all things considered (g. k. chesterton, 1919-13th edition).pdf

7/27/2019 All Things Considered (G. K. Chesterton, 1919-13th edition).pdf

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ALL THINGSCONSIDEREDO.K.CHESTERTON


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S* GUjattttgng


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Uniform with this Volume1 The Mighty Atom2 Jane3 Boy231 Cameos4 Spanish Gold9 The Unofficial Honeymoon

18 Round the Red Lamp20 Light Freights22 The Long Road71 The Gates of Wratb8 1 The Card87 Lalage's Lovers92 White Fang108 The Adventures ! Dr. Whitty113 Lavender and Old Lace125 The Regent135 A Spinner in Use Sun137 The Mystery of Dr. Fu-Manchu143 Sandy Married313 Under Western Eyes215 Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo224 Broken Shackles227 Byeways229 My Friend the Chauffeur259 Anthony Cuthbert261 Tarzan of the Apes268 Mis Island Princes*275 Secret History276 Mary All-alone277 Darneley Place278 The Desert Trail279 The War Wedding281 Because of these Things282 Mrs. Peter Howard288 A Great Man389 The Rest Cure290 The Devil Doctor291 Master of the Vineyard293 The Si- Fan Mysteries294 The Guiding Thread395 The Hlllman396 William, by the Grace of God397 Below Stairs301 Love and Louisa302 The Joss303 The Carissima304 The Return of Tarzan313 The Wall Street Giri315 The Hying Inn316 Whom God Hath Joined318 An Affair of State320 The Dweller on the Threshold325 A Set of Six329 1914*330 The Fortune of Christina McNab334 Bellamy343 The Shadow of Victory344 Thfs Woman to this Man345 Something Fresh

Marie CoreliiMarie CoreliiMarie CoreliiMarie CoreliiG. A. BirminghamDolt Wyllarcte

Sir A. Cooan DoyleW. W. JacobsJohn OxenhamArnold BennettArnold Bennett

G. A. Bt>aiinghamJack LondonG. A. BirminghamMyrtle ReedArnold BennettMyrtle ReedSax RohmerDorothea Conyers

Joseph Conrad. Phillips OppenheimJohn OxenhamRobert HichensC. N. & A. M. WilliamsonRichard BaeocEdgar Rice BurroughsW. Clark RusseHC. N. and A. M. Williamson

John OxenhamRichard BagotDane CooiidgeC. N and A. M. WilliamsonMarjorie BnwenMary E. MannArnold BennettW. B. MaxwellSax Rohmer

Myrtle ReedSax RohmerBeatrice HarradenE. PhiHips (>ppenheimMarjorie HowenMrs, Alfred SidgvrickE. Maria AfbanesiRichard Marsh

Lucas MaletEdgar Rice BurroughsFrederick Orin BartlettG. K. ChestertonArnold BennettJ C. SnaithRobert Hichens

Joseph ConradJohn OxenhamS. MacrnauKhtanElinor MordauntMyr le ReedC. N. and A. M. WilliamsonP. G. Wodehouse

A short Selection only.


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Uniterm with this Volume36 De Profundis27 Lord Arthur Savile's CrinM38 Selected Poems39 An Ideal Husband40 Intentions41 Lady Windermere's Fan77 Selected Prose85 The Importance of Being Earnest

146 A Woman of No Importance43 Harvest Home44 A Little of Everything78 The Best of Lamb

141 Variety Lane292 Mixed Vintages45 Vallima LettersSo Selected Letters46 Hills and the Sea96 A Picked Company193 On Nothing226 On Everything254 On Something47 The Blue Bird

214 Select Essays50 Charles Dickens94 All Things Considered54 The Life of John Raskin57 Sevastopol and ether Stories91 Social Evils and tbeir Remedy

223 Two Generations253 My Childhood and Boyhood266 My Youth58 The Lore of the Hoey-B63 Oscar Wilde64 The Vicar of Morwenstow76 Home Life In France83 Reason and Belief93 The Substance of Faith116 The Survival of Man284 Modern Problems95 The Mirror of the Sea126 Science from an Easy Chair149 A Shepherd's Life200 Jane Austen and her Times218 R. L. S.234 Records and Reminiscences285 The Old Time Parson287 The Customs o1 Old England

A Selection only.

Oscar WildeOscar WildeOscar WildeOscar WildeOscar WildeOscar WildeOscar WildeOscar WildeOscar WildeE. V. LucasE.V.LucasE. V. LucasE. V. LucasE, V. Lucas

Robert Louis StevensonRobert Louis Stevenson

Hilaire BellocHilaire BellocHilaire BellocHilaire BellocHilaire Belloc

Maurice MaeterlinckMaurice Maeterlinck

G. K. ChestertonG. K. Chesterton

W. G. Col IingwoodLeo TolstoyLeo TolstoyLeo TolstoyLeo TolstoyLeo TolstoyTtdcner Edwardes

Arthur RansomeS. Baring-Gould

fef. Betham-EdwardsSir Oliver LodgeSir Oliver LodgeSir Oliver LodgeSir Olivet LodgeJoseph Conrad

Sir Ray LankesterW. H. HudsonG. E. MittonFrancis Watt

Sir Francis BurnandP. H. Ditchfield

F. J. Snell


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ALL THINGSCONSIDERED

BYG. K. CHESTERTON

TIUBTBBHTH EDITION

METHUEN & CO., LTD.36 ESSEX STREET W.CLONDON


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This Book was First Published (F"caj> 8vo.) . . . September 1908Second and Third Editions /PFotvth and Fifth Editions ' /popSixth Edition *9*oSeventh Edition . *91SFirst Issued in this Cheap Form (Eighth Edition) . . September /ptfNinth Edition (Cheap Form) . /P/5Tenth Edition ( h*cap 8w>.) t 19*6Eleventh Edition, (Cheap Form) . . /P/


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CONTENTSTHE CASH FOR THE EPHEMERA!, 7COCKNEYS AND THEIR JOKES . . . . . 13THE FAU,ACY OF SUCCESS . . . 21ON RUNNING AFTER ONE'S HAT . w . 29THE VOTE AND THE HOUSE 34CONCEIT AND CARICATURE 42PATRIOTISM AND SPORT 48AN ESSAY ON TWO CITIES ..... 54FRENCH AND ENGUSH 59THE ZOI


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vi ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDTHB WORSHIP OP THE WEALTHY .SCIENCE AND RELIGIONTHE MBTHUSELAHITE . . . . *SPIRITUALISMTHE ERROR OF IMPARTIALITY .PHONETIC SPELLINGHUMANITARIANISM AND STKKNGTilWINE WHEN IT IS REDDEMAGOGUES AND MYSTAGOGUESTHE "EATANSWIW* GAZETTE " .FAIRY TALESTOM JONES AND MORATJTY . . . * ,THE MAID OF ORLEANSA DEAD POETCHRISTMAS ,


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ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDTHE CASE FOR THE EPHEMERAL

I CANNOT understand the people who takeliterature seriously; but I can love them, andI do. Out of my love I warn them to keepclear of this book. It is a collection of crudeand shapeless papers upon current or ratherflying subjects ; and they must be publishedpretty much as they stand. They were written,as a rule, at the last moment ; they were handedin the moment before it was too late, and I donot think that our commonwealth would havebeen shaken to its foundations if they had beenhanded in the moment after. They must go outnow, with all their imperfections on their head,or rather on mine ; for their vices are too vitalto be improved with a blue pencil, or with any-thing I can think of, except dynamite.Their ifchief vice is that so many of them arevery serious ; because I had no time to makethem flippant. It is so easy to be solemn ; it isso hard to be frivolous. Let any honest readershut his eyes for a few moments, and approachingthe secret tribunal of his soul, ask himself whetherhe would really rather be asked in the next twohours to write the front page of the Times, whichis full of long leading articles, or the front pageof Tit~Bits9 which is full of short jokes. If the


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8 ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDreader is the fine conscientious fellow I take himfor, he will at once reply that he would rather onthe spur of the moment write ten Times articlesthan one Til-Bits joke. Responsibility, a heavyand cautious responsibility of speech, is the easiestthing in the world ; anybody can do it. That iswhy so many tired, elderly, and wealthy men goin for politics. They are responsible, becausethey have not the strength of mind left to beirresponsible. It is more dignified to sit stillthan to dance the Barn Dance. It is also easier.So in these easy pages I keep myself on thewhole on the level of the Times: it is onlyoccasionally that I leap upwards almost to thelevd of Tit-Bits.

I resume the defence of this indefensible book.These articles have another disadvantage arisingfrom the scurry in which they were written ;they are too long-winded and elaborate. One ofthe great disadvantages of hurry is that -it takessuch a long time. If I have to start for High-gate this day week, I may perhaps go theshortest way. If I have to start this minute, Ishall almost certainly go the longest. In theseessays (as I read them over) I feel frightfullyannoyed with myself for not getting to the pointmore quickly ; but I had not enough leisure tobe quick. There are several maddening casesin which I took two or three pages in attemptingto describe an attitude of which the essencecould be expressed in an epigram ; only therewas no time for epigrams. I do not repent ofone shade of opinion here expressed ; but I feelthat they might have been expressed so much


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THE CASE FOR THE EPHEMERAL 9more briefly and precisely. For instance, thesepages contain a sort of recurring protest againstthe boast of certain writers that they are merelyrecent. They brag that their philosophy of theuniverse is the last philosophy or the new philo-sophy, or the advanced and progressive philosophy,I have said much against a mere modernism.When I use the word " modernism," I am notalluding specially to the current quarrel in theRoman Catholic Church, though I am certainlyastonished at any intellectual group accepting soweak and unphilosophical a name. It is incom-prehensible to me that any thinker can calmly callhimself a modernist ; he might as well call himselfa Thursdayite. But apart altogether from thatparticular disturbance, I am conscious of a generalirritation expressed against the people who boast oftheir advancement and modernity in the discussionof religion. But I never succeeded in saying thequite clear and obvious thing that is really thematter with modernism. The real objection tomodernism is simply that it is a form of snob-bishness. It is an attempt to crush a rationalopponent not by reason, but by some mystery ofsuperiority, by hinting that one is specially up todate or particularly " in the know." To flauntthe fact that we have had all the last books fromGermany is simply vulgar ; like flaunting the factthat we have had all the last bonnets from Paris,To introduce into philosophical discussions asneer at a creed's antiquity is like introducing asneer at a lady's age. It is caddish because if isirrelevant. The pure modernist is merely a snob ;he cannot bear to be a month behind the fashion.


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io ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDSimilarly I find that I have tried in these pagesto express the real objection to philanthropists andhave not succeeded. I have not seen the quitesimple objection to the causes advocated by cer-tain wealthy idealists ; causes of which the cause

called teetotalism is the strongest case. I have" used many abusive terms about the thing, callingit Puritanism, or superciliousness, or aristocracy ;but I have not seen and stated the quite simpleobjection to philanthropy ; which is that it isreligious persecution. Religious persecution doesnot consist in thumbscrews or fires of Smithfield ;the essence of religious persecution is this : thatthe man who happens to have material powerin the State, either by wealth or by official posi-tion, should govern his fellow-citizens not ac-cording to their religion or philosophy, but ac-cording to his own. If, for instance, there issuch a thing as a vegetarian nation ; if there isa great united mass of men who wish to live bythe vegetarian morality, then I say in the emphaticwords of the arrogant French marquis before theFrench Revolution, " Let them eat grass." Per-haps that French oligarch was a humanitarian ;most oligarchs are. Perhaps when he told thepeasants to eat grass he was recommending to themthe hygienic simplicity of a vegetarian restaurant.But that is an irrelevant, though most fascinating,speculation. The point here is that if a nation isreally vegetarian let its government force upon itthe whole horrible weight of vegetarianism. Letits government give the national guests a Statevegetarian banquet. Let its government, in themost literal and awful sense of the words, give


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THE CASE FOR THE EPHEMERAL nthem beans. That sort of tyranny is all very well ;for it is the people tyrannising over all the persons.But " temperance reformers " are like a smallgroup of vegetarians who should silently andsystematically act on an ethical assumption en-tirely unfamiliar to the mass of the people. Theywould always be giving peerages to greengrocers.They would always be appointing ParliamentaryCommissions to enquire into the private life ofbutchers. Whenever they found a man quite attheir mercy, as a pauper or a convict or a lunatic,they would force him to add the final touch to hisinhuman isolation by becoming a vegetarian. Allthe meals for school children will be vegetarianmeals. All the State public houses will be vege-tarian public houses. There is a very strong casefor vegetarianism as compared with teetotalism.Drinking one glass of beer cannot by any philo-sophy be drunkenness ; but killing one animal can,by this philosophy, be murder. The objection toboth processes is not that the two creeds, teetotaland vegetarian, are not admissible; it is simplythat they are not admitted. The thing is religiouspersecution because it is not based on the existingreligion of the democracy. These people ask thepoor to accept in practice what they know perfectlywell that the poor would not accept in theory.That is the very definition of religious persecution.I was against the Tory attempt to force uponordinary Englishmen a Catholic theology in whichthey do not believe. I am even more againstthe attempt to force upon them a Mohamedanmorality which they actively deny.

Again, in the case of anonymous journalism I


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12 ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDseem to have said a great deal without getting outthe point very clearly. Anonymous journalism isdangerous, and is poisonous in our existing lifesimply because it is so rapidly becoming an anony-mous life. That is the horrible thing aboutour contemporary atmosphere. Society is be-coming a secret society. The modern tyrant isevil because of his elusiveness. He is more name-less than his slave. He is not more of a bullythan the tyrants of the past ; but he is more of acoward. The rich publisher may treat the poorpoet better or worse than the old master workmantreated the oM apprentice. But the apprenticeran away and the master ran after him. Nowa-days it is the poet who pursues and tries in vain tofix the fact of responsibility. It is the publisherwho runs away. The clerk of Mr. Solomon getsthe sack : the beautiful Greek slave of the SultanSuliman also gets the sack ; or the sack gets her.But though she is concealed under the black wavesof the Bosphorus, at least her destroyer is notconcealed. He goes behind golden trumpetsriding on a white elephant. But in the case of theclerk it is almost as difficult to know where thedismissal comes from as to know where the clerkgoes to. It may be Mr. Solomon or Mr. Solomon'smanager, or Mr. Solomon's rich aunt in Chelten-ham, or Mr. Soloman's rich creditor in Berlin.The elaborate machinery which was once used tomake men respor^sible is now used solely in orderto shift the responsibility. People talk about thepride

oftyrants ; but we in this age are not suffer-ing from the pride of tyrants. We are sufferingfrom the shyness of tyrants ; from the shrinking


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COCKNEYS AND THEIR JOKES 13modesty of tyrants. Therefore we must not en-courage leader-writers to be shy ; we must notinflame their already exaggerated modes'ty.Rather we must attempt to lure them to be vainand ostentatious ; so that through ostentationthey may at last find their way to honesty.The last indictment against this book is the worstof all. It is simply this : that if all goes wellthis book will be unintelligible gibberish. For itis mostly concerned with attacking attitudes whichare in their nature accidental and incapable ofenduring. Brief as is the career of such a book asthis, it may last just twenty minutes longer thanmost of the philosophies that it attacks. In theend it will not matter to us whether we wrote wellor ill ; whether we fought with flails or reeds. Itwill matter to us greatly on what side we fought.

COCKNEYS AND THEIR JOKESA WRITER in the Yorkshire Evening Post is/A very angry indeed with my performancesin this column. His precise terms of re-

proach are, " Mr. G. K. Chesterton is not a humour-ist : not even a Cockney humourist." I do notmind his saying that I am not a humourist inwhich (to tell the truth) I think he is quite right.But I do resent his saying that I am not a Cockney.That envenomed arrow, I admit, went home. Ifa French writer said of me, " He is no meta-physician : not even an English metaphysician,"I could swallow the insult to my metaphysics,


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14 ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDbut I should feel angry about the insult to mycountry. So I do not urge that I am a humourist ;but I do insist that I am a Cockney. If I were ahumourist, I should certainly be a Cockneyhumourist ; if I were a saint, I should certainlybe a Cockney saint. I need not recite the splendidcatalogue of Cockney saints who have writtentheir names on our noble old City churches. Ineed not trouble you with the long list of theCockney humourists who have discharged theirbills (or failed to discharge them) in our nobleold City taverns. We can weep together over thepathos of the poor Yorkshireman, whose countyhas never produced some humour not intelligibleto the rest of the world. And we can smiletogether when he says that somebody or otheris "not even " a Cockney humourist like SamuelJohnson or Charles Lamb. It is surely sufficientlyobvious that all the best humour that exists inour language is Cockney humour. Chaucer wasa Cockney ; he had his house close to the Abbey.Dickens was a Cockney ; he said he could notthink without the London streets. The Londontaverns heard always the quaintest conversation,whether it was Ben Johnson's at the Mermaid orSam Johnson's at the Cock. Even in our owntime it may be noted that the most vital andgenuine humour is still written about London.Of this type is the mild and humane irony whichmarks Mr. Pett Ridge's studies of the small greystreets. Of this type is the simple but smashinglaughter of the best tales of Mr. W. W. Jacobs,telling of the smoke and sparkle of the Thames.No ; I concede that I am not a Cockney humourist.


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COCKNEYS AND THEIR JOKES 15No ; I am not worthy to be. Some time, aftersad and strenuous after-lives ; some time, afterfierce and apocalyptic incarnations ; in somestrange world beyond the stars, I may become atlast a Cockney humourist. In that potentialparadise I may walk among the Cockney humour-ists, if not an equal, at least a companion. I mayfeel for a moment on my shoulder the hearty handof Dryden and thread the labyrinths of the sweetinsanity of Lamb. But that could only be if Iwere not only much cleverer, but much betterthan I am. Before I reach that sphere I shallhave left behind, perhaps, the sphere that isinhabited by angels, and even passed that whichis appropriated exclusively to the use of York-shiremen.No ; London is in this matter attacked uponits strongest ground. London is the largest ofthe bloated modern cities ; London is the smokiest;London is the dirtiest ; London is, if you will, themost sombre ; London is, if you will, the mostmiserable. But London is certainly the mostamusing and the most amused. You may provethat we have the most tragedy ; the fact remainsthat we have the most comedy, that we have themost farce. We have at the very worst a splendidhypocrisy of humour. We conceal our sorrowbehind a screaming derision. You speak of peoplewho laugh through their tears ; it is our boastthat we only weep through our laughter. Thereremains always this great boast, perhaps thegreatest boast that is possible to human nature.I mean the great boast that the most unhappypart of our population is also the most hilarious


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16 ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDpart. The poor can forget that social problemwhich we (the moderately rich) ought never toforget. Blessed are the poor ; for they alone havenot the poor always with them. The honest poorcan sometimes forget poverty. The honest richcan never forget it.

I believe firmly in the value of all vulgar notions,especially of vulgar jokes. When once you havegot hold of a vulgar joke, you may be certain thatyou have got hold of a subtle and spiritual idea.The men who made the joke saw something deepwhich they could not express except by somethingsilly and emphatic. They saw something delicatewhich they could only express by somethingindelicate. I remember that Mr. Max Beerbohm(who has every merit except democracy) attemptedto analyse the jokes at which the mob laughs. Hedivided them into three sections : jokes aboutbodily humiliation, jokes about things alien, suchas foreigners, and jokes about bad cheese. Mr.Max Beerbohm thought he understood the firsttwo forms ; but I am not sure that he did. Inorder to understand vulgar humour it is notenough to be humorous. One must also be vulgar,as I am. And in the first case it is surely obviousthat it is not merely at the fact of something beinghurt that we laugh (as I trust we do) when aPrime Minister sits down on his hat. If that wereso we should laugh whenever we saw a funeral.We do not -laugh at the mere fact of somethingfalling down ; there is nothing humorous aboutleaves falling or the sun going down. Whenour house falls down we do not laugh. All thebirds of the air might drop around us in a per-


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COCKNEYS AND THEIR JOKES 17petual shower like a hailstorm without arousing asmile. If you really ask yourself why we laughat a man sitting down suddenly in the street youwill discover that the reason is not only recondite,but ultimately religious. All the jokes about mensitting down on their hats are really theologicaljokes ; they are concerned with the Dual Natureof Man. They refer to the primary paradox thatman is superior to all the things around him andyet is at their mercy.

Quite equally subtle and spiritual is the idea atthe back of laughing at foreigners. It concernsthe almost torturing truth of a thing being likeoneself and yet not like oneself. Nobody laughsat what is entirely foreign ; nobody laughs ata palm tree. But it is funny to see the familiarimage of God disguised behind the black beardof a Frenchman or the black face of a Negro.There is nothing funny in the sounds that arewholly inhuman, the howling of wild beasts orof the wind. But if a man begins to talk likeoneself, but all the syllables come out different,then if one is a man one feels inclined to laugh,though if one is a, gentleman one resists the inclin-ation.

Mr. Max Beerbohm, I remember, professed tounderstand the first two forms of popular wit, butsaid that the third quite stumped him. He couldnot see why there should be anything funny aboutbad cheese. I can tell him at once. He hasmissed the idea because it is subtle and philo-sophical, and he was looking for something ignor-ant and foolish. Bad cheese is funny becauseit is (like the foreigner or the man fallen on tha


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i8 ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDpavement) the type of the transition or transgres-sion across a great mystical boundary. Badcheese symbolises the change from the inorganicto the organic. Bad cheese symbolises thestartling prodigy of matter taking on vitality.It symbolises the origin of life itself. And it isonly about such solemn matters as the originof life that the democracy condescends to joke.Thus, for instance, the democracy jokes aboutmarriage, because marriage is a part of mankind.But the democracy would never deign to jokeabout Free Love, because Free Love is a piece ofpriggishness.As a matter of fact, it will be generally foundthat the popular joke is not true to the letter, butis true to the spirit. The vulgar joke is generallyin the oddest way the truth and yet not the fact.For instance, it is not in the least true that mothers-in-law are as a class oppressive and intolerable ;most of them are both devoted and useful. All themothers-in-law I have ever had were admirable.Yet the legend of the comic papers is profoundlytrue. It draws attention to the fact that it is muchharder to be a nice mother-in-law than to be nicein any other conceivable relation of life. Thecaricatures have drawn the worst mother-in-law amonster, by way of expressing the fact that thebest mother-in-law is a problem. The same is trueof the perpetual jokes in comic papers aboutshrewish wives and henpecked husbands. It isall a frantic exaggeration, but it is an exaggerationof a truth; whereas all the modern mouthingsabout oppressed women are the exaggerations ofa falsehood. If you read even the best of the


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COCKNEYS AND THEIR JOKES 19intellectuals of to-day you will find them sayingthat in the mass of the democracy the woman isthe chattel of her lord, like his bath or his bed.But if you read the comic literature of thedemocracy you will find that the lord hides underthe bed to escape from the wrath of his chattel.This is not the fact, but it is much nearer thetruth. Every man who is married knows quitewell, not only that he does not regard his wife as achattel, but that no man can conceivablyever havedone so. The joke stands for an ultimate truth,and that is a subtle truth. It is one not veryeasy to state correctly. It can, perhaps, be mostcorrectly stated by saying that, even if the manis the head of the house, he knows he is the figure-head.But the vulgar comic papers are so subtle andtrue that they are even prophetic. If you reallywant to know what is going to happen to thefuture of our democracy, do not read the modernsociological prophecies, do not read even Mr.Wells -s Utopias for this purpose, though youshould certainly read them if you are fond ofgood honesty and good English. If you want toknow what will happen, study the pages of Snapsor Patchy Bits as if they were the dark tabletsgraven with the oracles of the gods. For, meanand gross as they are, in all seriousness, they con-tain what is entirely absent from all Utopias andall the sociological conjectures of our time : theycontain some hint of the actual habits and mani-fest desires of the English people. If we arereally to find out what the democracy will ultim-ately do with itself, we shall surely find it, not


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20 ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDin the literature which studies the people, butin the literature which the people studies.

I can give two chance cases in which the commonor Cockney joke was a much better prophecythan the careful observations of the most culturedobserver. When England was agitated, previousto the last General Election, about the existenceof Chinese labour, there was a distinct differencebetween the tone of the politicians and the toneof the populace. The politicians who disapprovedof Chinese labour were most careful to explainthat they did not in any sense disapprove ofChinese. According to them, it was a pure ques-tion of legal propriety, of whether certain clausesin the contract of indenture were not inconsistentwith our constitutional traditions : according tothem, the case would have been the same if thepeople had been Kaffirs or Englishmen. It allsounded wonderfully enlightened and lucid ; andin comparison the popular joke looked, of course,very poor. For the popular joke against theChinese labourers was simply that they wereChinese ; it was an objection to an alien type ;the popular papers were full of gibes about pigtailsand yellow faces. It seemed that the Liberalpoliticians were raising an intellectual objectionto a doubtful document of State ; while it seemedthat the Radical populace were merely roaringwith idiotic laughter at the sight of a Cl inaman'sclothes. But the popular instinct was justmed, forthe vices revealed were Chinese vices.But there is another case more pleasant and

more up to date. The popular papers always per-sisted in representing the New Woman or the


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THE FALLACY OF SUCCESS 21Suffragette as an ugly woman, fat, in spectacles,with bulging clothes, and generally falling off abicycle. As a matter of plain external fact, therewas not a word of truth in this. The leaders oithe movement of female emancipation are not atall ugly ; most of them are extraordinarily good-looking. Nor are they at all indifferent to artor decorative costume ; many of them are alarm-ingly attached to these things. Yet the popularinstinct was right. For the popular instinct wasthat in this movement, rightly or wrongly, therewas an element of indifference to female dignity,of a quite new willingness of women to be grotesque.These women did truly despise the pontificalquality of woman. And in our streets and aroundour Parliament we have seen the stately womanof art and culture turn into the comic womanof Comic Bits. And whether we think the exhi-bition justifiable or not, the prophecy of the comicpapers is justified : the healthy and vulgar masseswere conscious of a hidden enemy to their tra-ditions who has now come out into the daylight,that the scriptures might be fulfilled. For thetwo things that a healthy person hates mostbetween heaven and hell are a woman who is notdignified and a man who is.

THE FALLACY OF SUCCESShas appeared in our time a particu-

lar class of books and articles which Isincerely and solemnly think may be

called the silliest ever known among men. They


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THE FALLACY OF SUCCESS 23back. Nobody would dare to publish a bookabout electricity which literally told one nothingabout electricity ; no one would dare to publishan article on botany which showed that the writerdid not know which end of a plant grew in theearth. Yet our modern world is full of booksabout Success and successful people which literallycontain no kind of idea, and scarcely any kindof verbal sense.

It is perfectly obvious that in any decentoccupation (such as bricklaying or writing books)there are only two ways (in any special sense) ofsucceeding. One is by doing very good work, theother is by cheating. Both are much too simpleto require any literary explanation. If you arein for the high jump, either jump higher thanany one else, or manage somehow to pretend thatyou have done so. If you want to succeed atwhist, either be a good whist-player, or play withmarked cards. You may want a book aboutjumping ; you may want a book about whist ;you may want a book about cheating at whist.But you cannot want a book about Success.Especially you cannot want a book about Successsuch as those which you can now find scatteredby the hundred about the book-market. Youmay want to jump or to play cards ; but you donot want to read wandering statements to theeffect that jumping is jumping, or that games arewon by winners. If these writers, for instance,said anything about success in jumping it wouldbe something like this : "The jumper must havea clear aim before him. He must desire definitelyto jump higher than the other men who are in


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THE FALLACY OF SUCCESS 25of Lord Rothschild. There are many definitemethods, honest and dishonest, which make peoplerich ; the only "instinct

" I know of which doesit is that instinct which theological Christianitycrudely describes as "the sin of avarice." That,however, is beside the present point. I wish toquote the following exquisite paragraphs as a pieceof typical advice as to how to succeed. It is sopractical ; it leaves so little doubt about whatshould be our next step"The name of Vanderbilt is synonymous withwealth gained by modern enterprise. * Cornelius/the founder of the family, was the first of the greatAmerican magnates of commerce. He started asthe son of a poor farmer ; he ended as a million-aire twenty times over."He had the money-making instinct. He seizedhis opportunities, the opportunities that were givenby the application of the steam-engine to oceantraffic, and by the birth of railway locomotion inthe wealthy but undeveloped United States ofAmerica, and consequently he amassed an immensefortune."Now it is, of course, obvious that we cannot allfollow exactly in the footsteps of this great railwaymonarch. The precise opportunities that fell tohim do not occur to us. Circumstances havechanged. But, although this is so, still, in ourown sphere and in our own circumstances, wecan follow his general methods ; we can seize thoseopportunities that are given us, and give ourselvesa very fair chance of attaining riches."

In such strange utterances we see quite clearlywhat is really at the bottom of all these articles


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26 ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDand books. It is not mere business ; it is noteven mere cynicism. It is mysticism ; the horriblemysticism of money. The writer of that passagedid not really have the remotest notion of howVanderbilt made his money, or of how anybodyelse is to make his. He does, indeed, concludehis remarks by advocating some scheme ; but ithas nothing in the world to do with Vanderbilt.He merely wished to prostrate himself before themystery of a millionaire. For when we reallyworship anything, we love not only its clearnessbut its obscurity. We exult in its very invisibility.Thus, for instance, when a man is in love with awoman he takes special pleasure in the fact thata woman is unreasonable. Thus, again, the verypious poet, celebrating his Creator, takes pleasurein saying that God moves in a mysterious way.Now, the writer of the paragraph which I havequoted does not seem to have had anything todo with a god, and I should not think (judgingby his extreme unpracticality) that he had everbeen really in love with a woman. But the thinghe does worship Vanderbilt he treats in exactlythis mystical manner. He really revels in the facthis deity Vanderbilt is keeping a secret from him.And it fills his soul with a sort of transport ofcunning, an ecstasy of priestcraft, that he shouldpretend to be telling to the multitude that terriblesecret which he does not know.

Speaking about the instinct that makes peoplerich, the same writer remarks"In olden days its existence was fully under-stood. The Greeks enshrined it in the story ofMidas, of the ' Golden Tpuch/ Here was a man


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28 ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDRothschild ; I read reverently about the exploitsof Mr. Vanderbilt. I know that I cannot turneverything I touch to gold ; but then I also knowthat I have never tried, having a preference forother substances, such as grass, and good wine.I know that these people have certainly succeededin something ; that they have certainly overcomesomebody ; I know that they are kings in a sensethat no men were ever kings before ; that theycreate markets and bestride continents. Yet italways seems to me that there is some smalldomestic fact that they are hiding, and I havesometimes thought I heard upon the wind thelaughter and whisper of the reeds.At least, let us hope that we shall all live to seethese absurd books about Success covered with a

proper derision and neglect. They do next teachpeople to be successful, but they do teach peopleto be snobbish ; they do spread a sort of evilpoetry of worldliness. The Puritans are alwaysdenouncing books that inflame lust ; what shallwe say of books that inflame the viler passionsof avarice and pride ? A hundred years ago wehad the ideal of the Industrious Apprentice ; boyswere told that by thrift and work they would allbecome Lord Mayors. This was fallacious, butit was manly, and had a minimum of moral truth.In our society, temperance will not help a poorman to enrich himself, but it may help him torespect himself. Good work will not make hima rich man, but good work may make him a goodworkman. The Industrious Apprentice rose byvirtues few and narrow indeed, but still virtues.But what shall we say of the gospel preached to


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ON RUNNING AFTER ONE'S HAT 29the new Industrious Apprentice ; the Apprenticewho rises not by his virtues, but avowedly by hisvices ?

ON RUNNING AFTER ONE'S HATT FEEL an almost savage envy on hearing thatLondon has been flooded in my absence,while I am in the mere country. My ownBattersea has been, I understand, particularlyfavoured as a meeting of the waters. Batterseawas already, as I need hardly say, the most beauti-ful of human localities. Now that it has theadditional splendour of great sheets of water, theremust be something quite incomparable in the land-scape (or waterscape) of my own romantic town.Battersea must be a vision of Venice. The boatthat brought the meat from the butcher's musthave shot along those lanes of rippling silver withthe stfange smoothness of the gondola. Thegreengrocer who brought cabbages to the cornerof the Latchmere Road must have leant upon theoar with the unearthly grace of the gondolier.There is nothing so perfectly poetical as an island ;and when a district is flooded it becomes anarchipelago.Some consider such romantic views of floodor fire slightly lacking in reality. But really thisromantic view of such inconveniences is quite aspractical as the other. The true optimist whosees in such things an opportunity for enjoymentis quite as logical and much more sensible than


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30 ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDthe ordinary " Indignant Ratepayer " who sees inthem an opportunity for grumbling. Real pain,as in the case of being burnt at Smithfield orhaving a toothache, is a positive thing ; it canbe supported, but scarcely enjoyed. But, afterall, our toothaches are the exception, and as forbeing burnt at Smithfield, it only happens to usat the very longest intervals. And most of theinconveniences that make men swear or womencry are really sentimental or imaginative incon-veniences things altogether of the mind. Forinstance, we often hear grown-up people com-plaining oi having to hang about a railway stationand wait for a train. Did you ever hear a smallboy complain of having to hang about a railwaystation and wait for a train ? No ; for to himto be inside a railway station is to be inside acavern of wonder and a palace of poetical pleasures.Because to him the red light and the green lighton the signal are like a new sun and a new moon.Because to him when the wooden arm of the signalfalls down suddenly, it is as if a great king hadthrown down his staff as a signal and started ashrieking tournament of trains. I myself am oflittle boys' habit in this matter. They also servewho only stand and wait for the two fifteen.Their meditations may be full of rich and fruitfulthings. Many of the most purple hours of my lifehave been passed at Clapham Junction, which isnow, I suppose, under water. I have been therein many moods so fixed and mystical that thewater might well have come up to my waist beforeI noticed it particularly. But in the case of allsuch annoyances, as I have said, everything de-


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ON RUNNING AFTER ONE'S HAT 31pends upon the emotional point of view. You cansafely apply the test to almost every one of thethings that are currently talked of as the typicalnuisance of daily life.For instance, there is a current impression thatit is unpleasant to have to run after one's hatWhy should it be unpleasant to the well-orderedand pious mind ? Not merely because it is run-ning, and running exhausts one. The same peoplerun much faster in games and sports. The samepeople run much more eagerly after an uninterest-ing little leather ball than they will after a nicesilk hat. There is an idea that it is humiliatingto run after one's hat ; and when people say it ishumiliating they mean that it is comic. It cer-tainly is comic ; but man is a very comic, creature,and most of the things he does are comic eating,for instance. And the most comic things of allare exactly the things that are most worth doingsuch as making love. A man running after a hatis not half so ridiculous as a man running after awife.Now a man could, if he felt rightly in thematter, run after his hat with the manliest ardourand the most sacred joy. He might regard him-self as a jolly huntsman pursuing a wild animal,for certainly no animal could be wilder. In fact,I am inclined to believe that hat-hunting on windydays will be the sport of the upper classes in thefuture. There will be a meet of ladies and gentle-men on some high ground on a gusty morning.They will be told that the professional attendantshave started a hat in such-and-such a thicket, orwhatever be the technical term. Notice that this


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32 ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDemployment will in the fullest degree combinesport with humanitarianism. The hunters wouldfeel that they were not inflicting pain. Nay, theywould feel that they were inflicting pleasure, rich,almost riotous pleasure, upon the people who werelooking on. When last I saw an old gentlemanrunning after his hat in Hyde Park, I told him thata heart so benevolent as his ought to be filled withpeace and thanks at the thought of how muchunaffected pleasure his every gesture and bodilyattitude were at that moment giving to the crowd.The same principle can be applied to everyother typical domestic worry. A gentleman tryingto get a fly out of the milk or a piece of cork outof his glass of wine often imagines himself to beirritated. Let him think for a moment of thepatience of anglers sitting by dark pools, and lethis soul be immediately irradiated with gratifica-tion and repose. Again, I have known somepeople of very modern views driven by theirdistress to the use of theological terms to whichthey attached no doctrinal significance, merelybecause a drawer was jammed tight and theycould not pull it out. A friend of mine wasparticularly afflicted in this way. Every day hisdrawer was jammed, and every day in consequenceit was something else that rhymes to it. But Ipointed out to him that this sense of wrong wasreally subjective and relative ; it rested entirelyupon the assumption that the drawer could,should, and would come out easily. "But if,"I said, "you picture to yourself that you are pull-ing against some powerful and oppressive enemy,the struggle will become merely exciting and not


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ON RUNNING AFTER ONE'S HAT 33exasperating. Imagine that you are tugging upa lifeboat out of the sea. Imagine that you areroping up a fellow-creature out of an Alpinecrevass. Imagine even that you are a boy againand engaged in a tug-of-war between French andEnglish." Shortly after saying this I left him ;but I have no doubt at all that my words borethe best possible fruit. I have no doubt thatevery day of his life he hangs on to the handleof that drawer with a flushed face and eyes brightwith battle, uttering encouraging shouts to himself,and seeming to hear all round him the roar of anapplauding ring.So I do not think that it is altogether fancifulor incredible to suppose that even the floods inLondon may be accepted and enjoyed poetically.Nothing beyond inconvenience seems really tohave been caused by them ; and inconvenience,as I have said, is only one aspect, and that themost unimaginative and accidental aspect of areally romantic situation. An adventure is onlyan inconvenience rightly considered. An incon-venience is only an adventure wrongly considered.The water that girdled the houses and shops ofLondon must, if anything, have only increasedtheir previous witchery and wonder. For as theRoman Catholic priest in the story said : " Wineis good with everything except water," and ona similar principle, water is good with everythingexcept wine.


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34 ALL THINGS CONSIDERED

THE VOTE AND THE HOUSE"Jl ff OST of us will be canvassed soon, I suppose ;iVjl some f us may even canyass- Uponwhich side, of course, nothing will induceme to state, beyond saying that by a remarkablecoincidence it will in every case be the only sidein which a high-minded, public-spirited, andpatriotic citizen can take even a momentaryinterest. But the general question of canvassingitself, being a non-party question, is one whichwe may be permitted to approach. The rules forcanvassers are fairly familiar to any one who hasever canvassed. They are printed on the littlecard which you carry about with you and lose.There is a statement, I think, that you must notoffer a voter food or drink. However hospitableyou may feel towards him in his own house,you must not carry his lunch about with you.You must not produce a veal cutlet from yourtail-coat pocket. You must not conceal poachedeggs about your person. You must not, like akind of conjurer, produce baked potatoes fromyour hat. In short, the canvasser must notfeed the voter in any way. Whether the voter isallowed to feed the canvasser, whether the votermay give the canvasser veal cutlets and bakedpotatoes, is a point of law on which I have neverbeen able to inform myself. When I found myselfcanvassing a gentleman,

I have sometimes felttempted to ask him if there was any rule againsthis giving me food and drink ; but the matter


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THE VOTE AND THE HOUSE 35seemed a delicate one to approach. His attitudeto me also sometimes suggested a doubt as towhether he would, even if he could. But thereare voters who might find it worth while to dis-cover if there is any law against bribing a can-vasser. They might bribe him to go away.The second veto for canvassers which wasprinted on the little card said that you must notpersuade any one to personate a voter. I have noidea what it means. To dress up as an averagevoter seems a little vague. There is no well-recognised uniform, as far as I know, with civicwaistcoat and patriotic whiskers. The enterpriseresolves itself into one somewhat similar to theenterprise of a rich friend of mine who went to afancy-dress ball dressed up as a gentleman. Per-haps it means that there is a practice of person-ating some individual voter. The canvassercreeps to the house of his fellow-conspiratorcarrying a make-up in a bag. He produces fromit a pair of white moustaches and a single eye-glass, which are sufficient to give the most common-place person a startling resemblance to the Colonelat No. 80. Or he hurriedly affixes to his friendthat large nose and that bald head which are allthat is essential to an illusion of the presence ofProfessor Budger. I do not undertake to unravelthese knots. I can only say that when I was acanvasser I was told by the little card, with everycircumstance of seriousness and authority, thatI was not to persuade anybody to personatea voter : and I can lay my hand upon my heartand affirm that I never did.The third injunction on the card4was one which


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36 ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDseemed to me, if interpreted exactly and accordingto its words, to undermine the very foundations ofour

politics. It told me that I must not "threatena voter with any consequence whatever." Nodoubt this was intended to apply ,to threats of apersonal and illegitimate character ; as, for in-stance, if a wealthy candidate were to threaten toraise all the rents, or to put up a statue of himself.But as verbally and grammatically expressed, itcertainly would cover those general threats ofdisaster to the whole community which are themain matter of political discussion. When acanvasser says that if the opposition candidategets in the country will be ruined, he is threateningthe voters with certain consequences. When theFree Trader says that if Tariffs are adopted thepeople in Brompton or Bayswater will crawl abouteating grass, he is threatening them with conse-quences. When the Tariff Reformer says thatif Free Trade exists for another year St. Paul'sCathedral will be a ruin and Ludgate Hill asdeserted as Stonehenge, he is also threatening.And what is the good of being a Tariff Reformerif you can't say that ? What is the use of beinga politician or a Parliamentary candidate at allif one cannot tell the people that if the other mangets in, England will be instantly invaded andenslaved, blood be pouririg down the Strand, andall the English ladies carried off into harems.But these things are, after all, consequences, soto speak.The majority of refined persons in our day maygenerally be heard abusing the practice of can-vassing. In the same way the majority of refined


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THE VOTE AND THE HOUSE 37persons (commonly the same refined persons) maybe heard abusing the practice of interviewingcelebrities. It seems a very singular thing to methat this refined world reserves all its indignationfor the comparatively open and innocent elementin both walks of life. There is really a vast amountof corruption and hypocrisy in our electionpolitics ; about the most honest thing in the wholemess is the canvassing. A man has not got aright to "nurse" a constituency with aggressivecharities, to buy it with great presents of parks andlibraries, to open vague vistas of future benpvo-lence ; all this, which goes on unrebuked, is briberyand nothing else. But a man has got the rightto go to another free man and ask him with civilitywhether he will vote for him. The informationcan be asked, granted, or refused without any lossof dignity on either side, which is more than can besaid of a park. It is the same with the place ofinterviewing in journalism. In a trade wherethere are labyrinths of insincerity, interviewingis about the most simple and the most sincerething there is. The canvasser, when he wants toknow a man's opinions, goes and asks him. Itmay be a bore ; but it is about as plain andstraight a thing as he could do. So the inter-viewer, when he wants to know a man's opinions,goes and asks him. Again, it may be a bore ;but again, it is about as plain and straight as any-thing could be. But all the other real and sys-tematic cynicisms of our journalism pass withoutbeing vituperated and even without being knownthe financial motives of policy, the misleadingposters, the suppression of just letters of com-


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38 ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDplaint. A statement about a man may beinfamously untrue, but it is read calmly. But astatement by a man to an interviewer is felt asindefensibly vulgar. That the paper should mis-represent him is nothing ; that he should repre-sent himself is bad taste. The whole error inboth cases lies in the fact that the refined personsare attacking politics and journalism on theground of vulgarity. Of course, politics andjournalism are, as it happens, very vulgar. Buttheir vulgarity is not the worst thing about them.Things are so bad with both that by this time theirvulgarity is the best thing about them. Theirvulgarity is at least a noisy thing ; and their greatdanger is that silence that always comes beforedecay. The conversational persuasion at electionsis perfectly human and rational ; it is the silentpersuasions that are utterly damnable.

If it is true that the Commons' House will nothold all the Commons, it is a very good exampleof what we call the anomalies of the English Con-stitution. It is also, I think, a very good exampleof how highly undesirable those anomalies reallyare. Most Englishmen say that these anomaliesdo not matter ; they are not ashamed of being'illogical ; they are proud of being illogical. LordMacaulay (a very typical Englishman, romantic,prejudiced, poetical), Lord Macaulay said thathe would not lift his hand to get rid of an anomalythat was not also a grievance. Many other sturdyromantic Englishmen say the same. They boastof our anomalies ; they boast of our illogicality ;they say it shows what a practical people we are.They are utterly wrong. Lord Macaulay was in


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THE VOTE AND THE HOUSE 39thfe matter, as in a few others, utterly wrong.Anomalies do matter very much, and do a greatdeal of harm ; abstract illogicalities do mattera great deal, and do a great deal of harm. Andthis for a reason that any one at all acquaintedwith human nature can see for himself. Allinjustice begins in the mind. And anomaliesaccustom the mind to the idea of unreason anduntruth. Suppose I had by some prehistoric lawthe power of forcing every man in Battersea toaod his head three times before he got out ofbed. The practical politicians might say thatthis power was a harmless anomaly ; that it wasnot a grievance. It could do my subjects noharm ; it could do me no good. The people ofBattersea, they would say, might safely submit toit. But the people of Battersea could not safelysubmit to it, for all that. If I had nodded theirheads for them for fifty years I could cut offtheir heads for them at the end of it with im-measurably greater ease. For there would havepermanently sunk into every man's mind thenotion that it was a natural thing for me tohave a fantastic and irrational power. Theywould have grown accustomed to insanity.

For, in order that men should resist injustice,something more is necessary than that they shouldthink injustice unpleasant. They must think in-justice absurd; above all, they must think itstartling. They must retain the violence of avirgin astonishment. That is the explanation ofthe

singular fact which must have struck manypeople in the relations of philosophy and reform.It is the fact (I mean) that optimists are more


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40 ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDpractical reformers than pessimists. Superficially,one would imagine that the railer would be thereformer ; that the man who thought that every-thing was wrong would be the man to put every-thing right. In historical practice the thingis quite the other way ; curiously enough, itis the man who likes things as they are whoreally makes them better. The optimist Dickenshas achieved more reforms than the pessimistGissing. A man like Rousseau has far too rosya theory of human nature ; but he produces arevolution. A man like David Hume thinks thatalmost all things are depressing ; but he is aConservative, and wishes to keep them as theyare. A man like Godwin believes existence tobe kindly ; but he is a rebel. A man like Carlylebelieves existence to be cruel ; but he is a Tory.Everywhere the man who alters things begins byliking things. ' And the real explanation of thissuccess of the optimistic reformer, of this failureof the pessimistic reformer, is, after all, an explan-ation of sufficient simplicity. It is because theoptimist can look at wrong not only with indigna-tion, but with a startled indignation. When thepessimist looks at any infamy, it is to him, afterall, only a repetition of the infamy of existence.The Court of Chancery is indefensible likemankind. The Inquisition is abominable likethe universe. But the optimist sees injusticeas something discordant and unexpected, and itstings him into action. The pessimist can beenraged at wrong ; but only the optimist can besurprised at it.And it is the same with the relations of an


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THE VOTE AND THE HOUSE 41anomaly to the logical mind. The pessimistresents evil (like Lord Macaulay) solely becauseit is a grievance. The optimist resents it also,because it is an anomaly ; a contradiction to hisconception of the course of things. And it isnot at all unimportant, but on the contrarymost important, that this course of things inpolitics and elsewhere should be lucid, explicableand defensible. When people have got used tounreason they can no longer be startled at in-justice. When people have grown familiar withan anomaly, they are prepared to that extent for agrievance ; they may think the grievance grievous,but they can no longer think it strange. Take, ifonly as an excellent example, the very matteralluded to before ; I mean the seats, or rather thelack of seats, in the House of Commons. Perhapsit is true that under the best conditions it wouldnever happen that every member turned up.Perhaps a complete attendance would never actu-ally be. But who can tell how much influencein keeping members away may have been exertedby this calm assumption that they would stopaway ? How can any man be expected to helpto make a full attendance when he knows that afull attendance is actually forbidden ? How canthe men who make up the Chamber do theirduty reasonably when the very men who builtthe House have not doiie theirs reasonably ?If the trumpet give an uncertain sound, who shallprepare himself for the battle ? And what if theremarks of the trumpet take this form, " I chargeyou as you love your King and country to cometo this Council. And I know you won't."C-r


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42 ALL THINGS CONSIDERED

CONCEIT AND CARICATUREIF a man must needs be conceited, it is cer-tainly better that he should be conceitedabout some merits or talents that he doesnot really possess. For then his vanity remainsmore or less superficial ; it remains a mere mis-take of fact, like that of a man who thinks heinherits the royal blood or thinks he has an in-fallible system for Monte Carlo. Because themerit is an unreal merit, it does not corrupt orsophisticate his real merits. He is vain aboutthe virtue he has not got ; but he may be humbleabout the virtues that he has got. His trulyhonourable qualities remain in their primordialinnocence ; he cannot see them and he cannotspoil them. If a man's mind is erroneously pos-sessed with the idea that he is a great violinist,that need not prevent his being a gentleman andan honest man. But if once his mind is possessedin any strong degree with the knowledge thatfee is a gentleman, he will soon cease to be one.But there is a third kind of satisfaction of whichI have noticed one or two examples lately anotherkind of satisfaction which is neither a pleasure inthe virtues that we do possess nor a pleasure inthe virtues we do not possess. It is the pleasurewhich a man takes in the presence or absence ofcertain things in himself without ever adequatelyasking himself whether in his case they con-stitute virtues at all. A man will plume himselfbecause he is not bad in some particular way,


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CONCEIT AND CARICATURE 43when the truth is that he is not good enough tobe bad in that particular way. Some prggishlittle clerk will say, "I have reason to congratulatemyself that I am a civilised person, and not sobloodthirsty as the Mad Mullah." Somebodyought to say to him, "A really good man wouldbe less bloodthirsty than the Mullah. But you areless bloodthirsty, not because you are more of agood man, but because you are a great deal lessof a man. You are not bloodthirsty, not becauseyou would spare your enemy, but because youwould run away from him." Or again, somePuritan with a sullen type of piety would say,"I have reason to congratulate myself that I donot worship graven images like the old heathenGreeks." And again somebody ought to say tohim, "The best religion may not worship gravenimages, because it may see beyond them. But ifyou do not worship graven images, it is onlybecause you are mentally and morally quiteincapable of graving them. True religion, per-haps, is above idolatry. But you are belowidolatry. You are not holy enough yet to wor-ship a lump of stone."Mr. F. C. Gould, the brilliant and felicitouscaricaturist, recently delivered a most interestingspeech upon the nature and atmosphere of ourmodern English caricature. I think there isreally very little to congratulate oneself aboutin the condition of English caricature. Thereare few causes for pride ; probably the greatestcause for pride is Mr. F. C. Gould. But Mr.F. C. Gould, forbidden by modesty to adducethis excellent ground for optimism, fell back upon


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44 ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDsaying a thing which is said by numbers of otherpeople, but has not perhaps been said lately withthe full authority of an eminent cartoonist. Hesaid that he thought "that they might congratu-late themselves that the style of caricature whichfound acceptation nowadays was very differentfrom the lampoon of the old days." Continuing,he said, according to the newspaper report, "Onlooking back to the political lampoons of Row-landson's and Gilray's time they would find themcoarse and brutal. In some countries abroadstill,

' even in America/ the method of politicalcaricature was of the bludgeon kind. The factwas we had passed the bludgeon stage. If theywere brutal in attacking a man, even for politicalreasons, they roused sympathy for the man whowas attacked. What they had to do was to rubin the point they wanted to emphasise as gentlyas they could." (Laughter and applause.)Anybody reading these words, and anybodywho heard them, will certainly feel that there is inthem a great deal of truth, as well as a great dealof geniality. But along with that truth and withthat geniality there is a streak of that erroneoustype of optimism which is founded on the fallacyof which I have spoken above. Before we con-gratulate ourselves upon the absence of certainfaults from our nation or society, we ought toask ourselves why it is that these faults are absent.Are we without the fault because we have theopposite virtue ? Or are we without the faultbecause we have the opposite fault ? It is agood thing assuredly, to be innocent of any excess ;but let us be sure that we are not innocent of


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CONCEIT AND CARICATURE 45excess merely by being guilty of defect. Is itreally true that our English political satire is somoderate because it is so magnanimous, so for-giving, so saintly ? Is it penetrated through andthrough with a mystical charity, with a psycho-logical tenderness ? Do we spare the feelings ofthe Cabinet Minister because we pierce throughall his apparent crimes and follies down to thedark virtues of which his own soul is unaware ?Do we temper the wind to the Leader of theOpposition because in our all-embracing heart wepity and cherish the struggling spirit of the Leaderof the Opposition ? Briefly, have we left off beingbrutal because we are too grand and generous tobe brutal ? Is it really true that we are betterthan brutality ? Is it really true that we havepassed the bludgeon stage ?

I fear that there is, to say the least of it, anotherside to the matter. Is it not only too probablethat the mildness of our political satire, whencompared with the political satire of our fathers,arises simply from the profound unreality of ourcurrent politics ? Rowlandson and Gilray didnot fight merely because they were naturallypothouse pugilists ; they fought because they hadsomething to fight about. It is easy enough to berefined about things that do not matter ; but menkicked and plunged a little in that portentouswrestle in which swung to and fro, alike dizzywith danger, the independence of England, theindependence of Ireland, the independence ofFrance. If we wish for a proof of this fact thatthe lack of refinement did not come from merebrutality, the proof is easy. The proof is that in


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46 ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDthat struggle no personalities were more brutalthan the really refined personalities. None weremore violent and intolerant than those who wereby nature polished and sensitive. Nelson, forinstance, had the nerves and good manners of awoman : nobody in his senses, I suppose, wouldcall Nelson "brutal." But when he was touchedupon the national matter, there sprang out of hima spout of oaths, and he could only tell men to"Kill! kill! kill the d d Frenchmen." Itwould be as easy to take examples on the otherside. Camille Desmoulins was a man of muchthe same type, not only elegant and sweet intemper, but almost tremulously tender andhumanitarian. But he was ready, he said, "toembrace Liberty upon a pile of corpses." InIreland there were even more instances. RobertEmmet was only one famous example of a wholefamily of men at once sensitive and savage/ Ithink that Mr. F. C. Gould is altogether wrong intalking of this political ferocity as if it were somesort of survival from ruder conditions, like a flintaxe or a hairy man. Cruelty is, perhaps, theworst kind of sin. Intellectual cruelty is certainlythe worst kind of cruelty. But there is nothingin the least barbaric or ignorant about intellectualcruelty. The great Renaissance artists who mixedcolours exquisitely mixed poisons equally ex-quisitely ; the great Renaissance princes whodesigned instruments of music also designedinstruments of torture. Barbarity, malignity,the desire to hurt men, are the evil things gener-ated in atmospheres of intense reality when greatnations or great causes are at war. We may,


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CONCEIT AND CARICATURE 47perhaps, be glad that we have not got them :but it is somewhat dangerous to be proud that wehave not got them. Perhaps we are hardly greatenough to have them. Perhaps some great virtueshave to be generated, as in men like Nelson orEmmet, before we can have these vices at all,even as temptations. I, for one, believe that ifour caricaturists do not hate their enemies, it isnot because they are too big to hate *them, butbecause their enemies are not big enough to hate.I do not think we have passed the bludgeon stage.I believe we have not come to the bludgeonstage. We must be better, braver, and purermen than we are before we come to the bludgeonstage.Let us then, by all mean's, be proud of thevirtues that we have not got ; but let us not betoo arrogant about the virtues that we cannot helphaving. It may be that a man living on a desertisland has a right to congratulate himself upon thefact that he can meditate at his ease. But he mustnot congratulate himself on the fact that he is ona desert island, and at the same time congratulatehimself on the self-restraint he shows in not goingto a ball every night. Similarly our England mayhave a right to congratulate itself upon the factthat her politics are very quiet, amicable, andhumdrum. But she must not congratulate her-self upon that fact and also congratulate herselfupon the self-restraint she shows in not tearingherself and her citizens into rags. Between twoEnglish Privy Councillors polite language is amark of civilisation, but really not a mark ofmagnanimity.


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PATRIOTISM AND SPORT 49believed IB the self-satisfied English legend onthis srubject. I suppose that there are men whovaguely believe that we could never be beaten bya Frenchman, despite the fact that we have oftenbeen beaten by Frenchmen, and once by a French-woman. In the old pictures in Punch you willfind a recurring piece of satire. The Englishcaricaturists always assumed that a Frenchmancould not ride to hounds or enjoy English hunting.It did not seem to occur to them that all the peoplewho founded English hunting were Frenchmen.All the Kings and nobles who originally rode tohounds spoke French. Large numbers of thoseEnglishmen who still ride to hounds have Frenchnames. I suppose that the thing is important toany one who is ignorant of such evident mattersas these. I suppose that if a man has ever believedthat we English have some sacred and separateright to be athletic, such reverses do appear quiteenormous and shocking. They feel as if, whilethe proper sun was rising in the east, some otherand unexpected sun had begun to rise in the north-north-west by north. For the benefit, the moraland intellectual benefit of such people, it may beworth while to point out that the Anglo-Saxonhas in these cases been defeated precisely by thosecompetitors whom he has always regarded asbeing out of the running ; by Latins, and byLatins of the most easy and unstrenuous type ;not only by Frenchman, but by Belgians. Allthis, I say, is worth telling to any intelligentperson who believes in the haughty theory ofAnglo-Saxon superiority. But, then, no intelli-gent person does believe in the haughty theory


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50 ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDof Anglo-Saxon superiority. No quite genuineEnglishman ever did believe in it. And thegenuine Englishman these defeats will in no respectdismay.The genuine English patriot will know that thestrength of England has never depended upon anyof these things ; that the glory of England hasnever had anything to do with them, except in theopinion of a large section of the rich and a loosesection of the poor which copies the idleness oilthe rich. These people will, of course, think toomuch of our failure, just as they thought too muchof our success. The typical Jingoes who haveadmired their countrymen too much for beingconquerors will, 4 ubtless, despise their country-men too much for being conquered. But theEnglishman with any feeling for England willknow that athletic failures do not prove thatEngland is weak, any more than athletic successesproved that England was strong. The truth isthat athletics, like all other things, especiallymodern, are insanely individualistic. The English-men who win sporting prizes are exceptionalamong Englishmen, for the simple reason thatthey are exceptional even among men. Englishathletes represent England just about as muchas Mr. Barnum's freaks represent America.. Thereare so few of such people in the whole world thatit is almost a toss-up whether they are fouftd inthis or that country.

If any one wants a simple proof of this, it iseasy to find. When the great English athletes arenot exceptional Englishmen they are generallynot Englishmen at all. Nay, they are often


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PATRIOTISM AND SPORT 5*representatives of races of which the average toneis specially incompatible with athletics. Forinstance, the English are supposed to rule thenatives of India in virtue of their superior hardi-ness, superior activity, superior health of bodyand mind. The Hindus are supposed to be oursubjects because they are less fond of action, lessfond of openness and the open air. In a word,less fond of cricket. And, substantially, this isprobably true, that the Indians are less fond ofcricket. All the same, if you ask among English-men for the very best cricket-player, you willfind that he is an Indian. Or, to take anothercase : it is, broadly speaking, true that the Jewsare, as a race, pacific, intellectual, indifferent towar, like the Indians, or, perhaps, contemptuousof war, like the Chinese : nevertheless, of the verygood prize-fighters, one or two have been Jews.This is one of the strongest instances of theparticular kind of evil that arises from our Englishform of the worship of athletics. It concentratestoo much upon the success of individuals. Itbegan, quite naturally and rightly, with wantingEngland to win. The second stage was that itwanted some Englishmen to win. The third stageWas (in the ecstasy and agony of some special com-petition) that it wanted one particular English-man to win. And the fourth stage was that whenhe had won, it discovered that he was not even anEnglishman.This is one of the points, I think, on whichsomething might really be said for Lord Robertaand his rather vague ideas which vary betweenrifle clubs and conscription. Whatever may be


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PATRIOTISM AND SPORT 53It is a good sign in a nation when such things aredone badly. It shows that all the people are doingthem. And it is a bad sign in a nation when suchthings are done very well, for it shows that only afew experts and eccentrics are doing them, andthat the nation is merely looking on. Supposethat whenever we heard of walking in England italways meant walking forty-five miles a day with-out fatigue. We should be perfectly certain thatonly a few men were walking at all, and that aHthe other British subjects were being wheeledabout in Bath-chairs. But if when we hear ofwalking it means slow walking, painful walking,and frequent fatigue, then we know that the massof the nation still is walking. We know thatEngland is still literally on its feet.The difficulty is therefore that the actual raisingof the standard of athletics has probably beeabad for national athleticism. Instead of thetournament being a healthy melee into which anyordinary man would rush and take his chance,it has become a fenced and guarded tilting-yardfor the collision of particular champions againstwhom no ordinary man would pit himself or evenbe permitted to pit himself. If Waterloo was wonon Eton cricket-fields it was because Eton cricketwas probably much more careless then than it isnow. As long as the game was a game, everybodywanted to join in it. When it becomes an art,every one wants to look at it. When it was frivo-lous it may have won Waterloo : when it wasserious and efficient it lost Magersfontein.

In the Waterloo period there was a generalrough-and-tumble athleticism among average


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54 ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDEnglishmen. It cannot be re-created by cricket,or by conscription, or by any artificial means. Itwas a thing of the soul. It came out of laughter,religion, and the spirit of the place. But it waslike the modern French duel in this that it mighthappen to anybody. If I were a French journalistit might really happen that Monsieur Clemenceaumight challenge me to meet him with pistols. ButI do not think that it is at all likely that Mr.C B. Fry will ever challenge me to meet himwith cricket-bats.

AN ESSAY ON TWO CITIES.A LITTLE while ago I fell out of EnglandA\ into the town of Paris. If a man fell out

of the moon into the town of Paris he wouldknow that it was the capital of a great nation.If, however, he fell (perhaps off some other side ofthe moon) so as to hit the city of London, hewould not know so well that it was the capitalof a great nation ; at any rate, he would notknow that the nation was so great as it is. Thiswould be so even on the assumption that theman from the moon could not read our alpha-bet, as presumably he could not, unless elementaryeducation in* that planet has gone to rather unsus-pected lengths. But it is true that a great part ofthe distinctive quality which separates Paris fromLondon may be even seen in the names. Realdemocrats always insist that England is an aristo-cratic country. Real aristocrats always insist (for


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AN ESSAY ON TWO CITIES 55some mysterious reason) that it is a democraticcountry. But if any one has any real doubt aboutthe matter let him consider simply the names ofthe streets. Nearly all the streets out of theStrand, for instance, are named after the firstname, second name, third name, fourth, fifth,and sixth names of some particular noble family ;after their relations, connections, or places of resi-dence Arundel Street, Norfolk Street, VilliersStreet, Bedford Street, Southampton Street, andany number of others. The names are varied, soas to introduce the same family under all sorts ofdifferent surnames. Thus we have Arundel Streetand also Norfolk Street ; thus we have Bucking-ham Street and also Villiers Street. To say thatthis is not aristocracy is simply intellectual impii-dence. I am an ordinary citizen, and my name isGilbert Keith Chesterton ; and I confess that ifI found three streets in a row in the Strand, thefirst called Gilbert Street, the second Keith Street,and the third Chesterton Street, I should considerthat I had become a somewhat more importantperson in the commonwealth than was altogethergood for its health. If 'Frenchmen ran London(which God forbid !), they would think it quite asludicrous that those streets should be named afterthe Duke of Buckingham as that they should benamed after me. They are streets out of one ofthe main thoroughfares of London. If Frenchmethods were adopted, one of them would becalled Shakspere Street, another Cromwell Street,another Wordsworth Street ; there would bestatues of each of these persons at the end of eachof these streets, and any streets left ove would be


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56 ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDnamed after the date on which the Reform Bill waspassed or the Penny Postage established.Suppose a man tried to find people in Londonby the names of the places. It would make a

fine farce, illustrating our illogicality. Our herohaving nee realised that Buckingham Street wasnamed after the Buckingham family, would natur-ally walk into Buckingham Palace in search ofthe Duke of Buckingham. To his astonishmenthe would meet somebody quite different. Hissimple kinar logic would lead him to suppose thatif he wanted the Duke of Marlborough (whichseems unlikely) he would find him at MarlboroughHouse. He would find the Prince of Wales.When at last he understood that the Marlboroughslive at Blenheim, named after the great Marl-borough's victory, he would, no doubt, go there.But he would again find himself in error if, actingupon this principle,, he tried to find the Duke ofWellington, and told the cabman to drive toWaterloo. I wonder that no one has written awild romance about the adventures of such analien, seeking the great English aristocrats, andonly guided by the names ; looking for the Dukeof Bedford in the town of that name, seeking forsome trace of the Duke of Norfolk in Norfolk.He might sail for Wellington in New Zealand tofind the ancient seat of the Wellingtons. Thelast scene might show him trying to learn Welshin order to converse with the Prince of Wales.But even if the imaginary traveller knew no

alphabet of this earth at all, I think it would stillbe possible to suppose him seeing a differencebetween London and Paris, and, upon the whole,


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58 ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDation we all instinctively celebrate when we writeby preference of children and of boys. If I werean examiner appointed to examine all examiners(which does not at present appear probable), Iwould not only ask the teachers how much know-ledge they had imparted ; I would ask them howmuch splendid and scornful ignorance they haderected, like some royal tower in arms. But, inany case, I would insist that people should have somuch simplicity as would enable them to seethings suddenly and to see things as they are.I do not care so much whether they can readthe names over the shops. I do care very muchwhether they can read the shops. I do notfeel deeply troubled as to whether they can tellwhere London is on the map so long as they cantell where Brixton is on the way home. I do noteven mind whether they can put two and twotogether in the mathematical sense ; I am contentif they can put two and two together in themetaphorical sense. But all this longer statementof an obvious view comes back to the metaphorI have employed. I do not care a dump whether ,they know the alphabet, so long as they know thedumb alphabet.

Unfortunately, I have noticed in many aspectsof our popular education that this is not done atall. One teaches our London children to seeLondon with abrupt and simple eyes. AndLondon is far more difficult to see properly thanany other place. London is a riddle. Paris isan explanation. The education of the Parisianchild is something corresponding to the clearavenues and the exact squares of Paris. When


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FRENCH AND ENGLISH 59the Parisian boy has done learning about theFrench reason and the Roman order he can goout and see the thing repeated in the shapes ofmany shining public places, in the angles ofmany streets. But when the English boy goesout, after learning about a vague progress andidealism, he cannot see it anywhere. He cannotsee anything anywhere, except Sapolio and theDaily Mail. We must either alter London tosuit the ideals of our education, or else alter oureducation to suit the great beauty of London.

FRENCH AND ENGLISHIT is obvious that there is a great deal ofdifference between being international andbeing cosmopolitan. All good men are inter-national. Nearly all bad men are cosmopolitan,If we are to be international we must be national.And it is largely because those who call them-selves the friends of peace have not dwelt suffi-ciently on this distinction that they do not impressthe bulk of any of the nations to which theybelong. International peace means a peace be-tween nations, not a peace after the destructionof nations, like the Buddhist peace after thedestruction of personality. The golden age ofthe good European is like the heaven of theChristian : it is a place where people will loveeach other ; not like the heaven of the Hindu, aplace where they will be each other. And in thecase of national character this can be seen in a


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60 ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDcurious way. It will generally be found, I think,that the more a man really appreciates and admiresthe soul of another people the less he will attemptto imitate it ; he will be conscious that there issomething in it too deep and too unmanageableto imitate. The Englishman who has a fancy forFrance will try to be French ; the Englishman whoadmires France will remain obstinately English.This is to be particularly noticed in the case ofour relations with the French, because it is oneof the outstanding peculiarities of the Frenchthat their vices are all on the surface, and theirextraordinary virtues concealed. One might al-most say that their vices are the flower of theirvirtues.Thus their obscenity is the expression of then-passionate love of dragging all things into the light.The avarice of their peasants means the indepen-dence of their peasants. What the English calltheir rudeness in the streets is a phase of theirsocial equality. The worried look of their womenis connected with the responsibility of their women;and a certain unconscious brutality of hurry andgesture in the men is related to their inexhaustibleand extraordinary military courage. Of all coun-tries, therefore, France is the worst country for asuperficial fool to admire. Let a fool hate France :if the fool loves it he will soon be a knave. He willcertainly admire it, not only for the things thatare not creditable, but actually for the things thatare not there. He will admire the grace and indo-lence of the most industrious people in the world.He will admire the romance and fantasy of themost determinedly respectable and commoDplace


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FRENCH AND ENGLISH 61people in the world. This mistake the Englishmanwill make if he admires France too hastily ; butthe mistake that he makes about France will beslight compared with the mistake that he makesabout himself. An Englishman who professesreally to like French realistic novels, really to beat home in a French modern theatre, really tpexperience no shock on first seeing the savageFrench caricatures, is making a mistake verydangerous for his own sincerity. He is admiringsomething he does not understand. He is reapingwhere he has not sown, and taking up where hehas not laid down ; he is trying to taste the fruitwhen he has never toiled over the tree. Heis trying to pluck the exquisite fruit of Frenchcynicism, when he has never tilled the rude butrich soil of French virtue.The thing can only be made clear to English-men by turning it round. Suppose a Frenchmancame out of democratic France to live in England,where the shadow of the great houses still fallseverywhere, and where even freedom was, in itsorigin, aristocratic. If the Frenchman saw ouraristocracy and liked it, if he saw our snobbishnessand liked it, if he set himself to imitate it, we allknow what we should feel. We all know that weshould feel that that particular Frenchman wasa repulsive little gnat. He would be imitatingEnglish aristocracy ; he would be imitating theEnglish vice. But he would not even understandthe vice he plagiarised: especially he would notunderstand that the vice is partly a virtue. Hewould not understand those elements in theEnglish which balance snobbishness and make it


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6a ALL THINGS CONSIDEREDhuman : the great kindness of the English, theirhospitality, their unconscious poetry, their senti-mental conservatism, which really admires thegentry. The French Royalist sees that the Englishfike their King. But he does not grasp that whileit is base to worship a King, it is almost nobleto worship a powerless King. The impotence ofthe Hanoverian Sovereigns has raised the Englishloyal subject almost to the chivalry and dignityof a Jacobite. The Frenchman sees that theEnglish servant is respectful : he does not realisethat he is also disrespectful ; that there is ah Eng-lish legend of the humorous and faithful servant,who is as much a personality as his master ; theCaleb Balderstone, the Sam Weller. He sees thatthe English do admire a nobleman ; he does notallow for the fact that they admire a noblemanmost when he does not behave like one. Theylike a noble to be unconscious and amiable : theslave may be humble, but the master must notbe proud. The master is Life, as they would liketo enjoy it ; and among the joys they desire inhim there is none which they desire more sincerelythan that of gene

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