Where No Fear Was | Page 4

engulfed in a crevasse, hanging from the ice- ledge
with a portentous gulf below, and a glacier-stream roaring in the
darkness. I could get no hold for foot or hand, my companions could
not reach me or extract me; and as I sank into unconsciousness, hearing
my own expiring breath, I knew that I was doomed; but I can only say,
quite honestly and humbly, that I had no fear at all, and only dimly
wondered what arrangements would be made at Eton, where I was then
a master, to accommodate the boys of my house and my pupils. It was
not done by an effort, nor did I brace myself to the situation: fear
simply did not come near to me.
Once again I found myself confronted, not so long ago, with an
incredibly painful and distressing interview. That indeed did oppress
me with almost intolerable dread beforehand. I was to go to a certain

house in London, and there was just a chance that the interview might
not take place after all. As I drove there, I suddenly found myself
wondering whether the interview could REALLY be going to take
place--how often had I rehearsed it beforehand with anguish--and then
as suddenly became aware that I should in some strange way be
disappointed if it did not take place. I wanted on the whole to go
through with it, and to see what it would be like. A deep-seated
curiosity came to my aid. It did take place, and it was very bad--worse
than I could have imagined; but it was not terrible!
These are just four instances which come into my mind. I should be
glad to feel that the courage which undoubtedly came had been the
creation of my will; but it was not so. In three cases, the events came
unexpectedly; but in the fourth case I had long anticipated the moment
with extreme dread. Yet in that last case the fear suddenly slipped away,
without the smallest effort on my part; and in all four cases some
strange gusto of experience, some sense of heightened life and
adventure, rose in the mind like a fountain--so that even in the crevasse
I said to myself, not excitedly but serenely, "So this is what it feels like
to await death!"
It was this particular experience which gave me an inkling into that
which in so many tragic histories seems incredible--that men often do
pass to death, by scaffold and by stake, at the last moment, in serenity
and even in joy. I do not doubt for a moment that it is the immortal
principle in man, the sense of deathlessness, which comes to his aid. It
is the instinct which, in spite of all knowledge and experience, says
suddenly, in a moment like that, "Well, what then?" That instinct is a
far truer thing than any expectation or imagination. It sees things, in
supreme moments, in a true proportion. It asserts that when the rope
jerks, or the flames leap up, or the benumbing blow falls, there is
something there which cannot possibly be injured, and which indeed is
rather freed from the body of our humiliation. It is but an incident, after
all, in a much longer and more momentous voyage. It means only the
closing of one chapter of experience and the beginning of another. The
base element in it is the fear which dreads the opening of the door, and
the quitting of what is familiar. And I feel assured of this, that the one
universal and inevitable experience, known to us as death, must in
reality be a very simple and even a natural affair, and that when we can

look back upon it, it will seem to us amazing that we can ever have
regarded it as so momentous and appalling a thing.

III
THE DARKEST DOUBT

Now we can make no real advance in the things of the spirit until we
have seen what lies on the other side of fear; fear cannot help us to
grow, at best it can only teach us to be prudent; it does not of itself
destroy the desire to offend--only shame can do that; if our wish to be
different comes merely from our being afraid to transgress, then, if the
fear of punishment were to be removed, we should go back with a light
heart to our old sins. We may obey irresponsible power, because we
know that it can hurt us if we disobey; but unless we can perceive the
reason why this and that is forbidden, we cannot concur with law. We
learn as children that flame has power to hurt us, but we only dread the
fire because it can injure us, not because we admire the reason which