There
is an aesthetic infinite, or many aesthetic infinites, composed of all the
forms which nature or imagination might exhibit; and where imagination
fails, there are infinite remainders of the unimagined. The version which
M. Benda gives us of infinite Being, limited to the mathematical
dimension, is therefore unnecessarily cold and stark. His one infinity is
monochrome, whereas the total infinity of essence, in which an infinity of
outlines is only one item, is infinitely many-coloured. Phenomena
therefore fall, in their essential variety, within and not without
infinite Being: so that in "returning to God" we might take the whole
world with us, not indeed in its blind movement and piecemeal
illumination, as events occur, but in an after-image and panoramic
portrait, as events are gathered together in the realm of truth.
On the whole I think M. Benda's two Gods are less unfriendly to one
another than his aggrieved tone might suggest. This pregnant little book
ends on a tragic note.
"Hitherto human self-assertion in the state or the family, while
serving the imperial God, has paid some grudging honours, at least
verbally, to the infinite God as well, under the guise of
liberalism, love of mankind, or the negation of classes. But today
this imperfect homage is retracted, and nothing is reverenced
except that which gives strength. If anyone preaches human
kindness, it is in order to establish a "strong" community
martially trained, like a super-state, to oppose everything not
included within it, and to become omnipotent in the art of
utilising the non-human forces of nature.
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