Fyodor Dostoevsky

the road, and perhaps, too, that however stupid the "direct" practical

man may be, the thought sometimes will occur to him that the road

almost always does lead SOMEWHERE, and that the destination it leads to is

less important than the process of making it, and that the chief thing is to

save the well-conducted child from despising engineering, and so giving

way to the fatal idleness, which, as we all know, is the mother of all the

vices. Man likes to make roads and to create, that is a fact beyond dispute.

But why has he such a passionate love for destruction and chaos also? Tell

me that! But on that point I want to say a couple of words myself. May it

not be that he loves chaos and destruction (there can be no disputing that

he does sometimes love it) because he is instinctively afraid of attaining

his object and completing the edifice he is constructing? Who knows,

perhaps he only loves that edifice from a distance, and is by no means in

love with it at close quarters; perhaps he only loves building it and does

not want to live in it, but will leave it, when completed, for the use of

LES ANIMAUX DOMESTIQUES--such as the ants, the sheep, and so on. Now the

ants have quite a different taste. They have a marvellous edifice of that

pattern which endures for ever--the ant-heap.

With the ant-heap the respectable race of ants began and with the ant-

heap they will probably end, which does the greatest credit to their

perseverance and good sense. But man is a frivolous and incongruous

creature, and perhaps, like a chess player, loves the process of the game,

not the end of it. And who knows (there is no saying with certainty),

perhaps the only goal on earth to which mankind is striving lies in this

incessant process of attaining, in other words, in life itself, and not in the

thing to be attained, which must always be expressed as a formula, as

<<BackPagesChoose a page of the bookForward>>
 
 
Books by Fyodor Dostoevsky: