completely ambiguous compared with the great long tale we tell ourselves about it.’
‘I agree up to a point,’ said Rupert, ‘but—’
‘No “buts”, my dear fellow. Kant showed us conclusively that we cannot know reality—yet we go on obstinately imagining that we can.’
‘Kant thought we had inklings! That was indeed his point!’
‘Kant was stupidly Christian. So are you, though you deny it. Christianity is one of the most gorgeous and glittering sources of illusion the human race has ever invented.’
‘Surely, Julius, you don’t take the old-fashioned view that it is merely a tissue of fabrications? Is it not, in its own way, a vehicle of spirit?’
‘Possibly. But what is that? Nothing could be more ambiguous. ’
‘Spirit may be ambiguous,’ said Rupert, ‘but goodness isn’t. And if we—’
‘As for evil being dreary, that’s an old story too. Have you ever noticed how naturally small children accept the doctrine of the Trinity, which is after all one of the most peculiar of all human conceptual inventions? Grown men show an equal facility for making completely absurd metaphysical assumptions which they feel instinctively to be comforting—for instance the assumption that good is bright and beautiful and evil is shabby, dreary or at least dark. In fact experience entirely contradicts this assumption. Good is dull. What novelist ever succeeded in making a good man interesting? It is characteristic of this planet that the path of virtue is so unutterably depressing that it can be guaranteed to break the spirit and quench the vision of anybody who consistently attempts to tread it. Evil, on the contrary, is exciting and fascinating and alive. It is also very much more mysterious than good. Good can be seen through. Evil is opaque.’
‘I would like to say exactly the opposite—’ began Rupert.
‘That is because you fancy something to be present which in fact is not present at all except as a shadowy dream. What passes for human goodness is in reality a tiny phenomenon, messy, limited, truncated, and as I say dull. Whereas evil (only I would prefer some less emotive name for it) reaches far far away into the depths of the human spirit and is connected with the deepest springs of human vitality.’
‘I am interested that you want to change the word!’ said Rupert. ‘I fancy you will soon try to substitute some more neutral term, such as “life force” or some such nonsense, only I won’t let you!’
‘ “Life force”! Really, Rupert, I’ve got past that stage!’
‘All right, evil has depths, though I don’t think that nowadays they are all that unfathomable, but why not admit that good has heights? I don’t even mind if you reverse the metaphor, so long as you allow the distance!’
‘The distance is just what I don’t allow, in the case of good. Let’s keep your up and down picture, it’s convenient and traditional. My point is that the top of the structure is
completely empty.
The thing is truncated. Human beings have often
dreamed
of the extension of goodness beyond the pitiful level at which they muck along, but it is precisely a dream, and a totally vague one at that. It is not just that human nature absolutely precludes goodness, it is that goodness, in that extended sense, is not even a coherent concept, it is unimaginable for human beings, like certain things in physics. Only unlike physics there isn’t even any notation with which to indicate it, since it simply isn’t there at all!’
‘There have been saints—’
‘Come, come, Rupert—with the knowledge which modern psychology has put at our disposal! Of course people have sacrificed themselves, but that has nothing to do with goodness. Most so-called saints really interest us because they are artists, or because they have been portrayed by artists, or else because they are men of power.’

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