The Whole
Distance From Fluelen, On The Lake Of Lucerne, To Biasca, Which Is
Almost On The Same Level With
The Lago Maggiore, is only forty
miles, and could be all got in between London and Lewes, while from
Lucerne
To Locarno, actually on the Lago Maggiore itself, would go,
with a good large margin to spare, between London and Dover. We
can hardly fancy, however, people going backwards and forwards to
business daily between Fluelen and Biasca, as some doubtless do
between London and Lewes.
But how small all Europe is. We seem almost able to take it in at
a single coup d'oeil. From Mont Blanc we can see the mountains on
the Paris side of Dijon on the one hand, and those above Florence
and Bologna on the other. What a hole would not be made in Europe
if this great eyeful were scooped out of it.
The fact is (but it is so obvious that I am ashamed to say anything
about it), science is rapidly reducing space to the same
unsatisfactory state that it has already reduced time. Take lamb:
we can get lamb all the year round. This is perpetual spring; but
perpetual spring is no spring at all; it is not a season; there are
no more seasons, and being no seasons, there is no time. Take
rhubarb, again. Rhubarb to the philosopher is the beginning of
autumn, if indeed, the philosopher can see anything as the
beginning of anything. If any one asks why, I suppose the
philosopher would say that rhubarb is the beginning of the fruit
season, which is clearly autumnal, according to our present
classification. From rhubarb to the green gooseberry the step is
so small as to require no bridging - with one's eyes shut, and
plenty of cream and sugar, they are almost indistinguishable - but
the gooseberry is quite an autumnal fruit, and only a little
earlier than apples and plums, which last are almost winter;
clearly, therefore, for scientific purposes rhubarb is autumnal.
As soon as we can find gradations, or a sufficient number of
uniting links between two things, they become united or made one
thing, and any classification of them must be illusory.
Classification is only possible where there is a shock given to the
senses by reason of a perceived difference, which, if it is
considerable, can be expressed in words. When the world was
younger and less experienced, people were shocked at what appeared
great differences between living forms; but species, whether of
animals or plants, are now seen to be so united, either
inferentially or by actual finding of the links, that all
classification is felt to be arbitrary. The seasons are like
species - they were at one time thought to be clearly marked, and
capable of being classified with some approach to satisfaction. It
is now seen that they blend either in the present or the past
insensibly into one another, and cannot be classified except by
cutting Gordian knots in a way which none but plain sensible people
can tolerate.
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