The Ethics of the Dust
The Ethics of the DustPERSONAEPREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.PREFACE.LECTURE 1.LECTURE 2.LECTURE 3.LECTURE 4.LECTURE 5.LECTURE 6.LECTURE 7.LECTURE 8.LECTURE 9.LECTURE 10.NOTES.Copyright
The Ethics of the Dust
John Ruskin
PERSONAE
OLD LECTURER (of incalculable age).FLORRIE, on astronomical evidence presumed to be aged
9.ISABEL ………………………………. " 11.MAY …………………………………. " 11.LILY ………………………………… " 12.KATHLEEN……………………………… " 14.LUCILLA………………………………. " 15.VIOLET ………………………………. " 16.DORA (who has the keys and is housekeeper)… "
17.EGYPT (so called from her dark eyes) ……. " 17.JESSIE (who somehow always makes the room look brighter when
she is in it) ……….. " 18.MARY (of whom everybody, including the OldLecturer, is in great awe) …………….. "
20.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
I have seldom been more disappointed by the result of my best
pains given to any of my books, than by the earnest request of my
publisher, after the opinion of the public had been taken on the
"Ethics of the Dust," that I would "write no more in dialogue!"
However, I bowed to public judgment in this matter at once (knowing
also my inventive powers to be of the feeblest); but in reprinting
the book (at the prevailing request of my kind friend, Mr. Henry
Willett), I would pray the readers whom it may at first offend by
its disconnected method, to examine, nevertheless, with care, the
passages in which the principal speaker sums the conclusions of any
dialogue: for these summaries were written as introductions, for
young people, to all that I have said on the same matters in my
larger books; and, on re-reading them, they satisfy me better, and
seem to me calculated to be more generally useful, than anything
else I have done of the kind.The summary of the contents of the whole book,
beginning, "You may at least earnestly believe," at p. 215, is thus
the clearest exposition I have ever yet given of the general
conditions under which the Personal Creative Power manifests itself
in the forms of matter; and the analysis of heathen conceptions of
Deity, beginning at p. 217, and closing at p. 229, not only
prefaces, but very nearly supersedes, all that in more lengthy
terms I have since asserted, or pleaded for, in "Aratra Pentelici,"
and the "Queen of the Air."And thus, however the book may fail in its intention of
suggesting new occupations or interests to its younger readers, I
think it worth reprinting, in the way I have also reprinted "Unto
this Last,"—page for page; that the students of my more advanced
works may be able to refer to these as the original documents of
them; of which the most essential in this book are these
following.I. The explanation of the baseness of the avaricious
functions of the Lower Pthah, p. 54, with his beetle-gospel, p. 59,
"that a nation can stand on its vices better than on its virtues,"
explains the main motive of all my books on Political
Economy.II. The examination of the connection between stupidity and
crime, pp. 87-96, anticipated all that I have had to urge in Fors
Clavigera against the commonly alleged excuse for public
wickedness,—"They don't mean it—they don't know any
better."III. The examination of the roots of Moral Power, pp.
145-149, is a summary of what is afterwards developed with utmost
care in my inaugural lecture at Oxford on the relation of Art to
Morals; compare in that lecture, sections 83-85, with the sentence
in p. 147 of this book, "Nothing is ever done so as really to
please our Father, unless we would also have done it, though we had
had no Father to know of it."This sentence, however, it must be observed, regards only the
general conditions of action in the children of God, in consequence
of which it is foretold of them by Christ that they will say at the
Judgment, "When saw we thee?" It does not refer to the distinct
cases in which virtue consists in faith given to command, appearing
to foolish human judgment inconsistent with the Moral Law, as in
the sacrifice of Isaac; nor to those in which any directly-given
command requires nothing more of virtue than
obedience.IV. The subsequent pages, 149-158, were written especially to
check the dangerous impulses natural to the minds of many amiable
young women, in the direction of narrow and selfish religious
sentiment: and they contain, therefore, nearly everything which I
believe it necessary that young people should be made to observe,
respecting the errors of monastic life. But they in nowise enter on
the reverse, or favorable side: of which indeed I did not, and as
yet do not, feel myself able to speak with any decisiveness; the
evidence on that side, as stated in the text, having "never yet
been dispassionately examined."V. The dialogue with Lucilla, beginning at p. 96, is, to my
own fancy, the best bit of conversation in the book; and the issue
of it, at p. 103, the most practically and immediately useful. For
on the idea of the inevitable weakness and corruption of human
nature, has logically followed, in our daily life, the horrible
creed of modern "Social science," that all social action must be
scientifically founded on vicious impulses. But on the habit of
measuring and reverencing our powers and talents that we may kindly
use them, will be founded a true Social science, developing, by the
employment of them, all the real powers and honorable feelings of
the race.VI. Finally, the account given in the second and third
lectures, of the real nature and marvelousness of the laws of
crystallization, is necessary to the understanding of what farther
teaching of the beauty of inorganic form I may be able to give,
either in "Deucalion," or in my "Elements of Drawing." I wish
however that the second lecture had been made the beginning of the
book; and would fain now cancel the first altogether, which I
perceive to be both obscure and dull. It was meant for a
metaphorical description of the pleasures and dangers in the
kingdom of Mammon, or of worldly wealth; its waters mixed with
blood, its fruits entangled in thickets of trouble, and poisonous
when gathered; and the final captivity of its inhabitants within
frozen walls of cruelty and disdain. But the imagery is stupid and
ineffective throughout; and I retain this chapter only because I am
resolved to leave no room for any one to say that I have withdrawn,
as erroneous in principle, so much as a single sentence of any of
my books written since 1860.One license taken in this book, however, though often
permitted to essay-writers for the relief of their dullness, I
never mean to take more,—the relation of composed metaphor as of
actual dream, pp. 27 and 171. I assumed, it is true, that in these
places the supposed dream would be easily seen to be an invention;
but must not any more, even under so transparent disguise, pretend
to any share in the real powers of Vision possessed by great poets
and true painters.
PREFACE.
The following lectures were really given, in substance, at a
girls' school (far in the country); which, in the course of various
experiments on the possibility of introducing some better practice
of drawing into the modern scheme of female education, I visited
frequently enough to enable the children to regard me as a friend.
The Lectures always fell more or less into the form of fragmentary
answers to questions; and they are allowed to retain that form, as,
on the whole, likely to be more interesting than the symmetries of
a continuous treatise. Many children (for the school was large)
took part, at different times, in the conversations; but I have
endeavored, without confusedly multiplying the number of imaginary
speakers, to represent, as far as I could, the general tone of
comment and inquiry among young people.[Footnote: I do not mean, in saying "imaginary," that I have
not permitted to myself, in several instances, the affectionate
discourtesy of some reminiscence of personal character; for which I
must hope to be forgiven by my old pupils and their friends, as I
could not otherwise have written the book at all. But only two
sentences in all the dialogues, and the anecdote of "Dotty," are
literally "historical."]It will be at once seen that these Lectures were not intended
for an introduction to mineralogy. Their purpose was merely to
awaken in the minds of young girls, who were ready to work
earnestly and systematically, a vital interest in the subject of
their study. No science can be learned in play; but it is often
possible, in play, to bring good fruit out of past labor, or show
sufficient reasons for the labor of the future.The narrowness of this aim does not, indeed, justify the
absence of all reference to many important principles of structure,
and many of the most interesting orders of minerals; but I felt it
impossible to go far into detail without illustrations; and if
readers find this book useful, I may, perhaps, endeavor to
supplement it by illustrated notes of the more interesting
phenomena in separate groups of familiar minerals;—flints of the
chalk;—agates of the basalts;—and the fantastic and exquisitely
beautiful varieties of the vein-ores of the two commonest metals,
lead and iron. But I have always found that the less we speak of
our intentions, the more chance there is of our realizing them; and
this poor little book will sufficiently have done its work, for the
present, if it engages any of its young readers in study which may
enable them to despise it for its shortcomings.
LECTURE 1.
THE VALLEY OF DIAMONDSA very idle talk, by the dining-room fire, after
raisin-and-almond time.OLD LECTURER; FLORRIE, ISABEL, MAY, LILY, and
SIBYL.OLD LECTURER (L.). Come here, Isabel, and tell me what the
make- believe was, this afternoon.ISABEL (arranging herself very primly on the foot-stool).
Such a dreadful one! Florrie and I were lost in the Valley of
Diamonds.L. What! Sindbad's, which nobody could get out of? ISABEL.
Yes; but Florrie and I got out of it.L. So I see. At least, I see you did; but are you sure
Florrie did?ISABEL. Quite sure.FLORRIE (putting her head round from behind L.'s
sofa-cushion).Quite sure. (Disappears again.)L. I think I could be made to feel surer about
it.(FLORRIE reappears, gives L. a kiss, and again
exit.)L. I suppose it's all right; but how did you manage
it?ISABEL. Well, you know, the eagle that took up Sindbad was
very large—very, very large—the largest of all the
eagles.L. How large were the others?ISABEL. I don't quite know—they were so far off. But this one
was, oh, so big! and it had great wings, as wide as—twice over the
ceiling. So, when it was picking up Sindbad, Florrie and I thought
it wouldn't know if we got on its back too: so I got up first, and
then I pulled up Florrie, and we put our arms round its neck, and
away it flew.L. But why did you want to get out of the valley? and why
haven't you brought me some diamonds?ISABEL. It was because of the serpents. I couldn't pick up
even the least little bit of a diamond, I was so
frightened.L. You should not have minded the serpents.ISABEL. Oh, but suppose that they had minded me?L. We all of us mind you a little too much, Isabel, I'm
afraid.ISABEL. No—no—no, indeed.L. I tell you what, Isabel—I don't believe either Sindbad,
orFlorrie, or you, ever were in the Valley of
Diamonds.ISABEL. You naughty! when I tell you we were!L. Because you say you were frightened at the
serpents.ISABEL. And wouldn't you have been?L. Not at those serpents. Nobody who really goes into the
valley is ever frightened at them—they are so
beautiful.ISABEL (suddenly serious). But there's no real Valley of
Diamonds, is there?L. Yes, Isabel; very real indeed.FLORRIE (reappearing). Oh, where? Tell me about
it.L. I cannot tell you a great deal about it; only I know it is
very different from Sindbad's. In his valley, there was only a
diamond lying here and there; but, in the real valley, there are
diamonds covering the grass in showers every morning, instead of
dew: and there are clusters of trees, which look like lilac trees;
but, in spring, all their blossoms are of amethyst.FLORRIE. But there can't be any serpents there,
then?L. Why not?FLORRIE. Because they don't come into such beautiful
places.L. I never said it was a beautiful place.FLORRIE. What! not with diamonds strewed about it like
dew?L. That's according to your fancy, Florrie. For myself, I
like dew better.ISABEL. Oh, but the dew won't stay; it all
dries!L. Yes; and it would be much nicer if the diamonds dried too,
for the people in the valley have to sweep them off the grass, in
heaps, whenever they want to walk on it; and then the heaps glitter
so, they hurt one's eyes.FLORRIE. Now you're just playing, you know.L. So are you, you know.FLORRIE. Yes, but you mustn't play.L. That's very hard, Florrie; why mustn't I, if you
may?FLORRIE. Oh, I may, because I'm little, but you mustn't,
because you're—(hesitates for a delicate expression of
magnitude).L. (rudely taking the first that comes). Because I'm big? No;
that's not the way of it at all, Florrie. Because you're little,
you should have very little play; and because I'm big I should have
a great deal.ISABEL and FLORRIE (both). No—no—no—no. That isn't it at all.
(ISABEL sola, quoting Miss Ingelow.) "The lambs play always—they
know no better." (Putting her head very much on one side.) Ah, now
—please—please—tell us true; we want to know.L. But why do you want me to tell you true, any more than the
man who wrote the "Arabian Nights"?ISABEL. Because—because we like to know about real things;
and you can tell us, and we can't ask the man who wrote the
stories.L. What do you call real things?ISABEL. Now, you know! Things that really are.L. Whether you can see them or not?ISABEL. Yes, if somebody else saw them.L. But if nobody has ever seen them?ISABEL. (evading the point). Well, but, you know, if there
were a real Valley of Diamonds, somebody MUST have seen
it.L. You cannot be so sure of that, Isabel. Many people go to
real places, and never see them; and many people pass through this
valley, and never see it.FLORRIE. What stupid people they must be!L. No, Florrie. They are much wiser than the people who do
see it.MAY. I think I know where it is.ISABEL. Tell us more about it, and then we'll
guess.L. Well. There's a great broad road, by a river-side, leading
up into it.MAY (gravely cunning, with emphasis on the last word). Does
the road really go UP?L. You think it should go down into a valley? No, it goes up;
this is a valley among the hills, and it is as high as the clouds,
and is often full of them; so that even the people who most want to
see it, cannot, always.ISABEL. And what is the river beside the road
like?L. It ought to be very beautiful, because it flows over
diamond sand—only the water is thick and red.ISABEL. Red water?L. It isn't all water.MAY. Oh, please never mind that, Isabel, just now; I want to
hear about the valley.L. So the entrance to it is very wide, under a steep rock;
only such numbers of people are always trying to get in, that they
keep jostling each other, and manage it but slowly. Some weak ones
are pushed back, and never get in at all; and make great moaning as
they go away: but perhaps they are none the worse in the
end.MAY. And when one gets in, what is it like?L. It is up and down, broken kind of ground: the road stops
directly; and there are great dark rocks, covered all over with
wild gourds and wild vines; the gourds, if you cut them, are red,
with black seeds, like water-melons, and look ever so nice; and the
people of the place make a red pottage of them: but you must take
care not to eat any if you ever want to leave the valley (though I
believe putting plenty of meal in it makes it wholesome). Then the
wild vines have clusters of the color of amber; and the people of
the country say they are the grape of Eshcol; and sweeter than
honey: but, indeed, if anybody else tastes them, they are like
gall. Then there are thickets of bramble, so thorny that they would
be cut away directly, anywhere else; but here they are covered with
little cinque-foiled blossoms of pure silver; and, for berries,
they have clusters of rubies. Dark rubies, which you only see are
red after gathering them. But you may fancy what blackberry parties
the children have! Only they get their frocks and hands sadly
torn.LILY. But rubies can't spot one's frocks, as blackberries
do?L. No; but I'll tell you what spots them—the mulberries.
There are great forests of them, all up the hills, covered with
silk- worms, some munching the leaves so loud that it is like mills
at work; and some spinning. But the berries are the blackest you
ever saw; and, wherever they fall, they stain a deep red; and
nothing ever washes it out again. And it is their juice, soaking
through the grass, which makes the river so red, because all its
springs are in this wood. And the boughs of the trees are twisted,
as if in pain, like old olive branches; and their leaves are dark.
And it is in these forests that the serpents are; but nobody is
afraid of them. They have fine crimson crests, and they are
wreathed about the wild branches, one in every tree, nearly; and
they are singing serpents, for the serpents are, in this forest,
what birds are in ours.FLORRIE. Oh, I don't want to go there at all,
now.L. You would like it very much indeed, Florrie, if you were
there. The serpents would not bite you; the only fear would be of
your turning into one!FLORRIE. Oh, dear, but that's worse.L. You wouldn't think so if you really were turned into one,
Florrie; you would be very proud of your crest. And as long as you
were yourself (not that you could get there if you remained quite
the little Florrie you are now), you would like to hear the
serpents sing. They hiss a little through it, like the cicadas in
Italy; but they keep good time, and sing delightful melodies; and
most of them have seven heads, with throats which each take a note
of the octave; so that they can sing chords—it is very fine indeed.
And the fireflies fly round the edge of the forests all the night
long; you wade in fireflies, they make the fields look like a lake
trembling with reflection of stars; but you must take care not to
touch them, for they are not like Italian fireflies, but burn, like
real sparks.FLORRIE. I don't like it at all; I'll never go
there.L. I hope not, Florrie; or at least that you will get out
again if you do. And it is very difficult to get out, for beyond
these serpent forests there are great cliffs of dead gold, which
form a labyrinth, winding always higher and higher, till the gold
is all split asunder by wedges of ice; and glaciers, welded, half
of ice seven times frozen, and half of gold seven times frozen,
hang down from them, and fall in thunder, cleaving into deadly
splinters, like the Cretan arrowheads; and into a mixed dust of
snow and gold, ponderous, yet which the mountain whirlwinds are
able to lift and drive in wreaths and pillars, hiding the paths
with a burial cloud, fatal at once with wintry chill, and weight of
golden ashes. So the wanderers in the labyrinth fall, one by one,
and are buried there:—yet, over the drifted graves, those who are
spared climb to the last, through coil on coil of the path;—for at
the end of it they see the king of the valley, sitting on his
throne: and beside him (but it is only a false vision), spectra of
creatures like themselves, sit on thrones, from which they seem to
look down on all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them.
And on the canopy of his throne there is an inscription in fiery
letters, which they strive to read, but cannot; for it is written
in words which are like the words of all languages, and yet are of
none. Men say it is more like their own tongue to the English than
it is to any other nation; but the only record of it is by an
Italian, who heard the king himself cry it as a war cry, "Pape
Satan, Pape Satan Aleppe." [Footnote: Dante, Inf. 7,
I.]SIBYL. But do they all perish there? You said there was a way
through the valley, and out of it.L. Yes; but few find it. If any of them keep to the grass
paths, where the diamonds are swept aside; and hold their hands
over their eyes so as not to be dazzled, the grass paths lead
forward gradually to a place where one sees a little opening in the
golden rocks. You were at Chamouni last year, Sibyl; did your guide
chance to show you the pierced rock of the Aiguille du
Midi?SIBYL. No, indeed, we only got up from Geneva on Monday
night; and it rained all Tuesday; and we had to be back at Geneva
again, early on Wednesday morning.L. Of course. That is the way to see a country in a Sibylline
manner, by inner consciousness: but you might have seen the pierced
rock in your drive up, or down, if the clouds broke: not that there
is much to see in it; one of the crags of the aiguille- edge, on
the southern slope of it, is struck sharply through, as by an awl,
into a little eyelet hole; which you may see, seven thousand feet
above the valley (as the clouds flit past behind it, or leave the
sky), first white, and then dark blue. Well, there's just such an
eyelet hole in one of the upper crags of the Diamond Valley; and,
from a distance, you think that it is no bigger than the eye of a
needle. But if you get up to it, they say you may drive a loaded
camel through it, and that there are fine things on the other side,
but I have never spoken with anybody who had been
through.SIBYL. I think we understand it now. We will try to write it
down, and think of it.L. Meantime, Florrie, though all that I have been telling you
is very true, yet you must not think the sort of diamonds that
people wear in rings and necklaces are found lying about on the
grass. Would you like to see how they really are
found?FLORRIE. Oh, yes—yes.L. Isabel—or Lily—run up to my room and fetch me the little
box with a glass lid, out of the top drawer of the chest of
drawers. (Race between LILY and ISABEL.)(Re-enter ISABEL with the box, very much out of breath. LILY
behind.)L. Why, you never can beat Lily in a race on the stairs, can
you,Isabel?ISABEL (panting). Lily—beat me—ever so far—but she gave
me—the box—to carry in.L. Take off the lid, then; gently.FLORRIE (after peeping in, disappointed). There's only a
great ugly brown stone!L. Not much more than that, certainly, Florrie, if people
were wise. But look, it is not a single stone; but a knot of
pebbles fastened together by gravel: and in the gravel, or
compressed sand, if you look close, you will see grains of gold
glittering everywhere, all through; and then, do you see these two
white beads, which shine, as if they had been covered with
grease?FLORRIE. May I touch them?L. Yes; you will find they are not greasy, only very smooth.
Well, those are the fatal jewels; native here in their dust with
gold, so that you may see, cradled here together, the two great
enemies of mankind,—the strongest of all malignant physical powers
that have tormented our race.SIBYL. Is that really so? I know they do great harm; but do
they not also do great good?L. My dear child, what good? Was any woman, do you suppose,
ever the better for possessing diamonds? but how many have been
made base, frivolous, and miserable by desiring them? Was ever man
the better for having coffers full of gold? But who shall measure
the guilt that is incurred to fill them? Look into the history of
any civilized nations; analyze, with reference to this one cause of
crime and misery, the lives and thoughts of their nobles, priests,
merchants, and men of luxurious life. Every other temptation is at
last concentrated into this: pride, and lust, and envy, and anger
all give up their strength to avarice. The sin of the whole world
is essentially the sin of Judas. Men do not disbelieve their
Christ; but they sell Him.SIBYL. But surely that is the fault of human nature? it is
not caused by the accident, as it were, of there being a pretty
metal, like gold, to be found by digging. If people could not find
that, would they not find something else, and quarrel for it
instead?L. No. Wherever legislators have succeeded in excluding, for
a time, jewels and precious metals from among national possessions,
the national spirit has remained healthy. Covetousness is not
natural to man—generosity is; but covetousness must be excited by a
special cause, as a given disease by a given miasma; and the
essential nature of a material for the excitement of covetousness
is, that it shall be a beautiful thing which can be retained
without a use. The moment we can use our possessions to any good
purpose ourselves, the instinct of communicating that use to others
rises side by side with our power. If you can read a book rightly,
you will want others to hear it; if you can enjoy a picture
rightly, you will want others to see it: learn how to manage a
horse, a plough, or a ship, and you will desire to make your
subordinates good horsemen, ploughmen, or sailors; you will never
be able to see the fine instrument you are master of, abused; but,
once fix your desire on anything useless, and all the purest pride
and folly in your heart will mix with the desire, and make you at
last wholly inhuman, a mere ugly lump of stomach and suckers, like
a cuttle-fish.SIBYL. But surely, these two beautiful things, gold and
diamonds, must have been appointed to some good
purpose?L. Quite conceivably so, my dear: as also earthquakes and
pestilences; but of such ultimate purposes we can have no sight.
The practical, immediate office of the earthquake and pestilence is
to slay us, like moths; and, as moths, we shall be wise to live out
of their way. So, the practical, immediate office of gold and
diamonds is the multiplied destruction of souls (in whatever sense
you have been taught to understand that phrase); and the paralysis
of wholesome human effort and thought on the face of God's earth:
and a wise nation will live out of the way of them. The money which
the English habitually spend in cutting diamonds would, in ten
years, if it were applied to cutting rocks instead, leave no
dangerous reef nor difficult harbor round the whole island coast.
Great Britain would be a diamond worth cutting, indeed, a true
piece of regalia. (Leaves this to their thoughts for a little
while.) Then, also, we poor mineralogists might sometimes have the
chance of seeing a fine crystal of diamond unhacked by the
jeweler.SIBYL. Would it be more beautiful uncut?L. No; but of infinite interest. We might even come to know
something about the making of diamonds.SIBYL. I thought the chemists could make them
already?L. In very small black crystals, yes; but no one knows how
they are formed where they are found; or if indeed they are formed
there at all. These, in my hand, look as if they had been swept
down with the gravel and gold; only we can trace the gravel and
gold to their native rocks, but not the diamonds. Read the account
given of the diamond in any good work on mineralogy;—you will find
nothing but lists of localities of gravel, or conglomerate rock
(which is only an old indurated gravel). Some say it was once a
vegetable gum; but it may have been charred wood; but what one
would like to know is, mainly, why charcoal should make itself into
diamonds in India, and only into black lead in
Borrowdale.SIBYL. Are they wholly the same, then?L. There is a little iron mixed with our black lead; but
nothing to hinder its crystallization. Your pencils in fact are all
pointed with formless diamond, though they would be H H H pencils
to purpose, if it crystallized.SIBYL. But what IS crystallization?L. A pleasant question, when one's half asleep, and it has
been tea-time these two hours. What thoughtless things girls
are!SYBIL. Yes, we are; but we want to know, for all
that.L. My dear, it would take a week to tell you.SIBYL. Well, take it, and tell us.L. But nobody knows anything about it.SIBYL. Then tell us something that nobody knows.L. Get along with you, and tell Dora to make
tea.(The house rises; but of course the LECTURER wanted to be
forced to lecture again, and was.)
LECTURE 2.
THE PYRAMID BUILDERS
In the large Schoolroom, to which everybody has been summoned
by ringing of the great bell.
L. So you have all actually come to hear about
crystallization! I cannot conceive why unless the little ones think
that the discussion may involve some reference to
sugar-candy.
(Symptoms of high displeasure among the younger members of
council. ISABEL frowns severely at L., and shakes her head
violently.)