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diff --git a/2015-h/2015-h.htm b/2015-h/2015-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bf84e24 --- /dev/null +++ b/2015-h/2015-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5851 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Miscellany of Men, by G. K. Chesterton</title> + +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Miscellany of Men, by G. K. Chesterton</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: A Miscellany of Men</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: G. K. Chesterton</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: December, 1999 [eBook #2015]<br /> +[Most recently updated: September 10, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Michael Pullen, Michael K. Johnson, Joe Moretti and David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MISCELLANY OF MEN ***</div> + + <h1> + A MISCELLANY OF MEN + </h1> + + <h2 class="no-break"> + By G. K. Chesterton + </h2> + + <hr /> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> THE SUFFRAGIST </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE POET AND THE CHEESE </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THE THING </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE MAN WHO THINKS BACKWARDS </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE NAMELESS MAN </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> THE GARDENER AND THE GUINEA </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> THE VOTER AND THE TWO VOICES </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> THE MAD OFFICIAL </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> THE ENCHANTED MAN </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> THE SUN WORSHIPPER </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> THE WRONG INCENDIARY </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> THE FREE MAN </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> THE HYPOTHETICAL HOUSEHOLDER </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> THE PRIEST OF SPRING </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> THE REAL JOURNALIST </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> THE SENTIMENTAL SCOT </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> THE SECTARIAN OF SOCIETY </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> THE FOOL </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> THE CONSCRIPT AND THE CRISIS </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> THE MISER AND HIS FRIENDS </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> THE MYSTAGOGUE </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> THE RED REACTIONARY </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> THE SEPARATIST AND SACRED THINGS </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> THE MUMMER </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> THE ARISTOCRATIC 'ARRY </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> THE NEW THEOLOGIAN </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> THE ROMANTIC IN THE RAIN </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> THE FALSE PHOTOGRAPHER </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> THE SULTAN </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> THE ARCHITECT OF SPEARS </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> THE MAN ON TOP </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> THE OTHER KIND OF MAN </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> THE MEDIÆVAL VILLAIN </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> THE DIVINE DETECTIVE </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> THE ELF OF JAPAN </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> THE CHARTERED LIBERTINE </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> THE CONTENTED MAN </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> THE ANGRY AUTHOR: HIS FAREWELL </a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + + <hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"></a> + THE SUFFRAGIST + </h2> + <p> + Rightly or wrongly, it is certain that a man both liberal and chivalric, + can and very often does feel a dis-ease and distrust touching those + political women we call Suffragettes. Like most other popular sentiments, + it is generally wrongly stated even when it is rightly felt. One part of + it can be put most shortly thus: that when a woman puts up her fists to a + man she is putting herself in the only posture in which he is not afraid + of her. He can be afraid of her speech and still more of her silence; but + force reminds him of a rusted but very real weapon of which he has grown + ashamed. But these crude summaries are never quite accurate in any matter + of the instincts. For the things which are the simplest so long as they + are undisputed invariably become the subtlest when once they are disputed: + which was what Joubert meant, I suppose, when he said, “It is not hard to + believe in God if one does not define Him.” When the evil instincts of old + Foulon made him say of the poor, “Let them eat grass,” the good and + Christian instincts of the poor made them hang him on a lamppost with his + mouth stuffed full of that vegetation. But if a modern vegetarian + aristocrat were to say to the poor, “But why don't you like grass?” their + intelligences would be much more taxed to find such an appropriate + repartee. And this matter of the functions of the sexes is primarily a + matter of the instincts; sex and breathing are about the only two things + that generally work best when they are least worried about. That, I + suppose, is why the same sophisticated age that has poisoned the world + with Feminism is also polluting it with Breathing Exercises. We plunge at + once into a forest of false analogies and bad blundering history; while + almost any man or woman left to themselves would know at least that sex is + quite different from anything else in the world. + </p> + <p> + There is no kind of comparison possible between a quarrel of man and woman + (however right the woman may be) and the other quarrels of slave and + master, of rich and poor, or of patriot and invader, with which the + Suffragists deluge us every day. The difference is as plain as noon; these + other alien groups never came into contact until they came into collision. + Races and ranks began with battle, even if they afterwards melted into + amity. But the very first fact about the sexes is that they like each + other. They seek each other: and awful as are the sins and sorrows that + often come of their mating, it was not such things that made them meet. It + is utterly astounding to note the way in which modern writers and talkers + miss this plain, wide, and overwhelming fact: one would suppose woman a + victim and nothing else. By this account ideal, emancipated woman has, age + after age, been knocked silly with a stone axe. But really there is no + fact to show that ideal, emancipated woman was ever knocked silly; except + the fact that she is silly. And that might have arisen in so many other + ways. Real responsible woman has never been silly; and any one wishing to + knock her would be wise (like the streetboys) to knock and run away. It is + ultimately idiotic to compare this prehistoric participation with any + royalties or rebellions. Genuine royalties wish to crush rebellions. + Genuine rebels wish to destroy kings. The sexes cannot wish to abolish + each other; and if we allow them any sort of permanent opposition it will + sink into something as base as a party system. + </p> + <p> + As marriage, therefore, is rooted in an aboriginal unity of instincts, you + cannot compare it, even in its quarrels, with any of the mere collisions + of separate institutions. You could compare it with the emancipation of + negroes from planters—if it were true that a white man in early + youth always dreamed of the abstract beauty of a black man. You could + compare it with the revolt of tenants against a landlord—if it were + true that young landlords wrote sonnets to invisible tenants. You could + compare it to the fighting policy of the Fenians—if it were true + that every normal Irishman wanted an Englishman to come and live with him. + But as we know there are no instincts in any of these directions, these + analogies are not only false but false on the cardinal fact. I do not + speak of the comparative comfort or merit of these different things: I say + they are different. It may be that love turned to hate is terribly common + in sexual matters: it may be that hate turned to love is not uncommon in + the rivalries of race or class. But any philosophy about the sexes that + begins with anything but the mutual attraction of the sexes, begins with a + fallacy; and all its historical comparisons are as irrelevant and + impertinent as puns. + </p> + <p> + But to expose such cold negation of the instincts is easy: to express or + even half express the instincts is very hard. The instincts are very much + concerned with what literary people call “style” in letters or more vulgar + people call “style” in dress. They are much concerned with how a thing is + done, as well as whether one may do it: and the deepest elements in their + attraction or aversion can often only be conveyed by stray examples or + sudden images. When Danton was defending himself before the Jacobin + tribunal he spoke so loud that his voice was heard across the Seine, in + quite remote streets on the other side of the river. He must have bellowed + like a bull of Bashan. Yet none of us would think of that prodigy except + as something poetical and appropriate. None of us would instinctively feel + that Danton was less of a man or even less of a gentleman, for speaking so + in such an hour. But suppose we heard that Marie Antoinette, when tried + before the same tribunal, had howled so that she could be heard in the + Faubourg St. Germain—well, I leave it to the instincts, if there are + any left. It is not wrong to howl. Neither is it right. It is simply a + question of the instant impression on the artistic and even animal parts + of humanity, if the noise were heard suddenly like a gun. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the nearest verbal analysis of the instinct may be found in the + gestures of the orator addressing a crowd. For the true orator must always + be a demagogue: even if the mob be a small mob, like the French committee + or the English House of Lords. And “demagogue,” in the good Greek meaning, + does not mean one who pleases the populace, but one who leads it: and if + you will notice, you will see that all the instinctive gestures of oratory + are gestures of military leadership; pointing the people to a path or + waving them on to an advance. Notice that long sweep of the arm across the + body and outward, which great orators use naturally and cheap orators + artificially. It is almost the exact gesture of the drawing of a sword. + </p> + <p> + The point is not that women are unworthy of votes; it is not even that + votes are unworthy of women. It is that votes are unworthy of men, so long + as they are merely votes; and have nothing in them of this ancient + militarism of democracy. The only crowd worth talking to is the crowd that + is ready to go somewhere and do something; the only demagogue worth + hearing is he who can point at something to be done: and, if he points + with a sword, will only feel it familiar and useful like an elongated + finger. Now, except in some mystical exceptions which prove the rule, + these are not the gestures, and therefore not the instincts, of women. No + honest man dislikes the public woman. He can only dislike the political + woman; an entirely different thing. The instinct has nothing to do with + any desire to keep women curtained or captive: if such a desire exists. A + husband would be pleased if his wife wore a gold crown and proclaimed laws + from a throne of marble; or if she uttered oracles from the tripod of a + priestess; or if she could walk in mystical motherhood before the + procession of some great religious order. But that she should stand on a + platform in the exact altitude in which he stands; leaning forward a + little more than is graceful and holding her mouth open a little longer + and wider than is dignified—well, I only write here of the facts of + natural history; and the fact is that it is this, and not publicity or + importance, that hurts. It is for the modern world to judge whether such + instincts are indeed danger signals; and whether the hurting of moral as + of material nerves is a tocsin and a warning of nature. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"></a> + THE POET AND THE CHEESE + </h2> + <p> + There is something creepy in the flat Eastern Counties; a brush of the + white feather. There is a stillness, which is rather of the mind than of + the bodily senses. Rapid changes and sudden revelations of scenery, even + when they are soundless, have something in them analogous to a movement of + music, to a crash or a cry. Mountain hamlets spring out on us with a shout + like mountain brigands. Comfortable valleys accept us with open arms and + warm words, like comfortable innkeepers. But travelling in the great level + lands has a curiously still and lonely quality; lonely even when there are + plenty of people on the road and in the market-place. One's voice seems to + break an almost elvish silence, and something unreasonably weird in the + phrase of the nursery tales, “And he went a little farther and came to + another place,” comes back into the mind. + </p> + <p> + In some such mood I came along a lean, pale road south of the fens, and + found myself in a large, quiet, and seemingly forgotten village. It was + one of those places that instantly produce a frame of mind which, it may + be, one afterwards decks out with unreal details. I dare say that grass + did not really grow in the streets, but I came away with a curious + impression that it did. I dare say the marketplace was not literally + lonely and without sign of life, but it left the vague impression of being + so. The place was large and even loose in design, yet it had the air of + something hidden away and always overlooked. It seemed shy, like a big + yokel; the low roofs seemed to be ducking behind the hedges and railings; + and the chimneys holding their breath. I came into it in that dead hour of + the afternoon which is neither after lunch nor before tea, nor anything + else even on a half-holiday; and I had a fantastic feeling that I had + strayed into a lost and extra hour that is not numbered in the + twenty-four. + </p> + <p> + I entered an inn which stood openly in the market-place yet was almost as + private as a private house. Those who talk of “public-houses” as if they + were all one problem would have been both puzzled and pleased with such a + place. In the front window a stout old lady in black with an elaborate cap + sat doing a large piece of needlework. She had a kind of comfortable + Puritanism about her; and might have been (perhaps she was) the original + Mrs. Grundy. A little more withdrawn into the parlour sat a tall, strong, + and serious girl, with a face of beautiful honesty and a pair of scissors + stuck in her belt, doing a small piece of needlework. Two feet behind them + sat a hulking labourer with a humorous face like wood painted scarlet, + with a huge mug of mild beer which he had not touched, and probably would + not touch for hours. On the hearthrug there was an equally motionless cat; + and on the table a copy of 'Household Words'. + </p> + <p> + I was conscious of some atmosphere, still and yet bracing, that I had met + somewhere in literature. There was poetry in it as well as piety; and yet + it was not poetry after my particular taste. It was somehow at once solid + and airy. Then I remembered that it was the atmosphere in some of + Wordsworth's rural poems; which are full of genuine freshness and wonder, + and yet are in some incurable way commonplace. This was curious; for + Wordsworth's men were of the rocks and fells, and not of the fenlands or + flats. But perhaps it is the clearness of still water and the mirrored + skies of meres and pools that produces this crystalline virtue. Perhaps + that is why Wordsworth is called a Lake Poet instead of a mountain poet. + Perhaps it is the water that does it. Certainly the whole of that town was + like a cup of water given at morning. + </p> + <p> + After a few sentences exchanged at long intervals in the manner of rustic + courtesy, I inquired casually what was the name of the town. The old lady + answered that its name was Stilton, and composedly continued her + needlework. But I had paused with my mug in air, and was gazing at her + with a suddenly arrested concern. “I suppose,” I said, “that it has + nothing to do with the cheese of that name.” “Oh, yes,” she answered, with + a staggering indifference, “they used to make it here.” + </p> + <p> + I put down my mug with a gravity far greater than her own. “But this place + is a Shrine!” I said. “Pilgrims should be pouring into it from wherever + the English legend has endured alive. There ought to be a colossal statue + in the market-place of the man who invented Stilton cheese. There ought to + be another colossal statue of the first cow who provided the foundations + of it. There should be a burnished tablet let into the ground on the spot + where some courageous man first ate Stilton cheese, and survived. On the + top of a neighbouring hill (if there are any neighbouring hills) there + should be a huge model of a Stilton cheese, made of some rich green marble + and engraven with some haughty motto: I suggest something like 'Ver non + semper viret; sed Stiltonia semper virescit.'” The old lady said, “Yes, + sir,” and continued her domestic occupations. + </p> + <p> + After a strained and emotional silence, I said, “If I take a meal here + tonight can you give me any Stilton?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir; I'm afraid we haven't got any Stilton,” said the immovable one, + speaking as if it were something thousands of miles away. + </p> + <p> + “This is awful,” I said: for it seemed to me a strange allegory of England + as she is now; this little town that had lost its glory; and forgotten, so + to speak, the meaning of its own name. And I thought it yet more symbolic + because from all that old and full and virile life, the great cheese was + gone; and only the beer remained. And even that will be stolen by the + Liberals or adulterated by the Conservatives. Politely disengaging myself, + I made my way as quickly as possible to the nearest large, noisy, and + nasty town in that neighbourhood, where I sought out the nearest vulgar, + tawdry, and avaricious restaurant. + </p> + <p> + There (after trifling with beef, mutton, puddings, pies, and so on) I got + a Stilton cheese. I was so much moved by my memories that I wrote a sonnet + to the cheese. Some critical friends have hinted to me that my sonnet is + not strictly new; that it contains “echoes” (as they express it) of some + other poem that they have read somewhere. Here, at least, are the lines I + wrote: + </p> +<p class="center"> + SONNET TO A STILTON CHEESE +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Stilton, thou shouldst be living at this hour<br /> + And so thou art. Nor losest grace thereby;<br /> + England has need of thee, and so have I—<br /> + She is a Fen. Far as the eye can scour,<br /> + League after grassy league from Lincoln tower<br /> + To Stilton in the fields, she is a Fen.<br /> + Yet this high cheese, by choice of fenland men,<br /> + Like a tall green volcano rose in power.<br /> +<br /> + Plain living and long drinking are no more,<br /> + And pure religion reading 'Household Words',<br /> + And sturdy manhood sitting still all day<br /> + Shrink, like this cheese that crumbles to its core;<br /> + While my digestion, like the House of Lords,<br /> + The heaviest burdens on herself doth lay. +</p> + <p> + I confess I feel myself as if some literary influence, something that has + haunted me, were present in this otherwise original poem; but it is + hopeless to disentangle it now. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"></a> + THE THING + </h2> + <p> + The wind awoke last night with so noble a violence that it was like the + war in heaven; and I thought for a moment that the Thing had broken free. + For wind never seems like empty air. Wind always sounds full and physical, + like the big body of something; and I fancied that the Thing itself was + walking gigantic along the great roads between the forests of beech. + </p> + <p> + Let me explain. The vitality and recurrent victory of Christendom have + been due to the power of the Thing to break out from time to time from its + enveloping words and symbols. Without this power all civilisations tend to + perish under a load of language and ritual. One instance of this we hear + much in modern discussion: the separation of the form from the spirit of + religion. But we hear too little of numberless other cases of the same + stiffening and falsification; we are far too seldom reminded that just as + church-going is not religion, so reading and writing are not knowledge, + and voting is not self-government. It would be easy to find people in the + big cities who can read and write quickly enough to be clerks, but who are + actually ignorant of the daily movements of the sun and moon. + </p> + <p> + The case of self-government is even more curious, especially as one + watches it for the first time in a country district. Self-government arose + among men (probably among the primitive men, certainly among the ancients) + out of an idea which seems now too simple to be understood. The notion of + self-government was not (as many modern friends and foes of it seem to + think) the notion that the ordinary citizen is to be consulted as one + consults an Encyclopaedia. He is not there to be asked a lot of fancy + questions, to see how he answers them. He and his fellows are to be, + within reasonable human limits, masters of their own lives. They shall + decide whether they shall be men of the oar or the wheel, of the spade or + the spear. The men of the valley shall settle whether the valley shall be + devastated for coal or covered with corn and vines; the men of the town + shall decide whether it shall be hoary with thatches or splendid with + spires. Of their own nature and instinct they shall gather under a + patriarchal chief or debate in a political market-place. And in case the + word “man” be misunderstood, I may remark that in this moral atmosphere, + this original soul of self-government, the women always have quite as much + influence as the men. But in modern England neither the men nor the women + have any influence at all. In this primary matter, the moulding of the + landscape, the creation of a mode of life, the people are utterly + impotent. They stand and stare at imperial and economic processes going + on, as they might stare at the Lord Mayor's Show. + </p> + <p> + Round about where I live, for instance, two changes are taking place which + really affect the land and all things that live on it, whether for good or + evil. The first is that the urban civilisation (or whatever it is) is + advancing; that the clerks come out in black swarms and the villas advance + in red battalions. The other is that the vast estates into which England + has long been divided are passing out of the hands of the English gentry + into the hands of men who are always upstarts and often actually + foreigners. + </p> + <p> + Now, these are just the sort of things with which self-government was + really supposed to grapple. People were supposed to be able to indicate + whether they wished to live in town or country, to be represented by a + gentleman or a cad. I do not presume to prejudge their decision; perhaps + they would prefer the cad; perhaps he is really preferable. I say that the + filling of a man's native sky with smoke or the selling of his roof over + his head illustrate the sort of things he ought to have some say in, if he + is supposed to be governing himself. But owing to the strange trend of + recent society, these enormous earthquakes he has to pass over and treat + as private trivialities. In theory the building of a villa is as + incidental as the buying of a hat. In reality it is as if all Lancashire + were laid waste for deer forests; or as if all Belgium were flooded by the + sea. In theory the sale of a squire's land to a moneylender is a minor and + exceptional necessity. In reality it is a thing like a German invasion. + Sometimes it is a German invasion. + </p> + <p> + Upon this helpless populace, gazing at these prodigies and fates, comes + round about every five years a thing called a General Election. It is + believed by antiquarians to be the remains of some system of + self-government; but it consists solely in asking the citizen questions + about everything except what he understands. The examination paper of the + Election generally consists of some such queries as these: “I. Are the + green biscuits eaten by the peasants of Eastern Lithuania in your opinion + fit for human food? II. Are the religious professions of the President of + the Orange Free State hypocritical or sincere? III. Do you think that the + savages in Prusso-Portuguese East Bunyipland are as happy and hygienic as + the fortunate savages in Franco-British West Bunyipland? IV. Did the lost + Latin Charter said to have been exacted from Henry III reserve the right + of the Crown to create peers? V. What do you think of what America thinks + of what Mr. Roosevelt thinks of what Sir Eldon Gorst thinks of the state + of the Nile? VI. Detect some difference between the two persons in + frock-coats placed before you at this election.” + </p> + <p> + Now, it never was supposed in any natural theory of self-government that + the ordinary man in my neighbourhood need answer fantastic questions like + these. He is a citizen of South Bucks, not an editor of 'Notes and + Queries'. He would be, I seriously believe, the best judge of whether + farmsteads or factory chimneys should adorn his own sky-line, of whether + stupid squires or clever usurers should govern his own village. But these + are precisely the things which the oligarchs will not allow him to touch + with his finger. Instead, they allow him an Imperial destiny and divine + mission to alter, under their guidance, all the things that he knows + nothing about. The name of self-government is noisy everywhere: the Thing + is throttled. + </p> + <p> + The wind sang and split the sky like thunder all the night through; in + scraps of sleep it filled my dreams with the divine discordances of + martyrdom and revolt; I heard the horn of Roland and the drums of Napoleon + and all the tongues of terror with which the Thing has gone forth: the + spirit of our race alive. But when I came down in the morning only a + branch or two was broken off the tree in my garden; and none of the great + country houses in the neighbourhood were blown down, as would have + happened if the Thing had really been abroad. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"></a> + THE MAN WHO THINKS BACKWARDS + </h2> + <p> + The man who thinks backwards is a very powerful person to-day: indeed, if + he is not omnipotent, he is at least omnipresent. It is he who writes + nearly all the learned books and articles, especially of the scientific or + skeptical sort; all the articles on Eugenics and Social Evolution and + Prison Reform and the Higher Criticism and all the rest of it. But + especially it is this strange and tortuous being who does most of the + writing about female emancipation and the reconsidering of marriage. For + the man who thinks backwards is very frequently a woman. + </p> + <p> + Thinking backwards is not quite easy to define abstractedly; and, perhaps, + the simplest method is to take some object, as plain as possible, and from + it illustrate the two modes of thought: the right mode in which all real + results have been rooted; the wrong mode, which is confusing all our + current discussions, especially our discussions about the relations of the + sexes. Casting my eye round the room, I notice an object which is often + mentioned in the higher and subtler of these debates about the sexes: I + mean a poker. I will take a poker and think about it; first forwards and + then backwards; and so, perhaps, show what I mean. + </p> + <p> + The sage desiring to think well and wisely about a poker will begin + somewhat as follows: Among the live creatures that crawl about this star + the queerest is the thing called Man. This plucked and plumeless bird, + comic and forlorn, is the butt of all the philosophies. He is the only + naked animal; and this quality, once, it is said, his glory, is now his + shame. He has to go outside himself for everything that he wants. He might + almost be considered as an absent-minded person who had gone bathing and + left his clothes everywhere, so that he has hung his hat upon the beaver + and his coat upon the sheep. The rabbit has white warmth for a waistcoat, + and the glow-worm has a lantern for a head. But man has no heat in his + hide, and the light in his body is darkness; and he must look for light + and warmth in the wild, cold universe in which he is cast. This is equally + true of his soul and of his body; he is the one creature that has lost his + heart as much as he has lost his hide. In a spiritual sense he has taken + leave of his senses; and even in a literal sense he has been unable to + keep his hair on. And just as this external need of his has lit in his + dark brain the dreadful star called religion, so it has lit in his hand + the only adequate symbol of it: I mean the red flower called Fire. Fire, + the most magic and startling of all material things, is a thing known only + to man and the expression of his sublime externalism. It embodies all that + is human in his hearths and all that is divine on his altars. It is the + most human thing in the world; seen across wastes of marsh or medleys of + forest, it is veritably the purple and golden flag of the sons of Eve. But + there is about this generous and rejoicing thing an alien and awful + quality: the quality of torture. Its presence is life; its touch is death. + Therefore, it is always necessary to have an intermediary between + ourselves and this dreadful deity; to have a priest to intercede for us + with the god of life and death; to send an ambassador to the fire. That + priest is the poker. Made of a material more merciless and warlike than + the other instruments of domesticity, hammered on the anvil and born + itself in the flame, the poker is strong enough to enter the burning fiery + furnace, and, like the holy children, not be consumed. In this heroic + service it is often battered and twisted, but is the more honourable for + it, like any other soldier who has been under fire. + </p> + <p> + Now all this may sound very fanciful and mystical, but it is the right + view of pokers, and no one who takes it will ever go in for any wrong view + of pokers, such as using them to beat one's wife or torture one's + children, or even (though that is more excusable) to make a policeman + jump, as the clown does in the pantomime. He who has thus gone back to the + beginning, and seen everything as quaint and new, will always see things + in their right order, the one depending on the other in degree of purpose + and importance: the poker for the fire and the fire for the man and the + man for the glory of God. + </p> + <p> + This is thinking forwards. Now our modern discussions about everything, + Imperialism, Socialism, or Votes for Women, are all entangled in an + opposite train of thought, which runs as follows:—A modern + intellectual comes in and sees a poker. He is a positivist; he will not + begin with any dogmas about the nature of man, or any day-dreams about the + mystery of fire. He will begin with what he can see, the poker; and the + first thing he sees about the poker is that it is crooked. He says, “Poor + poker; it's crooked.” Then he asks how it came to be crooked; and is told + that there is a thing in the world (with which his temperament has + hitherto left him unacquainted)—a thing called fire. He points out, + very kindly and clearly, how silly it is of people, if they want a + straight poker, to put it into a chemical combustion which will very + probably heat and warp it. “Let us abolish fire,” he says, “and then we + shall have perfectly straight pokers. Why should you want a fire at all?” + They explain to him that a creature called Man wants a fire, because he + has no fur or feathers. He gazes dreamily at the embers for a few seconds, + and then shakes his head. “I doubt if such an animal is worth preserving,” + he says. “He must eventually go under in the cosmic struggle when pitted + against well-armoured and warmly protected species, who have wings and + trunks and spires and scales and horns and shaggy hair. If Man cannot live + without these luxuries, you had better abolish Man.” At this point, as a + rule, the crowd is convinced; it heaves up all its clubs and axes, and + abolishes him. At least, one of him. + </p> + <p> + Before we begin discussing our various new plans for the people's welfare, + let us make a kind of agreement that we will argue in a straightforward + way, and not in a tail-foremost way. The typical modern movements may be + right; but let them be defended because they are right, not because they + are typical modern movements. Let us begin with the actual woman or man in + the street, who is cold; like mankind before the finding of fire. Do not + let us begin with the end of the last red-hot discussion—like the + end of a red hot poker. Imperialism may be right. But if it is right, it + is right because England has some divine authority like Israel, or some + human authority like Rome; not because we have saddled ourselves with + South Africa, and don't know how to get rid of it. Socialism may be true. + But if it is true, it is true because the tribe or the city can really + declare all land to be common land, not because Harrod's Stores exist and + the commonwealth must copy them. Female suffrage may be just. But if it is + just, it is just because women are women, not because women are sweated + workers and white slaves and all sorts of things that they ought never to + have been. Let not the Imperialist accept a colony because it is there, + nor the Suffragist seize a vote because it is lying about, nor the + Socialist buy up an industry merely because it is for sale. + </p> + <p> + Let us ask ourselves first what we really do want, not what recent legal + decisions have told us to want, or recent logical philosophies proved that + we must want, or recent social prophecies predicted that we shall some day + want. If there must be a British Empire, let it be British, and not, in + mere panic, American or Prussian. If there ought to be female suffrage, + let it be female, and not a mere imitation as coarse as the male + blackguard or as dull as the male clerk. If there is to be Socialism, let + it be social; that is, as different as possible from all the big + commercial departments of to-day. The really good journeyman tailor does + not cut his coat according to his cloth; he asks for more cloth. The + really practical statesman does not fit himself to existing conditions, he + denounces the conditions as unfit. History is like some deeply planted + tree which, though gigantic in girth, tapers away at last into tiny twigs; + and we are in the topmost branches. Each of us is trying to bend the tree + by a twig: to alter England through a distant colony, or to capture the + State through a small State department, or to destroy all voting through a + vote. In all such bewilderment he is wise who resists this temptation of + trivial triumph or surrender, and happy (in an echo of the Roman poet) who + remembers the roots of things. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"></a> + THE NAMELESS MAN + </h2> + <p> + There are only two forms of government—the monarchy or personal + government, and the republic or impersonal government. England is not a + government; England is an anarchy, because there are so many kings. But + there is one real advantage (among many real disadvantages) in the method + of abstract democracy, and that is this: that under impersonal government + politics are so much more personal. In France and America, where the State + is an abstraction, political argument is quite full of human details—some + might even say of inhuman details. But in England, precisely because we + are ruled by personages, these personages do not permit personalities. In + England names are honoured, and therefore names are suppressed. But in the + republics, in France especially, a man can put his enemies' names into his + article and his own name at the end of it. + </p> + <p> + This is the essential condition of such candour. If we merely made our + anonymous articles more violent, we should be baser than we are now. We + should only be arming masked men with daggers instead of cudgels. And I, + for one, have always believed in the more general signing of articles, and + have signed my own articles on many occasions when, heaven knows, I had + little reason to be vain of them. I have heard many arguments for + anonymity; but they all seem to amount to the statement that anonymity is + safe, which is just what I complain of. In matters of truth the fact that + you don't want to publish something is, nine times out of ten, a proof + that you ought to publish it. + </p> + <p> + But there is one answer to my perpetual plea for a man putting his name to + his writing. There is one answer, and there is only one answer, and it is + never given. It is that in the modern complexity very often a man's name + is almost as false as his pseudonym. The prominent person today is + eternally trying to lose a name, and to get a title. For instance, we all + read with earnestness and patience the pages of the 'Daily Mail', and + there are times when we feel moved to cry, “Bring to us the man who + thought these strange thoughts! Pursue him, capture him, take great care + of him. Bring him back to us tenderly, like some precious bale of silk, + that we may look upon the face of the man who desires such things to be + printed. Let us know his name; his social and medical pedigree.” But in + the modern muddle (it might be said) how little should we gain if those + frankly fatuous sheets were indeed subscribed by the man who had inspired + them. Suppose that after every article stating that the Premier is a + piratical Socialist there were printed the simple word “Northcliffe.” What + does that simple word suggest to the simple soul? To my simple soul + (uninstructed otherwise) it suggests a lofty and lonely crag somewhere in + the wintry seas towards the Orkheys or Norway; and barely clinging to the + top of this crag the fortress of some forgotten chieftain. As it happens, + of course, I know that the word does not mean this; it means another Fleet + Street journalist like myself or only different from myself in so far as + he has sought to secure money while I have sought to secure a jolly time. + </p> + <p> + A title does not now even serve as a distinction: it does not distinguish. + A coronet is not merely an extinguisher: it is a hiding-place. + </p> + <p> + But the really odd thing is this. This false quality in titles does not + merely apply to the new and vulgar titles, but to the old and historic + titles also. For hundreds of years titles in England have been essentially + unmeaning; void of that very weak and very human instinct in which titles + originated. In essential nonsense of application there is nothing to + choose between Northcliffe and Norfolk. The Duke of Norfolk means (as my + exquisite and laborious knowledge of Latin informs me) the Leader of + Norfolk. It is idle to talk against representative government or for it. + All government is representative government until it begins to decay. + Unfortunately (as is also evident) all government begins to decay the + instant it begins to govern. All aristocrats were first meant as envoys of + democracy; and most envoys of democracy lose no time in becoming + aristocrats. By the old essential human notion, the Duke of Norfolk ought + simply to be the first or most manifest of Norfolk men. + </p> + <p> + I see growing and filling out before me the image of an actual Duke of + Norfolk. For instance, Norfolk men all make their voices run up very high + at the end of a sentence. The Duke of Norfolk's voice, therefore, ought to + end in a perfect shriek. They often (I am told) end sentences with the + word “together”; entirely irrespective of its meaning. Thus I shall expect + the Duke of Norfolk to say: “I beg to second the motion together”; or + “This is a great constitutional question together.” I shall expect him to + know much about the Broads and the sluggish rivers above them; to know + about the shooting of water-fowl, and not to know too much about anything + else. Of mountains he must be wildly and ludicrously ignorant. He must + have the freshness of Norfolk; nay, even the flatness of Norfolk. He must + remind me of the watery expanses, the great square church towers and the + long level sunsets of East England. If he does not do this, I decline to + know him. + </p> + <p> + I need not multiply such cases; the principle applies everywhere. Thus I + lose all interest in the Duke of Devonshire unless he can assure me that + his soul is filled with that strange warm Puritanism, Puritanism shot with + romance, which colours the West Country. He must eat nothing but clotted + cream, drink nothing but cider, reading nothing but 'Lorna Doone', and be + unacquainted with any town larger than Plymouth, which he must regard with + some awe, as the Central Babylon of the world. Again, I should expect the + Prince of Wales always to be full of the mysticism and dreamy ardour of + the Celtic fringe. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it may be thought that these demands are a little extreme; and + that our fancy is running away with us. Nevertheless, it is not my Duke of + Devonshire who is funny; but the real Duke of Devonshire. The point is + that the scheme of titles is a misfit throughout: hardly anywhere do we + find a modern man whose name and rank represent in any way his type, his + locality, or his mode of life. As a mere matter of social comedy, the + thing is worth noticing. You will meet a man whose name suggests a gouty + admiral, and you will find him exactly like a timid organist: you will + hear announced the name of a haughty and almost heathen grande dame, and + behold the entrance of a nice, smiling Christian cook. These are light + complications of the central fact of the falsification of all names and + ranks. Our peers are like a party of mediæval knights who should have + exchanged shields, crests, and pennons. For the present rule seems to be + that the Duke of Sussex may lawfully own the whole of Essex; and that the + Marquis of Cornwall may own all the hills and valleys so long as they are + not Cornish. + </p> + <p> + The clue to all this tangle is as simple as it is terrible. If England is + an aristocracy, England is dying. If this system IS the country, as some + say, the country is stiffening into more than the pomp and paralysis of + China. It is the final sign of imbecility in a people that it calls cats + dogs and describes the sun as the moon—and is very particular about + the preciseness of these pseudonyms. To be wrong, and to be carefully + wrong, that is the definition of decadence. The disease called aphasia, in + which people begin by saying tea when they mean coffee, commonly ends in + their silence. Silence of this stiff sort is the chief mark of the + powerful parts of modern society. They all seem straining to keep things + in rather than to let things out. For the kings of finance speechlessness + is counted a way of being strong, though it should rather be counted a way + of being sly. By this time the Parliament does not parley any more than + the Speaker speaks. Even the newspaper editors and proprietors are more + despotic and dangerous by what they do not utter than by what they do. We + have all heard the expression “golden silence.” The expression “brazen + silence” is the only adequate phrase for our editors. If we wake out of + this throttled, gaping, and wordless nightmare, we must awake with a yell. + The Revolution that releases England from the fixed falsity of its present + position will be not less noisy than other revolutions. It will contain, I + fear, a great deal of that rude accomplishment described among little boys + as “calling names”; but that will not matter much so long as they are the + right names. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"></a> + THE GARDENER AND THE GUINEA + </h2> + <p> + Strictly speaking, there is no such thing as an English Peasant. Indeed, + the type can only exist in community, so much does it depend on + cooperation and common laws. One must not think primarily of a French + Peasant; any more than of a German Measle. The plural of the word is its + proper form; you cannot have a Peasant till you have a peasantry. The + essence of the Peasant ideal is equality; and you cannot be equal all by + yourself. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, because human nature always craves and half creates the + things necessary to its happiness, there are approximations and + suggestions of the possibility of such a race even here. The nearest + approach I know to the temper of a Peasant in England is that of the + country gardener; not, of course, the great scientific gardener attached + to the great houses; he is a rich man's servant like any other. I mean the + small jobbing gardener who works for two or three moderate-sized gardens; + who works on his own; who sometimes even owns his house; and who + frequently owns his tools. This kind of man has really some of the + characteristics of the true Peasant—especially the characteristics + that people don't like. He has none of that irresponsible mirth which is + the consolation of most poor men in England. The gardener is even disliked + sometimes by the owners of the shrubs and flowers; because (like Micaiah) + he prophesies not good concerning them, but evil. The English gardener is + grim, critical, self-respecting; sometimes even economical. Nor is this + (as the reader's lightning wit will flash back at me) merely because the + English gardener is always a Scotch gardener. The type does exist in pure + South England blood and speech; I have spoken to the type. I was speaking + to the type only the other evening, when a rather odd little incident + occurred. + </p> + <p> + It was one of those wonderful evenings in which the sky was warm and + radiant while the earth was still comparatively cold and wet. But it is of + the essence of Spring to be unexpected; as in that heroic and hackneyed + line about coming “before the swallow dares.” Spring never is Spring + unless it comes too soon. And on a day like that one might pray, without + any profanity, that Spring might come on earth as it was in heaven. The + gardener was gardening. I was not gardening. It is needless to explain the + causes of this difference; it would be to tell the tremendous history of + two souls. It is needless because there is a more immediate explanation of + the case: the gardener and I, if not equal in agreement, were at least + equal in difference. It is quite certain that he would not have allowed me + to touch the garden if I had gone down on my knees to him. And it is by no + means certain that I should have consented to touch the garden if he had + gone down on his knees to me. His activity and my idleness, therefore, + went on steadily side by side through the long sunset hours. + </p> + <p> + And all the time I was thinking what a shame it was that he was not + sticking his spade into his own garden, instead of mine: he knew about the + earth and the underworld of seeds, the resurrection of Spring and the + flowers that appear in order like a procession marshalled by a herald. He + possessed the garden intellectually and spiritually, while I only + possessed it politically. I know more about flowers than coal-owners know + about coal; for at least I pay them honour when they are brought above the + surface of the earth. I know more about gardens than railway shareholders + seem to know about railways: for at least I know that it needs a man to + make a garden; a man whose name is Adam. But as I walked on that grass my + ignorance overwhelmed me—and yet that phrase is false, because it + suggests something like a storm from the sky above. It is truer to say + that my ignorance exploded underneath me, like a mine dug long before; and + indeed it was dug before the beginning of the ages. Green bombs of bulbs + and seeds were bursting underneath me everywhere; and, so far as my + knowledge went, they had been laid by a conspirator. I trod quite uneasily + on this uprush of the earth; the Spring is always only a fruitful + earthquake. With the land all alive under me I began to wonder more and + more why this man, who had made the garden, did not own the garden. If I + stuck a spade into the ground, I should be astonished at what I found + there...and just as I thought this I saw that the gardener was astonished + too. + </p> + <p> + Just as I was wondering why the man who used the spade did not profit by + the spade, he brought me something he had found actually in my soil. It + was a thin worn gold piece of the Georges, of the sort which are called, I + believe, Spade Guineas. Anyhow, a piece of gold. + </p> + <p> + If you do not see the parable as I saw it just then, I doubt if I can + explain it just now. He could make a hundred other round yellow fruits: + and this flat yellow one is the only sort that I can make. How it came + there I have not a notion—unless Edmund Burke dropped it in his + hurry to get back to Butler's Court. But there it was: this is a cold + recital of facts. There may be a whole pirate's treasure lying under the + earth there, for all I know or care; for there is no interest in a + treasure without a Treasure Island to sail to. If there is a treasure it + will never be found, for I am not interested in wealth beyond the dreams + of avarice since I know that avarice has no dreams, but only insomnia. + And, for the other party, my gardener would never consent to dig up the + garden. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, I was overwhelmed with intellectual emotions when I saw that + answer to my question; the question of why the garden did not belong to + the gardener. No better epigram could be put in reply than simply putting + the Spade Guinea beside the Spade. This was the only underground seed that + I could understand. Only by having a little more of that dull, battered + yellow substance could I manage to be idle while he was active. I am not + altogether idle myself; but the fact remains that the power is in the thin + slip of metal we call the Spade Guinea, not in the strong square and curve + of metal which we call the Spade. And then I suddenly remembered that as I + had found gold on my ground by accident, so richer men in the north and + west counties had found coal in their ground, also by accident. + </p> + <p> + I told the gardener that as he had found the thing he ought to keep it, + but that if he cared to sell it to me it could be valued properly, and + then sold. He said at first, with characteristic independence, that he + would like to keep it. He said it would make a brooch for his wife. But a + little later he brought it back to me without explanation. I could not get + a ray of light on the reason of his refusal; but he looked lowering and + unhappy. Had he some mystical instinct that it is just such accidental and + irrational wealth that is the doom of all peasantries? Perhaps he dimly + felt that the boy's pirate tales are true; and that buried treasure is a + thing for robbers and not for producers. Perhaps he thought there was a + curse on such capital: on the coal of the coal-owners, on the gold of the + gold-seekers. Perhaps there is. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"></a> + THE VOTER AND THE TWO VOICES + </h2> + <p> + The real evil of our Party System is commonly stated wrong. It was stated + wrong by Lord Rosebery, when he said that it prevented the best men from + devoting themselves to politics, and that it encouraged a fanatical + conflict. I doubt whether the best men ever would devote themselves to + politics. The best men devote themselves to pigs and babies and things + like that. And as for the fanatical conflict in party politics, I wish + there was more of it. The real danger of the two parties with their two + policies is that they unduly limit the outlook of the ordinary citizen. + They make him barren instead of creative, because he is never allowed to + do anything except prefer one existing policy to another. We have not got + real Democracy when the decision depends upon the people. We shall have + real Democracy when the problem depends upon the people. The ordinary man + will decide not only how he will vote, but what he is going to vote about. + </p> + <p> + It is this which involves some weakness in many current aspirations + towards the extension of the suffrage; I mean that, apart from all + questions of abstract justice, it is not the smallness or largeness of the + suffrage that is at present the difficulty of Democracy. It is not the + quantity of voters, but the quality of the thing they are voting about. A + certain alternative is put before them by the powerful houses and the + highest political class. Two roads are opened to them; but they must go + down one or the other. They cannot have what they choose, but only which + they choose. To follow the process in practice we may put it thus. The + Suffragettes—if one may judge by their frequent ringing of his bell—want + to do something to Mr. Asquith. I have no notion what it is. Let us say + (for the sake of argument) that they want to paint him green. We will + suppose that it is entirely for that simple purpose that they are always + seeking to have private interviews with him; it seems as profitable as any + other end that I can imagine to such an interview. Now, it is possible + that the Government of the day might go in for a positive policy of + painting Mr. Asquith green; might give that reform a prominent place in + their programme. Then the party in opposition would adopt another policy, + not a policy of leaving Mr. Asquith alone (which would be considered + dangerously revolutionary), but some alternative course of action, as, for + instance, painting him red. Then both sides would fling themselves on the + people, they would both cry that the appeal was now to the Caesar of + Democracy. A dark and dramatic air of conflict and real crisis would arise + on both sides; arrows of satire would fly and swords of eloquence flame. + The Greens would say that Socialists and free lovers might well want to + paint Mr. Asquith red; they wanted to paint the whole town red. Socialists + would indignantly reply that Socialism was the reverse of disorder, and + that they only wanted to paint Mr. Asquith red so that he might resemble + the red pillar-boxes which typified State control. The Greens would + passionately deny the charge so often brought against them by the Reds; + they would deny that they wished Mr. Asquith green in order that he might + be invisible on the green benches of the Commons, as certain terrified + animals take the colour of their environment. + </p> + <p> + There would be fights in the street perhaps, and abundance of ribbons, + flags, and badges, of the two colours. One crowd would sing, “Keep the Red + Flag Flying,” and the other, “The Wearing of the Green.” But when the last + effort had been made and the last moment come, when two crowds were + waiting in the dark outside the public building to hear the declaration of + the poll, then both sides alike would say that it was now for democracy to + do exactly what it chose. England herself, lifting her head in awful + loneliness and liberty, must speak and pronounce judgment. Yet this might + not be exactly true. England herself, lifting her head in awful loneliness + and liberty, might really wish Mr. Asquith to be pale blue. The democracy + of England in the abstract, if it had been allowed to make up a policy for + itself, might have desired him to be black with pink spots. It might even + have liked him as he is now. But a huge apparatus of wealth, power, and + printed matter has made it practically impossible for them to bring home + these other proposals, even if they would really prefer them. No + candidates will stand in the spotted interest; for candidates commonly + have to produce money either from their own pockets or the party's; and in + such circles spots are not worn. No man in the social position of a + Cabinet Minister, perhaps, will commit himself to the pale-blue theory of + Mr. Asquith; therefore it cannot be a Government measure, therefore it + cannot pass. + </p> + <p> + Nearly all the great newspapers, both pompous and frivolous, will declare + dogmatically day after day, until every one half believes it, that red and + green are the only two colours in the paint-box. THE OBSERVER will say: + “No one who knows the solid framework of politics or the emphatic first + principles of an Imperial people can suppose for a moment that there is + any possible compromise to be made in such a matter; we must either fulfil + our manifest racial destiny and crown the edifice of ages with the august + figure of a Green Premier, or we must abandon our heritage, break our + promise to the Empire, fling ourselves into final anarchy, and allow the + flaming and demoniac image of a Red Premier to hover over our dissolution + and our doom.” The DAILY MAIL would say: “There is no halfway house in + this matter; it must be green or red. We wish to see every honest + Englishman one colour or the other.” And then some funny man in the + popular Press would star the sentence with a pun, and say that the DAILY + MAIL liked its readers to be green and its paper to be read. But no one + would even dare to whisper that there is such a thing as yellow. + </p> + <p> + For the purposes of pure logic it is clearer to argue with silly examples + than with sensible ones: because silly examples are simple. But I could + give many grave and concrete cases of the kind of thing to which I refer. + In the later part of the Boer War both parties perpetually insisted in + every speech and pamphlet that annexation was inevitable and that it was + only a question whether Liberals or Tories should do it. It was not + inevitable in the least; it would have been perfectly easy to make peace + with the Boers as Christian nations commonly make peace with their + conquered enemies. Personally I think that it would have been better for + us in the most selfish sense, better for our pocket and prestige, if we + had never effected the annexation at all; but that is a matter of opinion. + What is plain is that it was not inevitable; it was not, as was said, the + only possible course; there were plenty of other courses; there were + plenty of other colours in the box. Again, in the discussion about + Socialism, it is repeatedly rubbed into the public mind that we must + choose between Socialism and some horrible thing that they call + Individualism. I don't know what it means, but it seems to mean that + anybody who happens to pull out a plum is to adopt the moral philosophy of + the young Horner—and say what a good boy he is for helping himself. + </p> + <p> + It is calmly assumed that the only two possible types of society are a + Collectivist type of society and the present society that exists at this + moment and is rather like an animated muck-heap. It is quite unnecessary + to say that I should prefer Socialism to the present state of things. I + should prefer anarchism to the present state of things. But it is simply + not the fact that Collectivism is the only other scheme for a more equal + order. A Collectivist has a perfect right to think it the only sound + scheme; but it is not the only plausible or possible scheme. We might have + peasant proprietorship; we might have the compromise of Henry George; we + might have a number of tiny communes; we might have co-operation; we might + have Anarchist Communism; we might have a hundred things. I am not saying + that any of these are right, though I cannot imagine that any of them + could be worse than the present social madhouse, with its top-heavy rich + and its tortured poor; but I say that it is an evidence of the stiff and + narrow alternative offered to the civic mind, that the civic mind is not, + generally speaking, conscious of these other possibilities. The civic mind + is not free or alert enough to feel how much it has the world before it. + There are at least ten solutions of the Education question, and no one + knows which Englishmen really want. For Englishmen are only allowed to + vote about the two which are at that moment offered by the Premier and the + Leader of the Opposition. There are ten solutions of the drink question; + and no one knows which the democracy wants; for the democracy is only + allowed to fight about one Licensing Bill at a time. + </p> + <p> + So that the situation comes to this: The democracy has a right to answer + questions, but it has no right to ask them. It is still the political + aristocracy that asks the questions. And we shall not be unreasonably + cynical if we suppose that the political aristocracy will always be rather + careful what questions it asks. And if the dangerous comfort and + self-flattery of modern England continues much longer there will be less + democratic value in an English election than in a Roman saturnalia of + slaves. For the powerful class will choose two courses of action, both of + them safe for itself, and then give the democracy the gratification of + taking one course or the other. The lord will take two things so much + alike that he would not mind choosing from them blindfold—and then + for a great jest he will allow the slaves to choose. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"></a> + THE MAD OFFICIAL + </h2> + <p> + Going mad is the slowest and dullest business in the world. I have very + nearly done it more than once in my boyhood, and so have nearly all my + friends, born under the general doom of mortals, but especially of + moderns; I mean the doom that makes a man come almost to the end of + thinking before he comes to the first chance of living. + </p> + <p> + But the process of going mad is dull, for the simple reason that a man + does not know that it is going on. Routine and literalism and a certain + dry-throated earnestness and mental thirst, these are the very atmosphere + of morbidity. If once the man could become conscious of his madness, he + would cease to be man. He studies certain texts in Daniel or cryptograms + in Shakespeare through monstrously magnifying spectacles, which are on his + nose night and day. If once he could take off the spectacles he would + smash them. He deduces all his fantasies about the Sixth Seal or the + Anglo-Saxon Race from one unexamined and invisible first principle. If he + could once see the first principle, he would see that it is not there. + </p> + <p> + This slow and awful self-hypnotism of error is a process that can occur + not only with individuals, but also with whole societies. It is hard to + pick out and prove; that is why it is hard to cure. But this mental + degeneration may be brought to one test, which I truly believe to be a + real test. A nation is not going mad when it does extravagant things, so + long as it does them in an extravagant spirit. Crusaders not cutting their + beards till they found Jerusalem, Jacobins calling each other Harmodius + and Epaminondas when their names were Jacques and Jules, these are wild + things, but they were done in wild spirits at a wild moment. + </p> + <p> + But whenever we see things done wildly, but taken tamely, then the State + is growing insane. For instance, I have a gun license. For all I know, + this would logically allow me to fire off fifty-nine enormous field-guns + day and night in my back garden. I should not be surprised at a man doing + it; for it would be great fun. But I should be surprised at the neighbours + putting up with it, and regarding it as an ordinary thing merely because + it might happen to fulfill the letter of my license. + </p> + <p> + Or, again, I have a dog license; and I may have the right (for all I know) + to turn ten thousand wild dogs loose in Buckinghamshire. I should not be + surprised if the law were like that; because in modern England there is + practically no law to be surprised at. I should not be surprised even at + the man who did it; for a certain kind of man, if he lived long under the + English landlord system, might do anything. But I should be surprised at + the people who consented to stand it. I should, in other words, think the + world a little mad if the incident, were received in silence. + </p> + <p> + Now things every bit as wild as this are being received in silence every + day. All strokes slip on the smoothness of a polished wall. All blows fall + soundless on the softness of a padded cell. For madness is a passive as + well as an active state: it is a paralysis, a refusal of the nerves to + respond to the normal stimuli, as well as an unnatural stimulation. There + are commonwealths, plainly to be distinguished here and there in history, + which pass from prosperity to squalor, or from glory to insignificance, or + from freedom to slavery, not only in silence, but with serenity. The face + still smiles while the limbs, literally and loathsomely, are dropping from + the body. These are peoples that have lost the power of astonishment at + their own actions. When they give birth to a fantastic fashion or a + foolish law, they do not start or stare at the monster they have brought + forth. They have grown used to their own unreason; chaos is their cosmos; + and the whirlwind is the breath of their nostrils. These nations are + really in danger of going off their heads en masse; of becoming one vast + vision of imbecility, with toppling cities and crazy country-sides, all + dotted with industrious lunatics. One of these countries is modern + England. + </p> + <p> + Now here is an actual instance, a small case of how our social conscience + really works: tame in spirit, wild in result, blank in realisation; a + thing without the light of mind in it. I take this paragraph from a daily + paper:—“At Epping, yesterday, Thomas Woolbourne, a Lambourne + labourer, and his wife were summoned for neglecting their five children. + Dr. Alpin said he was invited by the inspector of the N.S.P.C.C. to visit + defendants' cottage. Both the cottage and the children were dirty. The + children looked exceedingly well in health, but the conditions would be + serious in case of illness. Defendants were stated to be sober. The man + was discharged. The woman, who said she was hampered by the cottage having + no water supply and that she was ill, was sentenced to six weeks' + imprisonment. The sentence caused surprise, and the woman was removed + crying, 'Lord save me!'” + </p> + <p> + I know no name for this but Chinese. It calls up the mental picture of + some archaic and changeless Eastern Court, in which men with dried faces + and stiff ceremonial costumes perform some atrocious cruelty to the + accompaniment of formal proverbs and sentences of which the very meaning + has been forgotten. In both cases the only thing in the whole farrago that + can be called real is the wrong. If we apply the lightest touch of reason + to the whole Epping prosecution it dissolves into nothing. + </p> + <p> + I here challenge any person in his five wits to tell me what that woman + was sent to prison for. Either it was for being poor, or it was for being + ill. Nobody could suggest, nobody will suggest, nobody, as a matter of + fact, did suggest, that she had committed any other crime. The doctor was + called in by a Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children. Was this + woman guilty of cruelty to children? Not in the least. Did the doctor say + she was guilty of cruelty to children? Not in the least. Was these any + evidence even remotely bearing on the sin of cruelty? Not a rap. The worse + that the doctor could work himself up to saying was that though the + children were “exceedingly” well, the conditions would be serious in case + of illness. If the doctor will tell me any conditions that would be comic + in case of illness, I shall attach more weight to his argument. + </p> + <p> + Now this is the worst effect of modern worry. The mad doctor has gone mad. + He is literally and practically mad; and still he is quite literally and + practically a doctor. The only question is the old one, Quis docebit ipsum + doctorem? Now cruelty to children is an utterly unnatural thing; + instinctively accursed of earth and heaven. But neglect of children is a + natural thing; like neglect of any other duty, it is a mere difference of + degree that divides extending arms and legs in calisthenics and extending + them on the rack. It is a mere difference of degree that separates any + operation from any torture. The thumb-screw can easily be called Manicure. + Being pulled about by wild horses can easily be called Massage. The modern + problem is not so much what people will endure as what they will not + endure. But I fear I interrupt.... The boiling oil is boiling; and the + Tenth Mandarin is already reciting the “Seventeen Serious Principles and + the Fifty-three Virtues of the Sacred Emperor.” + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"></a> + THE ENCHANTED MAN + </h2> + <p> + When I arrived to see the performance of the Buckinghamshire Players, who + acted Miss Gertrude Robins's POT LUCK at Naphill a short time ago, it is + the distressing, if scarcely surprising, truth that I entered very late. + This would have mattered little, I hope, to any one, but that late comers + had to be forced into front seats. For a real popular English audience + always insists on crowding in the back part of the hall; and (as I have + found in many an election) will endure the most unendurable taunts rather + than come forward. The English are a modest people; that is why they are + entirely ruled and run by the few of them that happen to be immodest. In + theatrical affairs the fact is strangely notable; and in most playhouses + we find the bored people in front and the eager people behind. + </p> + <p> + As far as the performance went I was quite the reverse of a bored person; + but I may have been a boring person, especially as I was thus required to + sit in the seats of the scornful. It will be a happy day in the dramatic + world when all ladies have to take off their hats and all critics have to + take off their heads. The people behind will have a chance then. And as it + happens, in this case, I had not so much taken off my head as lost it. I + had lost it on the road; on that strange journey that was the cause of my + coming in late. I have a troubled recollection of having seen a very good + play and made a very bad speech; I have a cloudy recollection of talking + to all sorts of nice people afterwards, but talking to them jerkily and + with half a head, as a man talks when he has one eye on a clock. + </p> + <p> + And the truth is that I had one eye on an ancient and timeless clock, hung + uselessly in heaven; whose very name has passed into a figure for such + bemused folly. In the true sense of an ancient phrase, I was moonstruck. A + lunar landscape a scene of winter moonlight had inexplicably got in + between me and all other scenes. If any one had asked me I could not have + said what it was; I cannot say now. Nothing had occurred to me; except the + breakdown of a hired motor on the ridge of a hill. It was not an + adventure; it was a vision. + </p> + <p> + I had started in wintry twilight from my own door; and hired a small car + that found its way across the hills towards Naphill. But as night + blackened and frost brightened and hardened it I found the way + increasingly difficult; especially as the way was an incessant ascent. + Whenever we topped a road like a staircase it was only to turn into a yet + steeper road like a ladder. + </p> + <p> + At last, when I began to fancy that I was spirally climbing the Tower of + Babel in a dream, I was brought to fact by alarming noises, stoppage, and + the driver saying that “it couldn't be done.” I got out of the car and + suddenly forgot that I had ever been in it. + </p> + <p> + From the edge of that abrupt steep I saw something indescribable, which I + am now going to describe. When Mr. Joseph Chamberlain delivered his great + patriotic speech on the inferiority of England to the Dutch parts of South + Africa, he made use of the expression “the illimitable veldt.” The word + “veldt” is Dutch, and the word “illimitable” is Double Dutch. But the + meditative statesman probably meant that the new plains gave him a sense + of largeness and dreariness which he had never found in England. Well, if + he never found it in England it was because he never looked for it in + England. In England there is an illimitable number of illimitable veldts. + I saw six or seven separate eternities in cresting as many different + hills. One cannot find anything more infinite than a finite horizon, free + and lonely and innocent. The Dutch veldt may be a little more desolate + than Birmingham. But I am sure it is not so desolate as that English hill + was, almost within a cannon-shot of High Wycombe. + </p> + <p> + I looked across a vast and voiceless valley straight at the moon, as if at + a round mirror. It may have been the blue moon of the proverb; for on that + freezing night the very moon seemed blue with cold. A deathly frost + fastened every branch and blade to its place. The sinking and softening + forests, powdered with a gray frost, fell away underneath me into an abyss + which seemed unfathomable. One fancied the world was soundless only + because it was bottomless: it seemed as if all songs and cries had been + swallowed in some unresisting stillness under the roots of the hills. I + could fancy that if I shouted there would be no echo; that if I hurled + huge stones there would be no noise of reply. A dumb devil had bewitched + the landscape: but that again does not express the best or worst of it. + All those hoary and frosted forests expressed something so inhuman that it + has no human name. A horror of unconsciousness lay on them; that is the + nearest phrase I know. It was as if one were looking at the back of the + world; and the world did not know it. I had taken the universe in the + rear. I was behind the scenes. I was eavesdropping upon an unconscious + creation. + </p> + <p> + I shall not express what the place expressed. I am not even sure that it + is a thing that ought to be expressed. There was something heathen about + its union of beauty and death; sorrow seemed to glitter, as it does in + some of the great pagan poems. I understood one of the thousand poetical + phrases of the populace, “a God-forsaken place.” Yet something was present + there; and I could not yet find the key to my fixed impression. Then + suddenly I remembered the right word. It was an enchanted place. It had + been put to sleep. In a flash I remembered all the fairy-tales about + princes turned to marble and princesses changed to snow. We were in a land + where none could strive or cry out; a white nightmare. The moon looked at + me across the valley like the enormous eye of a hypnotist; the one white + eye of the world. + </p> + <p> + There was never a better play than POT LUCK; for it tells a tale with a + point and a tale that might happen any day among English peasants. There + were never better actors than the local Buckinghamshire Players: for they + were acting their own life with just that rise into exaggeration which is + the transition from life to art. But all the time I was mesmerised by the + moon; I saw all these men and women as enchanted things. The poacher shot + pheasants; the policeman tracked pheasants; the wife hid pheasants; they + were all (especially the policeman) as true as death. But there was + something more true to death than true to life about it all: the figures + were frozen with a magic frost of sleep or fear or custom such as does not + cramp the movements of the poor men of other lands. I looked at the + poacher and the policeman and the gun; then at the gun and the policeman + and the poacher; and I could find no name for the fancy that haunted and + escaped me. The poacher believed in the Game Laws as much as the + policeman. The poacher's wife not only believed in the Game Laws, but + protected them as well as him. She got a promise from her husband that he + would never shoot another pheasant. Whether he kept it I doubt; I fancy he + sometimes shot a pheasant even after that. But I am sure he never shot a + policeman. For we live in an enchanted land. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"></a> + THE SUN WORSHIPPER + </h2> + <p> + There is a shrewd warning to be given to all people who are in revolt. And + in the present state of things, I think all men are revolting in that + sense; except a few who are revolting in the other sense. But the warning + to Socialists and other revolutionaries is this: that as sure as fate, if + they use any argument which is atheist or materialistic, that argument + will always be turned against them at last by the tyrant and the slave. + To-day I saw one too common Socialist argument turned Tory, so to speak, + in a manner quite startling and insane. I mean that modern doctrine, + taught, I believe, by most followers of Karl Marx, which is called the + materialist theory of history. The theory is, roughly, this: that all the + important things in history are rooted in an economic motive. In short, + history is a science; a science of the search for food. + </p> + <p> + Now I desire, in passing only, to point out that this is not merely + untrue, but actually the reverse of the truth. It is putting it too feebly + to say that the history of man is not only economic. Man would not have + any history if he were only economic. The need for food is certainly + universal, so universal that it is not even human. Cows have an economic + motive, and apparently (I dare not say what ethereal delicacies may be in + a cow) only an economic motive. The cow eats grass anywhere and never eats + anything else. In short, the cow does fulfill the materialist theory of + history: that is why the cow has no history. “A History of Cows” would be + one of the simplest and briefest of standard works. But if some cows + thought it wicked to eat long grass and persecuted all who did so; if the + cow with the crumpled horn were worshipped by some cows and gored to death + by others; if cows began to have obvious moral preferences over and above + a desire for grass, then cows would begin to have a history. They would + also begin to have a highly unpleasant time, which is perhaps the same + thing. + </p> + <p> + The economic motive is not merely not inside all history; it is actually + outside all history. It belongs to Biology or the Science of Life; that + is, it concerns things like cows, that are not so very much alive. Men are + far too much alive to get into the science of anything; for them we have + made the art of history. To say that human actions have depended on + economic support is like saying that they have depended on having two + legs. It accounts for action, but not for such varied action; it is a + condition, but not a motive; it is too universal to be useful. Certainly a + soldier wins the Victoria Cross on two legs; he also runs away on two + legs. But if our object is to discover whether he will become a V.C. or a + coward the most careful inspection of his legs will yield us little or no + information. In the same way a man will want food if he is a dreamy + romantic tramp, and will want food if he is a toiling and sweating + millionaire. A man must be supported on food as he must be supported on + legs. But cows (who have no history) are not only furnished more + generously in the matter of legs, but can see their food on a much grander + and more imaginative scale. A cow can lift up her eyes to the hills and + see uplands and peaks of pure food. Yet we never see the horizon broken by + crags of cake or happy hills of cheese. + </p> + <p> + So far the cow (who has no history) seems to have every other advantage. + But history—the whole point of history—precisely is that some + two legged soldiers ran away while others, of similar anatomical + structure, did not. The whole point of history precisely is: some people + (like poets and tramps) chance getting money by disregarding it, while + others (such as millionaires) will absolutely lose money for the fun of + bothering about it. There would be no history if there were only economic + history. All the historical events have been due to the twists and turns + given to the economic instinct by forces that were not economic. For + instance, this theory traces the French war of Edward III to a quarrel + about the French wines. Any one who has even smelt the Middle Ages must + feel fifty answers spring to his lips; but in this case one will suffice. + There would have been no such war, then, if we all drank water like cows. + But when one is a man one enters the world of historic choice. The act of + drinking wine is one that requires explanation. So is the act of not + drinking wine. + </p> + <p> + But the capitalist can get much more fun out of the doctrine. + </p> + <p> + When strikes were splitting England right and left a little while ago, an + ingenious writer, humorously describing himself as a Liberal, said that + they were entirely due to the hot weather. The suggestion was eagerly + taken up by other creatures of the same kind, and I really do not see why + it was not carried farther and applied to other lamentable uprisings in + history. Thus, it is a remarkable fact that the weather is generally + rather warm in Egypt; and this cannot but throw a light on the sudden and + mysterious impulse of the Israelites to escape from captivity. The English + strikers used some barren republican formula (arid as the definitions of + the medieval schoolmen), some academic shibboleth about being free men and + not being forced to work except for a wage accepted by them. Just in the + same way the Israelites in Egypt employed some dry scholastic quibble + about the extreme difficulty of making bricks with nothing to make them + of. But whatever fantastic intellectual excuses they may have put forward + for their strange and unnatural conduct in walking out when the prison + door was open, there can be no doubt that the real cause was the warm + weather. Such a climate notoriously also produces delusions and horrible + fancies, such as Mr. Kipling describes. And it was while their brains were + disordered by the heat that the Jews fancied that they were founding a + nation, that they were led by a prophet, and, in short, that they were + going to be of some importance in the affairs of the world. + </p> + <p> + Nor can the historical student fail to note that the French monarchy was + pulled down in August; and that August is a month in summer. + </p> + <p> + In spite of all this, however, I have some little difficulty myself in + accepting so simple a form of the Materialist Theory of History (at these + words all Marxian Socialists will please bow their heads three times), and + I rather think that exceptions might be found to the principle. Yet it is + not chiefly such exceptions that embarrass my belief in it. + </p> + <p> + No; my difficulty is rather in accounting for the strange coincidence by + which the shafts of Apollo split us exclusively along certain lines of + class and of economics. I cannot understand why all solicitors did not + leave off soliciting, all doctors leave off doctoring, all judges leave + off judging, all benevolent bankers leave off lending money at high + interest, and all rising politicians leave off having nothing to add to + what their right honourable friend told the House about eight years ago. + The quaint theoretic plea of the workers, that they were striking because + they were ill paid, seems to receive a sort of wild and hazy confirmation + from the fact that, throughout the hottest weather, judges and other + persons who are particularly well paid showed no disposition to strike. I + have to fall back therefore on metaphysical fancies of my own; and I + continue to believe that the anger of the English poor (to steal a phrase + from Sir Thomas Browne) came from something in man that is other than the + elements and that owes no homage unto the sun. + </p> + <p> + When comfortable people come to talking stuff of that sort, it is really + time that the comfortable classes made a short summary and confession of + what they have really done with the very poor Englishman. The dawn of the + mediæval civilisation found him a serf; which is a different thing from a + slave. He had security; although the man belonged to the land rather than + the land to the man. He could not be evicted; his rent could not be + raised. In practice, it came to something like this: that if the lord rode + down his cabbages he had not much chance of redress; but he had the chance + of growing more cabbages. He had direct access to the means of production. + </p> + <p> + Since then the centuries in England have achieved something different; and + something which, fortunately, is perfectly easy to state. There is no + doubt about what we have done. We have kept the inequality, but we have + destroyed the security. The man is not tied to the land, as in serfdom; + nor is the land tied to the man, as in a peasantry. The rich man has + entered into an absolute ownership of farms and fields; and (in the modern + industrial phrase) he has locked out the English people. They can only + find an acre to dig or a house to sleep in by accepting such competitive + and cruel terms as he chooses to impose. + </p> + <p> + Well, what would happen then, over the larger parts of the planet, parts + inhabited by savages? Savages, of course, would hunt and fish. That + retreat for the English poor was perceived; and that retreat was cut off. + Game laws were made to extend over districts like the Arctic snows or the + Sahara. The rich man had property over animals he had no more dreamed of + than a governor of Roman Africa had dreamed of a giraffe. He owned all the + birds that passed over his land: he might as well have owned all the + clouds that passed over it. If a rabbit ran from Smith's land to Brown's + land, it belonged to Brown, as if it were his pet dog. The logical answer + to this would be simple: Any one stung on Brown's land ought to be able to + prosecute Brown for keeping a dangerous wasp without a muzzle. + </p> + <p> + Thus the poor man was forced to be a tramp along the roads and to sleep in + the open. That retreat was perceived; and that retreat was cut off. A + landless man in England can be punished for behaving in the only way that + a landless man can behave: for sleeping under a hedge in Surrey or on a + seat on the Embankment. His sin is described (with a hideous sense of fun) + as that of having no visible means of subsistence. + </p> + <p> + The last possibility, of course, is that upon which all human beings would + fall back if they were sinking in a swamp or impaled on a spike or + deserted on an island. It is that of calling out for pity to the passerby. + That retreat was perceived; and that retreat was cut off. A man in England + can be sent to prison for asking another man for help in the name of God. + </p> + <p> + You have done all these things, and by so doing you have forced the poor + to serve the rich, and to serve them on the terms of the rich. They have + still one weapon left against the extremes of insult and unfairness: that + weapon is their numbers and the necessity of those numbers to the working + of that vast and slavish machine. And because they still had this last + retreat (which we call the Strike), because this retreat was also + perceived, there was talk of this retreat being also cut off. Whereupon + the workmen became suddenly and violently angry; and struck at your Boards + and Committees here, there, and wherever they could. And you opened on + them the eyes of owls, and said, “It must be the sunshine.” You could only + go on saying, “The sun, the sun.” That was what the man in Ibsen said, + when he had lost his wits. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"></a> + THE WRONG INCENDIARY + </h2> + <p> + I stood looking at the Coronation Procession—I mean the one in + Beaconsfield; not the rather elephantine imitation of it which, I believe, + had some success in London—and I was seriously impressed. Most of my + life is passed in discovering with a deathly surprise that I was quite + right. Never before have I realised how right I was in maintaining that + the small area expresses the real patriotism: the smaller the field the + taller the tower. There were things in our local procession that did not + (one might even reverently say, could not) occur in the London procession. + One of the most prominent citizens in our procession (for instance) had + his face blacked. Another rode on a pony which wore pink and blue + trousers. I was not present at the Metropolitan affair, and therefore my + assertion is subject to such correction as the eyewitness may always offer + to the absentee. But I believe with some firmness that no such features + occurred in the London pageant. + </p> + <p> + But it is not of the local celebration that I would speak, but of + something that occurred before it. In the field beyond the end of my + garden the materials for a bonfire had been heaped; a hill of every kind + of rubbish and refuse and things that nobody wants; broken chairs, dead + trees, rags, shavings, newspapers, new religions, in pamphlet form, + reports of the Eugenic Congress, and so on. All this refuse, material and + mental, it was our purpose to purify and change to holy flame on the day + when the King was crowned. The following is an account of the rather + strange thing that really happened. I do not know whether it was any sort + of symbol; but I narrate it just as it befell. + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the night I woke up slowly and listened to what I + supposed to be the heavy crunching of a cart-wheel along a road of loose + stones. Then it grew louder, and I thought somebody was shooting out + cartloads of stones; then it seemed as if the shock was breaking big + stones into pieces. Then I realised that under this sound there was also a + strange, sleepy, almost inaudible roar; and that on top of it every now + and then came pigmy pops like a battle of penny pistols. Then I knew what + it was. I went to the window; and a great firelight flung across two + meadows smote me where I stood. “Oh, my holy aunt,” I thought, “they've + mistaken the Coronation Day.” + </p> + <p> + And yet when I eyed the transfigured scene it did not seem exactly like a + bonfire or any ritual illumination. It was too chaotic, and too close to + the houses of the town. All one side of a cottage was painted pink with + the giant brush of flame; the next side, by contrast, was painted as black + as tar. Along the front of this ran a blackening rim or rampart edged with + a restless red ribbon that danced and doubled and devoured like a scarlet + snake; and beyond it was nothing but a deathly fulness of light. + </p> + <p> + I put on some clothes and went down the road; all the dull or startling + noises in that din of burning growing louder and louder as I walked. The + heaviest sound was that of an incessant cracking and crunching, as if some + giant with teeth of stone was breaking up the bones of the world. I had + not yet come within sight of the real heart and habitat of the fire; but + the strong red light, like an unnatural midnight sunset, powdered the + grayest grass with gold and flushed the few tall trees up to the last + fingers of their foliage. Behind them the night was black and cavernous; + and one could only trace faintly the ashen horizon beyond the dark and + magic Wilton Woods. As I went, a workman on a bicycle shot a rood past me; + then staggered from his machine and shouted to me to tell him where the + fire was. I answered that I was going to see, but thought it was the + cottages by the wood-yard. He said, “My God!” and vanished. + </p> + <p> + A little farther on I found grass and pavement soaking and flooded, and + the red and yellow flames repainted in pools and puddles. Beyond were dim + huddles of people and a small distant voice shouting out orders. The + fire-engines were at work. I went on among the red reflections, which + seemed like subterranean fires; I had a singular sensation of being in a + very important dream. Oddly enough, this was increased when I found that + most of my friends and neighbours were entangled in the crowd. Only in + dreams do we see familiar faces so vividly against a black background of + midnight. I was glad to find (for the workman cyclist's sake) that the + fire was not in the houses by the wood-yard, but in the wood-yard itself. + There was no fear for human life, and the thing was seemingly accidental; + though there were the usual ugly whispers about rivalry and revenge. But + for all that I could not shake off my dream-drugged soul a swollen, + tragic, portentous sort of sensation, that it all had something to do with + the crowning of the English King, and the glory or the end of England. It + was not till I saw the puddles and the ashes in broad daylight next + morning that I was fundamentally certain that my midnight adventure had + not happened outside this world. + </p> + <p> + But I was more arrogant than the ancient Emperors Pharaoh or + Nebuchadnezzar; for I attempted to interpret my own dream. The fire was + feeding upon solid stacks of unused beech or pine, gray and white piles of + virgin wood. It was an orgy of mere waste; thousands of good things were + being killed before they had ever existed. Doors, tables, walking-sticks, + wheelbarrows, wooden swords for boys, Dutch dolls for girls I could hear + the cry of each uncreated thing as it expired in the flames. And then I + thought of that other noble tower of needless things that stood in the + field beyond my garden; the bonfire, the mountain of vanities, that is + meant for burning; and how it stood dark and lonely in the meadow, and the + birds hopped on its corners and the dew touched and spangled its twigs. + And I remembered that there are two kinds of fires, the Bad Fire and the + Good Fire the last must surely be the meaning of Bonfire. And the paradox + is that the Good Fire is made of bad things, of things that we do not + want; but the Bad Fire is made of good things, of things that we do want; + like all that wealth of wood that might have made dolls and chairs and + tables, but was only making a hueless ash. + </p> + <p> + And then I saw, in my vision, that just as there are two fires, so there + are two revolutions. And I saw that the whole mad modern world is a race + between them. Which will happen first—the revolution in which bad + things shall perish, or that other revolution, in which good things shall + perish also? One is the riot that all good men, even the most + conservative, really dream of, when the sneer shall be struck from the + face of the well-fed; when the wine of honour shall be poured down the + throat of despair; when we shall, so far as to the sons of flesh is + possible, take tyranny and usury and public treason and bind them into + bundles and burn them. And the other is the disruption that may come + prematurely, negatively, and suddenly in the night; like the fire in my + little town. + </p> + <p> + It may come because the mere strain of modern life is unbearable; and in + it even the things that men do desire may break down; marriage and fair + ownership and worship and the mysterious worth of man. The two + revolutions, white and black, are racing each other like two railway + trains; I cannot guess the issue...but even as I thought of it, the + tallest turret of the timber stooped and faltered and came down in a + cataract of noises. And the fire, finding passage, went up with a spout + like a fountain. It stood far up among the stars for an instant, a blazing + pillar of brass fit for a pagan conqueror, so high that one could fancy it + visible away among the goblin trees of Burnham or along the terraces of + the Chiltern Hills. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"></a> + THE FREE MAN + </h2> + <p> + The idea of liberty has ultimately a religious root; that is why men find + it so easy to die for and so difficult to define. It refers finally to the + fact that, while the oyster and the palm tree have to save their lives by + law, man has to save his soul by choice. Ruskin rebuked Coleridge for + praising freedom, and said that no man would wish the sun to be free. It + seems enough to answer that no man would wish to be the sun. Speaking as a + Liberal, I have much more sympathy with the idea of Joshua stopping the + sun in heaven than with the idea of Ruskin trotting his daily round in + imitation of its regularity. Joshua was a Radical, and his astronomical + act was distinctly revolutionary. For all revolution is the mastering of + matter by the spirit of man, the emergence of that human authority within + us which, in the noble words of Sir Thomas Browne, “owes no homage unto + the sun.” + </p> + <p> + Generally, the moral substance of liberty is this: that man is not meant + merely to receive good laws, good food or good conditions, like a tree in + a garden, but is meant to take a certain princely pleasure in selecting + and shaping like the gardener. Perhaps that is the meaning of the trade of + Adam. And the best popular words for rendering the real idea of liberty + are those which speak of man as a creator. We use the word “make” about + most of the things in which freedom is essential, as a country walk or a + friendship or a love affair. When a man “makes his way” through a wood he + has really created, he has built a road, like the Romans. When a man + “makes a friend,” he makes a man. And in the third case we talk of a man + “making love,” as if he were (as, indeed, he is) creating new masses and + colours of that flaming material an awful form of manufacture. In its + primary spiritual sense, liberty is the god in man, or, if you like the + word, the artist. + </p> + <p> + In its secondary political sense liberty is the living influence of the + citizen on the State in the direction of moulding or deflecting it. Men + are the only creatures that evidently possess it. On the one hand, the + eagle has no liberty; he only has loneliness. On the other hand, ants, + bees, and beavers exhibit the highest miracle of the State influencing the + citizen; but no perceptible trace of the citizen influencing the State. + You may, if you like, call the ants a democracy as you may call the bees a + despotism. But I fancy that the architectural ant who attempted to + introduce an art nouveau style of ant-hill would have a career as curt and + fruitless as the celebrated bee who wanted to swarm alone. The isolation + of this idea in humanity is akin to its religious character; but it is not + even in humanity by any means equally distributed. The idea that the State + should not only be supported by its children, like the ant-hill, but + should be constantly criticised and reconstructed by them, is an idea + stronger in Christendom than any other part of the planet; stronger in + Western than Eastern Europe. And touching the pure idea of the individual + being free to speak and act within limits, the assertion of this idea, we + may fairly say, has been the peculiar honour of our own country. For my + part I greatly prefer the Jingoism of Rule Britannia to the Imperialism of + The Recessional. I have no objection to Britannia ruling the waves. I draw + the line when she begins to rule the dry land—and such damnably dry + land too—as in Africa. And there was a real old English sincerity in + the vulgar chorus that “Britons never shall be slaves.” We had no equality + and hardly any justice; but freedom we were really fond of. And I think + just now it is worth while to draw attention to the old optimistic + prophecy that “Britons never shall be slaves.” + </p> + <p> + The mere love of liberty has never been at a lower ebb in England than it + has been for the last twenty years. Never before has it been so easy to + slip small Bills through Parliament for the purpose of locking people up. + Never was it so easy to silence awkward questions, or to protect + high-placed officials. Two hundred years ago we turned out the Stuarts + rather than endanger the Habeas Corpus Act. Two years ago we abolished the + Habeas Corpus Act rather than turn out the Home Secretary. We passed a law + (which is now in force) that an Englishman's punishment shall not depend + upon judge and jury, but upon the governors and jailers who have got hold + of him. But this is not the only case. The scorn of liberty is in the air. + A newspaper is seized by the police in Trafalgar Square without a word of + accusation or explanation. The Home Secretary says that in his opinion the + police are very nice people, and there is an end of the matter. A Member + of Parliament attempts to criticise a peerage. The Speaker says he must + not criticise a peerage, and there the matter drops. + </p> + <p> + Political liberty, let us repeat, consists in the power of criticising + those flexible parts of the State which constantly require + reconsideration, not the basis, but the machinery. In plainer words, it + means the power of saying the sort of things that a decent but + discontented citizen wants to say. He does not want to spit on the Bible, + or to run about without clothes, or to read the worst page in Zola from + the pulpit of St. Paul's. Therefore the forbidding of these things + (whether just or not) is only tyranny in a secondary and special sense. It + restrains the abnormal, not the normal man. But the normal man, the decent + discontented citizen, does want to protest against unfair law courts. He + does want to expose brutalities of the police. He does want to make game + of a vulgar pawnbroker who is made a Peer. He does want publicly to warn + people against unscrupulous capitalists and suspicious finance. If he is + run in for doing this (as he will be) he does want to proclaim the + character or known prejudices of the magistrate who tries him. If he is + sent to prison (as he will be) he does want to have a clear and civilised + sentence, telling him when he will come out. And these are literally and + exactly the things that he now cannot get. That is the almost cloying + humour of the present situation. I can say abnormal things in modern + magazines. It is the normal things that I am not allowed to say. I can + write in some solemn quarterly an elaborate article explaining that God is + the devil; I can write in some cultured weekly an aesthetic fancy + describing how I should like to eat boiled baby. The thing I must not + write is rational criticism of the men and institutions of my country. + </p> + <p> + The present condition of England is briefly this: That no Englishman can + say in public a twentieth part of what he says in private. One cannot say, + for instance, that—But I am afraid I must leave out that instance, + because one cannot say it. I cannot prove my case—because it is so + true. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"></a> + THE HYPOTHETICAL HOUSEHOLDER + </h2> + <p> + We have read of some celebrated philosopher who was so absent-minded that + he paid a call at his own house. My own absent-mindedness is extreme, and + my philosophy, of course, is the marvel of men and angels. But I never + quite managed to be so absent-minded as that. Some yards at least from my + own door, something vaguely familiar has always caught my eye; and thus + the joke has been spoiled. Of course I have quite constantly walked into + another man's house, thinking it was my own house; my visits became almost + monotonous. But walking into my own house and thinking it was another + man's house is a flight of poetic detachment still beyond me. Something of + the sensations that such an absent-minded man must feel I really felt the + other day; and very pleasant sensations they were. The best parts of every + proper romance are the first chapter and the last chapter; and to knock at + a strange door and find a nice wife would be to concentrate the beginning + and end of all romance. + </p> + <p> + Mine was a milder and slighter experience, but its thrill was of the same + kind. For I strolled through a place I had imagined quite virgin and + unvisited (as far as I was concerned), and I suddenly found I was treading + in my own footprints, and the footprints were nearly twenty years old. + </p> + <p> + It was one of those stretches of country which always suggests an almost + unnatural decay; thickets and heaths that have grown out of what were once + great gardens. Garden flowers still grow there as wild flowers, as it says + in some good poetic couplet which I forget; and there is something + singularly romantic and disastrous about seeing things that were so long a + human property and care fighting for their own hand in the thicket. One + almost expects to find a decayed dog-kennel; with the dog evolved into a + wolf. + </p> + <p> + This desolate garden-land had been even in my youth scrappily planned out + for building. The half-built or empty houses had appeared quite + threateningly on the edge of this heath even when I walked over it years + ago and almost as a boy. I was astonished that the building had gone no + farther; I suppose somebody went bankrupt and somebody else disliked + building. But I remember, especially along one side of this tangle or + coppice, that there had once been a row of half-built houses. The brick of + which they were built was a sort of plain pink; everything else was a + blinding white; the houses smoked with white dust and white sawdust; and + on many of the windows were rubbed those round rough disks of white which + always delighted me as a child. They looked like the white eyes of some + blind giant. + </p> + <p> + I could see the crude, parched pink-and-white villas still; though I had + not thought at all of them for a quarter of my life; and had not thought + much of them even when I saw them. Then I was an idle, but eager youth + walking out from London; now I was a most reluctantly busy middle-aged + person, coming in from the country. Youth, I think, seems farther off than + childhood, for it made itself more of a secret. Like a prenatal picture, + distant, tiny, and quite distinct, I saw this heath on which I stood; and + I looked around for the string of bright, half-baked villas. They still + stood there; but they were quite russet and weather-stained, as if they + had stood for centuries. + </p> + <p> + I remembered exactly what I had done on that day long ago. I had half slid + on a miry descent; it was still there; a little lower I had knocked off + the top of a thistle; the thistles had not been discouraged, but were + still growing. I recalled it because I had wondered why one knocks off the + tops of thistles; and then I had thought of Tarquin; and then I had + recited most of Macaulay's VIRGINIA to myself, for I was young. And then I + came to a tattered edge where the very tuft had whitened with the sawdust + and brick-dust from the new row of houses; and two or three green stars of + dock and thistle grew spasmodically about the blinding road. + </p> + <p> + I remembered how I had walked up this new one-sided street all those years + ago; and I remembered what I had thought. I thought that this red and + white glaring terrace at noon was really more creepy and more lonesome + than a glimmering churchyard at midnight. The churchyard could only be + full of the ghosts of the dead; but these houses were full of the ghosts + of the unborn. And a man can never find a home in the future as he can + find it in the past. I was always fascinated by that mediæval notion of + erecting a rudely carpentered stage in the street, and acting on it a + miracle play of the Holy Family or the Last Judgment. And I thought to + myself that each of these glaring, gaping, new jerry-built boxes was + indeed a rickety stage erected for the acting of a real miracle play; that + human family that is almost the holy one, and that human death that is + near to the last judgment. + </p> + <p> + For some foolish reason the last house but one in that imperfect row + especially haunted me with its hollow grin and empty window-eyes. + Something in the shape of this brick-and-mortar skeleton was attractive; + and there being no workmen about, I strolled into it for curiosity and + solitude. I gave, with all the sky-deep gravity of youth, a benediction + upon the man who was going to live there. I even remember that for the + convenience of meditation I called him James Harrogate. + </p> + <p> + As I reflected it crawled back into my memory that I had mildly played the + fool in that house on that distant day. I had some red chalk in my pocket, + I think, and I wrote things on the unpapered plaster walls; things + addressed to Mr. Harrogate. A dim memory told me that I had written up in + what I supposed to be the dining-room: + </p> +<p class="poem"> + James Harrogate, thank God for meat,<br /> + Then eat and eat and eat and eat, +</p> + <p> + or something of that kind. I faintly feel that some longer lyric was + scrawled on the walls of what looked like a bedroom, something beginning: + </p> +<p class="poem"> + When laying what you call your head,<br /> + O Harrogate, upon your bed, +</p> + <p> + and there all my memory dislimns and decays. But I could still see quite + vividly the plain plastered walls and the rude, irregular writing, and the + places where the red chalk broke. I could see them, I mean, in memory; for + when I came down that road again after a sixth of a century the house was + very different. + </p> + <p> + I had seen it before at noon, and now I found it in the dusk. But its + windows glowed with lights of many artificial sorts; one of its low square + windows stood open; from this there escaped up the road a stream of + lamplight and a stream of singing. Some sort of girl, at least, was + standing at some sort of piano, and singing a song of healthy + sentimentalism in that house where long ago my blessing had died on the + wind and my poems been covered up by the wallpaper. I stood outside that + lamplit house at dusk full of those thoughts that I shall never express if + I live to be a million any better than I expressed them in red chalk upon + the wall. But after I had hovered a little, and was about to withdraw, a + mad impulse seized me. I rang the bell. I said in distinct accents to a + very smart suburban maid, “Does Mr. James Harrogate live here?” + </p> + <p> + She said he didn't; but that she would inquire, in case I was looking for + him in the neighbourhood; but I excused her from such exertion. I had one + moment's impulse to look for him all over the world; and then decided not + to look for him at all. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"></a> + THE PRIEST OF SPRING + </h2> + <p> + The sun has strengthened and the air softened just before Easter Day. But + it is a troubled brightness which has a breath not only of novelty but of + revolution, There are two great armies of the human intellect who will + fight till the end on this vital point, whether Easter is to be + congratulated on fitting in with the Spring—or the Spring on fitting + in with Easter. + </p> + <p> + The only two things that can satisfy the soul are a person and a story; + and even a story must be about a person. There are indeed very voluptuous + appetites and enjoyments in mere abstractions like mathematics, logic, or + chess. But these mere pleasures of the mind are like mere pleasures of the + body. That is, they are mere pleasures, though they may be gigantic + pleasures; they can never by a mere increase of themselves amount to + happiness. A man just about to be hanged may enjoy his breakfast; + especially if it be his favourite breakfast; and in the same way he may + enjoy an argument with the chaplain about heresy, especially if it is his + favourite heresy. But whether he can enjoy either of them does not depend + on either of them; it depends upon his spiritual attitude towards a + subsequent event. And that event is really interesting to the soul; + because it is the end of a story and (as some hold) the end of a person. + </p> + <p> + Now it is this simple truth which, like many others, is too simple for our + scientists to see. This is where they go wrong, not only about true + religion, but about false religions too; so that their account of + mythology is more mythical than the myth itself. I do not confine myself + to saying that they are quite incorrect when they state (for instance) + that Christ was a legend of dying and reviving vegetation, like Adonis or + Persephone. I say that even if Adonis was a god of vegetation, they have + got the whole notion of him wrong. Nobody, to begin with, is sufficiently + interested in decaying vegetables, as such, to make any particular mystery + or disguise about them; and certainly not enough to disguise them under + the image of a very handsome young man, which is a vastly more interesting + thing. If Adonis was connected with the fall of leaves in autumn and the + return of flowers in spring, the process of thought was quite different. + It is a process of thought which springs up spontaneously in all children + and young artists; it springs up spontaneously in all healthy societies. + It is very difficult to explain in a diseased society. + </p> + <p> + The brain of man is subject to short and strange snatches of sleep. A + cloud seals the city of reason or rests upon the sea of imagination; a + dream that darkens as much, whether it is a nightmare of atheism or a + daydream of idolatry. And just as we have all sprung from sleep with a + start and found ourselves saying some sentence that has no meaning, save + in the mad tongues of the midnight; so the human mind starts from its + trances of stupidity with some complete phrase upon its lips; a complete + phrase which is a complete folly. Unfortunately it is not like the dream + sentence, generally forgotten in the putting on of boots or the putting in + of breakfast. This senseless aphorism, invented when man's mind was + asleep, still hangs on his tongue and entangles all his relations to + rational and daylight things. All our controversies are confused by + certain kinds of phrases which are not merely untrue, but were always + unmeaning; which are not merely inapplicable, but were always + intrinsically useless. We recognise them wherever a man talks of “the + survival of the fittest,” meaning only the survival of the survivors; or + wherever a man says that the rich “have a stake in the country,” as if the + poor could not suffer from misgovernment or military defeat; or where a + man talks about “going on towards Progress,” which only means going on + towards going on; or when a man talks about “government by the wise few,” + as if they could be picked out by their pantaloons. “The wise few” must + mean either the few whom the foolish think wise or the very foolish who + think themselves wise. + </p> + <p> + There is one piece of nonsense that modern people still find themselves + saying, even after they are more or less awake, by which I am particularly + irritated. It arose in the popularised science of the nineteenth century, + especially in connection with the study of myths and religions. The + fragment of gibberish to which I refer generally takes the form of saying + “This god or hero really represents the sun.” Or “Apollo killing the + Python MEANS that the summer drives out the winter.” Or “The King dying in + a western battle is a SYMBOL of the sun setting in the west.” Now I should + really have thought that even the skeptical professors, whose skulls are + as shallow as frying-pans, might have reflected that human beings never + think or feel like this. Consider what is involved in this supposition. It + presumes that primitive man went out for a walk and saw with great + interest a big burning spot on the sky. He then said to primitive woman, + “My dear, we had better keep this quiet. We mustn't let it get about. The + children and the slaves are so very sharp. They might discover the sun any + day, unless we are very careful. So we won't call it 'the sun,' but I will + draw a picture of a man killing a snake; and whenever I do that you will + know what I mean. The sun doesn't look at all like a man killing a snake; + so nobody can possibly know. It will be a little secret between us; and + while the slaves and the children fancy I am quite excited with a grand + tale of a writhing dragon and a wrestling demigod, I shall really MEAN + this delicious little discovery, that there is a round yellow disc up in + the air.” One does not need to know much mythology to know that this is a + myth. It is commonly called the Solar Myth. + </p> + <p> + Quite plainly, of course, the case was just the other way. The god was + never a symbol or hieroglyph representing the sun. The sun was a + hieroglyph representing the god. Primitive man (with whom my friend Dombey + is no doubt well acquainted) went out with his head full of gods and + heroes, because that is the chief use of having a head. Then he saw the + sun in some glorious crisis of the dominance of noon on the distress of + nightfall, and he said, “That is how the face of the god would shine when + he had slain the dragon,” or “That is how the whole world would bleed to + westward, if the god were slain at last.” + </p> + <p> + No human being was ever really so unnatural as to worship Nature. No man, + however indulgent (as I am) to corpulency, ever worshipped a man as round + as the sun or a woman as round as the moon. No man, however attracted to + an artistic attenuation, ever really believed that the Dryad was as lean + and stiff as the tree. We human beings have never worshipped Nature; and + indeed, the reason is very simple. It is that all human beings are + superhuman beings. We have printed our own image upon Nature, as God has + printed His image upon us. We have told the enormous sun to stand still; + we have fixed him on our shields, caring no more for a star than for a + starfish. And when there were powers of Nature we could not for the time + control, we have conceived great beings in human shape controlling them. + Jupiter does not mean thunder. Thunder means the march and victory of + Jupiter. Neptune does not mean the sea; the sea is his, and he made it. In + other words, what the savage really said about the sea was, “Only my + fetish Mumbo could raise such mountains out of mere water.” What the + savage really said about the sun was, “Only my great great-grandfather + Jumbo could deserve such a blazing crown.” + </p> + <p> + About all these myths my own position is utterly and even sadly simple. I + say you cannot really understand any myths till you have found that one of + them is not a myth. Turnip ghosts mean nothing if there are no real + ghosts. Forged bank-notes mean nothing if there are no real bank-notes. + Heathen gods mean nothing, and must always mean nothing, to those of us + that deny the Christian God. When once a god is admitted, even a false + god, the Cosmos begins to know its place: which is the second place. When + once it is the real God the Cosmos falls down before Him, offering flowers + in spring as flames in winter. “My love is like a red, red rose” does not + mean that the poet is praising roses under the allegory of a young lady. + “My love is an arbutus” does not mean that the author was a botanist so + pleased with a particular arbutus tree that he said he loved it. “Who art + the moon and regent of my sky” does not mean that Juliet invented Romeo to + account for the roundness of the moon. “Christ is the Sun of Easter” does + not mean that the worshipper is praising the sun under the emblem of + Christ. Goddess or god can clothe themselves with the spring or summer; + but the body is more than raiment. Religion takes almost disdainfully the + dress of Nature; and indeed Christianity has done as well with the snows + of Christmas as with the snow-drops of spring. And when I look across the + sun-struck fields, I know in my inmost bones that my joy is not solely in + the spring, for spring alone, being always returning, would be always sad. + There is somebody or something walking there, to be crowned with flowers: + and my pleasure is in some promise yet possible and in the resurrection of + the dead. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"></a> + THE REAL JOURNALIST + </h2> + <p> + Our age which has boasted of realism will fail chiefly through lack of + reality. Never, I fancy, has there been so grave and startling a divorce + between the real way a thing is done and the look of it when it is done. I + take the nearest and most topical instance to hand a newspaper. Nothing + looks more neat and regular than a newspaper, with its parallel columns, + its mechanical printing, its detailed facts and figures, its responsible, + polysyllabic leading articles. Nothing, as a matter of fact, goes every + night through more agonies of adventure, more hairbreadth escapes, + desperate expedients, crucial councils, random compromises, or barely + averted catastrophes. Seen from the outside, it seems to come round as + automatically as the clock and as silently as the dawn. Seen from the + inside, it gives all its organisers a gasp of relief every morning to see + that it has come out at all; that it has come out without the leading + article upside down or the Pope congratulated on discovering the North + Pole. + </p> + <p> + I will give an instance (merely to illustrate my thesis of unreality) from + the paper that I know best. Here is a simple story, a little episode in + the life of a journalist, which may be amusing and instructive: the tale + of how I made a great mistake in quotation. There are really two stories: + the story as seen from the outside, by a man reading the paper; and the + story seen from the inside, by the journalists shouting and telephoning + and taking notes in shorthand through the night. + </p> + <p> + This is the outside story; and it reads like a dreadful quarrel. The + notorious G. K. Chesterton, a reactionary Torquemada whose one gloomy + pleasure was in the defence of orthodoxy and the pursuit of heretics, long + calculated and at last launched a denunciation of a brilliant leader of + the New Theology which he hated with all the furnace of his fanatic soul. + In this document Chesterton darkly, deliberately, and not having the fear + of God before his eyes, asserted that Shakespeare wrote the line “that + wreathes its old fantastic roots so high.” This he said because he had + been kept in ignorance by Priests; or, perhaps, because he thought + craftily that none of his dupes could discover a curious and forgotten + rhyme called 'Elegy in a Country Churchyard'. Anyhow, that orthodox + gentleman made a howling error; and received some twenty-five letters and + post-cards from kind correspondents who pointed out the mistake. + </p> + <p> + But the odd thing is that scarcely any of them could conceive that it was + a mistake. The first wrote in the tone of one wearied of epigrams, and + cried, “What is the joke NOW?” Another professed (and practised, for all I + know, God help him) that he had read through all Shakespeare and failed to + find the line. A third wrote in a sort of moral distress, asking, as in + confidence, if Gray was really a plagiarist. They were a noble collection; + but they all subtly assumed an element of leisure and exactitude in the + recipient's profession and character which is far from the truth. Let us + pass on to the next act of the external tragedy. + </p> + <p> + In Monday's issue of the same paper appeared a letter from the same + culprit. He ingenuously confessed that the line did not belong to + Shakespeare, but to a poet whom he called Grey. Which was another cropper—or + whopper. This strange and illiterate outbreak was printed by the editor + with the justly scornful title, “Mr. Chesterton 'Explains'?” Any man + reading the paper at breakfast saw at once the meaning of the sarcastic + quotation marks. They meant, of course, “Here is a man who doesn't know + Gray from Shakespeare; he tries to patch it up and he can't even spell + Gray. And that is what he calls an Explanation.” That is the perfectly + natural inference of the reader from the letter, the mistake, and the + headline—as seen from the outside. The falsehood was serious; the + editorial rebuke was serious. The stern editor and the sombre, baffled + contributor confront each other as the curtain falls. + </p> + <p> + And now I will tell you exactly what really happened. It is honestly + rather amusing; it is a story of what journals and journalists really are. + A monstrously lazy man lives in South Bucks partly by writing a column in + the Saturday Daily News. At the time he usually writes it (which is always + at the last moment) his house is unexpectedly invaded by infants of all + shapes and sizes. His Secretary is called away; and he has to cope with + the invading pigmies. Playing with children is a glorious thing; but the + journalist in question has never understood why it was considered a + soothing or idyllic one. It reminds him, not of watering little budding + flowers, but of wrestling for hours with gigantic angels and devils. Moral + problems of the most monstrous complexity besiege him incessantly. He has + to decide before the awful eyes of innocence, whether, when a sister has + knocked down a brother's bricks, in revenge for the brother having taken + two sweets out of his turn, it is endurable that the brother should + retaliate by scribbling on the sister's picture book, and whether such + conduct does not justify the sister in blowing out the brother's + unlawfully lighted match. + </p> + <p> + Just as he is solving this problem upon principles of the highest + morality, it occurs to him suddenly that he has not written his Saturday + article; and that there is only about an hour to do it in. He wildly calls + to somebody (probably the gardener) to telephone to somewhere for a + messenger; he barricades himself in another room and tears his hair, + wondering what on earth he shall write about. A drumming of fists on the + door outside and a cheerful bellowing encourage and clarify his thoughts; + and he is able to observe some newspapers and circulars in wrappers lying + on the table. One is a dingy book catalogue; the second is a shiny + pamphlet about petrol; the third is a paper called The Christian + Commonwealth. He opens it anyhow, and sees in the middle of a page a + sentence with which he honestly disagrees. It says that the sense of + beauty in Nature is a new thing, hardly felt before Wordsworth. A stream + of images and pictures pour through his head, like skies chasing each + other or forests running by. “Not felt before Wordsworth!” he thinks. “Oh, + but this won't do... bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang... + night's candles are burnt out... glowed with living sapphires... leaving + their moon-loved maze... antique roots fantastic... antique roots wreathed + high... what is it in <i>As You Like It</i>?” + </p> + <p> + He sits down desperately; the messenger rings at the bell; the children + drum on the door; the servants run up from time to time to say the + messenger is getting bored; and the pencil staggers along, making the + world a present of fifteen hundred unimportant words, and making + Shakespeare a present of a portion of Gray's Elegy; putting “fantastic + roots wreathed high” instead of “antique roots peep out.” Then the + journalist sends off his copy and turns his attention to the enigma of + whether a brother should commandeer a sister's necklace because the sister + pinched him at Littlehampton. That is the first scene; that is how an + article is really written. + </p> + <p> + The scene now changes to the newspaper office. The writer of the article + has discovered his mistake and wants to correct it by the next day: but + the next day is Sunday. He cannot post a letter, so he rings up the paper + and dictates a letter by telephone. He leaves the title to his friends at + the other end; he knows that they can spell “Gray,” as no doubt they can: + but the letter is put down by journalistic custom in a pencil scribble and + the vowel may well be doubtful. The friend writes at the top of the letter + “'G. K. C.' Explains,” putting the initials in quotation marks. The next + man passing it for press is bored with these initials (I am with him + there) and crosses them out, substituting with austere civility, “Mr. + Chesterton Explains.” But and now he hears the iron laughter of the Fates, + for the blind bolt is about to fall—but he neglects to cross out the + second “quote” (as we call it) and it goes up to press with a “quote” + between the last words. Another quotation mark at the end of “explains” + was the work of one merry moment for the printers upstairs. So the + inverted commas were lifted entirely off one word on to the other and a + totally innocent title suddenly turned into a blasting sneer. But that + would have mattered nothing so far, for there was nothing to sneer at. In + the same dark hour, however, there was a printer who was (I suppose) so + devoted to this Government that he could think of no Gray but Sir Edward + Grey. He spelt it “Grey” by a mere misprint, and the whole tale was + complete: first blunder, second blunder, and final condemnation. + </p> + <p> + That is a little tale of journalism as it is; if you call it egotistic and + ask what is the use of it I think I could tell you. You might remember it + when next some ordinary young workman is going to be hanged by the neck on + circumstantial evidence. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"></a> + THE SENTIMENTAL SCOT + </h2> + <p> + Of all the great nations of Christendom, the Scotch are by far the most + romantic. I have just enough Scotch experience and just enough Scotch + blood to know this in the only way in which a thing can really be known; + that is, when the outer world and the inner world are at one. I know it is + always said that the Scotch are practical, prosaic, and puritan; that they + have an eye to business. I like that phrase “an eye” to business. + </p> + <p> + Polyphemus had an eye for business; it was in the middle of his forehead. + It served him admirably for the only two duties which are demanded in a + modern financier and captain of industry: the two duties of counting sheep + and of eating men. But when that one eye was put out he was done for. But + the Scotch are not one-eyed practical men, though their best friends must + admit that they are occasionally business-like. They are, quite + fundamentally, romantic and sentimental, and this is proved by the very + economic argument that is used to prove their harshness and hunger for the + material. The mass of Scots have accepted the industrial civilisation, + with its factory chimneys and its famine prices, with its steam and smoke + and steel—and strikes. The mass of the Irish have not accepted it. + The mass of the Irish have clung to agriculture with claws of iron; and + have succeeded in keeping it. That is because the Irish, though far + inferior to the Scotch in art and literature, are hugely superior to them + in practical politics. You do need to be very romantic to accept the + industrial civilisation. It does really require all the old Gaelic glamour + to make men think that Glasgow is a grand place. Yet the miracle is + achieved; and while I was in Glasgow I shared the illusion. I have never + had the faintest illusion about Leeds or Birmingham. The industrial dream + suited the Scots. Here was a really romantic vista, suited to a romantic + people; a vision of higher and higher chimneys taking hold upon the + heavens, of fiercer and fiercer fires in which adamant could evaporate + like dew. Here were taller and taller engines that began already to shriek + and gesticulate like giants. Here were thunderbolts of communication which + already flashed to and fro like thoughts. It was unreasonable to expect + the rapt, dreamy, romantic Scot to stand still in such a whirl of wizardry + to ask whether he, the ordinary Scot, would be any the richer. + </p> + <p> + He, the ordinary Scot, is very much the poorer. Glasgow is not a rich + city. It is a particularly poor city ruled by a few particularly rich men. + It is not, perhaps, quite so poor a city as Liverpool, London, Manchester, + Birmingham, or Bolton. It is vastly poorer than Rome, Rouen, Munich, or + Cologne. A certain civic vitality notable in Glasgow may, perhaps, be due + to the fact that the high poetic patriotism of the Scots has there been + reinforced by the cutting common sense and independence of the Irish. In + any case, I think there can be no doubt of the main historical fact. The + Scotch were tempted by the enormous but unequal opportunities of + industrialism, because the Scotch are romantic. The Irish refused those + enormous and unequal opportunities, because the Irish are clear-sighted. + They would not need very clear sight by this time to see that in England + and Scotland the temptation has been a betrayal. The industrial system has + failed. + </p> + <p> + I was coming the other day along a great valley road that strikes out of + the westland counties about Glasgow, more or less towards the east and the + widening of the Forth. It may, for all I know (I amused myself with the + fancy), be the way along which Wallace came with his crude army, when he + gave battle before Stirling Brig; and, in the midst of mediæval + diplomacies, made a new nation possible. Anyhow, the romantic quality of + Scotland rolled all about me, as much in the last reek of Glasgow as in + the first rain upon the hills. The tall factory chimneys seemed trying to + be taller than the mountain peaks; as if this landscape were full (as its + history has been full) of the very madness of ambition. The wageslavery we + live in is a wicked thing. But there is nothing in which the Scotch are + more piercing and poetical, I might say more perfect, than in their Scotch + wickedness. It is what makes the Master of Ballantrae the most thrilling + of all fictitious villains. It is what makes the Master of Lovat the most + thrilling of all historical villains. It is poetry. It is an intensity + which is on the edge of madness or (what is worse) magic. Well, the Scotch + have managed to apply something of this fierce romanticism even to the + lowest of all lordships and serfdoms; the proletarian inequality of today. + You do meet now and then, in Scotland, the man you never meet anywhere + else but in novels; I mean the self-made man; the hard, insatiable man, + merciless to himself as well as to others. It is not “enterprise”; it is + kleptomania. He is quite mad, and a much more obvious public pest than any + other kind of kleptomaniac; but though he is a cheat, he is not an + illusion. He does exist; I have met quite two of him. Him alone among + modern merchants we do not weakly flatter when we call him a bandit. + Something of the irresponsibility of the true dark ages really clings + about him. Our scientific civilisation is not a civilisation; it is a + smoke nuisance. Like smoke it is choking us; like smoke it will pass away. + Only of one or two Scotsmen, in my experience, was it true that where + there is smoke there is fire. + </p> + <p> + But there are other kinds of fire; and better. The one great advantage of + this strange national temper is that, from the beginning of all + chronicles, it has provided resistance as well as cruelty. In Scotland + nearly everything has always been in revolt—especially loyalty. If + these people are capable of making Glasgow, they are also capable of + wrecking it; and the thought of my many good friends in that city makes me + really doubtful about which would figure in human memories as the more + huge calamity of the two. In Scotland there are many rich men so weak as + to call themselves strong. But there are not so many poor men weak enough + to believe them. + </p> + <p> + As I came out of Glasgow I saw men standing about the road. They had + little lanterns tied to the fronts of their caps, like the fairies who + used to dance in the old fairy pantomimes. They were not, however, + strictly speaking, fairies. They might have been called gnomes, since they + worked in the chasms of those purple and chaotic hills. They worked in the + mines from whence comes the fuel of our fires. Just at the moment when I + saw them, moreover, they were not dancing; nor were they working. They + were doing nothing. Which, in my opinion (and I trust yours), was the + finest thing they could do. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"></a> + THE SECTARIAN OF SOCIETY + </h2> + <p> + A fixed creed is absolutely indispensable to freedom. For while men are + and should be various, there must be some communication between them if + they are to get any pleasure out of their variety. And an intellectual + formula is the only thing that can create a communication that does not + depend on mere blood, class, or capricious sympathy. If we all start with + the agreement that the sun and moon exist, we can talk about our different + visions of them. The strong-eyed man can boast that he sees the sun as a + perfect circle. The shortsighted man may say (or if he is an + impressionist, boast) that he sees the moon as a silver blur. The + colour-blind man may rejoice in the fairy-trick which enables him to live + under a green sun and a blue moon. But if once it be held that there is + nothing but a silver blur in one man's eye or a bright circle (like a + monocle) in the other man's, then neither is free, for each is shut up in + the cell of a separate universe. + </p> + <p> + But, indeed, an even worse fate, practically considered, follows from the + denim of the original intellectual formula. Not only does the individual + become narrow, but he spreads narrowness across the world like a cloud; he + causes narrowness to increase and multiply like a weed. For what happens + is this: that all the shortsighted people come together and build a city + called Myopia, where they take short-sightedness for granted and paint + short-sighted pictures and pursue very short-sighted policies. Meanwhile + all the men who can stare at the sun get together on Salisbury Plain and + do nothing but stare at the sun; and all the men who see a blue moon band + themselves together and assert the blue moon, not once in a blue moon, but + incessantly. So that instead of a small and varied group, you have + enormous monotonous groups. Instead of the liberty of dogma, you have the + tyranny of taste. + </p> + <p> + Allegory apart, instances of what I mean will occur to every one; perhaps + the most obvious is Socialism. Socialism means the ownership by the organ + of government (whatever it is) of all things necessary to production. If a + man claims to be a Socialist in that sense he can be any kind of man he + likes in any other sense—a bookie, a Mahatma, a man about town, an + archbishop, a Margate nigger. Without recalling at the moment clear-headed + Socialists in all of these capacities, it is obvious that a clear-headed + Socialist (that is, a Socialist with a creed) can be a soldier, like Mr. + Blatchford, or a Don, like Mr. Ball, or a Bathchairman like Mr. Meeke, or + a clergyman like Mr. Conrad Noel, or an artistic tradesman like the late + Mr. William Morris. + </p> + <p> + But some people call themselves Socialists, and will not be bound by what + they call a narrow dogma; they say that Socialism means far, far more than + this; all that is high, all that is free, all that is, etc., etc. Now mark + their dreadful fate; for they become totally unfit to be tradesmen, or + soldiers, or clergymen, or any other stricken human thing, but become a + particular sort of person who is always the same. When once it has been + discovered that Socialism does not mean a narrow economic formula, it is + also discovered that Socialism does mean wearing one particular kind of + clothes, reading one particular kind of books, hanging up one particular + kind of pictures, and in the majority of cases even eating one particular + kind of food. For men must recognise each other somehow. These men will + not know each other by a principle, like fellow citizens. They cannot know + each other by a smell, like dogs. So they have to fall back on general + colouring; on the fact that a man of their sort will have a wife in pale + green and Walter Crane's “Triumph of Labour” hanging in the hall. + </p> + <p> + There are, of course, many other instances; for modern society is almost + made up of these large monochrome patches. Thus I, for one, regret the + supersession of the old Puritan unity, founded on theology, but embracing + all types from Milton to the grocer, by that newer Puritan unity which is + founded rather on certain social habits, certain common notions, both + permissive and prohibitive, in connection with Particular social + pleasures. + </p> + <p> + Thus I, for one, regret that (if you are going to have an aristocracy) it + did not remain a logical one founded on the science of heraldry; a thing + asserting and defending the quite defensible theory that physical + genealogy is the test; instead of being, as it is now, a mere machine of + Eton and Oxford for varnishing anybody rich enough with one monotonous + varnish. + </p> + <p> + And it is supremely so in the case of religion. As long as you have a + creed, which every one in a certain group believes or is supposed to + believe, then that group will consist of the old recurring figures of + religious history, who can be appealed to by the creed and judged by it; + the saint, the hypocrite, the brawler, the weak brother. These people do + each other good; or they all join together to do the hypocrite good, with + heavy and repeated blows. But once break the bond of doctrine which alone + holds these people together and each will gravitate to his own kind + outside the group. The hypocrites will all get together and call each + other saints; the saints will get lost in a desert and call themselves + weak brethren; the weak brethren will get weaker and weaker in a general + atmosphere of imbecility; and the brawler will go off looking for somebody + else with whom to brawl. + </p> + <p> + This has very largely happened to modern English religion; I have been in + many churches, chapels, and halls where a confident pride in having got + beyond creeds was coupled with quite a paralysed incapacity to get beyond + catchwords. But wherever the falsity appears it comes from neglect of the + same truth: that men should agree on a principle, that they may differ on + everything else; that God gave men a law that they might turn it into + liberties. + </p> + <p> + There was hugely more sense in the old people who said that a wife and + husband ought to have the same religion than there is in all the + contemporary gushing about sister souls and kindred spirits and auras of + identical colour. As a matter of fact, the more the sexes are in violent + contrast the less likely they are to be in violent collision. The more + incompatible their tempers are the better. Obviously a wife's soul cannot + possibly be a sister soul. It is very seldom so much as a first cousin. + There are very few marriages of identical taste and temperament; they are + generally unhappy. But to have the same fundamental theory, to think the + same thing a virtue, whether you practise or neglect it, to think the same + thing a sin, whether you punish or pardon or laugh at it, in the last + extremity to call the same thing duty and the same thing disgrace—this + really is necessary to a tolerably happy marriage; and it is much better + represented by a common religion than it is by affinities and auras. And + what applies to the family applies to the nation. A nation with a root + religion will be tolerant. A nation with no religion will be bigoted. + Lastly, the worst effect of all is this: that when men come together to + profess a creed, they come courageously, though it is to hide in catacombs + and caves. But when they come together in a clique they come sneakishly, + eschewing all change or disagreement, though it is to dine to a brass band + in a big London hotel. For birds of a feather flock together, but birds of + the white feather most of all. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"></a> + THE FOOL + </h2> + <p> + For many years I had sought him, and at last I found him in a club. I had + been told that he was everywhere; but I had almost begun to think that he + was nowhere. I had been assured that there were millions of him; but + before my late discovery I inclined to think that there were none of him. + After my late discovery I am sure that there is one; and I incline to + think that there are several, say, a few hundreds; but unfortunately most + of them occupying important positions. When I say “him,” I mean the entire + idiot. + </p> + <p> + I have never been able to discover that “stupid public” of which so many + literary men complain. The people one actually meets in trains or at tea + parties seem to me quite bright and interesting; certainly quite enough so + to call for the full exertion of one's own wits. And even when I have + heard brilliant “conversationalists” conversing with other people, the + conversation had much more equality and give and take than this age of + intellectual snobs will admit. I have sometimes felt tired, like other + people; but rather tired with men's talk and variety than with their + stolidity or sameness; therefore it was that I sometimes longed to find + the refreshment of a single fool. + </p> + <p> + But it was denied me. Turn where I would I found this monotonous + brilliancy of the general intelligence, this ruthless, ceaseless sparkle + of humour and good sense. The “mostly fools” theory has been used in an + anti-democratic sense; but when I found at last my priceless ass, I did + not find him in what is commonly called the democracy; nor in the + aristocracy either. The man of the democracy generally talks quite + rationally, sometimes on the anti-democratic side, but always with an idea + of giving reasons for what he says and referring to the realities of his + experience. Nor is it the aristocracy that is stupid; at least, not that + section of the aristocracy which represents it in politics. They are often + cynical, especially about money, but even their boredom tends to make them + a little eager for any real information or originality. If a man like Mr. + Winston Churchill or Mr. Wyndham made up his mind for any reason to attack + Syndicalism he would find out what it was first. Not so the man I found in + the club. + </p> + <p> + He was very well dressed; he had a heavy but handsome face; his black + clothes suggested the City and his gray moustaches the Army; but the whole + suggested that he did not really belong to either, but was one of those + who dabble in shares and who play at soldiers. There was some third + element about him that was neither mercantile nor military. His manners + were a shade too gentlemanly to be quite those of a gentleman. They + involved an unction and over-emphasis of the club-man: then I suddenly + remembered feeling the same thing in some old actors or old playgoers who + had modelled themselves on actors. As I came in he said, “If I was the + Government,” and then put a cigar in his mouth which he lit carefully with + long intakes of breath. Then he took the cigar out of his mouth again and + said, “I'd give it 'em,” as if it were quite a separate sentence. But even + while his mouth was stopped with the cigar his companion or interlocutor + leaped to his feet and said with great heartiness, snatching up a hat, + “Well, I must be off. Tuesday!”. I dislike these dark suspicions, but I + certainly fancied I recognised the sudden geniality with which one takes + leave of a bore. + </p> + <p> + When, therefore, he removed the narcotic stopper from his mouth it was to + me that he addressed the belated epigram. “I'd give it 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “What would you give them,” I asked, “the minimum wage?” + </p> + <p> + “I'd give them beans,” he said. “I'd shoot 'em down shoot 'em down, every + man Jack of them. I lost my best train yesterday, and here's the whole + country paralysed, and here's a handful of obstinate fellows standing + between the country and coal. I'd shoot 'em down!” + </p> + <p> + “That would surely be a little harsh,” I pleaded. “After all, they are not + under martial law, though I suppose two or three of them have commissions + in the Yeomanry.” + </p> + <p> + “Commissions in the Yeomanry!” he repeated, and his eyes and face, which + became startling and separate, like those of a boiled lobster, made me + feel sure that he had something of the kind himself. + </p> + <p> + “Besides,” I continued, “wouldn't it be quite enough to confiscate their + money?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'd send them all to penal servitude, anyhow,” he said, “and I'd + confiscate their funds as well.” + </p> + <p> + “The policy is daring and full of difficulty,” I replied, “but I do not + say that it is wholly outside the extreme rights of the republic. But you + must remember that though the facts of property have become quite + fantastic, yet the sentiment of property still exists. These coal-owners, + though they have not earned the mines, though they could not work the + mines, do quite honestly feel that they own the mines. Hence your + suggestion of shooting them down, or even of confiscating their property, + raises very—” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked the man with the cigar, with a bullying eye. + “Who yer talking about?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm talking about what you were talking about,” I replied; “as you put it + so perfectly, about the handful of obstinate fellows who are standing + between the country and the coal. I mean the men who are selling their own + coal for fancy prices, and who, as long as they can get those prices, care + as little for national starvation as most merchant princes and pirates + have cared for the provinces that were wasted or the peoples that were + enslaved just before their ships came home. But though I am a bit of a + revolutionist myself, I cannot quite go with you in the extreme violence + you suggest. You say—” + </p> + <p> + “I say,” he cried, bursting through my speech with a really splendid + energy like that of some noble beast, “I say I'd take all these blasted + miners and—” + </p> + <p> + I had risen slowly to my feet, for I was profoundly moved; and I stood + staring at that mental monster. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” I said, “so it is the miners who are all to be sent to penal + servitude, so that we may get more coal. It is the miners who are to be + shot dead, every man Jack of them; for if once they are all shot dead they + will start mining again...You must forgive me, sir; I know I seem somewhat + moved. The fact is, I have just found something. Something I have been + looking for for years.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he asked, with no unfriendly stare, “and what have you found?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered, shaking my head sadly, “I do not think it would be quite + kind to tell you what I have found.” + </p> + <p> + He had a hundred virtues, including the capital virtue of good humour, and + we had no difficulty in changing the subject and forgetting the + disagreement. He talked about society, his town friends and his country + sports, and I discovered in the course of it that he was a county + magistrate, a Member of Parliament, and a director of several important + companies. He was also that other thing, which I did not tell him. + </p> + <p> + The moral is that a certain sort of person does exist, to whose glory this + article is dedicated. He is not the ordinary man. He is not the miner, who + is sharp enough to ask for the necessities of existence. He is not the + mine-owner, who is sharp enough to get a great deal more, by selling his + coal at the best possible moment. He is not the aristocratic politician, + who has a cynical but a fair sympathy with both economic opportunities. + But he is the man who appears in scores of public places open to the upper + middle class or (that less known but more powerful section) the lower + upper class. Men like this all over the country are really saying whatever + comes into their heads in their capacities of justice of the peace, + candidate for Parliament, Colonel of the Yeomanry, old family doctor, Poor + Law guardian, coroner, or above all, arbiter in trade disputes. He + suffers, in the literal sense, from softening of the brain; he has + softened it by always taking the view of everything most comfortable for + his country, his class, and his private personality. He is a deadly public + danger. But as I have given him his name at the beginning of this article + there is no need for me to repeat it at the end. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"></a> + THE CONSCRIPT AND THE CRISIS + </h2> + <p> + Very few of us ever see the history of our own time happening. And I think + the best service a modern journalist can do to society is to record as + plainly as ever he can exactly what impression was produced on his mind by + anything he has actually seen and heard on the outskirts of any modern + problem or campaign. Though all he saw of a railway strike was a flat + meadow in Essex in which a train was becalmed for an hour or two, he will + probably throw more light on the strike by describing this which he has + seen than by describing the steely kings of commerce and the bloody + leaders of the mob whom he has never seen—nor any one else either. + If he comes a day too late for the battle of Waterloo (as happened to a + friend of my grandfather) he should still remember that a true account of + the day after Waterloo would be a most valuable thing to have. Though he + was on the wrong side of the door when Rizzio was being murdered, we + should still like to have the wrong side described in the right way. Upon + this principle I, who know nothing of diplomacy or military arrangements, + and have only held my breath like the rest of the world while France and + Germany were bargaining, will tell quite truthfully of a small scene I + saw, one of the thousand scenes that were, so to speak, the anterooms of + that inmost chamber of debate. + </p> + <p> + In the course of a certain morning I came into one of the quiet squares of + a small French town and found its cathedral. It was one of those gray and + rainy days which rather suit the Gothic. The clouds were leaden, like the + solid blue-gray lead of the spires and the jewelled windows; the sloping + roofs and high-shouldered arches looked like cloaks drooping with damp; + and the stiff gargoyles that stood out round the walls were scoured with + old rains and new. I went into the round, deep porch with many doors and + found two grubby children playing there out of the rain. I also found a + notice of services, etc., and among these I found the announcement that at + 11.30 (that is about half an hour later) there would be a special service + for the Conscripts, that is to say, the draft of young men who were being + taken from their homes in that little town and sent to serve in the French + Army; sent (as it happened) at an awful moment, when the French Army was + encamped at a parting of the ways. There were already a great many people + there when I entered, not only of all kinds, but in all attitudes, + kneeling, sitting, or standing about. And there was that general sense + that strikes every man from a Protestant country, whether he dislikes the + Catholic atmosphere or likes it; I mean, the general sense that the thing + was “going on all the time”; that it was not an occasion, but a perpetual + process, as if it were a sort of mystical inn. + </p> + <p> + Several tricolours were hung quite near to the altar, and the young men, + when they came in, filed up the church and sat right at the front. They + were, of course, of every imaginable social grade; for the French + conscription is really strict and universal. Some looked like young + criminals, some like young priests, some like both. Some were so obviously + prosperous and polished that a barrack-room must seem to them like hell; + others (by the look of them) had hardly ever been in so decent a place. + But it was not so much the mere class variety that most sharply caught an + Englishman's eye. It was the presence of just those one or two kinds of + men who would never have become soldiers in any other way. + </p> + <p> + There are many reasons for becoming a soldier. It may be a matter of + hereditary luck or abject hunger or heroic virtue or fugitive vice; it may + be an interest in the work or a lack of interest in any other work. But + there would always be two or three kinds of people who would never tend to + soldiering; all those kinds of people were there. A lad with red hair, + large ears, and very careful clothing, somehow conveyed across the church + that he had always taken care of his health, not even from thinking about + it, but simply because he was told, and that he was one of those who pass + from childhood to manhood without any shock of being a man. In the row in + front of him there was a very slight and vivid little Jew, of the sort + that is a tailor and a Socialist. By one of those accidents that make real + life so unlike anything else, he was the one of the company who seemed + especially devout. Behind these stiff or sensitive boys were ranged the + ranks of their mothers and fathers, with knots and bunches of their little + brothers and sisters. + </p> + <p> + The children kicked their little legs, wriggled about the seats, and gaped + at the arched roof while their mothers were on their knees praying their + own prayers, and here and there crying. The gray clouds of rain outside + gathered, I suppose, more and more; for the deep church continuously + darkened. The lads in front began to sing a military hymn in odd, rather + strained voices; I could not disentangle the words, but only one perpetual + refrain; so that it sounded like + </p> +<p class="poem"> + Sacrarterumbrrar pour la patrie,<br /> + Valdarkararump pour la patrie. +</p> + <p> + Then this ceased; and silence continued, the coloured windows growing + gloomier and gloomier with the clouds. In the dead stillness a child + started crying suddenly and incoherently. In a city far to the north a + French diplomatist and a German aristocrat were talking. + </p> + <p> + I will not make any commentary on the thing that could blur the outline of + its almost cruel actuality. I will not talk nor allow any one else to talk + about “clericalism” and “militarism.” Those who talk like that are made of + the same mud as those who call all the angers of the unfortunate + “Socialism.” The women who were calling in the gloom around me on God and + the Mother of God were not “clericalists”; or, if they were, they had + forgotten it. And I will bet my boots the young men were not “militarists”—quite + the other way just then. The priest made a short speech; he did not utter + any priestly dogmas (whatever they are), he uttered platitudes. In such + circumstances platitudes are the only possible things to say; because they + are true. He began by saying that he supposed a large number of them would + be uncommonly glad not to go. They seemed to assent to this particular + priestly dogma with even more than their alleged superstitious credulity. + He said that war was hateful, and that we all hated it; but that “in all + things reasonable” the law of one's own commonwealth was the voice of God. + He spoke about Joan of Arc; and how she had managed to be a bold and + successful soldier while still preserving her virtue and practising her + religion; then he gave them each a little paper book. To which they + replied (after a brief interval for reflection): + </p> +<p class="poem"> + Pongprongperesklang pour la patrie,<br /> + Tambraugtararronc pour la patrie. +</p> + <p> + which I feel sure was the best and most pointed reply. + </p> + <p> + While all this was happening feelings quite indescribable crowded about my + own darkening brain, as the clouds crowded above the darkening church. + They were so entirely of the elements and the passions that I cannot utter + them in an idea, but only in an image. It seemed to me that we were + barricaded in this church, but we could not tell what was happening + outside the church. The monstrous and terrible jewels of the windows + darkened or glistened under moving shadow or light, but the nature of that + light and the shapes of those shadows we did not know and hardly dared to + guess. The dream began, I think, with a dim fancy that enemies were + already in the town, and that the enormous oaken doors were groaning under + their hammers. Then I seemed to suppose that the town itself had been + destroyed by fire, and effaced, as it may be thousands of years hence, and + that if I opened the door I should come out on a wilderness as flat and + sterile as the sea. Then the vision behind the veil of stone and slate + grew wilder with earthquakes. I seemed to see chasms cloven to the + foundations of all things, and letting up an infernal dawn. Huge things + happily hidden from us had climbed out of the abyss, and were striding + about taller than the clouds. And when the darkness crept from the + sapphires of Mary to the sanguine garments of St. John I fancied that some + hideous giant was walking round the church and looking in at each window + in turn. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, again, I thought of that church with coloured windows as a ship + carrying many lanterns struggling in a high sea at night. Sometimes I + thought of it as a great coloured lantern itself, hung on an iron chain + out of heaven and tossed and swung to and fro by strong wings, the wings + of the princes of the air. But I never thought of it or the young men + inside it save as something precious and in peril, or of the things + outside but as something barbaric and enormous. + </p> + <p> + I know there are some who cannot sympathise with such sentiments of + limitation; I know there are some who would feel no touch of the heroic + tenderness if some day a young man, with red hair, large ears, and his + mother's lozenges in his pocket, were found dead in uniform in the passes + of the Vosges. But on this subject I have heard many philosophies and + thought a good deal for myself; and the conclusion I have come to is + Sacrarterumbrrar pour la Pattie, and it is not likely that I shall alter + it now. + </p> + <p> + But when I came out of the church there were none of these things, but + only a lot of Shops, including a paper-shop, on which the posters + announced that the negotiations were proceeding satisfactorily. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"></a> + THE MISER AND HIS FRIENDS + </h2> + <p> + It is a sign of sharp sickness in a society when it is actually led by + some special sort of lunatic. A mild touch of madness may even keep a man + sane; for it may keep him modest. So some exaggerations in the State may + remind it of its own normal. But it is bad when the head is cracked; when + the roof of the commonwealth has a tile loose. + </p> + <p> + The two or three cases of this that occur in history have always been + gibbeted gigantically. Thus Nero has become a black proverb, not merely + because he was an oppressor, but because he was also an aesthete—that + is, an erotomaniac. He not only tortured other people's bodies; he + tortured his own soul into the same red revolting shapes. Though he came + quite early in Roman Imperial history and was followed by many austere and + noble emperors, yet for us the Roman Empire was never quite cleansed of + that memory of the sexual madman. The populace or barbarians from whom we + come could not forget the hour when they came to the highest place of the + earth, saw the huge pedestal of the earthly omnipotence, read on it Divus + Caesar, and looked up and saw a statue without a head. + </p> + <p> + It is the same with that ugly entanglement before the Renaissance, from + which, alas, most memories of the Middle Ages are derived. Louis XI was a + very patient and practical man of the world; but (like many good business + men) he was mad. The morbidity of the intriguer and the torturer clung + about everything he did, even when it was right. And just as the great + Empire of Antoninus and Aurelius never wiped out Nero, so even the silver + splendour of the latter saints, such as Vincent de Paul, has never painted + out for the British public the crooked shadow of Louis XI. Whenever the + unhealthy man has been on top, he has left a horrible savour that humanity + finds still in its nostrils. Now in our time the unhealthy man is on top; + but he is not the man mad on sex, like Nero; or mad on statecraft, like + Louis XI; he is simply the man mad on money. Our tyrant is not the satyr + or the torturer; but the miser. + </p> + <p> + The modern miser has changed much from the miser of legend and anecdote; + but only because he has grown yet more insane. The old miser had some + touch of the human artist about him in so far that he collected gold—a + substance that can really be admired for itself, like ivory or old oak. An + old man who picked up yellow pieces had something of the simple ardour, + something of the mystical materialism, of a child who picks out yellow + flowers. Gold is but one kind of coloured clay, but coloured clay can be + very beautiful. The modern idolater of riches is content with far less + genuine things. The glitter of guineas is like the glitter of buttercups, + the chink of pelf is like the chime of bells, compared with the dreary + papers and dead calculations which make the hobby of the modern miser. + </p> + <p> + The modern millionaire loves nothing so lovable as a coin. He is content + sometimes with the dead crackle of notes; but far more often with the mere + repetition of noughts in a ledger, all as like each other as eggs to eggs. + And as for comfort, the old miser could be comfortable, as many tramps and + savages are, when he was once used to being unclean. A man could find some + comfort in an unswept attic or an unwashed shirt. But the Yankee + millionaire can find no comfort with five telephones at his bed-head and + ten minutes for his lunch. The round coins in the miser's stocking were + safe in some sense. The round noughts in the millionaire's ledger are safe + in no sense; the same fluctuation which excites him with their increase + depresses him with their diminution. The miser at least collects coins; + his hobby is numismatics. The man who collects noughts collects nothings. + </p> + <p> + It may be admitted that the man amassing millions is a bit of an idiot; + but it may be asked in what sense does he rule the modern world. The + answer to this is very important and rather curious. The evil enigma for + us here is not the rich, but the Very Rich. The distinction is important; + because this special problem is separate from the old general quarrel + about rich and poor that runs through the Bible and all strong books, old + and new. The special problem to-day is that certain powers and privileges + have grown so world-wide and unwieldy that they are out of the power of + the moderately rich as well as of the moderately poor. They are out of the + power of everybody except a few millionaires—that is, misers. In the + old normal friction of normal wealth and poverty I am myself on the + Radical side. I think that a Berkshire squire has too much power over his + tenants; that a Brompton builder has too much power over his workmen; that + a West London doctor has too much power over the poor patients in the West + London Hospital. + </p> + <p> + But a Berkshire squire has no power over cosmopolitan finance, for + instance. A Brompton builder has not money enough to run a Newspaper + Trust. A West End doctor could not make a corner in quinine and freeze + everybody out. The merely rich are not rich enough to rule the modern + market. The things that change modern history, the big national and + international loans, the big educational and philanthropic foundations, + the purchase of numberless newspapers, the big prices paid for peerages, + the big expenses often incurred in elections—these are getting too + big for everybody except the misers; the men with the largest of earthly + fortunes and the smallest of earthly aims. + </p> + <p> + There are two other odd and rather important things to be said about them. + The first is this: that with this aristocracy we do not have the chance of + a lucky variety in types which belongs to larger and looser aristocracies. + The moderately rich include all kinds of people even good people. Even + priests are sometimes saints; and even soldiers are sometimes heroes. Some + doctors have really grown wealthy by curing their patients and not by + flattering them; some brewers have been known to sell beer. But among the + Very Rich you will never find a really generous man, even by accident. + They may give their money away, but they will never give themselves away; + they are egoistic, secretive, dry as old bones. To be smart enough to get + all that money you must be dull enough to want it. + </p> + <p> + Lastly, the most serious point about them is this: that the new miser is + flattered for his meanness and the old one never was. It was never called + self-denial in the old miser that he lived on bones. It is called + self-denial in the new millionaire if he lives on beans. A man like Dancer + was never praised as a Christian saint for going in rags. A man like + Rockefeller is praised as a sort of pagan stoic for his early rising or + his unassuming dress. His “simple” meals, his “simple” clothes, his + “simple” funeral, are all extolled as if they were creditable to him. They + are disgraceful to him: exactly as disgraceful as the tatters and vermin + of the old miser were disgraceful to him. To be in rags for charity would + be the condition of a saint; to be in rags for money was that of a filthy + old fool. Precisely in the same way, to be “simple” for charity is the + state of a saint; to be “simple” for money is that of a filthy old fool. + Of the two I have more respect for the old miser, gnawing bones in an + attic: if he was not nearer to God, he was at least a little nearer to + men. His simple life was a little more like the life of the real poor. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"></a> + THE MYSTAGOGUE + </h2> + <p> + Whenever you hear much of things being unutterable and indefinable and + impalpable and unnamable and subtly indescribable, then elevate your + aristocratic nose towards heaven and snuff up the smell of decay. It is + perfectly true that there is something in all good things that is beyond + all speech or figure of speech. But it is also true that there is in all + good things a perpetual desire for expression and concrete embodiment; and + though the attempt to embody it is always inadequate, the attempt is + always made. If the idea does not seek to be the word, the chances are + that it is an evil idea. If the word is not made flesh it is a bad word. + </p> + <p> + Thus Giotto or Fra Angelico would have at once admitted theologically that + God was too good to be painted; but they would always try to paint Him. + And they felt (very rightly) that representing Him as a rather quaint old + man with a gold crown and a white beard, like a king of the elves, was + less profane than resisting the sacred impulse to express Him in some way. + That is why the Christian world is full of gaudy pictures and twisted + statues which seem, to many refined persons, more blasphemous than the + secret volumes of an atheist. The trend of good is always towards + Incarnation. But, on the other hand, those refined thinkers who worship + the Devil, whether in the swamps of Jamaica or the salons of Paris, always + insist upon the shapelessness, the wordlessness, the unutterable character + of the abomination. They call him “horror of emptiness,” as did the black + witch in Stevenson's Dynamiter; they worship him as the unspeakable name; + as the unbearable silence. They think of him as the void in the heart of + the whirlwind; the cloud on the brain of the maniac; the toppling turrets + of vertigo or the endless corridors of nightmare. It was the Christians + who gave the Devil a grotesque and energetic outline, with sharp horns and + spiked tail. It was the saints who drew Satan as comic and even lively. + The Satanists never drew him at all. + </p> + <p> + And as it is with moral good and evil, so it is also with mental clarity + and mental confusion. There is one very valid test by which we may + separate genuine, if perverse and unbalanced, originality and revolt from + mere impudent innovation and bluff. The man who really thinks he has an + idea will always try to explain that idea. The charlatan who has no idea + will always confine himself to explaining that it is much too subtle to be + explained. The first idea may really be very outree or specialist; it may + really be very difficult to express to ordinary people. But because the + man is trying to express it, it is most probable that there is something + in it, after all. The honest man is he who is always trying to utter the + unutterable, to describe the indescribable; but the quack lives not by + plunging into mystery, but by refusing to come out of it. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps this distinction is most comically plain in the case of the thing + called Art, and the people called Art Critics. It is obvious that an + attractive landscape or a living face can only half express the holy + cunning that has made them what they are. It is equally obvious that a + landscape painter expresses only half of the landscape; a portrait painter + only half of the person; they are lucky if they express so much. And again + it is yet more obvious that any literary description of the pictures can + only express half of them, and that the less important half. Still, it + does express something; the thread is not broken that connects God With + Nature, or Nature with men, or men with critics. The “Mona Lisa” was in + some respects (not all, I fancy) what God meant her to be. Leonardo's + picture was, in some respects, like the lady. And Walter Pater's rich + description was, in some respects, like the picture. Thus we come to the + consoling reflection that even literature, in the last resort, can express + something other than its own unhappy self. + </p> + <p> + Now the modern critic is a humbug, because he professes to be entirely + inarticulate. Speech is his whole business; and he boasts of being + speechless. Before Botticelli he is mute. But if there is any good in + Botticelli (there is much good, and much evil too) it is emphatically the + critic's business to explain it: to translate it from terms of painting + into terms of diction. Of course, the rendering will be inadequate—but + so is Botticelli. It is a fact he would be the first to admit. But + anything which has been intelligently received can at least be + intelligently suggested. Pater does suggest an intelligent cause for the + cadaverous colour of Botticelli's “Venus Rising from the Sea.” Ruskin does + suggest an intelligent motive for Turner destroying forests and falsifying + landscapes. These two great critics were far too fastidious for my taste; + they urged to excess the idea that a sense of art was a sort of secret; to + be patiently taught and slowly learnt. Still, they thought it could be + taught: they thought it could be learnt. They constrained themselves, with + considerable creative fatigue, to find the exact adjectives which might + parallel in English prose what has been clone in Italian painting. The + same is true of Whistler and R. A. M. Stevenson and many others in the + exposition of Velasquez. They had something to say about the pictures; + they knew it was unworthy of the pictures, but they said it. + </p> + <p> + Now the eulogists of the latest artistic insanities (Cubism and Post + Impressionism and Mr. Picasso) are eulogists and nothing else. They are + not critics; least of all creative critics. They do not attempt to + translate beauty into language; they merely tell you that it is + untranslatable—that is, unutterable, indefinable, indescribable, + impalpable, ineffable, and all the rest of it. The cloud is their banner; + they cry to chaos and old night. They circulate a piece of paper on which + Mr. Picasso has had the misfortune to upset the ink and tried to dry it + with his boots, and they seek to terrify democracy by the good old + anti-democratic muddlements: that “the public” does not understand these + things; that “the likes of us” cannot dare to question the dark decisions + of our lords. + </p> + <p> + I venture to suggest that we resist all this rubbish by the very simple + test mentioned above. If there were anything intelligent in such art, + something of it at least could be made intelligible in literature. Man is + made with one head, not with two or three. No criticism of Rembrandt is as + good as Rembrandt; but it can be so written as to make a man go back and + look at his pictures. If there is a curious and fantastic art, it is the + business of the art critics to create a curious and fantastic literary + expression for it; inferior to it, doubtless, but still akin to it. If + they cannot do this, as they cannot; if there is nothing in their + eulogies, as there is nothing except eulogy—then they are quacks or + the high-priests of the unutterable. If the art critics can say nothing + about the artists except that they are good it is because the artists are + bad. They can explain nothing because they have found nothing; and they + have found nothing because there is nothing to be found. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"></a> + THE RED REACTIONARY + </h2> + <p> + The one case for Revolution is that it is the only quite clean and + complete road to anything—even to restoration. Revolution alone can + be not merely a revolt of the living, but also a resurrection of the dead. + </p> + <p> + A friend of mine (one, in fact, who writes prominently on this paper) was + once walking down the street in a town of Western France, situated in that + area that used to be called La Vendee; which in that great creative crisis + about 1790 formed a separate and mystical soul of its own, and made a + revolution against a revolution. As my friend went down this street he + whistled an old French air which he had found, like Mr. Gandish, “in his + researches into 'istry,” and which had somehow taken his fancy; the song + to which those last sincere loyalists went into battle. I think the words + ran: + </p> +<p class="poem"> + Monsieur de Charette.<br /> + Dit au gens d'ici.<br /> + Le roi va remettre.<br /> + Le fleur de lys. +</p> + <p> + My friend was (and is) a Radical, but he was (and is) an Englishman, and + it never occurred to him that there could be any harm in singing archaic + lyrics out of remote centuries; that one had to be a Catholic to enjoy the + “Dies Irae,” or a Protestant to remember “Lillibullero.” Yet he was + stopped and gravely warned that things so politically provocative might + get him at least into temporary trouble. + </p> + <p> + A little time after I was helping King George V to get crowned, by walking + round a local bonfire and listening to a local band. Just as a bonfire + cannot be too big, so (by my theory of music) a band cannot be too loud, + and this band was so loud, emphatic, and obvious, that I actually + recognised one or two of the tunes. And I noticed that quite a formidable + proportion of them were Jacobite tunes; that is, tunes that had been + primarily meant to keep George V out of his throne for ever. Some of the + real airs of the old Scottish rebellion were played, such as “Charlie is + My Darling,” or “What's a' the steer, kimmer?” songs that men had sung + while marching to destroy and drive out the monarchy under which we live. + They were songs in which the very kinsmen of the present King were swept + aside as usurpers. They were songs in which the actual words “King George” + occurred as a curse and a derision. Yet they were played to celebrate his + very Coronation; played as promptly and innocently as if they had been + “Grandfather's Clock” or “Rule Britannia” or “The Honeysuckle and the + Bee.” + </p> + <p> + That contrast is the measure, not only between two nations, but between + two modes of historical construction and development. For there is not + really very much difference, as European history goes, in the time that + has elapsed between us and the Jacobite and between us and the Jacobin. + When George III was crowned the gauntlet of the King's Champion was picked + up by a partisan of the Stuarts. When George III was still on the throne + the Bourbons were driven out of France as the Stuarts had been driven out + of England. Yet the French are just sufficiently aware that the Bourbons + might possibly return that they will take a little trouble to discourage + it; whereas we are so certain that the Stuarts will never return that we + actually play their most passionate tunes as a compliment to their rivals. + And we do not even do it tauntingly. I examined the faces of all the + bandsmen; and I am sure they were devoid of irony: indeed, it is difficult + to blow a wind instrument ironically. We do it quite unconsciously; + because we have a huge fundamental dogma, which the French have not. We + really believe that the past is past. It is a very doubtful point. + </p> + <p> + Now the great gift of a revolution (as in France) is that it makes men + free in the past as well as free in the future. Those who have cleared + away everything could, if they liked, put back everything. But we who have + preserved everything—we cannot restore anything. Take, for the sake + of argument, the complex and many coloured ritual of the Coronation + recently completed. That rite is stratified with the separate centuries; + from the first rude need of discipline to the last fine shade of culture + or corruption, there is nothing that cannot be detected or even dated. The + fierce and childish vow of the lords to serve their lord “against all + manner of folk” obviously comes from the real Dark Ages; no longer + confused, even by the ignorant, with the Middle Ages. It comes from some + chaos of Europe, when there was one old Roman road across four of our + counties; and when hostile “folk” might live in the next village. The + sacramental separation of one man to be the friend of the fatherless and + the nameless belongs to the true Middle Ages; with their great attempt to + make a moral and invisible Roman Empire; or (as the Coronation Service + says) to set the cross for ever above the ball. Elaborate local + tomfooleries, such as that by which the Lord of the Manor of Work-sop is + alone allowed to do something or other, these probably belong to the decay + of the Middle Ages, when that great civilisation died out in grotesque + literalism and entangled heraldry. Things like the presentation of the + Bible bear witness to the intellectual outburst at the Reformation; things + like the Declaration against the Mass bear witness to the great wars of + the Puritans; and things like the allegiance of the Bishops bear witness + to the wordy and parenthetical political compromises which (to my deep + regret) ended the wars of religion. + </p> + <p> + But my purpose here is only to point out one particular thing. In all that + long list of variations there must be, and there are, things which + energetic modern minds would really wish, with the reasonable + modification, to restore. Dr. Clifford would probably be glad to see again + the great Puritan idealism that forced the Bible into an antique and + almost frozen formality. Dr. Horton probably really regrets the old + passion that excommunicated Rome. In the same way Mr. Belloc would really + prefer the Middle Ages; as Lord Rosebery would prefer the Erastian + oligarchy of the eighteenth century. The Dark Ages would probably be + disputed (from widely different motives) by Mr. Rudyard Kipling and Mr. + Cunninghame Graham. But Mr. Cunninghame Graham would win. + </p> + <p> + But the black case against Conservative (or Evolutionary) politics is that + none of these sincere men can win. Dr. Clifford cannot get back to the + Puritans; Mr. Belloc cannot get back to the mediævals; because (alas) + there has been no Revolution to leave them a clear space for building or + rebuilding. Frenchmen have all the ages behind them, and can wander back + and pick and choose. But Englishmen have all the ages on top of them, and + can only lie groaning under that imposing tower, without being able to + take so much as a brick out of it. If the French decide that their + Republic is bad they can get rid of it; but if we decide that a Republic + was good, we should have much more difficulty. If the French democracy + actually desired every detail of the mediæval monarchy, they could have + it. I do not think they will or should, but they could. If another Dauphin + were actually crowned at Rheims; if another Joan of Arc actually bore a + miraculous banner before him; if mediæval swords shook and blazed in + every gauntlet; if the golden lilies glowed from every tapestry; if this + were really proved to be the will of France and the purpose of Providence—such + a scene would still be the lasting and final justification of the French + Revolution. + </p> + <p> + For no such scene could conceivably have happened under Louis XVI. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"></a> + THE SEPARATIST AND SACRED THINGS + </h2> + <p> + In the very laudable and fascinating extensions of our interest in Asiatic + arts or faiths, there are two incidental injustices which we tend nowadays + to do to our own records and our own religion. The first is a tendency to + talk as if certain things were not only present in the higher Orientals, + but were peculiar to them. Thus our magazines will fall into a habit of + wondering praise of Bushido, the Japanese chivalry, as if no Western + knights had ever vowed noble vows, or as if no Eastern knights had ever + broken them. Or again, our drawing-rooms will be full of the praises of + Indian renunciation and Indian unworldliness, as if no Christians had been + saints, or as if all Buddhists had been. But if the first injustice is to + think of human virtues as peculiarly Eastern, the other injustice is a + failure to appreciate what really is peculiarly Eastern. It is too much + taken for granted that the Eastern sort of idealism is certainly superior + and convincing; whereas in truth it is only separate and peculiar. All + that is richest, deepest, and subtlest in the East is rooted in Pantheism; + but all that is richest, deepest, and subtlest in us is concerned with + denying passionately that Pantheism is either the highest or the purest + religion. + </p> + <p> + Thus, in turning over some excellent books recently written on the spirit + of Indian or Chinese art and decoration, I found it quietly and curiously + assumed that the artist must be at his best if he flows with the full + stream of Nature; and identifies himself with all things; so that the + stars are his sleepless eyes and the forests his far-flung arms. Now in + this way of talking both the two injustices will be found. In so far as + what is claimed is a strong sense of the divine in all things, the Eastern + artists have no more monopoly of it than they have of hunger and thirst. + </p> + <p> + I have no doubt that the painters and poets of the Far East do exhibit + this; but I rebel at being asked to admit that we must go to the Far East + to find it. Traces of such sentiments can be found, I fancy, even in other + painters and poets. I do not question that the poet Wo Wo (that ornament + of the eighth dynasty) may have written the words: “Even the most + undignified vegetable is for this person capable of producing meditations + not to be exhibited by much weeping.” But, I do not therefore admit that a + Western gentleman named Wordsworth (who made a somewhat similar remark) + had plagiarised from Wo Wo, or was a mere Occidental fable and travesty of + that celebrated figure. I do not deny that Tinishona wrote that exquisite + example of the short Japanese poem entitled “Honourable Chrysanthemum in + Honourable Hole in Wall.” But I do not therefore admit that Tennyson's + little verse about the flower in the cranny was not original and even + sincere. + </p> + <p> + It is recorded (for all I know) of the philanthropic Emperor Bo, that when + engaged in cutting his garden lawn with a mower made of alabaster and + chrysoberyl, he chanced to cut down a small flower; whereupon, being much + affected, he commanded his wise men immediately to take down upon tablets + of ivory the lines beginning: “Small and unobtrusive blossom with ruby + extremities.” But this incident, touching as it is, does not shake my + belief in the incident of Robert Burns and the daisy; and I am left with + an impression that poets are pretty much the same everywhere in their + poetry—and in their prose. + </p> + <p> + I have tried to convey my sympathy and admiration for Eastern art and its + admirers, and if I have not conveyed them I must give it up and go on to + more general considerations. I therefore proceed to say—with the + utmost respect, that it is Cheek, a rarefied and etherealised form of + Cheek, for this school to speak in this way about the mother that bore + them, the great civilisation of the West. The West also has its magic + landscapes, only through our incurable materialism they look like + landscapes as well as like magic. The West also has its symbolic figures, + only they look like men as well as symbols. It will be answered (and most + justly) that Oriental art ought to be free to follow its own instinct and + tradition; that its artists are concerned to suggest one thing and our + artists another; that both should be admired in their difference. + Profoundly true; but what is the difference? It is certainly not as the + Orientalisers assert, that we must go to the Far East for a sympathetic + and transcendental interpretation of Nature. We have paid a long enough + toll of mystics and even of madmen to be quit of that disability. + </p> + <p> + Yet there is a difference, and it is just what I suggested. The Eastern + mysticism is an ecstasy of unity; the Christian mysticism is an ecstasy of + creation, that is of separation and mutual surprise. The latter says, like + St. Francis, “My brother fire and my sister water”; the former says, + “Myself fire and myself water.” Whether you call the Eastern attitude an + extension of oneself into everything or a contraction of oneself into + nothing is a matter of metaphysical definition. The effect is the same, an + effect which lives and throbs throughout all the exquisite arts of the + East. This effect is the Sing called rhythm, a pulsation of pattern, or of + ritual, or of colours, or of cosmic theory, but always suggesting the + unification of the individual with the world. But there is quite another + kind of sympathy the sympathy with a thing because it is different. No one + will say that Rembrandt did not sympathise with an old woman; but no one + will say that Rembrandt painted like an old woman. No one will say that + Reynolds did not appreciate children; but no one will say he did it + childishly. The supreme instance of this divine division is sex, and that + explains (what I could never understand in my youth) why Christendom + called the soul the bride of God. For real love is an intense realisation + of the “separateness” of all our souls. The most heroic and human + love-poetry of the world is never mere passion; precisely because mere + passion really is a melting back into Nature, a meeting of the waters. And + water is plunging and powerful; but it is only powerful downhill. The high + and human love-poetry is all about division rather than identity; and in + the great love-poems even the man as he embraces the woman sees her, in + the same instant, afar off; a virgin and a stranger. + </p> + <p> + For the first injustice, of which we have spoken, still recurs; and if we + grant that the East has a right to its difference, it is not realised in + what we differ. That nursery tale from nowhere about St. George and the + Dragon really expresses best the relation between the West and the East. + There were many other differences, calculated to arrest even the + superficial eye, between a saint and a dragon. But the essential + difference was simply this: that the Dragon did want to eat St. George; + whereas St. George would have felt a strong distaste for eating the + Dragon. In most of the stories he killed the Dragon. In many of the + stories he not only spared, but baptised it. But in neither case did the + Christian have any appetite for cold dragon. The Dragon, however, really + has an appetite for cold Christian—and especially for cold + Christianity. This blind intention to absorb, to change the shape of + everything and digest it in the darkness of a dragon's stomach; this is + what is really meant by the Pantheism and Cosmic Unity of the East. The + Cosmos as such is cannibal; as old Time ate his children. The Eastern + saints were saints because they wanted to be swallowed up. The Western + saint, like St. George, was sainted by the Western Church precisely + because he refused to be swallowed. The same process of thought that has + prevented nationalities disappearing in Christendom has prevented the + complete appearance of Pantheism. All Christian men instinctively resist + the idea of being absorbed into an Empire; an Austrian, a Spanish, a + British, or a Turkish Empire. But there is one empire, much larger and + much more tyrannical, which free men will resist with even stronger + passion. The free man violently resists being absorbed into the empire + which is called the Universe. He demands Home Rule for his nationality, + but still more Home Rule for his home. Most of all he demands Home Rule + for himself. He claims the right to be saved, in spite of Moslem fatalism. + He claims the right to be damned in spite of theosophical optimism. He + refuses to be the Cosmos; because he refuses to forget it. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"></a> + THE MUMMER + </h2> + <p> + The night before Christmas Eve I heard a burst of musical voices so close + that they might as well have been inside the house instead of just + outside; so I asked them inside, hoping that they might then seem farther + away. Then I realised that they were the Christmas Mummers, who come every + year in country parts to enact the rather rigid fragments of the old + Christmas play of St. George, the Turkish Knight, and the Very Venal + Doctor. I will not describe it; it is indescribable; but I will describe + my parallel sentiments as it passed. + </p> + <p> + One could see something of that half-failure that haunts our artistic + revivals of mediæval dances, carols, or Bethlehem Plays. There are + elements in all that has come to us from the more morally simple society + of the Middle Ages: elements which moderns, even when they are + mediævalists, find it hard to understand and harder to imitate. The first + is the primary idea of Mummery itself. If you will observe a child just + able to walk, you will see that his first idea is not to dress up as + anybody—but to dress up. Afterwards, of course, the idea of being + the King or Uncle William will leap to his lips. But it is generally + suggested by the hat he has already let fall over his nose, from far + deeper motives. Tommy does not assume the hat primarily because it is + Uncle William's hat, but because it is not Tommy's hat. It is a ritual + investiture; and is akin to those Gorgon masks that stiffened the dances + of Greece or those towering mitres that came from the mysteries of Persia. + For the essence of such ritual is a profound paradox: the concealment of + the personality combined with the exaggeration of the person. The man + performing a rite seeks to be at once invisible and conspicuous. It is + part of that divine madness which all other creatures wonder at in Man, + that he alone parades this pomp of obliteration and anonymity. Man is not, + perhaps, the only creature who dresses himself, but he is the only + creature who disguises himself. Beasts and birds do indeed take the + colours of their environment; but that is not in order to be watched, but + in order not to be watched; it is not the formalism of rejoicing, but the + formlessness of fear. It is not so with men, whose nature is the + unnatural. Ancient Britons did not stain themselves blue because they + lived in blue forests; nor did Georgian beaux and belles powder their hair + to match an Arctic landscape; the Britons were not dressing up as + kingfishers nor the beaux pretending to be polar bears. Nay, even when + modern ladies paint their faces a bright mauve, it is doubted by some + naturalists whether they do it with the idea of escaping notice. So + merry-makers (or Mummers) adopt their costume to heighten and exaggerate + their own bodily presence and identity; not to sink it, primarily + speaking, in another identity. It is not Acting—that comparatively + low profession—comparatively I mean. It is Mummery; and, as Mr. Kensit + would truly say, all elaborate religious ritual is Mummery. That is, it is + the noble conception of making Man something other and more than himself + when he stands at the limit of human things. It is only careful faddists + and feeble German philosophers who want to wear no clothes; and be + “natural” in their Dionysian revels. Natural men, really vigorous and + exultant men, want to wear more and more clothes when they are revelling. + They want worlds of waistcoats and forests of trousers and pagodas of tall + hats toppling up to the stars. + </p> + <p> + Thus it is with the lingering Mummers at Christmas in the country. If our + more refined revivers of Miracle Plays or Morrice Dances tried to + reconstruct the old Mummers' Play of St. George and the Turkish Knight (I + do not know why they do not) they would think at once of picturesque and + appropriate dresses. St. George's panoply would be pictured from the best + books of armour and blazonry: the Turkish Knight's arms and ornaments + would be traced from the finest Saracenic arabesques. When my garden door + opened on Christmas Eve and St. George of England entered, the appearance + of that champion was slightly different. His face was energetically + blacked all over with soot, above which he wore an aged and very tall top + hat; he wore his shirt outside his coat like a surplice, and he flourished + a thick umbrella. Now do not, I beg you, talk about “ignorance”; or + suppose that the Mummer in question (he is a very pleasant Ratcatcher, + with a tenor voice) did this because he knew no better. Try to realise + that even a Ratcatcher knows St. George of England was not black, and did + not kill the Dragon with an umbrella. The Rat-catcher is not under this + delusion; any more than Paul Veronese thought that very good men have + luminous rings round their heads; any more than the Pope thinks that + Christ washed the feet of the twelve in a Cathedral; any more than the + Duke of Norfolk thinks the lions on a tabard are like the lions at the + Zoo. These things are denaturalised because they are symbols; because the + extraordinary occasion must hide or even disfigure the ordinary people. + Black faces were to mediæval mummeries what carved masks were to Greek + plays: it was called being “vizarded.” My Rat-catcher is not sufficiently + arrogant to suppose for a moment that he looks like St. George. But he is + sufficiently humble to be convinced that if he looks as little like + himself as he can, he will be on the right road. + </p> + <p> + This is the soul of Mumming; the ostentatious secrecy of men in disguise. + There are, of course, other mediæval elements in it which are also + difficult to explain to the fastidious mediævalists of to-day. There is, + for instance, a certain output of violence into the void. It can best be + defined as a raging thirst to knock men down without the faintest desire + to hurt them. All the rhymes with the old ring have the trick of turning + on everything in which the rhymsters most sincerely believed, merely for + the pleasure of blowing off steam in startling yet careless phrases. When + Tennyson says that King Arthur “drew all the petty princedoms under him,” + and “made a realm and ruled,” his grave Royalism is quite modern. Many + mediævals, outside the mediæval republics, believed in monarchy as + solemnly as Tennyson. But that older verse + </p> +<p class="poem"> + When good King Arthur ruled this land<br /> + He was a goodly King—<br /> + He stole three pecks of barley-meal<br /> + To make a bag-pudding. +</p> + <p> + is far more Arthurian than anything in The Idylls of the King. There are + other elements; especially that sacred thing that can perhaps be called + Anachronism. All that to us is Anachronism was to mediævals merely + Eternity. But the main excellence of the Mumming Play lies still, I think, + in its uproarious secrecy. If we cannot hide our hearts in healthy + darkness, at least we can hide our faces in healthy blacking. If you + cannot escape like a philosopher into a forest, at least you can carry the + forest with you, like a Jack-in-the-Green. It is well to walk under + universal ensigns; and there is an old tale of a tyrant to whom a walking + forest was the witness of doom. That, indeed, is the very intensity of the + notion: a masked man is ominous; but who shall face a mob of masks? + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"></a> + THE ARISTOCRATIC 'ARRY + </h2> + <p> + The Cheap Tripper, pursued by the curses of the aesthetes and the + antiquaries, really is, I suppose, a symptom of the strange and almost + unearthly ugliness of our diseased society. The costumes and customs of a + hundred peasantries are there to prove that such ugliness does not + necessarily follow from mere poverty, or mere democracy, or mere + unlettered simplicity of mind. + </p> + <p> + But though the tripper, artistically considered, is a sign of our + decadence, he is not one of its worst signs, but relatively one of its + best; one of its most innocent and most sincere. Compared with many of the + philosophers and artists who denounce him; he looks like a God fearing + fisher or a noble mountaineer. His antics with donkeys and concertinas, + crowded charabancs, and exchanged hats, though clumsy, are not so vicious + or even so fundamentally vulgar as many of the amusements of the + overeducated. People are not more crowded on a char-a-banc than they are + at a political “At Home,” or even an artistic soiree; and if the female + trippers are overdressed, at least they are not overdressed and + underdressed at the same time. It is better to ride a donkey than to be a + donkey. It is better to deal with the Cockney festival which asks men and + women to change hats, rather than with the modern Utopia that wants them + to change heads. + </p> + <p> + But the truth is that such small, but real, element of vulgarity as there + is indeed in the tripper, is part of a certain folly and falsity which is + characteristic of much modernity, and especially of the very people who + persecute the poor tripper most. There is something in the whole society, + and even especially in the cultured part of it, that does things in a + clumsy and unbeautiful way. + </p> + <p> + A case occurs to me in the matter of Stonehenge, which I happened to visit + yesterday. Now to a person really capable of feeling the poetry of + Stonehenge it is almost a secondary matter whether he sees Stonehenge at + all. The vast void roll of the empty land towards Salisbury, the gray + tablelands like primeval altars, the trailing rain-clouds, the vapour of + primeval sacrifices, would all tell him of a very ancient and very lonely + Britain. It would not spoil his Druidic mood if he missed Stonehenge. But + it does spoil his mood to find Stonehenge—surrounded by a brand-new + fence of barbed wire, with a policeman and a little shop selling picture + post-cards. + </p> + <p> + Now if you protest against this, educated people will instantly answer + you, “Oh, it was done to prevent the vulgar trippers who chip stones and + carve names and spoil the look of Stonehenge.” It does not seem to occur + to them that barbed wire and a policeman rather spoil the look of + Stonehenge. The scratching of a name, particularly when performed with + blunt penknife or pencil by a person of imperfect School Board education, + can be trusted in a little while to be indistinguishable from the grayest + hieroglyphic by the grandest Druid of old. But nobody could get a modern + policeman into the same picture with a Druid. This really vital piece of + vandalism was done by the educated, not the uneducated; it was done by the + influence of the artists or antiquaries who wanted to preserve the antique + beauty of Stonehenge. It seems to me curious to preserve your lady's + beauty from freckles by blacking her face all over; or to protect the pure + whiteness of your wedding garment by dyeing it green. + </p> + <p> + And if you ask, “But what else could any one have done, what could the + most artistic age have done to save the monument?” I reply, “There are + hundreds of things that Greeks or Mediævals might have done; and I have + no notion what they would have chosen; but I say that by an instinct in + their whole society they would have done something that was decent and + serious and suitable to the place. Perhaps some family of knights or + warriors would have the hereditary duty of guarding such a place. If so + their armour would be appropriate; their tents would be appropriate; not + deliberately—they would grow like that. Perhaps some religious order + such as normally employ nocturnal watches and the relieving of guard would + protect such a place. Perhaps it would be protected by all sorts of + rituals, consecrations, or curses, which would seem to you mere raving + superstition and silliness. But they do not seem to me one twentieth part + so silly, from a purely rationalist point of view, as calmly making a spot + hideous in order to keep it beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + The thing that is really vulgar, the thing that is really vile, is to live + in a good place Without living by its life. Any one who settles down in a + place without becoming part of it is (barring peculiar personal cases, of + course) a tripper or wandering cad. For instance, the Jew is a genuine + peculiar case. The Wandering Jew is not a wandering cad. He is a highly + civilised man in a highly difficult position; the world being divided, and + his own nation being divided, about whether he can do anything else except + wander. + </p> + <p> + The best example of the cultured, but common, tripper is the educated + Englishman on the Continent. We can no longer explain the quarrel by + calling Englishmen rude and foreigners polite. Hundreds of Englishmen are + extremely polite, and thousands of foreigners are extremely rude. The + truth of the matter is that foreigners do not resent the rude Englishman. + What they do resent, what they do most justly resent, is the polite + Englishman. He visits Italy for Botticellis or Flanders for Rembrandts, + and he treats the great nations that made these things courteously—as + he would treat the custodians of any museum. It does not seem to strike + him that the Italian is not the custodian of the pictures, but the creator + of them. He can afford to look down on such nations—when he can + paint such pictures. + </p> + <p> + That is, in matters of art and travel, the psychology of the cad. If, + living in Italy, you admire Italian art while distrusting Italian + character, you are a tourist, or cad. If, living in Italy, you admire + Italian art while despising Italian religion, you are a tourist, or cad. + It does not matter how many years you have lived there. Tourists will + often live a long time in hotels without discovering the nationality of + the waiters. Englishmen will often live a long time in Italy without + discovering the nationality of the Italians. But the test is simple. If + you admire what Italians did without admiring Italians—you are a + cheap tripper. + </p> + <p> + The same, of course, applies much nearer home. I have remarked elsewhere + that country shopkeepers are justly offended by London people, who, coming + among them, continue to order all their goods from London. It is caddish + to wink and squint at the colour of a man's wine, like a wine taster; and + then refuse to drink it. It is equally caddish to wink and squint at the + colour of a man's orchard, like a landscape painter; and then refuse to + buy the apples. It is always an insult to admire a thing and not use it. + But the main point is that one has no right to see Stonehenge without + Salisbury Plain and Salisbury. One has no right to respect the dead + Italians without respecting the live ones. One has no right to visit a + Christian society like a diver visiting the deep-sea fishes—fed + along a lengthy tube by another atmosphere, and seeing the sights without + breathing the air. It is very real bad manners. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"></a> + THE NEW THEOLOGIAN + </h2> + <p> + It is an old story that names do not fit things; it is an old story that + the oldest forest is called the New Forest, and that Irish stew is almost + peculiar to England. But these are traditional titles that tend, of their + nature, to stiffen; it is the tragedy of to-day that even phrases invented + for to-day do not fit it. The forest has remained new while it is nearly a + thousand years old; but our fashions have grown old while they were still + new. + </p> + <p> + The extreme example of this is that when modern wrongs are attacked, they + are almost always attacked wrongly. People seem to have a positive + inspiration for finding the inappropriate phrase to apply to an offender; + they are always accusing a man of theft when he has been convicted of + murder. They must accuse Sir Edward Carson of outrageous rebellion, when + his offence has really been a sleek submission to the powers that be. They + must describe Mr. Lloyd George as using his eloquence to rouse the mob, + whereas he has really shown considerable cleverness in damping it down. It + was probably under the same impulse towards a mysterious misfit of names + that people denounced Dr. Inge as “the Gloomy Dean.” + </p> + <p> + Now there is nothing whatever wrong about being a Dean; nor is there + anything wrong about being gloomy. The only question is what dark but + sincere motives have made you gloomy. What dark but sincere motives have + made you a Dean. Now the address of Dr. Inge which gained him this + erroneous title was mostly concerned with a defence of the modern + capitalists against the modern strikers, from whose protest he appeared to + anticipate appalling results. Now if we look at the facts about that + gentleman's depression and also about his Deanery, we shall find a very + curious state of things. + </p> + <p> + When Dr. Inge was called “the Gloomy Dean” a great injustice was done him. + He had appeared as the champion of our capitalist community against the + forces of revolt; and any one who does that exceeds in optimism rather + than pessimism. A man who really thinks that strikers have suffered no + wrong, or that employers have done no wrong—such a man is not a + Gloomy Dean, but a quite wildly and dangerously happy Dean. A man who can + feel satisfied with modern industrialism must be a man with a mysterious + fountain of high spirits. And the actual occasion is not less curious; + because, as far as I can make out, his title to gloom reposes on his + having said that our worker's demand high wages, while the placid people + of the Far East will quite cheerfully work for less. + </p> + <p> + This is true enough, of course, and there does not seem to be much + difficulty about the matter. Men of the Far East will submit to very low + wages for the same reason that they will submit to “the punishment known + as Li, or Slicing”; for the same reason that they will praise polygamy and + suicide; for the same reason that they subject the wife utterly to the + husband or his parents; for the same reason that they serve their temples + with prostitutes for priests; for the same reason that they sometimes seem + to make no distinction between sexual passion and sexual perversion. They + do it, that is, because they are Heathens; men with traditions different + from ours about the limits of endurance and the gestures of self-respect. + They may be very much better than we are in hundreds of other ways; and I + can quite understand a man (though hardly a Dean) really preferring their + historic virtues to those of Christendom. A man may perhaps feel more + comfortable among his Asiatic coolies than among his European comrades: + and as we are to allow the Broadest Thought in the Church, Dr. Inge has as + much right to his heresy as anybody else. It is true that, as Dr. Inge + says, there are numberless Orientals who will do a great deal of work for + very little money; and it is most undoubtedly true that there are several + high-placed and prosperous Europeans who like to get work done and pay as + little as possible for it. + </p> + <p> + But I cannot make out why, with his enthusiasm for heathen habits and + traditions, the Dean should wish to spread in the East the ideas which he + has found so dreadfully unsettling in the West. If some thousands of years + of paganism have produced the patience and industry that Dean Inge + admires, and if some thousand years of Christianity have produced the + sentimentality and sensationalism which he regrets, the obvious deduction + is that Dean Inge would be much happier if he were a heathen Chinese. + Instead of supporting Christian missions to Korea or Japan, he ought to be + at the head of a great mission in London for converting the English to + Taoism or Buddhism. There his passion for the moral beauties of paganism + would have free and natural play; his style would improve; his mind would + begin slowly to clear; and he would be free from all sorts of little + irritating scrupulosities which must hamper even the most Conservative + Christian in his full praise of sweating and the sack. + </p> + <p> + In Christendom he will never find rest. The perpetual public criticism and + public change which is the note of all our history springs from a certain + spirit far too deep to be defined. It is deeper than democracy; nay, it + may often appear to be non-democratic; for it may often be the special + defence of a minority or an individual. It will often leave the + ninety-and-nine in the wilderness and go after that which is lost. It will + often risk the State itself to right a single wrong; and do justice though + the heavens fall. Its highest expression is not even in the formula of the + great gentlemen of the French Revolution who said that all men were free + and equal. Its highest expression is rather in the formula of the peasant + who said that a man's a man for a' that. If there were but one slave in + England, and he did all the work while the rest of us made merry, this + spirit that is in us would still cry aloud to God night and day. Whether + or no this spirit was produced by, it clearly works with, a creed which + postulates a humanised God and a vividly personal immortality. Men must + not be busy merely like a swarm, or even happy merely like a herd; for it + is not a question of men, but of a man. A man's meals may be poor, but + they must not be bestial; there must always be that about the meal which + permits of its comparison to the sacrament. A man's bed may be hard, but + it must not be abject or unclean: there must always be about the bed + something of the decency of the death-bed. + </p> + <p> + This is the spirit which makes the Christian poor begin their terrible + murmur whenever there is a turn of prices or a deadlock of toil that + threatens them with vagabondage or pauperisation; and we cannot encourage + the Dean with any hope that this spirit can be cast out. Christendom will + continue to suffer all the disadvantages of being Christian: it is the + Dean who must be gently but firmly altered. He had absent-mindedly strayed + into the wrong continent and the wrong creed. I advise him to chuck it. + </p> + <p> + But the case is more curious still. To connect the Dean with Confucian + temples or traditions may have appeared fantastic; but it is not. Dr. Inge + is not a stupid old Tory Rector, strict both on Church and State. Such a + man might talk nonsense about the Christian Socialists being “court + chaplains of King Demos” or about his own superb valour in defying the + democracy that rages in the front pews of Anglican churches. We should not + expect a mere old-fashioned country clergyman to know that Demos has never + been king in England and precious seldom anywhere else; we should not + expect him to realise that if King Demos had any chaplains they would be + uncommonly poorly paid. But Dr. Inge is not old-fashioned; he considers + himself highly progressive and advanced. He is a New Theologian; that is, + he is liberal in theology—and nothing else. He is apparently in + sober fact, and not as in any fantasy, in sympathy with those who would + soften the superior claim of our creed by urging the rival creeds of the + East; with those who would absorb the virtues of Buddhism or of Islam. He + holds a high seat in that modern Parliament of Religions where all + believers respect each other's unbelief. + </p> + <p> + Now this has a very sharp moral for modern religious reformers. When next + you hear the “liberal” Christian say that we should take what is best in + Oriental faiths, make quite sure what are the things that people like Dr. + Inge call best; what are the things that people like Dr. Inge propose to + take. You will not find them imitating the military valour of the Moslem. + You will not find them imitating the miraculous ecstasy of the Hindoo. The + more you study the “broad” movement of today, the more you will find that + these people want something much less like Chinese metaphysics, and + something much more like Chinese Labour. You will find the levelling of + creeds quite unexpectedly close to the lowering of wages. Dr. Inge is the + typical latitudinarian of to-day; and was never more so than when he + appeared not as the apostle of the blacks, but as the apostle of the + blacklegs. Preached, as it is, almost entirely among the prosperous and + polite, our brotherhood with Buddhism or Mohammedanism practically means + this—that the poor must be as meek as Buddhists, while the rich may + be as ruthless as Mohammedans. That is what they call the reunion of all + religions. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"></a> + THE ROMANTIC IN THE RAIN + </h2> + <p> + The middle classes of modern England are quite fanatically fond of + washing; and are often enthusiastic for teetotalism. I cannot therefore + comprehend why it is that they exhibit a mysterious dislike of rain. Rain, + that inspiring and delightful thing, surely combines the qualities of + these two ideals with quite a curious perfection. Our philanthropists are + eager to establish public baths everywhere. Rain surely is a public bath; + it might almost be called mixed bathing. The appearance of persons coming + fresh from this great natural lustration is not perhaps polished or + dignified; but for the matter of that, few people are dignified when + coming out of a bath. But the scheme of rain in itself is one of an + enormous purification. It realises the dream of some insane hygienist: it + scrubs the sky. Its giant brooms and mops seem to reach the starry rafters + and Starless corners of the cosmos; it is a cosmic spring cleaning. + </p> + <p> + If the Englishman is really fond of cold baths, he ought not to grumble at + the English climate for being a cold bath. In these days we are constantly + told that we should leave our little special possessions and join in the + enjoyment of common social institutions and a common social machinery. I + offer the rain as a thoroughly Socialistic institution. It disregards that + degraded delicacy which has hitherto led each gentleman to take his + shower-bath in private. It is a better shower-bath, because it is public + and communal; and, best of all, because somebody else pulls the string. + </p> + <p> + As for the fascination of rain for the water drinker, it is a fact the + neglect of which I simply cannot comprehend. The enthusiastic water + drinker must regard a rainstorm as a sort of universal banquet and debauch + of his own favourite beverage. Think of the imaginative intoxication of + the wine drinker if the crimson clouds sent down claret or the golden + clouds hock. Paint upon primitive darkness some such scenes of apocalypse, + towering and gorgeous skyscapes in which champagne falls like fire from + heaven or the dark skies grow purple and tawny with the terrible colours + of port. All this must the wild abstainer feel, as he rolls in the long + soaking grass, kicks his ecstatic heels to heaven, and listens to the + roaring rain. It is he, the water drinker, who ought to be the true + bacchanal of the forests; for all the forests are drinking water. + Moreover, the forests are apparently enjoying it: the trees rave and reel + to and fro like drunken giants; they clash boughs as revellers clash cups; + they roar undying thirst and howl the health of the world. + </p> + <p> + All around me as I write is a noise of Nature drinking: and Nature makes a + noise when she is drinking, being by no means refined. If I count it + Christian mercy to give a cup of cold water to a sufferer, shall I + complain of these multitudinous cups of cold water handed round to all + living things; a cup of water for every shrub; a cup of water for every + weed? I would be ashamed to grumble at it. As Sir Philip Sidney said, + their need is greater than mine—especially for water. + </p> + <p> + There is a wild garment that still carries nobly the name of a wild + Highland clan: a elan come from those hills where rain is not so much an + incident as an atmosphere. Surely every man of imagination must feel a + tempestuous flame of Celtic romance spring up within him whenever he puts + on a mackintosh. I could never reconcile myself to carrying an umbrella; + it is a pompous Eastern business, carried over the heads of despots in the + dry, hot lands. Shut up, an umbrella is an unmanageable walking stick; + open, it is an inadequate tent. For my part, I have no taste for + pretending to be a walking pavilion; I think nothing of my hat, and + precious little of my head. If I am to be protected against wet, it must + be by some closer and more careless protection, something that I can + forget altogether. It might be a Highland plaid. It might be that yet more + Highland thing, a mackintosh. + </p> + <p> + And there is really something in the mackintosh of the military qualities + of the Highlander. The proper cheap mackintosh has a blue and white sheen + as of steel or iron; it gleams like armour. I like to think of it as the + uniform of that ancient clan in some of its old and misty raids. I like to + think of all the Macintoshes, in their mackintoshes, descending on some + doomed Lowland village, their wet waterproofs flashing in the sun or moon. + For indeed this is one of the real beauties of rainy weather, that while + the amount of original and direct light is commonly lessened, the number + of things that reflect light is unquestionably increased. There is less + sunshine; but there are more shiny things; such beautifully shiny things + as pools and puddles and mackintoshes. It is like moving in a world of + mirrors. + </p> + <p> + And indeed this is the last and not the least gracious of the casual works + of magic wrought by rain: that while it decreases light, yet it doubles + it. If it dims the sky, it brightens the earth. It gives the roads (to the + sympathetic eye) something of the beauty of Venice. Shallow lakes of water + reiterate every detail of earth and sky; we dwell in a double universe. + Sometimes walking upon bare and lustrous pavements, wet under numerous + lamps, a man seems a black blot on all that golden looking-glass, and + could fancy he was flying in a yellow sky. But wherever trees and towns + hang head downwards in a pigmy puddle, the sense of Celestial + topsy-turvydom is the same. This bright, wet, dazzling confusion of shape + and shadow, of reality and reflection, will appeal strongly to any one + with the transcendental instinct about this dreamy and dual life of ours. + It will always give a man the strange sense of looking down at the skies. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"></a> + THE FALSE PHOTOGRAPHER + </h2> + <p> + When, as lately, events have happened that seem (to the fancy, at least) + to test if not stagger the force of official government, it is amusing to + ask oneself what is the real weakness of civilisation, ours especially, + when it contends with the one lawless man. I was reminded of one weakness + this morning in turning over an old drawerful of pictures. + </p> + <p> + This weakness in civilisation is best expressed by saying that it cares + more for science than for truth. It prides itself on its “methods” more + than its results; it is satisfied with precision, discipline, good + communications, rather than with the sense of reality. But there are + precise falsehoods as well as precise facts. Discipline may only mean a + hundred men making the same mistake at the same minute. And good + communications may in practice be very like those evil communications + which are said to corrupt good manners. Broadly, we have reached a + “scientific age,” which wants to know whether the train is in the + timetable, but not whether the train is in the station. I take one + instance in our police inquiries that I happen to have come across: the + case of photography. + </p> + <p> + Some years ago a poet of considerable genius tragically disappeared, and + the authorities or the newspapers circulated a photograph of him, so that + he might be identified. The photograph, as I remember it, depicted or + suggested a handsome, haughty, and somewhat pallid man with his head + thrown back, with long distinguished features, colourless thin hair and + slight moustache, and though conveyed merely by the head and shoulders, a + definite impression of height. If I had gone by that photograph I should + have gone about looking for a long soldierly but listless man, with a + profile rather like the Duke of Connaught's. + </p> + <p> + Only, as it happened, I knew the poet personally; I had seen him a great + many times, and he had an appearance that nobody could possibly forget, if + seen only once. He had the mark of those dark and passionate Westland + Scotch, who before Burns and after have given many such dark eyes and dark + emotions to the world. But in him the unmistakable strain, Gaelic or + whatever it is, was accentuated almost to oddity; and he looked like some + swarthy elf. He was small, with a big head and a crescent of coal-black + hair round the back of a vast dome of baldness. Immediately under his eyes + his cheekbones had so high a colour that they might have been painted + scarlet; three black tufts, two on the upper lip and one under the lower, + seemed to touch up the face with the fierce moustaches of Mephistopheles. + His eyes had that “dancing madness” in them which Stevenson saw in the + Gaelic eyes of Alan Breck; but he sometimes distorted the expression by + screwing a monstrous monocle into one of them. A man more unmistakable + would have been hard to find. You could have picked him out in any crowd—so + long as you had not seen his photograph. + </p> + <p> + But in this scientific picture of him twenty causes, accidental and + conventional, had combined to obliterate him altogether. The limits of + photography forbade the strong and almost melodramatic colouring of cheek + and eyebrow. The accident of the lighting took nearly all the darkness out + of the hair and made him look almost like a fair man. The framing and + limitation of the shoulders made him look like a big man; and the + devastating bore of being photographed when you want to write poetry made + him look like a lazy man. Holding his head back, as people do when they + are being photographed (or shot), but as he certainly never held it + normally, accidentally concealed the bald dome that dominated his slight + figure. Here we have a clockwork picture, begun and finished by a button + and a box of chemicals, from which every projecting feature has been more + delicately and dexterously omitted than they could have been by the most + namby-pamby flatterer, painting in the weakest water-colours, on the + smoothest ivory. + </p> + <p> + I happen to possess a book of Mr. Max Beerbohm's caricatures, one of which + depicts the unfortunate poet in question. To say it represents an utterly + incredible hobgoblin is to express in faint and inadequate language the + license of its sprawling lines. The authorities thought it strictly safe + and scientific to circulate the poet's photograph. They would have clapped + me in an asylum if I had asked them to circulate Max's caricature. But the + caricature would have been far more likely to find the man. + </p> + <p> + This is a small but exact symbol of the failure of scientific + civilisation. It is so satisfied in knowing it has a photograph of a man + that it never asks whether it has a likeness of him. Thus declarations, + seemingly most detailed, have flashed along the wires of the world ever + since I was a boy. We were told that in some row Boer policemen had shot + an Englishman, a British subject, an English citizen. A long time + afterwards we were quite casually informed that the English citizen was + quite black. Well, it makes no difference to the moral question; black men + should be shot on the same ethical principles as white men. But it makes + one distrust scientific communications which permitted so startling an + alteration of the photograph. I am sorry we got hold of a photographic + negative in which a black man came out white. Later we were told that an + Englishman had fought for the Boers against his own flag, which would have + been a disgusting thing to do. Later, it was admitted that he was an + Irishman; which is exactly as different as if he had been a Pole. Common + sense, with all the facts before it, does see that black is not white, and + that a nation that has never submitted has a right to moral independence. + But why does it so seldom have all the facts before it? Why are the big + aggressive features, such as blackness or the Celtic wrath, always left + out in such official communications, as they were left out in the + photograph? My friend the poet had hair as black as an African and eyes as + fierce as an Irishman; why does our civilisation drop all four of the + facts? Its error is to omit the arresting thing—which might really + arrest the criminal. It strikes first the chilling note of science, + demanding a man “above the middle height, chin shaven, with gray + moustache,” etc., which might mean Mr. Balfour or Sir Redvers Buller. It + does not seize the first fact of impression, as that a man is obviously a + sailor or a Jew or a drunkard or a gentleman or a nigger or an albino or a + prize-fighter or an imbecile or an American. These are the realities by + which the people really recognise each other. They are almost always left + out of the inquiry. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"></a> + THE SULTAN + </h2> + <p> + There is one deep defect in our extension of cosmopolitan and Imperial + cultures. That is, that in most human things if you spread your butter far + you spread it thin. But there is an odder fact yet: rooted in something + dark and irrational in human nature. That is, that when you find your + butter thin, you begin to spread it. And it is just when you find your + ideas wearing thin in your own mind that you begin to spread them among + your fellow-creatures. It is a paradox; but not my paradox. There are + numerous cases in history; but I think the strongest case is this. That we + have Imperialism in all our clubs at the very time when we have + Orientalism in all our drawing-rooms. + </p> + <p> + I mean that the colonial ideal of such men as Cecil Rhodes did not arise + out of any fresh creative idea of the Western genius, it was a fad, and + like most fads an imitation. For what was wrong with Rhodes was not that, + like Cromwell or Hildebrand, he made huge mistakes, nor even that he + committed great crimes. It was that he committed these crimes and errors + in order to spread certain ideas. And when one asked for the ideas they + could not be found. Cromwell stood for Calvinism, Hildebrand for + Catholicism: but Rhodes had no principles whatever to give to the world. + He had only a hasty but elaborate machinery for spreading the principles + that he hadn't got. What he called his ideals were the dregs of a + Darwinism which had already grown not only stagnant, but poisonous. That + the fittest must survive, and that any one like himself must be the + fittest; that the weakest must go to the wall, and that any one he could + not understand must be the weakest; that was the philosophy which he + lumberingly believed through life, like many another agnostic old bachelor + of the Victorian era. All his views on religion (reverently quoted in the + Review of Reviews) were simply the stalest ideas of his time. It was not + his fault, poor fellow, that he called a high hill somewhere in South + Africa “his church.” It was not his fault, I mean, that he could not see + that a church all to oneself is not a church at all. It is a madman's + cell. It was not his fault that he “figured out that God meant as much of + the planet to be Anglo-Saxon as possible.” Many evolutionists much wiser + had “figured out” things even more babyish. He was an honest and humble + recipient of the plodding popular science of his time; he spread no ideas + that any cockney clerk in Streatham could not have spread for him. But it + was exactly because he had no ideas to spread that he invoked slaughter, + violated justice, and ruined republics to spread them. + </p> + <p> + But the case is even stronger and stranger. Fashionable Imperialism not + only has no ideas of its own to extend; but such ideas as it has are + actually borrowed from the brown and black peoples to whom it seeks to + extend them. The Crusading kings and knights might be represented as + seeking to spread Western ideas in the East. But all that our Imperialist + aristocrats could do would be to spread Eastern ideas in the East. For + that very governing class which urges Occidental Imperialism has been + deeply discoloured with Oriental mysticism and Cosmology. + </p> + <p> + The same society lady who expects the Hindoos to accept her view of + politics has herself accepted their view of religion. She wants first to + steal their earth, and then to share their heaven. The same Imperial cynic + who wishes the Turks to submit to English science has himself submitted to + Turkish philosophy, to a wholly Turkish view of despotism and destiny. + </p> + <p> + There is an obvious and amusing proof of this in a recent life of Rhodes. + The writer admits with proper Imperial gloom the fact that Africa is still + chiefly inhabited by Africans. He suggests Rhodes in the South confronting + savages and Kitchener in the North facing Turks, Arabs, and Soudanese, and + then he quotes this remark of Cecil Rhodes: “It is inevitable fate that + all this should be changed; and I should like to be the agent of fate.” + That was Cecil Rhodes's one small genuine idea; and it is an Oriental + idea. + </p> + <p> + Here we have evident all the ultimate idiocy of the present Imperial + position. Rhodes and Kitchener are to conquer Moslem bedouins and + barbarians, in order to teach them to believe only in inevitable fate. We + are to wreck provinces and pour blood like Niagara, all in order to teach + a Turk to say “Kismet”; which he has said since his cradle. We are to deny + Christian justice and destroy international equality, all in order to + teach an Arab to believe he is “an agent of fate,” when he has never + believed anything else. If Cecil Rhodes's vision could come true (which + fortunately is increasingly improbable), such countries as Persia or + Arabia would simply be filled with ugly and vulgar fatalists in + billycocks, instead of with graceful and dignified fatalists in turbans. + The best Western idea, the idea of spiritual liberty and danger, of a + doubtful and romantic future in which all things may happen—this + essential Western idea Cecil Rhodes could not spread, because (as he says + himself) he did not believe in it. + </p> + <p> + It was an Oriental who gave to Queen Victoria the crown of an Empress in + addition to that of a Queen. He did not understand that the title of King + is higher than that of Emperor. For in the East titles are meant to be + vast and wild; to be extravagant poems: the Brother of the Sun and Moon, + the Caliph who lives for ever. But a King of England (at least in the days + of real kings) did not bear a merely poetical title; but rather a + religious one. He belonged to his people and not merely they to him. He + was not merely a conqueror, but a father—yes, even when he was a bad + father. But this sort of solid sanctity always goes with local affections + and limits: and the Cecil Rhodes Imperialism set up not the King, but the + Sultan; with all the typically Eastern ideas of the magic of money, of + luxury without uproar; of prostrate provinces and a chosen race. Indeed + Cecil Rhodes illustrated almost every quality essential to the Sultan, + from the love of diamonds to the scorn of woman. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"></a> + THE ARCHITECT OF SPEARS + </h2> + <p> + The other day, in the town of Lincoln, I suffered an optical illusion + which accidentally revealed to me the strange greatness of the Gothic + architecture. Its secret is not, I think, satisfactorily explained in most + of the discussions on the subject. It is said that the Gothic eclipses the + classical by a certain richness and complexity, at once lively and + mysterious. This is true; but Oriental decoration is equally rich and + complex, yet it awakens a widely different sentiment. No man ever got out + of a Turkey carpet the emotions that he got from a cathedral tower. Over + all the exquisite ornament of Arabia and India there is the presence of + something stiff and heartless, of something tortured and silent. Dwarfed + trees and crooked serpents, heavy flowers and hunchbacked birds accentuate + by the very splendour and contrast of their colour the servility and + monotony of their shapes. It is like the vision of a sneering sage, who + sees the whole universe as a pattern. Certainly no one ever felt like this + about Gothic, even if he happens to dislike it. Or, again, some will say + that it is the liberty of the Middle Ages in the use of the comic or even + the coarse that makes the Gothic more interesting than the Greek. There is + more truth in this; indeed, there is real truth in it. Few of the old + Christian cathedrals would have passed the Censor of Plays. We talk of the + inimitable grandeur of the old cathedrals; but indeed it is rather their + gaiety that we do not dare to imitate. We should be rather surprised if a + chorister suddenly began singing “Bill Bailey” in church. Yet that would + be only doing in music what the mediævals did in sculpture. They put into + a Miserere seat the very scenes that we put into a music hall song: comic + domestic scenes similar to the spilling of the beer and the hanging out of + the washing. But though the gaiety of Gothic is one of its features, it + also is not the secret of its unique effect. We see a domestic + topsy-turvydom in many Japanese sketches. But delightful as these are, + with their fairy tree-tops, paper houses, and toddling, infantile + inhabitants, the pleasure they give is of a kind quite different from the + joy and energy of the gargoyles. Some have even been so shallow and + illiterate as to maintain that our pleasure in medieval building is a mere + pleasure in what is barbaric, in what is rough, shapeless, or crumbling + like the rocks. This can be dismissed after the same fashion; South Sea + idols, with painted eyes and radiating bristles, are a delight to the eye; + but they do not affect it in at all the same way as Westminster Abbey. + Some again (going to another and almost equally foolish extreme) ignore + the coarse and comic in mediævalism; and praise the pointed arch only for + its utter purity and simplicity, as of a saint with his hands joined in + prayer. Here, again, the uniqueness is missed. There are Renaissance + things (such as the ethereal silvery drawings of Raphael), there are even + pagan things (such as the Praying Boy) which express as fresh and austere + a piety. None of these explanations explain. And I never saw what was the + real point about Gothic till I came into the town of Lincoln, and saw it + behind a row of furniture-vans. + </p> + <p> + I did not know they were furniture-vans; at the first glance and in the + smoky distance I thought they were a row of cottages. A low stone wall cut + off the wheels, and the vans were somewhat of the same colour as the + yellowish clay or stone of the buildings around them. I had come across + that interminable Eastern plain which is like the open sea, and all the + more so because the one small hill and tower of Lincoln stands up in it + like a light-house. I had climbed the sharp, crooked streets up to this + ecclesiastical citadel; just in front of me was a flourishing and richly + coloured kitchen garden; beyond that was the low stone wall; beyond that + the row of vans that looked like houses; and beyond and above that, + straight and swift and dark, light as a flight of birds, and terrible as + the Tower of Babel, Lincoln Cathedral seemed to rise out of human sight. + </p> + <p> + As I looked at it I asked myself the questions that I have asked here; + what was the soul in all those stones? They were varied, but it was not + variety; they were solemn, but it was not solemnity; they were farcical, + but it was not farce. What is it in them that thrills and soothes a man of + our blood and history, that is not there in an Egyptian pyramid or an + Indian temple or a Chinese pagoda? All of a sudden the vans I had mistaken + for cottages began to move away to the left. In the start this gave to my + eye and mind I really fancied that the Cathedral was moving towards the + right. The two huge towers seemed to start striding across the plain like + the two legs of some giant whose body was covered with the clouds. Then I + saw what it was. + </p> + <p> + The truth about Gothic is, first, that it is alive, and second, that it is + on the march. It is the Church Militant; it is the only fighting + architecture. All its spires are spears at rest; and all its stones are + stones asleep in a catapult. In that instant of illusion, I could hear the + arches clash like swords as they crossed each other. The mighty and + numberless columns seemed to go swinging by like the huge feet of imperial + elephants. The graven foliage wreathed and blew like banners going into + battle; the silence was deafening with all the mingled noises of a + military march; the great bell shook down, as the organ shook up its + thunder. The thirsty-throated gargoyles shouted like trumpets from all the + roofs and pinnacles as they passed; and from the lectern in the core of + the cathedral the eagle of the awful evangelist clashed his wings of + brass. + </p> + <p> + And amid all the noises I seemed to hear the voice of a man shouting in + the midst like one ordering regiments hither and thither in the fight; the + voice of the great half-military master-builder; the architect of spears. + I could almost fancy he wore armour while he made that church; and I knew + indeed that, under a scriptural figure, he had borne in either hand the + trowel and the sword. + </p> + <p> + I could imagine for the moment that the whole of that house of life had + marched out of the sacred East, alive and interlocked, like an army. Some + Eastern nomad had found it solid and silent in the red circle of the + desert. He had slept by it as by a world-forgotten pyramid; and been woke + at midnight by the wings of stone and brass, the tramping of the tall + pillars, the trumpets of the waterspouts. On such a night every snake or + sea-beast must have turned and twisted in every crypt or corner of the + architecture. And the fiercely coloured saints marching eternally in the + flamboyant windows would have carried their glorioles like torches across + dark lands and distant seas; till the whole mountain of music and darkness + and lights descended roaring on the lonely Lincoln hill. So for some + hundred and sixty seconds I saw the battle-beauty of the Gothic; then the + last furniture-van shifted itself away; and I saw only a church tower in a + quiet English town, round which the English birds were floating. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"></a> + THE MAN ON TOP + </h2> + <p> + There is a fact at the root of all realities to-day which cannot be stated + too simply. It is that the powers of this world are now not trusted simply + because they are not trustworthy. This can be quite clearly seen and said + without any reference to our several passions or partisanships. It does + not follow that we think such a distrust a wise sentiment to express; it + does not even follow that we think it a good sentiment to entertain. But + such is the sentiment, simply because such is the fact. The distinction + can be quite easily defined in an example. I do not think that private + workers owe an indefinite loyalty to their employer. But I do think that + patriotic soldiers owe a more or less indefinite loyalty to their leader + in battle. But even if they ought to trust their captain, the fact remains + that they often do not trust him; and the fact remains that he often is + not fit to be trusted. + </p> + <p> + Most of the employers and many of the Socialists seem to have got a very + muddled ethic about the basis of such loyalty; and perpetually try to put + employers and officers upon the same disciplinary plane. I should have + thought myself that the difference was alphabetical enough. It has nothing + to do with the idealising of war or the materialising of trade; it is a + distinction in the primary purpose. There might be much more elegance and + poetry in a shop under William Morris than in a regiment under Lord + Kitchener. But the difference is not in the persons or the atmosphere, but + in the aim. The British Army does not exist in order to pay Lord + Kitchener. William Morris's shop, however artistic and philanthropic, did + exist to pay William Morris. If it did not pay the shopkeeper it failed as + a shop; but Lord Kitchener does not fail if he is underpaid, but only if + he is defeated. The object of the Army is the safety of the nation from + one particular class of perils; therefore, since all citizens owe loyalty + to the nation, all citizens who are soldiers owe loyalty to the Army. But + nobody has any obligation to make some particular rich man richer. A man + is bound, of course, to consider the indirect results of his action in a + strike; but he is bound to consider that in a swing, or a giddy-go-round, + or a smoking concert; in his wildest holiday or his most private + conversation. But direct responsibility like that of a soldier he has + none. He need not aim solely and directly at the good of the shop; for the + simple reason that the shop is not aiming solely and directly at the good + of the nation. The shopman is, under decent restraints, let us hope, + trying to get what he can out of the nation; the shop assistant may, under + the same decent restraints, get what he can out of the shopkeeper. All + this distinction is very obvious. At least I should have thought so. + </p> + <p> + But the primary point which I mean is this. That even if we do take the + military view of mercantile service, even if we do call the rebellious + shop assistant “disloyal”—that leaves exactly where it was the + question of whether he is, in point of fact, in a good or bad shop. + Granted that all Mr. Poole's employees are bound to follow for ever the + cloven pennon of the Perfect Pair of Trousers, it is all the more true + that the pennon may, in point of fact, become imperfect. Granted that all + Barney Barnato's workers ought to have followed him to death or glory, it + is still a Perfectly legitimate question to ask which he was likely to + lead them to. Granted that Dr. Sawyer's boy ought to die for his master's + medicines, we may still hold an inquest to find out if he died of them. + While we forbid the soldier to shoot the general, we may still wish the + general were shot. + </p> + <p> + The fundamental fact of our time is the failure of the successful man. + Somehow we have so arranged the rules of the game that the winners are + worthless for other purposes; they can secure nothing except the prize. + The very rich are neither aristocrats nor self-made men; they are + accidents—or rather calamities. All revolutionary language is a + generation behind the times in talking of their futility. A revolutionist + would say (with perfect truth) that coal-owners know next to nothing about + coal-mining. But we are past that point. Coal-owners know next to nothing + about coal-owning. They do not develop and defend the nature of their own + monopoly with any consistent and courageous policy, however wicked, as did + the old aristocrats with the monopoly of land. They have not the virtues + nor even the vices of tyrants; they have only their powers. It is the same + with all the powerful of to-day; it is the same, for instance, with the + high-placed and high-paid official. Not only is the judge not judicial, + but the arbiter is not even arbitrary. The arbiter decides, not by some + gust of justice or injustice in his soul like the old despot dooming men + under a tree, but by the permanent climate of the class to which he + happens to belong. The ancient wig of the judge is often indistinguishable + from the old wig of the flunkey. + </p> + <p> + To judge about success or failure one must see things very simply; one + must see them in masses, as the artist, half closing his eyes against + details, sees light and shade. That is the only way in which a just + judgment can be formed as to whether any departure or development, such as + Islam or the American Republic, has been a benefit upon the whole. Seen + close, such great erections always abound in ingenious detail and + impressive solidity; it is only by seeing them afar off that one can tell + if the Tower leans. + </p> + <p> + Now if we thus take in the whole tilt or posture of our modern state, we + shall simply see this fact: that those classes who have on the whole + governed, have on the whole failed. If you go to a factory you will see + some very wonderful wheels going round; you will be told that the employer + often comes there early in the morning; that he has great organising + power; that if he works over the colossal accumulation of wealth he also + works over its wise distribution. All this may be true of many employers, + and it is practically said of all. + </p> + <p> + But if we shade our eyes from all this dazzle of detail; if we simply ask + what has been the main feature, the upshot, the final fruit of the + capitalist system, there is no doubt about the answer. The special and + solid result of the reign of the employers has been—unemployment. + Unemployment not only increasing, but becoming at last the very pivot upon + which the whole process turns. + </p> + <p> + Or, again, if you visit the villages that depend on one of the great + squires, you will hear praises, often just, of the landlord's good sense + or good nature; you will hear of whole systems of pensions or of care for + the sick, like those of a small and separate nation; you will see much + cleanliness, order, and business habits in the offices and accounts of the + estate. But if you ask again what has been the upshot, what has been the + actual result of the reign of landlords, again the answer is plain. At the + end of the reign of landlords men will not live on the land. The practical + effect of having landlords is not having tenants. The practical effect of + having employers is that men are not employed. The unrest of the populace + is therefore more than a murmur against tyranny; it is against a sort of + treason. It is the suspicion that even at the top of the tree, even in the + seats of the mighty, our very success is unsuccessful. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"></a> + THE OTHER KIND OF MAN + </h2> + <p> + There are some who are conciliated by Conciliation Boards. There are some + who, when they hear of Royal Commissions, breathe again—or snore + again. There are those who look forward to Compulsory Arbitration Courts + as to the islands of the blest. These men do not understand the day that + they look upon or the sights that their eyes have seen. + </p> + <p> + The almost sacramental idea of representation, by which the few may + incarnate the many, arose in the Middle Ages, and has done great things + for justice and liberty. It has had its real hours of triumph, as when the + States General met to renew France's youth like the eagle's; or when all + the virtues of the Republic fought and ruled in the figure of Washington. + It is not having one of its hours of triumph now. The real democratic + unrest at this moment is not an extension of the representative process, + but rather a revolt against it. It is no good giving those now in revolt + more boards and committees and compulsory regulations. It is against these + very things that they are revolting. Men are not only rising against their + oppressors, but against their representatives or, as they would say, their + misrepresentatives. The inner and actual spirit of workaday England is + coming out not in applause, but in anger, as a god who should come out of + his tabernacle to rebuke and confound his priests. + </p> + <p> + There is a certain kind of man whom we see many times in a day, but whom + we do not, in general, bother very much about. He is the kind of man of + whom his wife says that a better husband when he's sober you couldn't + have. She sometimes adds that he never is sober; but this is in anger and + exaggeration. Really he drinks much less and works much more than the + modern legend supposes. But it is quite true that he has not the horror of + bodily outbreak, natural to the classes that contain ladies; and it is + quite true that he never has that alert and inventive sort of industry + natural to the classes from which men can climb into great wealth. He has + grown, partly by necessity, but partly also by temper, accustomed to have + dirty clothes and dirty hands normally and without discomfort. He regards + cleanliness as a kind of separate and special costume; to be put on for + great festivals. He has several really curious characteristics, which + would attract the eyes of sociologists, if they had any eyes. For + instance, his vocabulary is coarse and abusive, in marked contrast to his + actual spirit, which is generally patient and civil. He has an odd way of + using certain words of really horrible meaning, but using them quite + innocently and without the most distant taint of the evils to which they + allude. He is rather sentimental; and, like most sentimental people, not + devoid of snobbishness. At the same time, he believes the ordinary manly + commonplaces of freedom and fraternity as he believes most of the decent + traditions of Christian men: he finds it very difficult to act according + to them, but this difficulty is not confined to him. He has a strong and + individual sense of humour, and not much power of corporate or militant + action. He is not a Socialist. Finally, he bears no more resemblance to a + Labour Member than he does to a City Alderman or a Die-Hard Duke. This is + the Common Labourer of England; and it is he who is on the march at last. + </p> + <p> + See this man in your mind as you see him in the street, realise that it is + his open mind we wish to influence or his empty stomach we wish to cure, + and then consider seriously (if you can) the five men, including two of + his own alleged oppressors, who were summoned as a Royal Commission to + consider his claims when he or his sort went out on strike upon the + railways. I knew nothing against, indeed I knew nothing about, any of the + gentlemen then summoned, beyond a bare introduction to Mr. Henderson, whom + I liked, but whose identity I was in no danger of confusing with that of a + railway-porter. I do not think that any old gentleman, however + absent-minded, would be likely on arriving at Euston, let us say, to hand + his Gladstone-bag to Mr. Henderson or to attempt to reward that politician + with twopence. Of the others I can only judge by the facts about their + status as set forth in the public Press. The Chairman, Sir David Harrell, + appeared to be an ex-official distinguished in (of all things in the + world) the Irish Constabulary. I have no earthly reason to doubt that the + Chairman meant to be fair; but I am not talking about what men mean to be, + but about what they are. The police in Ireland are practically an army of + occupation; a man serving in them or directing them is practically a + soldier; and, of course, he must do his duty as such. But it seems truly + extraordinary to select as one likely to sympathise with the democracy of + England a man whose whole business in life it has been to govern against + its will the democracy of Ireland. What should we say if Russian strikers + were offered the sympathetic arbitration of the head of the Russian Police + in Finland or Poland? And if we do not know that the whole civilised world + sees Ireland with Poland as a typical oppressed nation, it is time we did. + The Chairman, whatever his personal virtues, must be by instinct and habit + akin to the capitalists in the dispute. Two more of the Commissioners + actually were the capitalists in the dispute. Then came Mr. Henderson + (pushing his trolley and cheerily crying, “By your leave.”), and then + another less known gentleman who had “corresponded” with the Board of + Trade, and had thus gained some strange claim to represent the very poor. + </p> + <p> + Now people like this might quite possibly produce a rational enough + report, and in this or that respect even improve things. Men of that kind + are tolerably kind, tolerably patriotic, and tolerably business-like. But + if any one supposes that men of that kind can conceivably quiet any real + quarrel with the Man of the Other Kind, the man whom I first described, + it is frantic. The common worker is angry exactly because he has found out + that all these boards consist of the same well-dressed Kind of Man, + whether they are called Governmental or Capitalist. If any one hopes that + he will reconcile the poor, I say, as I said at the beginning, that such a + one has not looked on the light of day or dwelt in the land of the living. + </p> + <p> + But I do not criticise such a Commission except for one most practical and + urgent purpose. It will be answered to me that the first Kind of Man of + whom I spoke could not really be on boards and committees, as modern + England is managed. His dirt, though necessary and honourable, would be + offensive: his speech, though rich and figurative, would be almost + incomprehensible. Let us grant, for the moment, that this is so. This Kind + of Man, with his sooty hair or sanguinary adjectives, cannot be + represented at our committees of arbitration. Therefore, the other Kind of + Man, fairly prosperous, fairly plausible, at home at least with the middle + class, capable at least of reaching and touching the upper class, he must + remain the only Kind of Man for such councils. + </p> + <p> + Very well. If then, you give at any future time any kind of compulsory + powers to such councils to prevent strikes, you will be driving the first + Kind of Man to work for a particular master as much as if you drove him + with a whip. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"></a> + THE MEDIÆVAL VILLAIN + </h2> + <p> + I see that there have been more attempts at the whitewashing of King John. + </p> + <p> + But the gentleman who wrote has a further interest in the matter; for he + believes that King John was innocent, not only on this point, but as a + whole. He thinks King John has been very badly treated; though I am not + sure whether he would attribute to that Plantagenet a saintly merit or + merely a humdrum respectability. + </p> + <p> + I sympathise with the whitewashing of King John, merely because it is a + protest against our waxwork style of history. Everybody is in a particular + attitude, with particular moral attributes; Rufus is always hunting and + Coeur-de-Lion always crusading; Henry VIII always marrying, and Charles I + always having his head cut off; Alfred rapidly and in rotation making his + people's clocks and spoiling their cakes; and King John pulling out Jews' + teeth with the celerity and industry of an American dentist. Anything is + good that shakes all this stiff simplification, and makes us remember that + these men were once alive; that is, mixed, free, flippant, and + inconsistent. It gives the mind a healthy kick to know that Alfred had + fits, that Charles I prevented enclosures, that Rufus was really + interested in architecture, that Henry VIII was really interested in + theology. + </p> + <p> + And as these scraps of reality can startle us into more solid imagination + of events, so can even errors and exaggerations if they are on the right + side. It does some good to call Alfred a prig, Charles I a Puritan, and + John a jolly good fellow; if this makes us feel that they were people whom + we might have liked or disliked. I do not myself think that John was a + nice gentleman; but for all that the popular picture of him is all wrong. + Whether he had any generous qualities or not, he had what commonly makes + them possible, dare-devil courage, for instance, and hotheaded decision. + But, above all, he had a morality which he broke, but which we + misunderstand. + </p> + <p> + The mediæval mind turned centrally upon the pivot of Free Will. In their + social system the mediævals were too much PARTI-PER-PALE, as their + heralds would say, too rigidly cut up by fences and quarterings of guild + or degree. But in their moral philosophy they always thought of man as + standing free and doubtful at the cross-roads in a forest. While they clad + and bound the body and (to some extent) the mind too stiffly and quaintly + for our taste, they had a much stronger sense than we have of the freedom + of the soul. For them the soul always hung poised like an eagle in the + heavens of liberty. Many of the things that strike a modern as most + fantastic came from their keen sense of the power of choice. + </p> + <p> + For instance, the greatest of the Schoolmen devotes folios to the minute + description of what the world would have been like if Adam had refused the + apple; what kings, laws, babies, animals, planets would have been in an + unfallen world. So intensely does he feel that Adam might have decided the + other way that he sees a complete and complex vision of another world, a + world that now can never be. + </p> + <p> + This sense of the stream of life in a man that may turn either way can be + felt through all their popular ethics in legend, chronicle, and ballad. It + is a feeling which has been weakened among us by two heavy intellectual + forces. The Calvinism of the seventeenth century and the physical science + of the nineteenth, whatever other truths they may have taught, have + darkened this liberty with a sense of doom. We think of bad men as + something like black men, a separate and incurable kind of people. The + Byronic spirit was really a sort of operatic Calvinism. It brought the + villain upon the stage; the lost soul; the modern version of King John. + But the contemporaries of King John did not feel like that about him, even + when they detested him. They instinctively felt him to be a man of mixed + passions like themselves, who was allowing his evil passions to have much + too good a time of it. They might have spoken of him as a man in + considerable danger of going to hell; but they would have not talked of + him as if he had come from there. In the ballads of Percy or Robin Hood it + frequently happens that the King comes upon the scene, and his ultimate + decision makes the climax of the tale. But we do not feel, as we do in the + Byronic or modern romance, that there is a definite stage direction “Enter + Tyrant.” Nor do we behold a deus ex machina who is certain to do all that + is mild and just. The King in the ballad is in a state of virile + indecision. Sometimes he will pass from a towering passion to the most + sweeping magnanimity and friendliness; sometimes he will begin an act of + vengeance and be turned from it by a jest. Yet this august levity is not + moral indifference; it is moral freedom. It is the strong sense in the + writer that the King, being the type of man with power, will probably + sometimes use it badly and sometimes well. In this sense John is certainly + misrepresented, for he is pictured as something that none of his own + friends or enemies saw. In that sense he was certainly not so black as he + is painted, for he lived in a world where every one was piebald. + </p> + <p> + King John would be represented in a modern play or novel as a kind of + degenerate; a shifty-eyed moral maniac with a twist in his soul's backbone + and green blood in his veins. The mediævals were quite capable of boiling + him in melted lead, but they would have been quite incapable of despairing + of his soul in the modern fashion. A striking a fortiori case is that of + the strange mediæval legend of Robert the Devil. Robert was represented + as a monstrous birth sent to an embittered woman actually in answer to + prayers to Satan, and his earlier actions are simply those of the infernal + fire let loose upon earth. Yet though he can be called almost literally a + child of hell, yet the climax of the story is his repentance at Rome and + his great reparation. That is the paradox of mediæval morals: as it must + appear to the moderns. We must try to conceive a race of men who hated + John, and sought his blood, and believed every abomination about him, who + would have been quite capable of assassinating or torturing him in the + extremity of their anger. And yet we must admit that they would not really + have been fundamentally surprised if he had shaved his head in + humiliation, given all his goods to the poor, embraced the lepers in a + lazar-house, and been canonised as a saint in heaven. So strongly did they + hold that the pivot of Will should turn freely, which now is rusted, and + sticks. + </p> + <p> + For we, whatever our political opinions, certainly never think of our + public men like that. If we hold the opinion that Mr. Lloyd George is a + noble tribune of the populace and protector of the poor, we do not admit + that he can ever have paltered with the truth or bargained with the + powerful. If we hold the equally idiotic opinion that he is a red and + rabid Socialist, maddening mobs into mutiny and theft, then we expect him + to go on maddening them—and us. We do not expect him, let us say, + suddenly to go into a monastery. We have lost the idea of repentance; + especially in public things; that is why we cannot really get rid of our + great national abuses of economic tyranny and aristocratic avarice. + Progress in the modern sense is a very dismal drudge; and mostly consists + of being moved on by the police. We move on because we are not allowed to + move back. But the really ragged prophets, the real revolutionists who + held high language in the palaces of kings, they did not confine + themselves to saying, “Onward, Christian soldiers,” still less, “Onward, + Futurist soldiers”; what they said to high emperors and to whole empires + was, “Turn ye, turn ye, why will ye die?” + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"></a> + THE DIVINE DETECTIVE + </h2> + <p> + Every person of sound education enjoys detective stories, and there are + even several points on which they have a hearty superiority to most modern + books. A detective story generally describes six living men discussing how + it is that a man is dead. A modern philosophic story generally describes + six dead men discussing how any man can possibly be alive. But those who + have enjoyed the roman policier must have noted one thing, that when the + murderer is caught he is hardly ever hanged. “That,” says Sherlock Holmes, + “is the advantage of being a private detective”; after he has caught he + can set free. The Christian Church can best be defined as an enormous + private detective, correcting that official detective—the State. + This, indeed, is one of the injustices done to historic Christianity; + injustices which arise from looking at complex exceptions and not at the + large and simple fact. We are constantly being told that theologians used + racks and thumbscrews, and so they did. Theologians used racks and + thumbscrews just as they used thimbles and three-legged stools, because + everybody else used them. Christianity no more created the mediæval + tortures than it did the Chinese tortures; it inherited them from any + empire as heathen as the Chinese. + </p> + <p> + The Church did, in an evil hour, consent to imitate the commonwealth and + employ cruelty. But if we open our eyes and take in the whole picture, if + we look at the general shape and colour of the thing, the real difference + between the Church and the State is huge and plain. The State, in all + lands and ages, has created a machinery of punishment, more bloody and + brutal in some places than others, but bloody and brutal everywhere. The + Church is the only institution that ever attempted to create a machinery + of pardon. The Church is the only thing that ever attempted by system to + pursue and discover crimes, not in order to avenge, but in order to + forgive them. The stake and rack were merely the weaknesses of the + religion; its snobberies, its surrenders to the world. Its speciality—or, + if you like, its oddity—was this merciless mercy; the unrelenting + sleuthhound who seeks to save and not slay. + </p> + <p> + I can best illustrate what I mean by referring to two popular plays on + somewhat parallel topics, which have been successful here and in America. + The Passing of the Third Floor Back is a humane and reverent experiment, + dealing with the influence of one unknown but divine figure as he passes + through a group of Squalid characters. I have no desire to make cheap fun + of the extremely abrupt conversions of all these people; that is a point + of art, not of morals; and, after all, many conversions have been abrupt. + This saviour's method of making people good is to tell them how good they + are already; and in the case of suicidal outcasts, whose moral backs are + broken, and who are soaked with sincere self-contempt, I can imagine that + this might be quite the right way. I should not deliver this message to + authors or members of Parliament, because they would so heartily agree + with it. + </p> + <p> + Still, it is not altogether here that I differ from the moral of Mr. + Jerome's play. I differ vitally from his story because it is not a + detective story. There is in it none of this great Christian idea of + tearing their evil out of men; it lacks the realism of the saints. + Redemption should bring truth as well as peace; and truth is a fine thing, + though the materialists did go mad about it. Things must be faced, even in + order to be forgiven; the great objection to “letting sleeping dogs lie” + is that they lie in more senses than one. But in Mr. Jerome's Passing of + the Third Floor Back the redeemer is not a divine detective, pitiless in + his resolve to know and pardon. Rather he is a sort of divine dupe, who + does not pardon at all, because he does not see anything that is going on. + It may, or may not, be true to say, “Tout comprendre est tout pardonner.” + But it is much more evidently true to say, “Rien comprendre est rien + Pardonner,” and the “Third Floor Back” does not seem to comprehend + anything. He might, after all, be a quite selfish sentimentalist, who + found it comforting to think well of his neighbours. There is nothing very + heroic in loving after you have been deceived. The heroic business is to + love after you have been undeceived. + </p> + <p> + When I saw this play it was natural to compare it with another play which + I had not seen, but which I have read in its printed version. I mean Mr. + Rann Kennedy's Servant in the House, the success of which sprawls over so + many of the American newspapers. This also is concerned with a dim, yet + evidently divine, figure changing the destinies of a whole group of + persons. It is a better play structurally than the other; in fact, it is a + very fine play indeed; but there is nothing aesthetic or fastidious about + it. It is as much or more than the other sensational, democratic, and (I + use the word in a sound and good sense) Salvationist. + </p> + <p> + But the difference lies precisely in this—that the Christ of Mr. + Kennedy's play insists on really knowing all the souls that he loves; he + declines to conquer by a kind of supernatural stupidity. He pardons evil, + but he will not ignore it. In other words, he is a Christian, and not a + Christian Scientist. The distinction doubtless is partly explained by the + problems severally selected. Mr. Jerome practically supposes Christ to be + trying to save disreputable people; and that, of course, is naturally a + simple business. Mr. Kennedy supposes Him to be trying to save the + reputable people, which is a much larger affair. The chief characters in + The Servant in the House are a popular and strenuous vicar, universally + respected, and his fashionable and forcible wife. It would have been no + good to tell these people they had some good in them—for that was + what they were telling themselves all day long. They had to be reminded + that they had some bad in them—instinctive idolatries and silent + treasons which they always tried to forget. It is in connection with these + crimes of wealth and culture that we face the real problem of positive + evil. The whole of Mr. Blatchford's controversy about sin was vitiated + throughout by one's consciousness that whenever he wrote the word “sinner” + he thought of a man in rags. But here, again, we can find truth merely by + referring to vulgar literature—its unfailing fountain. Whoever read + a detective story about poor people? The poor have crimes; but the poor + have no secrets. And it is because the proud have secrets that they need + to be detected before they are forgiven. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"></a> + THE ELF OF JAPAN + </h2> + <p> + There are things in this world of which I can say seriously that I love + them but I do not like them. The point is not merely verbal, but + psychologically quite valid. Cats are the first things that occur to me as + examples of the principle. Cats are so beautiful that a creature from + another star might fall in love with them, and so incalculable that he + might kill them. Some of my friends take quite a high moral line about + cats. Some, like Mr. Titterton, I think, admire a cat for its moral + independence and readiness to scratch anybody “if he does not behave + himself.” Others, like Mr. Belloc, regard the cat as cruel and secret, a + fit friend for witches; one who will devour everything, except, indeed, + poisoned food, “so utterly lacking is it in Christian simplicity and + humility.” For my part, I have neither of these feelings. I admire cats as + I admire catkins; those little fluffy things that hang on trees. They are + both pretty and both furry, and both declare the glory of God. And this + abstract exultation in all living things is truly to be called Love; for + it is a higher feeling than mere affectional convenience; it is a vision. + It is heroic, and even saintly, in this: that it asks for nothing in + return. I love all the cats in the street as St. Francis of Assisi loved + all the birds in the wood or all the fishes in the sea; not so much, of + course, but then I am not a saint. But he did not wish to bridle a bird + and ride on its back, as one bridles and rides on a horse. He did not wish + to put a collar round a fish's neck, marked with the name “Francis,” and + the address “Assisi”—as one does with a dog. He did not wish them to + belong to him or himself to belong to them; in fact, it would be a very + awkward experience to belong to a lot of fishes. But a man does belong to + his dog, in another but an equally real sense with that in which the dog + belongs to him. The two bonds of obedience and responsibility vary very + much with the dogs and the men; but they are both bonds. In other words, a + man does not merely love a dog; as he might (in a mystical moment) love + any sparrow that perched on his windowsill or any rabbit that ran across + his path. A man likes a dog; and that is a serious matter. + </p> + <p> + To me, unfortunately perhaps (for I speak merely of individual taste), a + cat is a wild animal. A cat is Nature personified. Like Nature, it is so + mysterious that one cannot quite repose even in its beauty. But like + Nature again, it is so beautiful that one cannot believe that it is really + cruel. Perhaps it isn't; and there again it is like Nature. Men of old + time worshipped cats as they worshipped crocodiles; and those magnificent + old mystics knew what they were about. The moment in which one really + loves cats is the same as that in which one (moderately and within reason) + loves crocodiles. It is that divine instant when a man feels himself—no, + not absorbed into the unity of all things (a loathsome fancy)—but + delighting in the difference of all things. At the moment when a man + really knows he is a man he will feel, however faintly, a kind of + fairy-tale pleasure in the fact that a crocodile is a crocodile. All the + more will he exult in the things that are more evidently beautiful than + crocodiles, such as flowers and birds and cats—which are more + beautiful than either. But it does not follow that he will wish to pick + all the flowers or to cage all the birds or to own all the cats. + </p> + <p> + No one who still believes in democracy and the rights of man will admit + that any division between men and men can be anything but a fanciful + analogy to the division between men and animals. But in the sphere of such + fanciful analogy there are even human beings whom I feel to be like cats + in this respect: that I can love them without liking them. I feel it about + certain quaint and alien societies, especially about the Japanese. The + exquisite old Japanese draughtsmanship (of which we shall see no more, now + Japan has gone in for Progress and Imperialism) had a quality that was + infinitely attractive and intangible. Japanese pictures were really rather + like pictures made by cats. They were full of feathery softness and of + sudden and spirited scratches. If any one will wander in some gallery + fortunate enough to have a fine collection of those slight water-colour + sketches on rice paper which come from the remote East, he will observe + many elements in them which a fanciful person might consider feline. There + is, for instance, that odd enjoyment of the tops of trees; those airy + traceries of forks and fading twigs, up to which certainly no artist, but + only a cat could climb. There is that elvish love of the full moon, as + large and lucid as a Chinese lantern, hung in these tenuous branches. That + moon is so large and luminous that one can imagine a hundred cats howling + under it. Then there is the exhaustive treatment of the anatomy of birds + and fish; subjects in which cats are said to be interested. Then there is + the slanting cat-like eye of all these Eastern gods and men—but this + is getting altogether too coincident. We shall have another racial theory + in no time (beginning “Are the Japs Cats?”), and though I shall not + believe in my theory, somebody else might. There are people among my + esteemed correspondents who might believe anything. It is enough for me to + say here that in this small respect Japs affect me like cats. I mean that + I love them. I love their quaint and native poetry, their instinct of easy + civilisation, their unique unreplaceable art, the testimony they bear to + the bustling, irrepressible activities of nature and man. If I were a real + mystic looking down on them from a real mountain, I am sure I should love + them more even than the strong winged and unwearied birds or the fruitful, + ever multiplying fish. But, as for liking them, as one likes a dog—that + is quite another matter. That would mean trusting them. + </p> + <p> + In the old English and Scotch ballads the fairies are regarded very much + in the way that I feel inclined to regard Japs and cats. They are not + specially spoken of as evil; they are enjoyed as witching and wonderful; + but they are not trusted as good. You do not say the wrong words or give + the wrong gifts to them; and there is a curious silence about what would + happen to you if you did. Now to me, Japan, the Japan of Art, was always a + fairyland. What trees as gay as flowers and peaks as white as wedding + cakes; what lanterns as large as houses and houses as frail as lanterns!... + but... but... the missionary explained (I read in the paper) that the + assertion and denial about the Japanese use of torture was a mere matter + of verbal translation. “The Japanese would not call twisting the thumbs + back 'torture.'” + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"></a> + THE CHARTERED LIBERTINE + </h2> + <p> + I find myself in agreement with Mr. Robert Lynd for his most just remark + in connection with the Malatesta case, that the police are becoming a + peril to society. I have no attraction to that sort of atheist asceticism + to which the purer types of Anarchism tend; but both an atheist and an + ascetic are better men than a spy; and it is ignominious to see one's + country thus losing her special point of honour about asylum and liberty. + It will be quite a new departure if we begin to protect and whitewash + foreign policemen. I always understood it was only English policemen who + were absolutely spotless. A good many of us, however, have begun to feel + with Mr. Lynd, and on all sides authorities and officials are being + questioned. But there is one most graphic and extraordinary fact, which it + did not lie in Mr. Lynd's way to touch upon, but which somebody really + must seize and emphasise. It is this: that at the very time when we are + all beginning to doubt these authorities, we are letting laws pass to + increase their most capricious powers. All our commissions, petitions, and + letters to the papers are asking whether these authorities can give an + account of their stewardship. And at the same moment all our laws are + decreeing that they shall not give any account of their stewardship, but + shall become yet more irresponsible stewards. Bills like the Feeble-Minded + Bill and the Inebriate Bill (very appropriate names for them) actually arm + with scorpions the hand that has chastised the Malatestas and Maleckas + with whips. The inspector, the doctor, the police sergeant, the well-paid + person who writes certificates and “passes” this, that, or the other; this + sort of man is being trusted with more authority, apparently because he is + being doubted with more reason. In one room we are asking why the + Government and the great experts between them cannot sail a ship. In + another room we are deciding that the Government and experts shall be + allowed, without trial or discussion, to immure any one's body, damn any + one's soul, and dispose of unborn generations with the levity of a pagan + god. We are putting the official on the throne while he is still in the + dock. + </p> + <p> + The mere meaning of words is now strangely forgotten and falsified; as + when people talk of an author's “message,” without thinking whom it is + from; and I have noted in these connections the strange misuse of another + word. It is the excellent mediæval word “charter.” I remember the Act + that sought to save gutter-boys from cigarettes was called “The Children's + Charter.” Similarly the Act which seeks to lock up as lunatics people who + are not lunatics was actually called a “charter” of the feeble-minded. Now + this terminology is insanely wrong, even if the Bills are right. Even were + they right in theory they would be applied only to the poor, like many + better rules about education and cruelty. A woman was lately punished for + cruelty because her children were not washed when it was proved that she + had no water. From that it will be an easy step in Advanced Thought to + punishing a man for wine-bibbing when it is proved that he had no wine. + Rifts in right reason widen down the ages. And when we have begun by + shutting up a confessedly kind person for cruelty, we may yet come to + shutting up Mr. Tom Mann for feeblemindedness. + </p> + <p> + But even if such laws do good to children or idiots, it is wrong to use + the word “charter.” A charter does not mean a thing that does good to + people. It means a thing that grants people more rights and liberties. It + may be a good thing for gutter-boys to be deprived of their cigarettes: it + might be a good thing for aldermen to be deprived of their cigars. But I + think the Goldsmiths' Company would be very much surprised if the King + granted them a new charter (in place of their mediæval charter), and it + only meant that policemen might pull the cigars out of their mouths. It + may be a good thing that all drunkards should be locked up: and many acute + statesmen (King John, for instance) would certainly have thought it a good + thing if all aristocrats could be locked up. But even that somewhat + cynical prince would scarcely have granted to the barons a thing called + “the Great Charter” and then locked them all up on the strength of it. If + he had, this interpretation of the word “charter” would have struck the + barons with considerable surprise. I doubt if their narrow mediæval minds + could have taken it in. + </p> + <p> + The roots of the real England are in the early Middle Ages, and no + Englishman will ever understand his own language (or even his own + conscience) till he understands them. And he will never understand them + till he understands this word “charter.” I will attempt in a moment to + state in older, more suitable terms, what a charter was. In modern, + practical, and political terms, it is quite easy to state what a charter + was. A charter was the thing that the railway workers wanted last + Christmas and did not get; and apparently will never get. It is called in + the current jargon “recognition”; the acknowledgment in so many words by + society of the immunities or freedoms of a certain set of men. If there + had been railways in the Middle Ages there would probably have been a + railwaymen's guild; and it would have had a charter from the King, + defining their rights. A charter is the expression of an idea still true + and then almost universal: that authority is necessary for nothing so much + as for the granting of liberties. Like everything mediæval, it ramified + back to a root in religion; and was a sort of small copy of the Christian + idea of man's creation. Man was free, not because there was no God, but + because it needed a God to set him free. By authority he was free. By + authority the craftsmen of the guilds were free. Many other great + philosophers took and take the other view: the Lucretian pagans, the + Moslem fatalists, the modern monists and determinists, all roughly confine + themselves to saying that God gave man a law. The mediæval Christian + insisted that God gave man a charter. Modern feeling may not sympathise + with its list of liberties, which included the liberty to be damned; but + that has nothing to do with the fact that it was a gift of liberties and + not of laws. This was mirrored, however dimly, in the whole system. There + was a great deal of gross inequality; and in other aspects absolute + equality was taken for granted. But the point is that equality and + inequality were ranks—or rights. There were not only things one was + forbidden to do; but things one was forbidden to forbid. A man was not + only definitely responsible, but definitely irresponsible. The holidays of + his soul were immovable feasts. All a charter really meant lingers alive + in that poetic phrase that calls the wind a “chartered” libertine. + </p> + <p> + Lie awake at night and hear the wind blowing; hear it knock at every man's + door and shout down every man's chimney. Feel how it takes liberties with + everything, having taken primary liberty for itself; feel that the wind is + always a vagabond and sometimes almost a housebreaker. But remember that + in the days when free men had charters, they held that the wind itself was + wild by authority; and was only free because it had a father. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"></a> + THE CONTENTED MAN + </h2> + <p> + The word content is not inspiring nowadays; rather it is irritating + because it is dull. It prepares the mind for a little sermon in the style + of the Vicar of Wakefield about how you and I should be satisfied with our + countrified innocence and our simple village sports. The word, however, + has two meanings, somewhat singularly connected; the “sweet content” of + the poet and the “cubic content” of the mathematician. Some distinguish + these by stressing the different syllables. Thus, it might happen to any + of us, at some social juncture, to remark gaily, “Of the content of the + King of the Cannibal Islands' Stewpot I am content to be ignorant”; or + “Not content with measuring the cubic content of my safe, you are stealing + the spoons.” And there really is an analogy between the mathematical and + the moral use of the term, for lack of the observation of which the latter + has been much weakened and misused. + </p> + <p> + The preaching of contentment is in disrepute, well deserved in so far that + the moral is really quite inapplicable to the anarchy and insane peril of + our tall and toppling cities. Content suggests some kind of security; and + it is not strange that our workers should often think about rising above + their position, since they have so continually to think about sinking + below it. The philanthropist who urges the poor to saving and simple + pleasures deserves all the derision that he gets. To advise people to be + content with what they have got may or may not be sound moral philosophy. + </p> + <p> + But to urge people to be content with what they haven't got is a piece of + impudence hard for even the English poor to pardon. But though the creed + of content is unsuited to certain special riddles and wrongs, it remains + true for the normal of mortal life. We speak of divine discontent; + discontent may sometimes be a divine thing, but content must always be the + human thing. It may be true that a particular man, in his relation to his + master or his neighbour, to his country or his enemies, will do well to be + fiercely unsatisfied or thirsting for an angry justice. But it is not + true, no sane person can call it true, that man as a whole in his general + attitude towards the world, in his posture towards death or green fields, + towards the weather or the baby, will be wise to cultivate + dissatisfaction. In a broad estimate of our earthly experience, the great + truism on the tablet remains: he must not covet his neighbour's ox nor his + ass nor anything that is his. In highly complex and scientific + civilisations he may sometimes find himself forced into an exceptional + vigilance. But, then, in highly complex and scientific civilisations, nine + times out of ten, he only wants his own ass back. + </p> + <p> + But I wish to urge the case for cubic content; in which (even more than in + moral content) I take a personal interest. Now, moral content has been + undervalued and neglected because of its separation from the other + meaning. It has become a negative rather than a positive thing. In some + accounts of contentment it seems to be little more than a meek despair. + </p> + <p> + But this is not the true meaning of the term; it should stand for the idea + of a positive and thorough appreciation of the content of anything; for + feeling the substance and not merely the surface of experience. “Content” + ought to mean in English, as it does in French, being pleased; placidly, + perhaps, but still positively pleased. Being contented with bread and + cheese ought not to mean not caring what you eat. It ought to mean caring + for bread and cheese; handling and enjoying the cubic content of the bread + and cheese and adding it to your own. Being content with an attic ought + not to mean being unable to move from it and resigned to living in it. It + ought to mean appreciating what there is to appreciate in such a position; + such as the quaint and elvish slope of the ceiling or the sublime aerial + view of the opposite chimney-pots. And in this sense contentment is a real + and even an active virtue; it is not only affirmative, but creative. The + poet in the attic does not forget the attic in poetic musings; he + remembers whatever the attic has of poetry; he realises how high, how + starry, how cool, how unadorned and simple—in short, how Attic is + the attic. + </p> + <p> + True contentment is a thing as active as agriculture. It is the power of + getting out of any situation all that there is in it. It is arduous and it + is rare. The absence of this digestive talent is what makes so cold and + incredible the tales of so many people who say they have been “through” + things; when it is evident that they have come out on the other side quite + unchanged. A man might have gone “through” a plum pudding as a bullet + might go through a plum pudding; it depends on the size of the pudding—and + the man. But the awful and sacred question is “Has the pudding been + through him?” Has he tasted, appreciated, and absorbed the solid pudding, + with its three dimensions and its three thousand tastes and smells? Can he + offer himself to the eyes of men as one who has cubically conquered and + contained a pudding? + </p> + <p> + In the same way we may ask of those who profess to have passed through + trivial or tragic experiences whether they have absorbed the content of + them; whether they licked up such living water as there was. It is a + pertinent question in connection with many modern problems. + </p> + <p> + Thus the young genius says, “I have lived in my dreary and squalid village + before I found success in Paris or Vienna.” The sound philosopher will + answer, “You have never lived in your village, or you would not call it + dreary and squalid.” + </p> + <p> + Thus the Imperialist, the Colonial idealist (who commonly speaks and + always thinks with a Yankee accent) will say, “I've been right away from + these little muddy islands, and seen God's great seas and prairies.” The + sound philosopher will reply, “You have never been in these islands; you + have never seen the weald of Sussex or the plain of Salisbury; otherwise + you could never have called them either muddy or little.” + </p> + <p> + Thus the Suffragette will say, “I have passed through the paltry duties of + pots and pans, the drudgery of the vulgar kitchen; but I have come out to + intellectual liberty.” The sound philosopher will answer, “You have never + passed through the kitchen, or you never would call it vulgar. Wiser and + stronger women than you have really seen a poetry in pots and pans; + naturally, because there is a poetry in them.” It is right for the village + violinist to climb into fame in Paris or Vienna; it is right for the stray + Englishman to climb across the high shoulder of the world; it is right for + the woman to climb into whatever cathedrae or high places she can allow to + her sexual dignity. But it is wrong that any of these climbers should kick + the ladder by which they have climbed. But indeed these bitter people who + record their experiences really record their lack of experiences. It is + the countryman who has not succeeded in being a countryman who comes up to + London. It is the clerk who has not succeeded in being a clerk who tries + (on vegetarian principles) to be a countryman. And the woman with a past + is generally a woman angry about the past she never had. + </p> + <p> + When you have really exhausted an experience you always reverence and love + it. The two things that nearly all of us have thoroughly and really been + through are childhood and youth. And though we would not have them back + again on any account, we feel that they are both beautiful, because we + have drunk them dry. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"></a> + THE ANGRY AUTHOR: HIS FAREWELL + </h2> + <p> + I have republished all these old articles of mine because they cover a + very controversial period, in which I was in nearly all the controversies, + whether I was visible there or no. And I wish to gather up into this last + article a valedictory violence about all such things; and then pass to + where, beyond these voices, there is peace—or in other words, to the + writing of Penny Dreadfuls; a noble and much-needed work. But before I + finally desert the illusions of rationalism for the actualities of + romance, I should very much like to write one last roaring, raging book + telling all the rationalists not to be so utterly irrational. The book + would be simply a string of violent vetoes, like the Ten Commandments. I + would call it “Don'ts for Dogmatists; or Things I am Tired Of.” + </p> + <p> + This book of intellectual etiquette, like most books of etiquette, would + begin with superficial things; but there would be, I fancy, a wailing + imprecation in the words that could not be called artificial; it might + begin thus:— + </p> + <p> + (1) Don't use a noun and then an adjective that crosses out the noun. An + adjective qualifies, it cannot contradict. Don't say, “Give me a + patriotism that is free from all boundaries.” It is like saying, “Give me + a pork pie with no pork in it.” Don't say, “I look forward to that larger + religion that shall have no special dogmas.” It is like saying, “I look + forward to that larger quadruped who shall have no feet.” A quadruped + means something with four feet; and a religion means something that + commits a man to some doctrine about the universe. Don't let the meek + substantive be absolutely murdered by the joyful, exuberant adjective. + </p> + <p> + (2) Don't say you are not going to say a thing, and then say it. This + practice is very flourishing and successful with public speakers. The + trick consists of first repudiating a certain view in unfavourable terms, + and then repeating the same view in favourable terms. Perhaps the simplest + form of it may be found in a landlord of my neighbourhood, who said to his + tenants in an election speech, “Of course I'm not going to threaten you, + but if this Budget passes the rents will go up.” The thing can be done in + many forms besides this. “I am the last man to mention party politics; but + when I see the Empire rent in pieces by irresponsible Radicals,” etc. “In + this hall we welcome all creeds. We have no hostility against any honest + belief; but only against that black priestcraft and superstition which can + accept such a doctrine as,” etc. “I would not say one word that could + ruffle our relations with Germany. But this I will say; that when I see + ceaseless and unscrupulous armament,” etc. Please don't do it. Decide to + make a remark or not to make a remark. But don't fancy that you have + somehow softened the saying of a thing by having just promised not to say + it. + </p> + <p> + (3) Don't use secondary words as primary words. “Happiness” (let us say) + is a primary word. You know when you have the thing, and you jolly well + know when you haven't. “Progress” is a secondary word; it means the degree + of one's approach to happiness, or to some such solid ideal. But modern + controversies constantly turn on asking, “Does Happiness help Progress?” + Thus, I see in the New Age this week a letter from Mr. Egerton Swann, in + which he warns the world against me and my friend Mr. Belloc, on the + ground that our democracy is “spasmodic” (whatever that means); while our + “reactionism is settled and permanent.” It never strikes Mr. Swann that + democracy means something in itself; while “reactionism” means nothing—except + in connection with democracy. You cannot react except from something. If + Mr. Swann thinks I have ever reacted from the doctrine that the people + should rule, I wish he would give me the reference. + </p> + <p> + (4) Don't say, “There is no true creed; for each creed believes itself + right and the others wrong.” Probably one of the creeds is right and the + others are wrong. Diversity does show that most of the views must be + wrong. It does not by the faintest logic show that they all must be wrong. + I suppose there is no subject on which opinions differ with more desperate + sincerity than about which horse will win the Derby. These are certainly + solemn convictions; men risk ruin for them. The man who puts his shirt on + Potosi must believe in that animal, and each of the other men putting + their last garments upon other quadrupeds must believe in them quite as + sincerely. They are all serious, and most of them are wrong. But one of + them is right. One of the faiths is justified; one of the horses does win; + not always even the dark horse which might stand for Agnosticism, but + often the obvious and popular horse of Orthodoxy. Democracy has its + occasional victories; and even the Favourite has been known to come in + first. But the point here is that something comes in first. That there + were many beliefs does not destroy the fact that there was one + well-founded belief. I believe (merely upon authority) that the world is + round. That there may be tribes who believe it to be triangular or oblong + does not alter the fact that it is certainly some shape, and therefore not + any other shape. Therefore I repeat, with the wail of imprecation, don't + say that the variety of creeds prevents you from accepting any creed. It + is an unintelligent remark. + </p> + <p> + (5) Don't (if any one calls your doctrine mad, which is likely enough), + don't answer that madmen are only the minority and the sane only the + majority. The sane are sane because they are the corporate substance of + mankind; the insane are not a minority because they are not a mob. The man + who thinks himself a man thinks the next man a man; he reckons his + neighbour as himself. But the man who thinks he is a chicken does not try + to look through the man who thinks he is glass. The man who thinks himself + Jesus Christ does not quarrel with the man who thinks himself Rockefeller; + as would certainly happen if the two had ever met. But madmen never meet. + It is the only thing they cannot do. They can talk, they can inspire, they + can fight, they can found religions; but they cannot meet. Maniacs can + never be the majority; for the simple reason that they can never be even a + minority. If two madmen had ever agreed they might have conquered the + world. + </p> + <p> + (6) Don't say that the idea of human equality is absurd, because some men + are tall and some short, some clever and some stupid. At the height of the + French Revolution it was noticed that Danton was tall and Murat short. In + the wildest popular excitement of America it is known that Rockefeller is + stupid and that Bryan is clever. The doctrine of human equality reposes + upon this: That there is no man really clever who has not found that he is + stupid. That there is no big man who has not felt small. Some men never + feel small; but these are the few men who are. + </p> + <p> + (7) Don't say (O don't say) that Primitive Man knocked down a woman with a + club and carried her away. Why on earth should he? Does the male sparrow + knock down the female sparrow with a twig? Does the male giraffe knock + down the female giraffe with a palm tree? Why should the male have had to + use any violence at any time in order to make the female a female? Why + should the woman roll herself in the mire lower than the sow or the + she-bear; and profess to have been a slave where all these creatures were + creators; where all these beasts were gods? Do not talk such bosh. I + implore you, I supplicate you not to talk such bosh. Utterly and + absolutely abolish all such bosh—and we may yet begin to discuss + these public questions properly. But I fear my list of protests grows too + long; and I know it could grow longer for ever. The reader must forgive my + elongations and elaborations. I fancied for the moment that I was writing + a book. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MISCELLANY OF MEN ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. 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