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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/12245-0.txt b/12245-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..205421c --- /dev/null +++ b/12245-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2552 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12245 *** + +THE DEFENDANT + +BY G. K. CHESTERTON + +AUTHOR OF 'THE WILD KNIGHT' AND 'GREYBEARDS AT PLAY' + +SECOND EDITION + +LONDON. MDCCCCII + +R. BRIMLEY JOHNSON + + * * * * * + +The 'Defences' of which this volume is composed have appeared in _The +Speaker_, and are here reprinted, after revision and amplification, by +permission of the Editor. Portions of 'The Defence of Publicity' +appeared in _The Daily News_. + +_October_, 1901. + + * * * * * + +CONTENTS + + +IN DEFENCE OF A NEW EDITION + +INTRODUCTION + +A DEFENCE OF PENNY DREADFULS + +A DEFENCE OF RASH VOWS + +A DEFENCE OF SKELETONS + +A DEFENCE OF PUBLICITY + +A DEFENCE OF NONSENSE + +A DEFENCE OF PLANETS + +A DEFENCE OF CHINA SHEPHERDESSES + +A DEFENCE OF USEFUL INFORMATION + +A DEFENCE OF HERALDRY + +A DEFENCE OF UGLY THINGS + +A DEFENCE OF FARCE + +A DEFENCE OF HUMILITY + +A DEFENCE OF SLANG + +A DEFENCE OF BABY-WORSHIP + +A DEFENCE OF DETECTIVE STORIES + +A DEFENCE OF PATRIOTISM + + + * * * * * + + +_IN DEFENCE OF A NEW EDITION + +The reissue of a series of essays so ephemeral and even superfluous may +seem at the first glance to require some excuse; probably the best +excuse is that they will have been completely forgotten, and therefore +may be read again with entirely new sensations. I am not sure, however, +that this claim is so modest as it sounds, for I fancy that Shakespeare +and Balzac, if moved to prayers, might not ask to be remembered, but to +be forgotten, and forgotten thus; for if they were forgotten they would +be everlastingly re-discovered and re-read. It is a monotonous memory +which keeps us in the main from seeing things as splendid as they are. +The ancients were not wrong when they made Lethe the boundary of a +better land; perhaps the only flaw in their system is that a man who had +bathed in the river of forgetfulness would be as likely as not to climb +back upon the bank of the earth and fancy himself in Elysium. + +If, therefore, I am certain that most sensible people have forgotten +the existence of this book--I do not speak in modesty or in pride--I +wish only to state a simple and somewhat beautiful fact. In one respect +the passing of the period during which a book can be considered current +has afflicted me with some melancholy, for I had intended to write +anonymously in some daily paper a thorough and crushing exposure of the +work inspired mostly by a certain artistic impatience of the too +indulgent tone of the critiques and the manner in which a vast number of +my most monstrous fallacies have passed unchallenged. I will not repeat +that powerful article here, for it cannot be necessary to do anything +more than warn the reader against the perfectly indefensible line of +argument adopted at the end of p. 28. I am also conscious that the title +of the book is, strictly speaking, inaccurate. It is a legal metaphor, +and, speaking legally, a defendant is not an enthusiast for the +character of King John or the domestic virtues of the prairie-dog. He is +one who defends himself, a thing which the present writer, however +poisoned his mind may be with paradox, certainly never dreamed of +attempting. + +Criticism upon the book considered as literature, if it can be so +considered, I should, of course, never dream of discussing--firstly, +because it is ridiculous to do so; and, secondly, because there was, in +my opinion, much justice in such criticism. + +But there is one matter on which an author is generally considered as +having a right to explain himself, since it has nothing to do with +capacity or intelligence, and that is the question of his morals. + +I am proud to say that a furious, uncompromising, and very effective +attack was made upon what was alleged to be the utter immorality of this +book by my excellent friend Mr. C.F.G. Masterman, in the 'Speaker.' The +tendency of that criticism was to the effect that I was discouraging +improvement and disguising scandals by my offensive optimism. Quoting +the passage in which I said that 'diamonds were to be found in the +dust-bin,' he said: 'There is no difficulty in finding good in what +humanity rejects. The difficulty is to find it in what humanity accepts. +The diamond is easy enough to find in the dust-bin. The difficulty is to +find it in the drawing-room.' I must admit, for my part, without the +slightest shame, that I have found a great many very excellent things in +drawing-rooms. For example, I found Mr. Masterman in a drawing-room. But +I merely mention this purely ethical attack in order to state, in as few +sentences as possible, my difference from the theory of optimism and +progress therein enunciated. At first sight it would seem that the +pessimist encourages improvement. But in reality it is a singular truth +that the era in which pessimism has been cried from the house-tops is +also that in which almost all reform has stagnated and fallen into +decay. The reason of this is not difficult to discover. No man ever did, +and no man ever can, create or desire to make a bad thing good or an +ugly thing beautiful. There must be some germ of good to be loved, some +fragment of beauty to be admired. The mother washes and decks out the +dirty or careless child, but no one can ask her to wash and deck out a +goblin with a heart like hell. No one can kill the fatted calf for +Mephistopheles. The cause which is blocking all progress today is the +subtle scepticism which whispers in a million ears that things are not +good enough to be worth improving. If the world is good we are +revolutionaries, if the world is evil we must be conservatives. These +essays, futile as they are considered as serious literature, are yet +ethically sincere, since they seek to remind men that things must be +loved first and improved afterwards. + +G. K. C_. + + * * * * * + +THE DEFENDANT + +INTRODUCTION + +In certain endless uplands, uplands like great flats gone dizzy, slopes +that seem to contradict the idea that there is even such a thing as a +level, and make us all realize that we live on a planet with a sloping +roof, you will come from time to time upon whole valleys filled with +loose rocks and boulders, so big as to be like mountains broken loose. +The whole might be an experimental creation shattered and cast away. It +is often difficult to believe that such cosmic refuse can have come +together except by human means. The mildest and most cockney imagination +conceives the place to be the scene of some war of giants. To me it is +always associated with one idea, recurrent and at last instinctive. The +scene was the scene of the stoning of some prehistoric prophet, a +prophet as much more gigantic than after-prophets as the boulders are +more gigantic than the pebbles. He spoke some words--words that seemed +shameful and tremendous--and the world, in terror, buried him under a +wilderness of stones. The place is the monument of an ancient fear. + +If we followed the same mood of fancy, it would be more difficult to +imagine what awful hint or wild picture of the universe called forth +that primal persecution, what secret of sensational thought lies buried +under the brutal stones. For in our time the blasphemies are threadbare. +Pessimism is now patently, as it always was essentially, more +commonplace than piety. Profanity is now more than an affectation--it is +a convention. The curse against God is Exercise I. in the primer of +minor poetry. It was not, assuredly, for such babyish solemnities that +our imaginary prophet was stoned in the morning of the world. If we +weigh the matter in the faultless scales of imagination, if we see what +is the real trend of humanity, we shall feel it most probable that he +was stoned for saying that the grass was green and that the birds sang +in spring; for the mission of all the prophets from the beginning has +not been so much the pointing out of heavens or hells as primarily the +pointing out of the earth. + +Religion has had to provide that longest and strangest telescope--the +telescope through which we could see the star upon which we dwelt. For +the mind and eyes of the average man this world is as lost as Eden and +as sunken as Atlantis. There runs a strange law through the length of +human history--that men are continually tending to undervalue their +environment, to undervalue their happiness, to undervalue themselves. +The great sin of mankind, the sin typified by the fall of Adam, is the +tendency, not towards pride, but towards this weird and horrible +humility. + +This is the great fall, the fall by which the fish forgets the sea, the +ox forgets the meadow, the clerk forgets the city, every man forgets his +environment and, in the fullest and most literal sense, forgets himself. +This is the real fall of Adam, and it is a spiritual fall. It is a +strange thing that many truly spiritual men, such as General Gordon, +have actually spent some hours in speculating upon the precise location +of the Garden of Eden. Most probably we are in Eden still. It is only +our eyes that have changed. + +The pessimist is commonly spoken of as the man in revolt. He is not. +Firstly, because it requires some cheerfulness to continue in revolt, +and secondly, because pessimism appeals to the weaker side of everybody, +and the pessimist, therefore, drives as roaring a trade as the publican. +The person who is really in revolt is the optimist, who generally lives +and dies in a desperate and suicidal effort to persuade all the other +people how good they are. It has been proved a hundred times over that +if you really wish to enrage people and make them angry, even unto +death, the right way to do it is to tell them that they are all the sons +of God. Jesus Christ was crucified, it may be remembered, not because of +anything he said about God, but on a charge of saying that a man could +in three days pull down and rebuild the Temple. Every one of the great +revolutionists, from Isaiah to Shelley, have been optimists. They have +been indignant, not about the badness of existence, but about the +slowness of men in realizing its goodness. The prophet who is stoned is +not a brawler or a marplot. He is simply a rejected lover. He suffers +from an unrequited attachment to things in general. + +It becomes increasingly apparent, therefore, that the world is in a +permanent danger of being misjudged. That this is no fanciful or +mystical idea may be tested by simple examples. The two absolutely basic +words 'good' and 'bad,' descriptive of two primal and inexplicable +sensations, are not, and never have been, used properly. Things that are +bad are not called good by any people who experience them; but things +that are good are called bad by the universal verdict of humanity. + +Let me explain a little: Certain things are bad so far as they go, such +as pain, and no one, not even a lunatic, calls a tooth-ache good in +itself; but a knife which cuts clumsily and with difficulty is called a +bad knife, which it certainly is not. It is only not so good as other +knives to which men have grown accustomed. A knife is never bad except +on such rare occasions as that in which it is neatly and scientifically +planted in the middle of one's back. The coarsest and bluntest knife +which ever broke a pencil into pieces instead of sharpening it is a good +thing in so far as it is a knife. It would have appeared a miracle in +the Stone Age. What we call a bad knife is a good knife not good enough +for us; what we call a bad hat is a good hat not good enough for us; +what we call bad cookery is good cookery not good enough for us; what we +call a bad civilization is a good civilization not good enough for us. +We choose to call the great mass of the history of mankind bad, not +because it is bad, but because we are better. This is palpably an unfair +principle. Ivory may not be so white as snow, but the whole Arctic +continent does not make ivory black. + +Now it has appeared to me unfair that humanity should be engaged +perpetually in calling all those things bad which have been good enough +to make other things better, in everlastingly kicking down the ladder by +which it has climbed. It has appeared to me that progress should be +something else besides a continual parricide; therefore I have +investigated the dust-heaps of humanity, and found a treasure in all of +them. I have found that humanity is not incidentally engaged, but +eternally and systematically engaged, in throwing gold into the gutter +and diamonds into the sea. I have found that every man is disposed to +call the green leaf of the tree a little less green than it is, and the +snow of Christmas a little less white than it is; therefore I have +imagined that the main business of a man, however humble, is defence. I +have conceived that a defendant is chiefly required when worldlings +despise the world--that a counsel for the defence would not have been +out of place in that terrible day when the sun was darkened over Calvary +and Man was rejected of men. + + + * * * * * + + +A DEFENCE OF PENNY DREADFULS + + +One of the strangest examples of the degree to which ordinary life is +undervalued is the example of popular literature, the vast mass of which +we contentedly describe as vulgar. The boy's novelette may be ignorant +in a literary sense, which is only like saying that a modern novel is +ignorant in the chemical sense, or the economic sense, or the +astronomical sense; but it is not vulgar intrinsically--it is the actual +centre of a million flaming imaginations. + +In former centuries the educated class ignored the ruck of vulgar +literature. They ignored, and therefore did not, properly speaking, +despise it. Simple ignorance and indifference does not inflate the +character with pride. A man does not walk down the street giving a +haughty twirl to his moustaches at the thought of his superiority to +some variety of deep-sea fishes. The old scholars left the whole +under-world of popular compositions in a similar darkness. + +To-day, however, we have reversed this principle. We do despise vulgar +compositions, and we do not ignore them. We are in some danger of +becoming petty in our study of pettiness; there is a terrible Circean +law in the background that if the soul stoops too ostentatiously to +examine anything it never gets up again. There is no class of vulgar +publications about which there is, to my mind, more utterly ridiculous +exaggeration and misconception than the current boys' literature of the +lowest stratum. This class of composition has presumably always existed, +and must exist. It has no more claim to be good literature than the +daily conversation of its readers to be fine oratory, or the +lodging-houses and tenements they inhabit to be sublime architecture. +But people must have conversation, they must have houses, and they must +have stories. The simple need for some kind of ideal world in which +fictitious persons play an unhampered part is infinitely deeper and +older than the rules of good art, and much more important. Every one of +us in childhood has constructed such an invisible _dramatis personæ_, +but it never occurred to our nurses to correct the composition by +careful comparison with Balzac. In the East the professional +story-teller goes from village to village with a small carpet; and I +wish sincerely that anyone had the moral courage to spread that carpet +and sit on it in Ludgate Circus. But it is not probable that all the +tales of the carpet-bearer are little gems of original artistic +workmanship. Literature and fiction are two entirely different things. +Literature is a luxury; fiction is a necessity. A work of art can hardly +be too short, for its climax is its merit. A story can never be too +long, for its conclusion is merely to be deplored, like the last +halfpenny or the last pipelight. And so, while the increase of the +artistic conscience tends in more ambitious works to brevity and +impressionism, voluminous industry still marks the producer of the true +romantic trash. There was no end to the ballads of Robin Hood; there is +no end to the volumes about Dick Deadshot and the Avenging Nine. These +two heroes are deliberately conceived as immortal. + +But instead of basing all discussion of the problem upon the +common-sense recognition of this fact--that the youth of the lower +orders always has had and always must have formless and endless romantic +reading of some kind, and then going on to make provision for its +wholesomeness--we begin, generally speaking, by fantastic abuse of this +reading as a whole and indignant surprise that the errand-boys under +discussion do not read 'The Egoist' and 'The Master Builder.' It is the +custom, particularly among magistrates, to attribute half the crimes of +the Metropolis to cheap novelettes. If some grimy urchin runs away with +an apple, the magistrate shrewdly points out that the child's knowledge +that apples appease hunger is traceable to some curious literary +researches. The boys themselves, when penitent, frequently accuse the +novelettes with great bitterness, which is only to be expected from +young people possessed of no little native humour. If I had forged a +will, and could obtain sympathy by tracing the incident to the influence +of Mr. George Moore's novels, I should find the greatest entertainment +in the diversion. At any rate, it is firmly fixed in the minds of most +people that gutter-boys, unlike everybody else in the community, find +their principal motives for conduct in printed books. + +Now it is quite clear that this objection, the objection brought by +magistrates, has nothing to do with literary merit. Bad story writing is +not a crime. Mr. Hall Caine walks the streets openly, and cannot be put +in prison for an anticlimax. The objection rests upon the theory that +the tone of the mass of boys' novelettes is criminal and degraded, +appealing to low cupidity and low cruelty. This is the magisterial +theory, and this is rubbish. + +So far as I have seen them, in connection with the dirtiest book-stalls +in the poorest districts, the facts are simply these: The whole +bewildering mass of vulgar juvenile literature is concerned with +adventures, rambling, disconnected and endless. It does not express any +passion of any sort, for there is no human character of any sort. It +runs eternally in certain grooves of local and historical type: the +medieval knight, the eighteenth-century duellist, and the modern cowboy, +recur with the same stiff simplicity as the conventional human figures +in an Oriental pattern. I can quite as easily imagine a human being +kindling wild appetites by the contemplation of his Turkey carpet as by +such dehumanized and naked narrative as this. + +Among these stories there are a certain number which deal +sympathetically with the adventures of robbers, outlaws and pirates, +which present in a dignified and romantic light thieves and murderers +like Dick Turpin and Claude Duval. That is to say, they do precisely the +same thing as Scott's 'Ivanhoe,' Scott's 'Rob Roy,' Scott's 'Lady of +the Lake,' Byron's 'Corsair,' Wordsworth's 'Rob Roy's Grave,' +Stevenson's 'Macaire,' Mr. Max Pemberton's 'Iron Pirate,' and a thousand +more works distributed systematically as prizes and Christmas presents. +Nobody imagines that an admiration of Locksley in 'Ivanhoe' will lead a +boy to shoot Japanese arrows at the deer in Richmond Park; no one thinks +that the incautious opening of Wordsworth at the poem on Rob Roy will +set him up for life as a blackmailer. In the case of our own class, we +recognise that this wild life is contemplated with pleasure by the +young, not because it is like their own life, but because it is +different from it. It might at least cross our minds that, for whatever +other reason the errand-boy reads 'The Red Revenge,' it really is not +because he is dripping with the gore of his own friends and relatives. + +In this matter, as in all such matters, we lose our bearings entirely by +speaking of the 'lower classes' when we mean humanity minus ourselves. +This trivial romantic literature is not especially plebeian: it is +simply human. The philanthropist can never forget classes and callings. +He says, with a modest swagger, 'I have invited twenty-five factory +hands to tea.' If he said 'I have invited twenty-five chartered +accountants to tea,' everyone would see the humour of so simple a +classification. But this is what we have done with this lumberland of +foolish writing: we have probed, as if it were some monstrous new +disease, what is, in fact, nothing but the foolish and valiant heart of +man. Ordinary men will always be sentimentalists: for a sentimentalist +is simply a man who has feelings and does not trouble to invent a new +way of expressing them. These common and current publications have +nothing essentially evil about them. They express the sanguine and +heroic truisms on which civilization is built; for it is clear that +unless civilization is built on truisms, it is not built at all. +Clearly, there could be no safety for a society in which the remark by +the Chief Justice that murder was wrong was regarded as an original and +dazzling epigram. + +If the authors and publishers of 'Dick Deadshot,' and such remarkable +works, were suddenly to make a raid upon the educated class, were to +take down the names of every man, however distinguished, who was caught +at a University Extension Lecture, were to confiscate all our novels and +warn us all to correct our lives, we should be seriously annoyed. Yet +they have far more right to do so than we; for they, with all their +idiotcy, are normal and we are abnormal. It is the modern literature of +the educated, not of the uneducated, which is avowedly and aggressively +criminal. Books recommending profligacy and pessimism, at which the +high-souled errand-boy would shudder, lie upon all our drawing-room +tables. If the dirtiest old owner of the dirtiest old bookstall in +Whitechapel dared to display works really recommending polygamy or +suicide, his stock would be seized by the police. These things are our +luxuries. And with a hypocrisy so ludicrous as to be almost unparalleled +in history, we rate the gutter-boys for their immorality at the very +time that we are discussing (with equivocal German Professors) whether +morality is valid at all. At the very instant that we curse the Penny +Dreadful for encouraging thefts upon property, we canvass the +proposition that all property is theft. At the very instant we accuse it +(quite unjustly) of lubricity and indecency, we are cheerfully reading +philosophies which glory in lubricity and indecency. At the very instant +that we charge it with encouraging the young to destroy life, we are +placidly discussing whether life is worth preserving. + +But it is we who are the morbid exceptions; it is we who are the +criminal class. This should be our great comfort. The vast mass of +humanity, with their vast mass of idle books and idle words, have never +doubted and never will doubt that courage is splendid, that fidelity is +noble, that distressed ladies should be rescued, and vanquished enemies +spared. There are a large number of cultivated persons who doubt these +maxims of daily life, just as there are a large number of persons who +believe they are the Prince of Wales; and I am told that both classes of +people are entertaining conversationalists. But the average man or boy +writes daily in these great gaudy diaries of his soul, which we call +Penny Dreadfuls, a plainer and better gospel than any of those +iridescent ethical paradoxes that the fashionable change as often as +their bonnets. It may be a very limited aim in morality to shoot a +'many-faced and fickle traitor,' but at least it is a better aim than to +be a many-faced and fickle traitor, which is a simple summary of a good +many modern systems from Mr. d'Annunzio's downwards. So long as the +coarse and thin texture of mere current popular romance is not touched +by a paltry culture it will never be vitally immoral. It is always on +the side of life. The poor--the slaves who really stoop under the +burden of life--have often been mad, scatter-brained and cruel, but +never hopeless. That is a class privilege, like cigars. Their drivelling +literature will always be a 'blood and thunder' literature, as simple as +the thunder of heaven and the blood of men. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF RASH VOWS + +If a prosperous modern man, with a high hat and a frock-coat, were to +solemnly pledge himself before all his clerks and friends to count the +leaves on every third tree in Holland Walk, to hop up to the City on one +leg every Thursday, to repeat the whole of Mill's 'Liberty' seventy-six +times, to collect 300 dandelions in fields belonging to anyone of the +name of Brown, to remain for thirty-one hours holding his left ear in +his right hand, to sing the names of all his aunts in order of age on +the top of an omnibus, or make any such unusual undertaking, we should +immediately conclude that the man was mad, or, as it is sometimes +expressed, was 'an artist in life.' Yet these vows are not more +extraordinary than the vows which in the Middle Ages and in similar +periods were made, not by fanatics merely, but by the greatest figures +in civic and national civilization--by kings, judges, poets, and +priests. One man swore to chain two mountains together, and the great +chain hung there, it was said, for ages as a monument of that mystical +folly. Another swore that he would find his way to Jerusalem with a +patch over his eyes, and died looking for it. It is not easy to see that +these two exploits, judged from a strictly rational standpoint, are any +saner than the acts above suggested. A mountain is commonly a stationary +and reliable object which it is not necessary to chain up at night like +a dog. And it is not easy at first sight to see that a man pays a very +high compliment to the Holy City by setting out for it under conditions +which render it to the last degree improbable that he will ever get +there. + +But about this there is one striking thing to be noticed. If men behaved +in that way in our time, we should, as we have said, regard them as +symbols of the 'decadence.' But the men who did these things were not +decadent; they belonged generally to the most robust classes of what is +generally regarded as a robust age. Again, it will be urged that if men +essentially sane performed such insanities, it was under the capricious +direction of a superstitious religious system. This, again, will not +hold water; for in the purely terrestrial and even sensual departments +of life, such as love and lust, the medieval princes show the same mad +promises and performances, the same misshapen imagination and the same +monstrous self-sacrifice. Here we have a contradiction, to explain which +it is necessary to think of the whole nature of vows from the beginning. +And if we consider seriously and correctly the nature of vows, we shall, +unless I am much mistaken, come to the conclusion that it is perfectly +sane, and even sensible, to swear to chain mountains together, and that, +if insanity is involved at all, it is a little insane not to do so. + +The man who makes a vow makes an appointment with himself at some +distant time or place. The danger of it is that himself should not keep +the appointment. And in modern times this terror of one's self, of the +weakness and mutability of one's self, has perilously increased, and is +the real basis of the objection to vows of any kind. A modern man +refrains from swearing to count the leaves on every third tree in +Holland Walk, not because it is silly to do so (he does many sillier +things), but because he has a profound conviction that before he had got +to the three hundred and seventy-ninth leaf on the first tree he would +be excessively tired of the subject and want to go home to tea. In other +words, we fear that by that time he will be, in the common but hideously +significant phrase, _another man_. Now, it is this horrible fairy tale +of a man constantly changing into other men that is the soul of the +Decadence. That John Paterson should, with apparent calm, look forward +to being a certain General Barker on Monday, Dr. Macgregor on Tuesday, +Sir Walter Carstairs on Wednesday, and Sam Slugg on Thursday, may seem a +nightmare; but to that nightmare we give the name of modern culture. One +great decadent, who is now dead, published a poem some time ago, in +which he powerfully summed up the whole spirit of the movement by +declaring that he could stand in the prison yard and entirely comprehend +the feelings of a man about to be hanged: + + 'For he that lives more lives than one + More deaths than one must die.' + +And the end of all this is that maddening horror of unreality which +descends upon the decadents, and compared with which physical pain +itself would have the freshness of a youthful thing. The one hell which +imagination must conceive as most hellish is to be eternally acting a +play without even the narrowest and dirtiest greenroom in which to be +human. And this is the condition of the decadent, of the aesthete, of +the free-lover. To be everlastingly passing through dangers which we +know cannot scathe us, to be taking oaths which we know cannot bind us, +to be defying enemies who we know cannot conquer us--this is the +grinning tyranny of decadence which is called freedom. + +Let us turn, on the other hand, to the maker of vows. The man who made a +vow, however wild, gave a healthy and natural expression to the +greatness of a great moment. He vowed, for example, to chain two +mountains together, perhaps a symbol of some great relief, or love, or +aspiration. Short as the moment of his resolve might be, it was, like +all great moments, a moment of immortality, and the desire to say of it +_exegi monumentum oere perennius_ was the only sentiment that would +satisfy his mind. The modern aesthetic man would, of course, easily see +the emotional opportunity; he would vow to chain two mountains together. +But, then, he would quite as cheerfully vow to chain the earth to the +moon. And the withering consciousness that he did not mean what he said, +that he was, in truth, saying nothing of any great import, would take +from him exactly that sense of daring actuality which is the excitement +of a vow. For what could be more maddening than an existence in which +our mother or aunt received the information that we were going to +assassinate the King or build a temple on Ben Nevis with the genial +composure of custom? + +The revolt against vows has been carried in our day even to the extent +of a revolt against the typical vow of marriage. It is most amusing to +listen to the opponents of marriage on this subject. They appear to +imagine that the ideal of constancy was a yoke mysteriously imposed on +mankind by the devil, instead of being, as it is, a yoke consistently +imposed by all lovers on themselves. They have invented a +phrase, a phrase that is a black and white contradiction in two +words--'free-love'--as if a lover ever had been, or ever could be, free. +It is the nature of love to bind itself, and the institution of marriage +merely paid the average man the compliment of taking him at his word. +Modern sages offer to the lover, with an ill-flavoured grin, the largest +liberties and the fullest irresponsibility; but they do not respect him +as the old Church respected him; they do not write his oath upon the +heavens, as the record of his highest moment. They give him every +liberty except the liberty to sell his liberty, which is the only one +that he wants. + +In Mr. Bernard Shaw's brilliant play 'The Philanderer,' we have a vivid +picture of this state of things. Charteris is a man perpetually +endeavouring to be a free-lover, which is like endeavouring to be a +married bachelor or a white negro. He is wandering in a hungry search +for a certain exhilaration which he can only have when he has the +courage to cease from wandering. Men knew better than this in old +times--in the time, for example, of Shakespeare's heroes. When +Shakespeare's men are really celibate they praise the undoubted +advantages of celibacy, liberty, irresponsibility, a chance of continual +change. But they were not such fools as to continue to talk of liberty +when they were in such a condition that they could be made happy or +miserable by the moving of someone else's eyebrow. Suckling classes love +with debt in his praise of freedom. + + 'And he that's fairly out of both + Of all the world is blest. + He lives as in the golden age, + When all things made were common; + He takes his pipe, he takes his glass, + He fears no man or woman.' + +This is a perfectly possible, rational and manly position. But what have +lovers to do with ridiculous affectations of fearing no man or woman? +They know that in the turning of a hand the whole cosmic engine to the +remotest star may become an instrument of music or an instrument of +torture. They hear a song older than Suckling's, that has survived a +hundred philosophies. 'Who is this that looketh out of the window, fair +as the sun, clear as the moon, terrible as an army with banners?' + +As we have said, it is exactly this backdoor, this sense of having a +retreat behind us, that is, to our minds, the sterilizing spirit in +modern pleasure. Everywhere there is the persistent and insane attempt +to obtain pleasure without paying for it. Thus, in politics the modern +Jingoes practically say, 'Let us have the pleasures of conquerors +without the pains of soldiers: let us sit on sofas and be a hardy race.' +Thus, in religion and morals, the decadent mystics say: 'Let us have the +fragrance of sacred purity without the sorrows of self-restraint; let us +sing hymns alternately to the Virgin and Priapus.' Thus in love the +free-lovers say: 'Let us have the splendour of offering ourselves +without the peril of committing ourselves; let us see whether one cannot +commit suicide an unlimited number of times.' + +Emphatically it will not work. There are thrilling moments, doubtless, +for the spectator, the amateur, and the aesthete; but there is one +thrill that is known only to the soldier who fights for his own flag, to +the ascetic who starves himself for his own illumination, to the lover +who makes finally his own choice. And it is this transfiguring +self-discipline that makes the vow a truly sane thing. It must have +satisfied even the giant hunger of the soul of a lover or a poet to know +that in consequence of some one instant of decision that strange chain +would hang for centuries in the Alps among the silences of stars and +snows. All around us is the city of small sins, abounding in backways +and retreats, but surely, sooner or later, the towering flame will rise +from the harbour announcing that the reign of the cowards is over and a +man is burning his ships. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF SKELETONS + + +Some little time ago I stood among immemorial English trees that seemed +to take hold upon the stars like a brood of Ygdrasils. As I walked among +these living pillars I became gradually aware that the rustics who lived +and died in their shadow adopted a very curious conversational tone. +They seemed to be constantly apologizing for the trees, as if they were +a very poor show. After elaborate investigation, I discovered that their +gloomy and penitent tone was traceable to the fact that it was winter +and all the trees were bare. I assured them that I did not resent the +fact that it was winter, that I knew the thing had happened before, and +that no forethought on their part could have averted this blow of +destiny. But I could not in any way reconcile them to the fact that it +_was_ winter. There was evidently a general feeling that I had caught +the trees in a kind of disgraceful deshabille, and that they ought not +to be seen until, like the first human sinners, they had covered +themselves with leaves. So it is quite clear that, while very few +people appear to know anything of how trees look in winter, the actual +foresters know less than anyone. So far from the line of the tree when +it is bare appearing harsh and severe, it is luxuriantly indefinable to +an unusual degree; the fringe of the forest melts away like a vignette. +The tops of two or three high trees when they are leafless are so soft +that they seem like the gigantic brooms of that fabulous lady who was +sweeping the cobwebs off the sky. The outline of a leafy forest is in +comparison hard, gross and blotchy; the clouds of night do not more +certainly obscure the moon than those green and monstrous clouds obscure +the tree; the actual sight of the little wood, with its gray and silver +sea of life, is entirely a winter vision. So dim and delicate is the +heart of the winter woods, a kind of glittering gloaming, that a figure +stepping towards us in the chequered twilight seems as if he were +breaking through unfathomable depths of spiders' webs. + +But surely the idea that its leaves are the chief grace of a tree is a +vulgar one, on a par with the idea that his hair is the chief grace of a +pianist. When winter, that healthy ascetic, carries his gigantic razor +over hill and valley, and shaves all the trees like monks, we feel +surely that they are all the more like trees if they are shorn, just as +so many painters and musicians would be all the more like men if they +were less like mops. But it does appear to be a deep and essential +difficulty that men have an abiding terror of their own structure, or of +the structure of things they love. This is felt dimly in the skeleton of +the tree: it is felt profoundly in the skeleton of the man. + +The importance of the human skeleton is very great, and the horror with +which it is commonly regarded is somewhat mysterious. Without claiming +for the human skeleton a wholly conventional beauty, we may assert that +he is certainly not uglier than a bull-dog, whose popularity never +wanes, and that he has a vastly more cheerful and ingratiating +expression. But just as man is mysteriously ashamed of the skeletons of +the trees in winter, so he is mysteriously ashamed of the skeleton of +himself in death. It is a singular thing altogether, this horror of the +architecture of things. One would think it would be most unwise in a man +to be afraid of a skeleton, since Nature has set curious and quite +insuperable obstacles to his running away from it. + +One ground exists for this terror: a strange idea has infected humanity +that the skeleton is typical of death. A man might as well say that a +factory chimney was typical of bankruptcy. The factory may be left naked +after ruin, the skeleton may be left naked after bodily dissolution; but +both of them have had a lively and workmanlike life of their own, all +the pulleys creaking, all the wheels turning, in the House of Livelihood +as in the House of Life. There is no reason why this creature (new, as I +fancy, to art), the living skeleton, should not become the essential +symbol of life. + +The truth is that man's horror of the skeleton is not horror of death at +all. It is man's eccentric glory that he has not, generally speaking, +any objection to being dead, but has a very serious objection to being +undignified. And the fundamental matter which troubles him in the +skeleton is the reminder that the ground-plan of his appearance is +shamelessly grotesque. I do not know why he should object to this. He +contentedly takes his place in a world that does not pretend to be +genteel--a laughing, working, jeering world. He sees millions of animals +carrying, with quite a dandified levity, the most monstrous shapes and +appendages, the most preposterous horns, wings, and legs, when they are +necessary to utility. He sees the good temper of the frog, the +unaccountable happiness of the hippopotamus. He sees a whole universe +which is ridiculous, from the animalcule, with a head too big for its +body, up to the comet, with a tail too big for its head. But when it +comes to the delightful oddity of his own inside, his sense of humour +rather abruptly deserts him. + +In the Middle Ages and in the Renaissance (which was, in certain times +and respects, a much gloomier period) this idea of the skeleton had a +vast influence in freezing the pride out of all earthly pomps and the +fragrance out of all fleeting pleasures. But it was not, surely, the +mere dread of death that did this, for these were ages in which men went +to meet death singing; it was the idea of the degradation of man in the +grinning ugliness of his structure that withered the juvenile insolence +of beauty and pride. And in this it almost assuredly did more good than +harm. There is nothing so cold or so pitiless as youth, and youth in +aristocratic stations and ages tended to an impeccable dignity, an +endless summer of success which needed to be very sharply reminded of +the scorn of the stars. It was well that such flamboyant prigs should be +convinced that one practical joke, at least, would bowl them over, that +they would fall into one grinning man-trap, and not rise again. That the +whole structure of their existence was as wholesomely ridiculous as that +of a pig or a parrot they could not be expected to realize; that birth +was humorous, coming of age humorous, drinking and fighting humorous, +they were far too young and solemn to know. But at least they were +taught that death was humorous. + +There is a peculiar idea abroad that the value and fascination of what +we call Nature lie in her beauty. But the fact that Nature is beautiful +in the sense that a dado or a Liberty curtain is beautiful, is only one +of her charms, and almost an accidental one. The highest and most +valuable quality in Nature is not her beauty, but her generous and +defiant ugliness. A hundred instances might be taken. The croaking noise +of the rooks is, in itself, as hideous as the whole hell of sounds in a +London railway tunnel. Yet it uplifts us like a trumpet with its coarse +kindliness and honesty, and the lover in 'Maud' could actually persuade +himself that this abominable noise resembled his lady-love's name. Has +the poet, for whom Nature means only roses and lilies, ever heard a pig +grunting? It is a noise that does a man good--a strong, snorting, +imprisoned noise, breaking its way out of unfathomable dungeons through +every possible outlet and organ. It might be the voice of the earth +itself, snoring in its mighty sleep. This is the deepest, the oldest, +the most wholesome and religious sense of the value of Nature--the value +which comes from her immense babyishness. She is as top-heavy, as +grotesque, as solemn and as happy as a child. The mood does come when we +see all her shapes like shapes that a baby scrawls upon a slate--simple, +rudimentary, a million years older and stronger than the whole disease +that is called Art. The objects of earth and heaven seem to combine into +a nursery tale, and our relation to things seems for a moment so simple +that a dancing lunatic would be needed to do justice to its lucidity and +levity. The tree above my head is flapping like some gigantic bird +standing on one leg; the moon is like the eye of a Cyclops. And, however +much my face clouds with sombre vanity, or vulgar vengeance, or +contemptible contempt, the bones of my skull beneath it are laughing for +ever. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF PUBLICITY + + +It is a very significant fact that the form of art in which the modern +world has certainly not improved upon the ancient is what may roughly be +called the art of the open air. Public monuments have certainly not +improved, nor has the criticism of them improved, as is evident from the +fashion of condemning such a large number of them as pompous. An +interesting essay might be written on the enormous number of words that +are used as insults when they are really compliments. It is in itself a +singular study in that tendency which, as I have said, is always making +things out worse than they are, and necessitating a systematic attitude +of defence. Thus, for example, some dramatic critics cast contempt upon +a dramatic performance by calling it theatrical, which simply means that +it is suitable to a theatre, and is as much a compliment as calling a +poem poetical. Similarly we speak disdainfully of a certain kind of work +as sentimental, which simply means possessing the admirable and +essential quality of sentiment. Such phrases are all parts of one +peddling and cowardly philosophy, and remind us of the days when +'enthusiast' was a term of reproach. But of all this vocabulary of +unconscious eulogies nothing is more striking than the word 'pompous.' + +Properly speaking, of course, a public monument ought to be pompous. +Pomp is its very object; it would be absurd to have columns and pyramids +blushing in some coy nook like violets in the woods of spring. And +public monuments have in this matter a great and much-needed lesson to +teach. Valour and mercy and the great enthusiasms ought to be a great +deal more public than they are at present. We are too fond nowadays of +committing the sin of fear and calling it the virtue of reverence. We +have forgotten the old and wholesome morality of the Book of Proverbs, +'Wisdom crieth without; her voice is heard in the streets.' In Athens +and Florence her voice was heard in the streets. They had an outdoor +life of war and argument, and they had what modern commercial +civilization has never had--an outdoor art. Religious services, the most +sacred of all things, have always been held publicly; it is entirely a +new and debased notion that sanctity is the same as secrecy. A great +many modern poets, with the most abstruse and delicate sensibilities, +love darkness, when all is said and done, much for the same reason that +thieves love it. The mission of a great spire or statue should be to +strike the spirit with a sudden sense of pride as with a thunderbolt. It +should lift us with it into the empty and ennobling air. Along the base +of every noble monument, whatever else may be written there, runs in +invisible letters the lines of Swinburne: + + 'This thing is God: + To be man with thy might, + To go straight in the strength of thy spirit, and live + out thy life in the light.' + +If a public monument does not meet this first supreme and obvious need, +that it should be public and monumental, it fails from the outset. + +There has arisen lately a school of realistic sculpture, which may +perhaps be better described as a school of sketchy sculpture. Such a +movement was right and inevitable as a reaction from the mean and dingy +pomposity of English Victorian statuary. Perhaps the most hideous and +depressing object in the universe--far more hideous and depressing than +one of Mr. H.G. Wells's shapeless monsters of the slime (and not at all +unlike them)--is the statue of an English philanthropist. Almost as bad, +though, of course, not quite as bad, are the statues of English +politicians in Parliament Fields. Each of them is cased in a cylindrical +frock-coat, and each carries either a scroll or a dubious-looking +garment over the arm that might be either a bathing-towel or a light +great-coat. Each of them is in an oratorical attitude, which has all the +disadvantage of being affected without even any of the advantages of +being theatrical. Let no one suppose that such abortions arise merely +from technical demerit. In every line of those leaden dolls is expressed +the fact that they were not set up with any heat of natural enthusiasm +for beauty or dignity. They were set up mechanically, because it would +seem indecorous or stingy if they were not set up. They were even set up +sulkily, in a utilitarian age which was haunted by the thought that +there were a great many more sensible ways of spending money. So long as +this is the dominant national sentiment, the land is barren, statues and +churches will not grow--for they have to grow, as much as trees and +flowers. But this moral disadvantage which lay so heavily upon the early +Victorian sculpture lies in a modified degree upon that rough, +picturesque, commonplace sculpture which has begun to arise, and of +which the statue of Darwin in the South Kensington Museum and the statue +of Gordon in Trafalgar Square are admirable examples. It is not enough +for a popular monument to be artistic, like a black charcoal sketch; it +must be striking; it must be in the highest sense of the word +sensational; it must stand for humanity; it must speak for us to the +stars; it must declare in the face of all the heavens that when the +longest and blackest catalogue has been made of all our crimes and +follies there are some things of which we men are not ashamed. + +The two modes of commemorating a public man are a statue and a +biography. They are alike in certain respects, as, for example, in the +fact that neither of them resembles the original, and that both of them +commonly tone down not only all a man's vices, but all the more amusing +of his virtues. But they are treated in one respect differently. We +never hear anything about biography without hearing something about the +sanctity of private life and the necessity for suppressing the whole of +the most important part of a man's existence. The sculptor does not work +at this disadvantage. The sculptor does not leave out the nose of an +eminent philanthropist because it is too beautiful to be given to the +public; he does not depict a statesman with a sack over his head because +his smile was too sweet to be endurable in the light of day. But in +biography the thesis is popularly and solidly maintained, so that it +requires some courage even to hint a doubt of it, that the better a man +was, the more truly human life he led, the less should be said about it. + +For this idea, this modern idea that sanctity is identical with secrecy, +there is one thing at least to be said. It is for all practical purposes +an entirely new idea; it was unknown to all the ages in which the idea +of sanctity really flourished. The record of the great spiritual +movements of mankind is dead against the idea that spirituality is a +private matter. The most awful secret of every man's soul, its most +lonely and individual need, its most primal and psychological +relationship, the thing called worship, the communication between the +soul and the last reality--this most private matter is the most public +spectacle in the world. Anyone who chooses to walk into a large church +on Sunday morning may see a hundred men each alone with his Maker. He +stands, in truth, in the presence of one of the strangest spectacles in +the world--a mob of hermits. And in thus definitely espousing publicity +by making public the most internal mystery, Christianity acts in +accordance with its earliest origins and its terrible beginning. It was +surely by no accident that the spectacle which darkened the sun at +noonday was set upon a hill. The martyrdoms of the early Christians were +public not only by the caprice of the oppressor, but by the whole desire +and conception of the victims. + +The mere grammatical meaning of the word 'martyr' breaks into pieces at +a blow the whole notion of the privacy of goodness. The Christian +martyrdoms were more than demonstrations: they were advertisements. In +our day the new theory of spiritual delicacy would desire to alter all +this. It would permit Christ to be crucified if it was necessary to His +Divine nature, but it would ask in the name of good taste why He could +not be crucified in a private room. It would declare that the act of a +martyr in being torn in pieces by lions was vulgar and sensational, +though, of course, it would have no objection to being torn in pieces by +a lion in one's own parlour before a circle of really intimate friends. + +It is, I am inclined to think, a decadent and diseased purity which has +inaugurated this notion that the sacred object must be hidden. The stars +have never lost their sanctity, and they are more shameless and naked +and numerous than advertisements of Pears' soap. It would be a strange +world indeed if Nature was suddenly stricken with this ethereal shame, +if the trees grew with their roots in the air and their load of leaves +and blossoms underground, if the flowers closed at dawn and opened at +sunset, if the sunflower turned towards the darkness, and the birds +flew, like bats, by night. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF NONSENSE + + +There are two equal and eternal ways of looking at this twilight world +of ours: we may see it as the twilight of evening or the twilight of +morning; we may think of anything, down to a fallen acorn, as a +descendant or as an ancestor. There are times when we are almost +crushed, not so much with the load of the evil as with the load of the +goodness of humanity, when we feel that we are nothing but the +inheritors of a humiliating splendour. But there are other times when +everything seems primitive, when the ancient stars are only sparks blown +from a boy's bonfire, when the whole earth seems so young and +experimental that even the white hair of the aged, in the fine biblical +phrase, is like almond-trees that blossom, like the white hawthorn grown +in May. That it is good for a man to realize that he is 'the heir of all +the ages' is pretty commonly admitted; it is a less popular but equally +important point that it is good for him sometimes to realize that he is +not only an ancestor, but an ancestor of primal antiquity; it is good +for him to wonder whether he is not a hero, and to experience ennobling +doubts as to whether he is not a solar myth. + +The matters which most thoroughly evoke this sense of the abiding +childhood of the world are those which are really fresh, abrupt and +inventive in any age; and if we were asked what was the best proof of +this adventurous youth in the nineteenth century we should say, with all +respect to its portentous sciences and philosophies, that it was to be +found in the rhymes of Mr. Edward Lear and in the literature of +nonsense. 'The Dong with the Luminous Nose,' at least, is original, as +the first ship and the first plough were original. + +It is true in a certain sense that some of the greatest writers the +world has seen--Aristophanes, Rabelais and Sterne--have written +nonsense; but unless we are mistaken, it is in a widely different sense. +The nonsense of these men was satiric--that is to say, symbolic; it was +a kind of exuberant capering round a discovered truth. There is all the +difference in the world between the instinct of satire, which, seeing in +the Kaiser's moustaches something typical of him, draws them continually +larger and larger; and the instinct of nonsense which, for no reason +whatever, imagines what those moustaches would look like on the present +Archbishop of Canterbury if he grew them in a fit of absence of mind. We +incline to think that no age except our own could have understood that +the Quangle-Wangle meant absolutely nothing, and the Lands of the +Jumblies were absolutely nowhere. We fancy that if the account of the +knave's trial in 'Alice in Wonderland' had been published in the +seventeenth century it would have been bracketed with Bunyan's 'Trial of +Faithful' as a parody on the State prosecutions of the time. We fancy +that if 'The Dong with the Luminous Nose' had appeared in the same +period everyone would have called it a dull satire on Oliver Cromwell. + +It is altogether advisedly that we quote chiefly from Mr. Lear's +'Nonsense Rhymes.' To our mind he is both chronologically and +essentially the father of nonsense; we think him superior to Lewis +Carroll. In one sense, indeed, Lewis Carroll has a great advantage. We +know what Lewis Carroll was in daily life: he was a singularly serious +and conventional don, universally respected, but very much of a pedant +and something of a Philistine. Thus his strange double life in earth and +in dreamland emphasizes the idea that lies at the back of nonsense--the +idea of _escape_, of escape into a world where things are not fixed +horribly in an eternal appropriateness, where apples grow on pear-trees, +and any odd man you meet may have three legs. Lewis Carroll, living one +life in which he would have thundered morally against any one who walked +on the wrong plot of grass, and another life in which he would +cheerfully call the sun green and the moon blue, was, by his very +divided nature, his one foot on both worlds, a perfect type of the +position of modern nonsense. His Wonderland is a country populated by +insane mathematicians. We feel the whole is an escape into a world of +masquerade; we feel that if we could pierce their disguises, we might +discover that Humpty Dumpty and the March Hare were Professors and +Doctors of Divinity enjoying a mental holiday. This sense of escape is +certainly less emphatic in Edward Lear, because of the completeness of +his citizenship in the world of unreason. We do not know his prosaic +biography as we know Lewis Carroll's. We accept him as a purely fabulous +figure, on his own description of himself: + + 'His body is perfectly spherical, + He weareth a runcible hat.' + +While Lewis Carroll's Wonderland is purely intellectual, Lear +introduces quite another element--the element of the poetical and even +emotional. Carroll works by the pure reason, but this is not so strong a +contrast; for, after all, mankind in the main has always regarded reason +as a bit of a joke. Lear introduces his unmeaning words and his +amorphous creatures not with the pomp of reason, but with the romantic +prelude of rich hues and haunting rhythms. + + 'Far and few, far and few, + Are the lands where the Jumblies live,' + +is an entirely different type of poetry to that exhibited in +'Jabberwocky.' Carroll, with a sense of mathematical neatness, makes his +whole poem a mosaic of new and mysterious words. But Edward Lear, with +more subtle and placid effrontery, is always introducing scraps of his +own elvish dialect into the middle of simple and rational statements, +until we are almost stunned into admitting that we know what they mean. +There is a genial ring of commonsense about such lines as, + + 'For his aunt Jobiska said "Every one knows + That a Pobble is better without his toes,"' + +which is beyond the reach of Carroll. The poet seems so easy on the +matter that we are almost driven to pretend that we see his meaning, +that we know the peculiar difficulties of a Pobble, that we are as old +travellers in the 'Gromboolian Plain' as he is. + +Our claim that nonsense is a new literature (we might almost say a new +sense) would be quite indefensible if nonsense were nothing more than a +mere aesthetic fancy. Nothing sublimely artistic has ever arisen out of +mere art, any more than anything essentially reasonable has ever arisen +out of the pure reason. There must always be a rich moral soil for any +great aesthetic growth. The principle of _art for art's sake_ is a very +good principle if it means that there is a vital distinction between the +earth and the tree that has its roots in the earth; but it is a very bad +principle if it means that the tree could grow just as well with its +roots in the air. Every great literature has always been +allegorical--allegorical of some view of the whole universe. The 'Iliad' +is only great because all life is a battle, the 'Odyssey' because all +life is a journey, the Book of Job because all life is a riddle. There +is one attitude in which we think that all existence is summed up in the +word 'ghosts'; another, and somewhat better one, in which we think it +is summed up in the words 'A Midsummer Night's Dream.' Even the +vulgarest melodrama or detective story can be good if it expresses +something of the delight in sinister possibilities--the healthy lust for +darkness and terror which may come on us any night in walking down a +dark lane. If, therefore, nonsense is really to be the literature of the +future, it must have its own version of the Cosmos to offer; the world +must not only be the tragic, romantic, and religious, it must be +nonsensical also. And here we fancy that nonsense will, in a very +unexpected way, come to the aid of the spiritual view of things. +Religion has for centuries been trying to make men exult in the +'wonders' of creation, but it has forgotten that a thing cannot be +completely wonderful so long as it remains sensible. So long as we +regard a tree as an obvious thing, naturally and reasonably created for +a giraffe to eat, we cannot properly wonder at it. It is when we +consider it as a prodigious wave of the living soil sprawling up to the +skies for no reason in particular that we take off our hats, to the +astonishment of the park-keeper. Everything has in fact another side to +it, like the moon, the patroness of nonsense. Viewed from that other +side, a bird is a blossom broken loose from its chain of stalk, a man a +quadruped begging on its hind legs, a house a gigantesque hat to cover a +man from the sun, a chair an apparatus of four wooden legs for a cripple +with only two. + +This is the side of things which tends most truly to spiritual wonder. +It is significant that in the greatest religious poem existent, the Book +of Job, the argument which convinces the infidel is not (as has been +represented by the merely rational religionism of the eighteenth +century) a picture of the ordered beneficence of the Creation; but, on +the contrary, a picture of the huge and undecipherable unreason of it. +'Hast Thou sent the rain upon the desert where no man is?' This simple +sense of wonder at the shapes of things, and at their exuberant +independence of our intellectual standards and our trivial definitions, +is the basis of spirituality as it is the basis of nonsense. Nonsense +and faith (strange as the conjunction may seem) are the two supreme +symbolic assertions of the truth that to draw out the soul of things +with a syllogism is as impossible as to draw out Leviathan with a hook. +The well-meaning person who, by merely studying the logical side of +things, has decided that 'faith is nonsense,' does not know how truly he +speaks; later it may come back to him in the form that nonsense is +faith. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF PLANETS + + +A book has at one time come under my notice called 'Terra Firma: the +Earth not a Planet.' The author was a Mr. D. Wardlaw Scott, and he +quoted very seriously the opinions of a large number of other persons, +of whom we have never heard, but who are evidently very important. Mr. +Beach of Southsea, for example, thinks that the world is flat; and in +Southsea perhaps it is. It is no part of my present intention, however, +to follow Mr. Scott's arguments in detail. On the lines of such +arguments it may be shown that the earth is flat, and, for the matter of +that, that it is triangular. A few examples will suffice: + +One of Mr. Scott's objections was that if a projectile is fired from a +moving body there is a difference in the distance to which it carries +according to the direction in which it is sent. But as in practice there +is not the slightest difference whichever way the thing is done, in the +case of the earth 'we have a forcible overthrow of all fancies relative +to the motion of the earth, and a striking proof that the earth is not +a globe.' + +This is altogether one of the quaintest arguments we have ever seen. It +never seems to occur to the author, among other things, that when the +firing and falling of the shot all take place upon the moving body, +there is nothing whatever to compare them with. As a matter of fact, of +course, a shot fired at an elephant does actually often travel towards +the marksman, but much slower than the marksman travels. Mr. Scott +probably would not like to contemplate the fact that the elephant, +properly speaking, swings round and hits the bullet. To us it appears +full of a rich cosmic humour. + +I will only give one other example of the astronomical proofs: + +'If the earth were a globe, the distance round the surface, say, at 45 +degrees south latitude, could not possibly be any greater than the same +latitude north; but since it is found by navigators to be twice the +distance--to say the least of it--or double the distance it ought to be +according to the globular theory, it is a proof that the earth is not a +globe.' + +This sort of thing reduces my mind to a pulp. I can faintly resist when +a man says that if the earth were a globe cats would not have four +legs; but when he says that if the earth were a globe cats would not +have five legs I am crushed. + +But, as I have indicated, it is not in the scientific aspect of this +remarkable theory that I am for the moment interested. It is rather with +the difference between the flat and the round worlds as conceptions in +art and imagination that I am concerned. It is a very remarkable thing +that none of us are really Copernicans in our actual outlook upon +things. We are convinced intellectually that we inhabit a small +provincial planet, but we do not feel in the least suburban. Men of +science have quarrelled with the Bible because it is not based upon the +true astronomical system, but it is certainly open to the orthodox to +say that if it had been it would never have convinced anybody. + +If a single poem or a single story were really transfused with the +Copernican idea, the thing would be a nightmare. Can we think of a +solemn scene of mountain stillness in which some prophet is standing in +a trance, and then realize that the whole scene is whizzing round like a +zoetrope at the rate of nineteen miles a second? Could we tolerate the +notion of a mighty King delivering a sublime fiat and then remember +that for all practical purposes he is hanging head downwards in space? A +strange fable might be written of a man who was blessed or cursed with +the Copernican eye, and saw all men on the earth like tintacks +clustering round a magnet. It would be singular to imagine how very +different the speech of an aggressive egoist, announcing the +independence and divinity of man, would sound if he were seen hanging on +to the planet by his boot soles. + +For, despite Mr. Wardlaw Scott's horror at the Newtonian astronomy and +its contradiction of the Bible, the whole distinction is a good instance +of the difference between letter and spirit; the letter of the Old +Testament is opposed to the conception of the solar system, but the +spirit has much kinship with it. The writers of the Book of Genesis had +no theory of gravitation, which to the normal person will appear a fact +of as much importance as that they had no umbrellas. But the theory of +gravitation has a curiously Hebrew sentiment in it--a sentiment of +combined dependence and certainty, a sense of grappling unity, by which +all things hang upon one thread. 'Thou hast hanged the world upon +nothing,' said the author of the Book of Job, and in that sentence +wrote the whole appalling poetry of modern astronomy. The sense of the +preciousness and fragility of the universe, the sense of being in the +hollow of a hand, is one which the round and rolling earth gives in its +most thrilling form. Mr. Wardlaw Scott's flat earth would be the true +territory for a comfortable atheist. Nor would the old Jews have any +objection to being as much upside down as right way up. They had no +foolish ideas about the dignity of man. + +It would be an interesting speculation to imagine whether the world will +ever develop a Copernican poetry and a Copernican habit of fancy; +whether we shall ever speak of 'early earth-turn' instead of 'early +sunrise,' and speak indifferently of looking up at the daisies, or +looking down on the stars. But if we ever do, there are really a large +number of big and fantastic facts awaiting us, worthy to make a new +mythology. Mr. Wardlaw Scott, for example, with genuine, if unconscious, +imagination, says that according to astronomers, 'the sea is a vast +mountain of water miles high.' To have discovered that mountain of +moving crystal, in which the fishes build like birds, is like +discovering Atlantis: it is enough to make the old world young again. +In the new poetry which we contemplate, athletic young men will set out +sturdily to climb up the face of the sea. If we once realize all this +earth as it is, we should find ourselves in a land of miracles: we shall +discover a new planet at the moment that we discover our own. Among all +the strange things that men have forgotten, the most universal and +catastrophic lapse of memory is that by which they have forgotten that +they are living on a star. + +In the early days of the world, the discovery of a fact of natural +history was immediately followed by the realization of it as a fact of +poetry. When man awoke from the long fit of absent-mindedness which is +called the automatic animal state, and began to notice the queer facts +that the sky was blue and the grass green, he immediately began to use +those facts symbolically. Blue, the colour of the sky, became a symbol +of celestial holiness; green passed into the language as indicating a +freshness verging upon unintelligence. If we had the good fortune to +live in a world in which the sky was green and the grass blue, the +symbolism would have been different. But for some mysterious reason this +habit of realizing poetically the facts of science has ceased abruptly +with scientific progress, and all the confounding portents preached by +Galileo and Newton have fallen on deaf ears. They painted a picture of +the universe compared with which the Apocalypse with its falling stars +was a mere idyll. They declared that we are all careering through space, +clinging to a cannon-ball, and the poets ignore the matter as if it were +a remark about the weather. They say that an invisible force holds us in +our own armchairs while the earth hurtles like a boomerang; and men +still go back to dusty records to prove the mercy of God. They tell us +that Mr. Scott's monstrous vision of a mountain of sea-water rising in a +solid dome, like the glass mountain in the fairy-tale, is actually a +fact, and men still go back to the fairy-tale. To what towering heights +of poetic imagery might we not have risen if only the poetizing of +natural history had continued and man's fancy had played with the +planets as naturally as it once played with the flowers! We might have +had a planetary patriotism, in which the green leaf should be like a +cockade, and the sea an everlasting dance of drums. We might have been +proud of what our star has wrought, and worn its heraldry haughtily in +the blind tournament of the spheres. All this, indeed, we may surely do +yet; for with all the multiplicity of knowledge there is one thing +happily that no man knows: whether the world is old or young. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF CHINA SHEPHERDESSES + + +There are some things of which the world does not like to be reminded, +for they are the dead loves of the world. One of these is that great +enthusiasm for the Arcadian life which, however much it may now lie open +to the sneers of realism, did, beyond all question, hold sway for an +enormous period of the world's history, from the times that we describe +as ancient down to times that may fairly be called recent. The +conception of the innocent and hilarious life of shepherds and +shepherdesses certainly covered and absorbed the time of Theocritus, of +Virgil, of Catullus, of Dante, of Cervantes, of Ariosto, of Shakespeare, +and of Pope. We are told that the gods of the heathen were stone and +brass, but stone and brass have never endured with the long endurance of +the China Shepherdess. The Catholic Church and the Ideal Shepherd are +indeed almost the only things that have bridged the abyss between the +ancient world and the modern. Yet, as we say, the world does not like +to be reminded of this boyish enthusiasm. + +But imagination, the function of the historian, cannot let so great an +element alone. By the cheap revolutionary it is commonly supposed that +imagination is a merely rebellious thing, that it has its chief function +in devising new and fantastic republics. But imagination has its highest +use in a retrospective realization. The trumpet of imagination, like the +trumpet of the Resurrection, calls the dead out of their graves. +Imagination sees Delphi with the eyes of a Greek, Jerusalem with the +eyes of a Crusader, Paris with the eyes of a Jacobin, and Arcadia with +the eyes of a Euphuist. The prime function of imagination is to see our +whole orderly system of life as a pile of stratified revolutions. In +spite of all revolutionaries it must be said that the function of +imagination is not to make strange things settled, so much as to make +settled things strange; not so much to make wonders facts as to make +facts wonders. To the imaginative the truisms are all paradoxes, since +they were paradoxes in the Stone Age; to them the ordinary copy-book +blazes with blasphemy. + +Let us, then, consider in this light the old pastoral or Arcadian ideal. +But first certainly one thing must be definitely recognised. This +Arcadian art and literature is a lost enthusiasm. To study it is like +fumbling in the love-letters of a dead man. To us its flowers seem as +tawdry as cockades; the lambs that dance to the shepherd's pipe seem to +dance with all the artificiality of a ballet. Even our own prosaic toil +seems to us more joyous than that holiday. Where its ancient exuberance +passed the bounds of wisdom and even of virtue, its caperings seem +frozen into the stillness of an antique frieze. In those gray old +pictures a bacchanal seems as dull as an archdeacon. Their very sins +seem colder than our restraints. + +All this may be frankly recognised: all the barren sentimentality of the +Arcadian ideal and all its insolent optimism. But when all is said and +done, something else remains. + +Through ages in which the most arrogant and elaborate ideals of power +and civilization held otherwise undisputed sway, the ideal of the +perfect and healthy peasant did undoubtedly represent in some shape or +form the conception that there was a dignity in simplicity and a dignity +in labour. It was good for the ancient aristocrat, even if he could not +attain to innocence and the wisdom of the earth, to believe that these +things were the secrets of the priesthood of the poor. It was good for +him to believe that even if heaven was not above him, heaven was below +him. It was well that he should have amid all his flamboyant triumphs +the never-extinguished sentiment that there was something better than +his triumphs, the conception that 'there remaineth a rest.' + +The conception of the Ideal Shepherd seems absurd to our modern ideas. +But, after all, it was perhaps the only trade of the democracy which was +equalized with the trades of the aristocracy even by the aristocracy +itself. The shepherd of pastoral poetry was, without doubt, very +different from the shepherd of actual fact. Where one innocently piped +to his lambs, the other innocently swore at them; and their divergence +in intellect and personal cleanliness was immense. But the difference +between the ideal shepherd who danced with Amaryllis and the real +shepherd who thrashed her is not a scrap greater than the difference +between the ideal soldier who dies to capture the colours and the real +soldier who lives to clean his accoutrements, between the ideal priest +who is everlastingly by someone's bed and the real priest who is as glad +as anyone else to get to his own. There are ideal conceptions and real +men in every calling; yet there are few who object to the ideal +conceptions, and not many, after all, who object to the real men. + +The fact, then, is this: So far from resenting the existence in art and +literature of an ideal shepherd, I genuinely regret that the shepherd is +the only democratic calling that has ever been raised to the level of +the heroic callings conceived by an aristocratic age. So far from +objecting to the Ideal Shepherd, I wish there were an Ideal Postman, an +Ideal Grocer, and an Ideal Plumber. It is undoubtedly true that we +should laugh at the idea of an Ideal Postman; it is true, and it proves +that we are not genuine democrats. + +Undoubtedly the modern grocer, if called upon to act in an Arcadian +manner, if desired to oblige with a symbolic dance expressive of the +delights of grocery, or to perform on some simple instrument while his +assistants skipped around him, would be embarrassed, and perhaps even +reluctant. But it may be questioned whether this temporary reluctance of +the grocer is a good thing, or evidence of a good condition of poetic +feeling in the grocery business as a whole. There certainly should be an +ideal image of health and happiness in any trade, and its remoteness +from the reality is not the only important question. No one supposes +that the mass of traditional conceptions of duty and glory are always +operative, for example, in the mind of a soldier or a doctor; that the +Battle of Waterloo actually makes a private enjoy pipeclaying his +trousers, or that the 'health of humanity' softens the momentary +phraseology of a physician called out of bed at two o'clock in the +morning. But although no ideal obliterates the ugly drudgery and detail +of any calling, that ideal does, in the case of the soldier or the +doctor, exist definitely in the background and makes that drudgery worth +while as a whole. It is a serious calamity that no such ideal exists in +the case of the vast number of honourable trades and crafts on which the +existence of a modern city depends. It is a pity that current thought +and sentiment offer nothing corresponding to the old conception of +patron saints. If they did there would be a Patron Saint of Plumbers, +and this would alone be a revolution, for it would force the individual +craftsman to believe that there was once a perfect being who did +actually plumb. + +When all is said and done, then, we think it much open to question +whether the world has not lost something in the complete disappearance +of the ideal of the happy peasant. It is foolish enough to suppose that +the rustic went about all over ribbons, but it is better than knowing +that he goes about all over rags and being indifferent to the fact. The +modern realistic study of the poor does in reality lead the student +further astray than the old idyllic notion. For we cannot get the +chiaroscuro of humble life so long as its virtues seem to us as gross as +its vices and its joys as sullen as its sorrows. Probably at the very +moment that we can see nothing but a dull-faced man smoking and drinking +heavily with his friend in a pot-house, the man himself is on his soul's +holiday, crowned with the flowers of a passionate idleness, and far more +like the Happy Peasant than the world will ever know. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF USEFUL INFORMATION + + +It is natural and proper enough that the masses of explosive ammunition +stored up in detective stories and the replete and solid sweet-stuff +shops which are called sentimental novelettes should be popular with the +ordinary customer. It is not difficult to realize that all of us, +ignorant or cultivated, are primarily interested in murder and +love-making. The really extraordinary thing is that the most appalling +fictions are not actually so popular as that literature which deals with +the most undisputed and depressing facts. Men are not apparently so +interested in murder and love-making as they are in the number of +different forms of latchkey which exist in London or the time that it +would take a grasshopper to jump from Cairo to the Cape. The enormous +mass of fatuous and useless truth which fills the most widely-circulated +papers, such as _Tit-Bits, Science Siftings_, and many of the +illustrated magazines, is certainly one of the most extraordinary kinds +of emotional and mental pabulum on which man ever fed. It is almost +incredible that these preposterous statistics should actually be more +popular than the most blood-curdling mysteries and the most luxurious +debauches of sentiment. To imagine it is like imagining the humorous +passages in Bradshaw's Railway Guide read aloud on winter evenings. It +is like conceiving a man unable to put down an advertisement of Mother +Seigel's Syrup because he wished to know what eventually happened to the +young man who was extremely ill at Edinburgh. In the case of cheap +detective stories and cheap novelettes, we can most of us feel, whatever +our degree of education, that it might be possible to read them if we +gave full indulgence to a lower and more facile part of our natures; at +the worst we feel that we might enjoy them as we might enjoy +bull-baiting or getting drunk. But the literature of information is +absolutely mysterious to us. We can no more think of amusing ourselves +with it than of reading whole pages of a Surbiton local directory. To +read such things would not be a piece of vulgar indulgence; it would be +a highly arduous and meritorious enterprise. It is this fact which +constitutes a profound and almost unfathomable interest in this +particular branch of popular literature. + +Primarily, at least, there is one rather peculiar thing which must in +justice be said about it. The readers of this strange science must be +allowed to be, upon the whole, as disinterested as a prophet seeing +visions or a child reading fairy-tales. Here, again, we find, as we so +often do, that whatever view of this matter of popular literature we can +trust, we can trust least of all the comment and censure current among +the vulgar educated. The ordinary version of the ground of this +popularity for information, which would be given by a person of greater +cultivation, would be that common men are chiefly interested in those +sordid facts that surround them on every side. A very small degree of +examination will show us that whatever ground there is for the +popularity of these insane encyclopaedias, it cannot be the ground of +utility. The version of life given by a penny novelette may be very +moonstruck and unreliable, but it is at least more likely to contain +facts relevant to daily life than compilations on the subject of the +number of cows' tails that would reach the North Pole. There are many +more people who are in love than there are people who have any +intention of counting or collecting cows' tails. It is evident to me +that the grounds of this widespread madness of information for +information's sake must be sought in other and deeper parts of human +nature than those daily needs which lie so near the surface that even +social philosophers have discovered them somewhere in that profound and +eternal instinct for enthusiasm and minding other people's business +which made great popular movements like the Crusades or the Gordon +Riots. + +I once had the pleasure of knowing a man who actually talked in private +life after the manner of these papers. His conversation consisted of +fragmentary statements about height and weight and depth and time and +population, and his conversation was a nightmare of dulness. During the +shortest pause he would ask whether his interlocutors were aware how +many tons of rust were scraped every year off the Menai Bridge, and how +many rival shops Mr. Whiteley had bought up since he opened his +business. The attitude of his acquaintances towards this inexhaustible +entertainer varied according to his presence or absence between +indifference and terror. It was frightful to think of a man's brain +being stocked with such inexpressibly profitless treasures. It was like +visiting some imposing British Museum and finding its galleries and +glass cases filled with specimens of London mud, of common mortar, of +broken walking-sticks and cheap tobacco. Years afterwards I discovered +that this intolerable prosaic bore had been, in fact, a poet. I learnt +that every item of this multitudinous information was totally and +unblushingly untrue, that for all I knew he had made it up as he went +along; that no tons of rust are scraped off the Menai Bridge, and that +the rival tradesmen and Mr. Whiteley were creatures of the poet's brain. +Instantly I conceived consuming respect for the man who was so +circumstantial, so monotonous, so entirely purposeless a liar. With him +it must have been a case of art for art's sake. The joke sustained so +gravely through a respected lifetime was of that order of joke which is +shared with omniscience. But what struck me more cogently upon +reflection was the fact that these immeasurable trivialities, which had +struck me as utterly vulgar and arid when I thought they were true, +immediately became picturesque and almost brilliant when I thought they +were inventions of the human fancy. And here, as it seems to me, I laid +my finger upon a fundamental quality of the cultivated class which +prevents it, and will, perhaps, always prevent it from seeing with the +eyes of popular imagination. The merely educated can scarcely ever be +brought to believe that this world is itself an interesting place. When +they look at a work of art, good or bad, they expect to be interested, +but when they look at a newspaper advertisement or a group in the +street, they do not, properly and literally speaking, expect to be +interested. But to common and simple people this world is a work of art, +though it is, like many great works of art, anonymous. They look to life +for interest with the same kind of cheerful and uneradicable assurance +with which we look for interest at a comedy for which we have paid money +at the door. To the eyes of the ultimate school of contemporary +fastidiousness, the universe is indeed an ill-drawn and over-coloured +picture, the scrawlings in circles of a baby upon the slate of night; +its starry skies are a vulgar pattern which they would not have for a +wallpaper, its flowers and fruits have a cockney brilliancy, like the +holiday hat of a flower-girl. Hence, degraded by art to its own level, +they have lost altogether that primitive and typical taste of man--the +taste for news. By this essential taste for news, I mean the pleasure in +hearing the mere fact that a man has died at the age of 110 in South +Wales, or that the horses ran away at a funeral in San Francisco. Large +masses of the early faiths and politics of the world, numbers of the +miracles and heroic anecdotes, are based primarily upon this love of +something that has just happened, this divine institution of gossip. +When Christianity was named the good news, it spread rapidly, not only +because it was good, but also because it was news. So it is that if any +of us have ever spoken to a navvy in a train about the daily paper, we +have generally found the navvy interested, not in those struggles of +Parliaments and trades unions which sometimes are, and are always +supposed to be, for his benefit; but in the fact that an unusually large +whale has been washed up on the coast of Orkney, or that some leading +millionaire like Mr. Harmsworth is reported to break a hundred pipes a +year. The educated classes, cloyed and demoralized with the mere +indulgence of art and mood, can no longer understand the idle and +splendid disinterestedness of the reader of _Pearson's Weekly_. He still +keeps something of that feeling which should be the birthright of +men--the feeling that this planet is like a new house into which we have +just moved our baggage. Any detail of it has a value, and, with a truly +sportsmanlike instinct, the average man takes most pleasure in the +details which are most complicated, irrelevant, and at once difficult +and useless to discover. Those parts of the newspaper which announce the +giant gooseberry and the raining frogs are really the modern +representatives of the popular tendency which produced the hydra and the +werewolf and the dog-headed men. Folk in the Middle Ages were not +interested in a dragon or a glimpse of the devil because they thought +that it was a beautiful prose idyll, but because they thought that it +had really just been seen. It was not like so much artistic literature, +a refuge indicating the dulness of the world: it was an incident +pointedly illustrating the fecund poetry of the world. + +That much can be said, and is said, against the literature of +information, I do not for a moment deny. It is shapeless, it is trivial, +it may give an unreal air of knowledge, it unquestionably lies along +with the rest of popular literature under the general indictment that it +may spoil the chance of better work, certainly by wasting time, possibly +by ruining taste. But these obvious objections are the objections which +we hear so persistently from everyone that one cannot help wondering +where the papers in question procure their myriads of readers. The +natural necessity and natural good underlying such crude institutions is +far less often a subject of speculation; yet the healthy hungers which +lie at the back of the habits of modern democracy are surely worthy of +the same sympathetic study that we give to the dogmas of the fanatics +long dethroned and the intrigues of commonwealths long obliterated from +the earth. And this is the base and consideration which I have to offer: +that perhaps the taste for shreds and patches of journalistic science +and history is not, as is continually asserted, the vulgar and senile +curiosity of a people that has grown old, but simply the babyish and +indiscriminate curiosity of a people still young and entering history +for the first time. In other words, I suggest that they only tell each +other in magazines the same kind of stories of commonplace portents and +conventional eccentricities which, in any case, they would tell each +other in taverns. Science itself is only the exaggeration and +specialization of this thirst for useless fact, which is the mark of the +youth of man. But science has become strangely separated from the mere +news and scandal of flowers and birds; men have ceased to see that a +pterodactyl was as fresh and natural as a flower, that a flower is as +monstrous as a pterodactyl. The rebuilding of this bridge between +science and human nature is one of the greatest needs of mankind. We +have all to show that before we go on to any visions or creations we can +be contented with a planet of miracles. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF HERALDRY + + +The modern view of heraldry is pretty accurately represented by the +words of the famous barrister who, after cross-examining for some time a +venerable dignitary of Heralds' College, summed up his results in the +remark that 'the silly old man didn't even understand his own silly old +trade.' + +Heraldry properly so called was, of course, a wholly limited and +aristocratic thing, but the remark needs a kind of qualification not +commonly realized. In a sense there was a plebeian heraldry, since every +shop was, like every castle, distinguished not by a name, but a sign. +The whole system dates from a time when picture-writing still really +ruled the world. In those days few could read or write; they signed +their names with a pictorial symbol, a cross--and a cross is a great +improvement on most men's names. + +Now, there is something to be said for the peculiar influence of +pictorial symbols on men's minds. All letters, we learn, were originally +pictorial and heraldic: thus the letter A is the portrait of an ox, but +the portrait is now reproduced in so impressionist a manner that but +little of the rural atmosphere can be absorbed by contemplating it. But +as long as some pictorial and poetic quality remains in the symbol, the +constant use of it must do something for the aesthetic education of +those employing it. Public-houses are now almost the only shops that use +the ancient signs, and the mysterious attraction which they exercise may +be (by the optimistic) explained in this manner. There are taverns with +names so dreamlike and exquisite that even Sir Wilfrid Lawson might +waver on the threshold for a moment, suffering the poet to struggle with +the moralist. So it was with the heraldic images. It is impossible to +believe that the red lion of Scotland acted upon those employing it +merely as a naked convenience like a number or a letter; it is +impossible to believe that the Kings of Scotland would have cheerfully +accepted the substitute of a pig or a frog. There are, as we say, +certain real advantages in pictorial symbols, and one of them is that +everything that is pictorial suggests, without naming or defining. There +is a road from the eye to the heart that does not go through the +intellect. Men do not quarrel about the meaning of sunsets; they never +dispute that the hawthorn says the best and wittiest thing about the +spring. + +Thus in the old aristocratic days there existed this vast pictorial +symbolism of all the colours and degrees of aristocracy. When the great +trumpet of equality was blown, almost immediately afterwards was made +one of the greatest blunders in the history of mankind. For all this +pride and vivacity, all these towering symbols and flamboyant colours, +should have been extended to mankind. The tobacconist should have had a +crest, and the cheesemonger a war-cry. The grocer who sold margarine as +butter should have felt that there was a stain on the escutcheon of the +Higginses. Instead of doing this, the democrats made the appalling +mistake--a mistake at the root of the whole modern malady--of decreasing +the human magnificence of the past instead of increasing it. They did +not say, as they should have done, to the common citizen, 'You are as +good as the Duke of Norfolk,' but used that meaner democratic formula, +'The Duke of Norfolk is no better than you are.' + +For it cannot be denied that the world lost something finally and most +unfortunately about the beginning of the nineteenth century. In former +times the mass of the people was conceived as mean and commonplace, but +only as comparatively mean and commonplace; they were dwarfed and +eclipsed by certain high stations and splendid callings. But with the +Victorian era came a principle which conceived men not as comparatively, +but as positively, mean and commonplace. A man of any station was +represented as being by nature a dingy and trivial person--a person +born, as it were, in a black hat. It began to be thought that it was +ridiculous for a man to wear beautiful garments, instead of it +being--as, of course, it is--ridiculous for him to deliberately wear +ugly ones. It was considered affected for a man to speak bold and heroic +words, whereas, of course, it is emotional speech which is natural, and +ordinary civil speech which is affected. The whole relations of beauty +and ugliness, of dignity and ignominy were turned upside down. Beauty +became an extravagance, as if top-hats and umbrellas were not the real +extravagance--a landscape from the land of the goblins. Dignity became a +form of foolery and shamelessness, as if the very essence of a fool were +not a lack of dignity. And the consequence is that it is practically +most difficult to propose any decoration or public dignity for modern +men without making them laugh. They laugh at the idea of carrying +crests and coats-of-arms instead of laughing at their own boots and +neckties. We are forbidden to say that tradesmen should have a poetry of +their own, although there is nothing so poetical as trade. A grocer +should have a coat-of-arms worthy of his strange merchandise gathered +from distant and fantastic lands; a postman should have a coat-of-arms +capable of expressing the strange honour and responsibility of the man +who carries men's souls in a bag; the chemist should have a coat-of-arms +symbolizing something of the mysteries of the house of healing, the +cavern of a merciful witchcraft. + +There were in the French Revolution a class of people at whom everybody +laughed, and at whom it was probably difficult, as a practical matter, +to refrain from laughing. They attempted to erect, by means of huge +wooden statues and brand-new festivals, the most extraordinary new +religions. They adored the Goddess of Reason, who would appear, even +when the fullest allowance has been made for their many virtues, to be +the deity who had least smiled upon them. But these capering maniacs, +disowned alike by the old world and the new, were men who had seen a +great truth unknown alike to the new world and the old. They had seen +the thing that was hidden from the wise and understanding, from the +whole modern democratic civilization down to the present time. They +realized that democracy must have a heraldry, that it must have a proud +and high-coloured pageantry, if it is to keep always before its own mind +its own sublime mission. Unfortunately for this ideal, the world has in +this matter followed English democracy rather than French; and those who +look back to the nineteenth century will assuredly look back to it as we +look back to the reign of the Puritans, as the time of black coats and +black tempers. From the strange life the men of that time led, they +might be assisting at the funeral of liberty instead of at its +christening. The moment we really believe in democracy, it will begin to +blossom, as aristocracy blossomed, into symbolic colours and shapes. We +shall never make anything of democracy until we make fools of ourselves. +For if a man really cannot make a fool of himself, we may be quite +certain that the effort is superfluous. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF UGLY THINGS + + +There are some people who state that the exterior, sex, or physique of +another person is indifferent to them, that they care only for the +communion of mind with mind; but these people need not detain us. There +are some statements that no one ever thinks of believing, however often +they are made. + +But while nothing in this world would persuade us that a great friend of +Mr. Forbes Robertson, let us say, would experience no surprise or +discomfort at seeing him enter the room in the bodily form of Mr. +Chaplin, there is a confusion constantly made between being attracted by +exterior, which is natural and universal, and being attracted by what is +called physical beauty, which is not entirely natural and not in the +least universal. Or rather, to speak more strictly, the conception of +physical beauty has been narrowed to mean a certain kind of physical +beauty which no more exhausts the possibilities of external +attractiveness than the respectability of a Clapham builder exhausts +the possibilities of moral attractiveness. + +The tyrants and deceivers of mankind in this matter have been the +Greeks. All their splendid work for civilization ought not to have +wholly blinded us to the fact of their great and terrible sin against +the variety of life. It is a remarkable fact that while the Jews have +long ago been rebelled against and accused of blighting the world with a +stringent and one-sided ethical standard, nobody has noticed that the +Greeks have committed us to an infinitely more horrible asceticism--an +asceticism of the fancy, a worship of one aesthetic type alone. Jewish +severity had at least common-sense as its basis; it recognised that men +lived in a world of fact, and that if a man married within the degrees +of blood certain consequences might follow. But they did not starve +their instinct for contrasts and combinations; their prophets gave two +wings to the ox and any number of eyes to the cherubim with all the +riotous ingenuity of Lewis Carroll. But the Greeks carried their police +regulation into elfland; they vetoed not the actual adulteries of the +earth but the wild weddings of ideas, and forbade the banns of thought. + +It is extraordinary to watch the gradual emasculation of the monsters +of Greek myth under the pestilent influence of the Apollo Belvedere. The +chimaera was a creature of whom any healthy-minded people would have +been proud; but when we see it in Greek pictures we feel inclined to tie +a ribbon round its neck and give it a saucer of milk. Who ever feels +that the giants in Greek art and poetry were really big--big as some +folk-lore giants have been? In some Scandinavian story a hero walks for +miles along a mountain ridge, which eventually turns out to be the +bridge of the giant's nose. That is what we should call, with a calm +conscience, a large giant. But this earthquake fancy terrified the +Greeks, and their terror has terrified all mankind out of their natural +love of size, vitality, variety, energy, ugliness. Nature intended every +human face, so long as it was forcible, individual, and expressive, to +be regarded as distinct from all others, as a poplar is distinct from an +oak, and an apple-tree from a willow. But what the Dutch gardeners did +for trees the Greeks did for the human form; they lopped away its living +and sprawling features to give it a certain academic shape; they hacked +off noses and pared down chins with a ghastly horticultural calm. And +they have really succeeded so far as to make us call some of the most +powerful and endearing faces ugly, and some of the most silly and +repulsive faces beautiful. This disgraceful _via media_, this pitiful +sense of dignity, has bitten far deeper into the soul of modern +civilization than the external and practical Puritanism of Israel. The +Jew at the worst told a man to dance in fetters; the Greek put an +exquisite vase upon his head and told him not to move. + +Scripture says that one star differeth from another in glory, and the +same conception applies to noses. To insist that one type of face is +ugly because it differs from that of the Venus of Milo is to look at it +entirely in a misleading light. It is strange that we should resent +people differing from ourselves; we should resent much more violently +their resembling ourselves. This principle has made a sufficient hash of +literary criticism, in which it is always the custom to complain of the +lack of sound logic in a fairy tale, and the entire absence of true +oratorical power in a three-act farce. But to call another man's face +ugly because it powerfully expresses another man's soul is like +complaining that a cabbage has not two legs. If we did so, the only +course for the cabbage would be to point out with severity, but with +some show of truth, that we were not a beautiful green all over. + +But this frigid theory of the beautiful has not succeeded in conquering +the art of the world, except in name. In some quarters, indeed, it has +never held sway. A glance at Chinese dragons or Japanese gods will show +how independent are Orientals of the conventional idea of facial and +bodily regularity, and how keen and fiery is their enjoyment of real +beauty, of goggle eyes, of sprawling claws, of gaping mouths and +writhing coils. In the Middle Ages men broke away from the Greek +standard of beauty, and lifted up in adoration to heaven great towers, +which seemed alive with dancing apes and devils. In the full summer of +technical artistic perfection the revolt was carried to its real +consummation in the study of the faces of men. Rembrandt declared the +sane and manly gospel that a man was dignified, not when he was like a +Greek god, but when he had a strong, square nose like a cudgel, a +boldly-blocked head like a helmet, and a jaw like a steel trap. + +This branch of art is commonly dismissed as the grotesque. We have never +been able to understand why it should be humiliating to be laughable, +since it is giving an elevated artistic pleasure to others. If a +gentleman who saw us in the street were suddenly to burst into tears at +the mere thought of our existence, it might be considered disquieting +and uncomplimentary; but laughter is not uncomplimentary. In truth, +however, the phrase 'grotesque' is a misleading description of ugliness +in art. It does not follow that either the Chinese dragons or the Gothic +gargoyles or the goblinish old women of Rembrandt were in the least +intended to be comic. Their extravagance was not the extravagance of +satire, but simply the extravagance of vitality; and here lies the whole +key of the place of ugliness in aesthetics. We like to see a crag jut +out in shameless decision from the cliff, we like to see the red pines +stand up hardily upon a high cliff, we like to see a chasm cloven from +end to end of a mountain. With equally noble enthusiasm we like to see a +nose jut out decisively, we like to see the red hair of a friend stand +up hardily in bristles upon his head, we like to see his mouth broad and +clean cut like the mountain crevasse. At least some of us like all this; +it is not a question of humour. We do not burst with amusement at the +first sight of the pines or the chasm; but we like them because they are +expressive of the dramatic stillness of Nature, her bold experiments, +her definite departures, her fearlessness and savage pride in her +children. The moment we have snapped the spell of conventional beauty, +there are a million beautiful faces waiting for us everywhere, just as +there are a million beautiful spirits. + + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF FARCE + + +I have never been able to understand why certain forms of art should be +marked off as something debased and trivial. A comedy is spoken of as +'degenerating into farce'; it would be fair criticism to speak of it +'changing into farce'; but as for degenerating into farce, we might +equally reasonably speak of it as degenerating into tragedy. Again, a +story is spoken of as 'melodramatic,' and the phrase, queerly enough, is +not meant as a compliment. To speak of something as 'pantomimic' or +'sensational' is innocently supposed to be biting, Heaven knows why, for +all works of art are sensations, and a good pantomime (now extinct) is +one of the pleasantest sensations of all. 'This stuff is fit for a +detective story,' is often said, as who should say, 'This stuff is fit +for an epic.' + +Whatever may be the rights and wrongs of this mode of classification, +there can be no doubt about one most practical and disastrous effect of +it. These lighter or wilder forms of art, having no standard set up for +them, no gust of generous artistic pride to lift them up, do actually +tend to become as bad as they are supposed to be. Neglected children of +the great mother, they grow up in darkness, dirty and unlettered, and +when they are right they are right almost by accident, because of the +blood in their veins. The common detective story of mystery and murder +seems to the intelligent reader to be little except a strange glimpse of +a planet peopled by congenital idiots, who cannot find the end of their +own noses or the character of their own wives. The common pantomime +seems like some horrible satiric picture of a world without cause or +effect, a mass of 'jarring atoms,' a prolonged mental torture of +irrelevancy. The ordinary farce seems a world of almost piteous +vulgarity, where a half-witted and stunted creature is afraid when his +wife comes home, and amused when she sits down on the doorstep. All this +is, in a sense, true, but it is the fault of nothing in heaven or earth +except the attitude and the phrases quoted at the beginning of this +article. We have no doubt in the world that, if the other forms of art +had been equally despised, they would have been equally despicable. If +people had spoken of 'sonnets' with the same accent with which they +speak of 'music-hall songs,' a sonnet would have been a thing so +fearful and wonderful that we almost regret we cannot have a specimen; a +rowdy sonnet is a thing to dream about. If people had said that epics +were only fit for children and nursemaids, 'Paradise Lost' might have +been an average pantomime: it might have been called 'Harlequin Satan, +or How Adam 'Ad 'em.' For who would trouble to bring to perfection a +work in which even perfection is grotesque? Why should Shakespeare write +'Othello' if even his triumph consisted in the eulogy, 'Mr. Shakespeare +is fit for something better than writing tragedies'? + +The case of farce, and its wilder embodiment in harlequinade, is +especially important. That these high and legitimate forms of art, +glorified by Aristophanes and Molière, have sunk into such contempt may +be due to many causes: I myself have little doubt that it is due to the +astonishing and ludicrous lack of belief in hope and hilarity which +marks modern aesthetics, to such an extent that it has spread even to +the revolutionists (once the hopeful section of men), so that even those +who ask us to fling the stars into the sea are not quite sure that they +will be any better there than they were before. Every form of literary +art must be a symbol of some phase of the human spirit; but whereas the +phase is, in human life, sufficiently convincing in itself, in art it +must have a certain pungency and neatness of form, to compensate for its +lack of reality. Thus any set of young people round a tea-table may have +all the comedy emotions of 'Much Ado about Nothing' or 'Northanger +Abbey,' but if their actual conversation were reported, it would +possibly not be a worthy addition to literature. An old man sitting by +his fire may have all the desolate grandeur of Lear or Père Goriot, but +if he comes into literature he must do something besides sit by the +fire. The artistic justification, then, of farce and pantomime must +consist in the emotions of life which correspond to them. And these +emotions are to an incredible extent crushed out by the modern +insistence on the painful side of life only. Pain, it is said, is the +dominant element of life; but this is true only in a very special sense. +If pain were for one single instant literally the dominant element in +life, every man would be found hanging dead from his own bed-post by the +morning. Pain, as the black and catastrophic thing, attracts the +youthful artist, just as the schoolboy draws devils and skeletons and +men hanging. But joy is a far more elusive and elvish matter, since it +is our reason for existing, and a very feminine reason; it mingles with +every breath we draw and every cup of tea we drink. The literature of +joy is infinitely more difficult, more rare and more triumphant than the +black and white literature of pain. And of all the varied forms of the +literature of joy, the form most truly worthy of moral reverence and +artistic ambition is the form called 'farce'--or its wilder shape in +pantomime. To the quietest human being, seated in the quietest house, +there will sometimes come a sudden and unmeaning hunger for the +possibilities or impossibilities of things; he will abruptly wonder +whether the teapot may not suddenly begin to pour out honey or +sea-water, the clock to point to all hours of the day at once, the +candle to burn green or crimson, the door to open upon a lake or a +potato-field instead of a London street. Upon anyone who feels this +nameless anarchism there rests for the time being the abiding spirit of +pantomime. Of the clown who cuts the policeman in two it may be said +(with no darker meaning) that he realizes one of our visions. And it may +be noted here that this internal quality in pantomime is perfectly +symbolized and preserved by that commonplace or cockney landscape and +architecture which characterizes pantomime and farce. If the whole +affair happened in some alien atmosphere, if a pear-tree began to grow +apples or a river to run with wine in some strange fairyland, the effect +would be quite different. The streets and shops and door-knockers of the +harlequinade, which to the vulgar aesthete make it seem commonplace, are +in truth the very essence of the aesthetic departure. It must be an +actual modern door which opens and shuts, constantly disclosing +different interiors; it must be a real baker whose loaves fly up into +the air without his touching them, or else the whole internal excitement +of this elvish invasion of civilization, this abrupt entrance of Puck +into Pimlico, is lost. Some day, perhaps, when the present narrow phase +of aesthetics has ceased to monopolize the name, the glory of a farcical +art may become fashionable. Long after men have ceased to drape their +houses in green and gray and to adorn them with Japanese vases, an +aesthete may build a house on pantomime principles, in which all the +doors shall have their bells and knockers on the inside, all the +staircases be constructed to vanish on the pressing of a button, and all +the dinners (humorous dinners in themselves) come up cooked through a +trapdoor. We are very sure, at least, that it is as reasonable to +regulate one's life and lodgings by this kind of art as by any other. + +The whole of this view of farce and pantomime may seem insane to us; but +we fear that it is we who are insane. Nothing in this strange age of +transition is so depressing as its merriment. All the most brilliant men +of the day when they set about the writing of comic literature do it +under one destructive fallacy and disadvantage: the notion that comic +literature is in some sort of way superficial. They give us little +knick-knacks of the brittleness of which they positively boast, although +two thousand years have beaten as vainly upon the follies of the 'Frogs' +as on the wisdom of the 'Republic.' It is all a mean shame of joy. When +we come out from a performance of the 'Midsummer Night's Dream' we feel +as near to the stars as when we come out from 'King Lear.' For the joy +of these works is older than sorrow, their extravagance is saner than +wisdom, their love is stronger than death. + +The old masters of a healthy madness, Aristophanes or Rabelais or +Shakespeare, doubtless had many brushes with the precisians or ascetics +of their day, but we cannot but feel that for honest severity and +consistent self-maceration they would always have had respect. But what +abysses of scorn, inconceivable to any modern, would they have reserved +for an aesthetic type and movement which violated morality and did not +even find pleasure, which outraged sanity and could not attain to +exuberance, which contented itself with the fool's cap without the +bells! + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF HUMILITY + + +The act of defending any of the cardinal virtues has to-day all the +exhilaration of a vice. Moral truisms have been so much disputed that +they have begun to sparkle like so many brilliant paradoxes. And +especially (in this age of egoistic idealism) there is about one who +defends humility something inexpressibly rakish. + +It is no part of my intention to defend humility on practical grounds. +Practical grounds are uninteresting, and, moreover, on practical grounds +the case for humility is overwhelming. We all know that the 'divine +glory of the ego' is socially a great nuisance; we all do actually value +our friends for modesty, freshness, and simplicity of heart. Whatever +may be the reason, we all do warmly respect humility--in other people. + +But the matter must go deeper than this. If the grounds of humility are +found only in social convenience, they may be quite trivial and +temporary. The egoists may be the martyrs of a nobler dispensation, +agonizing for a more arduous ideal. To judge from the comparative lack +of ease in their social manner, this seems a reasonable suggestion. + +There is one thing that must be seen at the outset of the study of +humility from an intrinsic and eternal point of view. The new philosophy +of self-esteem and self-assertion declares that humility is a vice. If +it be so, it is quite clear that it is one of those vices which are an +integral part of original sin. It follows with the precision of +clockwork every one of the great joys of life. No one, for example, was +ever in love without indulging in a positive debauch of humility. All +full-blooded and natural people, such as schoolboys, enjoy humility the +moment they attain hero-worship. Humility, again, is said both by its +upholders and opponents to be the peculiar growth of Christianity. The +real and obvious reason of this is often missed. The pagans insisted +upon self-assertion because it was the essence of their creed that the +gods, though strong and just, were mystic, capricious, and even +indifferent. But the essence of Christianity was in a literal sense the +New Testament--a covenant with God which opened to men a clear +deliverance. They thought themselves secure; they claimed palaces of +pearl and silver under the oath and seal of the Omnipotent; they +believed themselves rich with an irrevocable benediction which set them +above the stars; and immediately they discovered humility. It was only +another example of the same immutable paradox. It is always the secure +who are humble. + +This particular instance survives in the evangelical revivalists of the +street. They are irritating enough, but no one who has really studied +them can deny that the irritation is occasioned by these two things, an +irritating hilarity and an irritating humility. This combination of joy +and self-prostration is a great deal too universal to be ignored. If +humility has been discredited as a virtue at the present day, it is not +wholly irrelevant to remark that this discredit has arisen at the same +time as a great collapse of joy in current literature and philosophy. +Men have revived the splendour of Greek self-assertion at the same time +that they have revived the bitterness of Greek pessimism. A literature +has arisen which commands us all to arrogate to ourselves the liberty of +self-sufficing deities at the same time that it exhibits us to ourselves +as dingy maniacs who ought to be chained up like dogs. It is certainly a +curious state of things altogether. When we are genuinely happy, we +think we are unworthy of happiness. But when we are demanding a divine +emancipation we seem to be perfectly certain that we are unworthy of +anything. + +The only explanation of the matter must be found in the conviction that +humility has infinitely deeper roots than any modern men suppose; that +it is a metaphysical and, one might almost say, a mathematical virtue. +Probably this can best be tested by a study of those who frankly +disregard humility and assert the supreme duty of perfecting and +expressing one's self. These people tend, by a perfectly natural +process, to bring their own great human gifts of culture, intellect, or +moral power to a great perfection, successively shutting out everything +that they feel to be lower than themselves. Now shutting out things is +all very well, but it has one simple corollary--that from everything +that we shut out we are ourselves shut out. When we shut our door on the +wind, it would be equally true to say that the wind shuts its door on +us. Whatever virtues a triumphant egoism really leads to, no one can +reasonably pretend that it leads to knowledge. Turning a beggar from the +door may be right enough, but pretending to know all the stories the +beggar might have narrated is pure nonsense; and this is practically +the claim of the egoism which thinks that self-assertion can obtain +knowledge. A beetle may or may not be inferior to a man--the matter +awaits demonstration; but if he were inferior by ten thousand fathoms, +the fact remains that there is probably a beetle view of things of which +a man is entirely ignorant. If he wishes to conceive that point of view, +he will scarcely reach it by persistently revelling in the fact that he +is not a beetle. The most brilliant exponent of the egoistic school, +Nietszche, with deadly and honourable logic, admitted that the +philosophy of self-satisfaction led to looking down upon the weak, the +cowardly, and the ignorant. Looking down on things may be a delightful +experience, only there is nothing, from a mountain to a cabbage, that is +really _seen_ when it is seen from a balloon. The philosopher of the ego +sees everything, no doubt, from a high and rarified heaven; only he sees +everything foreshortened or deformed. + +Now if we imagine that a man wished truly, as far as possible, to see +everything as it was, he would certainly proceed on a different +principle. He would seek to divest himself for a time of those personal +peculiarities which tend to divide him from the thing he studies. It is +as difficult, for example, for a man to examine a fish without +developing a certain vanity in possessing a pair of legs, as if they +were the latest article of personal adornment. But if a fish is to be +approximately understood, this physiological dandyism must be overcome. +The earnest student of fish morality will, spiritually speaking, chop +off his legs. And similarly the student of birds will eliminate his +arms; the frog-lover will with one stroke of the imagination remove all +his teeth, and the spirit wishing to enter into all the hopes and fears +of jelly-fish will simplify his personal appearance to a really alarming +extent. It would appear, therefore, that this great body of ours and all +its natural instincts, of which we are proud, and justly proud, is +rather an encumbrance at the moment when we attempt to appreciate things +as they should be appreciated. We do actually go through a process of +mental asceticism, a castration of the entire being, when we wish to +feel the abounding good in all things. It is good for us at certain +times that ourselves should be like a mere window--as clear, as +luminous, and as invisible. + +In a very entertaining work, over which we have roared in childhood, it +is stated that a point has no parts and no magnitude. Humility is the +luxurious art of reducing ourselves to a point, not to a small thing or +a large one, but to a thing with no size at all, so that to it all the +cosmic things are what they really are--of immeasurable stature. That +the trees are high and the grasses short is a mere accident of our own +foot-rules and our own stature. But to the spirit which has stripped off +for a moment its own idle temporal standards the grass is an everlasting +forest, with dragons for denizens; the stones of the road are as +incredible mountains piled one upon the other; the dandelions are like +gigantic bonfires illuminating the lands around; and the heath-bells on +their stalks are like planets hung in heaven each higher than the other. +Between one stake of a paling and another there are new and terrible +landscapes; here a desert, with nothing but one misshapen rock; here a +miraculous forest, of which all the trees flower above the head with the +hues of sunset; here, again, a sea full of monsters that Dante would not +have dared to dream. These are the visions of him who, like the child in +the fairy tales, is not afraid to become small. Meanwhile, the sage +whose faith is in magnitude and ambition is, like a giant, becoming +larger and larger, which only means that the stars are becoming smaller +and smaller. World after world falls from him into insignificance; the +whole passionate and intricate life of common things becomes as lost to +him as is the life of the infusoria to a man without a microscope. He +rises always through desolate eternities. He may find new systems, and +forget them; he may discover fresh universes, and learn to despise them. +But the towering and tropical vision of things as they really are--the +gigantic daisies, the heaven-consuming dandelions, the great Odyssey of +strange-coloured oceans and strange-shaped trees, of dust like the wreck +of temples, and thistledown like the ruin of stars--all this colossal +vision shall perish with the last of the humble. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF SLANG + + +The aristocrats of the nineteenth century have destroyed entirely their +one solitary utility. It is their business to be flaunting and arrogant; +but they flaunt unobtrusively, and their attempts at arrogance are +depressing. Their chief duty hitherto has been the development of +variety, vivacity, and fulness of life; oligarchy was the world's first +experiment in liberty. But now they have adopted the opposite ideal of +'good form,' which may be defined as Puritanism without religion. Good +form has sent them all into black like the stroke of a funeral bell. +They engage, like Mr. Gilbert's curates, in a war of mildness, a +positive competition of obscurity. In old times the lords of the earth +sought above all things to be distinguished from each other; with that +object they erected outrageous images on their helmets and painted +preposterous colours on their shields. They wished to make it entirely +clear that a Norfolk was as different, say, from an Argyll as a white +lion from a black pig. But to-day their ideal is precisely the opposite +one, and if a Norfolk and an Argyll were dressed so much alike that they +were mistaken for each other they would both go home dancing with joy. + +The consequences of this are inevitable. The aristocracy must lose their +function of standing to the world for the idea of variety, experiment, +and colour, and we must find these things in some other class. To ask +whether we shall find them in the middle class would be to jest upon +sacred matters. The only conclusion, therefore, is that it is to +certain sections of the lower class, chiefly, for example, to +omnibus-conductors, with their rich and rococo mode of thought, that we +must look for guidance towards liberty and light. + +The one stream of poetry which is continually flowing is slang. Every +day a nameless poet weaves some fairy tracery of popular language. It +may be said that the fashionable world talks slang as much as the +democratic; this is true, and it strongly supports the view under +consideration. Nothing is more startling than the contrast between the +heavy, formal, lifeless slang of the man-about-town and the light, +living, and flexible slang of the coster. The talk of the upper strata +of the educated classes is about the most shapeless, aimless, and +hopeless literary product that the world has ever seen. Clearly in this, +again, the upper classes have degenerated. We have ample evidence that +the old leaders of feudal war could speak on occasion with a certain +natural symbolism and eloquence that they had not gained from books. +When Cyrano de Bergerac, in Rostand's play, throws doubts on the reality +of Christian's dulness and lack of culture, the latter replies: + + 'Bah! on trouve des mots quand on monte Ă l'assaut; + Oui, j'ai un certain esprit facile et militaire;' + +and these two lines sum up a truth about the old oligarchs. They could +not write three legible letters, but they could sometimes speak +literature. Douglas, when he hurled the heart of Bruce in front of him +in his last battle, cried out, 'Pass first, great heart, as thou wert +ever wont.' A Spanish nobleman, when commanded by the King to receive a +high-placed and notorious traitor, said: 'I will receive him in all +obedience, and burn down my house afterwards.' This is literature +without culture; it is the speech of men convinced that they have to +assert proudly the poetry of life. + +Anyone, however, who should seek for such pearls in the conversation of +a young man of modern Belgravia would have much sorrow in his life. It +is not only impossible for aristocrats to assert proudly the poetry of +life; it is more impossible for them than for anyone else. It is +positively considered vulgar for a nobleman to boast of his ancient +name, which is, when one comes to think of it, the only rational object +of his existence. If a man in the street proclaimed, with rude feudal +rhetoric, that he was the Earl of Doncaster, he would be arrested as a +lunatic; but if it were discovered that he really was the Earl of +Doncaster, he would simply be cut as a cad. No poetical prose must be +expected from Earls as a class. The fashionable slang is hardly even a +language; it is like the formless cries of animals, dimly indicating +certain broad, well-understood states of mind. 'Bored,' 'cut up,' +'jolly,' 'rotten,' and so on, are like the words of some tribe of +savages whose vocabulary has only twenty of them. If a man of fashion +wished to protest against some solecism in another man of fashion, his +utterance would be a mere string of set phrases, as lifeless as a string +of dead fish. But an omnibus conductor (being filled with the Muse) +would burst out into a solid literary effort: 'You're a gen'leman, +aren't yer ... yer boots is a lot brighter than yer 'ed...there's +precious little of yer, and that's clothes...that's right, put yer cigar +in yer mouth 'cos I can't see yer be'ind it...take it out again, do yer! +you're young for smokin', but I've sent for yer mother.... Goin'? oh, +don't run away: I won't 'arm yer. I've got a good 'art, I 'ave.... "Down +with croolty to animals," I say,' and so on. It is evident that this +mode of speech is not only literary, but literary in a very ornate and +almost artificial sense. Keats never put into a sonnet so many remote +metaphors as a coster puts into a curse; his speech is one long +allegory, like Spenser's 'Faerie Queen.' + +I do not imagine that it is necessary to demonstrate that this poetic +allusiveness is the characteristic of true slang. Such an expression as +'Keep your hair on' is positively Meredithian in its perverse and +mysterious manner of expressing an idea. The Americans have a well-known +expression about 'swelled-head' as a description of self-approval, and +the other day I heard a remarkable fantasia upon this air. An American +said that after the Chinese War the Japanese wanted 'to put on their +hats with a shoe-horn.' This is a monument of the true nature of slang, +which consists in getting further and further away from the original +conception, in treating it more and more as an assumption. It is rather +like the literary doctrine of the Symbolists. + +The real reason of this great development of eloquence among the lower +orders again brings us back to the case of the aristocracy in earlier +times. The lower classes live in a state of war, a war of words. Their +readiness is the product of the same fiery individualism as the +readiness of the old fighting oligarchs. Any cabman has to be ready with +his tongue, as any gentleman of the last century had to be ready with +his sword. It is unfortunate that the poetry which is developed by this +process should be purely a grotesque poetry. But as the higher orders of +society have entirely abdicated their right to speak with a heroic +eloquence, it is no wonder that the language should develop by itself in +the direction of a rowdy eloquence. The essential point is that somebody +must be at work adding new symbols and new circumlocutions to a +language. + +All slang is metaphor, and all metaphor is poetry. If we paused for a +moment to examine the cheapest cant phrases that pass our lips every +day, we should find that they were as rich and suggestive as so many +sonnets. To take a single instance: we speak of a man in English social +relations 'breaking the ice.' If this were expanded into a sonnet, we +should have before us a dark and sublime picture of an ocean of +everlasting ice, the sombre and baffling mirror of the Northern nature, +over which men walked and danced and skated easily, but under which the +living waters roared and toiled fathoms below. The world of slang is a +kind of topsy-turveydom of poetry, full of blue moons and white +elephants, of men losing their heads, and men whose tongues run away +with them--a whole chaos of fairy tales. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF BABY-WORSHIP + + +The two facts which attract almost every normal person to children are, +first, that they are very serious, and, secondly, that they are in +consequence very happy. They are jolly with the completeness which is +possible only in the absence of humour. The most unfathomable schools +and sages have never attained to the gravity which dwells in the eyes of +a baby of three months old. It is the gravity of astonishment at the +universe, and astonishment at the universe is not mysticism, but a +transcendent common-sense. The fascination of children lies in this: +that with each of them all things are remade, and the universe is put +again upon its trial. As we walk the streets and see below us those +delightful bulbous heads, three times too big for the body, which mark +these human mushrooms, we ought always primarily to remember that within +every one of these heads there is a new universe, as new as it was on +the seventh day of creation. In each of those orbs there is a new system +of stars, new grass, new cities, a new sea. + +There is always in the healthy mind an obscure prompting that religion +teaches us rather to dig than to climb; that if we could once understand +the common clay of earth we should understand everything. Similarly, we +have the sentiment that if we could destroy custom at a blow and see the +stars as a child sees them, we should need no other apocalypse. This is +the great truth which has always lain at the back of baby-worship, and +which will support it to the end. Maturity, with its endless energies +and aspirations, may easily be convinced that it will find new things to +appreciate; but it will never be convinced, at bottom, that it has +properly appreciated what it has got. We may scale the heavens and find +new stars innumerable, but there is still the new star we have not +found--that on which we were born. + +But the influence of children goes further than its first trifling +effort of remaking heaven and earth. It forces us actually to remodel +our conduct in accordance with this revolutionary theory of the +marvellousness of all things. We do (even when we are perfectly simple +or ignorant)--we do actually treat talking in children as marvellous, +walking in children as marvellous, common intelligence in children as +marvellous. The cynical philosopher fancies he has a victory in this +matter--that he can laugh when he shows that the words or antics of the +child, so much admired by its worshippers, are common enough. The fact +is that this is precisely where baby-worship is so profoundly right. Any +words and any antics in a lump of clay are wonderful, the child's words +and antics are wonderful, and it is only fair to say that the +philosopher's words and antics are equally wonderful. + +The truth is that it is our attitude towards children that is right, and +our attitude towards grown-up people that is wrong. Our attitude towards +our equals in age consists in a servile solemnity, overlying a +considerable degree of indifference or disdain. Our attitude towards +children consists in a condescending indulgence, overlying an +unfathomable respect. We bow to grown people, take off our hats to them, +refrain from contradicting them flatly, but we do not appreciate them +properly. We make puppets of children, lecture them, pull their hair, +and reverence, love, and fear them. When we reverence anything in the +mature, it is their virtues or their wisdom, and this is an easy +matter. But we reverence the faults and follies of children. + +We should probably come considerably nearer to the true conception of +things if we treated all grown-up persons, of all titles and types, with +precisely that dark affection and dazed respect with which we treat the +infantile limitations. A child has a difficulty in achieving the miracle +of speech, consequently we find his blunders almost as marvellous as his +accuracy. If we only adopted the same attitude towards Premiers and +Chancellors of the Exchequer, if we genially encouraged their stammering +and delightful attempts at human speech, we should be in a far more wise +and tolerant temper. A child has a knack of making experiments in life, +generally healthy in motive, but often intolerable in a domestic +commonwealth. If we only treated all commercial buccaneers and bumptious +tyrants on the same terms, if we gently chided their brutalities as +rather quaint mistakes in the conduct of life, if we simply told them +that they would 'understand when they were older,' we should probably be +adopting the best and most crushing attitude towards the weaknesses of +humanity. In our relations to children we prove that the paradox is +entirely true, that it is possible to combine an amnesty that verges on +contempt with a worship that verges upon terror. We forgive children +with the same kind of blasphemous gentleness with which Omar Khayyam +forgave the Omnipotent. + +The essential rectitude of our view of children lies in the fact that we +feel them and their ways to be supernatural while, for some mysterious +reason, we do not feel ourselves or our own ways to be supernatural. The +very smallness of children makes it possible to regard them as marvels; +we seem to be dealing with a new race, only to be seen through a +microscope. I doubt if anyone of any tenderness or imagination can see +the hand of a child and not be a little frightened of it. It is awful to +think of the essential human energy moving so tiny a thing; it is like +imagining that human nature could live in the wing of a butterfly or the +leaf of a tree. When we look upon lives so human and yet so small, we +feel as if we ourselves were enlarged to an embarrassing bigness of +stature. We feel the same kind of obligation to these creatures that a +deity might feel if he had created something that he could not +understand. + +But the humorous look of children is perhaps the most endearing of all +the bonds that hold the Cosmos together. Their top-heavy dignity is +more touching than any humility; their solemnity gives us more hope for +all things than a thousand carnivals of optimism; their large and +lustrous eyes seem to hold all the stars in their astonishment; their +fascinating absence of nose seems to give to us the most perfect hint of +the humour that awaits us in the kingdom of heaven. + + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF DETECTIVE STORIES + + +In attempting to reach the genuine psychological reason for the +popularity of detective stories, it is necessary to rid ourselves of +many mere phrases. It is not true, for example, that the populace prefer +bad literature to good, and accept detective stories because they are +bad literature. The mere absence of artistic subtlety does not make a +book popular. Bradshaw's Railway Guide contains few gleams of +psychological comedy, yet it is not read aloud uproariously on winter +evenings. If detective stories are read with more exuberance than +railway guides, it is certainly because they are more artistic. Many +good books have fortunately been popular; many bad books, still more +fortunately, have been unpopular. A good detective story would probably +be even more popular than a bad one. The trouble in this matter is that +many people do not realize that there is such a thing as a good +detective story; it is to them like speaking of a good devil. To write a +story about a burglary is, in their eyes, a sort of spiritual manner of +committing it. To persons of somewhat weak sensibility this is natural +enough; it must be confessed that many detective stories are as full of +sensational crime as one of Shakespeare's plays. + +There is, however, between a good detective story and a bad detective +story as much, or, rather more, difference than there is between a good +epic and a bad one. Not only is a detective story a perfectly legitimate +form of art, but it has certain definite and real advantages as an agent +of the public weal. + +The first essential value of the detective story lies in this, that it +is the earliest and only form of popular literature in which is +expressed some sense of the poetry of modern life. Men lived among +mighty mountains and eternal forests for ages before they realized that +they were poetical; it may reasonably be inferred that some of our +descendants may see the chimney-pots as rich a purple as the +mountain-peaks, and find the lamp-posts as old and natural as the trees. +Of this realization of a great city itself as something wild and obvious +the detective story is certainly the 'Iliad.' No one can have failed to +notice that in these stories the hero or the investigator crosses London +with something of the loneliness and liberty of a prince in a tale of +elfland, that in the course of that incalculable journey the casual +omnibus assumes the primal colours of a fairy ship. The lights of the +city begin to glow like innumerable goblin eyes, since they are the +guardians of some secret, however crude, which the writer knows and the +reader does not. Every twist of the road is like a finger pointing to +it; every fantastic skyline of chimney-pots seems wildly and derisively +signalling the meaning of the mystery. + +This realization of the poetry of London is not a small thing. A city +is, properly speaking, more poetic even than a countryside, for while +Nature is a chaos of unconscious forces, a city is a chaos of conscious +ones. The crest of the flower or the pattern of the lichen may or may +not be significant symbols. But there is no stone in the street and no +brick in the wall that is not actually a deliberate symbol--a message +from some man, as much as if it were a telegram or a post-card. The +narrowest street possesses, in every crook and twist of its intention, +the soul of the man who built it, perhaps long in his grave. Every brick +has as human a hieroglyph as if it were a graven brick of Babylon; every +slate on the roof is as educational a document as if it were a slate +covered with addition and subtraction sums. Anything which tends, even +under the fantastic form of the minutiae of Sherlock Holmes, to assert +this romance of detail in civilization, to emphasize this unfathomably +human character in flints and tiles, is a good thing. It is good that +the average man should fall into the habit of looking imaginatively at +ten men in the street even if it is only on the chance that the eleventh +might be a notorious thief. We may dream, perhaps, that it might be +possible to have another and higher romance of London, that men's souls +have stranger adventures than their bodies, and that it would be harder +and more exciting to hunt their virtues than to hunt their crimes. But +since our great authors (with the admirable exception of Stevenson) +decline to write of that thrilling mood and moment when the eyes of the +great city, like the eyes of a cat, begin to flame in the dark, we must +give fair credit to the popular literature which, amid a babble of +pedantry and preciosity, declines to regard the present as prosaic or +the common as commonplace. Popular art in all ages has been interested +in contemporary manners and costume; it dressed the groups around the +Crucifixion in the garb of Florentine gentlefolk or Flemish burghers. +In the last century it was the custom for distinguished actors to +present Macbeth in a powdered wig and ruffles. How far we are ourselves +in this age from such conviction of the poetry of our own life and +manners may easily be conceived by anyone who chooses to imagine a +picture of Alfred the Great toasting the cakes dressed in tourist's +knickerbockers, or a performance of 'Hamlet' in which the Prince +appeared in a frock-coat, with a crape band round his hat. But this +instinct of the age to look back, like Lot's wife, could not go on for +ever. A rude, popular literature of the romantic possibilities of the +modern city was bound to arise. It has arisen in the popular detective +stories, as rough and refreshing as the ballads of Robin Hood. + +There is, however, another good work that is done by detective stories. +While it is the constant tendency of the Old Adam to rebel against so +universal and automatic a thing as civilization, to preach departure and +rebellion, the romance of police activity keeps in some sense before the +mind the fact that civilization itself is the most sensational of +departures and the most romantic of rebellions. By dealing with the +unsleeping sentinels who guard the outposts of society, it tends to +remind us that we live in an armed camp, making war with a chaotic +world, and that the criminals, the children of chaos, are nothing but +the traitors within our gates. When the detective in a police romance +stands alone, and somewhat fatuously fearless amid the knives and fists +of a thieves' kitchen, it does certainly serve to make us remember that +it is the agent of social justice who is the original and poetic figure, +while the burglars and footpads are merely placid old cosmic +conservatives, happy in the immemorial respectability of apes and +wolves. The romance of the police force is thus the whole romance of +man. It is based on the fact that morality is the most dark and daring +of conspiracies. It reminds us that the whole noiseless and unnoticeable +police management by which we are ruled and protected is only a +successful knight-errantry. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF PATRIOTISM + + +The decay of patriotism in England during the last year or two is a +serious and distressing matter. Only in consequence of such a decay +could the current lust of territory be confounded with the ancient love +of country. We may imagine that if there were no such thing as a pair of +lovers left in the world, all the vocabulary of love might without +rebuke be transferred to the lowest and most automatic desire. If no +type of chivalrous and purifying passion remained, there would be no one +left to say that lust bore none of the marks of love, that lust was +rapacious and love pitiful, that lust was blind and love vigilant, that +lust sated itself and love was insatiable. So it is with the 'love of +the city,' that high and ancient intellectual passion which has been +written in red blood on the same table with the primal passions of our +being. On all sides we hear to-day of the love of our country, and yet +anyone who has literally such a love must be bewildered at the talk, +like a man hearing all men say that the moon shines by day and the sun +by night. The conviction must come to him at last that these men do not +realize what the word 'love' means, that they mean by the love of +country, not what a mystic might mean by the love of God, but something +of what a child might mean by the love of jam. To one who loves his +fatherland, for instance, our boasted indifference to the ethics of a +national war is mere mysterious gibberism. It is like telling a man that +a boy has committed murder, but that he need not mind because it is only +his son. Here clearly the word 'love' is used unmeaningly. It is the +essence of love to be sensitive, it is a part of its doom; and anyone +who objects to the one must certainly get rid of the other. This +sensitiveness, rising sometimes to an almost morbid sensitiveness, was +the mark of all great lovers like Dante and all great patriots like +Chatham. 'My country, right or wrong,' is a thing that no patriot would +think of saying except in a desperate case. It is like saying, 'My +mother, drunk or sober.' No doubt if a decent man's mother took to drink +he would share her troubles to the last; but to talk as if he would be +in a state of gay indifference as to whether his mother took to drink or +not is certainly not the language of men who know the great mystery. + +What we really need for the frustration and overthrow of a deaf and +raucous Jingoism is a renascence of the love of the native land. When +that comes, all shrill cries will cease suddenly. For the first of all +the marks of love is seriousness: love will not accept sham bulletins or +the empty victory of words. It will always esteem the most candid +counsellor the best. Love is drawn to truth by the unerring magnetism of +agony; it gives no pleasure to the lover to see ten doctors dancing with +vociferous optimism round a death-bed. + +We have to ask, then, Why is it that this recent movement in England, +which has honestly appeared to many a renascence of patriotism, seems to +us to have none of the marks of patriotism--at least, of patriotism in +its highest form? Why has the adoration of our patriots been given +wholly to qualities and circumstances good in themselves, but +comparatively material and trivial:--trade, physical force, a skirmish +at a remote frontier, a squabble in a remote continent? Colonies are +things to be proud of, but for a country to be only proud of its +extremities is like a man being only proud of his legs. Why is there not +a high central intellectual patriotism, a patriotism of the head and +heart of the Empire, and not merely of its fists and its boots? A rude +Athenian sailor may very likely have thought that the glory of Athens +lay in rowing with the right kind of oars, or having a good supply of +garlic; but Pericles did not think that this was the glory of Athens. +With us, on the other hand, there is no difference at all between the +patriotism preached by Mr. Chamberlain and that preached by Mr. Pat +Rafferty, who sings 'What do you think of the Irish now?' They are both +honest, simple-minded, vulgar eulogies upon trivialities and truisms. + +I have, rightly or wrongly, a notion of the chief cause of this +pettiness in English patriotism of to-day, and I will attempt to expound +it. It may be taken generally that a man loves his own stock and +environment, and that he will find something to praise in it; but +whether it is the most praiseworthy thing or no will depend upon the +man's enlightenment as to the facts. If the son of Thackeray, let us +say, were brought up in ignorance of his father's fame and genius, it is +not improbable that he would be proud of the fact that his father was +over six feet high. It seems to me that we, as a nation, are precisely +in the position of this hypothetical child of Thackeray's. We fall back +upon gross and frivolous things for our patriotism, for a simple reason. +We are the only people in the world who are not taught in childhood our +own literature and our own history. + +We are, as a nation, in the truly extraordinary condition of not knowing +our own merits. We have played a great and splendid part in the history +of universal thought and sentiment; we have been among the foremost in +that eternal and bloodless battle in which the blows do not slay, but +create. In painting and music we are inferior to many other nations; but +in literature, science, philosophy, and political eloquence, if history +be taken as a whole, we can hold our own with any. But all this vast +heritage of intellectual glory is kept from our schoolboys like a +heresy; and they are left to live and die in the dull and infantile type +of patriotism which they learnt from a box of tin soldiers. There is no +harm in the box of tin soldiers; we do not expect children to be equally +delighted with a beautiful box of tin philanthropists. But there is +great harm in the fact that the subtler and more civilized honour of +England is not presented so as to keep pace with the expanding mind. A +French boy is taught the glory of Molière as well as that of Turenne; a +German boy is taught his own great national philosophy before he learns +the philosophy of antiquity. The result is that, though French +patriotism is often crazy and boastful, though German patriotism is +often isolated and pedantic, they are neither of them merely dull, +common, and brutal, as is so often the strange fate of the nation of +Bacon and Locke. It is natural enough, and even righteous enough, under +the circumstances. An Englishman must love England for something; +consequently, he tends to exalt commerce or prize-fighting, just as a +German might tend to exalt music, or a Flamand to exalt painting, +because he really believes it is the chief merit of his fatherland. It +would not be in the least extraordinary if a claim of eating up +provinces and pulling down princes were the chief boast of a Zulu. The +extraordinary thing is, that it is the chief boast of a people who have +Shakespeare, Newton, Burke, and Darwin to boast of. + +The peculiar lack of any generosity or delicacy in the current English +nationalism appears to have no other possible origin but in this fact of +our unique neglect in education of the study of the national literature. +An Englishman could not be silly enough to despise other nations if he +once knew how much England had done for them. Great men of letters +cannot avoid being humane and universal. The absence of the teaching of +English literature in our schools is, when we come to think of it, an +almost amazing phenomenon. It is even more amazing when we listen to the +arguments urged by headmasters and other educational conservatives +against the direct teaching of English. It is said, for example, that a +vast amount of English grammar and literature is picked up in the course +of learning Latin and Greek. This is perfectly true, but the +topsy-turviness of the idea never seems to strike them. It is like +saying that a baby picks up the art of walking in the course of learning +to hop, or that a Frenchman may successfully be taught German by helping +a Prussian to learn Ashanti. Surely the obvious foundation of all +education is the language in which that education is conveyed; if a boy +has only time to learn one thing, he had better learn that. + +We have deliberately neglected this great heritage of high national +sentiment. We have made our public schools the strongest walls against a +whisper of the honour of England. And we have had our punishment in this +strange and perverted fact that, while a unifying vision of patriotism +can ennoble bands of brutal savages or dingy burghers, and be the best +thing in their lives, we, who are--the world being judge--humane, +honest, and serious individually, have a patriotism that is the worst +thing in ours. What have we done, and where have we wandered, we that +have produced sages who could have spoken with Socrates and poets who +could walk with Dante, that we should talk as if we have never done +anything more intelligent than found colonies and kick niggers? We are +the children of light, and it is we that sit in darkness. If we are +judged, it will not be for the merely intellectual transgression of +failing to appreciate other nations, but for the supreme spiritual +transgression of failing to appreciate ourselves. + + +THE END + +BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Defendant, by G.K. Chesterton + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12245 *** diff --git a/12245-h/12245-h.htm b/12245-h/12245-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..818f249 --- /dev/null +++ b/12245-h/12245-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2581 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= + "text/html; charset=UTF-8"> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Defendant, by G. K. Chesterton. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + } + HR { width: 33%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .note {margin-left: 2em; margin-right: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} /* footnote */ + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-left: 2em; font-size: smaller; float: right; clear: right;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 4em;} + .poem .caesura {vertical-align: -200%;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12245 ***</div> + +<h1>THE DEFENDANT</h1> + +<h2>BY G. K. CHESTERTON</h2> + +<p>AUTHOR OF 'THE WILD KNIGHT' AND 'GREYBEARDS AT PLAY'</p> + +<p>SECOND EDITION</p> + +<p>LONDON. MDCCCCII</p> + +<p>R. BRIMLEY JOHNSON</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<p>The 'Defences' of which this volume is composed have appeared in <i>The +Speaker</i>, and are here reprinted, after revision and amplification, by +permission of the Editor. Portions of 'The Defence of Publicity' +appeared in <i>The Daily News</i>.</p> + +<p><i>October</i>, 1901.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<a href="#IN_DEFENCE_OF_A_NEW_EDITION"><b>IN DEFENCE OF A NEW EDITION</b></a><br> +<a href="#INTRODUCTION"><b>INTRODUCTION</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_PENNY_DREADFULS"><b>A DEFENCE OF PENNY DREADFULS</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_RASH_VOWS"><b>A DEFENCE OF RASH VOWS</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_SKELETONS"><b>A DEFENCE OF SKELETONS</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_PUBLICITY"><b>A DEFENCE OF PUBLICITY</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_NONSENSE"><b>A DEFENCE OF NONSENSE</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_PLANETS"><b>A DEFENCE OF PLANETS</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_CHINA_SHEPHERDESSES"><b>A DEFENCE OF CHINA SHEPHERDESSES</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_USEFUL_INFORMATION"><b>A DEFENCE OF USEFUL INFORMATION</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_HERALDRY"><b>A DEFENCE OF HERALDRY</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_UGLY_THINGS"><b>A DEFENCE OF UGLY THINGS</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_FARCE"><b>A DEFENCE OF FARCE</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_HUMILITY"><b>A DEFENCE OF HUMILITY</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_SLANG"><b>A DEFENCE OF SLANG</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_BABY-WORSHIP"><b>A DEFENCE OF BABY-WORSHIP</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_DETECTIVE_STORIES"><b>A DEFENCE OF DETECTIVE STORIES</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_PATRIOTISM"><b>A DEFENCE OF PATRIOTISM</b></a><br> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + +<br> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<a name="IN_DEFENCE_OF_A_NEW_EDITION"></a><h2><i>IN DEFENCE OF A NEW EDITION</i></h2> + +<p>The reissue of a series of essays so ephemeral and even superfluous may +seem at the first glance to require some excuse; probably the best +excuse is that they will have been completely forgotten, and therefore +may be read again with entirely new sensations. I am not sure, however, +that this claim is so modest as it sounds, for I fancy that Shakespeare +and Balzac, if moved to prayers, might not ask to be remembered, but to +be forgotten, and forgotten thus; for if they were forgotten they would +be everlastingly re-discovered and re-read. It is a monotonous memory +which keeps us in the main from seeing things as splendid as they are. +The ancients were not wrong when they made Lethe the boundary of a +better land; perhaps the only flaw in their system is that a man who had +bathed in the river of forgetfulness would be as likely as not to climb +back upon the bank of the earth and fancy himself in Elysium.</p> + +<p>If, therefore, I am certain that most sensible people have forgotten +the existence of this book—I do not speak in modesty or in pride—I +wish only to state a simple and somewhat beautiful fact. In one respect +the passing of the period during which a book can be considered current +has afflicted me with some melancholy, for I had intended to write +anonymously in some daily paper a thorough and crushing exposure of the +work inspired mostly by a certain artistic impatience of the too +indulgent tone of the critiques and the manner in which a vast number of +my most monstrous fallacies have passed unchallenged. I will not repeat +that powerful article here, for it cannot be necessary to do anything +more than warn the reader against the perfectly indefensible line of +argument adopted at the end of p. 28. I am also conscious that the title +of the book is, strictly speaking, inaccurate. It is a legal metaphor, +and, speaking legally, a defendant is not an enthusiast for the +character of King John or the domestic virtues of the prairie-dog. He is +one who defends himself, a thing which the present writer, however +poisoned his mind may be with paradox, certainly never dreamed of +attempting.</p> + +<p>Criticism upon the book considered as literature, if it can be so +considered, I should, of course, never dream of discussing—firstly, +because it is ridiculous to do so; and, secondly, because there was, in +my opinion, much justice in such criticism.</p> + +<p>But there is one matter on which an author is generally considered as +having a right to explain himself, since it has nothing to do with +capacity or intelligence, and that is the question of his morals.</p> + +<p>I am proud to say that a furious, uncompromising, and very effective +attack was made upon what was alleged to be the utter immorality of this +book by my excellent friend Mr. C.F.G. Masterman, in the 'Speaker.' The +tendency of that criticism was to the effect that I was discouraging +improvement and disguising scandals by my offensive optimism. Quoting +the passage in which I said that 'diamonds were to be found in the +dust-bin,' he said: 'There is no difficulty in finding good in what +humanity rejects. The difficulty is to find it in what humanity accepts. +The diamond is easy enough to find in the dust-bin. The difficulty is to +find it in the drawing-room.' I must admit, for my part, without the +slightest shame, that I have found a great many very excellent things in +drawing-rooms. For example, I found Mr. Masterman in a drawing-room. But +I merely mention this purely ethical attack in order to state, in as few +sentences as possible, my difference from the theory of optimism and +progress therein enunciated. At first sight it would seem that the +pessimist encourages improvement. But in reality it is a singular truth +that the era in which pessimism has been cried from the house-tops is +also that in which almost all reform has stagnated and fallen into +decay. The reason of this is not difficult to discover. No man ever did, +and no man ever can, create or desire to make a bad thing good or an +ugly thing beautiful. There must be some germ of good to be loved, some +fragment of beauty to be admired. The mother washes and decks out the +dirty or careless child, but no one can ask her to wash and deck out a +goblin with a heart like hell. No one can kill the fatted calf for +Mephistopheles. The cause which is blocking all progress today is the +subtle scepticism which whispers in a million ears that things are not +good enough to be worth improving. If the world is good we are +revolutionaries, if the world is evil we must be conservatives. These +essays, futile as they are considered as serious literature, are yet +ethically sincere, since they seek to remind men that things must be +loved first and improved afterwards.</p><!-- Page -5 --><a name="Page_-5"></a> + +<p><i>G. K. C</i>.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h1>THE DEFENDANT</h1> + +<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION"></a>INTRODUCTION</h2> + +<p>In certain endless uplands, uplands like great flats gone dizzy, slopes +that seem to contradict the idea that there is even such a thing as a +level, and make us all realize that we live on a planet with a sloping +roof, you will come from time to time upon whole valleys filled with +loose rocks and boulders, so big as to be like mountains broken loose.<!-- Page -4 --><a name="Page_-4"></a> +The whole might be an experimental creation shattered and cast away. It +is often difficult to believe that such cosmic refuse can have come +together except by human means. The mildest and most cockney imagination +conceives the place to be the scene of some war of giants. To me it is +always associated with one idea, recurrent and at last instinctive. The +scene was the scene of the stoning of some prehistoric prophet, a +prophet as much more gigantic than after-prophets as the boulders are +more gigantic than the pebbles. He spoke some words—words that seemed +shameful and tremendous—and the world, in terror, buried him under a<!-- Page -3 --><a name="Page_-3"></a> +wilderness of stones. The place is the monument of an ancient fear.</p> + +<p>If we followed the same mood of fancy, it would be more difficult to +imagine what awful hint or wild picture of the universe called forth +that primal persecution, what secret of sensational thought lies buried +under the brutal stones. For in our time the blasphemies are threadbare. +Pessimism is now patently, as it always was essentially, more +commonplace than piety. Profanity is now more than an affectation—it is +a convention. The curse against God is Exercise I. in the primer of +minor poetry. It was not, assuredly, for such babyish solemnities that +our imaginary prophet was stoned in the morning of the world. If we +weigh the matter in the faultless scales of imagination, if we see what +is the real trend of humanity, we shall feel it most probable that he +was stoned for saying that the grass was green and that the birds sang +in spring; for the mission of all the prophets from the beginning has +not been so much the pointing out of heavens or hells as primarily the +pointing out of the earth.</p> + +<p>Religion has had to provide that longest and strangest telescope—the +telescope through which we could see the star upon which we dwelt. For +the mind and eyes of the average man this world is as lost as Eden and +as sunken as Atlantis. There runs a strange law through the length of +human history—that men are continually tending to undervalue their +environment, to undervalue their happiness, to undervalue themselves. +The great sin of mankind, the sin typified by the fall of Adam, is the +tendency, not towards pride, but towards this weird and horrible +humility.</p> + +<p>This is the great fall, the fall by which the fish forgets the sea, the +ox forgets the meadow, the clerk forgets the city, every man forgets his +environment and, in the fullest and most literal sense, forgets himself. +This is the real fall of Adam, and it is a spiritual fall. It is a +strange thing that many truly spiritual men, such as General Gordon, +have actually spent some hours in speculating upon the precise location +of the Garden of Eden. Most probably we are in Eden still. It is only +our eyes that have changed.</p> + +<p>The pessimist is commonly spoken of as the man in revolt. He is not. +Firstly, because it requires some cheerfulness to continue in revolt, +and secondly, because pessimism appeals to the weaker side of everybody, +and the pessimist, therefore, drives as roaring a trade as the publican. +The person who is really in revolt is the optimist, who generally lives +and dies in a desperate and suicidal effort to persuade all the other +people how good they are. It has been proved a hundred times over that +if you really wish to enrage people and make them angry, even unto +death, the right way to do it is to tell them that they are all the sons +of God. Jesus Christ was crucified, it may be remembered, not because of<!-- Page -2 --><a name="Page_-2"></a> +anything he said about God, but on a charge of saying that a man could +in three days pull down and rebuild the Temple. Every one of the great +revolutionists, from Isaiah to Shelley, have been optimists. They have +been indignant, not about the badness of existence, but about the +slowness of men in realizing its goodness. The prophet who is stoned is +not a brawler or a marplot. He is simply a rejected lover. He suffers +from an unrequited attachment to things in general.</p> + +<p>It becomes increasingly apparent, therefore, that the world is in a +permanent danger of being misjudged. That this is no fanciful or +mystical idea may be tested by simple examples. The two absolutely basic +words 'good' and 'bad,' descriptive of two primal and inexplicable +sensations, are not, and never have been, used properly. Things that are +bad are not called good by any people who experience them; but things +that are good are called bad by the universal verdict of humanity.</p> +<!-- Page -1 --><a name="Page_-1"></a> +<p>Let me explain a little: Certain things are bad so far as they go, such +as pain, and no one, not even a lunatic, calls a tooth-ache good in +itself; but a knife which cuts clumsily and with difficulty is called a +bad knife, which it certainly is not. It is only not so good as other +knives to which men have grown accustomed. A knife is never bad except +on such rare occasions as that in which it is neatly and scientifically +planted in the middle of one's back. The coarsest and bluntest knife +which ever broke a pencil into pieces instead of sharpening it is a good +thing in so far as it is a knife. It would have appeared a miracle in +the Stone Age. What we call a bad knife is a good knife not good enough +for us; what we call a bad hat is a good hat not good enough for us; +what we call bad cookery is good cookery not good enough for us; what we +call a bad civilization is a good civilization not good enough for us. +We choose to call the great mass of the history of mankind bad, not +because it is bad, but because we are better. This is palpably an unfair +principle. Ivory may not be so white as snow, but the whole Arctic +continent does not make ivory black.</p> + +<p>Now it has appeared to me unfair that humanity should be engaged +perpetually in calling all those things bad which have been good enough +to make other things better, in everlastingly kicking down the ladder<!-- Page 0 --><a name="Page_0"></a> by +which it has climbed. It has appeared to me that progress should be +something else besides a continual parricide; therefore I have +investigated the dust-heaps of humanity, and found a treasure in all of +them. I have found that humanity is not incidentally engaged, but +eternally and systematically engaged, in throwing gold into the gutter +and diamonds into the sea. I have found that every man is disposed to +call the green leaf of the tree a little less green than it is, and the +snow of Christmas a little less white than it is; therefore I have +imagined that the main business of a man, however humble, is defence. I +have conceived that a defendant is chiefly required when worldlings +despise the world—that a counsel for the defence would not have been +out of place in that terrible day when the sun was darkened over Calvary +and Man was rejected of men.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_PENNY_DREADFULS"></a>A DEFENCE OF PENNY DREADFULS</h2> +<br> +<!-- Page 1 --><a name="Page_1"></a> +<p>One of the strangest examples of the degree to which ordinary life is +undervalued is the example of popular literature, the vast mass of which +we contentedly describe as vulgar. The boy's novelette may be ignorant +in a literary sense, which is only like saying that a modern novel is +ignorant in the chemical sense, or the economic sense, or the +astronomical sense; but it is not vulgar intrinsically—it is the actual +centre of a million flaming imaginations.</p> + +<p>In former centuries the educated class ignored the ruck of vulgar +literature. They ignored, and therefore did not, properly speaking, +despise it. Simple ignorance and indifference does not inflate the +character with pride. A man does not walk down the street giving a +haughty twirl to his moustaches at the thought of his superiority to +some variety of deep-sea fishes. The old scholars left the whole +under-world of popular compositions in a similar darkness.</p> + +<p>To-day, however, we have reversed this principle. We do despise vulgar +compositions, and we do not ignore them. We are in some danger of +becoming petty in our study of pettiness; there is a terrible Circean +law in the background that if the soul stoops too ostentatiously to +examine anything it never gets up again. There is no class of vulgar +publications about which there is, to my mind, more utterly ridiculous<!-- Page 2 --><a name="Page_2"></a> +exaggeration and misconception than the current boys' literature of the +lowest stratum. This class of composition has presumably always existed, +and must exist. It has no more claim to be good literature than the +daily conversation of its readers to be fine oratory, or the +lodging-houses and tenements they inhabit to be sublime architecture. +But people must have conversation, they must have houses, and they must +have stories. The simple need for some kind of ideal world in which +fictitious persons play an unhampered part is infinitely deeper and +older than the rules of good art, and much more important. Every one of +us in childhood has constructed such an invisible <i>dramatis personæ</i>, +but it never occurred to our nurses to correct the composition by +careful comparison with Balzac. In the East the professional +story-teller goes from village to village with a small carpet; and I +wish sincerely that anyone had the moral courage to spread that carpet<!-- Page 3 --><a name="Page_3"></a> +and sit on it in Ludgate Circus. But it is not probable that all the +tales of the carpet-bearer are little gems of original artistic +workmanship. Literature and fiction are two entirely different things. +Literature is a luxury; fiction is a necessity. A work of art can hardly +be too short, for its climax is its merit. A story can never be too +long, for its conclusion is merely to be deplored, like the last +halfpenny or the last pipelight. And so, while the increase of the +artistic conscience tends in more ambitious works to brevity and +impressionism, voluminous industry still marks the producer of the true +romantic trash. There was no end to the ballads of Robin Hood; there is +no end to the volumes about Dick Deadshot and the Avenging Nine. These +two heroes are deliberately conceived as immortal.</p> + +<p>But instead of basing all discussion of the problem upon the +common-sense recognition of this fact—that the youth of the lower +orders always has had and always must have formless and endless romantic +reading of some kind, and then going on to make provision for its +wholesomeness—we begin, generally speaking, by fantastic abuse of this +reading as a whole and indignant surprise that the errand-boys under<!-- Page 4 --><a name="Page_4"></a> +discussion do not read 'The Egoist' and 'The Master Builder.' It is the +custom, particularly among magistrates, to attribute half the crimes of +the Metropolis to cheap novelettes. If some grimy urchin runs away with +an apple, the magistrate shrewdly points out that the child's knowledge +that apples appease hunger is traceable to some curious literary +researches. The boys themselves, when penitent, frequently accuse the +novelettes with great bitterness, which is only to be expected from +young people possessed of no little native humour. If I had forged a +will, and could obtain sympathy by tracing the incident to the influence +of Mr. George Moore's novels, I should find the greatest entertainment +in the diversion. At any rate, it is firmly fixed in the minds of most +people that gutter-boys, unlike everybody else in the community, find +their principal motives for conduct in printed books.</p> + +<p>Now it is quite clear that this objection, the objection brought by +magistrates, has nothing to do with literary merit. Bad story writing is +not a crime. Mr. Hall Caine walks the streets openly, and cannot be put +in prison for an anticlimax. The objection rests upon the theory that +the tone of the mass of boys' novelettes is criminal and degraded, +appealing to low cupidity and low cruelty. This is the magisterial +theory, and this is rubbish.</p> +<!-- Page 5 --><a name="Page_5"></a> +<p>So far as I have seen them, in connection with the dirtiest book-stalls +in the poorest districts, the facts are simply these: The whole +bewildering mass of vulgar juvenile literature is concerned with +adventures, rambling, disconnected and endless. It does not express any +passion of any sort, for there is no human character of any sort. It +runs eternally in certain grooves of local and historical type: the +medieval knight, the eighteenth-century duellist, and the modern cowboy, +recur with the same stiff simplicity as the conventional human figures +in an Oriental pattern. I can quite as easily imagine a human being +kindling wild appetites by the contemplation of his Turkey carpet as by +such dehumanized and naked narrative as this.</p> + +<p>Among these stories there are a certain number which deal +sympathetically with the adventures of robbers, outlaws and pirates, +which present in a dignified and romantic light thieves and murderers +like Dick Turpin and Claude Duval. That is to say, they do precisely the +same thing as Scott's 'Ivanhoe,' Scott's 'Rob Roy,' Scott's 'Lady of +the Lake,' Byron's 'Corsair,' Wordsworth's 'Rob Roy's Grave,' +Stevenson's 'Macaire,' Mr. Max Pemberton's 'Iron Pirate,' and a thousand<!-- Page 6 --><a name="Page_6"></a> +more works distributed systematically as prizes and Christmas presents. +Nobody imagines that an admiration of Locksley in 'Ivanhoe' will lead a +boy to shoot Japanese arrows at the deer in Richmond Park; no one thinks +that the incautious opening of Wordsworth at the poem on Rob Roy will +set him up for life as a blackmailer. In the case of our own class, we +recognise that this wild life is contemplated with pleasure by the +young, not because it is like their own life, but because it is +different from it. It might at least cross our minds that, for whatever +other reason the errand-boy reads 'The Red Revenge,' it really is not +because he is dripping with the gore of his own friends and relatives.</p> + +<p>In this matter, as in all such matters, we lose our bearings entirely by +speaking of the 'lower classes' when we mean humanity minus ourselves. +This trivial romantic literature is not especially plebeian: it is +simply human. The philanthropist can never forget classes and callings. +He says, with a modest swagger, 'I have invited twenty-five factory +hands to tea.' If he said 'I have invited twenty-five chartered +accountants to tea,' everyone would see the humour of so simple a +classification. But this is what we have done with this lumberland of<!-- Page 7 --><a name="Page_7"></a> +foolish writing: we have probed, as if it were some monstrous new +disease, what is, in fact, nothing but the foolish and valiant heart of +man. Ordinary men will always be sentimentalists: for a sentimentalist +is simply a man who has feelings and does not trouble to invent a new +way of expressing them. These common and current publications have +nothing essentially evil about them. They express the sanguine and +heroic truisms on which civilization is built; for it is clear that +unless civilization is built on truisms, it is not built at all. +Clearly, there could be no safety for a society in which the remark by +the Chief Justice that murder was wrong was regarded as an original and +dazzling epigram.</p> + +<p>If the authors and publishers of 'Dick Deadshot,' and such remarkable +works, were suddenly to make a raid upon the educated class, were to +take down the names of every man, however distinguished, who was caught +at a University Extension Lecture, were to confiscate all our novels and +warn us all to correct our lives, we should be seriously annoyed. Yet +they have far more right to do so than we; for they, with all their<!-- Page 8 --><a name="Page_8"></a> +idiotcy, are normal and we are abnormal. It is the modern literature of +the educated, not of the uneducated, which is avowedly and aggressively +criminal. Books recommending profligacy and pessimism, at which the +high-souled errand-boy would shudder, lie upon all our drawing-room +tables. If the dirtiest old owner of the dirtiest old bookstall in +Whitechapel dared to display works really recommending polygamy or +suicide, his stock would be seized by the police. These things are our +luxuries. And with a hypocrisy so ludicrous as to be almost unparalleled +in history, we rate the gutter-boys for their immorality at the very<!-- Page 9 --><a name="Page_9"></a> +time that we are discussing (with equivocal German Professors) whether +morality is valid at all. At the very instant that we curse the Penny +Dreadful for encouraging thefts upon property, we canvass the +proposition that all property is theft. At the very instant we accuse it +(quite unjustly) of lubricity and indecency, we are cheerfully reading +philosophies which glory in lubricity and indecency. At the very instant +that we charge it with encouraging the young to destroy life, we are +placidly discussing whether life is worth preserving.</p> + +<p>But it is we who are the morbid exceptions; it is we who are the +criminal class. This should be our great comfort. The vast mass of +humanity, with their vast mass of idle books and idle words, have never +doubted and never will doubt that courage is splendid, that fidelity is +noble, that distressed ladies should be rescued, and vanquished enemies +spared. There are a large number of cultivated persons who doubt these +maxims of daily life, just as there are a large number of persons who +believe they are the Prince of Wales; and I am told that both classes of +people are entertaining conversationalists. But the average man or boy +writes daily in these great gaudy diaries of his soul, which we call<!-- Page 10 --><a name="Page_10"></a> +Penny Dreadfuls, a plainer and better gospel than any of those +iridescent ethical paradoxes that the fashionable change as often as +their bonnets. It may be a very limited aim in morality to shoot a +'many-faced and fickle traitor,' but at least it is a better aim than to +be a many-faced and fickle traitor, which is a simple summary of a good +many modern systems from Mr. d'Annunzio's downwards. So long as the +coarse and thin texture of mere current popular romance is not touched +by a paltry culture it will never be vitally immoral. It is always on +the side of life. The poor—the slaves who really stoop under the +burden of life—have often been mad, scatter-brained and cruel, but +never hopeless. That is a class privilege, like cigars. Their drivelling +literature will always be a 'blood and thunder' literature, as simple as +the thunder of heaven and the blood of men.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_RASH_VOWS"></a>A DEFENCE OF RASH VOWS</h2><!-- Page 11 --><a name="Page_11"></a> + +<p>If a prosperous modern man, with a high hat and a frock-coat, were to +solemnly pledge himself before all his clerks and friends to count the +leaves on every third tree in Holland Walk, to hop up to the City on one +leg every Thursday, to repeat the whole of Mill's 'Liberty' seventy-six +times, to collect 300 dandelions in fields belonging to anyone of the +name of Brown, to remain for thirty-one hours holding his left ear in +his right hand, to sing the names of all his aunts in order of age on +the top of an omnibus, or make any such unusual undertaking, we should +immediately conclude that the man was mad, or, as it is sometimes +expressed, was 'an artist in life.' Yet these vows are not more +extraordinary than the vows which in the Middle Ages and in similar +periods were made, not by fanatics merely, but by the greatest figures +in civic and national civilization—by kings, judges, poets, and +priests. One man swore to chain two mountains together, and the great +chain hung there, it was said, for ages as a monument of that mystical +folly. Another swore that he would find his way to Jerusalem with a +patch over his eyes, and died looking for it. It is not easy to see that +these two exploits, judged from a strictly rational standpoint, are any<!-- Page 12 --><a name="Page_12"></a> +saner than the acts above suggested. A mountain is commonly a stationary +and reliable object which it is not necessary to chain up at night like +a dog. And it is not easy at first sight to see that a man pays a very +high compliment to the Holy City by setting out for it under conditions +which render it to the last degree improbable that he will ever get +there.</p> + +<p>But about this there is one striking thing to be noticed. If men behaved +in that way in our time, we should, as we have said, regard them as +symbols of the 'decadence.' But the men who did these things were not +decadent; they belonged generally to the most robust classes of what is +generally regarded as a robust age. Again, it will be urged that if men +essentially sane performed such insanities, it was under the capricious +direction of a superstitious religious system. This, again, will not +hold water; for in the purely terrestrial and even sensual departments +of life, such as love and lust, the medieval princes show the same mad +promises and performances, the same misshapen imagination and the same +monstrous self-sacrifice. Here we have a contradiction, to explain which +it is necessary to think of the whole nature of vows from the beginning.<!-- Page 13 --><a name="Page_13"></a> +And if we consider seriously and correctly the nature of vows, we shall, +unless I am much mistaken, come to the conclusion that it is perfectly +sane, and even sensible, to swear to chain mountains together, and that, +if insanity is involved at all, it is a little insane not to do so.</p> + +<p>The man who makes a vow makes an appointment with himself at some +distant time or place. The danger of it is that himself should not keep +the appointment. And in modern times this terror of one's self, of the +weakness and mutability of one's self, has perilously increased, and is +the real basis of the objection to vows of any kind. A modern man +refrains from swearing to count the leaves on every third tree in +Holland Walk, not because it is silly to do so (he does many sillier +things), but because he has a profound conviction that before he had got +to the three hundred and seventy-ninth leaf on the first tree he would +be excessively tired of the subject and want to go home to tea. In other +words, we fear that by that time he will be, in the common but hideously +significant phrase, <i>another man</i>. Now, it is this horrible fairy tale +of a man constantly changing into other men that is the soul of the +Decadence. That John Paterson should, with apparent calm, look forward +to being a certain General Barker on Monday, Dr. Macgregor on Tuesday, +Sir Walter Carstairs on Wednesday, and Sam Slugg on Thursday, may seem a +nightmare; but to that nightmare we give the name of modern culture. One<!-- Page 14 --><a name="Page_14"></a> +great decadent, who is now dead, published a poem some time ago, in +which he powerfully summed up the whole spirit of the movement by +declaring that he could stand in the prison yard and entirely comprehend +the feelings of a man about to be hanged:</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'For he that lives more lives than one</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">More deaths than one must die.'</span><br> + +<p>And the end of all this is that maddening horror of unreality which +descends upon the decadents, and compared with which physical pain +itself would have the freshness of a youthful thing. The one hell which +imagination must conceive as most hellish is to be eternally acting a +play without even the narrowest and dirtiest greenroom in which to be +human. And this is the condition of the decadent, of the aesthete, of +the free-lover. To be everlastingly passing through dangers which we +know cannot scathe us, to be taking oaths which we know cannot bind us, +to be defying enemies who we know cannot conquer us—this is the +grinning tyranny of decadence which is called freedom.</p><!-- Page 15 --><a name="Page_15"></a> + +<p>Let us turn, on the other hand, to the maker of vows. The man who made a +vow, however wild, gave a healthy and natural expression to the +greatness of a great moment. He vowed, for example, to chain two +mountains together, perhaps a symbol of some great relief, or love, or +aspiration. Short as the moment of his resolve might be, it was, like +all great moments, a moment of immortality, and the desire to say of it +<i>exegi monumentum oere perennius</i> was the only sentiment that would +satisfy his mind. The modern aesthetic man would, of course, easily see +the emotional opportunity; he would vow to chain two mountains together. +But, then, he would quite as cheerfully vow to chain the earth to the +moon. And the withering consciousness that he did not mean what he said, +that he was, in truth, saying nothing of any great import, would take +from him exactly that sense of daring actuality which is the excitement +of a vow. For what could be more maddening than an existence in which +our mother or aunt received the information that we were going to +assassinate the King or build a temple on Ben Nevis with the genial +composure of custom?</p> + +<p>The revolt against vows has been carried in our day even to the extent<!-- Page 16 --><a name="Page_16"></a> +of a revolt against the typical vow of marriage. It is most amusing to +listen to the opponents of marriage on this subject. They appear to +imagine that the ideal of constancy was a yoke mysteriously imposed on +mankind by the devil, instead of being, as it is, a yoke consistently +imposed by all lovers on themselves. They have invented a phrase, a +phrase that is a black and white contradiction in two +words—'free-love'—as if a lover ever had been, or ever could be, free. +It is the nature of love to bind itself, and the institution of marriage +merely paid the average man the compliment of taking him at his word. +Modern sages offer to the lover, with an ill-flavoured grin, the largest +liberties and the fullest irresponsibility; but they do not respect him +as the old Church respected him; they do not write his oath upon the +heavens, as the record of his highest moment. They give him every +liberty except the liberty to sell his liberty, which is the only one +that he wants.</p> + +<p>In Mr. Bernard Shaw's brilliant play 'The Philanderer,' we have a vivid +picture of this state of things. Charteris is a man perpetually +endeavouring to be a free-lover, which is like endeavouring to be a<!-- Page 17 --><a name="Page_17"></a> +married bachelor or a white negro. He is wandering in a hungry search +for a certain exhilaration which he can only have when he has the +courage to cease from wandering. Men knew better than this in old +times—in the time, for example, of Shakespeare's heroes. When +Shakespeare's men are really celibate they praise the undoubted +advantages of celibacy, liberty, irresponsibility, a chance of continual +change. But they were not such fools as to continue to talk of liberty +when they were in such a condition that they could be made happy or +miserable by the moving of someone else's eyebrow. Suckling classes love +with debt in his praise of freedom.</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'And he that's fairly out of both</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of all the world is blest.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He lives as in the golden age,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When all things made were common;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He takes his pipe, he takes his glass,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He fears no man or woman.'</span><br> + +<p>This is a perfectly possible, rational and manly position. But what have<!-- Page 18 --><a name="Page_18"></a> +lovers to do with ridiculous affectations of fearing no man or woman? +They know that in the turning of a hand the whole cosmic engine to the +remotest star may become an instrument of music or an instrument of +torture. They hear a song older than Suckling's, that has survived a +hundred philosophies. 'Who is this that looketh out of the window, fair +as the sun, clear as the moon, terrible as an army with banners?'</p> + +<p>As we have said, it is exactly this backdoor, this sense of ha<!-- Page 19 --><a name="Page_19"></a>ving a +retreat behind us, that is, to our minds, the sterilizing spirit in +modern pleasure. Everywhere there is the persistent and insane attempt +to obtain pleasure without paying for it. Thus, in politics the modern +Jingoes practically say, 'Let us have the pleasures of conquerors +without the pains of soldiers: let us sit on sofas and be a hardy race.' +Thus, in religion and morals, the decadent mystics say: 'Let us have the +fragrance of sacred purity without the sorrows of self-restraint; let us +sing hymns alternately to the Virgin and Priapus.' Thus in love the +free-lovers say: 'Let us have the splendour of offering ourselves +without the peril of committing ourselves; let us see whether one cannot +commit suicide an unlimited number of times.'</p> + +<p>Emphatically it will not work. There are thrilling moments, doubtless, +for the spectator, the amateur, and the aesthete; but there is one +thrill that is known only to the soldier who fights for his own flag, to +the ascetic who starves himself for his own illumination, to the lover<!-- Page 20 --><a name="Page_20"></a> +who makes finally his own choice. And it is this transfiguring +self-discipline that makes the vow a truly sane thing. It must have +satisfied even the giant hunger of the soul of a lover or a poet to know +that in consequence of some one instant of decision that strange chain +would hang for centuries in the Alps among the silences of stars and +snows. All around us is the city of small sins, abounding in backways +and retreats, but surely, sooner or later, the towering flame will rise +from the harbour announcing that the reign of the cowards is over and a +man is burning his ships.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_SKELETONS"></a>A DEFENCE OF SKELETONS</h2> +<br> + +<p>Some little time ago I stood among immemorial English trees that seemed +to take hold upon the stars like a brood of Ygdrasils. As I walked among +these living pillars I became gradually aware that the rustics who lived +and died in their shadow adopted a very curious conversational tone.<!-- Page 21 --><a name="Page_21"></a> +They seemed to be constantly apologizing for the trees, as if they were +a very poor show. After elaborate investigation, I discovered that their +gloomy and penitent tone was traceable to the fact that it was winter +and all the trees were bare. I assured them that I did not resent the +fact that it was winter, that I knew the thing had happened before, and +that no forethought on their part could have averted this blow of +destiny. But I could not in any way reconcile them to the fact that it +<i>was</i> winter. There was evidently a general feeling that I had caught +the trees in a kind of disgraceful deshabille, and that they ought not +to be seen until, like the first human sinners, they had covered +themselves with leaves. So it is quite clear that, while very few +people appear to know anything of how trees look in winter, the actual +foresters know less than anyone. So far from the line of the tree when +it is bare appearing harsh and severe, it is luxuriantly indefinable to +an unusual degree; the fringe of the forest melts away like a vignette. +The tops of two or three high trees when they are leafless are so soft +that they seem like the gigantic brooms of that fabulous lady who was +sweeping the cobwebs off the sky. The outline of a leafy forest is in +comparison hard, gross and blotchy; the clouds of night do not more<!-- Page 22 --><a name="Page_22"></a> +certainly obscure the moon than those green and monstrous clouds obscure +the tree; the actual sight of the little wood, with its gray and silver +sea of life, is entirely a winter vision. So dim and delicate is the +heart of the winter woods, a kind of glittering gloaming, that a figure +stepping towards us in the chequered twilight seems as if he were +breaking through unfathomable depths of spiders' webs.</p> + +<p>But surely the idea that its leaves are the chief grace of a tree is a +vulgar one, on a par with the idea that his hair is the chief grace of a +pianist. When winter, that healthy ascetic, carries his gigantic razor +over hill and valley, and shaves all the trees like monks, we feel +surely that they are all the more like trees if they are shorn, just as +so many painters and musicians would be all the more like men if they +were less like mops. But it does appear to be a deep and essential +difficulty that men have an abiding terror of their own structure, or of +the structure of things they love. This is felt dimly in the skeleton of +the tree: it is felt profoundly in the skeleton of the man.</p> + +<p>The importance of the human skeleton is very great, and the horror with +which it is commonly regarded is somew<!-- Page 23 --><a name="Page_23"></a>hat mysterious. Without claiming +for the human skeleton a wholly conventional beauty, we may assert that +he is certainly not uglier than a bull-dog, whose popularity never +wanes, and that he has a vastly more cheerful and ingratiating +expression. But just as man is mysteriously ashamed of the skeletons of +the trees in winter, so he is mysteriously ashamed of the skeleton of +himself in death. It is a singular thing altogether, this horror of the +architecture of things. One would think it would be most unwise in a man +to be afraid of a skeleton, since Nature has set curious and quite +insuperable obstacles to his running away from it.</p> + +<p>One ground exists for this terror: a strange idea has infected humanity +that the skeleton is typical of death. A man might as well say that a +factory chimney was typical of bankruptcy. The factory may be left naked +after ruin, the skeleton may be left naked after bodily dissolution; but +both of them have had a lively and workmanlike life of their own, all +the pulleys creaking, all the wheels turning, in the House of Livelihood +as in the House of Life. There is no reason why this creature (new, as I +fancy, to art), the living skeleton, should not become the essential<!-- Page 24 --><a name="Page_24"></a> +symbol of life.</p> + +<p>The truth is that man's horror of the skeleton is not horror of death at +all. It is man's eccentric glory that he has not, generally speaking, +any objection to being dead, but has a very serious objection to being +undignified. And the fundamental matter which troubles him in the +skeleton is the reminder that the ground-plan of his appearance is +shamelessly grotesque. I do not know why he should object to this. He +contentedly takes his place in a world that does not pretend to be +genteel—a laughing, working, jeering world. He sees millions of animals +carrying, with quite a dandified levity, the most monstrous shapes and +appendages, the most preposterous horns, wings, and legs, when they are +necessary to utility. He sees the good temper of the frog, the +unaccountable happiness of the hippopotamus. He sees a whole universe +which is ridiculous, from the animalcule, with a head too big for its +body, up to the comet, with a tail too big for its head. But when it +comes to the delightful oddity of his own inside, his sense of humour +rather abruptly deserts him.</p> + +<p>In the Middle Ages and in the Renaissance (which was, in certain times +and respects, a much gloomier period) this idea of the skeleton had a +vast influence in freezing the pride out of all earthly pomps and the<!-- Page 25 --><a name="Page_25"></a> +fragrance out of all fleeting pleasures. But it was not, surely, the +mere dread of death that did this, for these were ages in which men went +to meet death singing; it was the idea of the degradation of man in the +grinning ugliness of his structure that withered the juvenile insolence +of beauty and pride. And in this it almost assuredly did more good than +harm. There is nothing so cold or so pitiless as youth, and youth in +aristocratic stations and ages tended to an impeccable dignity, an +endless summer of success which needed to be very sharply reminded of +the scorn of the stars. It was well that such flamboyant prigs should be +convinced that one practical joke, at least, would bowl them over, that +they would fall into one grinning man-trap, and not rise again. That the +whole structure of their existence was as wholesomely ridiculous as that +of a pig or a parrot they could not be expected to realize; that birth +was humorous, coming of age humorous, drinking and fighting humorous, +they were far too young and solemn to know. But at least they were +taught that death was humorous.</p> + +<p>There is a peculiar idea abroad that the value and fascination of what +we call Nature lie in her beauty. But the fact that Nature is beautiful +in the sense that a dado or a Liberty curtain is beautiful, is only one +of her charms, and almost an accidental one. The highest and most +valuable quality in Nature is not her beauty, but her generous and<!-- Page 26 --><a name="Page_26"></a> +defiant ugliness. A hundred instances might be taken. The croaking noise +of the rooks is, in itself, as hideous as the whole hell of sounds in a +London railway tunnel. Yet it uplifts us like a trumpet with its coarse +kindliness and honesty, and the lover in 'Maud' could actually persuade +himself that this abominable noise resembled his lady-love's name. Has +the poet, for whom Nature means only roses and lilies, ever heard a pig +grunting? It is a noise that does a man good—a strong, snorting, +imprisoned noise, breaking its way out of unfathomable dungeons through +every possible outlet and organ. It might be the voice of the earth +itself, snoring in its mighty sleep. This is the deepest, the oldest, +the most wholesome and religious sense of the value of Nature—the value +which comes from her immense babyishness. She is as top-heavy, as +grotesque, as solemn and as happy as a child. The mood does come when we +see all her shapes like shapes that a baby scrawls upon a slate—simple, +rudimentary, a million years older and stronger than the whole disease +that is called Art. The objects of earth and heaven seem to combine into +a nursery tale, and our relation to things seems for a moment so simple +that a dancing lunatic would be needed to do justice to its lucidity and +levity. The tree above my head is flapping like some gigantic bird +standing on one leg; the moon is like the eye of a Cyclops. And, however<!-- Page 27 --><a name="Page_27"></a> +much my face clouds with sombre vanity, or vulgar vengeance, or +contemptible contempt, the bones of my skull beneath it are laughing for +ever.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_PUBLICITY"></a>A DEFENCE OF PUBLICITY</h2> +<br> + +<p>It is a very significant fact that the form of art in which the modern +world has certainly not improved upon the ancient is what may roughly be +called the art of the open air. Public monuments have certainly not +improved, nor has the criticism of them improved, as is evident from the +fashion of condemning such a large number of them as pompous. An +interesting essay might be written on the enormous number of words that +are used as insults when they are really compliments. It is in itself a<!-- Page 28 --><a name="Page_28"></a> +singular study in that tendency which, as I have said, is always making +things out worse than they are, and necessitating a systematic attitude +of defence. Thus, for example, some dramatic critics cast contempt upon +a dramatic performance by calling it theatrical, which simply means that +it is suitable to a theatre, and is as much a compliment as calling a +poem poetical. Similarly we speak disdainfully of a certain kind of work +as sentimental, which simply means possessing the admirable and +essential quality of sentiment. Such phrases are all parts of one +peddling and cowardly philosophy, and remind us of the days when +'enthusiast' was a term of reproach. But of all this vocabulary of +unconscious eulogies nothing is more striking than the word 'pompous.'</p> + +<p>Properly speaking, of course, a public monument ought to be pompous. +Pomp is its very object; it would be absurd to have columns and pyramids +blushing in some coy nook like violets in the woods of spring. And +public monuments have in this matter a great and much-needed lesson to +teach. Valour and mercy and the great enthusiasms ought to be a great<!-- Page 29 --><a name="Page_29"></a> +deal more public than they are at present. We are too fond nowadays of +committing the sin of fear and calling it the virtue of reverence. We +have forgotten the old and wholesome morality of the Book of Proverbs, +'Wisdom crieth without; her voice is heard in the streets.' In Athens +and Florence her voice was heard in the streets. They had an outdoor +life of war and argument, and they had what modern commercial +civilization has never had—an outdoor art. Religious services, the most +sacred of all things, have always been held publicly; it is entirely a +new and debased notion that sanctity is the same as secrecy. A great +many modern poets, with the most abstruse and delicate sensibilities, +love darkness, when all is said and done, much for the same reason that +thieves love it. The mission of a great spire or statue should be to +strike the spirit with a sudden sense of pride as with a thunderbolt. It +should lift us with it into the empty and ennobling air. Along the base +of every noble monument, whatever else may be written there, runs in +invisible letters the lines of Swinburne:</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'This thing is God:</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To be man with thy might,</span><br><!-- Page 30 --><a name="Page_30"></a> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To go straight in the strength of thy spirit, and live</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">out thy life in the light.'</span><br> + +<p>If a public monument does not meet this first supreme and obvious need, +that it should be public and monumental, it fails from the outset.</p> + +<p>There has arisen lately a school of realistic sculpture, which may +perhaps be better described as a school of sketchy sculpture. Such a +movement was right and inevitable as a reaction from the mean and dingy +pomposity of English Victorian statuary. Perhaps the most hideous and +depressing object in the universe—far more hideous and depressing than +one of Mr. H.G. Wells's shapeless monsters of the slime (and not at all +unlike them)—is the statue of an English philanthropist. Almost as bad, +though, of course, not quite as bad, are the statues of English +politicians in Parliament Fields. Each of them is cased in a cylindrical +frock-coat, and each carries either a scroll or a dubious-looking +garment over the arm that might be either a bathing-towel or a light +great-coat. Each of them is in an oratorical attitude, which has all the +disadvantage of being affected without even any of the advantages of +being theatrical. Let no one suppose that such abortions arise merely<!-- Page 31 --><a name="Page_31"></a> +from technical demerit. In every line of those leaden dolls is expressed +the fact that they were not set up with any heat of natural enthusiasm +for beauty or dignity. They were set up mechanically, because it would +seem indecorous or stingy if they were not set up. They were even set up +sulkily, in a utilitarian age which was haunted by the thought that +there were a great many more sensible ways of spending money. So long as +this is the dominant national sentiment, the land is barren, statues and +churches will not grow—for they have to grow, as much as trees and +flowers. But this moral disadvantage which lay so heavily upon the early +Victorian sculpture lies in a modified degree upon that rough, +picturesque, commonplace sculpture which has begun to arise, and of +which the statue of Darwin in the South Kensington Museum and the statue +of Gordon in Trafalgar Square are admirable examples. It is not enough +for a popular monument to be artistic, like a black charcoal sketch; it +must be striking; it must be in the highest sense of the word +sensational; it must stand for humanity; it must speak for us to the +stars; it must declare in the face of all the heavens that when the +longest and blackest catalogue has been made of all our crimes and +follies there are some things of which we men are not ashamed.</p> +<!-- Page 32 --><a name="Page_32"></a> +<p>The two modes of commemorating a public man are a statue and a +biography. They are alike in certain respects, as, for example, in the +fact that neither of them resembles the original, and that both of them +commonly tone down not only all a man's vices, but all the more amusing +of his virtues. But they are treated in one respect differently. We +never hear anything about biography without hearing something about the +sanctity of private life and the necessity for suppressing the whole of +the most important part of a man's existence. The sculptor does not work +at this disadvantage. The sculptor does not leave out the nose of an +eminent philanthropist because it is too beautiful to be given to the +public; he does not depict a statesman with a sack over his head because +his smile was too sweet to be endurable in the light of day. But in +biography the thesis is popularly and solidly maintained, so that it +requires some courage even to hint a doubt of it, that the better a man +was, the more truly human life he led, the less should be said about it.</p> + +<p>For this idea, this modern idea that sanctity is identical with secrecy, +there is one thing at least to be said. It is for all practical purposes +an entirely new idea; it was unknown to all the ages in which the idea<!-- Page 33 --><a name="Page_33"></a> +of sanctity really flourished. The record of the great spiritual +movements of mankind is dead against the idea that spirituality is a +private matter. The most awful secret of every man's soul, its most +lonely and individual need, its most primal and psychological +relationship, the thing called worship, the communication between the +soul and the last reality—this most private matter is the most public +spectacle in the world. Anyone who chooses to walk into a large church +on Sunday morning may see a hundred men each alone with his Maker. He +stands, in truth, in the presence of one of the strangest spectacles in +the world—a mob of hermits. And in thus definitely espousing publicity +by making public the most internal mystery, Christianity acts in +accordance with its earliest origins and its terrible beginning. It was +surely by no accident that the spectacle which darkened the sun at +noonday was set upon a hill. The martyrdoms of the early Christians were +public not only by the caprice of the oppressor, but by the whole desire +and conception of the victims.</p> + +<p>The mere grammatical meaning of the word 'martyr' breaks into pieces at +a blow the whole notion of the privacy of goodness. The Christian<!-- Page 34 --><a name="Page_34"></a> +martyrdoms were more than demonstrations: they were advertisements. In +our day the new theory of spiritual delicacy would desire to alter all +this. It would permit Christ to be crucified if it was necessary to His +Divine nature, but it would ask in the name of good taste why He could +not be crucified in a private room. It would declare that the act of a +martyr in being torn in pieces by lions was vulgar and sensational, +though, of course, it would have no objection to being torn in pieces by +a lion in one's own parlour before a circle of really intimate friends.</p> + +<p>It is, I am inclined to think, a decadent and diseased purity which has +inaugurated this notion that the sacred object must be hidden. The stars +have never lost their sanctity, and they are more shameless and naked +and numerous than advertisements of Pears' soap. It would be a strange +world indeed if Nature was suddenly stricken with this ethereal shame, +if the trees grew with their roots in the air and their load of leaves +and blossoms underground, if the flowers closed at dawn and opened at +sunset, if the sunflower turned towards the darkness, and the birds +flew, like bats, by night.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"><!-- Page 35 --><a name="Page_35"></a> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_NONSENSE"></a>A DEFENCE OF NONSENSE</h2> +<br> + +<p>There are two equal and eternal ways of looking at this twilight world +of ours: we may see it as the twilight of evening or the twilight of +morning; we may think of anything, down to a fallen acorn, as a +descendant or as an ancestor. There are times when we are almost +crushed, not so much with the load of the evil as with the load of the +goodness of humanity, when we feel that we are nothing but the +inheritors of a humiliating splendour. But there are other times when +everything seems primitive, when the ancient stars are only sparks blown +from a boy's bonfire, when the whole earth seems so young and +experimental that even the white hair of the aged, in the fine biblical +phrase, is like almond-trees that blossom, like the white hawthorn grown +in May. That it is good for a man to realize that he is 'the heir of all +the ages' is pretty commonly admitted; it is a less popular but equally<!-- Page 36 --><a name="Page_36"></a> +important point that it is good for him sometimes to realize that he is +not only an ancestor, but an ancestor of primal antiquity; it is good +for him to wonder whether he is not a hero, and to experience ennobling +doubts as to whether he is not a solar myth.</p> + +<p>The matters which most thoroughly evoke this sense of the abiding +childhood of the world are those which are really fresh, abrupt and +inventive in any age; and if we were asked what was the best proof of +this adventurous youth in the nineteenth century we should say, with all +respect to its portentous sciences and philosophies, that it was to be +found in the rhymes of Mr. Edward Lear and in the literature of +nonsense. 'The Dong with the Luminous Nose,' at least, is original, as +the first ship and the first plough were original.</p> + +<p>It is true in a certain sense that some of the greatest writers the +world has seen—Aristophanes, Rabelais and Sterne—have written +nonsense; but unless we are mistaken, it is in a widely different sense. +The nonsense of these men was satiric—that is to say, symbolic; it was<!-- Page 37 --><a name="Page_37"></a> +a kind of exuberant capering round a discovered truth. There is all the +difference in the world between the instinct of satire, which, seeing in +the Kaiser's moustaches something typical of him, draws them continually +larger and larger; and the instinct of nonsense which, for no reason +whatever, imagines what those moustaches would look like on the present +Archbishop of Canterbury if he grew them in a fit of absence of mind. We +incline to think that no age except our own could have understood that +the Quangle-Wangle meant absolutely nothing, and the Lands of the +Jumblies were absolutely nowhere. We fancy that if the account of the +knave's trial in 'Alice in Wonderland' had been published in the +seventeenth century it would have been bracketed with Bunyan's 'Trial of +Faithful' as a parody on the State prosecutions of the time. We fancy +that if 'The Dong with the Luminous Nose' had appeared in the same +period everyone would have called it a dull satire on Oliver Cromwell.</p> + +<p>It is altogether advisedly that we quote chiefly from Mr. Lear's +'Nonsense Rhymes.' To our mind he is both chronologically and +essentially the father of nonsense; we think him superior to Lewis +Carroll. In one sense, indeed, Lewis Carroll has a great advantage. We +know what Lewis Carroll was in daily life: he was a singularly serious +and conventional don, universally respected, but very much of a pedant +and something of a Philistine. Thus his strange double life in earth and<!-- Page 38 --><a name="Page_38"></a> +in dreamland emphasizes the idea that lies at the back of nonsense—the +idea of <i>escape</i>, of escape into a world where things are not fixed +horribly in an eternal appropriateness, where apples grow on pear-trees, +and any odd man you meet may have three legs. Lewis Carroll, living one +life in which he would have thundered morally against any one who walked +on the wrong plot of grass, and another life in which he would +cheerfully call the sun green and the moon blue, was, by his very +divided nature, his one foot on both worlds, a perfect type of the +position of modern nonsense. His Wonderland is a country populated by +insane mathematicians. We feel the whole is an escape into a world of +masquerade; we feel that if we could pierce their disguises, we might +discover that Humpty Dumpty and the March Hare were Professors and +Doctors of Divinity enjoying a mental holiday. This sense of escape is +certainly less emphatic in Edward Lear, because of the completeness of +his citizenship in the world of unreason. We do not know his prosaic +biography as we know Lewis Carroll's. We accept him as a purely fabulous +figure, on his own description of himself:</p> +<!-- Page 39 --><a name="Page_39"></a> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'His body is perfectly spherical,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He weareth a runcible hat.'</span><br> + +<p>While Lewis Carroll's Wonderland is purely intellectual, Lear +introduces quite another element—the element of the poetical and even +emotional. Carroll works by the pure reason, but this is not so strong a +contrast; for, after all, mankind in the main has always regarded reason +as a bit of a joke. Lear introduces his unmeaning words and his +amorphous creatures not with the pomp of reason, but with the romantic +prelude of rich hues and haunting rhythms.</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Far and few, far and few,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are the lands where the Jumblies live,'</span><br> + +<p>is an entirely different type of poetry to that exhibited in +'Jabberwocky.' Carroll, with a sense of mathematical neatness, makes his +whole poem a mosaic of new and mysterious words. But Edward Lear, with +more subtle and placid effrontery, is always introducing scraps of his +own elvish dialect into the middle of simple and rational statements,<!-- Page 40 --><a name="Page_40"></a> +until we are almost stunned into admitting that we know what they mean. +There is a genial ring of commonsense about such lines as,</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'For his aunt Jobiska said "Every one knows</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That a Pobble is better without his toes,"'</span><br> + +<p>which is beyond the reach of Carroll. The poet seems so easy on the +matter that we are almost driven to pretend that we see his meaning, +that we know the peculiar difficulties of a Pobble, that we are as old +travellers in the 'Gromboolian Plain' as he is.</p> + +<p>Our claim that nonsense is a new literature (we might almost say a new +sense) would be quite indefensible if nonsense were nothing more than a +mere aesthetic fancy. Nothing sublimely artistic has ever arisen out of +mere art, any more than anything essentially reasonable has ever arisen +out of the pure reason. There must always be a rich moral soil for any +great aesthetic growth. The principle of <i>art for art's sake</i> is a very +good principle if it means that there is a vital distinction between the +earth and the tree that has its roots in the earth; but it is a very bad<!-- Page 41 --><a name="Page_41"></a> +principle if it means that the tree could grow just as well with its +roots in the air. Every great literature has always been +allegorical—allegorical of some view of the whole universe. The 'Iliad' +is only great because all life is a battle, the 'Odyssey' because all +life is a journey, the Book of Job because all life is a riddle. There +is one attitude in which we think that all existence is summed up in the +word 'ghosts'; another, and somewhat better one, in which we think it +is summed up in the words 'A Midsummer Night's Dream.' Even the +vulgarest melodrama or detective story can be good if it expresses +something of the delight in sinister possibilities—the healthy lust for +darkness and terror which may come on us any night in walking down a +dark lane. If, therefore, nonsense is really to be the literature of the +future, it must have its own version of the Cosmos to offer; the world +must not only be the tragic, romantic, and religious, it must be +nonsensical also. And here we fancy that nonsense will, in a very +unexpected way, come to the aid of the spiritual view of things. +Religion has for centuries been trying to make men exult in the +'wonders' of creation, but it has forgotten that a thing cannot be +completely wonderful so long as it remains sensible. So long as we +regard a tree as an obvious thing, naturally and reasonably created for<!-- Page 42 --><a name="Page_42"></a> +a giraffe to eat, we cannot properly wonder at it. It is when we +consider it as a prodigious wave of the living soil sprawling up to the +skies for no reason in particular that we take off our hats, to the +astonishment of the park-keeper. Everything has in fact another side to +it, like the moon, the patroness of nonsense. Viewed from that other +side, a bird is a blossom broken loose from its chain of stalk, a man a +quadruped begging on its hind legs, a house a gigantesque hat to cover a +man from the sun, a chair an apparatus of four wooden legs for a cripple +with only two.</p> + +<p>This is the side of things which tends most truly to spiritual wonder. +It is significant that in the greatest religious poem existent, the Book +of Job, the argument which convinces the infidel is not (as has been<!-- Page 43 --><a name="Page_43"></a> +represented by the merely rational religionism of the eighteenth +century) a picture of the ordered beneficence of the Creation; but, on +the contrary, a picture of the huge and undecipherable unreason of it. +'Hast Thou sent the rain upon the desert where no man is?' This simple +sense of wonder at the shapes of things, and at their exuberant +independence of our intellectual standards and our trivial definitions, +is the basis of spirituality as it is the basis of nonsense. Nonsense +and faith (strange as the conjunction may seem) are the two supreme +symbolic assertions of the truth that to draw out the soul of things +with a syllogism is as impossible as to draw out Leviathan with a hook. +The well-meaning person who, by merely studying the logical side of +things, has decided that 'faith is nonsense,' does not know how truly he +speaks; later it may come back to him in the form that nonsense is +faith.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"><!-- Page 44 --><a name="Page_44"></a> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_PLANETS"></a>A DEFENCE OF PLANETS</h2> +<br> + +<p>A book has at one time come under my notice called 'Terra Firma: the +Earth not a Planet.' The author was a Mr. D. Wardlaw Scott, and he +quoted very seriously the opinions of a large number of other persons, +of whom we have never heard, but who are evidently very important. Mr. +Beach of Southsea, for example, thinks that the world is flat; and in +Southsea perhaps it is. It is no part of my present intention, however, +to follow Mr. Scott's arguments in detail. On the lines of such +arguments it may be shown that the earth is flat, and, for the matter of +that, that it is triangular. A few examples will suffice:</p> + +<p>One of Mr. Scott's objections was that if a projectile is fired from a +moving body there is a difference in the distance to which it carries +according to the direction in which it is sent. But as in practice there +is not the slightest difference whichever way the thing is done, in the +case of the earth 'we have a forcible overthrow of all fancies relative +to the motion of the earth, and a striking proof that the earth is not +a globe.'</p><!-- Page 45 --><a name="Page_45"></a> + +<p>This is altogether one of the quaintest arguments we have ever seen. It +never seems to occur to the author, among other things, that when the +firing and falling of the shot all take place upon the moving body, +there is nothing whatever to compare them with. As a matter of fact, of +course, a shot fired at an elephant does actually often travel towards +the marksman, but much slower than the marksman travels. Mr. Scott +probably would not like to contemplate the fact that the elephant, +properly speaking, swings round and hits the bullet. To us it appears +full of a rich cosmic humour.</p> + +<p>I will only give one other example of the astronomical proofs:</p> + +<p>'If the earth were a globe, the distance round the surface, say, at 45 +degrees south latitude, could not possibly be any greater than the same +latitude north; but since it is found by navigators to be twice the +distance—to say the least of it—or double the distance it ought to be +according to the globular theory, it is a proof that the earth is not a +globe.'</p><!-- Page 46 --><a name="Page_46"></a> + +<p>This sort of thing reduces my mind to a pulp. I can faintly resist when +a man says that if the earth were a globe cats would not have four +legs; but when he says that if the earth were a globe cats would not +have five legs I am crushed.</p> + +<p>But, as I have indicated, it is not in the scientific aspect of this +remarkable theory that I am for the moment interested. It is rather with +the difference between the flat and the round worlds as conceptions in +art and imagination that I am concerned. It is a very remarkable thing +that none of us are really Copernicans in our actual outlook upon +things. We are convinced intellectually that we inhabit a small +provincial planet, but we do not feel in the least suburban. Men of +science have quarrelled with the Bible because it is not based upon the +true astronomical system, but it is certainly open to the orthodox to +say that if it had been it would never have convinced anybody.</p> + +<p>If a single poem or a single story were really transfused with the +Copernican idea, the thing would be a nightmare. Can we think of a +solemn scene of mountain stillness in which some prophet is standing in<!-- Page 47 --><a name="Page_47"></a> +a trance, and then realize that the whole scene is whizzing round like a +zoetrope at the rate of nineteen miles a second? Could we tolerate the +notion of a mighty King delivering a sublime fiat and then remember +that for all practical purposes he is hanging head downwards in space? A +strange fable might be written of a man who was blessed or cursed with +the Copernican eye, and saw all men on the earth like tintacks +clustering round a magnet. It would be singular to imagine how very +different the speech of an aggressive egoist, announcing the +independence and divinity of man, would sound if he were seen hanging on +to the planet by his boot soles.</p> + +<p>For, despite Mr. Wardlaw Scott's horror at the Newtonian astronomy and +its contradiction of the Bible, the whole distinction is a good instance +of the difference between letter and spirit; the letter of the Old +Testament is opposed to the conception of the solar system, but the +spirit has much kinship with it. The writers of the Book of Genesis had +no theory of gravitation, which to the normal person will appear a fact +of as much importance as that they had no umbrellas. But the theory of +gravitation has a curiously Hebrew sentiment in it—a sentiment of +combined dependence and certainty, a sense of grappling unity, by which +all things hang upon one thread. 'Thou hast hanged the world upon +nothing,' said the author of the Book <!-- Page 48 --><a name="Page_48"></a>of Job, and in that sentence +wrote the whole appalling poetry of modern astronomy. The sense of the +preciousness and fragility of the universe, the sense of being in the +hollow of a hand, is one which the round and rolling earth gives in its +most thrilling form. Mr. Wardlaw Scott's flat earth would be the true +territory for a comfortable atheist. Nor would the old Jews have any +objection to being as much upside down as right way up. They had no +foolish ideas about the dignity of man.</p> + +<p>It would be an interesting speculation to imagine whether the world will +ever develop a Copernican poetry and a Copernican habit of fancy; +whether we shall ever speak of 'early earth-turn' instead of 'early +sunrise,' and speak indifferently of looking up at the daisies, or +looking down on the stars. But if we ever do, there are really a large +number of big and fantastic facts awaiting us, worthy to make a new +mythology. Mr. Wardlaw Scott, for example, with genuine, if unconscious, +imagination, says that according to astronomers, 'the sea is a vast +mountain of water miles high.' To have discovered that mountain of +moving crystal, in which the fishes build like birds, is like +discovering Atlantis: it is enough to make the old world young again.<!-- Page 49 --><a name="Page_49"></a> +In the new poetry which we contemplate, athletic young men will set out +sturdily to climb up the face of the sea. If we once realize all this +earth as it is, we should find ourselves in a land of miracles: we shall +discover a new planet at the moment that we discover our own. Among all +the strange things that men have forgotten, the most universal and +catastrophic lapse of memory is that by which they have forgotten that +they are living on a star.</p> + +<p>In the early days of the world, the discovery of a fact of natural +history was immediately followed by the realization of it as a fact of +poetry. When man awoke from the long fit of absent-mindedness which is +called the automatic animal state, and began to notice the queer facts +that the sky was blue and the grass green, he immediately began to use +those facts symbolically. Blue, the colour of the sky, became a symbol +of celestial holiness; green passed into the language as indicating a +freshness verging upon unintelligence. If we had the good fortune to +live in a world in which the sky was green and the grass blue, the +symbolism would have been different. B<!-- Page 50 --><a name="Page_50"></a>ut for some mysterious reason this +habit of realizing poetically the facts of science has ceased abruptly +with scientific progress, and all the confounding portents preached by +Galileo and Newton have fallen on deaf ears. They painted a picture of +the universe compared with which the Apocalypse with its falling stars +was a mere idyll. They declared that we are all careering through space, +clinging to a cannon-ball, and the poets ignore the matter as if it were +a remark about the weather. They say that an invisible force holds us in +our own armchairs while the earth hurtles like a boomerang; and men +still go back to dusty records to prove the mercy of God. They tell us +that Mr. Scott's monstrous vision of a mountain of sea-water rising in a +solid dome, like the glass mountain in the fairy-tale, is actually a +fact, and men still go back to the fairy-tale. To what towering heights +of poetic imagery might we not have risen if only the poetizing of +natural history had continued and man's fancy had played with the +planets as naturally as it once played with the flowers! We might have +had a planetary patriotism, in which the green leaf should be like a +cockade, and the sea an everlasting dance of drums. We might have been +proud of what our star has wrought, and worn its heraldry haughtily in +the blind tournament of the spheres. A<!-- Page 51 --><a name="Page_51"></a>ll this, indeed, we may surely do +yet; for with all the multiplicity of knowledge there is one thing +happily that no man knows: whether the world is old or young.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_CHINA_SHEPHERDESSES"></a>A DEFENCE OF CHINA SHEPHERDESSES</h2> +<br><!-- Page 52 --><a name="Page_52"></a> + +<p>There are some things of which the world does not like to be reminded, +for they are the dead loves of the world. One of these is that great +enthusiasm for the Arcadian life which, however much it may now lie open +to the sneers of realism, did, beyond all question, hold sway for an +enormous period of the world's history, from the times that we describe +as ancient down to times that may fairly be called recent. The +conception of the innocent and hilarious life of shepherds and +shepherdesses certainly covered and absorbed the time of Theocritus, of +Virgil, of Catullus, of Dante, of Cervantes, of Ariosto, of Shakespeare, +and of Pope. We are told that the gods of the heathen were stone and +brass, but stone and brass have never endured with the long endurance of +the China Shepherdess. The Catholic Church and the Ideal Shepherd are +indeed almost the only things that have bridged the abyss between the +ancient world and the modern. Yet, as we say, the world does not like +to be reminded of this boyish enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>But imagination, the function of the historian, cannot let so great an<!-- Page 53 --><a name="Page_53"></a> +element alone. By the cheap revolutionary it is commonly supposed that +imagination is a merely rebellious thing, that it has its chief function +in devising new and fantastic republics. But imagination has its highest +use in a retrospective realization. The trumpet of imagination, like the +trumpet of the Resurrection, calls the dead out of their graves. +Imagination sees Delphi with the eyes of a Greek, Jerusalem with the +eyes of a Crusader, Paris with the eyes of a Jacobin, and Arcadia with +the eyes of a Euphuist. The prime function of imagination is to see our +whole orderly system of life as a pile of stratified revolutions. In +spite of all revolutionaries it must be said that the function of +imagination is not to make strange things settled, so much as to make +settled things strange; not so much to make wonders facts as to make +facts wonders. To the imaginative the truisms are all paradoxes, since +they were paradoxes in the Stone Age; to them the ordinary copy-book +blazes with blasphemy.</p> + +<p>Let us, then, consider in this light the old pastoral or Arcadian ideal. +But first certainly one thing must be definitely recognised. This +Arcadian art and literature is a lost enthusiasm. To study it is like +fumbling in the love-letters of a dead man. To us its flowers seem as +tawdry as cockades; the lambs that dance to the shepherd's pipe seem to +dance with all the artificiality of a ballet. Even our own prosaic toil +seems to us more joyous than that holiday. Where its ancient exuberance<!-- Page 54 --><a name="Page_54"></a> +passed the bounds of wisdom and even of virtue, its caperings seem +frozen into the stillness of an antique frieze. In those gray old +pictures a bacchanal seems as dull as an archdeacon. Their very sins +seem colder than our restraints.</p> + +<p>All this may be frankly recognised: all the barren sentimentality of the +Arcadian ideal and all its insolent optimism. But when all is said and +done, something else remains.</p> + +<p>Through ages in which the most arrogant and elaborate ideals of power +and civilization held otherwise undisputed sway, the ideal of the +perfect and healthy peasant did undoubtedly represent in some shape or +form the conception that there was a dignity in simplicity and a dignity +in labour. It was good for the ancient aristocrat, even if he could not +attain to innocence and the wisdom of the earth, to believe that these +things were the secrets of the priesthood of the poor. It was good for +him to believe that even if heaven was not above him, heaven was below +him. It was well that he should have amid all his flamboyant triumphs +the never-extinguished sentiment that there was something better than +his triumphs, the conception that 'there remaineth a rest.'</p><!-- Page 55 --><a name="Page_55"></a> + +<p>The conception of the Ideal Shepherd seems absurd to our modern ideas. +But, after all, it was perhaps the only trade of the democracy which was +equalized with the trades of the aristocracy even by the aristocracy +itself. The shepherd of pastoral poetry was, without doubt, very +different from the shepherd of actual fact. Where one innocently piped +to his lambs, the other innocently swore at them; and their divergence +in intellect and personal cleanliness was immense. But the difference +between the ideal shepherd who danced with Amaryllis and the real +shepherd who thrashed her is not a scrap greater than the difference +between the ideal soldier who dies to capture the colours and the real +soldier who lives to clean his accoutrements, between the ideal priest +who is everlastingly by someone's bed and the real priest who is as glad +as anyone else to get to his own. There are ideal conceptions and real +men in every calling; yet there are few who object to the ideal +conceptions, and not many, after all, who object to the real men.</p> + +<p>The fact, then, is this: So far from resenting the existence in art and +literature of an ideal shepherd, I genuinely regret that the shepherd is<!-- Page 56 --><a name="Page_56"></a> +the only democratic calling that has ever been raised to the level of +the heroic callings conceived by an aristocratic age. So far from +objecting to the Ideal Shepherd, I wish there were an Ideal Postman, an +Ideal Grocer, and an Ideal Plumber. It is undoubtedly true that we +should laugh at the idea of an Ideal Postman; it is true, and it proves +that we are not genuine democrats.</p> + +<p>Undoubtedly the modern grocer, if called upon to act in an Arcadian +manner, if desired to oblige with a symbolic dance expressive of the +delights of grocery, or to perform on some simple instrument while his +assistants skipped around him, would be embarrassed, and perhaps even +reluctant. But it may be questioned whether this temporary reluctance of +the grocer is a good thing, or evidence of a good condition of poetic +feeling in the grocery business as a whole. There certainly should be an +ideal image of health and happiness in any trade, and its remoteness +from the reality is not the only important question. No one supposes +that the mass of traditional conceptions of duty and glory are always +operative, for example, in the mind of a soldier or a doctor; that the +Battle of Waterloo actually makes a private enjoy pipeclaying his<!-- Page 57 --><a name="Page_57"></a> +trousers, or that the 'health of humanity' softens the momentary +phraseology of a physician called out of bed at two o'clock in the +morning. But although no ideal obliterates the ugly drudgery and detail +of any calling, that ideal does, in the case of the soldier or the +doctor, exist definitely in the background and makes that drudgery worth +while as a whole. It is a serious calamity that no such ideal exists in +the case of the vast number of honourable trades and crafts on which the +existence of a modern city depends. It is a pity that current thought +and sentiment offer nothing corresponding to the old conception of +patron saints. If they did there would be a Patron Saint of Plumbers, +and this would alone be a revolution, for it would force the individual +craftsman to believe that there was once a perfect being who did +actually plumb.</p> + +<p>When all is said and done, then, we think it much open to question +whether the world has not lost something in the complete disappearance +of the ideal of the happy peasant. It is foolish enough to suppose that +the rustic went about all over ribbons, but it is better than knowing +that he goes about all over rags and being indifferent to the fact. The<!-- Page 58 --><a name="Page_58"></a> +modern realistic study of the poor does in reality lead the student +further astray than the old idyllic notion. For we cannot get the +chiaroscuro of humble life so long as its virtues seem to us as gross as +its vices and its joys as sullen as its sorrows. Probably at the very +moment that we can see nothing but a dull-faced man smoking and drinking +heavily with his friend in a pot-house, the man himself is on his soul's +holiday, crowned with the flowers of a passionate idleness, and far more +like the Happy Peasant than the world will ever know.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_USEFUL_INFORMATION"></a>A DEFENCE OF USEFUL INFORMATION</h2> +<br> + +<p>It is natural and proper enough that the masses of explosive ammunition +stored up in detective stories and the replete and solid sweet-stuff +shops which are called sentimental novelettes should be popular with the<!-- Page 59 --><a name="Page_59"></a> +ordinary customer. It is not difficult to realize that all of us, +ignorant or cultivated, are primarily interested in murder and +love-making. The really extraordinary thing is that the most appalling +fictions are not actually so popular as that literature which deals with +the most undisputed and depressing facts. Men are not apparently so +interested in murder and love-making as they are in the number of +different forms of latchkey which exist in London or the time that it<!-- Page 60 --><a name="Page_60"></a> +would take a grasshopper to jump from Cairo to the Cape. The enormous +mass of fatuous and useless truth which fills the most widely-circulated +papers, such as <i>Tit-Bits, Science Siftings</i>, and many of the +illustrated magazines, is certainly one of the most extraordinary kinds +of emotional and mental pabulum on which man ever fed. It is almost +incredible that these preposterous statistics should actually be more +popular than the most blood-curdling mysteries and the most luxurious +debauches of sentiment. To imagine it is like imagining the humorous +passages in Bradshaw's Railway Guide read aloud on winter evenings. It +is like conceiving a man unable to put down an advertisement of Mother +Seigel's Syrup because he wished to know what eventually happened to the +young man who was extremely ill at Edinburgh. In the case of cheap +detective stories and cheap novelettes, we can most of us feel, whatever +our degree of education, that it might be possible to read them if we +gave full indulgence to a lower and more facile part of our natures; at +the worst we feel that we might enjoy them as we might enjoy<!-- Page 61 --><a name="Page_61"></a> +bull-baiting or getting drunk. But the literature of information is +absolutely mysterious to us. We can no more think of amusing ourselves +with it than of reading whole pages of a Surbiton local directory. To +read such things would not be a piece of vulgar indulgence; it would be +a highly arduous and meritorious enterprise. It is this fact which +constitutes a profound and almost unfathomable interest in this +particular branch of popular literature.</p> + +<p>Primarily, at least, there is one rather peculiar thing which must in +justice be said about it. The readers of this strange science must be +allowed to be, upon the whole, as disinterested as a prophet seeing +visions or a child reading fairy-tales. Here, again, we find, as we so +often do, that whatever view of this matter of popular literature we can +trust, we can trust least of all the comment and censure current among +the vulgar educated. The ordinary version of the ground of this +popularity for information, which would be given by a person of greater +cultivation, would be that common men are chiefly interested in those +sordid facts that surround them on every side. A very small degree of +examination will show us that whatever ground there is for the +popularity of these insane encyclopaedias, it cannot be the ground of +utility. The version of life given by a pe<!-- Page 62 --><a name="Page_62"></a>nny novelette may be very +moonstruck and unreliable, but it is at least more likely to contain +facts relevant to daily life than compilations on the subject of the +number of cows' tails that would reach the North Pole. There are many +more people who are in love than there are people who have any +intention of counting or collecting cows' tails. It is evident to me +that the grounds of this widespread madness of information for +information's sake must be sought in other and deeper parts of human +nature than those daily needs which lie so near the surface that even +social philosophers have discovered them somewhere in that profound and +eternal instinct for enthusiasm and minding other people's business +which made great popular movements like the Crusades or the Gordon +Riots.</p> + +<p>I once had the pleasure of knowing a man who actually talked in private +life after the manner of these papers. His conversation consisted of +fragmentary statements about height and weight and depth and time and +population, and his conversation was a nightmare of dulness. During the +shortest pause he would ask whether his interlocutors were aware how +many tons of rust were scraped every year off the Menai Bridge, and how +many rival shops Mr. Whiteley had bought up since he opened his<!-- Page 63 --><a name="Page_63"></a> +business. The attitude of his acquaintances towards this inexhaustible +entertainer varied according to his presence or absence between +indifference and terror. It was frightful to think of a man's brain +being stocked with such inexpressibly profitless treasures. It was like +visiting some imposing British Museum and finding its galleries and +glass cases filled with specimens of London mud, of common mortar, of +broken walking-sticks and cheap tobacco. Years afterwards I discovered +that this intolerable prosaic bore had been, in fact, a poet. I learnt +that every item of this multitudinous information was totally and +unblushingly untrue, that for all I knew he had made it up as he went +along; that no tons of rust are scraped off the Menai Bridge, and that +the rival tradesmen and Mr. Whiteley were creatures of the poet's brain. +Instantly I conceived consuming respect for the man who was so +circumstantial, so monotonous, so entirely purposeless a liar. With him +it must have been a case of art for art's sake. The joke sustained so +gravely through a respected lifetime was of that order of joke which is +shared with omniscience. But what struck me more cogently upon +reflection was the fact that these immeasurable trivialities, which had +struck me as utterly vulgar and arid when I thought they were true,<!-- Page 64 --><a name="Page_64"></a> +immediately became picturesque and almost brilliant when I thought they +were inventions of the human fancy. And here, as it seems to me, I laid +my finger upon a fundamental quality of the cultivated class which +prevents it, and will, perhaps, always prevent it from seeing with the +eyes of popular imagination. The merely educated can scarcely ever be +brought to believe that this world is itself an interesting place. When +they look at a work of art, good or bad, they expect to be interested, +but when they look at a newspaper advertisement or a group in the +street, they do not, properly and literally speaking, expect to be +interested. But to common and simple people this world is a work of art, +though it is, like many great works of art, anonymous. They look to life +for interest with the same kind of cheerful and uneradicable assurance +with which we look for interest at a comedy for which we have paid money +at the door. To the eyes of the ultimate school of contemporary +fastidiousness, the universe is indeed an ill-drawn and over-coloured +picture, the scrawlings in circles of a baby upon the slate of night; +its starry skies are a vulgar pattern which they would not have for a +wallpaper, its flowers and fruits have a cockney brilliancy, like the +holiday hat of a flower-girl. Hence, degraded by art to its own level, +they have lost altogether that primitive and typical taste of man—the +taste for news. By this essential taste for news<!-- Page 65 --><a name="Page_65"></a>, I mean the pleasure in +hearing the mere fact that a man has died at the age of 110 in South +Wales, or that the horses ran away at a funeral in San Francisco. Large +masses of the early faiths and politics of the world, numbers of the +miracles and heroic anecdotes, are based primarily upon this love of +something that has just happened, this divine institution of gossip. +When Christianity was named the good news, it spread rapidly, not only +because it was good, but also because it was news. So it is that if any +of us have ever spoken to a navvy in a train about the daily paper, we +have generally found the navvy interested, not in those struggles of +Parliaments and trades unions which sometimes are, and are always +supposed to be, for his benefit; but in the fact that an unusually large +whale has been washed up on the coast of Orkney, or that some leading +millionaire like Mr. Harmsworth is reported to break a hundred pipes a +year. The educated classes, cloyed and demoralized with the mere +indulgence of art and mood, can no longer understand the idle and +splendid disinterestedness of the reader of <i>Pearson's Weekly</i>. He still +keeps something of that feeling which should be the birthright of +men—the feeling that this planet is like a new house into which we have +just moved our baggage. Any detail of it has a value, and, with a truly<!-- Page 66 --><a name="Page_66"></a> +sportsmanlike instinct, the average man takes most pleasure in the +details which are most complicated, irrelevant, and at once difficult +and useless to discover. Those parts of the newspaper which announce the +giant gooseberry and the raining frogs are really the modern +representatives of the popular tendency which produced the hydra and the +werewolf and the dog-headed men. Folk in the Middle Ages were not +interested in a dragon or a glimpse of the devil because they thought +that it was a beautiful prose idyll, but because they thought that it +had really just been seen. It was not like so much artistic literature, +a refuge indicating the dulness of the world: it was an incident +pointedly illustrating the fecund poetry of the world.</p> + +<p>That much can be said, and is said, against the literature of +information, I do not for a moment deny. It is shapeless, it is trivial, +it may give an unreal air of knowledge, it unquestionably lies along +with the rest of popular literature under the general indictment that it<!-- Page 67 --><a name="Page_67"></a> +may spoil the chance of better work, certainly by wasting time, possibly +by ruining taste. But these obvious objections are the objections which +we hear so persistently from everyone that one cannot help wondering +where the papers in question procure their myriads of readers. The +natural necessity and natural good underlying such crude institutions is +far less often a subject of speculation; yet the healthy hungers which +lie at the back of the habits of modern democracy are surely worthy of +the same sympathetic study that we give to the dogmas of the fanatics +long dethroned and the intrigues of commonwealths long obliterated from +the earth. And this is the base and consideration which I have to offer: +that perhaps the taste for shreds and patches of journalistic science +and history is not, as is continually asserted, the vulgar and senile +curiosity of a people that has grown old, but simply the babyish and +indiscriminate curiosity of a people still young and entering history +for the first time. In other words, I suggest that they only tell each +other in magazines the same kind of stories of commonplace portents and<!-- Page 68 --><a name="Page_68"></a> +conventional eccentricities which, in any case, they would tell each +other in taverns. Science itself is only the exaggeration and +specialization of this thirst for useless fact, which is the mark of the +youth of man. But science has become strangely separated from the mere +news and scandal of flowers and birds; men have ceased to see that a +pterodactyl was as fresh and natural as a flower, that a flower is as +monstrous as a pterodactyl. The rebuilding of this bridge between +science and human nature is one of the greatest needs of mankind. We +have all to show that before we go on to any visions or creations we can +be contented with a planet of miracles.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_HERALDRY"></a>A DEFENCE OF HERALDRY</h2> +<br> + +<p>The modern view of heraldry is pretty accurately represented by the<!-- Page 69 --><a name="Page_69"></a> +words of the famous barrister who, after cross-examining for some time a +venerable dignitary of Heralds' College, summed up his results in the +remark that 'the silly old man didn't even understand his own silly old +trade.'</p> + +<p>Heraldry properly so called was, of course, a wholly limited and +aristocratic thing, but the remark needs a kind of qualification not +commonly realized. In a sense there was a plebeian heraldry, since every +shop was, like every castle, distinguished not by a name, but a sign. +The whole system dates from a time when picture-writing still really +ruled the world. In those days few could read or write; they signed +their names with a pictorial symbol, a cross—and a cross is a great +improvement on most men's names.</p> + +<p>Now, there is something to be said for the peculiar influence of +pictorial symbols on men's minds. All letters, we learn, were originally +pictorial and heraldic: thus the letter A is the portrait of an ox, but +the portrait is now reproduced in so impressionist a manner that but +little of the rural atmosphere can be absorbed by contemplating it. But +as long as some pictorial and poetic quality remains in the symbol, the<!-- Page 70 --><a name="Page_70"></a> +constant use of it must do something for the aesthetic education of +those employing it. Public-houses are now almost the only shops that use +the ancient signs, and the mysterious attraction which they exercise may +be (by the optimistic) explained in this manner. There are taverns with +names so dreamlike and exquisite that even Sir Wilfrid Lawson might +waver on the threshold for a moment, suffering the poet to struggle with +the moralist. So it was with the heraldic images. It is impossible to +believe that the red lion of Scotland acted upon those employing it +merely as a naked convenience like a number or a letter; it is +impossible to believe that the Kings of Scotland would have cheerfully +accepted the substitute of a pig or a frog. There are, as we say, +certain real advantages in pictorial symbols, and one of them is that +everything that is pictorial suggests, without naming or defining. There +is a road from the eye to the heart that does not go through the +intellect. Men do not quarrel about the meaning of sunsets; they never +dispute that the hawthorn says the best and wittiest thing about the +spring.</p> + +<p>Thus in the old aristocratic days there existed this vast pictorial<!-- Page 71 --><a name="Page_71"></a> +symbolism of all the colours and degrees of aristocracy. When the great +trumpet of equality was blown, almost immediately afterwards was made +one of the greatest blunders in the history of mankind. For all this +pride and vivacity, all these towering symbols and flamboyant colours, +should have been extended to mankind. The tobacconist should have had a +crest, and the cheesemonger a war-cry. The grocer who sold margarine as +butter should have felt that there was a stain on the escutcheon of the +Higginses. Instead of doing this, the democrats made the appalling +mistake—a mistake at the root of the whole modern malady—of decreasing +the human magnificence of the past instead of increasing it. They did +not say, as they should have done, to the common citizen, 'You are as +good as the Duke of Norfolk,' but used that meaner democratic formula, +'The Duke of Norfolk is no better than you are.'</p> + +<p>For it cannot be denied that the world lost something finally and most +unfortunately about the beginning of the nineteenth century. In former +times the mass of the people was conceived as mean and commonplace, but +only as comparatively mean and commonplace; they were dwarfed and +eclipsed by certain high stations and splendid callings. But with the<!-- Page 72 --><a name="Page_72"></a> +Victorian era came a principle which conceived men not as comparatively, +but as positively, mean and commonplace. A man of any station was +represented as being by nature a dingy and trivial person—a person +born, as it were, in a black hat. It began to be thought that it was +ridiculous for a man to wear beautiful garments, instead of it +being—as, of course, it is—ridiculous for him to deliberately wear +ugly ones. It was considered affected for a man to speak bold and heroic +words, whereas, of course, it is emotional speech which is natural, and +ordinary civil speech which is affected. The whole relations of beauty +and ugliness, of dignity and ignominy were turned upside down. Beauty +became an extravagance, as if top-hats and umbrellas were not the real +extravagance—a landscape from the land of the goblins. Dignity became a +form of foolery and shamelessness, as if the very essence of a fool were +not a lack of dignity. And the consequence is that it is practically +most difficult to propose any decoration or public dignity for modern +men without making them laugh. They laugh at the idea of carrying +crests and coats-of-arms instead of laughing at their own boots and +neckties. We are forbidden to say that tradesmen should have a poetry of<!-- Page 73 --><a name="Page_73"></a> +their own, although there is nothing so poetical as trade. A grocer +should have a coat-of-arms worthy of his strange merchandise gathered +from distant and fantastic lands; a postman should have a coat-of-arms +capable of expressing the strange honour and responsibility of the man +who carries men's souls in a bag; the chemist should have a coat-of-arms +symbolizing something of the mysteries of the house of healing, the +cavern of a merciful witchcraft.</p> + +<p>There were in the French Revolution a class of people at whom everybody +laughed, and at whom it was probably difficult, as a practical matter, +to refrain from laughing. They attempted to erect, by means of huge +wooden statues and brand-new festivals, the most extraordinary new +religions. They adored the Goddess of Reason, who would appear, even +when the fullest allowance has been made for their many virtues, to be +the deity who had least smiled upon them. But these capering maniacs, +disowned alike by the old world and the new, were men who had seen a +great truth unknown alike to the new world and the old. They had seen +the thing that was hidden from the wise and understanding, from the<!-- Page 74 --><a name="Page_74"></a> +whole modern democratic civilization down to the present time. They +realized that democracy must have a heraldry, that it must have a proud +and high-coloured pageantry, if it is to keep always before its own mind +its own sublime mission. Unfortunately for this ideal, the world has in +this matter followed English democracy rather than French; and those who +look back to the nineteenth century will assuredly look back to it as we +look back to the reign of the Puritans, as the time of black coats and +black tempers. From the strange life the men of that time led, they +might be assisting at the funeral of liberty instead of at its +christening. The moment we really believe in democracy, it will begin to +blossom, as aristocracy blossomed, into symbolic colours and shapes. We +shall never make anything of democracy until we make fools of ourselves. +For if a man really cannot make a fool of himself, we may be quite +certain that the effort is superfluous.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_UGLY_THINGS"></a>A DEFENCE OF UGLY THINGS</h2><!-- Page 75 --><a name="Page_75"></a> +<br> + +<p>There are some people who state that the exterior, sex, or physique of +another person is indifferent to them, that they care only for the +communion of mind with mind; but these people need not detain us. There +are some statements that no one ever thinks of believing, however often +they are made.</p> + +<p>But while nothing in this world would persuade us that a great friend of +Mr. Forbes Robertson, let us say, would experience no surprise or +discomfort at seeing him enter the room in the bodily form of Mr. +Chaplin, there is a confusion constantly made between being attracted by +exterior, which is natural and universal, and being attracted by what is +called physical beauty, which is not entirely natural and not in the +least universal. Or rather, to speak more strictly, the conception of +physical beauty has been narrowed to mean a certain kind of physical +beauty which no more exhausts the possibilities of external +attractiveness than the respectability of a Clapham builder exhausts<!-- Page 76 --><a name="Page_76"></a> +the possibilities of moral attractiveness.</p> + +<p>The tyrants and deceivers of mankind in this matter have been the +Greeks. All their splendid work for civilization ought not to have +wholly blinded us to the fact of their great and terrible sin against +the variety of life. It is a remarkable fact that while the Jews have +long ago been rebelled against and accused of blighting the world with a +stringent and one-sided ethical standard, nobody has noticed that the +Greeks have committed us to an infinitely more horrible asceticism—an +asceticism of the fancy, a worship of one aesthetic type alone. Jewish<!-- Page 77 --><a name="Page_77"></a> +severity had at least common-sense as its basis; it recognised that men +lived in a world of fact, and that if a man married within the degrees +of blood certain consequences might follow. But they did not starve +their instinct for contrasts and combinations; their prophets gave two +wings to the ox and any number of eyes to the cherubim with all the +riotous ingenuity of Lewis Carroll. But the Greeks carried their police +regulation into elfland; they vetoed not the actual adulteries of the +earth but the wild weddings of ideas, and forbade the banns of thought.</p> + +<p>It is extraordinary to watch the gradual emasculation of the monsters +of Greek myth under the pestilent influence of the Apollo Belvedere. The +chimaera was a creature of whom any healthy-minded people would have +been proud; but when we see it in Greek pictures we feel inclined to tie +a ribbon round its neck and give it a saucer of milk. Who ever feels +that the giants in Greek art and poetry were really big—big as some +folk-lore giants have been? In some Scandinavian story a hero walks for +miles along a mountain ridge, which eventually turns out to be the +bridge of the giant's nose. That is what we should call, with a calm +conscience, a large giant. But this earthquake fancy terrified the +Greeks, and their terror has terrified all mankind out of their natural<!-- Page 78 --><a name="Page_78"></a> +love of size, vitality, variety, energy, ugliness. Nature intended every +human face, so long as it was forcible, individual, and expressive, to +be regarded as distinct from all others, as a poplar is distinct from an +oak, and an apple-tree from a willow. But what the Dutch gardeners did +for trees the Greeks did for the human form; they lopped away its living +and sprawling features to give it a certain academic shape; they hacked +off noses and pared down chins with a ghastly horticultural calm. And +they have really succeeded so far as to make us call some of the most +powerful and endearing faces ugly, and some of the most silly and +repulsive faces beautiful. This disgraceful <i>via media</i>, this pitiful +sense of dignity, has bitten far deeper into the soul of modern +civilization than the external and practical Puritanism of Israel. The +Jew at the worst told a man to dance in fetters; the Greek put an +exquisite vase upon his head and told him not to move.</p> + +<p>Scripture says that one star differeth from another in glory, and the +same conception applies to noses. To insist that one type of face is +ugly because it differs from that of the Venus of Milo is to look at it<!-- Page 79 --><a name="Page_79"></a> +entirely in a misleading light. It is strange that we should resent +people differing from ourselves; we should resent much more violently +their resembling ourselves. This principle has made a sufficient hash of +literary criticism, in which it is always the custom to complain of the +lack of sound logic in a fairy tale, and the entire absence of true +oratorical power in a three-act farce. But to call another man's face +ugly because it powerfully expresses another man's soul is like +complaining that a cabbage has not two legs. If we did so, the only +course for the cabbage would be to point out with severity, but with +some show of truth, that we were not a beautiful green all over.</p> + +<p>But this frigid theory of the beautiful has not succeeded in conquering +the art of the world, except in name. In some quarters, indeed, it has +never held sway. A glance at Chinese dragons or Japanese gods will show +how independent are Orientals of the conventional idea of facial and +bodily regularity, and how keen and fiery is their enjoyment of real +beauty, of goggle eyes, of sprawling claws, of gaping mouths and +writhing coils. In the Middle Ages men broke away from the Greek +standard of beauty, and lifted up in adoration to heaven great towers, +which seemed alive with dancing apes and devils. In the full summer of +technical artistic perfection the revolt was carried to its real<!-- Page 80 --><a name="Page_80"></a> +consummation in the study of the faces of men. Rembrandt declared the +sane and manly gospel that a man was dignified, not when he was like a +Greek god, but when he had a strong, square nose like a cudgel, a +boldly-blocked head like a helmet, and a jaw like a steel trap.</p> + +<p>This branch of art is commonly dismissed as the grotesque. We have never +been able to understand why it should be humiliating to be laughable, +since it is giving an elevated artistic pleasure to others. If a +gentleman who saw us in the street were suddenly to burst into tears at +the mere thought of our existence, it might be considered disquieting +and uncomplimentary; but laughter is not uncomplimentary. In truth, +however, the phrase 'grotesque' is a misleading description of ugliness +in art. It does not follow that either the Chinese dragons or the Gothic +gargoyles or the goblinish old women of Rembrandt were in the least +intended to be comic. Their extravagance was not the extravagance of +satire, but simply the extravagance of vitality; and here lies the whole +key of the place of ugliness in aesthetics. We like to see a crag jut +out in shameless decision from the cliff, we like to see the red pines<!-- Page 81 --><a name="Page_81"></a> +stand up hardily upon a high cliff, we like to see a chasm cloven from +end to end of a mountain. With equally noble enthusiasm we like to see a +nose jut out decisively, we like to see the red hair of a friend stand +up hardily in bristles upon his head, we like to see his mouth broad and +clean cut like the mountain crevasse. At least some of us like all this; +it is not a question of humour. We do not burst with amusement at the +first sight of the pines or the chasm; but we like them because they are +expressive of the dramatic stillness of Nature, her bold experiments, +her definite departures, her fearlessness and savage pride in her +children. The moment we have snapped the spell of conventional beauty, +there are a million beautiful faces waiting for us everywhere, just as +there are a million beautiful spirits.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_FARCE"></a>A DEFENCE OF FARCE</h2> +<br><!-- Page 82 --><a name="Page_82"></a> + +<p>I have never been able to understand why certain forms of art should be +marked off as something debased and trivial. A comedy is spoken of as +'degenerating into farce'; it would be fair criticism to speak of it +'changing into farce'; but as for degenerating into farce, we might +equally reasonably speak of it as degenerating into tragedy. Again, a +story is spoken of as 'melodramatic,' and the phrase, queerly enough, is +not meant as a compliment. To speak of something as 'pantomimic' or +'sensational' is innocently supposed to be biting, Heaven knows why, for +all works of art are sensations, and a good pantomime (now extinct) is +one of the pleasantest sensations of all. 'This stuff is fit for a +detective story,' is often said, as who should say, 'This stuff is fit +for an epic.'</p> + +<p>Whatever may be the rights and wrongs of this mode of classification, +there can be no doubt about one most practical and disastrous effect of +it. These lighter or wilder forms of art, having no standard set up for +them, no gust of generous artistic pride to lift them up, do actually +tend to become as bad as they are supposed to be. Neglected children of +the great mother, they grow up in darkness, dirty and unlettered, and<!-- Page 83 --><a name="Page_83"></a> +when they are right they are right almost by accident, because of the +blood in their veins. The common detective story of mystery and murder +seems to the intelligent reader to be little except a strange glimpse of +a planet peopled by congenital idiots, who cannot find the end of their +own noses or the character of their own wives. The common pantomime +seems like some horrible satiric picture of a world without cause or +effect, a mass of 'jarring atoms,' a prolonged mental torture of +irrelevancy. The ordinary farce seems a world of almost piteous +vulgarity, where a half-witted and stunted creature is afraid when his +wife comes home, and amused when she sits down on the doorstep. All this +is, in a sense, true, but it is the fault of nothing in heaven or earth +except the attitude and the phrases quoted at the beginning of this +article. We have no doubt in the world that, if the other forms of art +had been equally despised, they would have been equally despicable. If +people had spoken of 'sonnets' with the same accent with which they +speak of 'music-hall songs,' a sonnet would have been a thing so +fearful and wonderful that we almost regret we cannot have a specimen; a +rowdy sonnet is a thing to dream about. If people had said that epics +were only fit for children and nursemaids, 'Paradise Lost' might have<!-- Page 84 --><a name="Page_84"></a> +been an average pantomime: it might have been called 'Harlequin Satan, +or How Adam 'Ad 'em.' For who would trouble to bring to perfection a +work in which even perfection is grotesque? Why should Shakespeare write +'Othello' if even his triumph consisted in the eulogy, 'Mr. Shakespeare +is fit for something better than writing tragedies'?</p> + +<p>The case of farce, and its wilder embodiment in harlequinade, is +especially important. That these high and legitimate forms of art, +glorified by Aristophanes and Molière, have sunk into such contempt may +be due to many causes: I myself have little doubt that it is due to the +astonishing and ludicrous lack of belief in hope and hilarity which +marks modern aesthetics, to such an extent that it has spread even to +the revolutionists (once the hopeful section of men), so that even those +who ask us to fling the stars into the sea are not quite sure that they +will be any better there than they were before. Every form of literary +art must be a symbol of some phase of the human spirit; but whereas the +phase is, in human life, sufficiently convincing in itself, in art it +must have a certain pungency and neatness of form, to compensate for its +lack of reality. Thus any set of young people round a tea-table may have<!-- Page 85 --><a name="Page_85"></a> +all the comedy emotions of 'Much Ado about Nothing' or 'Northanger +Abbey,' but if their actual conversation were reported, it would +possibly not be a worthy addition to literature. An old man sitting by +his fire may have all the desolate grandeur of Lear or Père Goriot, but +if he comes into literature he must do something besides sit by the +fire. The artistic justification, then, of farce and pantomime must +consist in the emotions of life which correspond to them. And these +emotions are to an incredible extent crushed out by the modern +insistence on the painful side of life only. Pain, it is said, is the +dominant element of life; but this is true only in a very special sense. +If pain were for one single instant literally the dominant element in +life, every man would be found hanging dead from his own bed-post by the +morning. Pain, as the black and catastrophic thing, attracts the +youthful artist, just as the schoolboy draws devils and skeletons and +men hanging. But joy is a far more elusive and elvish matter, since it +is our reason for existing, and a very feminine reason; it mingles with +every breath we draw and every cup of tea we drink. The literature of +joy is infinitely more difficult, more rare and more triumphant than the<!-- Page 86 --><a name="Page_86"></a> +black and white literature of pain. And of all the varied forms of the +literature of joy, the form most truly worthy of moral reverence and +artistic ambition is the form called 'farce'—or its wilder shape in +pantomime. To the quietest human being, seated in the quietest house, +there will sometimes come a sudden and unmeaning hunger for the +possibilities or impossibilities of things; he will abruptly wonder +whether the teapot may not suddenly begin to pour out honey or +sea-water, the clock to point to all hours of the day at once, the +candle to burn green or crimson, the door to open upon a lake or a +potato-field instead of a London street. Upon anyone who feels this +nameless anarchism there rests for the time being the abiding spirit of +pantomime. Of the clown who cuts the policeman in two it may be said +(with no darker meaning) that he realizes one of our visions. And it may +be noted here that this internal quality in pantomime is perfectly +symbolized and preserved by that commonplace or cockney landscape and +architecture which characterizes pantomime and farce. If the whole +affair happened in some alien atmosphere, if a pear-tree began to grow +apples or a river to run with wine in some strange fairyland, the effect +would be quite different. The streets and shops and door-knockers of the<!-- Page 87 --><a name="Page_87"></a> +harlequinade, which to the vulgar aesthete make it seem commonplace, are +in truth the very essence of the aesthetic departure. It must be an +actual modern door which opens and shuts, constantly disclosing +different interiors; it must be a real baker whose loaves fly up into +the air without his touching them, or else the whole internal excitement +of this elvish invasion of civilization, this abrupt entrance of Puck +into Pimlico, is lost. Some day, perhaps, when the present narrow phase +of aesthetics has ceased to monopolize the name, the glory of a farcical +art may become fashionable. Long after men have ceased to drape their +houses in green and gray and to adorn them with Japanese vases, an +aesthete may build a house on pantomime principles, in which all the +doors shall have their bells and knockers on the inside, all the +staircases be constructed to vanish on the pressing of a button, and all +the dinners (humorous dinners in themselves) come up cooked through a +trapdoor. We are very sure, at least, that it is as reasonable to +regulate one's life and lodgings by this kind of art as by any other.</p> + +<p>The whole of this view of farce and pantomime may seem insane to us; but +we fear that it is we who are insane. Nothing in this strange age of +transition is so depressing as its merriment. All the most brilliant men<!-- Page 88 --><a name="Page_88"></a> +of the day when they set about the writing of comic literature do it +under one destructive fallacy and disadvantage: the notion that comic +literature is in some sort of way superficial. They give us little +knick-knacks of the brittleness of which they positively boast, although +two thousand years have beaten as vainly upon the follies of the 'Frogs' +as on the wisdom of the 'Republic.' It is all a mean shame of joy. When +we come out from a performance of the 'Midsummer Night's Dream' we feel +as near to the stars as when we come out from 'King Lear.' For the joy +of these works is older than sorrow, their extravagance is saner than +wisdom, their love is stronger than death.</p> + +<p>The old masters of a healthy madness, Aristophanes or Rabelais or +Shakespeare, doubtless had many brushes with the precisians or ascetics +of their day, but we cannot but feel that for honest severity and +consistent self-maceration they would always have had respect. But what +abysses of scorn, inconceivable to any modern, would they have reserved +for an aesthetic type and movement which violated morality and did not +even find pleasure, which outraged sanity and could not attain to<!-- Page 89 --><a name="Page_89"></a> +exuberance, which contented itself with the fool's cap without the +bells!</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_HUMILITY"></a>A DEFENCE OF HUMILITY</h2> +<br> + +<p>The act of defending any of the cardinal virtues has to-day all the<!-- Page 90 --><a name="Page_90"></a> +exhilaration of a vice. Moral truisms have been so much disputed that +they have begun to sparkle like so many brilliant paradoxes. And +especially (in this age of egoistic idealism) there is about one who +defends humility something inexpressibly rakish.</p> + +<p>It is no part of my intention to defend humility on practical grounds. +Practical grounds are uninteresting, and, moreover, on practical grounds +the case for humility is overwhelming. We all know that the 'divine +glory of the ego' is socially a great nuisance; we all do actually value +our friends for modesty, freshness, and simplicity of heart. Whatever +may be the reason, we all do warmly respect humility—in other people.</p> + +<p>But the matter must go deeper than this. If the grounds of humility are +found only in social convenience, they may be quite trivial and +temporary. The egoists may be the martyrs of a nobler dispensation, +agonizing for a more arduous ideal. To judge from the comparative lack +of ease in their social manner, this seems a reasonable suggestion.</p> +<!-- Page 91 --><a name="Page_91"></a> +<p>There is one thing that must be seen at the outset of the study of +humility from an intrinsic and eternal point of view. The new philosophy +of self-esteem and self-assertion declares that humility is a vice. If +it be so, it is quite clear that it is one of those vices which are an +integral part of original sin. It follows with the precision of +clockwork every one of the great joys of life. No one, for example, was +ever in love without indulging in a positive debauch of humility. All +full-blooded and natural people, such as schoolboys, enjoy humility the +moment they attain hero-worship. Humility, again, is said both by its +upholders and opponents to be the peculiar growth of Christianity. The +real and obvious reason of this is often missed. The pagans insisted +upon self-assertion because it was the essence of their creed that the +gods, though strong and just, were mystic, capricious, and even +indifferent. But the essence of Christianity was in a literal sense the +New Testament—a covenant with God which opened to men a clear +deliverance. They thought themselves secure; they claimed palaces of +pearl and silver under the oath and seal of the Omnipotent; they +believed themselves rich with an irrevocable benediction which set them +above the stars; and immediately they discovered humility. It was only<!-- Page 92 --><a name="Page_92"></a> +another example of the same immutable paradox. It is always the secure +who are humble.</p> + +<p>This particular instance survives in the evangelical revivalists of the +street. They are irritating enough, but no one who has really studied +them can deny that the irritation is occasioned by these two things, an +irritating hilarity and an irritating humility. This combination of joy +and self-prostration is a great deal too universal to be ignored. If +humility has been discredited as a virtue at the present day, it is not +wholly irrelevant to remark that this discredit has arisen at the same +time as a great collapse of joy in current literature and philosophy. +Men have revived the splendour of Greek self-assertion at the same time +that they have revived the bitterness of Greek pessimism. A literature +has arisen which commands us all to arrogate to ourselves the liberty of +self-sufficing deities at the same time that it exhibits us to ourselves +as dingy maniacs who ought to be chained up like dogs. It is certainly a +curious state of things altogether. When we are genuinely happy, we +think we are unworthy of happiness. But when we are demanding a divine +emancipation we seem to be perfectly certain that we are unworthy of<!-- Page 93 --><a name="Page_93"></a> +anything.</p> + +<p>The only explanation of the matter must be found in the conviction that +humility has infinitely deeper roots than any modern men suppose; that +it is a metaphysical and, one might almost say, a mathematical virtue. +Probably this can best be tested by a study of those who frankly +disregard humility and assert the supreme duty of perfecting and +expressing one's self. These people tend, by a perfectly natural +process, to bring their own great human gifts of culture, intellect, or +moral power to a great perfection, successively shutting out everything +that they feel to be lower than themselves. Now shutting out things is +all very well, but it has one simple corollary—that from everything +that we shut out we are ourselves shut out. When we shut our door on the +wind, it would be equally true to say that the wind shuts its door on +us. Whatever virtues a triumphant egoism really leads to, no one can +reasonably pretend that it leads to knowledge. Turning a beggar from the +door may be right enough, but pretending to know all the stories the +beggar might have narrated is pure nonsense; and this is practically +the claim of the egoism which thinks that self-assertion can obtain<!-- Page 94 --><a name="Page_94"></a> +knowledge. A beetle may or may not be inferior to a man—the matter +awaits demonstration; but if he were inferior by ten thousand fathoms, +the fact remains that there is probably a beetle view of things of which +a man is entirely ignorant. If he wishes to conceive that point of view, +he will scarcely reach it by persistently revelling in the fact that he +is not a beetle. The most brilliant exponent of the egoistic school, +Nietszche, with deadly and honourable logic, admitted that the +philosophy of self-satisfaction led to looking down upon the weak, the +cowardly, and the ignorant. Looking down on things may be a delightful +experience, only there is nothing, from a mountain to a cabbage, that is +really <i>seen</i> when it is seen from a balloon. The philosopher of the ego +sees everything, no doubt, from a high and rarified heaven; only he sees +everything foreshortened or deformed.</p> + +<p>Now if we imagine that a man wished truly, as far as possible, to see +everything as it was, he would certainly proceed on a different +principle. He would seek to divest himself for a time of those personal +peculiarities which tend to divide him from the thing he studies. It is<!-- Page 95 --><a name="Page_95"></a> +as difficult, for example, for a man to examine a fish without +developing a certain vanity in possessing a pair of legs, as if they +were the latest article of personal adornment. But if a fish is to be +approximately understood, this physiological dandyism must be overcome. +The earnest student of fish morality will, spiritually speaking, chop +off his legs. And similarly the student of birds will eliminate his +arms; the frog-lover will with one stroke of the imagination remove all +his teeth, and the spirit wishing to enter into all the hopes and fears +of jelly-fish will simplify his personal appearance to a really alarming +extent. It would appear, therefore, that this great body of ours and all +its natural instincts, of which we are proud, and justly proud, is +rather an encumbrance at the moment when we attempt to appreciate things +as they should be appreciated. We do actually go through a process of +mental asceticism, a castration of the entire being, when we wish to +feel the abounding good in all things. It is good for us at certain +times that ourselves should be like a mere window—as clear, as +luminous, and as invisible.</p> +<!-- Page 96 --><a name="Page_96"></a> +<p>In a very entertaining work, over which we have roared in childhood, it +is stated that a point has no parts and no magnitude. Humility is the +luxurious art of reducing ourselves to a point, not to a small thing or +a large one, but to a thing with no size at all, so that to it all the +cosmic things are what they really are—of immeasurable stature. That +the trees are high and the grasses short is a mere accident of our own +foot-rules and our own stature. But to the spirit which has stripped off +for a moment its own idle temporal standards the grass is an everlasting +forest, with dragons for denizens; the stones of the road are as +incredible mountains piled one upon the other; the dandelions are like +gigantic bonfires illuminating the lands around; and the heath-bells on +their stalks are like planets hung in heaven each higher than the other. +Between one stake of a paling and another there are new and terrible +landscapes; here a desert, with nothing but one misshapen rock; here a +miraculous forest, of which all the trees flower above the head with the +hues of sunset; here, again, a sea full of monsters that Dante would not +have dared to dream. These are the visions of him who, like the child in +the fairy tales, is not afraid to become small. Meanwhile, the sage +whose faith is in magnitude and ambition is, like a giant, becoming +larger and larger, which only means that the stars are becoming smaller +and smaller. World after world falls from him into insignificance; the<!-- Page 97 --><a name="Page_97"></a> +whole passionate and intricate life of common things becomes as lost to +him as is the life of the infusoria to a man without a microscope. He +rises always through desolate eternities. He may find new systems, and +forget them; he may discover fresh universes, and learn to despise them. +But the towering and tropical vision of things as they really are—the +gigantic daisies, the heaven-consuming dandelions, the great Odyssey of +strange-coloured oceans and strange-shaped trees, of dust like the wreck +of temples, and thistledown like the ruin of stars—all this colossal +vision shall perish with the last of the humble.</p><!-- Page 98 --><a name="Page_98"></a> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_SLANG"></a>A DEFENCE OF SLANG</h2> +<br> + +<p>The aristocrats of the nineteenth century have destroyed entirely their +one solitary utility. It is their business to be flaunting and arrogant; +but they flaunt unobtrusively, and their attempts at arrogance are +depressing. Their chief duty hitherto has been the development of +variety, vivacity, and fulness of life; oligarchy was the world's first +experiment in liberty. But now they have adopted the opposite ideal of +'good form,' which may be defined as Puritanism without religion. Good +form has sent them all into black like the stroke of a funeral bell. +They engage, like Mr. Gilbert's curates, in a war of mildness, a +positive competition of obscurity. In old times the lords of the earth +sought above all things to be distinguished from each other; with that +object they erected outrageous images on their helmets and painted<!-- Page 99 --><a name="Page_99"></a> +preposterous colours on their shields. They wished to make it entirely +clear that a Norfolk was as different, say, from an Argyll as a white +lion from a black pig. But to-day their ideal is precisely the opposite +one, and if a Norfolk and an Argyll were dressed so much alike that they +were mistaken for each other they would both go home dancing with joy.</p> + +<p>The consequences of this are inevitable. The aristocracy must lose their +function of standing to the world for the idea of variety, experiment, +and colour, and we must find these things in some other class. To ask +whether we shall find them in the middle class would be to jest upon +sacred matters. The only conclusion, therefore, is that it is to certain +sections of the lower class, chiefly, for example, to +omnibus-conductors, with their rich and rococo mode of thought, that we +must look for guidance towards liberty and light.</p> + +<p>The one stream of poetry which is continually flowing is slang. Every +day a nameless poet weaves some fairy tracery of popular language. It +may be said that the fashionable world talks slang as much as the +democratic; this is true, and it strongly supports the view under<!-- Page 100 --><a name="Page_100"></a> +consideration. Nothing is more startling than the contrast between the +heavy, formal, lifeless slang of the man-about-town and the light, +living, and flexible slang of the coster. The talk of the upper strata +of the educated classes is about the most shapeless, aimless, and +hopeless literary product that the world has ever seen. Clearly in this, +again, the upper classes have degenerated. We have ample evidence that +the old leaders of feudal war could speak on occasion with a certain +natural symbolism and eloquence that they had not gained from books. +When Cyrano de Bergerac, in Rostand's play, throws doubts on the reality +of Christian's dulness and lack of culture, the latter replies:</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Bah! on trouve des mots quand on monte à l'assaut;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oui, j'ai un certain esprit facile et militaire;'</span><br> + +<p>and these two lines sum up a truth about the old oligarchs. They could +not write three legible letters, but they could sometimes speak +literature. Douglas, when he hurled the heart of Bruce in front of him +in his last battle, cried out, 'Pass first, great heart, as thou wert +ever wont.' A Spanish nobleman, when commanded by the King to receive a<!-- Page 101 --><a name="Page_101"></a> +high-placed and notorious traitor, said: 'I will receive him in all +obedience, and burn down my house afterwards.' This is literature +without culture; it is the speech of men convinced that they have to +assert proudly the poetry of life.</p> + +<p>Anyone, however, who should seek for such pearls in the conversation of +a young man of modern Belgravia would have much sorrow in his life. It +is not only impossible for aristocrats to assert proudly the poetry of +life; it is more impossible for them than for anyone else. It is +positively considered vulgar for a nobleman to boast of his ancient +name, which is, when one comes to think of it, the only rational object +of his existence. If a man in the street proclaimed, with rude feudal +rhetoric, that he was the Earl of Doncaster, he would be arrested as a +lunatic; but if it were discovered that he really was the Earl of +Doncaster, he would simply be cut as a cad. No poetical prose must be +expected from Earls as a class. The fashionable slang is hardly even a +language; it is like the formless cries of animals, dimly indicating +certain broad, well-understood states of mind. 'Bored,' 'cut up,' +'jolly,' 'rotten,' and so on, are like the words of some tribe of +savages whose vocabulary has only twenty of them. If a man of fashion<!-- Page 102 --><a name="Page_102"></a> +wished to protest against some solecism in another man of fashion, his +utterance would be a mere string of set phrases, as lifeless as a string +of dead fish. But an omnibus conductor (being filled with the Muse) +would burst out into a solid literary effort: 'You're a gen'leman, +aren't yer ... yer boots is a lot brighter than yer 'ed...there's +precious little of yer, and that's clothes...that's right, put yer cigar +in yer mouth 'cos I can't see yer be'ind it...take it out again, do yer! +you're young for smokin', but I've sent for yer mother.... Goin'? oh, +don't run away: I won't 'arm yer. I've got a good 'art, I 'ave.... "Down +with croolty to animals," I say,' and so on. It is evident that this +mode of speech is not only literary, but literary in a very ornate and +almost artificial sense. Keats never put into a sonnet so many remote +metaphors as a coster puts into a curse; his speech is one long +allegory, like Spenser's 'Faerie Queen.'</p> + +<p>I do not imagine that it is necessary to demonstrate that this poetic +allusiveness is the characteristic of true slang. Such an expression as +'Keep your hair on' is positively Meredithian in its perverse and +mysterious manner of expressing an idea. The Americans have a well-known +expression about 'swelled-head' as a des<!-- Page 103 --><a name="Page_103"></a>cription of self-approval, and +the other day I heard a remarkable fantasia upon this air. An American +said that after the Chinese War the Japanese wanted 'to put on their +hats with a shoe-horn.' This is a monument of the true nature of slang, +which consists in getting further and further away from the original +conception, in treating it more and more as an assumption. It is rather +like the literary doctrine of the Symbolists.</p> + +<p>The real reason of this great development of eloquence among the lower +orders again brings us back to the case of the aristocracy in earlier +times. The lower classes live in a state of war, a war of words. Their +readiness is the product of the same fiery individualism as the +readiness of the old fighting oligarchs. Any cabman has to be ready with +his tongue, as any gentleman of the last century had to be ready with +his sword. It is unfortunate that the poetry which is developed by this +process should be purely a grotesque poetry. But as the higher orders of +society have entirely abdicated their right to speak with a heroic +eloquence, it is no wonder that the language should develop by itself in +the direction of a rowdy eloquence. The essential point is that somebody +must be at work adding new symbols and new circumlocutions to a<!-- Page 104 --><a name="Page_104"></a> +language.</p> + +<p>All slang is metaphor, and all metaphor is poetry. If we paused for a +moment to examine the cheapest cant phrases that pass our lips every +day, we should find that they were as rich and suggestive as so many +sonnets. To take a single instance: we speak of a man in English social +relations 'breaking the ice.' If this were expanded into a sonnet, we +should have before us a dark and sublime picture of an ocean of +everlasting ice, the sombre and baffling mirror of the Northern nature, +over which men walked and danced and skated easily, but under which the +living waters roared and toiled fathoms below. The world of slang is a +kind of topsy-turveydom of poetry, full of blue moons and white +elephants, of men losing their heads, and men whose tongues run away +with them—a whole chaos of fairy tales.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> +<!-- Page 105 --><a name="Page_105"></a> +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_BABY-WORSHIP"></a>A DEFENCE OF BABY-WORSHIP</h2> +<br> + +<p>The two facts which attract almost every normal person to children are, +first, that they are very serious, and, secondly, that they are in +consequence very happy. They are jolly with the completeness which is +possible only in the absence of humour. The most unfathomable schools +and sages have never attained to the gravity which dwells in the eyes of +a baby of three months old. It is the gravity of astonishment at the +universe, and astonishment at the universe is not mysticism, but a +transcendent common-sense. The fascination of children lies in this: +that with each of them all things are remade, and the universe is put +again upon its trial. As we walk the streets and see below us those +delightful bulbous heads, three times too big for the body, which mark +these human mushrooms, we ought always primarily to remember that within<!-- Page 106 --><a name="Page_106"></a> +every one of these heads there is a new universe, as new as it was on +the seventh day of creation. In each of those orbs there is a new system +of stars, new grass, new cities, a new sea.</p> + +<p>There is always in the healthy mind an obscure prompting that religion +teaches us rather to dig than to climb; that if we could once understand +the common clay of earth we should understand everything. Similarly, we +have the sentiment that if we could destroy custom at a blow and see the +stars as a child sees them, we should need no other apocalypse. This is +the great truth which has always lain at the back of baby-worship, and +which will support it to the end. Maturity, with its endless energies +and aspirations, may easily be convinced that it will find new things to +appreciate; but it will never be convinced, at bottom, that it has +properly appreciated what it has got. We may scale the heavens and find +new stars innumerable, but there is still the new star we have not +found—that on which we were born.</p> +<!-- Page 107 --><a name="Page_107"></a> +<p>But the influence of children goes further than its first trifling +effort of remaking heaven and earth. It forces us actually to remodel +our conduct in accordance with this revolutionary theory of the +marvellousness of all things. We do (even when we are perfectly simple +or ignorant)—we do actually treat talking in children as marvellous, +walking in children as marvellous, common intelligence in children as +marvellous. The cynical philosopher fancies he has a victory in this +matter—that he can laugh when he shows that the words or antics of the +child, so much admired by its worshippers, are common enough. The fact +is that this is precisely where baby-worship is so profoundly right. Any +words and any antics in a lump of clay are wonderful, the child's words +and antics are wonderful, and it is only fair to say that the +philosopher's words and antics are equally wonderful.</p> + +<p>The truth is that it is our attitude towards children that is right, and +our attitude towards grown-up people that is wrong. Our attitude towards +our equals in age consists in a servile solemnity, overlying a +considerable degree of indifference or disdain. Our attitude towards +children consists in a condescending indulgence, overlying an +unfathomable respect. We bow to grown people, take off our hats to them,<!-- Page 108 --><a name="Page_108"></a> +refrain from contradicting them flatly, but we do not appreciate them +properly. We make puppets of children, lecture them, pull their hair, +and reverence, love, and fear them. When we reverence anything in the +mature, it is their virtues or their wisdom, and this is an easy +matter. But we reverence the faults and follies of children.</p> + +<p>We should probably come considerably nearer to the true conception of +things if we treated all grown-up persons, of all titles and types, with +precisely that dark affection and dazed respect with which we treat the +infantile limitations. A child has a difficulty in achieving the miracle +of speech, consequently we find his blunders almost as marvellous as his +accuracy. If we only adopted the same attitude towards Premiers and +Chancellors of the Exchequer, if we genially encouraged their stammering +and delightful attempts at human speech, we should be in a far more wise +and tolerant temper. A child has a knack of making experiments in life, +generally healthy in motive, but often intolerable in a domestic +commonwealth. If we only treated all commercial buccaneers and bumptious +tyrants on the same terms, if we gently chided their brutalities as +rather quaint mistakes in the conduct of life, if we simply told them +that they would 'understand when they were older,' we should probably be +adopting the best and most crushing attitude towards the weaknesses of +humanity. In our relations to children we prove that the paradox is<!-- Page 109 --><a name="Page_109"></a> +entirely true, that it is possible to combine an amnesty that verges on +contempt with a worship that verges upon terror. We forgive children +with the same kind of blasphemous gentleness with which Omar Khayyam +forgave the Omnipotent.</p> + +<p>The essential rectitude of our view of children lies in the fact that we +feel them and their ways to be supernatural while, for some mysterious +reason, we do not feel ourselves or our own ways to be supernatural. The +very smallness of children makes it possible to regard them as marvels; +we seem to be dealing with a new race, only to be seen through a +microscope. I doubt if anyone of any tenderness or imagination can see +the hand of a child and not be a little frightened of it. It is awful to +think of the essential human energy moving so tiny a thing; it is like +imagining that human nature could live in the wing of a butterfly or the +leaf of a tree. When we look upon lives so human and yet so small, we +feel as if we ourselves were enlarged to an embarrassing bigness of +stature. We feel the same kind of obligation to these creatures that a +deity might feel if he had created something that he could not<!-- Page 110 --><a name="Page_110"></a> +understand.</p> + +<p>But the humorous look of children is perhaps the most endearing of all +the bonds that hold the Cosmos together. Their top-heavy dignity is +more touching than any humility; their solemnity gives us more hope for +all things than a thousand carnivals of optimism; their large and +lustrous eyes seem to hold all the stars in their astonishment; their +fascinating absence of nose seems to give to us the most perfect hint of +the humour that awaits us in the kingdom of heaven.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_DETECTIVE_STORIES"></a>A DEFENCE OF DETECTIVE STORIES</h2> +<br> + +<p>In attempting to reach the genuine psychological reason for the +popularity of detective stories, it is necessary to rid ourselves of<!-- Page 111 --><a name="Page_111"></a> +many mere phrases. It is not true, for example, that the populace prefer +bad literature to good, and accept detective stories because they are +bad literature. The mere absence of artistic subtlety does not make a +book popular. Bradshaw's Railway Guide contains few gleams of +psychological comedy, yet it is not read aloud uproariously on winter +evenings. If detective stories are read with more exuberance than +railway guides, it is certainly because they are more artistic. Many +good books have fortunately been popular; many bad books, still more +fortunately, have been unpopular. A good detective story would probably +be even more popular than a bad one. The trouble in this matter is that +many people do not realize that there is such a thing as a good +detective story; it is to them like speaking of a good devil. To write a +story about a burglary is, in their eyes, a sort of spiritual manner of +committing it. To persons of somewhat weak sensibility this is natural +enough; it must be confessed that many detective stories are as full of +sensational crime as one of Shakespeare's plays.</p> + +<p>There is, however, between a good detective story and a bad detective +story as much, or, rather more, difference than there is between a good +epic and a bad one. Not only is a detective story a perfectly legitimate +form of art, but it has certain definite and real advantages as an agent<!-- Page 112 --><a name="Page_112"></a> +of the public weal.</p> + +<p>The first essential value of the detective story lies in this, that it +is the earliest and only form of popular literature in which is +expressed some sense of the poetry of modern life. Men lived among +mighty mountains and eternal forests for ages before they realized that +they were poetical; it may reasonably be inferred that some of our +descendants may see the chimney-pots as rich a purple as the +mountain-peaks, and find the lamp-posts as old and natural as the trees. +Of this realization of a great city itself as something wild and obvious +the detective story is certainly the 'Iliad.' No one can have failed to +notice that in these stories the hero or the investigator crosses London +with something of the loneliness and liberty of a prince in a tale of<!-- Page 113 --><a name="Page_113"></a> +elfland, that in the course of that incalculable journey the casual +omnibus assumes the primal colours of a fairy ship. The lights of the +city begin to glow like innumerable goblin eyes, since they are the +guardians of some secret, however crude, which the writer knows and the +reader does not. Every twist of the road is like a finger pointing to +it; every fantastic skyline of chimney-pots seems wildly and derisively +signalling the meaning of the mystery.</p> + +<p>This realization of the poetry of London is not a small thing. A city +is, properly speaking, more poetic even than a countryside, for while +Nature is a chaos of unconscious forces, a city is a chaos of conscious +ones. The crest of the flower or the pattern of the lichen may or may +not be significant symbols. But there is no stone in the street and no +brick in the wall that is not actually a deliberate symbol—a message +from some man, as much as if it were a telegram or a post-card. The +narrowest street possesses, in every crook and twist of its intention, +the soul of the man who built it, perhaps long in his grave. Every brick<!-- Page 114 --><a name="Page_114"></a> +has as human a hieroglyph as if it were a graven brick of Babylon; every +slate on the roof is as educational a document as if it were a slate +covered with addition and subtraction sums. Anything which tends, even +under the fantastic form of the minutiae of Sherlock Holmes, to assert +this romance of detail in civilization, to emphasize this unfathomably +human character in flints and tiles, is a good thing. It is good that +the average man should fall into the habit of looking imaginatively at +ten men in the street even if it is only on the chance that the eleventh +might be a notorious thief. We may dream, perhaps, that it might be +possible to have another and higher romance of London, that men's souls +have stranger adventures than their bodies, and that it would be harder +and more exciting to hunt their virtues than to hunt their crimes. But +since our great authors (with the admirable exception of Stevenson) +decline to write of that thrilling mood and moment when the eyes of the +great city, like the eyes of a cat, begin to flame in the dark, we must +give fair credit to the popular literature which, amid a babble of +pedantry and preciosity, declines to regard the present as prosaic or +the common as commonplace. Popular art in all ages has been interested +in contemporary manners and costume; it dressed the groups around the +Crucifixion in the garb of Florentine ge<!-- Page 115 --><a name="Page_115"></a>ntlefolk or Flemish burghers. +In the last century it was the custom for distinguished actors to +present Macbeth in a powdered wig and ruffles. How far we are ourselves +in this age from such conviction of the poetry of our own life and +manners may easily be conceived by anyone who chooses to imagine a +picture of Alfred the Great toasting the cakes dressed in tourist's +knickerbockers, or a performance of 'Hamlet' in which the Prince +appeared in a frock-coat, with a crape band round his hat. But this +instinct of the age to look back, like Lot's wife, could not go on for +ever. A rude, popular literature of the romantic possibilities of the +modern city was bound to arise. It has arisen in the popular detective +stories, as rough and refreshing as the ballads of Robin Hood.</p> + +<p>There is, however, another good work that is done by detective stories. +While it is the constant tendency of the Old Adam to rebel against so +universal and automatic a thing as civilization, to preach departure and +rebellion, the romance of police activity keeps in some sense before the +mind the fact that civilization itself is the most sensational of +departures and the most romantic of rebellions. By dealing with the<!-- Page 116 --><a name="Page_116"></a> +unsleeping sentinels who guard the outposts of society, it tends to +remind us that we live in an armed camp, making war with a chaotic +world, and that the criminals, the children of chaos, are nothing but +the traitors within our gates. When the detective in a police romance +stands alone, and somewhat fatuously fearless amid the knives and fists +of a thieves' kitchen, it does certainly serve to make us remember that +it is the agent of social justice who is the original and poetic figure, +while the burglars and footpads are merely placid old cosmic +conservatives, happy in the immemorial respectability of apes and +wolves. The romance of the police force is thus the whole romance of +man. It is based on the fact that morality is the most dark and daring +of conspiracies. It reminds us that the whole noiseless and unnoticeable +police management by which we are ruled and protected is only a +successful knight-errantry.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_PATRIOTISM"></a>A DEFENCE OF PATRIOTISM</h2><!-- Page 117 --><a name="Page_117"></a> +<br> + +<p>The decay of patriotism in England during the last year or two is a +serious and distressing matter. Only in consequence of such a decay +could the current lust of territory be confounded with the ancient love +of country. We may imagine that if there were no such thing as a pair of +lovers left in the world, all the vocabulary of love might without +rebuke be transferred to the lowest and most automatic desire. If no +type of chivalrous and purifying passion remained, there would be no one +left to say that lust bore none of the marks of love, that lust was +rapacious and love pitiful, that lust was blind and love vigilant, that +lust sated itself and love was insatiable. So it is with the 'love of +the city,' that high and ancient intellectual passion which has been +written in red blood on the same table with the primal passions of our +being. On all sides we hear to-day of the love of our country, and yet +anyone who has literally such a love must be bewildered at the talk, +like a man hearing all men say that the moon shines by day and the sun +by night. The conviction must come to him at last that these men do not +realize what the word 'love' means, that they mean by the love of +country, not what a mystic might mean by the love of God, but something +of what a child might mean by the love of jam. To one who loves his<!-- Page 118 --><a name="Page_118"></a> +fatherland, for instance, our boasted indifference to the ethics of a +national war is mere mysterious gibberism. It is like telling a man that +a boy has committed murder, but that he need not mind because it is only +his son. Here clearly the word 'love' is used unmeaningly. It is the +essence of love to be sensitive, it is a part of its doom; and anyone +who objects to the one must certainly get rid of the other. This +sensitiveness, rising sometimes to an almost morbid sensitiveness, was +the mark of all great lovers like Dante and all great patriots like +Chatham. 'My country, right or wrong,' is a thing that no patriot would +think of saying except in a desperate case. It is like saying, 'My +mother, drunk or sober.' No doubt if a decent man's mother took to drink<!-- Page 119 --><a name="Page_119"></a> +he would share her troubles to the last; but to talk as if he would be +in a state of gay indifference as to whether his mother took to drink or +not is certainly not the language of men who know the great mystery.</p> + +<p>What we really need for the frustration and overthrow of a deaf and +raucous Jingoism is a renascence of the love of the native land. When +that comes, all shrill cries will cease suddenly. For the first of all +the marks of love is seriousness: love will not accept sham bulletins or +the empty victory of words. It will always esteem the most candid +counsellor the best. Love is drawn to truth by the unerring magnetism of +agony; it gives no pleasure to the lover to see ten doctors dancing with +vociferous optimism round a death-bed.</p> + +<p>We have to ask, then, Why is it that this recent movement in England, +which has honestly appeared to many a renascence of patriotism, seems to +us to have none of the marks of patriotism—at least, of patriotism in +its highest form? Why has the adoration of o<!-- Page 120 --><a name="Page_120"></a>ur patriots been given +wholly to qualities and circumstances good in themselves, but +comparatively material and trivial:—trade, physical force, a skirmish +at a remote frontier, a squabble in a remote continent? Colonies are +things to be proud of, but for a country to be only proud of its +extremities is like a man being only proud of his legs. Why is there not +a high central intellectual patriotism, a patriotism of the head and +heart of the Empire, and not merely of its fists and its boots? A rude +Athenian sailor may very likely have thought that the glory of Athens +lay in rowing with the right kind of oars, or having a good supply of +garlic; but Pericles did not think that this was the glory of Athens. +With us, on the other hand, there is no difference at all between the +patriotism preached by Mr. Chamberlain and that preached by Mr. Pat +Rafferty, who sings 'What do you think of the Irish now?' They are both +honest, simple-minded, vulgar eulogies upon trivialities and truisms.</p> + +<p>I have, rightly or wrongly, a notion of the chief cause of this +pettiness in English patriotism of to-day, and I will attempt to expound +it. It may be taken generally that a man loves his own stock and +environment, and that he will find something to praise in it; but +whether it is the most praiseworthy thing or no will depend upon the +man's enlightenment as to the facts. If the son of Thackeray, let us<!-- Page 121 --><a name="Page_121"></a> +say, were brought up in ignorance of his father's fame and genius, it is +not improbable that he would be proud of the fact that his father was +over six feet high. It seems to me that we, as a nation, are precisely +in the position of this hypothetical child of Thackeray's. We fall back +upon gross and frivolous things for our patriotism, for a simple reason. +We are the only people in the world who are not taught in childhood our +own literature and our own history.</p> + +<p>We are, as a nation, in the truly extraordinary condition of not knowing +our own merits. We have played a great and splendid part in the history +of universal thought and sentiment; we have been among the foremost in +that eternal and bloodless battle in which the blows do not slay, but +create. In painting and music we are inferior to many other nations; but +in literature, science, philosophy, and political eloquence, if history +be taken as a whole, we can hold our own with any. But all this vast +heritage of intellectual glory is kept from our schoolboys like a +heresy; and they are left to live and die in the dull and infantile type +of patriotism which they learnt from a box of tin soldiers. There is no +harm in the box of tin soldiers; we do not expect children to be equally<!-- Page 122 --><a name="Page_122"></a> +delighted with a beautiful box of tin philanthropists. But there is +great harm in the fact that the subtler and more civilized honour of +England is not presented so as to keep pace with the expanding mind. A +French boy is taught the glory of Molière as well as that of Turenne; a +German boy is taught his own great national philosophy before he learns +the philosophy of antiquity. The result is that, though French +patriotism is often crazy and boastful, though German patriotism is +often isolated and pedantic, they are neither of them merely dull, +common, and brutal, as is so often the strange fate of the nation of +Bacon and Locke. It is natural enough, and even righteous enough, under +the circumstances. An Englishman must love England for something; +consequently, he tends to exalt commerce or prize-fighting, just as a +German might tend to exalt music, or a Flamand to exalt painting, +because he really believes it is the chief merit of his fatherland. It +would not be in the least extraordinary if a claim of eating up +provinces and pulling down princes were the chief boast of a Zulu. The +extraordinary thing is, that it is the chief boast of a people who have +Shakespeare, Newton, Burke, and Darwin to boast of.</p><!-- Page 123 --><a name="Page_123"></a> + +<p>The peculiar lack of any generosity or delicacy in the current English +nationalism appears to have no other possible origin but in this fact of +our unique neglect in education of the study of the national literature. +An Englishman could not be silly enough to despise other nations if he +once knew how much England had done for them. Great men of letters +cannot avoid being humane and universal. The absence of the teaching of +English literature in our schools is, when we come to think of it, an +almost amazing phenomenon. It is even more amazing when we listen to the +arguments urged by headmasters and other educational conservatives +against the direct teaching of English. It is said, for example, that a +vast amount of English grammar and literature is picked up in the course +of learning Latin and Greek. This is perfectly true, but the +topsy-turviness of the idea never seems to strike them. It is like +saying that a baby picks up the art of walking in the course of learning +to hop, or that a Frenchman may successfully be taught German by helping +a Prussian to learn Ashanti. Surely the obvious foundation of all +education is the language in which that education is conveyed; if a boy +has only time to learn one thing, he had better learn that.</p> +<!-- Page 124 --><a name="Page_124"></a> +<p>We have deliberately neglected this great heritage of high national +sentiment. We have made our public schools the strongest walls against a +whisper of the honour of England. And we have had our punishment in this +strange and perverted fact that, while a unifying vision of patriotism +can ennoble bands of brutal savages or dingy burghers, and be the best +thing in their lives, we, who are—the world being judge—humane, +honest, and serious individually, have a patriotism that is the worst +thing in ours. What have we done, and where have we wandered, we that +have produced sages who could have spoken with Socrates and poets who +could walk with Dante, that we should talk as if we have never done +anything more intelligent than found colonies and kick niggers? We are +the children of light, and it is we that sit in darkness. If we are +judged, it will not be for the merely intellectual transgression of +failing to appreciate other nations, but for the supreme spiritual +transgression of failing to appreciate ourselves.</p> +<br> +<!-- Page 125 --><a name="Page_125"></a> +<p>THE END</p> + +<p>BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD</p> + + + + + +<!-- Page 132 --><a name="Page_132"></a><!-- Page 126 --><a name="Page_126"></a><!-- Page 128 --><a name="Page_128"></a><!-- Page 130 --><a name="Page_130"></a><!-- Page 131 --><a name="Page_131"></a><!-- Page 127 --><a name="Page_127"></a><!-- Page 129 --><a name="Page_129"></a> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12245 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0dd4dc5 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #12245 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12245) diff --git a/old/12245-8.txt b/old/12245-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4ea777e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12245-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2976 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Defendant, by G.K. Chesterton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Defendant + +Author: G.K. Chesterton + +Release Date: May 3, 2004 [EBook #12245] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEFENDANT *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Shimmin, Frank van Drogen and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + + + +THE DEFENDANT + +BY G. K. CHESTERTON + +AUTHOR OF 'THE WILD KNIGHT' AND 'GREYBEARDS AT PLAY' + +SECOND EDITION + +LONDON. MDCCCCII + +R. BRIMLEY JOHNSON + + * * * * * + +The 'Defences' of which this volume is composed have appeared in _The +Speaker_, and are here reprinted, after revision and amplification, by +permission of the Editor. Portions of 'The Defence of Publicity' +appeared in _The Daily News_. + +_October_, 1901. + + * * * * * + +CONTENTS + + +IN DEFENCE OF A NEW EDITION + +INTRODUCTION + +A DEFENCE OF PENNY DREADFULS + +A DEFENCE OF RASH VOWS + +A DEFENCE OF SKELETONS + +A DEFENCE OF PUBLICITY + +A DEFENCE OF NONSENSE + +A DEFENCE OF PLANETS + +A DEFENCE OF CHINA SHEPHERDESSES + +A DEFENCE OF USEFUL INFORMATION + +A DEFENCE OF HERALDRY + +A DEFENCE OF UGLY THINGS + +A DEFENCE OF FARCE + +A DEFENCE OF HUMILITY + +A DEFENCE OF SLANG + +A DEFENCE OF BABY-WORSHIP + +A DEFENCE OF DETECTIVE STORIES + +A DEFENCE OF PATRIOTISM + + + * * * * * + + +_IN DEFENCE OF A NEW EDITION + +The reissue of a series of essays so ephemeral and even superfluous may +seem at the first glance to require some excuse; probably the best +excuse is that they will have been completely forgotten, and therefore +may be read again with entirely new sensations. I am not sure, however, +that this claim is so modest as it sounds, for I fancy that Shakespeare +and Balzac, if moved to prayers, might not ask to be remembered, but to +be forgotten, and forgotten thus; for if they were forgotten they would +be everlastingly re-discovered and re-read. It is a monotonous memory +which keeps us in the main from seeing things as splendid as they are. +The ancients were not wrong when they made Lethe the boundary of a +better land; perhaps the only flaw in their system is that a man who had +bathed in the river of forgetfulness would be as likely as not to climb +back upon the bank of the earth and fancy himself in Elysium. + +If, therefore, I am certain that most sensible people have forgotten +the existence of this book--I do not speak in modesty or in pride--I +wish only to state a simple and somewhat beautiful fact. In one respect +the passing of the period during which a book can be considered current +has afflicted me with some melancholy, for I had intended to write +anonymously in some daily paper a thorough and crushing exposure of the +work inspired mostly by a certain artistic impatience of the too +indulgent tone of the critiques and the manner in which a vast number of +my most monstrous fallacies have passed unchallenged. I will not repeat +that powerful article here, for it cannot be necessary to do anything +more than warn the reader against the perfectly indefensible line of +argument adopted at the end of p. 28. I am also conscious that the title +of the book is, strictly speaking, inaccurate. It is a legal metaphor, +and, speaking legally, a defendant is not an enthusiast for the +character of King John or the domestic virtues of the prairie-dog. He is +one who defends himself, a thing which the present writer, however +poisoned his mind may be with paradox, certainly never dreamed of +attempting. + +Criticism upon the book considered as literature, if it can be so +considered, I should, of course, never dream of discussing--firstly, +because it is ridiculous to do so; and, secondly, because there was, in +my opinion, much justice in such criticism. + +But there is one matter on which an author is generally considered as +having a right to explain himself, since it has nothing to do with +capacity or intelligence, and that is the question of his morals. + +I am proud to say that a furious, uncompromising, and very effective +attack was made upon what was alleged to be the utter immorality of this +book by my excellent friend Mr. C.F.G. Masterman, in the 'Speaker.' The +tendency of that criticism was to the effect that I was discouraging +improvement and disguising scandals by my offensive optimism. Quoting +the passage in which I said that 'diamonds were to be found in the +dust-bin,' he said: 'There is no difficulty in finding good in what +humanity rejects. The difficulty is to find it in what humanity accepts. +The diamond is easy enough to find in the dust-bin. The difficulty is to +find it in the drawing-room.' I must admit, for my part, without the +slightest shame, that I have found a great many very excellent things in +drawing-rooms. For example, I found Mr. Masterman in a drawing-room. But +I merely mention this purely ethical attack in order to state, in as few +sentences as possible, my difference from the theory of optimism and +progress therein enunciated. At first sight it would seem that the +pessimist encourages improvement. But in reality it is a singular truth +that the era in which pessimism has been cried from the house-tops is +also that in which almost all reform has stagnated and fallen into +decay. The reason of this is not difficult to discover. No man ever did, +and no man ever can, create or desire to make a bad thing good or an +ugly thing beautiful. There must be some germ of good to be loved, some +fragment of beauty to be admired. The mother washes and decks out the +dirty or careless child, but no one can ask her to wash and deck out a +goblin with a heart like hell. No one can kill the fatted calf for +Mephistopheles. The cause which is blocking all progress today is the +subtle scepticism which whispers in a million ears that things are not +good enough to be worth improving. If the world is good we are +revolutionaries, if the world is evil we must be conservatives. These +essays, futile as they are considered as serious literature, are yet +ethically sincere, since they seek to remind men that things must be +loved first and improved afterwards. + +G. K. C_. + + * * * * * + +THE DEFENDANT + +INTRODUCTION + +In certain endless uplands, uplands like great flats gone dizzy, slopes +that seem to contradict the idea that there is even such a thing as a +level, and make us all realize that we live on a planet with a sloping +roof, you will come from time to time upon whole valleys filled with +loose rocks and boulders, so big as to be like mountains broken loose. +The whole might be an experimental creation shattered and cast away. It +is often difficult to believe that such cosmic refuse can have come +together except by human means. The mildest and most cockney imagination +conceives the place to be the scene of some war of giants. To me it is +always associated with one idea, recurrent and at last instinctive. The +scene was the scene of the stoning of some prehistoric prophet, a +prophet as much more gigantic than after-prophets as the boulders are +more gigantic than the pebbles. He spoke some words--words that seemed +shameful and tremendous--and the world, in terror, buried him under a +wilderness of stones. The place is the monument of an ancient fear. + +If we followed the same mood of fancy, it would be more difficult to +imagine what awful hint or wild picture of the universe called forth +that primal persecution, what secret of sensational thought lies buried +under the brutal stones. For in our time the blasphemies are threadbare. +Pessimism is now patently, as it always was essentially, more +commonplace than piety. Profanity is now more than an affectation--it is +a convention. The curse against God is Exercise I. in the primer of +minor poetry. It was not, assuredly, for such babyish solemnities that +our imaginary prophet was stoned in the morning of the world. If we +weigh the matter in the faultless scales of imagination, if we see what +is the real trend of humanity, we shall feel it most probable that he +was stoned for saying that the grass was green and that the birds sang +in spring; for the mission of all the prophets from the beginning has +not been so much the pointing out of heavens or hells as primarily the +pointing out of the earth. + +Religion has had to provide that longest and strangest telescope--the +telescope through which we could see the star upon which we dwelt. For +the mind and eyes of the average man this world is as lost as Eden and +as sunken as Atlantis. There runs a strange law through the length of +human history--that men are continually tending to undervalue their +environment, to undervalue their happiness, to undervalue themselves. +The great sin of mankind, the sin typified by the fall of Adam, is the +tendency, not towards pride, but towards this weird and horrible +humility. + +This is the great fall, the fall by which the fish forgets the sea, the +ox forgets the meadow, the clerk forgets the city, every man forgets his +environment and, in the fullest and most literal sense, forgets himself. +This is the real fall of Adam, and it is a spiritual fall. It is a +strange thing that many truly spiritual men, such as General Gordon, +have actually spent some hours in speculating upon the precise location +of the Garden of Eden. Most probably we are in Eden still. It is only +our eyes that have changed. + +The pessimist is commonly spoken of as the man in revolt. He is not. +Firstly, because it requires some cheerfulness to continue in revolt, +and secondly, because pessimism appeals to the weaker side of everybody, +and the pessimist, therefore, drives as roaring a trade as the publican. +The person who is really in revolt is the optimist, who generally lives +and dies in a desperate and suicidal effort to persuade all the other +people how good they are. It has been proved a hundred times over that +if you really wish to enrage people and make them angry, even unto +death, the right way to do it is to tell them that they are all the sons +of God. Jesus Christ was crucified, it may be remembered, not because of +anything he said about God, but on a charge of saying that a man could +in three days pull down and rebuild the Temple. Every one of the great +revolutionists, from Isaiah to Shelley, have been optimists. They have +been indignant, not about the badness of existence, but about the +slowness of men in realizing its goodness. The prophet who is stoned is +not a brawler or a marplot. He is simply a rejected lover. He suffers +from an unrequited attachment to things in general. + +It becomes increasingly apparent, therefore, that the world is in a +permanent danger of being misjudged. That this is no fanciful or +mystical idea may be tested by simple examples. The two absolutely basic +words 'good' and 'bad,' descriptive of two primal and inexplicable +sensations, are not, and never have been, used properly. Things that are +bad are not called good by any people who experience them; but things +that are good are called bad by the universal verdict of humanity. + +Let me explain a little: Certain things are bad so far as they go, such +as pain, and no one, not even a lunatic, calls a tooth-ache good in +itself; but a knife which cuts clumsily and with difficulty is called a +bad knife, which it certainly is not. It is only not so good as other +knives to which men have grown accustomed. A knife is never bad except +on such rare occasions as that in which it is neatly and scientifically +planted in the middle of one's back. The coarsest and bluntest knife +which ever broke a pencil into pieces instead of sharpening it is a good +thing in so far as it is a knife. It would have appeared a miracle in +the Stone Age. What we call a bad knife is a good knife not good enough +for us; what we call a bad hat is a good hat not good enough for us; +what we call bad cookery is good cookery not good enough for us; what we +call a bad civilization is a good civilization not good enough for us. +We choose to call the great mass of the history of mankind bad, not +because it is bad, but because we are better. This is palpably an unfair +principle. Ivory may not be so white as snow, but the whole Arctic +continent does not make ivory black. + +Now it has appeared to me unfair that humanity should be engaged +perpetually in calling all those things bad which have been good enough +to make other things better, in everlastingly kicking down the ladder by +which it has climbed. It has appeared to me that progress should be +something else besides a continual parricide; therefore I have +investigated the dust-heaps of humanity, and found a treasure in all of +them. I have found that humanity is not incidentally engaged, but +eternally and systematically engaged, in throwing gold into the gutter +and diamonds into the sea. I have found that every man is disposed to +call the green leaf of the tree a little less green than it is, and the +snow of Christmas a little less white than it is; therefore I have +imagined that the main business of a man, however humble, is defence. I +have conceived that a defendant is chiefly required when worldlings +despise the world--that a counsel for the defence would not have been +out of place in that terrible day when the sun was darkened over Calvary +and Man was rejected of men. + + + * * * * * + + +A DEFENCE OF PENNY DREADFULS + + +One of the strangest examples of the degree to which ordinary life is +undervalued is the example of popular literature, the vast mass of which +we contentedly describe as vulgar. The boy's novelette may be ignorant +in a literary sense, which is only like saying that a modern novel is +ignorant in the chemical sense, or the economic sense, or the +astronomical sense; but it is not vulgar intrinsically--it is the actual +centre of a million flaming imaginations. + +In former centuries the educated class ignored the ruck of vulgar +literature. They ignored, and therefore did not, properly speaking, +despise it. Simple ignorance and indifference does not inflate the +character with pride. A man does not walk down the street giving a +haughty twirl to his moustaches at the thought of his superiority to +some variety of deep-sea fishes. The old scholars left the whole +under-world of popular compositions in a similar darkness. + +To-day, however, we have reversed this principle. We do despise vulgar +compositions, and we do not ignore them. We are in some danger of +becoming petty in our study of pettiness; there is a terrible Circean +law in the background that if the soul stoops too ostentatiously to +examine anything it never gets up again. There is no class of vulgar +publications about which there is, to my mind, more utterly ridiculous +exaggeration and misconception than the current boys' literature of the +lowest stratum. This class of composition has presumably always existed, +and must exist. It has no more claim to be good literature than the +daily conversation of its readers to be fine oratory, or the +lodging-houses and tenements they inhabit to be sublime architecture. +But people must have conversation, they must have houses, and they must +have stories. The simple need for some kind of ideal world in which +fictitious persons play an unhampered part is infinitely deeper and +older than the rules of good art, and much more important. Every one of +us in childhood has constructed such an invisible _dramatis personæ_, +but it never occurred to our nurses to correct the composition by +careful comparison with Balzac. In the East the professional +story-teller goes from village to village with a small carpet; and I +wish sincerely that anyone had the moral courage to spread that carpet +and sit on it in Ludgate Circus. But it is not probable that all the +tales of the carpet-bearer are little gems of original artistic +workmanship. Literature and fiction are two entirely different things. +Literature is a luxury; fiction is a necessity. A work of art can hardly +be too short, for its climax is its merit. A story can never be too +long, for its conclusion is merely to be deplored, like the last +halfpenny or the last pipelight. And so, while the increase of the +artistic conscience tends in more ambitious works to brevity and +impressionism, voluminous industry still marks the producer of the true +romantic trash. There was no end to the ballads of Robin Hood; there is +no end to the volumes about Dick Deadshot and the Avenging Nine. These +two heroes are deliberately conceived as immortal. + +But instead of basing all discussion of the problem upon the +common-sense recognition of this fact--that the youth of the lower +orders always has had and always must have formless and endless romantic +reading of some kind, and then going on to make provision for its +wholesomeness--we begin, generally speaking, by fantastic abuse of this +reading as a whole and indignant surprise that the errand-boys under +discussion do not read 'The Egoist' and 'The Master Builder.' It is the +custom, particularly among magistrates, to attribute half the crimes of +the Metropolis to cheap novelettes. If some grimy urchin runs away with +an apple, the magistrate shrewdly points out that the child's knowledge +that apples appease hunger is traceable to some curious literary +researches. The boys themselves, when penitent, frequently accuse the +novelettes with great bitterness, which is only to be expected from +young people possessed of no little native humour. If I had forged a +will, and could obtain sympathy by tracing the incident to the influence +of Mr. George Moore's novels, I should find the greatest entertainment +in the diversion. At any rate, it is firmly fixed in the minds of most +people that gutter-boys, unlike everybody else in the community, find +their principal motives for conduct in printed books. + +Now it is quite clear that this objection, the objection brought by +magistrates, has nothing to do with literary merit. Bad story writing is +not a crime. Mr. Hall Caine walks the streets openly, and cannot be put +in prison for an anticlimax. The objection rests upon the theory that +the tone of the mass of boys' novelettes is criminal and degraded, +appealing to low cupidity and low cruelty. This is the magisterial +theory, and this is rubbish. + +So far as I have seen them, in connection with the dirtiest book-stalls +in the poorest districts, the facts are simply these: The whole +bewildering mass of vulgar juvenile literature is concerned with +adventures, rambling, disconnected and endless. It does not express any +passion of any sort, for there is no human character of any sort. It +runs eternally in certain grooves of local and historical type: the +medieval knight, the eighteenth-century duellist, and the modern cowboy, +recur with the same stiff simplicity as the conventional human figures +in an Oriental pattern. I can quite as easily imagine a human being +kindling wild appetites by the contemplation of his Turkey carpet as by +such dehumanized and naked narrative as this. + +Among these stories there are a certain number which deal +sympathetically with the adventures of robbers, outlaws and pirates, +which present in a dignified and romantic light thieves and murderers +like Dick Turpin and Claude Duval. That is to say, they do precisely the +same thing as Scott's 'Ivanhoe,' Scott's 'Rob Roy,' Scott's 'Lady of +the Lake,' Byron's 'Corsair,' Wordsworth's 'Rob Roy's Grave,' +Stevenson's 'Macaire,' Mr. Max Pemberton's 'Iron Pirate,' and a thousand +more works distributed systematically as prizes and Christmas presents. +Nobody imagines that an admiration of Locksley in 'Ivanhoe' will lead a +boy to shoot Japanese arrows at the deer in Richmond Park; no one thinks +that the incautious opening of Wordsworth at the poem on Rob Roy will +set him up for life as a blackmailer. In the case of our own class, we +recognise that this wild life is contemplated with pleasure by the +young, not because it is like their own life, but because it is +different from it. It might at least cross our minds that, for whatever +other reason the errand-boy reads 'The Red Revenge,' it really is not +because he is dripping with the gore of his own friends and relatives. + +In this matter, as in all such matters, we lose our bearings entirely by +speaking of the 'lower classes' when we mean humanity minus ourselves. +This trivial romantic literature is not especially plebeian: it is +simply human. The philanthropist can never forget classes and callings. +He says, with a modest swagger, 'I have invited twenty-five factory +hands to tea.' If he said 'I have invited twenty-five chartered +accountants to tea,' everyone would see the humour of so simple a +classification. But this is what we have done with this lumberland of +foolish writing: we have probed, as if it were some monstrous new +disease, what is, in fact, nothing but the foolish and valiant heart of +man. Ordinary men will always be sentimentalists: for a sentimentalist +is simply a man who has feelings and does not trouble to invent a new +way of expressing them. These common and current publications have +nothing essentially evil about them. They express the sanguine and +heroic truisms on which civilization is built; for it is clear that +unless civilization is built on truisms, it is not built at all. +Clearly, there could be no safety for a society in which the remark by +the Chief Justice that murder was wrong was regarded as an original and +dazzling epigram. + +If the authors and publishers of 'Dick Deadshot,' and such remarkable +works, were suddenly to make a raid upon the educated class, were to +take down the names of every man, however distinguished, who was caught +at a University Extension Lecture, were to confiscate all our novels and +warn us all to correct our lives, we should be seriously annoyed. Yet +they have far more right to do so than we; for they, with all their +idiotcy, are normal and we are abnormal. It is the modern literature of +the educated, not of the uneducated, which is avowedly and aggressively +criminal. Books recommending profligacy and pessimism, at which the +high-souled errand-boy would shudder, lie upon all our drawing-room +tables. If the dirtiest old owner of the dirtiest old bookstall in +Whitechapel dared to display works really recommending polygamy or +suicide, his stock would be seized by the police. These things are our +luxuries. And with a hypocrisy so ludicrous as to be almost unparalleled +in history, we rate the gutter-boys for their immorality at the very +time that we are discussing (with equivocal German Professors) whether +morality is valid at all. At the very instant that we curse the Penny +Dreadful for encouraging thefts upon property, we canvass the +proposition that all property is theft. At the very instant we accuse it +(quite unjustly) of lubricity and indecency, we are cheerfully reading +philosophies which glory in lubricity and indecency. At the very instant +that we charge it with encouraging the young to destroy life, we are +placidly discussing whether life is worth preserving. + +But it is we who are the morbid exceptions; it is we who are the +criminal class. This should be our great comfort. The vast mass of +humanity, with their vast mass of idle books and idle words, have never +doubted and never will doubt that courage is splendid, that fidelity is +noble, that distressed ladies should be rescued, and vanquished enemies +spared. There are a large number of cultivated persons who doubt these +maxims of daily life, just as there are a large number of persons who +believe they are the Prince of Wales; and I am told that both classes of +people are entertaining conversationalists. But the average man or boy +writes daily in these great gaudy diaries of his soul, which we call +Penny Dreadfuls, a plainer and better gospel than any of those +iridescent ethical paradoxes that the fashionable change as often as +their bonnets. It may be a very limited aim in morality to shoot a +'many-faced and fickle traitor,' but at least it is a better aim than to +be a many-faced and fickle traitor, which is a simple summary of a good +many modern systems from Mr. d'Annunzio's downwards. So long as the +coarse and thin texture of mere current popular romance is not touched +by a paltry culture it will never be vitally immoral. It is always on +the side of life. The poor--the slaves who really stoop under the +burden of life--have often been mad, scatter-brained and cruel, but +never hopeless. That is a class privilege, like cigars. Their drivelling +literature will always be a 'blood and thunder' literature, as simple as +the thunder of heaven and the blood of men. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF RASH VOWS + +If a prosperous modern man, with a high hat and a frock-coat, were to +solemnly pledge himself before all his clerks and friends to count the +leaves on every third tree in Holland Walk, to hop up to the City on one +leg every Thursday, to repeat the whole of Mill's 'Liberty' seventy-six +times, to collect 300 dandelions in fields belonging to anyone of the +name of Brown, to remain for thirty-one hours holding his left ear in +his right hand, to sing the names of all his aunts in order of age on +the top of an omnibus, or make any such unusual undertaking, we should +immediately conclude that the man was mad, or, as it is sometimes +expressed, was 'an artist in life.' Yet these vows are not more +extraordinary than the vows which in the Middle Ages and in similar +periods were made, not by fanatics merely, but by the greatest figures +in civic and national civilization--by kings, judges, poets, and +priests. One man swore to chain two mountains together, and the great +chain hung there, it was said, for ages as a monument of that mystical +folly. Another swore that he would find his way to Jerusalem with a +patch over his eyes, and died looking for it. It is not easy to see that +these two exploits, judged from a strictly rational standpoint, are any +saner than the acts above suggested. A mountain is commonly a stationary +and reliable object which it is not necessary to chain up at night like +a dog. And it is not easy at first sight to see that a man pays a very +high compliment to the Holy City by setting out for it under conditions +which render it to the last degree improbable that he will ever get +there. + +But about this there is one striking thing to be noticed. If men behaved +in that way in our time, we should, as we have said, regard them as +symbols of the 'decadence.' But the men who did these things were not +decadent; they belonged generally to the most robust classes of what is +generally regarded as a robust age. Again, it will be urged that if men +essentially sane performed such insanities, it was under the capricious +direction of a superstitious religious system. This, again, will not +hold water; for in the purely terrestrial and even sensual departments +of life, such as love and lust, the medieval princes show the same mad +promises and performances, the same misshapen imagination and the same +monstrous self-sacrifice. Here we have a contradiction, to explain which +it is necessary to think of the whole nature of vows from the beginning. +And if we consider seriously and correctly the nature of vows, we shall, +unless I am much mistaken, come to the conclusion that it is perfectly +sane, and even sensible, to swear to chain mountains together, and that, +if insanity is involved at all, it is a little insane not to do so. + +The man who makes a vow makes an appointment with himself at some +distant time or place. The danger of it is that himself should not keep +the appointment. And in modern times this terror of one's self, of the +weakness and mutability of one's self, has perilously increased, and is +the real basis of the objection to vows of any kind. A modern man +refrains from swearing to count the leaves on every third tree in +Holland Walk, not because it is silly to do so (he does many sillier +things), but because he has a profound conviction that before he had got +to the three hundred and seventy-ninth leaf on the first tree he would +be excessively tired of the subject and want to go home to tea. In other +words, we fear that by that time he will be, in the common but hideously +significant phrase, _another man_. Now, it is this horrible fairy tale +of a man constantly changing into other men that is the soul of the +Decadence. That John Paterson should, with apparent calm, look forward +to being a certain General Barker on Monday, Dr. Macgregor on Tuesday, +Sir Walter Carstairs on Wednesday, and Sam Slugg on Thursday, may seem a +nightmare; but to that nightmare we give the name of modern culture. One +great decadent, who is now dead, published a poem some time ago, in +which he powerfully summed up the whole spirit of the movement by +declaring that he could stand in the prison yard and entirely comprehend +the feelings of a man about to be hanged: + + 'For he that lives more lives than one + More deaths than one must die.' + +And the end of all this is that maddening horror of unreality which +descends upon the decadents, and compared with which physical pain +itself would have the freshness of a youthful thing. The one hell which +imagination must conceive as most hellish is to be eternally acting a +play without even the narrowest and dirtiest greenroom in which to be +human. And this is the condition of the decadent, of the aesthete, of +the free-lover. To be everlastingly passing through dangers which we +know cannot scathe us, to be taking oaths which we know cannot bind us, +to be defying enemies who we know cannot conquer us--this is the +grinning tyranny of decadence which is called freedom. + +Let us turn, on the other hand, to the maker of vows. The man who made a +vow, however wild, gave a healthy and natural expression to the +greatness of a great moment. He vowed, for example, to chain two +mountains together, perhaps a symbol of some great relief, or love, or +aspiration. Short as the moment of his resolve might be, it was, like +all great moments, a moment of immortality, and the desire to say of it +_exegi monumentum oere perennius_ was the only sentiment that would +satisfy his mind. The modern aesthetic man would, of course, easily see +the emotional opportunity; he would vow to chain two mountains together. +But, then, he would quite as cheerfully vow to chain the earth to the +moon. And the withering consciousness that he did not mean what he said, +that he was, in truth, saying nothing of any great import, would take +from him exactly that sense of daring actuality which is the excitement +of a vow. For what could be more maddening than an existence in which +our mother or aunt received the information that we were going to +assassinate the King or build a temple on Ben Nevis with the genial +composure of custom? + +The revolt against vows has been carried in our day even to the extent +of a revolt against the typical vow of marriage. It is most amusing to +listen to the opponents of marriage on this subject. They appear to +imagine that the ideal of constancy was a yoke mysteriously imposed on +mankind by the devil, instead of being, as it is, a yoke consistently +imposed by all lovers on themselves. They have invented a +phrase, a phrase that is a black and white contradiction in two +words--'free-love'--as if a lover ever had been, or ever could be, free. +It is the nature of love to bind itself, and the institution of marriage +merely paid the average man the compliment of taking him at his word. +Modern sages offer to the lover, with an ill-flavoured grin, the largest +liberties and the fullest irresponsibility; but they do not respect him +as the old Church respected him; they do not write his oath upon the +heavens, as the record of his highest moment. They give him every +liberty except the liberty to sell his liberty, which is the only one +that he wants. + +In Mr. Bernard Shaw's brilliant play 'The Philanderer,' we have a vivid +picture of this state of things. Charteris is a man perpetually +endeavouring to be a free-lover, which is like endeavouring to be a +married bachelor or a white negro. He is wandering in a hungry search +for a certain exhilaration which he can only have when he has the +courage to cease from wandering. Men knew better than this in old +times--in the time, for example, of Shakespeare's heroes. When +Shakespeare's men are really celibate they praise the undoubted +advantages of celibacy, liberty, irresponsibility, a chance of continual +change. But they were not such fools as to continue to talk of liberty +when they were in such a condition that they could be made happy or +miserable by the moving of someone else's eyebrow. Suckling classes love +with debt in his praise of freedom. + + 'And he that's fairly out of both + Of all the world is blest. + He lives as in the golden age, + When all things made were common; + He takes his pipe, he takes his glass, + He fears no man or woman.' + +This is a perfectly possible, rational and manly position. But what have +lovers to do with ridiculous affectations of fearing no man or woman? +They know that in the turning of a hand the whole cosmic engine to the +remotest star may become an instrument of music or an instrument of +torture. They hear a song older than Suckling's, that has survived a +hundred philosophies. 'Who is this that looketh out of the window, fair +as the sun, clear as the moon, terrible as an army with banners?' + +As we have said, it is exactly this backdoor, this sense of having a +retreat behind us, that is, to our minds, the sterilizing spirit in +modern pleasure. Everywhere there is the persistent and insane attempt +to obtain pleasure without paying for it. Thus, in politics the modern +Jingoes practically say, 'Let us have the pleasures of conquerors +without the pains of soldiers: let us sit on sofas and be a hardy race.' +Thus, in religion and morals, the decadent mystics say: 'Let us have the +fragrance of sacred purity without the sorrows of self-restraint; let us +sing hymns alternately to the Virgin and Priapus.' Thus in love the +free-lovers say: 'Let us have the splendour of offering ourselves +without the peril of committing ourselves; let us see whether one cannot +commit suicide an unlimited number of times.' + +Emphatically it will not work. There are thrilling moments, doubtless, +for the spectator, the amateur, and the aesthete; but there is one +thrill that is known only to the soldier who fights for his own flag, to +the ascetic who starves himself for his own illumination, to the lover +who makes finally his own choice. And it is this transfiguring +self-discipline that makes the vow a truly sane thing. It must have +satisfied even the giant hunger of the soul of a lover or a poet to know +that in consequence of some one instant of decision that strange chain +would hang for centuries in the Alps among the silences of stars and +snows. All around us is the city of small sins, abounding in backways +and retreats, but surely, sooner or later, the towering flame will rise +from the harbour announcing that the reign of the cowards is over and a +man is burning his ships. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF SKELETONS + + +Some little time ago I stood among immemorial English trees that seemed +to take hold upon the stars like a brood of Ygdrasils. As I walked among +these living pillars I became gradually aware that the rustics who lived +and died in their shadow adopted a very curious conversational tone. +They seemed to be constantly apologizing for the trees, as if they were +a very poor show. After elaborate investigation, I discovered that their +gloomy and penitent tone was traceable to the fact that it was winter +and all the trees were bare. I assured them that I did not resent the +fact that it was winter, that I knew the thing had happened before, and +that no forethought on their part could have averted this blow of +destiny. But I could not in any way reconcile them to the fact that it +_was_ winter. There was evidently a general feeling that I had caught +the trees in a kind of disgraceful deshabille, and that they ought not +to be seen until, like the first human sinners, they had covered +themselves with leaves. So it is quite clear that, while very few +people appear to know anything of how trees look in winter, the actual +foresters know less than anyone. So far from the line of the tree when +it is bare appearing harsh and severe, it is luxuriantly indefinable to +an unusual degree; the fringe of the forest melts away like a vignette. +The tops of two or three high trees when they are leafless are so soft +that they seem like the gigantic brooms of that fabulous lady who was +sweeping the cobwebs off the sky. The outline of a leafy forest is in +comparison hard, gross and blotchy; the clouds of night do not more +certainly obscure the moon than those green and monstrous clouds obscure +the tree; the actual sight of the little wood, with its gray and silver +sea of life, is entirely a winter vision. So dim and delicate is the +heart of the winter woods, a kind of glittering gloaming, that a figure +stepping towards us in the chequered twilight seems as if he were +breaking through unfathomable depths of spiders' webs. + +But surely the idea that its leaves are the chief grace of a tree is a +vulgar one, on a par with the idea that his hair is the chief grace of a +pianist. When winter, that healthy ascetic, carries his gigantic razor +over hill and valley, and shaves all the trees like monks, we feel +surely that they are all the more like trees if they are shorn, just as +so many painters and musicians would be all the more like men if they +were less like mops. But it does appear to be a deep and essential +difficulty that men have an abiding terror of their own structure, or of +the structure of things they love. This is felt dimly in the skeleton of +the tree: it is felt profoundly in the skeleton of the man. + +The importance of the human skeleton is very great, and the horror with +which it is commonly regarded is somewhat mysterious. Without claiming +for the human skeleton a wholly conventional beauty, we may assert that +he is certainly not uglier than a bull-dog, whose popularity never +wanes, and that he has a vastly more cheerful and ingratiating +expression. But just as man is mysteriously ashamed of the skeletons of +the trees in winter, so he is mysteriously ashamed of the skeleton of +himself in death. It is a singular thing altogether, this horror of the +architecture of things. One would think it would be most unwise in a man +to be afraid of a skeleton, since Nature has set curious and quite +insuperable obstacles to his running away from it. + +One ground exists for this terror: a strange idea has infected humanity +that the skeleton is typical of death. A man might as well say that a +factory chimney was typical of bankruptcy. The factory may be left naked +after ruin, the skeleton may be left naked after bodily dissolution; but +both of them have had a lively and workmanlike life of their own, all +the pulleys creaking, all the wheels turning, in the House of Livelihood +as in the House of Life. There is no reason why this creature (new, as I +fancy, to art), the living skeleton, should not become the essential +symbol of life. + +The truth is that man's horror of the skeleton is not horror of death at +all. It is man's eccentric glory that he has not, generally speaking, +any objection to being dead, but has a very serious objection to being +undignified. And the fundamental matter which troubles him in the +skeleton is the reminder that the ground-plan of his appearance is +shamelessly grotesque. I do not know why he should object to this. He +contentedly takes his place in a world that does not pretend to be +genteel--a laughing, working, jeering world. He sees millions of animals +carrying, with quite a dandified levity, the most monstrous shapes and +appendages, the most preposterous horns, wings, and legs, when they are +necessary to utility. He sees the good temper of the frog, the +unaccountable happiness of the hippopotamus. He sees a whole universe +which is ridiculous, from the animalcule, with a head too big for its +body, up to the comet, with a tail too big for its head. But when it +comes to the delightful oddity of his own inside, his sense of humour +rather abruptly deserts him. + +In the Middle Ages and in the Renaissance (which was, in certain times +and respects, a much gloomier period) this idea of the skeleton had a +vast influence in freezing the pride out of all earthly pomps and the +fragrance out of all fleeting pleasures. But it was not, surely, the +mere dread of death that did this, for these were ages in which men went +to meet death singing; it was the idea of the degradation of man in the +grinning ugliness of his structure that withered the juvenile insolence +of beauty and pride. And in this it almost assuredly did more good than +harm. There is nothing so cold or so pitiless as youth, and youth in +aristocratic stations and ages tended to an impeccable dignity, an +endless summer of success which needed to be very sharply reminded of +the scorn of the stars. It was well that such flamboyant prigs should be +convinced that one practical joke, at least, would bowl them over, that +they would fall into one grinning man-trap, and not rise again. That the +whole structure of their existence was as wholesomely ridiculous as that +of a pig or a parrot they could not be expected to realize; that birth +was humorous, coming of age humorous, drinking and fighting humorous, +they were far too young and solemn to know. But at least they were +taught that death was humorous. + +There is a peculiar idea abroad that the value and fascination of what +we call Nature lie in her beauty. But the fact that Nature is beautiful +in the sense that a dado or a Liberty curtain is beautiful, is only one +of her charms, and almost an accidental one. The highest and most +valuable quality in Nature is not her beauty, but her generous and +defiant ugliness. A hundred instances might be taken. The croaking noise +of the rooks is, in itself, as hideous as the whole hell of sounds in a +London railway tunnel. Yet it uplifts us like a trumpet with its coarse +kindliness and honesty, and the lover in 'Maud' could actually persuade +himself that this abominable noise resembled his lady-love's name. Has +the poet, for whom Nature means only roses and lilies, ever heard a pig +grunting? It is a noise that does a man good--a strong, snorting, +imprisoned noise, breaking its way out of unfathomable dungeons through +every possible outlet and organ. It might be the voice of the earth +itself, snoring in its mighty sleep. This is the deepest, the oldest, +the most wholesome and religious sense of the value of Nature--the value +which comes from her immense babyishness. She is as top-heavy, as +grotesque, as solemn and as happy as a child. The mood does come when we +see all her shapes like shapes that a baby scrawls upon a slate--simple, +rudimentary, a million years older and stronger than the whole disease +that is called Art. The objects of earth and heaven seem to combine into +a nursery tale, and our relation to things seems for a moment so simple +that a dancing lunatic would be needed to do justice to its lucidity and +levity. The tree above my head is flapping like some gigantic bird +standing on one leg; the moon is like the eye of a Cyclops. And, however +much my face clouds with sombre vanity, or vulgar vengeance, or +contemptible contempt, the bones of my skull beneath it are laughing for +ever. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF PUBLICITY + + +It is a very significant fact that the form of art in which the modern +world has certainly not improved upon the ancient is what may roughly be +called the art of the open air. Public monuments have certainly not +improved, nor has the criticism of them improved, as is evident from the +fashion of condemning such a large number of them as pompous. An +interesting essay might be written on the enormous number of words that +are used as insults when they are really compliments. It is in itself a +singular study in that tendency which, as I have said, is always making +things out worse than they are, and necessitating a systematic attitude +of defence. Thus, for example, some dramatic critics cast contempt upon +a dramatic performance by calling it theatrical, which simply means that +it is suitable to a theatre, and is as much a compliment as calling a +poem poetical. Similarly we speak disdainfully of a certain kind of work +as sentimental, which simply means possessing the admirable and +essential quality of sentiment. Such phrases are all parts of one +peddling and cowardly philosophy, and remind us of the days when +'enthusiast' was a term of reproach. But of all this vocabulary of +unconscious eulogies nothing is more striking than the word 'pompous.' + +Properly speaking, of course, a public monument ought to be pompous. +Pomp is its very object; it would be absurd to have columns and pyramids +blushing in some coy nook like violets in the woods of spring. And +public monuments have in this matter a great and much-needed lesson to +teach. Valour and mercy and the great enthusiasms ought to be a great +deal more public than they are at present. We are too fond nowadays of +committing the sin of fear and calling it the virtue of reverence. We +have forgotten the old and wholesome morality of the Book of Proverbs, +'Wisdom crieth without; her voice is heard in the streets.' In Athens +and Florence her voice was heard in the streets. They had an outdoor +life of war and argument, and they had what modern commercial +civilization has never had--an outdoor art. Religious services, the most +sacred of all things, have always been held publicly; it is entirely a +new and debased notion that sanctity is the same as secrecy. A great +many modern poets, with the most abstruse and delicate sensibilities, +love darkness, when all is said and done, much for the same reason that +thieves love it. The mission of a great spire or statue should be to +strike the spirit with a sudden sense of pride as with a thunderbolt. It +should lift us with it into the empty and ennobling air. Along the base +of every noble monument, whatever else may be written there, runs in +invisible letters the lines of Swinburne: + + 'This thing is God: + To be man with thy might, + To go straight in the strength of thy spirit, and live + out thy life in the light.' + +If a public monument does not meet this first supreme and obvious need, +that it should be public and monumental, it fails from the outset. + +There has arisen lately a school of realistic sculpture, which may +perhaps be better described as a school of sketchy sculpture. Such a +movement was right and inevitable as a reaction from the mean and dingy +pomposity of English Victorian statuary. Perhaps the most hideous and +depressing object in the universe--far more hideous and depressing than +one of Mr. H.G. Wells's shapeless monsters of the slime (and not at all +unlike them)--is the statue of an English philanthropist. Almost as bad, +though, of course, not quite as bad, are the statues of English +politicians in Parliament Fields. Each of them is cased in a cylindrical +frock-coat, and each carries either a scroll or a dubious-looking +garment over the arm that might be either a bathing-towel or a light +great-coat. Each of them is in an oratorical attitude, which has all the +disadvantage of being affected without even any of the advantages of +being theatrical. Let no one suppose that such abortions arise merely +from technical demerit. In every line of those leaden dolls is expressed +the fact that they were not set up with any heat of natural enthusiasm +for beauty or dignity. They were set up mechanically, because it would +seem indecorous or stingy if they were not set up. They were even set up +sulkily, in a utilitarian age which was haunted by the thought that +there were a great many more sensible ways of spending money. So long as +this is the dominant national sentiment, the land is barren, statues and +churches will not grow--for they have to grow, as much as trees and +flowers. But this moral disadvantage which lay so heavily upon the early +Victorian sculpture lies in a modified degree upon that rough, +picturesque, commonplace sculpture which has begun to arise, and of +which the statue of Darwin in the South Kensington Museum and the statue +of Gordon in Trafalgar Square are admirable examples. It is not enough +for a popular monument to be artistic, like a black charcoal sketch; it +must be striking; it must be in the highest sense of the word +sensational; it must stand for humanity; it must speak for us to the +stars; it must declare in the face of all the heavens that when the +longest and blackest catalogue has been made of all our crimes and +follies there are some things of which we men are not ashamed. + +The two modes of commemorating a public man are a statue and a +biography. They are alike in certain respects, as, for example, in the +fact that neither of them resembles the original, and that both of them +commonly tone down not only all a man's vices, but all the more amusing +of his virtues. But they are treated in one respect differently. We +never hear anything about biography without hearing something about the +sanctity of private life and the necessity for suppressing the whole of +the most important part of a man's existence. The sculptor does not work +at this disadvantage. The sculptor does not leave out the nose of an +eminent philanthropist because it is too beautiful to be given to the +public; he does not depict a statesman with a sack over his head because +his smile was too sweet to be endurable in the light of day. But in +biography the thesis is popularly and solidly maintained, so that it +requires some courage even to hint a doubt of it, that the better a man +was, the more truly human life he led, the less should be said about it. + +For this idea, this modern idea that sanctity is identical with secrecy, +there is one thing at least to be said. It is for all practical purposes +an entirely new idea; it was unknown to all the ages in which the idea +of sanctity really flourished. The record of the great spiritual +movements of mankind is dead against the idea that spirituality is a +private matter. The most awful secret of every man's soul, its most +lonely and individual need, its most primal and psychological +relationship, the thing called worship, the communication between the +soul and the last reality--this most private matter is the most public +spectacle in the world. Anyone who chooses to walk into a large church +on Sunday morning may see a hundred men each alone with his Maker. He +stands, in truth, in the presence of one of the strangest spectacles in +the world--a mob of hermits. And in thus definitely espousing publicity +by making public the most internal mystery, Christianity acts in +accordance with its earliest origins and its terrible beginning. It was +surely by no accident that the spectacle which darkened the sun at +noonday was set upon a hill. The martyrdoms of the early Christians were +public not only by the caprice of the oppressor, but by the whole desire +and conception of the victims. + +The mere grammatical meaning of the word 'martyr' breaks into pieces at +a blow the whole notion of the privacy of goodness. The Christian +martyrdoms were more than demonstrations: they were advertisements. In +our day the new theory of spiritual delicacy would desire to alter all +this. It would permit Christ to be crucified if it was necessary to His +Divine nature, but it would ask in the name of good taste why He could +not be crucified in a private room. It would declare that the act of a +martyr in being torn in pieces by lions was vulgar and sensational, +though, of course, it would have no objection to being torn in pieces by +a lion in one's own parlour before a circle of really intimate friends. + +It is, I am inclined to think, a decadent and diseased purity which has +inaugurated this notion that the sacred object must be hidden. The stars +have never lost their sanctity, and they are more shameless and naked +and numerous than advertisements of Pears' soap. It would be a strange +world indeed if Nature was suddenly stricken with this ethereal shame, +if the trees grew with their roots in the air and their load of leaves +and blossoms underground, if the flowers closed at dawn and opened at +sunset, if the sunflower turned towards the darkness, and the birds +flew, like bats, by night. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF NONSENSE + + +There are two equal and eternal ways of looking at this twilight world +of ours: we may see it as the twilight of evening or the twilight of +morning; we may think of anything, down to a fallen acorn, as a +descendant or as an ancestor. There are times when we are almost +crushed, not so much with the load of the evil as with the load of the +goodness of humanity, when we feel that we are nothing but the +inheritors of a humiliating splendour. But there are other times when +everything seems primitive, when the ancient stars are only sparks blown +from a boy's bonfire, when the whole earth seems so young and +experimental that even the white hair of the aged, in the fine biblical +phrase, is like almond-trees that blossom, like the white hawthorn grown +in May. That it is good for a man to realize that he is 'the heir of all +the ages' is pretty commonly admitted; it is a less popular but equally +important point that it is good for him sometimes to realize that he is +not only an ancestor, but an ancestor of primal antiquity; it is good +for him to wonder whether he is not a hero, and to experience ennobling +doubts as to whether he is not a solar myth. + +The matters which most thoroughly evoke this sense of the abiding +childhood of the world are those which are really fresh, abrupt and +inventive in any age; and if we were asked what was the best proof of +this adventurous youth in the nineteenth century we should say, with all +respect to its portentous sciences and philosophies, that it was to be +found in the rhymes of Mr. Edward Lear and in the literature of +nonsense. 'The Dong with the Luminous Nose,' at least, is original, as +the first ship and the first plough were original. + +It is true in a certain sense that some of the greatest writers the +world has seen--Aristophanes, Rabelais and Sterne--have written +nonsense; but unless we are mistaken, it is in a widely different sense. +The nonsense of these men was satiric--that is to say, symbolic; it was +a kind of exuberant capering round a discovered truth. There is all the +difference in the world between the instinct of satire, which, seeing in +the Kaiser's moustaches something typical of him, draws them continually +larger and larger; and the instinct of nonsense which, for no reason +whatever, imagines what those moustaches would look like on the present +Archbishop of Canterbury if he grew them in a fit of absence of mind. We +incline to think that no age except our own could have understood that +the Quangle-Wangle meant absolutely nothing, and the Lands of the +Jumblies were absolutely nowhere. We fancy that if the account of the +knave's trial in 'Alice in Wonderland' had been published in the +seventeenth century it would have been bracketed with Bunyan's 'Trial of +Faithful' as a parody on the State prosecutions of the time. We fancy +that if 'The Dong with the Luminous Nose' had appeared in the same +period everyone would have called it a dull satire on Oliver Cromwell. + +It is altogether advisedly that we quote chiefly from Mr. Lear's +'Nonsense Rhymes.' To our mind he is both chronologically and +essentially the father of nonsense; we think him superior to Lewis +Carroll. In one sense, indeed, Lewis Carroll has a great advantage. We +know what Lewis Carroll was in daily life: he was a singularly serious +and conventional don, universally respected, but very much of a pedant +and something of a Philistine. Thus his strange double life in earth and +in dreamland emphasizes the idea that lies at the back of nonsense--the +idea of _escape_, of escape into a world where things are not fixed +horribly in an eternal appropriateness, where apples grow on pear-trees, +and any odd man you meet may have three legs. Lewis Carroll, living one +life in which he would have thundered morally against any one who walked +on the wrong plot of grass, and another life in which he would +cheerfully call the sun green and the moon blue, was, by his very +divided nature, his one foot on both worlds, a perfect type of the +position of modern nonsense. His Wonderland is a country populated by +insane mathematicians. We feel the whole is an escape into a world of +masquerade; we feel that if we could pierce their disguises, we might +discover that Humpty Dumpty and the March Hare were Professors and +Doctors of Divinity enjoying a mental holiday. This sense of escape is +certainly less emphatic in Edward Lear, because of the completeness of +his citizenship in the world of unreason. We do not know his prosaic +biography as we know Lewis Carroll's. We accept him as a purely fabulous +figure, on his own description of himself: + + 'His body is perfectly spherical, + He weareth a runcible hat.' + +While Lewis Carroll's Wonderland is purely intellectual, Lear +introduces quite another element--the element of the poetical and even +emotional. Carroll works by the pure reason, but this is not so strong a +contrast; for, after all, mankind in the main has always regarded reason +as a bit of a joke. Lear introduces his unmeaning words and his +amorphous creatures not with the pomp of reason, but with the romantic +prelude of rich hues and haunting rhythms. + + 'Far and few, far and few, + Are the lands where the Jumblies live,' + +is an entirely different type of poetry to that exhibited in +'Jabberwocky.' Carroll, with a sense of mathematical neatness, makes his +whole poem a mosaic of new and mysterious words. But Edward Lear, with +more subtle and placid effrontery, is always introducing scraps of his +own elvish dialect into the middle of simple and rational statements, +until we are almost stunned into admitting that we know what they mean. +There is a genial ring of commonsense about such lines as, + + 'For his aunt Jobiska said "Every one knows + That a Pobble is better without his toes,"' + +which is beyond the reach of Carroll. The poet seems so easy on the +matter that we are almost driven to pretend that we see his meaning, +that we know the peculiar difficulties of a Pobble, that we are as old +travellers in the 'Gromboolian Plain' as he is. + +Our claim that nonsense is a new literature (we might almost say a new +sense) would be quite indefensible if nonsense were nothing more than a +mere aesthetic fancy. Nothing sublimely artistic has ever arisen out of +mere art, any more than anything essentially reasonable has ever arisen +out of the pure reason. There must always be a rich moral soil for any +great aesthetic growth. The principle of _art for art's sake_ is a very +good principle if it means that there is a vital distinction between the +earth and the tree that has its roots in the earth; but it is a very bad +principle if it means that the tree could grow just as well with its +roots in the air. Every great literature has always been +allegorical--allegorical of some view of the whole universe. The 'Iliad' +is only great because all life is a battle, the 'Odyssey' because all +life is a journey, the Book of Job because all life is a riddle. There +is one attitude in which we think that all existence is summed up in the +word 'ghosts'; another, and somewhat better one, in which we think it +is summed up in the words 'A Midsummer Night's Dream.' Even the +vulgarest melodrama or detective story can be good if it expresses +something of the delight in sinister possibilities--the healthy lust for +darkness and terror which may come on us any night in walking down a +dark lane. If, therefore, nonsense is really to be the literature of the +future, it must have its own version of the Cosmos to offer; the world +must not only be the tragic, romantic, and religious, it must be +nonsensical also. And here we fancy that nonsense will, in a very +unexpected way, come to the aid of the spiritual view of things. +Religion has for centuries been trying to make men exult in the +'wonders' of creation, but it has forgotten that a thing cannot be +completely wonderful so long as it remains sensible. So long as we +regard a tree as an obvious thing, naturally and reasonably created for +a giraffe to eat, we cannot properly wonder at it. It is when we +consider it as a prodigious wave of the living soil sprawling up to the +skies for no reason in particular that we take off our hats, to the +astonishment of the park-keeper. Everything has in fact another side to +it, like the moon, the patroness of nonsense. Viewed from that other +side, a bird is a blossom broken loose from its chain of stalk, a man a +quadruped begging on its hind legs, a house a gigantesque hat to cover a +man from the sun, a chair an apparatus of four wooden legs for a cripple +with only two. + +This is the side of things which tends most truly to spiritual wonder. +It is significant that in the greatest religious poem existent, the Book +of Job, the argument which convinces the infidel is not (as has been +represented by the merely rational religionism of the eighteenth +century) a picture of the ordered beneficence of the Creation; but, on +the contrary, a picture of the huge and undecipherable unreason of it. +'Hast Thou sent the rain upon the desert where no man is?' This simple +sense of wonder at the shapes of things, and at their exuberant +independence of our intellectual standards and our trivial definitions, +is the basis of spirituality as it is the basis of nonsense. Nonsense +and faith (strange as the conjunction may seem) are the two supreme +symbolic assertions of the truth that to draw out the soul of things +with a syllogism is as impossible as to draw out Leviathan with a hook. +The well-meaning person who, by merely studying the logical side of +things, has decided that 'faith is nonsense,' does not know how truly he +speaks; later it may come back to him in the form that nonsense is +faith. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF PLANETS + + +A book has at one time come under my notice called 'Terra Firma: the +Earth not a Planet.' The author was a Mr. D. Wardlaw Scott, and he +quoted very seriously the opinions of a large number of other persons, +of whom we have never heard, but who are evidently very important. Mr. +Beach of Southsea, for example, thinks that the world is flat; and in +Southsea perhaps it is. It is no part of my present intention, however, +to follow Mr. Scott's arguments in detail. On the lines of such +arguments it may be shown that the earth is flat, and, for the matter of +that, that it is triangular. A few examples will suffice: + +One of Mr. Scott's objections was that if a projectile is fired from a +moving body there is a difference in the distance to which it carries +according to the direction in which it is sent. But as in practice there +is not the slightest difference whichever way the thing is done, in the +case of the earth 'we have a forcible overthrow of all fancies relative +to the motion of the earth, and a striking proof that the earth is not +a globe.' + +This is altogether one of the quaintest arguments we have ever seen. It +never seems to occur to the author, among other things, that when the +firing and falling of the shot all take place upon the moving body, +there is nothing whatever to compare them with. As a matter of fact, of +course, a shot fired at an elephant does actually often travel towards +the marksman, but much slower than the marksman travels. Mr. Scott +probably would not like to contemplate the fact that the elephant, +properly speaking, swings round and hits the bullet. To us it appears +full of a rich cosmic humour. + +I will only give one other example of the astronomical proofs: + +'If the earth were a globe, the distance round the surface, say, at 45 +degrees south latitude, could not possibly be any greater than the same +latitude north; but since it is found by navigators to be twice the +distance--to say the least of it--or double the distance it ought to be +according to the globular theory, it is a proof that the earth is not a +globe.' + +This sort of thing reduces my mind to a pulp. I can faintly resist when +a man says that if the earth were a globe cats would not have four +legs; but when he says that if the earth were a globe cats would not +have five legs I am crushed. + +But, as I have indicated, it is not in the scientific aspect of this +remarkable theory that I am for the moment interested. It is rather with +the difference between the flat and the round worlds as conceptions in +art and imagination that I am concerned. It is a very remarkable thing +that none of us are really Copernicans in our actual outlook upon +things. We are convinced intellectually that we inhabit a small +provincial planet, but we do not feel in the least suburban. Men of +science have quarrelled with the Bible because it is not based upon the +true astronomical system, but it is certainly open to the orthodox to +say that if it had been it would never have convinced anybody. + +If a single poem or a single story were really transfused with the +Copernican idea, the thing would be a nightmare. Can we think of a +solemn scene of mountain stillness in which some prophet is standing in +a trance, and then realize that the whole scene is whizzing round like a +zoetrope at the rate of nineteen miles a second? Could we tolerate the +notion of a mighty King delivering a sublime fiat and then remember +that for all practical purposes he is hanging head downwards in space? A +strange fable might be written of a man who was blessed or cursed with +the Copernican eye, and saw all men on the earth like tintacks +clustering round a magnet. It would be singular to imagine how very +different the speech of an aggressive egoist, announcing the +independence and divinity of man, would sound if he were seen hanging on +to the planet by his boot soles. + +For, despite Mr. Wardlaw Scott's horror at the Newtonian astronomy and +its contradiction of the Bible, the whole distinction is a good instance +of the difference between letter and spirit; the letter of the Old +Testament is opposed to the conception of the solar system, but the +spirit has much kinship with it. The writers of the Book of Genesis had +no theory of gravitation, which to the normal person will appear a fact +of as much importance as that they had no umbrellas. But the theory of +gravitation has a curiously Hebrew sentiment in it--a sentiment of +combined dependence and certainty, a sense of grappling unity, by which +all things hang upon one thread. 'Thou hast hanged the world upon +nothing,' said the author of the Book of Job, and in that sentence +wrote the whole appalling poetry of modern astronomy. The sense of the +preciousness and fragility of the universe, the sense of being in the +hollow of a hand, is one which the round and rolling earth gives in its +most thrilling form. Mr. Wardlaw Scott's flat earth would be the true +territory for a comfortable atheist. Nor would the old Jews have any +objection to being as much upside down as right way up. They had no +foolish ideas about the dignity of man. + +It would be an interesting speculation to imagine whether the world will +ever develop a Copernican poetry and a Copernican habit of fancy; +whether we shall ever speak of 'early earth-turn' instead of 'early +sunrise,' and speak indifferently of looking up at the daisies, or +looking down on the stars. But if we ever do, there are really a large +number of big and fantastic facts awaiting us, worthy to make a new +mythology. Mr. Wardlaw Scott, for example, with genuine, if unconscious, +imagination, says that according to astronomers, 'the sea is a vast +mountain of water miles high.' To have discovered that mountain of +moving crystal, in which the fishes build like birds, is like +discovering Atlantis: it is enough to make the old world young again. +In the new poetry which we contemplate, athletic young men will set out +sturdily to climb up the face of the sea. If we once realize all this +earth as it is, we should find ourselves in a land of miracles: we shall +discover a new planet at the moment that we discover our own. Among all +the strange things that men have forgotten, the most universal and +catastrophic lapse of memory is that by which they have forgotten that +they are living on a star. + +In the early days of the world, the discovery of a fact of natural +history was immediately followed by the realization of it as a fact of +poetry. When man awoke from the long fit of absent-mindedness which is +called the automatic animal state, and began to notice the queer facts +that the sky was blue and the grass green, he immediately began to use +those facts symbolically. Blue, the colour of the sky, became a symbol +of celestial holiness; green passed into the language as indicating a +freshness verging upon unintelligence. If we had the good fortune to +live in a world in which the sky was green and the grass blue, the +symbolism would have been different. But for some mysterious reason this +habit of realizing poetically the facts of science has ceased abruptly +with scientific progress, and all the confounding portents preached by +Galileo and Newton have fallen on deaf ears. They painted a picture of +the universe compared with which the Apocalypse with its falling stars +was a mere idyll. They declared that we are all careering through space, +clinging to a cannon-ball, and the poets ignore the matter as if it were +a remark about the weather. They say that an invisible force holds us in +our own armchairs while the earth hurtles like a boomerang; and men +still go back to dusty records to prove the mercy of God. They tell us +that Mr. Scott's monstrous vision of a mountain of sea-water rising in a +solid dome, like the glass mountain in the fairy-tale, is actually a +fact, and men still go back to the fairy-tale. To what towering heights +of poetic imagery might we not have risen if only the poetizing of +natural history had continued and man's fancy had played with the +planets as naturally as it once played with the flowers! We might have +had a planetary patriotism, in which the green leaf should be like a +cockade, and the sea an everlasting dance of drums. We might have been +proud of what our star has wrought, and worn its heraldry haughtily in +the blind tournament of the spheres. All this, indeed, we may surely do +yet; for with all the multiplicity of knowledge there is one thing +happily that no man knows: whether the world is old or young. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF CHINA SHEPHERDESSES + + +There are some things of which the world does not like to be reminded, +for they are the dead loves of the world. One of these is that great +enthusiasm for the Arcadian life which, however much it may now lie open +to the sneers of realism, did, beyond all question, hold sway for an +enormous period of the world's history, from the times that we describe +as ancient down to times that may fairly be called recent. The +conception of the innocent and hilarious life of shepherds and +shepherdesses certainly covered and absorbed the time of Theocritus, of +Virgil, of Catullus, of Dante, of Cervantes, of Ariosto, of Shakespeare, +and of Pope. We are told that the gods of the heathen were stone and +brass, but stone and brass have never endured with the long endurance of +the China Shepherdess. The Catholic Church and the Ideal Shepherd are +indeed almost the only things that have bridged the abyss between the +ancient world and the modern. Yet, as we say, the world does not like +to be reminded of this boyish enthusiasm. + +But imagination, the function of the historian, cannot let so great an +element alone. By the cheap revolutionary it is commonly supposed that +imagination is a merely rebellious thing, that it has its chief function +in devising new and fantastic republics. But imagination has its highest +use in a retrospective realization. The trumpet of imagination, like the +trumpet of the Resurrection, calls the dead out of their graves. +Imagination sees Delphi with the eyes of a Greek, Jerusalem with the +eyes of a Crusader, Paris with the eyes of a Jacobin, and Arcadia with +the eyes of a Euphuist. The prime function of imagination is to see our +whole orderly system of life as a pile of stratified revolutions. In +spite of all revolutionaries it must be said that the function of +imagination is not to make strange things settled, so much as to make +settled things strange; not so much to make wonders facts as to make +facts wonders. To the imaginative the truisms are all paradoxes, since +they were paradoxes in the Stone Age; to them the ordinary copy-book +blazes with blasphemy. + +Let us, then, consider in this light the old pastoral or Arcadian ideal. +But first certainly one thing must be definitely recognised. This +Arcadian art and literature is a lost enthusiasm. To study it is like +fumbling in the love-letters of a dead man. To us its flowers seem as +tawdry as cockades; the lambs that dance to the shepherd's pipe seem to +dance with all the artificiality of a ballet. Even our own prosaic toil +seems to us more joyous than that holiday. Where its ancient exuberance +passed the bounds of wisdom and even of virtue, its caperings seem +frozen into the stillness of an antique frieze. In those gray old +pictures a bacchanal seems as dull as an archdeacon. Their very sins +seem colder than our restraints. + +All this may be frankly recognised: all the barren sentimentality of the +Arcadian ideal and all its insolent optimism. But when all is said and +done, something else remains. + +Through ages in which the most arrogant and elaborate ideals of power +and civilization held otherwise undisputed sway, the ideal of the +perfect and healthy peasant did undoubtedly represent in some shape or +form the conception that there was a dignity in simplicity and a dignity +in labour. It was good for the ancient aristocrat, even if he could not +attain to innocence and the wisdom of the earth, to believe that these +things were the secrets of the priesthood of the poor. It was good for +him to believe that even if heaven was not above him, heaven was below +him. It was well that he should have amid all his flamboyant triumphs +the never-extinguished sentiment that there was something better than +his triumphs, the conception that 'there remaineth a rest.' + +The conception of the Ideal Shepherd seems absurd to our modern ideas. +But, after all, it was perhaps the only trade of the democracy which was +equalized with the trades of the aristocracy even by the aristocracy +itself. The shepherd of pastoral poetry was, without doubt, very +different from the shepherd of actual fact. Where one innocently piped +to his lambs, the other innocently swore at them; and their divergence +in intellect and personal cleanliness was immense. But the difference +between the ideal shepherd who danced with Amaryllis and the real +shepherd who thrashed her is not a scrap greater than the difference +between the ideal soldier who dies to capture the colours and the real +soldier who lives to clean his accoutrements, between the ideal priest +who is everlastingly by someone's bed and the real priest who is as glad +as anyone else to get to his own. There are ideal conceptions and real +men in every calling; yet there are few who object to the ideal +conceptions, and not many, after all, who object to the real men. + +The fact, then, is this: So far from resenting the existence in art and +literature of an ideal shepherd, I genuinely regret that the shepherd is +the only democratic calling that has ever been raised to the level of +the heroic callings conceived by an aristocratic age. So far from +objecting to the Ideal Shepherd, I wish there were an Ideal Postman, an +Ideal Grocer, and an Ideal Plumber. It is undoubtedly true that we +should laugh at the idea of an Ideal Postman; it is true, and it proves +that we are not genuine democrats. + +Undoubtedly the modern grocer, if called upon to act in an Arcadian +manner, if desired to oblige with a symbolic dance expressive of the +delights of grocery, or to perform on some simple instrument while his +assistants skipped around him, would be embarrassed, and perhaps even +reluctant. But it may be questioned whether this temporary reluctance of +the grocer is a good thing, or evidence of a good condition of poetic +feeling in the grocery business as a whole. There certainly should be an +ideal image of health and happiness in any trade, and its remoteness +from the reality is not the only important question. No one supposes +that the mass of traditional conceptions of duty and glory are always +operative, for example, in the mind of a soldier or a doctor; that the +Battle of Waterloo actually makes a private enjoy pipeclaying his +trousers, or that the 'health of humanity' softens the momentary +phraseology of a physician called out of bed at two o'clock in the +morning. But although no ideal obliterates the ugly drudgery and detail +of any calling, that ideal does, in the case of the soldier or the +doctor, exist definitely in the background and makes that drudgery worth +while as a whole. It is a serious calamity that no such ideal exists in +the case of the vast number of honourable trades and crafts on which the +existence of a modern city depends. It is a pity that current thought +and sentiment offer nothing corresponding to the old conception of +patron saints. If they did there would be a Patron Saint of Plumbers, +and this would alone be a revolution, for it would force the individual +craftsman to believe that there was once a perfect being who did +actually plumb. + +When all is said and done, then, we think it much open to question +whether the world has not lost something in the complete disappearance +of the ideal of the happy peasant. It is foolish enough to suppose that +the rustic went about all over ribbons, but it is better than knowing +that he goes about all over rags and being indifferent to the fact. The +modern realistic study of the poor does in reality lead the student +further astray than the old idyllic notion. For we cannot get the +chiaroscuro of humble life so long as its virtues seem to us as gross as +its vices and its joys as sullen as its sorrows. Probably at the very +moment that we can see nothing but a dull-faced man smoking and drinking +heavily with his friend in a pot-house, the man himself is on his soul's +holiday, crowned with the flowers of a passionate idleness, and far more +like the Happy Peasant than the world will ever know. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF USEFUL INFORMATION + + +It is natural and proper enough that the masses of explosive ammunition +stored up in detective stories and the replete and solid sweet-stuff +shops which are called sentimental novelettes should be popular with the +ordinary customer. It is not difficult to realize that all of us, +ignorant or cultivated, are primarily interested in murder and +love-making. The really extraordinary thing is that the most appalling +fictions are not actually so popular as that literature which deals with +the most undisputed and depressing facts. Men are not apparently so +interested in murder and love-making as they are in the number of +different forms of latchkey which exist in London or the time that it +would take a grasshopper to jump from Cairo to the Cape. The enormous +mass of fatuous and useless truth which fills the most widely-circulated +papers, such as _Tit-Bits, Science Siftings_, and many of the +illustrated magazines, is certainly one of the most extraordinary kinds +of emotional and mental pabulum on which man ever fed. It is almost +incredible that these preposterous statistics should actually be more +popular than the most blood-curdling mysteries and the most luxurious +debauches of sentiment. To imagine it is like imagining the humorous +passages in Bradshaw's Railway Guide read aloud on winter evenings. It +is like conceiving a man unable to put down an advertisement of Mother +Seigel's Syrup because he wished to know what eventually happened to the +young man who was extremely ill at Edinburgh. In the case of cheap +detective stories and cheap novelettes, we can most of us feel, whatever +our degree of education, that it might be possible to read them if we +gave full indulgence to a lower and more facile part of our natures; at +the worst we feel that we might enjoy them as we might enjoy +bull-baiting or getting drunk. But the literature of information is +absolutely mysterious to us. We can no more think of amusing ourselves +with it than of reading whole pages of a Surbiton local directory. To +read such things would not be a piece of vulgar indulgence; it would be +a highly arduous and meritorious enterprise. It is this fact which +constitutes a profound and almost unfathomable interest in this +particular branch of popular literature. + +Primarily, at least, there is one rather peculiar thing which must in +justice be said about it. The readers of this strange science must be +allowed to be, upon the whole, as disinterested as a prophet seeing +visions or a child reading fairy-tales. Here, again, we find, as we so +often do, that whatever view of this matter of popular literature we can +trust, we can trust least of all the comment and censure current among +the vulgar educated. The ordinary version of the ground of this +popularity for information, which would be given by a person of greater +cultivation, would be that common men are chiefly interested in those +sordid facts that surround them on every side. A very small degree of +examination will show us that whatever ground there is for the +popularity of these insane encyclopaedias, it cannot be the ground of +utility. The version of life given by a penny novelette may be very +moonstruck and unreliable, but it is at least more likely to contain +facts relevant to daily life than compilations on the subject of the +number of cows' tails that would reach the North Pole. There are many +more people who are in love than there are people who have any +intention of counting or collecting cows' tails. It is evident to me +that the grounds of this widespread madness of information for +information's sake must be sought in other and deeper parts of human +nature than those daily needs which lie so near the surface that even +social philosophers have discovered them somewhere in that profound and +eternal instinct for enthusiasm and minding other people's business +which made great popular movements like the Crusades or the Gordon +Riots. + +I once had the pleasure of knowing a man who actually talked in private +life after the manner of these papers. His conversation consisted of +fragmentary statements about height and weight and depth and time and +population, and his conversation was a nightmare of dulness. During the +shortest pause he would ask whether his interlocutors were aware how +many tons of rust were scraped every year off the Menai Bridge, and how +many rival shops Mr. Whiteley had bought up since he opened his +business. The attitude of his acquaintances towards this inexhaustible +entertainer varied according to his presence or absence between +indifference and terror. It was frightful to think of a man's brain +being stocked with such inexpressibly profitless treasures. It was like +visiting some imposing British Museum and finding its galleries and +glass cases filled with specimens of London mud, of common mortar, of +broken walking-sticks and cheap tobacco. Years afterwards I discovered +that this intolerable prosaic bore had been, in fact, a poet. I learnt +that every item of this multitudinous information was totally and +unblushingly untrue, that for all I knew he had made it up as he went +along; that no tons of rust are scraped off the Menai Bridge, and that +the rival tradesmen and Mr. Whiteley were creatures of the poet's brain. +Instantly I conceived consuming respect for the man who was so +circumstantial, so monotonous, so entirely purposeless a liar. With him +it must have been a case of art for art's sake. The joke sustained so +gravely through a respected lifetime was of that order of joke which is +shared with omniscience. But what struck me more cogently upon +reflection was the fact that these immeasurable trivialities, which had +struck me as utterly vulgar and arid when I thought they were true, +immediately became picturesque and almost brilliant when I thought they +were inventions of the human fancy. And here, as it seems to me, I laid +my finger upon a fundamental quality of the cultivated class which +prevents it, and will, perhaps, always prevent it from seeing with the +eyes of popular imagination. The merely educated can scarcely ever be +brought to believe that this world is itself an interesting place. When +they look at a work of art, good or bad, they expect to be interested, +but when they look at a newspaper advertisement or a group in the +street, they do not, properly and literally speaking, expect to be +interested. But to common and simple people this world is a work of art, +though it is, like many great works of art, anonymous. They look to life +for interest with the same kind of cheerful and uneradicable assurance +with which we look for interest at a comedy for which we have paid money +at the door. To the eyes of the ultimate school of contemporary +fastidiousness, the universe is indeed an ill-drawn and over-coloured +picture, the scrawlings in circles of a baby upon the slate of night; +its starry skies are a vulgar pattern which they would not have for a +wallpaper, its flowers and fruits have a cockney brilliancy, like the +holiday hat of a flower-girl. Hence, degraded by art to its own level, +they have lost altogether that primitive and typical taste of man--the +taste for news. By this essential taste for news, I mean the pleasure in +hearing the mere fact that a man has died at the age of 110 in South +Wales, or that the horses ran away at a funeral in San Francisco. Large +masses of the early faiths and politics of the world, numbers of the +miracles and heroic anecdotes, are based primarily upon this love of +something that has just happened, this divine institution of gossip. +When Christianity was named the good news, it spread rapidly, not only +because it was good, but also because it was news. So it is that if any +of us have ever spoken to a navvy in a train about the daily paper, we +have generally found the navvy interested, not in those struggles of +Parliaments and trades unions which sometimes are, and are always +supposed to be, for his benefit; but in the fact that an unusually large +whale has been washed up on the coast of Orkney, or that some leading +millionaire like Mr. Harmsworth is reported to break a hundred pipes a +year. The educated classes, cloyed and demoralized with the mere +indulgence of art and mood, can no longer understand the idle and +splendid disinterestedness of the reader of _Pearson's Weekly_. He still +keeps something of that feeling which should be the birthright of +men--the feeling that this planet is like a new house into which we have +just moved our baggage. Any detail of it has a value, and, with a truly +sportsmanlike instinct, the average man takes most pleasure in the +details which are most complicated, irrelevant, and at once difficult +and useless to discover. Those parts of the newspaper which announce the +giant gooseberry and the raining frogs are really the modern +representatives of the popular tendency which produced the hydra and the +werewolf and the dog-headed men. Folk in the Middle Ages were not +interested in a dragon or a glimpse of the devil because they thought +that it was a beautiful prose idyll, but because they thought that it +had really just been seen. It was not like so much artistic literature, +a refuge indicating the dulness of the world: it was an incident +pointedly illustrating the fecund poetry of the world. + +That much can be said, and is said, against the literature of +information, I do not for a moment deny. It is shapeless, it is trivial, +it may give an unreal air of knowledge, it unquestionably lies along +with the rest of popular literature under the general indictment that it +may spoil the chance of better work, certainly by wasting time, possibly +by ruining taste. But these obvious objections are the objections which +we hear so persistently from everyone that one cannot help wondering +where the papers in question procure their myriads of readers. The +natural necessity and natural good underlying such crude institutions is +far less often a subject of speculation; yet the healthy hungers which +lie at the back of the habits of modern democracy are surely worthy of +the same sympathetic study that we give to the dogmas of the fanatics +long dethroned and the intrigues of commonwealths long obliterated from +the earth. And this is the base and consideration which I have to offer: +that perhaps the taste for shreds and patches of journalistic science +and history is not, as is continually asserted, the vulgar and senile +curiosity of a people that has grown old, but simply the babyish and +indiscriminate curiosity of a people still young and entering history +for the first time. In other words, I suggest that they only tell each +other in magazines the same kind of stories of commonplace portents and +conventional eccentricities which, in any case, they would tell each +other in taverns. Science itself is only the exaggeration and +specialization of this thirst for useless fact, which is the mark of the +youth of man. But science has become strangely separated from the mere +news and scandal of flowers and birds; men have ceased to see that a +pterodactyl was as fresh and natural as a flower, that a flower is as +monstrous as a pterodactyl. The rebuilding of this bridge between +science and human nature is one of the greatest needs of mankind. We +have all to show that before we go on to any visions or creations we can +be contented with a planet of miracles. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF HERALDRY + + +The modern view of heraldry is pretty accurately represented by the +words of the famous barrister who, after cross-examining for some time a +venerable dignitary of Heralds' College, summed up his results in the +remark that 'the silly old man didn't even understand his own silly old +trade.' + +Heraldry properly so called was, of course, a wholly limited and +aristocratic thing, but the remark needs a kind of qualification not +commonly realized. In a sense there was a plebeian heraldry, since every +shop was, like every castle, distinguished not by a name, but a sign. +The whole system dates from a time when picture-writing still really +ruled the world. In those days few could read or write; they signed +their names with a pictorial symbol, a cross--and a cross is a great +improvement on most men's names. + +Now, there is something to be said for the peculiar influence of +pictorial symbols on men's minds. All letters, we learn, were originally +pictorial and heraldic: thus the letter A is the portrait of an ox, but +the portrait is now reproduced in so impressionist a manner that but +little of the rural atmosphere can be absorbed by contemplating it. But +as long as some pictorial and poetic quality remains in the symbol, the +constant use of it must do something for the aesthetic education of +those employing it. Public-houses are now almost the only shops that use +the ancient signs, and the mysterious attraction which they exercise may +be (by the optimistic) explained in this manner. There are taverns with +names so dreamlike and exquisite that even Sir Wilfrid Lawson might +waver on the threshold for a moment, suffering the poet to struggle with +the moralist. So it was with the heraldic images. It is impossible to +believe that the red lion of Scotland acted upon those employing it +merely as a naked convenience like a number or a letter; it is +impossible to believe that the Kings of Scotland would have cheerfully +accepted the substitute of a pig or a frog. There are, as we say, +certain real advantages in pictorial symbols, and one of them is that +everything that is pictorial suggests, without naming or defining. There +is a road from the eye to the heart that does not go through the +intellect. Men do not quarrel about the meaning of sunsets; they never +dispute that the hawthorn says the best and wittiest thing about the +spring. + +Thus in the old aristocratic days there existed this vast pictorial +symbolism of all the colours and degrees of aristocracy. When the great +trumpet of equality was blown, almost immediately afterwards was made +one of the greatest blunders in the history of mankind. For all this +pride and vivacity, all these towering symbols and flamboyant colours, +should have been extended to mankind. The tobacconist should have had a +crest, and the cheesemonger a war-cry. The grocer who sold margarine as +butter should have felt that there was a stain on the escutcheon of the +Higginses. Instead of doing this, the democrats made the appalling +mistake--a mistake at the root of the whole modern malady--of decreasing +the human magnificence of the past instead of increasing it. They did +not say, as they should have done, to the common citizen, 'You are as +good as the Duke of Norfolk,' but used that meaner democratic formula, +'The Duke of Norfolk is no better than you are.' + +For it cannot be denied that the world lost something finally and most +unfortunately about the beginning of the nineteenth century. In former +times the mass of the people was conceived as mean and commonplace, but +only as comparatively mean and commonplace; they were dwarfed and +eclipsed by certain high stations and splendid callings. But with the +Victorian era came a principle which conceived men not as comparatively, +but as positively, mean and commonplace. A man of any station was +represented as being by nature a dingy and trivial person--a person +born, as it were, in a black hat. It began to be thought that it was +ridiculous for a man to wear beautiful garments, instead of it +being--as, of course, it is--ridiculous for him to deliberately wear +ugly ones. It was considered affected for a man to speak bold and heroic +words, whereas, of course, it is emotional speech which is natural, and +ordinary civil speech which is affected. The whole relations of beauty +and ugliness, of dignity and ignominy were turned upside down. Beauty +became an extravagance, as if top-hats and umbrellas were not the real +extravagance--a landscape from the land of the goblins. Dignity became a +form of foolery and shamelessness, as if the very essence of a fool were +not a lack of dignity. And the consequence is that it is practically +most difficult to propose any decoration or public dignity for modern +men without making them laugh. They laugh at the idea of carrying +crests and coats-of-arms instead of laughing at their own boots and +neckties. We are forbidden to say that tradesmen should have a poetry of +their own, although there is nothing so poetical as trade. A grocer +should have a coat-of-arms worthy of his strange merchandise gathered +from distant and fantastic lands; a postman should have a coat-of-arms +capable of expressing the strange honour and responsibility of the man +who carries men's souls in a bag; the chemist should have a coat-of-arms +symbolizing something of the mysteries of the house of healing, the +cavern of a merciful witchcraft. + +There were in the French Revolution a class of people at whom everybody +laughed, and at whom it was probably difficult, as a practical matter, +to refrain from laughing. They attempted to erect, by means of huge +wooden statues and brand-new festivals, the most extraordinary new +religions. They adored the Goddess of Reason, who would appear, even +when the fullest allowance has been made for their many virtues, to be +the deity who had least smiled upon them. But these capering maniacs, +disowned alike by the old world and the new, were men who had seen a +great truth unknown alike to the new world and the old. They had seen +the thing that was hidden from the wise and understanding, from the +whole modern democratic civilization down to the present time. They +realized that democracy must have a heraldry, that it must have a proud +and high-coloured pageantry, if it is to keep always before its own mind +its own sublime mission. Unfortunately for this ideal, the world has in +this matter followed English democracy rather than French; and those who +look back to the nineteenth century will assuredly look back to it as we +look back to the reign of the Puritans, as the time of black coats and +black tempers. From the strange life the men of that time led, they +might be assisting at the funeral of liberty instead of at its +christening. The moment we really believe in democracy, it will begin to +blossom, as aristocracy blossomed, into symbolic colours and shapes. We +shall never make anything of democracy until we make fools of ourselves. +For if a man really cannot make a fool of himself, we may be quite +certain that the effort is superfluous. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF UGLY THINGS + + +There are some people who state that the exterior, sex, or physique of +another person is indifferent to them, that they care only for the +communion of mind with mind; but these people need not detain us. There +are some statements that no one ever thinks of believing, however often +they are made. + +But while nothing in this world would persuade us that a great friend of +Mr. Forbes Robertson, let us say, would experience no surprise or +discomfort at seeing him enter the room in the bodily form of Mr. +Chaplin, there is a confusion constantly made between being attracted by +exterior, which is natural and universal, and being attracted by what is +called physical beauty, which is not entirely natural and not in the +least universal. Or rather, to speak more strictly, the conception of +physical beauty has been narrowed to mean a certain kind of physical +beauty which no more exhausts the possibilities of external +attractiveness than the respectability of a Clapham builder exhausts +the possibilities of moral attractiveness. + +The tyrants and deceivers of mankind in this matter have been the +Greeks. All their splendid work for civilization ought not to have +wholly blinded us to the fact of their great and terrible sin against +the variety of life. It is a remarkable fact that while the Jews have +long ago been rebelled against and accused of blighting the world with a +stringent and one-sided ethical standard, nobody has noticed that the +Greeks have committed us to an infinitely more horrible asceticism--an +asceticism of the fancy, a worship of one aesthetic type alone. Jewish +severity had at least common-sense as its basis; it recognised that men +lived in a world of fact, and that if a man married within the degrees +of blood certain consequences might follow. But they did not starve +their instinct for contrasts and combinations; their prophets gave two +wings to the ox and any number of eyes to the cherubim with all the +riotous ingenuity of Lewis Carroll. But the Greeks carried their police +regulation into elfland; they vetoed not the actual adulteries of the +earth but the wild weddings of ideas, and forbade the banns of thought. + +It is extraordinary to watch the gradual emasculation of the monsters +of Greek myth under the pestilent influence of the Apollo Belvedere. The +chimaera was a creature of whom any healthy-minded people would have +been proud; but when we see it in Greek pictures we feel inclined to tie +a ribbon round its neck and give it a saucer of milk. Who ever feels +that the giants in Greek art and poetry were really big--big as some +folk-lore giants have been? In some Scandinavian story a hero walks for +miles along a mountain ridge, which eventually turns out to be the +bridge of the giant's nose. That is what we should call, with a calm +conscience, a large giant. But this earthquake fancy terrified the +Greeks, and their terror has terrified all mankind out of their natural +love of size, vitality, variety, energy, ugliness. Nature intended every +human face, so long as it was forcible, individual, and expressive, to +be regarded as distinct from all others, as a poplar is distinct from an +oak, and an apple-tree from a willow. But what the Dutch gardeners did +for trees the Greeks did for the human form; they lopped away its living +and sprawling features to give it a certain academic shape; they hacked +off noses and pared down chins with a ghastly horticultural calm. And +they have really succeeded so far as to make us call some of the most +powerful and endearing faces ugly, and some of the most silly and +repulsive faces beautiful. This disgraceful _via media_, this pitiful +sense of dignity, has bitten far deeper into the soul of modern +civilization than the external and practical Puritanism of Israel. The +Jew at the worst told a man to dance in fetters; the Greek put an +exquisite vase upon his head and told him not to move. + +Scripture says that one star differeth from another in glory, and the +same conception applies to noses. To insist that one type of face is +ugly because it differs from that of the Venus of Milo is to look at it +entirely in a misleading light. It is strange that we should resent +people differing from ourselves; we should resent much more violently +their resembling ourselves. This principle has made a sufficient hash of +literary criticism, in which it is always the custom to complain of the +lack of sound logic in a fairy tale, and the entire absence of true +oratorical power in a three-act farce. But to call another man's face +ugly because it powerfully expresses another man's soul is like +complaining that a cabbage has not two legs. If we did so, the only +course for the cabbage would be to point out with severity, but with +some show of truth, that we were not a beautiful green all over. + +But this frigid theory of the beautiful has not succeeded in conquering +the art of the world, except in name. In some quarters, indeed, it has +never held sway. A glance at Chinese dragons or Japanese gods will show +how independent are Orientals of the conventional idea of facial and +bodily regularity, and how keen and fiery is their enjoyment of real +beauty, of goggle eyes, of sprawling claws, of gaping mouths and +writhing coils. In the Middle Ages men broke away from the Greek +standard of beauty, and lifted up in adoration to heaven great towers, +which seemed alive with dancing apes and devils. In the full summer of +technical artistic perfection the revolt was carried to its real +consummation in the study of the faces of men. Rembrandt declared the +sane and manly gospel that a man was dignified, not when he was like a +Greek god, but when he had a strong, square nose like a cudgel, a +boldly-blocked head like a helmet, and a jaw like a steel trap. + +This branch of art is commonly dismissed as the grotesque. We have never +been able to understand why it should be humiliating to be laughable, +since it is giving an elevated artistic pleasure to others. If a +gentleman who saw us in the street were suddenly to burst into tears at +the mere thought of our existence, it might be considered disquieting +and uncomplimentary; but laughter is not uncomplimentary. In truth, +however, the phrase 'grotesque' is a misleading description of ugliness +in art. It does not follow that either the Chinese dragons or the Gothic +gargoyles or the goblinish old women of Rembrandt were in the least +intended to be comic. Their extravagance was not the extravagance of +satire, but simply the extravagance of vitality; and here lies the whole +key of the place of ugliness in aesthetics. We like to see a crag jut +out in shameless decision from the cliff, we like to see the red pines +stand up hardily upon a high cliff, we like to see a chasm cloven from +end to end of a mountain. With equally noble enthusiasm we like to see a +nose jut out decisively, we like to see the red hair of a friend stand +up hardily in bristles upon his head, we like to see his mouth broad and +clean cut like the mountain crevasse. At least some of us like all this; +it is not a question of humour. We do not burst with amusement at the +first sight of the pines or the chasm; but we like them because they are +expressive of the dramatic stillness of Nature, her bold experiments, +her definite departures, her fearlessness and savage pride in her +children. The moment we have snapped the spell of conventional beauty, +there are a million beautiful faces waiting for us everywhere, just as +there are a million beautiful spirits. + + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF FARCE + + +I have never been able to understand why certain forms of art should be +marked off as something debased and trivial. A comedy is spoken of as +'degenerating into farce'; it would be fair criticism to speak of it +'changing into farce'; but as for degenerating into farce, we might +equally reasonably speak of it as degenerating into tragedy. Again, a +story is spoken of as 'melodramatic,' and the phrase, queerly enough, is +not meant as a compliment. To speak of something as 'pantomimic' or +'sensational' is innocently supposed to be biting, Heaven knows why, for +all works of art are sensations, and a good pantomime (now extinct) is +one of the pleasantest sensations of all. 'This stuff is fit for a +detective story,' is often said, as who should say, 'This stuff is fit +for an epic.' + +Whatever may be the rights and wrongs of this mode of classification, +there can be no doubt about one most practical and disastrous effect of +it. These lighter or wilder forms of art, having no standard set up for +them, no gust of generous artistic pride to lift them up, do actually +tend to become as bad as they are supposed to be. Neglected children of +the great mother, they grow up in darkness, dirty and unlettered, and +when they are right they are right almost by accident, because of the +blood in their veins. The common detective story of mystery and murder +seems to the intelligent reader to be little except a strange glimpse of +a planet peopled by congenital idiots, who cannot find the end of their +own noses or the character of their own wives. The common pantomime +seems like some horrible satiric picture of a world without cause or +effect, a mass of 'jarring atoms,' a prolonged mental torture of +irrelevancy. The ordinary farce seems a world of almost piteous +vulgarity, where a half-witted and stunted creature is afraid when his +wife comes home, and amused when she sits down on the doorstep. All this +is, in a sense, true, but it is the fault of nothing in heaven or earth +except the attitude and the phrases quoted at the beginning of this +article. We have no doubt in the world that, if the other forms of art +had been equally despised, they would have been equally despicable. If +people had spoken of 'sonnets' with the same accent with which they +speak of 'music-hall songs,' a sonnet would have been a thing so +fearful and wonderful that we almost regret we cannot have a specimen; a +rowdy sonnet is a thing to dream about. If people had said that epics +were only fit for children and nursemaids, 'Paradise Lost' might have +been an average pantomime: it might have been called 'Harlequin Satan, +or How Adam 'Ad 'em.' For who would trouble to bring to perfection a +work in which even perfection is grotesque? Why should Shakespeare write +'Othello' if even his triumph consisted in the eulogy, 'Mr. Shakespeare +is fit for something better than writing tragedies'? + +The case of farce, and its wilder embodiment in harlequinade, is +especially important. That these high and legitimate forms of art, +glorified by Aristophanes and Molière, have sunk into such contempt may +be due to many causes: I myself have little doubt that it is due to the +astonishing and ludicrous lack of belief in hope and hilarity which +marks modern aesthetics, to such an extent that it has spread even to +the revolutionists (once the hopeful section of men), so that even those +who ask us to fling the stars into the sea are not quite sure that they +will be any better there than they were before. Every form of literary +art must be a symbol of some phase of the human spirit; but whereas the +phase is, in human life, sufficiently convincing in itself, in art it +must have a certain pungency and neatness of form, to compensate for its +lack of reality. Thus any set of young people round a tea-table may have +all the comedy emotions of 'Much Ado about Nothing' or 'Northanger +Abbey,' but if their actual conversation were reported, it would +possibly not be a worthy addition to literature. An old man sitting by +his fire may have all the desolate grandeur of Lear or Père Goriot, but +if he comes into literature he must do something besides sit by the +fire. The artistic justification, then, of farce and pantomime must +consist in the emotions of life which correspond to them. And these +emotions are to an incredible extent crushed out by the modern +insistence on the painful side of life only. Pain, it is said, is the +dominant element of life; but this is true only in a very special sense. +If pain were for one single instant literally the dominant element in +life, every man would be found hanging dead from his own bed-post by the +morning. Pain, as the black and catastrophic thing, attracts the +youthful artist, just as the schoolboy draws devils and skeletons and +men hanging. But joy is a far more elusive and elvish matter, since it +is our reason for existing, and a very feminine reason; it mingles with +every breath we draw and every cup of tea we drink. The literature of +joy is infinitely more difficult, more rare and more triumphant than the +black and white literature of pain. And of all the varied forms of the +literature of joy, the form most truly worthy of moral reverence and +artistic ambition is the form called 'farce'--or its wilder shape in +pantomime. To the quietest human being, seated in the quietest house, +there will sometimes come a sudden and unmeaning hunger for the +possibilities or impossibilities of things; he will abruptly wonder +whether the teapot may not suddenly begin to pour out honey or +sea-water, the clock to point to all hours of the day at once, the +candle to burn green or crimson, the door to open upon a lake or a +potato-field instead of a London street. Upon anyone who feels this +nameless anarchism there rests for the time being the abiding spirit of +pantomime. Of the clown who cuts the policeman in two it may be said +(with no darker meaning) that he realizes one of our visions. And it may +be noted here that this internal quality in pantomime is perfectly +symbolized and preserved by that commonplace or cockney landscape and +architecture which characterizes pantomime and farce. If the whole +affair happened in some alien atmosphere, if a pear-tree began to grow +apples or a river to run with wine in some strange fairyland, the effect +would be quite different. The streets and shops and door-knockers of the +harlequinade, which to the vulgar aesthete make it seem commonplace, are +in truth the very essence of the aesthetic departure. It must be an +actual modern door which opens and shuts, constantly disclosing +different interiors; it must be a real baker whose loaves fly up into +the air without his touching them, or else the whole internal excitement +of this elvish invasion of civilization, this abrupt entrance of Puck +into Pimlico, is lost. Some day, perhaps, when the present narrow phase +of aesthetics has ceased to monopolize the name, the glory of a farcical +art may become fashionable. Long after men have ceased to drape their +houses in green and gray and to adorn them with Japanese vases, an +aesthete may build a house on pantomime principles, in which all the +doors shall have their bells and knockers on the inside, all the +staircases be constructed to vanish on the pressing of a button, and all +the dinners (humorous dinners in themselves) come up cooked through a +trapdoor. We are very sure, at least, that it is as reasonable to +regulate one's life and lodgings by this kind of art as by any other. + +The whole of this view of farce and pantomime may seem insane to us; but +we fear that it is we who are insane. Nothing in this strange age of +transition is so depressing as its merriment. All the most brilliant men +of the day when they set about the writing of comic literature do it +under one destructive fallacy and disadvantage: the notion that comic +literature is in some sort of way superficial. They give us little +knick-knacks of the brittleness of which they positively boast, although +two thousand years have beaten as vainly upon the follies of the 'Frogs' +as on the wisdom of the 'Republic.' It is all a mean shame of joy. When +we come out from a performance of the 'Midsummer Night's Dream' we feel +as near to the stars as when we come out from 'King Lear.' For the joy +of these works is older than sorrow, their extravagance is saner than +wisdom, their love is stronger than death. + +The old masters of a healthy madness, Aristophanes or Rabelais or +Shakespeare, doubtless had many brushes with the precisians or ascetics +of their day, but we cannot but feel that for honest severity and +consistent self-maceration they would always have had respect. But what +abysses of scorn, inconceivable to any modern, would they have reserved +for an aesthetic type and movement which violated morality and did not +even find pleasure, which outraged sanity and could not attain to +exuberance, which contented itself with the fool's cap without the +bells! + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF HUMILITY + + +The act of defending any of the cardinal virtues has to-day all the +exhilaration of a vice. Moral truisms have been so much disputed that +they have begun to sparkle like so many brilliant paradoxes. And +especially (in this age of egoistic idealism) there is about one who +defends humility something inexpressibly rakish. + +It is no part of my intention to defend humility on practical grounds. +Practical grounds are uninteresting, and, moreover, on practical grounds +the case for humility is overwhelming. We all know that the 'divine +glory of the ego' is socially a great nuisance; we all do actually value +our friends for modesty, freshness, and simplicity of heart. Whatever +may be the reason, we all do warmly respect humility--in other people. + +But the matter must go deeper than this. If the grounds of humility are +found only in social convenience, they may be quite trivial and +temporary. The egoists may be the martyrs of a nobler dispensation, +agonizing for a more arduous ideal. To judge from the comparative lack +of ease in their social manner, this seems a reasonable suggestion. + +There is one thing that must be seen at the outset of the study of +humility from an intrinsic and eternal point of view. The new philosophy +of self-esteem and self-assertion declares that humility is a vice. If +it be so, it is quite clear that it is one of those vices which are an +integral part of original sin. It follows with the precision of +clockwork every one of the great joys of life. No one, for example, was +ever in love without indulging in a positive debauch of humility. All +full-blooded and natural people, such as schoolboys, enjoy humility the +moment they attain hero-worship. Humility, again, is said both by its +upholders and opponents to be the peculiar growth of Christianity. The +real and obvious reason of this is often missed. The pagans insisted +upon self-assertion because it was the essence of their creed that the +gods, though strong and just, were mystic, capricious, and even +indifferent. But the essence of Christianity was in a literal sense the +New Testament--a covenant with God which opened to men a clear +deliverance. They thought themselves secure; they claimed palaces of +pearl and silver under the oath and seal of the Omnipotent; they +believed themselves rich with an irrevocable benediction which set them +above the stars; and immediately they discovered humility. It was only +another example of the same immutable paradox. It is always the secure +who are humble. + +This particular instance survives in the evangelical revivalists of the +street. They are irritating enough, but no one who has really studied +them can deny that the irritation is occasioned by these two things, an +irritating hilarity and an irritating humility. This combination of joy +and self-prostration is a great deal too universal to be ignored. If +humility has been discredited as a virtue at the present day, it is not +wholly irrelevant to remark that this discredit has arisen at the same +time as a great collapse of joy in current literature and philosophy. +Men have revived the splendour of Greek self-assertion at the same time +that they have revived the bitterness of Greek pessimism. A literature +has arisen which commands us all to arrogate to ourselves the liberty of +self-sufficing deities at the same time that it exhibits us to ourselves +as dingy maniacs who ought to be chained up like dogs. It is certainly a +curious state of things altogether. When we are genuinely happy, we +think we are unworthy of happiness. But when we are demanding a divine +emancipation we seem to be perfectly certain that we are unworthy of +anything. + +The only explanation of the matter must be found in the conviction that +humility has infinitely deeper roots than any modern men suppose; that +it is a metaphysical and, one might almost say, a mathematical virtue. +Probably this can best be tested by a study of those who frankly +disregard humility and assert the supreme duty of perfecting and +expressing one's self. These people tend, by a perfectly natural +process, to bring their own great human gifts of culture, intellect, or +moral power to a great perfection, successively shutting out everything +that they feel to be lower than themselves. Now shutting out things is +all very well, but it has one simple corollary--that from everything +that we shut out we are ourselves shut out. When we shut our door on the +wind, it would be equally true to say that the wind shuts its door on +us. Whatever virtues a triumphant egoism really leads to, no one can +reasonably pretend that it leads to knowledge. Turning a beggar from the +door may be right enough, but pretending to know all the stories the +beggar might have narrated is pure nonsense; and this is practically +the claim of the egoism which thinks that self-assertion can obtain +knowledge. A beetle may or may not be inferior to a man--the matter +awaits demonstration; but if he were inferior by ten thousand fathoms, +the fact remains that there is probably a beetle view of things of which +a man is entirely ignorant. If he wishes to conceive that point of view, +he will scarcely reach it by persistently revelling in the fact that he +is not a beetle. The most brilliant exponent of the egoistic school, +Nietszche, with deadly and honourable logic, admitted that the +philosophy of self-satisfaction led to looking down upon the weak, the +cowardly, and the ignorant. Looking down on things may be a delightful +experience, only there is nothing, from a mountain to a cabbage, that is +really _seen_ when it is seen from a balloon. The philosopher of the ego +sees everything, no doubt, from a high and rarified heaven; only he sees +everything foreshortened or deformed. + +Now if we imagine that a man wished truly, as far as possible, to see +everything as it was, he would certainly proceed on a different +principle. He would seek to divest himself for a time of those personal +peculiarities which tend to divide him from the thing he studies. It is +as difficult, for example, for a man to examine a fish without +developing a certain vanity in possessing a pair of legs, as if they +were the latest article of personal adornment. But if a fish is to be +approximately understood, this physiological dandyism must be overcome. +The earnest student of fish morality will, spiritually speaking, chop +off his legs. And similarly the student of birds will eliminate his +arms; the frog-lover will with one stroke of the imagination remove all +his teeth, and the spirit wishing to enter into all the hopes and fears +of jelly-fish will simplify his personal appearance to a really alarming +extent. It would appear, therefore, that this great body of ours and all +its natural instincts, of which we are proud, and justly proud, is +rather an encumbrance at the moment when we attempt to appreciate things +as they should be appreciated. We do actually go through a process of +mental asceticism, a castration of the entire being, when we wish to +feel the abounding good in all things. It is good for us at certain +times that ourselves should be like a mere window--as clear, as +luminous, and as invisible. + +In a very entertaining work, over which we have roared in childhood, it +is stated that a point has no parts and no magnitude. Humility is the +luxurious art of reducing ourselves to a point, not to a small thing or +a large one, but to a thing with no size at all, so that to it all the +cosmic things are what they really are--of immeasurable stature. That +the trees are high and the grasses short is a mere accident of our own +foot-rules and our own stature. But to the spirit which has stripped off +for a moment its own idle temporal standards the grass is an everlasting +forest, with dragons for denizens; the stones of the road are as +incredible mountains piled one upon the other; the dandelions are like +gigantic bonfires illuminating the lands around; and the heath-bells on +their stalks are like planets hung in heaven each higher than the other. +Between one stake of a paling and another there are new and terrible +landscapes; here a desert, with nothing but one misshapen rock; here a +miraculous forest, of which all the trees flower above the head with the +hues of sunset; here, again, a sea full of monsters that Dante would not +have dared to dream. These are the visions of him who, like the child in +the fairy tales, is not afraid to become small. Meanwhile, the sage +whose faith is in magnitude and ambition is, like a giant, becoming +larger and larger, which only means that the stars are becoming smaller +and smaller. World after world falls from him into insignificance; the +whole passionate and intricate life of common things becomes as lost to +him as is the life of the infusoria to a man without a microscope. He +rises always through desolate eternities. He may find new systems, and +forget them; he may discover fresh universes, and learn to despise them. +But the towering and tropical vision of things as they really are--the +gigantic daisies, the heaven-consuming dandelions, the great Odyssey of +strange-coloured oceans and strange-shaped trees, of dust like the wreck +of temples, and thistledown like the ruin of stars--all this colossal +vision shall perish with the last of the humble. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF SLANG + + +The aristocrats of the nineteenth century have destroyed entirely their +one solitary utility. It is their business to be flaunting and arrogant; +but they flaunt unobtrusively, and their attempts at arrogance are +depressing. Their chief duty hitherto has been the development of +variety, vivacity, and fulness of life; oligarchy was the world's first +experiment in liberty. But now they have adopted the opposite ideal of +'good form,' which may be defined as Puritanism without religion. Good +form has sent them all into black like the stroke of a funeral bell. +They engage, like Mr. Gilbert's curates, in a war of mildness, a +positive competition of obscurity. In old times the lords of the earth +sought above all things to be distinguished from each other; with that +object they erected outrageous images on their helmets and painted +preposterous colours on their shields. They wished to make it entirely +clear that a Norfolk was as different, say, from an Argyll as a white +lion from a black pig. But to-day their ideal is precisely the opposite +one, and if a Norfolk and an Argyll were dressed so much alike that they +were mistaken for each other they would both go home dancing with joy. + +The consequences of this are inevitable. The aristocracy must lose their +function of standing to the world for the idea of variety, experiment, +and colour, and we must find these things in some other class. To ask +whether we shall find them in the middle class would be to jest upon +sacred matters. The only conclusion, therefore, is that it is to +certain sections of the lower class, chiefly, for example, to +omnibus-conductors, with their rich and rococo mode of thought, that we +must look for guidance towards liberty and light. + +The one stream of poetry which is continually flowing is slang. Every +day a nameless poet weaves some fairy tracery of popular language. It +may be said that the fashionable world talks slang as much as the +democratic; this is true, and it strongly supports the view under +consideration. Nothing is more startling than the contrast between the +heavy, formal, lifeless slang of the man-about-town and the light, +living, and flexible slang of the coster. The talk of the upper strata +of the educated classes is about the most shapeless, aimless, and +hopeless literary product that the world has ever seen. Clearly in this, +again, the upper classes have degenerated. We have ample evidence that +the old leaders of feudal war could speak on occasion with a certain +natural symbolism and eloquence that they had not gained from books. +When Cyrano de Bergerac, in Rostand's play, throws doubts on the reality +of Christian's dulness and lack of culture, the latter replies: + + 'Bah! on trouve des mots quand on monte à l'assaut; + Oui, j'ai un certain esprit facile et militaire;' + +and these two lines sum up a truth about the old oligarchs. They could +not write three legible letters, but they could sometimes speak +literature. Douglas, when he hurled the heart of Bruce in front of him +in his last battle, cried out, 'Pass first, great heart, as thou wert +ever wont.' A Spanish nobleman, when commanded by the King to receive a +high-placed and notorious traitor, said: 'I will receive him in all +obedience, and burn down my house afterwards.' This is literature +without culture; it is the speech of men convinced that they have to +assert proudly the poetry of life. + +Anyone, however, who should seek for such pearls in the conversation of +a young man of modern Belgravia would have much sorrow in his life. It +is not only impossible for aristocrats to assert proudly the poetry of +life; it is more impossible for them than for anyone else. It is +positively considered vulgar for a nobleman to boast of his ancient +name, which is, when one comes to think of it, the only rational object +of his existence. If a man in the street proclaimed, with rude feudal +rhetoric, that he was the Earl of Doncaster, he would be arrested as a +lunatic; but if it were discovered that he really was the Earl of +Doncaster, he would simply be cut as a cad. No poetical prose must be +expected from Earls as a class. The fashionable slang is hardly even a +language; it is like the formless cries of animals, dimly indicating +certain broad, well-understood states of mind. 'Bored,' 'cut up,' +'jolly,' 'rotten,' and so on, are like the words of some tribe of +savages whose vocabulary has only twenty of them. If a man of fashion +wished to protest against some solecism in another man of fashion, his +utterance would be a mere string of set phrases, as lifeless as a string +of dead fish. But an omnibus conductor (being filled with the Muse) +would burst out into a solid literary effort: 'You're a gen'leman, +aren't yer ... yer boots is a lot brighter than yer 'ed...there's +precious little of yer, and that's clothes...that's right, put yer cigar +in yer mouth 'cos I can't see yer be'ind it...take it out again, do yer! +you're young for smokin', but I've sent for yer mother.... Goin'? oh, +don't run away: I won't 'arm yer. I've got a good 'art, I 'ave.... "Down +with croolty to animals," I say,' and so on. It is evident that this +mode of speech is not only literary, but literary in a very ornate and +almost artificial sense. Keats never put into a sonnet so many remote +metaphors as a coster puts into a curse; his speech is one long +allegory, like Spenser's 'Faerie Queen.' + +I do not imagine that it is necessary to demonstrate that this poetic +allusiveness is the characteristic of true slang. Such an expression as +'Keep your hair on' is positively Meredithian in its perverse and +mysterious manner of expressing an idea. The Americans have a well-known +expression about 'swelled-head' as a description of self-approval, and +the other day I heard a remarkable fantasia upon this air. An American +said that after the Chinese War the Japanese wanted 'to put on their +hats with a shoe-horn.' This is a monument of the true nature of slang, +which consists in getting further and further away from the original +conception, in treating it more and more as an assumption. It is rather +like the literary doctrine of the Symbolists. + +The real reason of this great development of eloquence among the lower +orders again brings us back to the case of the aristocracy in earlier +times. The lower classes live in a state of war, a war of words. Their +readiness is the product of the same fiery individualism as the +readiness of the old fighting oligarchs. Any cabman has to be ready with +his tongue, as any gentleman of the last century had to be ready with +his sword. It is unfortunate that the poetry which is developed by this +process should be purely a grotesque poetry. But as the higher orders of +society have entirely abdicated their right to speak with a heroic +eloquence, it is no wonder that the language should develop by itself in +the direction of a rowdy eloquence. The essential point is that somebody +must be at work adding new symbols and new circumlocutions to a +language. + +All slang is metaphor, and all metaphor is poetry. If we paused for a +moment to examine the cheapest cant phrases that pass our lips every +day, we should find that they were as rich and suggestive as so many +sonnets. To take a single instance: we speak of a man in English social +relations 'breaking the ice.' If this were expanded into a sonnet, we +should have before us a dark and sublime picture of an ocean of +everlasting ice, the sombre and baffling mirror of the Northern nature, +over which men walked and danced and skated easily, but under which the +living waters roared and toiled fathoms below. The world of slang is a +kind of topsy-turveydom of poetry, full of blue moons and white +elephants, of men losing their heads, and men whose tongues run away +with them--a whole chaos of fairy tales. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF BABY-WORSHIP + + +The two facts which attract almost every normal person to children are, +first, that they are very serious, and, secondly, that they are in +consequence very happy. They are jolly with the completeness which is +possible only in the absence of humour. The most unfathomable schools +and sages have never attained to the gravity which dwells in the eyes of +a baby of three months old. It is the gravity of astonishment at the +universe, and astonishment at the universe is not mysticism, but a +transcendent common-sense. The fascination of children lies in this: +that with each of them all things are remade, and the universe is put +again upon its trial. As we walk the streets and see below us those +delightful bulbous heads, three times too big for the body, which mark +these human mushrooms, we ought always primarily to remember that within +every one of these heads there is a new universe, as new as it was on +the seventh day of creation. In each of those orbs there is a new system +of stars, new grass, new cities, a new sea. + +There is always in the healthy mind an obscure prompting that religion +teaches us rather to dig than to climb; that if we could once understand +the common clay of earth we should understand everything. Similarly, we +have the sentiment that if we could destroy custom at a blow and see the +stars as a child sees them, we should need no other apocalypse. This is +the great truth which has always lain at the back of baby-worship, and +which will support it to the end. Maturity, with its endless energies +and aspirations, may easily be convinced that it will find new things to +appreciate; but it will never be convinced, at bottom, that it has +properly appreciated what it has got. We may scale the heavens and find +new stars innumerable, but there is still the new star we have not +found--that on which we were born. + +But the influence of children goes further than its first trifling +effort of remaking heaven and earth. It forces us actually to remodel +our conduct in accordance with this revolutionary theory of the +marvellousness of all things. We do (even when we are perfectly simple +or ignorant)--we do actually treat talking in children as marvellous, +walking in children as marvellous, common intelligence in children as +marvellous. The cynical philosopher fancies he has a victory in this +matter--that he can laugh when he shows that the words or antics of the +child, so much admired by its worshippers, are common enough. The fact +is that this is precisely where baby-worship is so profoundly right. Any +words and any antics in a lump of clay are wonderful, the child's words +and antics are wonderful, and it is only fair to say that the +philosopher's words and antics are equally wonderful. + +The truth is that it is our attitude towards children that is right, and +our attitude towards grown-up people that is wrong. Our attitude towards +our equals in age consists in a servile solemnity, overlying a +considerable degree of indifference or disdain. Our attitude towards +children consists in a condescending indulgence, overlying an +unfathomable respect. We bow to grown people, take off our hats to them, +refrain from contradicting them flatly, but we do not appreciate them +properly. We make puppets of children, lecture them, pull their hair, +and reverence, love, and fear them. When we reverence anything in the +mature, it is their virtues or their wisdom, and this is an easy +matter. But we reverence the faults and follies of children. + +We should probably come considerably nearer to the true conception of +things if we treated all grown-up persons, of all titles and types, with +precisely that dark affection and dazed respect with which we treat the +infantile limitations. A child has a difficulty in achieving the miracle +of speech, consequently we find his blunders almost as marvellous as his +accuracy. If we only adopted the same attitude towards Premiers and +Chancellors of the Exchequer, if we genially encouraged their stammering +and delightful attempts at human speech, we should be in a far more wise +and tolerant temper. A child has a knack of making experiments in life, +generally healthy in motive, but often intolerable in a domestic +commonwealth. If we only treated all commercial buccaneers and bumptious +tyrants on the same terms, if we gently chided their brutalities as +rather quaint mistakes in the conduct of life, if we simply told them +that they would 'understand when they were older,' we should probably be +adopting the best and most crushing attitude towards the weaknesses of +humanity. In our relations to children we prove that the paradox is +entirely true, that it is possible to combine an amnesty that verges on +contempt with a worship that verges upon terror. We forgive children +with the same kind of blasphemous gentleness with which Omar Khayyam +forgave the Omnipotent. + +The essential rectitude of our view of children lies in the fact that we +feel them and their ways to be supernatural while, for some mysterious +reason, we do not feel ourselves or our own ways to be supernatural. The +very smallness of children makes it possible to regard them as marvels; +we seem to be dealing with a new race, only to be seen through a +microscope. I doubt if anyone of any tenderness or imagination can see +the hand of a child and not be a little frightened of it. It is awful to +think of the essential human energy moving so tiny a thing; it is like +imagining that human nature could live in the wing of a butterfly or the +leaf of a tree. When we look upon lives so human and yet so small, we +feel as if we ourselves were enlarged to an embarrassing bigness of +stature. We feel the same kind of obligation to these creatures that a +deity might feel if he had created something that he could not +understand. + +But the humorous look of children is perhaps the most endearing of all +the bonds that hold the Cosmos together. Their top-heavy dignity is +more touching than any humility; their solemnity gives us more hope for +all things than a thousand carnivals of optimism; their large and +lustrous eyes seem to hold all the stars in their astonishment; their +fascinating absence of nose seems to give to us the most perfect hint of +the humour that awaits us in the kingdom of heaven. + + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF DETECTIVE STORIES + + +In attempting to reach the genuine psychological reason for the +popularity of detective stories, it is necessary to rid ourselves of +many mere phrases. It is not true, for example, that the populace prefer +bad literature to good, and accept detective stories because they are +bad literature. The mere absence of artistic subtlety does not make a +book popular. Bradshaw's Railway Guide contains few gleams of +psychological comedy, yet it is not read aloud uproariously on winter +evenings. If detective stories are read with more exuberance than +railway guides, it is certainly because they are more artistic. Many +good books have fortunately been popular; many bad books, still more +fortunately, have been unpopular. A good detective story would probably +be even more popular than a bad one. The trouble in this matter is that +many people do not realize that there is such a thing as a good +detective story; it is to them like speaking of a good devil. To write a +story about a burglary is, in their eyes, a sort of spiritual manner of +committing it. To persons of somewhat weak sensibility this is natural +enough; it must be confessed that many detective stories are as full of +sensational crime as one of Shakespeare's plays. + +There is, however, between a good detective story and a bad detective +story as much, or, rather more, difference than there is between a good +epic and a bad one. Not only is a detective story a perfectly legitimate +form of art, but it has certain definite and real advantages as an agent +of the public weal. + +The first essential value of the detective story lies in this, that it +is the earliest and only form of popular literature in which is +expressed some sense of the poetry of modern life. Men lived among +mighty mountains and eternal forests for ages before they realized that +they were poetical; it may reasonably be inferred that some of our +descendants may see the chimney-pots as rich a purple as the +mountain-peaks, and find the lamp-posts as old and natural as the trees. +Of this realization of a great city itself as something wild and obvious +the detective story is certainly the 'Iliad.' No one can have failed to +notice that in these stories the hero or the investigator crosses London +with something of the loneliness and liberty of a prince in a tale of +elfland, that in the course of that incalculable journey the casual +omnibus assumes the primal colours of a fairy ship. The lights of the +city begin to glow like innumerable goblin eyes, since they are the +guardians of some secret, however crude, which the writer knows and the +reader does not. Every twist of the road is like a finger pointing to +it; every fantastic skyline of chimney-pots seems wildly and derisively +signalling the meaning of the mystery. + +This realization of the poetry of London is not a small thing. A city +is, properly speaking, more poetic even than a countryside, for while +Nature is a chaos of unconscious forces, a city is a chaos of conscious +ones. The crest of the flower or the pattern of the lichen may or may +not be significant symbols. But there is no stone in the street and no +brick in the wall that is not actually a deliberate symbol--a message +from some man, as much as if it were a telegram or a post-card. The +narrowest street possesses, in every crook and twist of its intention, +the soul of the man who built it, perhaps long in his grave. Every brick +has as human a hieroglyph as if it were a graven brick of Babylon; every +slate on the roof is as educational a document as if it were a slate +covered with addition and subtraction sums. Anything which tends, even +under the fantastic form of the minutiae of Sherlock Holmes, to assert +this romance of detail in civilization, to emphasize this unfathomably +human character in flints and tiles, is a good thing. It is good that +the average man should fall into the habit of looking imaginatively at +ten men in the street even if it is only on the chance that the eleventh +might be a notorious thief. We may dream, perhaps, that it might be +possible to have another and higher romance of London, that men's souls +have stranger adventures than their bodies, and that it would be harder +and more exciting to hunt their virtues than to hunt their crimes. But +since our great authors (with the admirable exception of Stevenson) +decline to write of that thrilling mood and moment when the eyes of the +great city, like the eyes of a cat, begin to flame in the dark, we must +give fair credit to the popular literature which, amid a babble of +pedantry and preciosity, declines to regard the present as prosaic or +the common as commonplace. Popular art in all ages has been interested +in contemporary manners and costume; it dressed the groups around the +Crucifixion in the garb of Florentine gentlefolk or Flemish burghers. +In the last century it was the custom for distinguished actors to +present Macbeth in a powdered wig and ruffles. How far we are ourselves +in this age from such conviction of the poetry of our own life and +manners may easily be conceived by anyone who chooses to imagine a +picture of Alfred the Great toasting the cakes dressed in tourist's +knickerbockers, or a performance of 'Hamlet' in which the Prince +appeared in a frock-coat, with a crape band round his hat. But this +instinct of the age to look back, like Lot's wife, could not go on for +ever. A rude, popular literature of the romantic possibilities of the +modern city was bound to arise. It has arisen in the popular detective +stories, as rough and refreshing as the ballads of Robin Hood. + +There is, however, another good work that is done by detective stories. +While it is the constant tendency of the Old Adam to rebel against so +universal and automatic a thing as civilization, to preach departure and +rebellion, the romance of police activity keeps in some sense before the +mind the fact that civilization itself is the most sensational of +departures and the most romantic of rebellions. By dealing with the +unsleeping sentinels who guard the outposts of society, it tends to +remind us that we live in an armed camp, making war with a chaotic +world, and that the criminals, the children of chaos, are nothing but +the traitors within our gates. When the detective in a police romance +stands alone, and somewhat fatuously fearless amid the knives and fists +of a thieves' kitchen, it does certainly serve to make us remember that +it is the agent of social justice who is the original and poetic figure, +while the burglars and footpads are merely placid old cosmic +conservatives, happy in the immemorial respectability of apes and +wolves. The romance of the police force is thus the whole romance of +man. It is based on the fact that morality is the most dark and daring +of conspiracies. It reminds us that the whole noiseless and unnoticeable +police management by which we are ruled and protected is only a +successful knight-errantry. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF PATRIOTISM + + +The decay of patriotism in England during the last year or two is a +serious and distressing matter. Only in consequence of such a decay +could the current lust of territory be confounded with the ancient love +of country. We may imagine that if there were no such thing as a pair of +lovers left in the world, all the vocabulary of love might without +rebuke be transferred to the lowest and most automatic desire. If no +type of chivalrous and purifying passion remained, there would be no one +left to say that lust bore none of the marks of love, that lust was +rapacious and love pitiful, that lust was blind and love vigilant, that +lust sated itself and love was insatiable. So it is with the 'love of +the city,' that high and ancient intellectual passion which has been +written in red blood on the same table with the primal passions of our +being. On all sides we hear to-day of the love of our country, and yet +anyone who has literally such a love must be bewildered at the talk, +like a man hearing all men say that the moon shines by day and the sun +by night. The conviction must come to him at last that these men do not +realize what the word 'love' means, that they mean by the love of +country, not what a mystic might mean by the love of God, but something +of what a child might mean by the love of jam. To one who loves his +fatherland, for instance, our boasted indifference to the ethics of a +national war is mere mysterious gibberism. It is like telling a man that +a boy has committed murder, but that he need not mind because it is only +his son. Here clearly the word 'love' is used unmeaningly. It is the +essence of love to be sensitive, it is a part of its doom; and anyone +who objects to the one must certainly get rid of the other. This +sensitiveness, rising sometimes to an almost morbid sensitiveness, was +the mark of all great lovers like Dante and all great patriots like +Chatham. 'My country, right or wrong,' is a thing that no patriot would +think of saying except in a desperate case. It is like saying, 'My +mother, drunk or sober.' No doubt if a decent man's mother took to drink +he would share her troubles to the last; but to talk as if he would be +in a state of gay indifference as to whether his mother took to drink or +not is certainly not the language of men who know the great mystery. + +What we really need for the frustration and overthrow of a deaf and +raucous Jingoism is a renascence of the love of the native land. When +that comes, all shrill cries will cease suddenly. For the first of all +the marks of love is seriousness: love will not accept sham bulletins or +the empty victory of words. It will always esteem the most candid +counsellor the best. Love is drawn to truth by the unerring magnetism of +agony; it gives no pleasure to the lover to see ten doctors dancing with +vociferous optimism round a death-bed. + +We have to ask, then, Why is it that this recent movement in England, +which has honestly appeared to many a renascence of patriotism, seems to +us to have none of the marks of patriotism--at least, of patriotism in +its highest form? Why has the adoration of our patriots been given +wholly to qualities and circumstances good in themselves, but +comparatively material and trivial:--trade, physical force, a skirmish +at a remote frontier, a squabble in a remote continent? Colonies are +things to be proud of, but for a country to be only proud of its +extremities is like a man being only proud of his legs. Why is there not +a high central intellectual patriotism, a patriotism of the head and +heart of the Empire, and not merely of its fists and its boots? A rude +Athenian sailor may very likely have thought that the glory of Athens +lay in rowing with the right kind of oars, or having a good supply of +garlic; but Pericles did not think that this was the glory of Athens. +With us, on the other hand, there is no difference at all between the +patriotism preached by Mr. Chamberlain and that preached by Mr. Pat +Rafferty, who sings 'What do you think of the Irish now?' They are both +honest, simple-minded, vulgar eulogies upon trivialities and truisms. + +I have, rightly or wrongly, a notion of the chief cause of this +pettiness in English patriotism of to-day, and I will attempt to expound +it. It may be taken generally that a man loves his own stock and +environment, and that he will find something to praise in it; but +whether it is the most praiseworthy thing or no will depend upon the +man's enlightenment as to the facts. If the son of Thackeray, let us +say, were brought up in ignorance of his father's fame and genius, it is +not improbable that he would be proud of the fact that his father was +over six feet high. It seems to me that we, as a nation, are precisely +in the position of this hypothetical child of Thackeray's. We fall back +upon gross and frivolous things for our patriotism, for a simple reason. +We are the only people in the world who are not taught in childhood our +own literature and our own history. + +We are, as a nation, in the truly extraordinary condition of not knowing +our own merits. We have played a great and splendid part in the history +of universal thought and sentiment; we have been among the foremost in +that eternal and bloodless battle in which the blows do not slay, but +create. In painting and music we are inferior to many other nations; but +in literature, science, philosophy, and political eloquence, if history +be taken as a whole, we can hold our own with any. But all this vast +heritage of intellectual glory is kept from our schoolboys like a +heresy; and they are left to live and die in the dull and infantile type +of patriotism which they learnt from a box of tin soldiers. There is no +harm in the box of tin soldiers; we do not expect children to be equally +delighted with a beautiful box of tin philanthropists. But there is +great harm in the fact that the subtler and more civilized honour of +England is not presented so as to keep pace with the expanding mind. A +French boy is taught the glory of Molière as well as that of Turenne; a +German boy is taught his own great national philosophy before he learns +the philosophy of antiquity. The result is that, though French +patriotism is often crazy and boastful, though German patriotism is +often isolated and pedantic, they are neither of them merely dull, +common, and brutal, as is so often the strange fate of the nation of +Bacon and Locke. It is natural enough, and even righteous enough, under +the circumstances. An Englishman must love England for something; +consequently, he tends to exalt commerce or prize-fighting, just as a +German might tend to exalt music, or a Flamand to exalt painting, +because he really believes it is the chief merit of his fatherland. It +would not be in the least extraordinary if a claim of eating up +provinces and pulling down princes were the chief boast of a Zulu. The +extraordinary thing is, that it is the chief boast of a people who have +Shakespeare, Newton, Burke, and Darwin to boast of. + +The peculiar lack of any generosity or delicacy in the current English +nationalism appears to have no other possible origin but in this fact of +our unique neglect in education of the study of the national literature. +An Englishman could not be silly enough to despise other nations if he +once knew how much England had done for them. Great men of letters +cannot avoid being humane and universal. The absence of the teaching of +English literature in our schools is, when we come to think of it, an +almost amazing phenomenon. It is even more amazing when we listen to the +arguments urged by headmasters and other educational conservatives +against the direct teaching of English. It is said, for example, that a +vast amount of English grammar and literature is picked up in the course +of learning Latin and Greek. This is perfectly true, but the +topsy-turviness of the idea never seems to strike them. It is like +saying that a baby picks up the art of walking in the course of learning +to hop, or that a Frenchman may successfully be taught German by helping +a Prussian to learn Ashanti. Surely the obvious foundation of all +education is the language in which that education is conveyed; if a boy +has only time to learn one thing, he had better learn that. + +We have deliberately neglected this great heritage of high national +sentiment. We have made our public schools the strongest walls against a +whisper of the honour of England. And we have had our punishment in this +strange and perverted fact that, while a unifying vision of patriotism +can ennoble bands of brutal savages or dingy burghers, and be the best +thing in their lives, we, who are--the world being judge--humane, +honest, and serious individually, have a patriotism that is the worst +thing in ours. What have we done, and where have we wandered, we that +have produced sages who could have spoken with Socrates and poets who +could walk with Dante, that we should talk as if we have never done +anything more intelligent than found colonies and kick niggers? We are +the children of light, and it is we that sit in darkness. If we are +judged, it will not be for the merely intellectual transgression of +failing to appreciate other nations, but for the supreme spiritual +transgression of failing to appreciate ourselves. + + +THE END + +BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Defendant, by G.K. 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Chesterton. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + } + HR { width: 33%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .note {margin-left: 2em; margin-right: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} /* footnote */ + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-left: 2em; font-size: smaller; float: right; clear: right;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 4em;} + .poem .caesura {vertical-align: -200%;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Defendant, by G.K. Chesterton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Defendant + +Author: G.K. Chesterton + +Release Date: May 3, 2004 [EBook #12245] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEFENDANT *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Shimmin, Frank van Drogen and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h1>THE DEFENDANT</h1> + +<h2>BY G. K. CHESTERTON</h2> + +<p>AUTHOR OF 'THE WILD KNIGHT' AND 'GREYBEARDS AT PLAY'</p> + +<p>SECOND EDITION</p> + +<p>LONDON. MDCCCCII</p> + +<p>R. BRIMLEY JOHNSON</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<p>The 'Defences' of which this volume is composed have appeared in <i>The +Speaker</i>, and are here reprinted, after revision and amplification, by +permission of the Editor. Portions of 'The Defence of Publicity' +appeared in <i>The Daily News</i>.</p> + +<p><i>October</i>, 1901.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<a href="#IN_DEFENCE_OF_A_NEW_EDITION"><b>IN DEFENCE OF A NEW EDITION</b></a><br> +<a href="#INTRODUCTION"><b>INTRODUCTION</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_PENNY_DREADFULS"><b>A DEFENCE OF PENNY DREADFULS</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_RASH_VOWS"><b>A DEFENCE OF RASH VOWS</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_SKELETONS"><b>A DEFENCE OF SKELETONS</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_PUBLICITY"><b>A DEFENCE OF PUBLICITY</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_NONSENSE"><b>A DEFENCE OF NONSENSE</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_PLANETS"><b>A DEFENCE OF PLANETS</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_CHINA_SHEPHERDESSES"><b>A DEFENCE OF CHINA SHEPHERDESSES</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_USEFUL_INFORMATION"><b>A DEFENCE OF USEFUL INFORMATION</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_HERALDRY"><b>A DEFENCE OF HERALDRY</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_UGLY_THINGS"><b>A DEFENCE OF UGLY THINGS</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_FARCE"><b>A DEFENCE OF FARCE</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_HUMILITY"><b>A DEFENCE OF HUMILITY</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_SLANG"><b>A DEFENCE OF SLANG</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_BABY-WORSHIP"><b>A DEFENCE OF BABY-WORSHIP</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_DETECTIVE_STORIES"><b>A DEFENCE OF DETECTIVE STORIES</b></a><br> +<a href="#A_DEFENCE_OF_PATRIOTISM"><b>A DEFENCE OF PATRIOTISM</b></a><br> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + +<br> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<a name="IN_DEFENCE_OF_A_NEW_EDITION"></a><h2><i>IN DEFENCE OF A NEW EDITION</i></h2> + +<p>The reissue of a series of essays so ephemeral and even superfluous may +seem at the first glance to require some excuse; probably the best +excuse is that they will have been completely forgotten, and therefore +may be read again with entirely new sensations. I am not sure, however, +that this claim is so modest as it sounds, for I fancy that Shakespeare +and Balzac, if moved to prayers, might not ask to be remembered, but to +be forgotten, and forgotten thus; for if they were forgotten they would +be everlastingly re-discovered and re-read. It is a monotonous memory +which keeps us in the main from seeing things as splendid as they are. +The ancients were not wrong when they made Lethe the boundary of a +better land; perhaps the only flaw in their system is that a man who had +bathed in the river of forgetfulness would be as likely as not to climb +back upon the bank of the earth and fancy himself in Elysium.</p> + +<p>If, therefore, I am certain that most sensible people have forgotten +the existence of this book—I do not speak in modesty or in pride—I +wish only to state a simple and somewhat beautiful fact. In one respect +the passing of the period during which a book can be considered current +has afflicted me with some melancholy, for I had intended to write +anonymously in some daily paper a thorough and crushing exposure of the +work inspired mostly by a certain artistic impatience of the too +indulgent tone of the critiques and the manner in which a vast number of +my most monstrous fallacies have passed unchallenged. I will not repeat +that powerful article here, for it cannot be necessary to do anything +more than warn the reader against the perfectly indefensible line of +argument adopted at the end of p. 28. I am also conscious that the title +of the book is, strictly speaking, inaccurate. It is a legal metaphor, +and, speaking legally, a defendant is not an enthusiast for the +character of King John or the domestic virtues of the prairie-dog. He is +one who defends himself, a thing which the present writer, however +poisoned his mind may be with paradox, certainly never dreamed of +attempting.</p> + +<p>Criticism upon the book considered as literature, if it can be so +considered, I should, of course, never dream of discussing—firstly, +because it is ridiculous to do so; and, secondly, because there was, in +my opinion, much justice in such criticism.</p> + +<p>But there is one matter on which an author is generally considered as +having a right to explain himself, since it has nothing to do with +capacity or intelligence, and that is the question of his morals.</p> + +<p>I am proud to say that a furious, uncompromising, and very effective +attack was made upon what was alleged to be the utter immorality of this +book by my excellent friend Mr. C.F.G. Masterman, in the 'Speaker.' The +tendency of that criticism was to the effect that I was discouraging +improvement and disguising scandals by my offensive optimism. Quoting +the passage in which I said that 'diamonds were to be found in the +dust-bin,' he said: 'There is no difficulty in finding good in what +humanity rejects. The difficulty is to find it in what humanity accepts. +The diamond is easy enough to find in the dust-bin. The difficulty is to +find it in the drawing-room.' I must admit, for my part, without the +slightest shame, that I have found a great many very excellent things in +drawing-rooms. For example, I found Mr. Masterman in a drawing-room. But +I merely mention this purely ethical attack in order to state, in as few +sentences as possible, my difference from the theory of optimism and +progress therein enunciated. At first sight it would seem that the +pessimist encourages improvement. But in reality it is a singular truth +that the era in which pessimism has been cried from the house-tops is +also that in which almost all reform has stagnated and fallen into +decay. The reason of this is not difficult to discover. No man ever did, +and no man ever can, create or desire to make a bad thing good or an +ugly thing beautiful. There must be some germ of good to be loved, some +fragment of beauty to be admired. The mother washes and decks out the +dirty or careless child, but no one can ask her to wash and deck out a +goblin with a heart like hell. No one can kill the fatted calf for +Mephistopheles. The cause which is blocking all progress today is the +subtle scepticism which whispers in a million ears that things are not +good enough to be worth improving. If the world is good we are +revolutionaries, if the world is evil we must be conservatives. These +essays, futile as they are considered as serious literature, are yet +ethically sincere, since they seek to remind men that things must be +loved first and improved afterwards.</p><!-- Page -5 --><a name="Page_-5"></a> + +<p><i>G. K. C</i>.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h1>THE DEFENDANT</h1> + +<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION"></a>INTRODUCTION</h2> + +<p>In certain endless uplands, uplands like great flats gone dizzy, slopes +that seem to contradict the idea that there is even such a thing as a +level, and make us all realize that we live on a planet with a sloping +roof, you will come from time to time upon whole valleys filled with +loose rocks and boulders, so big as to be like mountains broken loose.<!-- Page -4 --><a name="Page_-4"></a> +The whole might be an experimental creation shattered and cast away. It +is often difficult to believe that such cosmic refuse can have come +together except by human means. The mildest and most cockney imagination +conceives the place to be the scene of some war of giants. To me it is +always associated with one idea, recurrent and at last instinctive. The +scene was the scene of the stoning of some prehistoric prophet, a +prophet as much more gigantic than after-prophets as the boulders are +more gigantic than the pebbles. He spoke some words—words that seemed +shameful and tremendous—and the world, in terror, buried him under a<!-- Page -3 --><a name="Page_-3"></a> +wilderness of stones. The place is the monument of an ancient fear.</p> + +<p>If we followed the same mood of fancy, it would be more difficult to +imagine what awful hint or wild picture of the universe called forth +that primal persecution, what secret of sensational thought lies buried +under the brutal stones. For in our time the blasphemies are threadbare. +Pessimism is now patently, as it always was essentially, more +commonplace than piety. Profanity is now more than an affectation—it is +a convention. The curse against God is Exercise I. in the primer of +minor poetry. It was not, assuredly, for such babyish solemnities that +our imaginary prophet was stoned in the morning of the world. If we +weigh the matter in the faultless scales of imagination, if we see what +is the real trend of humanity, we shall feel it most probable that he +was stoned for saying that the grass was green and that the birds sang +in spring; for the mission of all the prophets from the beginning has +not been so much the pointing out of heavens or hells as primarily the +pointing out of the earth.</p> + +<p>Religion has had to provide that longest and strangest telescope—the +telescope through which we could see the star upon which we dwelt. For +the mind and eyes of the average man this world is as lost as Eden and +as sunken as Atlantis. There runs a strange law through the length of +human history—that men are continually tending to undervalue their +environment, to undervalue their happiness, to undervalue themselves. +The great sin of mankind, the sin typified by the fall of Adam, is the +tendency, not towards pride, but towards this weird and horrible +humility.</p> + +<p>This is the great fall, the fall by which the fish forgets the sea, the +ox forgets the meadow, the clerk forgets the city, every man forgets his +environment and, in the fullest and most literal sense, forgets himself. +This is the real fall of Adam, and it is a spiritual fall. It is a +strange thing that many truly spiritual men, such as General Gordon, +have actually spent some hours in speculating upon the precise location +of the Garden of Eden. Most probably we are in Eden still. It is only +our eyes that have changed.</p> + +<p>The pessimist is commonly spoken of as the man in revolt. He is not. +Firstly, because it requires some cheerfulness to continue in revolt, +and secondly, because pessimism appeals to the weaker side of everybody, +and the pessimist, therefore, drives as roaring a trade as the publican. +The person who is really in revolt is the optimist, who generally lives +and dies in a desperate and suicidal effort to persuade all the other +people how good they are. It has been proved a hundred times over that +if you really wish to enrage people and make them angry, even unto +death, the right way to do it is to tell them that they are all the sons +of God. Jesus Christ was crucified, it may be remembered, not because of<!-- Page -2 --><a name="Page_-2"></a> +anything he said about God, but on a charge of saying that a man could +in three days pull down and rebuild the Temple. Every one of the great +revolutionists, from Isaiah to Shelley, have been optimists. They have +been indignant, not about the badness of existence, but about the +slowness of men in realizing its goodness. The prophet who is stoned is +not a brawler or a marplot. He is simply a rejected lover. He suffers +from an unrequited attachment to things in general.</p> + +<p>It becomes increasingly apparent, therefore, that the world is in a +permanent danger of being misjudged. That this is no fanciful or +mystical idea may be tested by simple examples. The two absolutely basic +words 'good' and 'bad,' descriptive of two primal and inexplicable +sensations, are not, and never have been, used properly. Things that are +bad are not called good by any people who experience them; but things +that are good are called bad by the universal verdict of humanity.</p> +<!-- Page -1 --><a name="Page_-1"></a> +<p>Let me explain a little: Certain things are bad so far as they go, such +as pain, and no one, not even a lunatic, calls a tooth-ache good in +itself; but a knife which cuts clumsily and with difficulty is called a +bad knife, which it certainly is not. It is only not so good as other +knives to which men have grown accustomed. A knife is never bad except +on such rare occasions as that in which it is neatly and scientifically +planted in the middle of one's back. The coarsest and bluntest knife +which ever broke a pencil into pieces instead of sharpening it is a good +thing in so far as it is a knife. It would have appeared a miracle in +the Stone Age. What we call a bad knife is a good knife not good enough +for us; what we call a bad hat is a good hat not good enough for us; +what we call bad cookery is good cookery not good enough for us; what we +call a bad civilization is a good civilization not good enough for us. +We choose to call the great mass of the history of mankind bad, not +because it is bad, but because we are better. This is palpably an unfair +principle. Ivory may not be so white as snow, but the whole Arctic +continent does not make ivory black.</p> + +<p>Now it has appeared to me unfair that humanity should be engaged +perpetually in calling all those things bad which have been good enough +to make other things better, in everlastingly kicking down the ladder<!-- Page 0 --><a name="Page_0"></a> by +which it has climbed. It has appeared to me that progress should be +something else besides a continual parricide; therefore I have +investigated the dust-heaps of humanity, and found a treasure in all of +them. I have found that humanity is not incidentally engaged, but +eternally and systematically engaged, in throwing gold into the gutter +and diamonds into the sea. I have found that every man is disposed to +call the green leaf of the tree a little less green than it is, and the +snow of Christmas a little less white than it is; therefore I have +imagined that the main business of a man, however humble, is defence. I +have conceived that a defendant is chiefly required when worldlings +despise the world—that a counsel for the defence would not have been +out of place in that terrible day when the sun was darkened over Calvary +and Man was rejected of men.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_PENNY_DREADFULS"></a>A DEFENCE OF PENNY DREADFULS</h2> +<br> +<!-- Page 1 --><a name="Page_1"></a> +<p>One of the strangest examples of the degree to which ordinary life is +undervalued is the example of popular literature, the vast mass of which +we contentedly describe as vulgar. The boy's novelette may be ignorant +in a literary sense, which is only like saying that a modern novel is +ignorant in the chemical sense, or the economic sense, or the +astronomical sense; but it is not vulgar intrinsically—it is the actual +centre of a million flaming imaginations.</p> + +<p>In former centuries the educated class ignored the ruck of vulgar +literature. They ignored, and therefore did not, properly speaking, +despise it. Simple ignorance and indifference does not inflate the +character with pride. A man does not walk down the street giving a +haughty twirl to his moustaches at the thought of his superiority to +some variety of deep-sea fishes. The old scholars left the whole +under-world of popular compositions in a similar darkness.</p> + +<p>To-day, however, we have reversed this principle. We do despise vulgar +compositions, and we do not ignore them. We are in some danger of +becoming petty in our study of pettiness; there is a terrible Circean +law in the background that if the soul stoops too ostentatiously to +examine anything it never gets up again. There is no class of vulgar +publications about which there is, to my mind, more utterly ridiculous<!-- Page 2 --><a name="Page_2"></a> +exaggeration and misconception than the current boys' literature of the +lowest stratum. This class of composition has presumably always existed, +and must exist. It has no more claim to be good literature than the +daily conversation of its readers to be fine oratory, or the +lodging-houses and tenements they inhabit to be sublime architecture. +But people must have conversation, they must have houses, and they must +have stories. The simple need for some kind of ideal world in which +fictitious persons play an unhampered part is infinitely deeper and +older than the rules of good art, and much more important. Every one of +us in childhood has constructed such an invisible <i>dramatis personæ</i>, +but it never occurred to our nurses to correct the composition by +careful comparison with Balzac. In the East the professional +story-teller goes from village to village with a small carpet; and I +wish sincerely that anyone had the moral courage to spread that carpet<!-- Page 3 --><a name="Page_3"></a> +and sit on it in Ludgate Circus. But it is not probable that all the +tales of the carpet-bearer are little gems of original artistic +workmanship. Literature and fiction are two entirely different things. +Literature is a luxury; fiction is a necessity. A work of art can hardly +be too short, for its climax is its merit. A story can never be too +long, for its conclusion is merely to be deplored, like the last +halfpenny or the last pipelight. And so, while the increase of the +artistic conscience tends in more ambitious works to brevity and +impressionism, voluminous industry still marks the producer of the true +romantic trash. There was no end to the ballads of Robin Hood; there is +no end to the volumes about Dick Deadshot and the Avenging Nine. These +two heroes are deliberately conceived as immortal.</p> + +<p>But instead of basing all discussion of the problem upon the +common-sense recognition of this fact—that the youth of the lower +orders always has had and always must have formless and endless romantic +reading of some kind, and then going on to make provision for its +wholesomeness—we begin, generally speaking, by fantastic abuse of this +reading as a whole and indignant surprise that the errand-boys under<!-- Page 4 --><a name="Page_4"></a> +discussion do not read 'The Egoist' and 'The Master Builder.' It is the +custom, particularly among magistrates, to attribute half the crimes of +the Metropolis to cheap novelettes. If some grimy urchin runs away with +an apple, the magistrate shrewdly points out that the child's knowledge +that apples appease hunger is traceable to some curious literary +researches. The boys themselves, when penitent, frequently accuse the +novelettes with great bitterness, which is only to be expected from +young people possessed of no little native humour. If I had forged a +will, and could obtain sympathy by tracing the incident to the influence +of Mr. George Moore's novels, I should find the greatest entertainment +in the diversion. At any rate, it is firmly fixed in the minds of most +people that gutter-boys, unlike everybody else in the community, find +their principal motives for conduct in printed books.</p> + +<p>Now it is quite clear that this objection, the objection brought by +magistrates, has nothing to do with literary merit. Bad story writing is +not a crime. Mr. Hall Caine walks the streets openly, and cannot be put +in prison for an anticlimax. The objection rests upon the theory that +the tone of the mass of boys' novelettes is criminal and degraded, +appealing to low cupidity and low cruelty. This is the magisterial +theory, and this is rubbish.</p> +<!-- Page 5 --><a name="Page_5"></a> +<p>So far as I have seen them, in connection with the dirtiest book-stalls +in the poorest districts, the facts are simply these: The whole +bewildering mass of vulgar juvenile literature is concerned with +adventures, rambling, disconnected and endless. It does not express any +passion of any sort, for there is no human character of any sort. It +runs eternally in certain grooves of local and historical type: the +medieval knight, the eighteenth-century duellist, and the modern cowboy, +recur with the same stiff simplicity as the conventional human figures +in an Oriental pattern. I can quite as easily imagine a human being +kindling wild appetites by the contemplation of his Turkey carpet as by +such dehumanized and naked narrative as this.</p> + +<p>Among these stories there are a certain number which deal +sympathetically with the adventures of robbers, outlaws and pirates, +which present in a dignified and romantic light thieves and murderers +like Dick Turpin and Claude Duval. That is to say, they do precisely the +same thing as Scott's 'Ivanhoe,' Scott's 'Rob Roy,' Scott's 'Lady of +the Lake,' Byron's 'Corsair,' Wordsworth's 'Rob Roy's Grave,' +Stevenson's 'Macaire,' Mr. Max Pemberton's 'Iron Pirate,' and a thousand<!-- Page 6 --><a name="Page_6"></a> +more works distributed systematically as prizes and Christmas presents. +Nobody imagines that an admiration of Locksley in 'Ivanhoe' will lead a +boy to shoot Japanese arrows at the deer in Richmond Park; no one thinks +that the incautious opening of Wordsworth at the poem on Rob Roy will +set him up for life as a blackmailer. In the case of our own class, we +recognise that this wild life is contemplated with pleasure by the +young, not because it is like their own life, but because it is +different from it. It might at least cross our minds that, for whatever +other reason the errand-boy reads 'The Red Revenge,' it really is not +because he is dripping with the gore of his own friends and relatives.</p> + +<p>In this matter, as in all such matters, we lose our bearings entirely by +speaking of the 'lower classes' when we mean humanity minus ourselves. +This trivial romantic literature is not especially plebeian: it is +simply human. The philanthropist can never forget classes and callings. +He says, with a modest swagger, 'I have invited twenty-five factory +hands to tea.' If he said 'I have invited twenty-five chartered +accountants to tea,' everyone would see the humour of so simple a +classification. But this is what we have done with this lumberland of<!-- Page 7 --><a name="Page_7"></a> +foolish writing: we have probed, as if it were some monstrous new +disease, what is, in fact, nothing but the foolish and valiant heart of +man. Ordinary men will always be sentimentalists: for a sentimentalist +is simply a man who has feelings and does not trouble to invent a new +way of expressing them. These common and current publications have +nothing essentially evil about them. They express the sanguine and +heroic truisms on which civilization is built; for it is clear that +unless civilization is built on truisms, it is not built at all. +Clearly, there could be no safety for a society in which the remark by +the Chief Justice that murder was wrong was regarded as an original and +dazzling epigram.</p> + +<p>If the authors and publishers of 'Dick Deadshot,' and such remarkable +works, were suddenly to make a raid upon the educated class, were to +take down the names of every man, however distinguished, who was caught +at a University Extension Lecture, were to confiscate all our novels and +warn us all to correct our lives, we should be seriously annoyed. Yet +they have far more right to do so than we; for they, with all their<!-- Page 8 --><a name="Page_8"></a> +idiotcy, are normal and we are abnormal. It is the modern literature of +the educated, not of the uneducated, which is avowedly and aggressively +criminal. Books recommending profligacy and pessimism, at which the +high-souled errand-boy would shudder, lie upon all our drawing-room +tables. If the dirtiest old owner of the dirtiest old bookstall in +Whitechapel dared to display works really recommending polygamy or +suicide, his stock would be seized by the police. These things are our +luxuries. And with a hypocrisy so ludicrous as to be almost unparalleled +in history, we rate the gutter-boys for their immorality at the very<!-- Page 9 --><a name="Page_9"></a> +time that we are discussing (with equivocal German Professors) whether +morality is valid at all. At the very instant that we curse the Penny +Dreadful for encouraging thefts upon property, we canvass the +proposition that all property is theft. At the very instant we accuse it +(quite unjustly) of lubricity and indecency, we are cheerfully reading +philosophies which glory in lubricity and indecency. At the very instant +that we charge it with encouraging the young to destroy life, we are +placidly discussing whether life is worth preserving.</p> + +<p>But it is we who are the morbid exceptions; it is we who are the +criminal class. This should be our great comfort. The vast mass of +humanity, with their vast mass of idle books and idle words, have never +doubted and never will doubt that courage is splendid, that fidelity is +noble, that distressed ladies should be rescued, and vanquished enemies +spared. There are a large number of cultivated persons who doubt these +maxims of daily life, just as there are a large number of persons who +believe they are the Prince of Wales; and I am told that both classes of +people are entertaining conversationalists. But the average man or boy +writes daily in these great gaudy diaries of his soul, which we call<!-- Page 10 --><a name="Page_10"></a> +Penny Dreadfuls, a plainer and better gospel than any of those +iridescent ethical paradoxes that the fashionable change as often as +their bonnets. It may be a very limited aim in morality to shoot a +'many-faced and fickle traitor,' but at least it is a better aim than to +be a many-faced and fickle traitor, which is a simple summary of a good +many modern systems from Mr. d'Annunzio's downwards. So long as the +coarse and thin texture of mere current popular romance is not touched +by a paltry culture it will never be vitally immoral. It is always on +the side of life. The poor—the slaves who really stoop under the +burden of life—have often been mad, scatter-brained and cruel, but +never hopeless. That is a class privilege, like cigars. Their drivelling +literature will always be a 'blood and thunder' literature, as simple as +the thunder of heaven and the blood of men.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_RASH_VOWS"></a>A DEFENCE OF RASH VOWS</h2><!-- Page 11 --><a name="Page_11"></a> + +<p>If a prosperous modern man, with a high hat and a frock-coat, were to +solemnly pledge himself before all his clerks and friends to count the +leaves on every third tree in Holland Walk, to hop up to the City on one +leg every Thursday, to repeat the whole of Mill's 'Liberty' seventy-six +times, to collect 300 dandelions in fields belonging to anyone of the +name of Brown, to remain for thirty-one hours holding his left ear in +his right hand, to sing the names of all his aunts in order of age on +the top of an omnibus, or make any such unusual undertaking, we should +immediately conclude that the man was mad, or, as it is sometimes +expressed, was 'an artist in life.' Yet these vows are not more +extraordinary than the vows which in the Middle Ages and in similar +periods were made, not by fanatics merely, but by the greatest figures +in civic and national civilization—by kings, judges, poets, and +priests. One man swore to chain two mountains together, and the great +chain hung there, it was said, for ages as a monument of that mystical +folly. Another swore that he would find his way to Jerusalem with a +patch over his eyes, and died looking for it. It is not easy to see that +these two exploits, judged from a strictly rational standpoint, are any<!-- Page 12 --><a name="Page_12"></a> +saner than the acts above suggested. A mountain is commonly a stationary +and reliable object which it is not necessary to chain up at night like +a dog. And it is not easy at first sight to see that a man pays a very +high compliment to the Holy City by setting out for it under conditions +which render it to the last degree improbable that he will ever get +there.</p> + +<p>But about this there is one striking thing to be noticed. If men behaved +in that way in our time, we should, as we have said, regard them as +symbols of the 'decadence.' But the men who did these things were not +decadent; they belonged generally to the most robust classes of what is +generally regarded as a robust age. Again, it will be urged that if men +essentially sane performed such insanities, it was under the capricious +direction of a superstitious religious system. This, again, will not +hold water; for in the purely terrestrial and even sensual departments +of life, such as love and lust, the medieval princes show the same mad +promises and performances, the same misshapen imagination and the same +monstrous self-sacrifice. Here we have a contradiction, to explain which +it is necessary to think of the whole nature of vows from the beginning.<!-- Page 13 --><a name="Page_13"></a> +And if we consider seriously and correctly the nature of vows, we shall, +unless I am much mistaken, come to the conclusion that it is perfectly +sane, and even sensible, to swear to chain mountains together, and that, +if insanity is involved at all, it is a little insane not to do so.</p> + +<p>The man who makes a vow makes an appointment with himself at some +distant time or place. The danger of it is that himself should not keep +the appointment. And in modern times this terror of one's self, of the +weakness and mutability of one's self, has perilously increased, and is +the real basis of the objection to vows of any kind. A modern man +refrains from swearing to count the leaves on every third tree in +Holland Walk, not because it is silly to do so (he does many sillier +things), but because he has a profound conviction that before he had got +to the three hundred and seventy-ninth leaf on the first tree he would +be excessively tired of the subject and want to go home to tea. In other +words, we fear that by that time he will be, in the common but hideously +significant phrase, <i>another man</i>. Now, it is this horrible fairy tale +of a man constantly changing into other men that is the soul of the +Decadence. That John Paterson should, with apparent calm, look forward +to being a certain General Barker on Monday, Dr. Macgregor on Tuesday, +Sir Walter Carstairs on Wednesday, and Sam Slugg on Thursday, may seem a +nightmare; but to that nightmare we give the name of modern culture. One<!-- Page 14 --><a name="Page_14"></a> +great decadent, who is now dead, published a poem some time ago, in +which he powerfully summed up the whole spirit of the movement by +declaring that he could stand in the prison yard and entirely comprehend +the feelings of a man about to be hanged:</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'For he that lives more lives than one</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">More deaths than one must die.'</span><br> + +<p>And the end of all this is that maddening horror of unreality which +descends upon the decadents, and compared with which physical pain +itself would have the freshness of a youthful thing. The one hell which +imagination must conceive as most hellish is to be eternally acting a +play without even the narrowest and dirtiest greenroom in which to be +human. And this is the condition of the decadent, of the aesthete, of +the free-lover. To be everlastingly passing through dangers which we +know cannot scathe us, to be taking oaths which we know cannot bind us, +to be defying enemies who we know cannot conquer us—this is the +grinning tyranny of decadence which is called freedom.</p><!-- Page 15 --><a name="Page_15"></a> + +<p>Let us turn, on the other hand, to the maker of vows. The man who made a +vow, however wild, gave a healthy and natural expression to the +greatness of a great moment. He vowed, for example, to chain two +mountains together, perhaps a symbol of some great relief, or love, or +aspiration. Short as the moment of his resolve might be, it was, like +all great moments, a moment of immortality, and the desire to say of it +<i>exegi monumentum oere perennius</i> was the only sentiment that would +satisfy his mind. The modern aesthetic man would, of course, easily see +the emotional opportunity; he would vow to chain two mountains together. +But, then, he would quite as cheerfully vow to chain the earth to the +moon. And the withering consciousness that he did not mean what he said, +that he was, in truth, saying nothing of any great import, would take +from him exactly that sense of daring actuality which is the excitement +of a vow. For what could be more maddening than an existence in which +our mother or aunt received the information that we were going to +assassinate the King or build a temple on Ben Nevis with the genial +composure of custom?</p> + +<p>The revolt against vows has been carried in our day even to the extent<!-- Page 16 --><a name="Page_16"></a> +of a revolt against the typical vow of marriage. It is most amusing to +listen to the opponents of marriage on this subject. They appear to +imagine that the ideal of constancy was a yoke mysteriously imposed on +mankind by the devil, instead of being, as it is, a yoke consistently +imposed by all lovers on themselves. They have invented a phrase, a +phrase that is a black and white contradiction in two +words—'free-love'—as if a lover ever had been, or ever could be, free. +It is the nature of love to bind itself, and the institution of marriage +merely paid the average man the compliment of taking him at his word. +Modern sages offer to the lover, with an ill-flavoured grin, the largest +liberties and the fullest irresponsibility; but they do not respect him +as the old Church respected him; they do not write his oath upon the +heavens, as the record of his highest moment. They give him every +liberty except the liberty to sell his liberty, which is the only one +that he wants.</p> + +<p>In Mr. Bernard Shaw's brilliant play 'The Philanderer,' we have a vivid +picture of this state of things. Charteris is a man perpetually +endeavouring to be a free-lover, which is like endeavouring to be a<!-- Page 17 --><a name="Page_17"></a> +married bachelor or a white negro. He is wandering in a hungry search +for a certain exhilaration which he can only have when he has the +courage to cease from wandering. Men knew better than this in old +times—in the time, for example, of Shakespeare's heroes. When +Shakespeare's men are really celibate they praise the undoubted +advantages of celibacy, liberty, irresponsibility, a chance of continual +change. But they were not such fools as to continue to talk of liberty +when they were in such a condition that they could be made happy or +miserable by the moving of someone else's eyebrow. Suckling classes love +with debt in his praise of freedom.</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'And he that's fairly out of both</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of all the world is blest.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He lives as in the golden age,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When all things made were common;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He takes his pipe, he takes his glass,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He fears no man or woman.'</span><br> + +<p>This is a perfectly possible, rational and manly position. But what have<!-- Page 18 --><a name="Page_18"></a> +lovers to do with ridiculous affectations of fearing no man or woman? +They know that in the turning of a hand the whole cosmic engine to the +remotest star may become an instrument of music or an instrument of +torture. They hear a song older than Suckling's, that has survived a +hundred philosophies. 'Who is this that looketh out of the window, fair +as the sun, clear as the moon, terrible as an army with banners?'</p> + +<p>As we have said, it is exactly this backdoor, this sense of ha<!-- Page 19 --><a name="Page_19"></a>ving a +retreat behind us, that is, to our minds, the sterilizing spirit in +modern pleasure. Everywhere there is the persistent and insane attempt +to obtain pleasure without paying for it. Thus, in politics the modern +Jingoes practically say, 'Let us have the pleasures of conquerors +without the pains of soldiers: let us sit on sofas and be a hardy race.' +Thus, in religion and morals, the decadent mystics say: 'Let us have the +fragrance of sacred purity without the sorrows of self-restraint; let us +sing hymns alternately to the Virgin and Priapus.' Thus in love the +free-lovers say: 'Let us have the splendour of offering ourselves +without the peril of committing ourselves; let us see whether one cannot +commit suicide an unlimited number of times.'</p> + +<p>Emphatically it will not work. There are thrilling moments, doubtless, +for the spectator, the amateur, and the aesthete; but there is one +thrill that is known only to the soldier who fights for his own flag, to +the ascetic who starves himself for his own illumination, to the lover<!-- Page 20 --><a name="Page_20"></a> +who makes finally his own choice. And it is this transfiguring +self-discipline that makes the vow a truly sane thing. It must have +satisfied even the giant hunger of the soul of a lover or a poet to know +that in consequence of some one instant of decision that strange chain +would hang for centuries in the Alps among the silences of stars and +snows. All around us is the city of small sins, abounding in backways +and retreats, but surely, sooner or later, the towering flame will rise +from the harbour announcing that the reign of the cowards is over and a +man is burning his ships.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_SKELETONS"></a>A DEFENCE OF SKELETONS</h2> +<br> + +<p>Some little time ago I stood among immemorial English trees that seemed +to take hold upon the stars like a brood of Ygdrasils. As I walked among +these living pillars I became gradually aware that the rustics who lived +and died in their shadow adopted a very curious conversational tone.<!-- Page 21 --><a name="Page_21"></a> +They seemed to be constantly apologizing for the trees, as if they were +a very poor show. After elaborate investigation, I discovered that their +gloomy and penitent tone was traceable to the fact that it was winter +and all the trees were bare. I assured them that I did not resent the +fact that it was winter, that I knew the thing had happened before, and +that no forethought on their part could have averted this blow of +destiny. But I could not in any way reconcile them to the fact that it +<i>was</i> winter. There was evidently a general feeling that I had caught +the trees in a kind of disgraceful deshabille, and that they ought not +to be seen until, like the first human sinners, they had covered +themselves with leaves. So it is quite clear that, while very few +people appear to know anything of how trees look in winter, the actual +foresters know less than anyone. So far from the line of the tree when +it is bare appearing harsh and severe, it is luxuriantly indefinable to +an unusual degree; the fringe of the forest melts away like a vignette. +The tops of two or three high trees when they are leafless are so soft +that they seem like the gigantic brooms of that fabulous lady who was +sweeping the cobwebs off the sky. The outline of a leafy forest is in +comparison hard, gross and blotchy; the clouds of night do not more<!-- Page 22 --><a name="Page_22"></a> +certainly obscure the moon than those green and monstrous clouds obscure +the tree; the actual sight of the little wood, with its gray and silver +sea of life, is entirely a winter vision. So dim and delicate is the +heart of the winter woods, a kind of glittering gloaming, that a figure +stepping towards us in the chequered twilight seems as if he were +breaking through unfathomable depths of spiders' webs.</p> + +<p>But surely the idea that its leaves are the chief grace of a tree is a +vulgar one, on a par with the idea that his hair is the chief grace of a +pianist. When winter, that healthy ascetic, carries his gigantic razor +over hill and valley, and shaves all the trees like monks, we feel +surely that they are all the more like trees if they are shorn, just as +so many painters and musicians would be all the more like men if they +were less like mops. But it does appear to be a deep and essential +difficulty that men have an abiding terror of their own structure, or of +the structure of things they love. This is felt dimly in the skeleton of +the tree: it is felt profoundly in the skeleton of the man.</p> + +<p>The importance of the human skeleton is very great, and the horror with +which it is commonly regarded is somew<!-- Page 23 --><a name="Page_23"></a>hat mysterious. Without claiming +for the human skeleton a wholly conventional beauty, we may assert that +he is certainly not uglier than a bull-dog, whose popularity never +wanes, and that he has a vastly more cheerful and ingratiating +expression. But just as man is mysteriously ashamed of the skeletons of +the trees in winter, so he is mysteriously ashamed of the skeleton of +himself in death. It is a singular thing altogether, this horror of the +architecture of things. One would think it would be most unwise in a man +to be afraid of a skeleton, since Nature has set curious and quite +insuperable obstacles to his running away from it.</p> + +<p>One ground exists for this terror: a strange idea has infected humanity +that the skeleton is typical of death. A man might as well say that a +factory chimney was typical of bankruptcy. The factory may be left naked +after ruin, the skeleton may be left naked after bodily dissolution; but +both of them have had a lively and workmanlike life of their own, all +the pulleys creaking, all the wheels turning, in the House of Livelihood +as in the House of Life. There is no reason why this creature (new, as I +fancy, to art), the living skeleton, should not become the essential<!-- Page 24 --><a name="Page_24"></a> +symbol of life.</p> + +<p>The truth is that man's horror of the skeleton is not horror of death at +all. It is man's eccentric glory that he has not, generally speaking, +any objection to being dead, but has a very serious objection to being +undignified. And the fundamental matter which troubles him in the +skeleton is the reminder that the ground-plan of his appearance is +shamelessly grotesque. I do not know why he should object to this. He +contentedly takes his place in a world that does not pretend to be +genteel—a laughing, working, jeering world. He sees millions of animals +carrying, with quite a dandified levity, the most monstrous shapes and +appendages, the most preposterous horns, wings, and legs, when they are +necessary to utility. He sees the good temper of the frog, the +unaccountable happiness of the hippopotamus. He sees a whole universe +which is ridiculous, from the animalcule, with a head too big for its +body, up to the comet, with a tail too big for its head. But when it +comes to the delightful oddity of his own inside, his sense of humour +rather abruptly deserts him.</p> + +<p>In the Middle Ages and in the Renaissance (which was, in certain times +and respects, a much gloomier period) this idea of the skeleton had a +vast influence in freezing the pride out of all earthly pomps and the<!-- Page 25 --><a name="Page_25"></a> +fragrance out of all fleeting pleasures. But it was not, surely, the +mere dread of death that did this, for these were ages in which men went +to meet death singing; it was the idea of the degradation of man in the +grinning ugliness of his structure that withered the juvenile insolence +of beauty and pride. And in this it almost assuredly did more good than +harm. There is nothing so cold or so pitiless as youth, and youth in +aristocratic stations and ages tended to an impeccable dignity, an +endless summer of success which needed to be very sharply reminded of +the scorn of the stars. It was well that such flamboyant prigs should be +convinced that one practical joke, at least, would bowl them over, that +they would fall into one grinning man-trap, and not rise again. That the +whole structure of their existence was as wholesomely ridiculous as that +of a pig or a parrot they could not be expected to realize; that birth +was humorous, coming of age humorous, drinking and fighting humorous, +they were far too young and solemn to know. But at least they were +taught that death was humorous.</p> + +<p>There is a peculiar idea abroad that the value and fascination of what +we call Nature lie in her beauty. But the fact that Nature is beautiful +in the sense that a dado or a Liberty curtain is beautiful, is only one +of her charms, and almost an accidental one. The highest and most +valuable quality in Nature is not her beauty, but her generous and<!-- Page 26 --><a name="Page_26"></a> +defiant ugliness. A hundred instances might be taken. The croaking noise +of the rooks is, in itself, as hideous as the whole hell of sounds in a +London railway tunnel. Yet it uplifts us like a trumpet with its coarse +kindliness and honesty, and the lover in 'Maud' could actually persuade +himself that this abominable noise resembled his lady-love's name. Has +the poet, for whom Nature means only roses and lilies, ever heard a pig +grunting? It is a noise that does a man good—a strong, snorting, +imprisoned noise, breaking its way out of unfathomable dungeons through +every possible outlet and organ. It might be the voice of the earth +itself, snoring in its mighty sleep. This is the deepest, the oldest, +the most wholesome and religious sense of the value of Nature—the value +which comes from her immense babyishness. She is as top-heavy, as +grotesque, as solemn and as happy as a child. The mood does come when we +see all her shapes like shapes that a baby scrawls upon a slate—simple, +rudimentary, a million years older and stronger than the whole disease +that is called Art. The objects of earth and heaven seem to combine into +a nursery tale, and our relation to things seems for a moment so simple +that a dancing lunatic would be needed to do justice to its lucidity and +levity. The tree above my head is flapping like some gigantic bird +standing on one leg; the moon is like the eye of a Cyclops. And, however<!-- Page 27 --><a name="Page_27"></a> +much my face clouds with sombre vanity, or vulgar vengeance, or +contemptible contempt, the bones of my skull beneath it are laughing for +ever.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_PUBLICITY"></a>A DEFENCE OF PUBLICITY</h2> +<br> + +<p>It is a very significant fact that the form of art in which the modern +world has certainly not improved upon the ancient is what may roughly be +called the art of the open air. Public monuments have certainly not +improved, nor has the criticism of them improved, as is evident from the +fashion of condemning such a large number of them as pompous. An +interesting essay might be written on the enormous number of words that +are used as insults when they are really compliments. It is in itself a<!-- Page 28 --><a name="Page_28"></a> +singular study in that tendency which, as I have said, is always making +things out worse than they are, and necessitating a systematic attitude +of defence. Thus, for example, some dramatic critics cast contempt upon +a dramatic performance by calling it theatrical, which simply means that +it is suitable to a theatre, and is as much a compliment as calling a +poem poetical. Similarly we speak disdainfully of a certain kind of work +as sentimental, which simply means possessing the admirable and +essential quality of sentiment. Such phrases are all parts of one +peddling and cowardly philosophy, and remind us of the days when +'enthusiast' was a term of reproach. But of all this vocabulary of +unconscious eulogies nothing is more striking than the word 'pompous.'</p> + +<p>Properly speaking, of course, a public monument ought to be pompous. +Pomp is its very object; it would be absurd to have columns and pyramids +blushing in some coy nook like violets in the woods of spring. And +public monuments have in this matter a great and much-needed lesson to +teach. Valour and mercy and the great enthusiasms ought to be a great<!-- Page 29 --><a name="Page_29"></a> +deal more public than they are at present. We are too fond nowadays of +committing the sin of fear and calling it the virtue of reverence. We +have forgotten the old and wholesome morality of the Book of Proverbs, +'Wisdom crieth without; her voice is heard in the streets.' In Athens +and Florence her voice was heard in the streets. They had an outdoor +life of war and argument, and they had what modern commercial +civilization has never had—an outdoor art. Religious services, the most +sacred of all things, have always been held publicly; it is entirely a +new and debased notion that sanctity is the same as secrecy. A great +many modern poets, with the most abstruse and delicate sensibilities, +love darkness, when all is said and done, much for the same reason that +thieves love it. The mission of a great spire or statue should be to +strike the spirit with a sudden sense of pride as with a thunderbolt. It +should lift us with it into the empty and ennobling air. Along the base +of every noble monument, whatever else may be written there, runs in +invisible letters the lines of Swinburne:</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'This thing is God:</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To be man with thy might,</span><br><!-- Page 30 --><a name="Page_30"></a> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To go straight in the strength of thy spirit, and live</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">out thy life in the light.'</span><br> + +<p>If a public monument does not meet this first supreme and obvious need, +that it should be public and monumental, it fails from the outset.</p> + +<p>There has arisen lately a school of realistic sculpture, which may +perhaps be better described as a school of sketchy sculpture. Such a +movement was right and inevitable as a reaction from the mean and dingy +pomposity of English Victorian statuary. Perhaps the most hideous and +depressing object in the universe—far more hideous and depressing than +one of Mr. H.G. Wells's shapeless monsters of the slime (and not at all +unlike them)—is the statue of an English philanthropist. Almost as bad, +though, of course, not quite as bad, are the statues of English +politicians in Parliament Fields. Each of them is cased in a cylindrical +frock-coat, and each carries either a scroll or a dubious-looking +garment over the arm that might be either a bathing-towel or a light +great-coat. Each of them is in an oratorical attitude, which has all the +disadvantage of being affected without even any of the advantages of +being theatrical. Let no one suppose that such abortions arise merely<!-- Page 31 --><a name="Page_31"></a> +from technical demerit. In every line of those leaden dolls is expressed +the fact that they were not set up with any heat of natural enthusiasm +for beauty or dignity. They were set up mechanically, because it would +seem indecorous or stingy if they were not set up. They were even set up +sulkily, in a utilitarian age which was haunted by the thought that +there were a great many more sensible ways of spending money. So long as +this is the dominant national sentiment, the land is barren, statues and +churches will not grow—for they have to grow, as much as trees and +flowers. But this moral disadvantage which lay so heavily upon the early +Victorian sculpture lies in a modified degree upon that rough, +picturesque, commonplace sculpture which has begun to arise, and of +which the statue of Darwin in the South Kensington Museum and the statue +of Gordon in Trafalgar Square are admirable examples. It is not enough +for a popular monument to be artistic, like a black charcoal sketch; it +must be striking; it must be in the highest sense of the word +sensational; it must stand for humanity; it must speak for us to the +stars; it must declare in the face of all the heavens that when the +longest and blackest catalogue has been made of all our crimes and +follies there are some things of which we men are not ashamed.</p> +<!-- Page 32 --><a name="Page_32"></a> +<p>The two modes of commemorating a public man are a statue and a +biography. They are alike in certain respects, as, for example, in the +fact that neither of them resembles the original, and that both of them +commonly tone down not only all a man's vices, but all the more amusing +of his virtues. But they are treated in one respect differently. We +never hear anything about biography without hearing something about the +sanctity of private life and the necessity for suppressing the whole of +the most important part of a man's existence. The sculptor does not work +at this disadvantage. The sculptor does not leave out the nose of an +eminent philanthropist because it is too beautiful to be given to the +public; he does not depict a statesman with a sack over his head because +his smile was too sweet to be endurable in the light of day. But in +biography the thesis is popularly and solidly maintained, so that it +requires some courage even to hint a doubt of it, that the better a man +was, the more truly human life he led, the less should be said about it.</p> + +<p>For this idea, this modern idea that sanctity is identical with secrecy, +there is one thing at least to be said. It is for all practical purposes +an entirely new idea; it was unknown to all the ages in which the idea<!-- Page 33 --><a name="Page_33"></a> +of sanctity really flourished. The record of the great spiritual +movements of mankind is dead against the idea that spirituality is a +private matter. The most awful secret of every man's soul, its most +lonely and individual need, its most primal and psychological +relationship, the thing called worship, the communication between the +soul and the last reality—this most private matter is the most public +spectacle in the world. Anyone who chooses to walk into a large church +on Sunday morning may see a hundred men each alone with his Maker. He +stands, in truth, in the presence of one of the strangest spectacles in +the world—a mob of hermits. And in thus definitely espousing publicity +by making public the most internal mystery, Christianity acts in +accordance with its earliest origins and its terrible beginning. It was +surely by no accident that the spectacle which darkened the sun at +noonday was set upon a hill. The martyrdoms of the early Christians were +public not only by the caprice of the oppressor, but by the whole desire +and conception of the victims.</p> + +<p>The mere grammatical meaning of the word 'martyr' breaks into pieces at +a blow the whole notion of the privacy of goodness. The Christian<!-- Page 34 --><a name="Page_34"></a> +martyrdoms were more than demonstrations: they were advertisements. In +our day the new theory of spiritual delicacy would desire to alter all +this. It would permit Christ to be crucified if it was necessary to His +Divine nature, but it would ask in the name of good taste why He could +not be crucified in a private room. It would declare that the act of a +martyr in being torn in pieces by lions was vulgar and sensational, +though, of course, it would have no objection to being torn in pieces by +a lion in one's own parlour before a circle of really intimate friends.</p> + +<p>It is, I am inclined to think, a decadent and diseased purity which has +inaugurated this notion that the sacred object must be hidden. The stars +have never lost their sanctity, and they are more shameless and naked +and numerous than advertisements of Pears' soap. It would be a strange +world indeed if Nature was suddenly stricken with this ethereal shame, +if the trees grew with their roots in the air and their load of leaves +and blossoms underground, if the flowers closed at dawn and opened at +sunset, if the sunflower turned towards the darkness, and the birds +flew, like bats, by night.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"><!-- Page 35 --><a name="Page_35"></a> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_NONSENSE"></a>A DEFENCE OF NONSENSE</h2> +<br> + +<p>There are two equal and eternal ways of looking at this twilight world +of ours: we may see it as the twilight of evening or the twilight of +morning; we may think of anything, down to a fallen acorn, as a +descendant or as an ancestor. There are times when we are almost +crushed, not so much with the load of the evil as with the load of the +goodness of humanity, when we feel that we are nothing but the +inheritors of a humiliating splendour. But there are other times when +everything seems primitive, when the ancient stars are only sparks blown +from a boy's bonfire, when the whole earth seems so young and +experimental that even the white hair of the aged, in the fine biblical +phrase, is like almond-trees that blossom, like the white hawthorn grown +in May. That it is good for a man to realize that he is 'the heir of all +the ages' is pretty commonly admitted; it is a less popular but equally<!-- Page 36 --><a name="Page_36"></a> +important point that it is good for him sometimes to realize that he is +not only an ancestor, but an ancestor of primal antiquity; it is good +for him to wonder whether he is not a hero, and to experience ennobling +doubts as to whether he is not a solar myth.</p> + +<p>The matters which most thoroughly evoke this sense of the abiding +childhood of the world are those which are really fresh, abrupt and +inventive in any age; and if we were asked what was the best proof of +this adventurous youth in the nineteenth century we should say, with all +respect to its portentous sciences and philosophies, that it was to be +found in the rhymes of Mr. Edward Lear and in the literature of +nonsense. 'The Dong with the Luminous Nose,' at least, is original, as +the first ship and the first plough were original.</p> + +<p>It is true in a certain sense that some of the greatest writers the +world has seen—Aristophanes, Rabelais and Sterne—have written +nonsense; but unless we are mistaken, it is in a widely different sense. +The nonsense of these men was satiric—that is to say, symbolic; it was<!-- Page 37 --><a name="Page_37"></a> +a kind of exuberant capering round a discovered truth. There is all the +difference in the world between the instinct of satire, which, seeing in +the Kaiser's moustaches something typical of him, draws them continually +larger and larger; and the instinct of nonsense which, for no reason +whatever, imagines what those moustaches would look like on the present +Archbishop of Canterbury if he grew them in a fit of absence of mind. We +incline to think that no age except our own could have understood that +the Quangle-Wangle meant absolutely nothing, and the Lands of the +Jumblies were absolutely nowhere. We fancy that if the account of the +knave's trial in 'Alice in Wonderland' had been published in the +seventeenth century it would have been bracketed with Bunyan's 'Trial of +Faithful' as a parody on the State prosecutions of the time. We fancy +that if 'The Dong with the Luminous Nose' had appeared in the same +period everyone would have called it a dull satire on Oliver Cromwell.</p> + +<p>It is altogether advisedly that we quote chiefly from Mr. Lear's +'Nonsense Rhymes.' To our mind he is both chronologically and +essentially the father of nonsense; we think him superior to Lewis +Carroll. In one sense, indeed, Lewis Carroll has a great advantage. We +know what Lewis Carroll was in daily life: he was a singularly serious +and conventional don, universally respected, but very much of a pedant +and something of a Philistine. Thus his strange double life in earth and<!-- Page 38 --><a name="Page_38"></a> +in dreamland emphasizes the idea that lies at the back of nonsense—the +idea of <i>escape</i>, of escape into a world where things are not fixed +horribly in an eternal appropriateness, where apples grow on pear-trees, +and any odd man you meet may have three legs. Lewis Carroll, living one +life in which he would have thundered morally against any one who walked +on the wrong plot of grass, and another life in which he would +cheerfully call the sun green and the moon blue, was, by his very +divided nature, his one foot on both worlds, a perfect type of the +position of modern nonsense. His Wonderland is a country populated by +insane mathematicians. We feel the whole is an escape into a world of +masquerade; we feel that if we could pierce their disguises, we might +discover that Humpty Dumpty and the March Hare were Professors and +Doctors of Divinity enjoying a mental holiday. This sense of escape is +certainly less emphatic in Edward Lear, because of the completeness of +his citizenship in the world of unreason. We do not know his prosaic +biography as we know Lewis Carroll's. We accept him as a purely fabulous +figure, on his own description of himself:</p> +<!-- Page 39 --><a name="Page_39"></a> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'His body is perfectly spherical,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He weareth a runcible hat.'</span><br> + +<p>While Lewis Carroll's Wonderland is purely intellectual, Lear +introduces quite another element—the element of the poetical and even +emotional. Carroll works by the pure reason, but this is not so strong a +contrast; for, after all, mankind in the main has always regarded reason +as a bit of a joke. Lear introduces his unmeaning words and his +amorphous creatures not with the pomp of reason, but with the romantic +prelude of rich hues and haunting rhythms.</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Far and few, far and few,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are the lands where the Jumblies live,'</span><br> + +<p>is an entirely different type of poetry to that exhibited in +'Jabberwocky.' Carroll, with a sense of mathematical neatness, makes his +whole poem a mosaic of new and mysterious words. But Edward Lear, with +more subtle and placid effrontery, is always introducing scraps of his +own elvish dialect into the middle of simple and rational statements,<!-- Page 40 --><a name="Page_40"></a> +until we are almost stunned into admitting that we know what they mean. +There is a genial ring of commonsense about such lines as,</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'For his aunt Jobiska said "Every one knows</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That a Pobble is better without his toes,"'</span><br> + +<p>which is beyond the reach of Carroll. The poet seems so easy on the +matter that we are almost driven to pretend that we see his meaning, +that we know the peculiar difficulties of a Pobble, that we are as old +travellers in the 'Gromboolian Plain' as he is.</p> + +<p>Our claim that nonsense is a new literature (we might almost say a new +sense) would be quite indefensible if nonsense were nothing more than a +mere aesthetic fancy. Nothing sublimely artistic has ever arisen out of +mere art, any more than anything essentially reasonable has ever arisen +out of the pure reason. There must always be a rich moral soil for any +great aesthetic growth. The principle of <i>art for art's sake</i> is a very +good principle if it means that there is a vital distinction between the +earth and the tree that has its roots in the earth; but it is a very bad<!-- Page 41 --><a name="Page_41"></a> +principle if it means that the tree could grow just as well with its +roots in the air. Every great literature has always been +allegorical—allegorical of some view of the whole universe. The 'Iliad' +is only great because all life is a battle, the 'Odyssey' because all +life is a journey, the Book of Job because all life is a riddle. There +is one attitude in which we think that all existence is summed up in the +word 'ghosts'; another, and somewhat better one, in which we think it +is summed up in the words 'A Midsummer Night's Dream.' Even the +vulgarest melodrama or detective story can be good if it expresses +something of the delight in sinister possibilities—the healthy lust for +darkness and terror which may come on us any night in walking down a +dark lane. If, therefore, nonsense is really to be the literature of the +future, it must have its own version of the Cosmos to offer; the world +must not only be the tragic, romantic, and religious, it must be +nonsensical also. And here we fancy that nonsense will, in a very +unexpected way, come to the aid of the spiritual view of things. +Religion has for centuries been trying to make men exult in the +'wonders' of creation, but it has forgotten that a thing cannot be +completely wonderful so long as it remains sensible. So long as we +regard a tree as an obvious thing, naturally and reasonably created for<!-- Page 42 --><a name="Page_42"></a> +a giraffe to eat, we cannot properly wonder at it. It is when we +consider it as a prodigious wave of the living soil sprawling up to the +skies for no reason in particular that we take off our hats, to the +astonishment of the park-keeper. Everything has in fact another side to +it, like the moon, the patroness of nonsense. Viewed from that other +side, a bird is a blossom broken loose from its chain of stalk, a man a +quadruped begging on its hind legs, a house a gigantesque hat to cover a +man from the sun, a chair an apparatus of four wooden legs for a cripple +with only two.</p> + +<p>This is the side of things which tends most truly to spiritual wonder. +It is significant that in the greatest religious poem existent, the Book +of Job, the argument which convinces the infidel is not (as has been<!-- Page 43 --><a name="Page_43"></a> +represented by the merely rational religionism of the eighteenth +century) a picture of the ordered beneficence of the Creation; but, on +the contrary, a picture of the huge and undecipherable unreason of it. +'Hast Thou sent the rain upon the desert where no man is?' This simple +sense of wonder at the shapes of things, and at their exuberant +independence of our intellectual standards and our trivial definitions, +is the basis of spirituality as it is the basis of nonsense. Nonsense +and faith (strange as the conjunction may seem) are the two supreme +symbolic assertions of the truth that to draw out the soul of things +with a syllogism is as impossible as to draw out Leviathan with a hook. +The well-meaning person who, by merely studying the logical side of +things, has decided that 'faith is nonsense,' does not know how truly he +speaks; later it may come back to him in the form that nonsense is +faith.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"><!-- Page 44 --><a name="Page_44"></a> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_PLANETS"></a>A DEFENCE OF PLANETS</h2> +<br> + +<p>A book has at one time come under my notice called 'Terra Firma: the +Earth not a Planet.' The author was a Mr. D. Wardlaw Scott, and he +quoted very seriously the opinions of a large number of other persons, +of whom we have never heard, but who are evidently very important. Mr. +Beach of Southsea, for example, thinks that the world is flat; and in +Southsea perhaps it is. It is no part of my present intention, however, +to follow Mr. Scott's arguments in detail. On the lines of such +arguments it may be shown that the earth is flat, and, for the matter of +that, that it is triangular. A few examples will suffice:</p> + +<p>One of Mr. Scott's objections was that if a projectile is fired from a +moving body there is a difference in the distance to which it carries +according to the direction in which it is sent. But as in practice there +is not the slightest difference whichever way the thing is done, in the +case of the earth 'we have a forcible overthrow of all fancies relative +to the motion of the earth, and a striking proof that the earth is not +a globe.'</p><!-- Page 45 --><a name="Page_45"></a> + +<p>This is altogether one of the quaintest arguments we have ever seen. It +never seems to occur to the author, among other things, that when the +firing and falling of the shot all take place upon the moving body, +there is nothing whatever to compare them with. As a matter of fact, of +course, a shot fired at an elephant does actually often travel towards +the marksman, but much slower than the marksman travels. Mr. Scott +probably would not like to contemplate the fact that the elephant, +properly speaking, swings round and hits the bullet. To us it appears +full of a rich cosmic humour.</p> + +<p>I will only give one other example of the astronomical proofs:</p> + +<p>'If the earth were a globe, the distance round the surface, say, at 45 +degrees south latitude, could not possibly be any greater than the same +latitude north; but since it is found by navigators to be twice the +distance—to say the least of it—or double the distance it ought to be +according to the globular theory, it is a proof that the earth is not a +globe.'</p><!-- Page 46 --><a name="Page_46"></a> + +<p>This sort of thing reduces my mind to a pulp. I can faintly resist when +a man says that if the earth were a globe cats would not have four +legs; but when he says that if the earth were a globe cats would not +have five legs I am crushed.</p> + +<p>But, as I have indicated, it is not in the scientific aspect of this +remarkable theory that I am for the moment interested. It is rather with +the difference between the flat and the round worlds as conceptions in +art and imagination that I am concerned. It is a very remarkable thing +that none of us are really Copernicans in our actual outlook upon +things. We are convinced intellectually that we inhabit a small +provincial planet, but we do not feel in the least suburban. Men of +science have quarrelled with the Bible because it is not based upon the +true astronomical system, but it is certainly open to the orthodox to +say that if it had been it would never have convinced anybody.</p> + +<p>If a single poem or a single story were really transfused with the +Copernican idea, the thing would be a nightmare. Can we think of a +solemn scene of mountain stillness in which some prophet is standing in<!-- Page 47 --><a name="Page_47"></a> +a trance, and then realize that the whole scene is whizzing round like a +zoetrope at the rate of nineteen miles a second? Could we tolerate the +notion of a mighty King delivering a sublime fiat and then remember +that for all practical purposes he is hanging head downwards in space? A +strange fable might be written of a man who was blessed or cursed with +the Copernican eye, and saw all men on the earth like tintacks +clustering round a magnet. It would be singular to imagine how very +different the speech of an aggressive egoist, announcing the +independence and divinity of man, would sound if he were seen hanging on +to the planet by his boot soles.</p> + +<p>For, despite Mr. Wardlaw Scott's horror at the Newtonian astronomy and +its contradiction of the Bible, the whole distinction is a good instance +of the difference between letter and spirit; the letter of the Old +Testament is opposed to the conception of the solar system, but the +spirit has much kinship with it. The writers of the Book of Genesis had +no theory of gravitation, which to the normal person will appear a fact +of as much importance as that they had no umbrellas. But the theory of +gravitation has a curiously Hebrew sentiment in it—a sentiment of +combined dependence and certainty, a sense of grappling unity, by which +all things hang upon one thread. 'Thou hast hanged the world upon +nothing,' said the author of the Book <!-- Page 48 --><a name="Page_48"></a>of Job, and in that sentence +wrote the whole appalling poetry of modern astronomy. The sense of the +preciousness and fragility of the universe, the sense of being in the +hollow of a hand, is one which the round and rolling earth gives in its +most thrilling form. Mr. Wardlaw Scott's flat earth would be the true +territory for a comfortable atheist. Nor would the old Jews have any +objection to being as much upside down as right way up. They had no +foolish ideas about the dignity of man.</p> + +<p>It would be an interesting speculation to imagine whether the world will +ever develop a Copernican poetry and a Copernican habit of fancy; +whether we shall ever speak of 'early earth-turn' instead of 'early +sunrise,' and speak indifferently of looking up at the daisies, or +looking down on the stars. But if we ever do, there are really a large +number of big and fantastic facts awaiting us, worthy to make a new +mythology. Mr. Wardlaw Scott, for example, with genuine, if unconscious, +imagination, says that according to astronomers, 'the sea is a vast +mountain of water miles high.' To have discovered that mountain of +moving crystal, in which the fishes build like birds, is like +discovering Atlantis: it is enough to make the old world young again.<!-- Page 49 --><a name="Page_49"></a> +In the new poetry which we contemplate, athletic young men will set out +sturdily to climb up the face of the sea. If we once realize all this +earth as it is, we should find ourselves in a land of miracles: we shall +discover a new planet at the moment that we discover our own. Among all +the strange things that men have forgotten, the most universal and +catastrophic lapse of memory is that by which they have forgotten that +they are living on a star.</p> + +<p>In the early days of the world, the discovery of a fact of natural +history was immediately followed by the realization of it as a fact of +poetry. When man awoke from the long fit of absent-mindedness which is +called the automatic animal state, and began to notice the queer facts +that the sky was blue and the grass green, he immediately began to use +those facts symbolically. Blue, the colour of the sky, became a symbol +of celestial holiness; green passed into the language as indicating a +freshness verging upon unintelligence. If we had the good fortune to +live in a world in which the sky was green and the grass blue, the +symbolism would have been different. B<!-- Page 50 --><a name="Page_50"></a>ut for some mysterious reason this +habit of realizing poetically the facts of science has ceased abruptly +with scientific progress, and all the confounding portents preached by +Galileo and Newton have fallen on deaf ears. They painted a picture of +the universe compared with which the Apocalypse with its falling stars +was a mere idyll. They declared that we are all careering through space, +clinging to a cannon-ball, and the poets ignore the matter as if it were +a remark about the weather. They say that an invisible force holds us in +our own armchairs while the earth hurtles like a boomerang; and men +still go back to dusty records to prove the mercy of God. They tell us +that Mr. Scott's monstrous vision of a mountain of sea-water rising in a +solid dome, like the glass mountain in the fairy-tale, is actually a +fact, and men still go back to the fairy-tale. To what towering heights +of poetic imagery might we not have risen if only the poetizing of +natural history had continued and man's fancy had played with the +planets as naturally as it once played with the flowers! We might have +had a planetary patriotism, in which the green leaf should be like a +cockade, and the sea an everlasting dance of drums. We might have been +proud of what our star has wrought, and worn its heraldry haughtily in +the blind tournament of the spheres. A<!-- Page 51 --><a name="Page_51"></a>ll this, indeed, we may surely do +yet; for with all the multiplicity of knowledge there is one thing +happily that no man knows: whether the world is old or young.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_CHINA_SHEPHERDESSES"></a>A DEFENCE OF CHINA SHEPHERDESSES</h2> +<br><!-- Page 52 --><a name="Page_52"></a> + +<p>There are some things of which the world does not like to be reminded, +for they are the dead loves of the world. One of these is that great +enthusiasm for the Arcadian life which, however much it may now lie open +to the sneers of realism, did, beyond all question, hold sway for an +enormous period of the world's history, from the times that we describe +as ancient down to times that may fairly be called recent. The +conception of the innocent and hilarious life of shepherds and +shepherdesses certainly covered and absorbed the time of Theocritus, of +Virgil, of Catullus, of Dante, of Cervantes, of Ariosto, of Shakespeare, +and of Pope. We are told that the gods of the heathen were stone and +brass, but stone and brass have never endured with the long endurance of +the China Shepherdess. The Catholic Church and the Ideal Shepherd are +indeed almost the only things that have bridged the abyss between the +ancient world and the modern. Yet, as we say, the world does not like +to be reminded of this boyish enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>But imagination, the function of the historian, cannot let so great an<!-- Page 53 --><a name="Page_53"></a> +element alone. By the cheap revolutionary it is commonly supposed that +imagination is a merely rebellious thing, that it has its chief function +in devising new and fantastic republics. But imagination has its highest +use in a retrospective realization. The trumpet of imagination, like the +trumpet of the Resurrection, calls the dead out of their graves. +Imagination sees Delphi with the eyes of a Greek, Jerusalem with the +eyes of a Crusader, Paris with the eyes of a Jacobin, and Arcadia with +the eyes of a Euphuist. The prime function of imagination is to see our +whole orderly system of life as a pile of stratified revolutions. In +spite of all revolutionaries it must be said that the function of +imagination is not to make strange things settled, so much as to make +settled things strange; not so much to make wonders facts as to make +facts wonders. To the imaginative the truisms are all paradoxes, since +they were paradoxes in the Stone Age; to them the ordinary copy-book +blazes with blasphemy.</p> + +<p>Let us, then, consider in this light the old pastoral or Arcadian ideal. +But first certainly one thing must be definitely recognised. This +Arcadian art and literature is a lost enthusiasm. To study it is like +fumbling in the love-letters of a dead man. To us its flowers seem as +tawdry as cockades; the lambs that dance to the shepherd's pipe seem to +dance with all the artificiality of a ballet. Even our own prosaic toil +seems to us more joyous than that holiday. Where its ancient exuberance<!-- Page 54 --><a name="Page_54"></a> +passed the bounds of wisdom and even of virtue, its caperings seem +frozen into the stillness of an antique frieze. In those gray old +pictures a bacchanal seems as dull as an archdeacon. Their very sins +seem colder than our restraints.</p> + +<p>All this may be frankly recognised: all the barren sentimentality of the +Arcadian ideal and all its insolent optimism. But when all is said and +done, something else remains.</p> + +<p>Through ages in which the most arrogant and elaborate ideals of power +and civilization held otherwise undisputed sway, the ideal of the +perfect and healthy peasant did undoubtedly represent in some shape or +form the conception that there was a dignity in simplicity and a dignity +in labour. It was good for the ancient aristocrat, even if he could not +attain to innocence and the wisdom of the earth, to believe that these +things were the secrets of the priesthood of the poor. It was good for +him to believe that even if heaven was not above him, heaven was below +him. It was well that he should have amid all his flamboyant triumphs +the never-extinguished sentiment that there was something better than +his triumphs, the conception that 'there remaineth a rest.'</p><!-- Page 55 --><a name="Page_55"></a> + +<p>The conception of the Ideal Shepherd seems absurd to our modern ideas. +But, after all, it was perhaps the only trade of the democracy which was +equalized with the trades of the aristocracy even by the aristocracy +itself. The shepherd of pastoral poetry was, without doubt, very +different from the shepherd of actual fact. Where one innocently piped +to his lambs, the other innocently swore at them; and their divergence +in intellect and personal cleanliness was immense. But the difference +between the ideal shepherd who danced with Amaryllis and the real +shepherd who thrashed her is not a scrap greater than the difference +between the ideal soldier who dies to capture the colours and the real +soldier who lives to clean his accoutrements, between the ideal priest +who is everlastingly by someone's bed and the real priest who is as glad +as anyone else to get to his own. There are ideal conceptions and real +men in every calling; yet there are few who object to the ideal +conceptions, and not many, after all, who object to the real men.</p> + +<p>The fact, then, is this: So far from resenting the existence in art and +literature of an ideal shepherd, I genuinely regret that the shepherd is<!-- Page 56 --><a name="Page_56"></a> +the only democratic calling that has ever been raised to the level of +the heroic callings conceived by an aristocratic age. So far from +objecting to the Ideal Shepherd, I wish there were an Ideal Postman, an +Ideal Grocer, and an Ideal Plumber. It is undoubtedly true that we +should laugh at the idea of an Ideal Postman; it is true, and it proves +that we are not genuine democrats.</p> + +<p>Undoubtedly the modern grocer, if called upon to act in an Arcadian +manner, if desired to oblige with a symbolic dance expressive of the +delights of grocery, or to perform on some simple instrument while his +assistants skipped around him, would be embarrassed, and perhaps even +reluctant. But it may be questioned whether this temporary reluctance of +the grocer is a good thing, or evidence of a good condition of poetic +feeling in the grocery business as a whole. There certainly should be an +ideal image of health and happiness in any trade, and its remoteness +from the reality is not the only important question. No one supposes +that the mass of traditional conceptions of duty and glory are always +operative, for example, in the mind of a soldier or a doctor; that the +Battle of Waterloo actually makes a private enjoy pipeclaying his<!-- Page 57 --><a name="Page_57"></a> +trousers, or that the 'health of humanity' softens the momentary +phraseology of a physician called out of bed at two o'clock in the +morning. But although no ideal obliterates the ugly drudgery and detail +of any calling, that ideal does, in the case of the soldier or the +doctor, exist definitely in the background and makes that drudgery worth +while as a whole. It is a serious calamity that no such ideal exists in +the case of the vast number of honourable trades and crafts on which the +existence of a modern city depends. It is a pity that current thought +and sentiment offer nothing corresponding to the old conception of +patron saints. If they did there would be a Patron Saint of Plumbers, +and this would alone be a revolution, for it would force the individual +craftsman to believe that there was once a perfect being who did +actually plumb.</p> + +<p>When all is said and done, then, we think it much open to question +whether the world has not lost something in the complete disappearance +of the ideal of the happy peasant. It is foolish enough to suppose that +the rustic went about all over ribbons, but it is better than knowing +that he goes about all over rags and being indifferent to the fact. The<!-- Page 58 --><a name="Page_58"></a> +modern realistic study of the poor does in reality lead the student +further astray than the old idyllic notion. For we cannot get the +chiaroscuro of humble life so long as its virtues seem to us as gross as +its vices and its joys as sullen as its sorrows. Probably at the very +moment that we can see nothing but a dull-faced man smoking and drinking +heavily with his friend in a pot-house, the man himself is on his soul's +holiday, crowned with the flowers of a passionate idleness, and far more +like the Happy Peasant than the world will ever know.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_USEFUL_INFORMATION"></a>A DEFENCE OF USEFUL INFORMATION</h2> +<br> + +<p>It is natural and proper enough that the masses of explosive ammunition +stored up in detective stories and the replete and solid sweet-stuff +shops which are called sentimental novelettes should be popular with the<!-- Page 59 --><a name="Page_59"></a> +ordinary customer. It is not difficult to realize that all of us, +ignorant or cultivated, are primarily interested in murder and +love-making. The really extraordinary thing is that the most appalling +fictions are not actually so popular as that literature which deals with +the most undisputed and depressing facts. Men are not apparently so +interested in murder and love-making as they are in the number of +different forms of latchkey which exist in London or the time that it<!-- Page 60 --><a name="Page_60"></a> +would take a grasshopper to jump from Cairo to the Cape. The enormous +mass of fatuous and useless truth which fills the most widely-circulated +papers, such as <i>Tit-Bits, Science Siftings</i>, and many of the +illustrated magazines, is certainly one of the most extraordinary kinds +of emotional and mental pabulum on which man ever fed. It is almost +incredible that these preposterous statistics should actually be more +popular than the most blood-curdling mysteries and the most luxurious +debauches of sentiment. To imagine it is like imagining the humorous +passages in Bradshaw's Railway Guide read aloud on winter evenings. It +is like conceiving a man unable to put down an advertisement of Mother +Seigel's Syrup because he wished to know what eventually happened to the +young man who was extremely ill at Edinburgh. In the case of cheap +detective stories and cheap novelettes, we can most of us feel, whatever +our degree of education, that it might be possible to read them if we +gave full indulgence to a lower and more facile part of our natures; at +the worst we feel that we might enjoy them as we might enjoy<!-- Page 61 --><a name="Page_61"></a> +bull-baiting or getting drunk. But the literature of information is +absolutely mysterious to us. We can no more think of amusing ourselves +with it than of reading whole pages of a Surbiton local directory. To +read such things would not be a piece of vulgar indulgence; it would be +a highly arduous and meritorious enterprise. It is this fact which +constitutes a profound and almost unfathomable interest in this +particular branch of popular literature.</p> + +<p>Primarily, at least, there is one rather peculiar thing which must in +justice be said about it. The readers of this strange science must be +allowed to be, upon the whole, as disinterested as a prophet seeing +visions or a child reading fairy-tales. Here, again, we find, as we so +often do, that whatever view of this matter of popular literature we can +trust, we can trust least of all the comment and censure current among +the vulgar educated. The ordinary version of the ground of this +popularity for information, which would be given by a person of greater +cultivation, would be that common men are chiefly interested in those +sordid facts that surround them on every side. A very small degree of +examination will show us that whatever ground there is for the +popularity of these insane encyclopaedias, it cannot be the ground of +utility. The version of life given by a pe<!-- Page 62 --><a name="Page_62"></a>nny novelette may be very +moonstruck and unreliable, but it is at least more likely to contain +facts relevant to daily life than compilations on the subject of the +number of cows' tails that would reach the North Pole. There are many +more people who are in love than there are people who have any +intention of counting or collecting cows' tails. It is evident to me +that the grounds of this widespread madness of information for +information's sake must be sought in other and deeper parts of human +nature than those daily needs which lie so near the surface that even +social philosophers have discovered them somewhere in that profound and +eternal instinct for enthusiasm and minding other people's business +which made great popular movements like the Crusades or the Gordon +Riots.</p> + +<p>I once had the pleasure of knowing a man who actually talked in private +life after the manner of these papers. His conversation consisted of +fragmentary statements about height and weight and depth and time and +population, and his conversation was a nightmare of dulness. During the +shortest pause he would ask whether his interlocutors were aware how +many tons of rust were scraped every year off the Menai Bridge, and how +many rival shops Mr. Whiteley had bought up since he opened his<!-- Page 63 --><a name="Page_63"></a> +business. The attitude of his acquaintances towards this inexhaustible +entertainer varied according to his presence or absence between +indifference and terror. It was frightful to think of a man's brain +being stocked with such inexpressibly profitless treasures. It was like +visiting some imposing British Museum and finding its galleries and +glass cases filled with specimens of London mud, of common mortar, of +broken walking-sticks and cheap tobacco. Years afterwards I discovered +that this intolerable prosaic bore had been, in fact, a poet. I learnt +that every item of this multitudinous information was totally and +unblushingly untrue, that for all I knew he had made it up as he went +along; that no tons of rust are scraped off the Menai Bridge, and that +the rival tradesmen and Mr. Whiteley were creatures of the poet's brain. +Instantly I conceived consuming respect for the man who was so +circumstantial, so monotonous, so entirely purposeless a liar. With him +it must have been a case of art for art's sake. The joke sustained so +gravely through a respected lifetime was of that order of joke which is +shared with omniscience. But what struck me more cogently upon +reflection was the fact that these immeasurable trivialities, which had +struck me as utterly vulgar and arid when I thought they were true,<!-- Page 64 --><a name="Page_64"></a> +immediately became picturesque and almost brilliant when I thought they +were inventions of the human fancy. And here, as it seems to me, I laid +my finger upon a fundamental quality of the cultivated class which +prevents it, and will, perhaps, always prevent it from seeing with the +eyes of popular imagination. The merely educated can scarcely ever be +brought to believe that this world is itself an interesting place. When +they look at a work of art, good or bad, they expect to be interested, +but when they look at a newspaper advertisement or a group in the +street, they do not, properly and literally speaking, expect to be +interested. But to common and simple people this world is a work of art, +though it is, like many great works of art, anonymous. They look to life +for interest with the same kind of cheerful and uneradicable assurance +with which we look for interest at a comedy for which we have paid money +at the door. To the eyes of the ultimate school of contemporary +fastidiousness, the universe is indeed an ill-drawn and over-coloured +picture, the scrawlings in circles of a baby upon the slate of night; +its starry skies are a vulgar pattern which they would not have for a +wallpaper, its flowers and fruits have a cockney brilliancy, like the +holiday hat of a flower-girl. Hence, degraded by art to its own level, +they have lost altogether that primitive and typical taste of man—the +taste for news. By this essential taste for news<!-- Page 65 --><a name="Page_65"></a>, I mean the pleasure in +hearing the mere fact that a man has died at the age of 110 in South +Wales, or that the horses ran away at a funeral in San Francisco. Large +masses of the early faiths and politics of the world, numbers of the +miracles and heroic anecdotes, are based primarily upon this love of +something that has just happened, this divine institution of gossip. +When Christianity was named the good news, it spread rapidly, not only +because it was good, but also because it was news. So it is that if any +of us have ever spoken to a navvy in a train about the daily paper, we +have generally found the navvy interested, not in those struggles of +Parliaments and trades unions which sometimes are, and are always +supposed to be, for his benefit; but in the fact that an unusually large +whale has been washed up on the coast of Orkney, or that some leading +millionaire like Mr. Harmsworth is reported to break a hundred pipes a +year. The educated classes, cloyed and demoralized with the mere +indulgence of art and mood, can no longer understand the idle and +splendid disinterestedness of the reader of <i>Pearson's Weekly</i>. He still +keeps something of that feeling which should be the birthright of +men—the feeling that this planet is like a new house into which we have +just moved our baggage. Any detail of it has a value, and, with a truly<!-- Page 66 --><a name="Page_66"></a> +sportsmanlike instinct, the average man takes most pleasure in the +details which are most complicated, irrelevant, and at once difficult +and useless to discover. Those parts of the newspaper which announce the +giant gooseberry and the raining frogs are really the modern +representatives of the popular tendency which produced the hydra and the +werewolf and the dog-headed men. Folk in the Middle Ages were not +interested in a dragon or a glimpse of the devil because they thought +that it was a beautiful prose idyll, but because they thought that it +had really just been seen. It was not like so much artistic literature, +a refuge indicating the dulness of the world: it was an incident +pointedly illustrating the fecund poetry of the world.</p> + +<p>That much can be said, and is said, against the literature of +information, I do not for a moment deny. It is shapeless, it is trivial, +it may give an unreal air of knowledge, it unquestionably lies along +with the rest of popular literature under the general indictment that it<!-- Page 67 --><a name="Page_67"></a> +may spoil the chance of better work, certainly by wasting time, possibly +by ruining taste. But these obvious objections are the objections which +we hear so persistently from everyone that one cannot help wondering +where the papers in question procure their myriads of readers. The +natural necessity and natural good underlying such crude institutions is +far less often a subject of speculation; yet the healthy hungers which +lie at the back of the habits of modern democracy are surely worthy of +the same sympathetic study that we give to the dogmas of the fanatics +long dethroned and the intrigues of commonwealths long obliterated from +the earth. And this is the base and consideration which I have to offer: +that perhaps the taste for shreds and patches of journalistic science +and history is not, as is continually asserted, the vulgar and senile +curiosity of a people that has grown old, but simply the babyish and +indiscriminate curiosity of a people still young and entering history +for the first time. In other words, I suggest that they only tell each +other in magazines the same kind of stories of commonplace portents and<!-- Page 68 --><a name="Page_68"></a> +conventional eccentricities which, in any case, they would tell each +other in taverns. Science itself is only the exaggeration and +specialization of this thirst for useless fact, which is the mark of the +youth of man. But science has become strangely separated from the mere +news and scandal of flowers and birds; men have ceased to see that a +pterodactyl was as fresh and natural as a flower, that a flower is as +monstrous as a pterodactyl. The rebuilding of this bridge between +science and human nature is one of the greatest needs of mankind. We +have all to show that before we go on to any visions or creations we can +be contented with a planet of miracles.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_HERALDRY"></a>A DEFENCE OF HERALDRY</h2> +<br> + +<p>The modern view of heraldry is pretty accurately represented by the<!-- Page 69 --><a name="Page_69"></a> +words of the famous barrister who, after cross-examining for some time a +venerable dignitary of Heralds' College, summed up his results in the +remark that 'the silly old man didn't even understand his own silly old +trade.'</p> + +<p>Heraldry properly so called was, of course, a wholly limited and +aristocratic thing, but the remark needs a kind of qualification not +commonly realized. In a sense there was a plebeian heraldry, since every +shop was, like every castle, distinguished not by a name, but a sign. +The whole system dates from a time when picture-writing still really +ruled the world. In those days few could read or write; they signed +their names with a pictorial symbol, a cross—and a cross is a great +improvement on most men's names.</p> + +<p>Now, there is something to be said for the peculiar influence of +pictorial symbols on men's minds. All letters, we learn, were originally +pictorial and heraldic: thus the letter A is the portrait of an ox, but +the portrait is now reproduced in so impressionist a manner that but +little of the rural atmosphere can be absorbed by contemplating it. But +as long as some pictorial and poetic quality remains in the symbol, the<!-- Page 70 --><a name="Page_70"></a> +constant use of it must do something for the aesthetic education of +those employing it. Public-houses are now almost the only shops that use +the ancient signs, and the mysterious attraction which they exercise may +be (by the optimistic) explained in this manner. There are taverns with +names so dreamlike and exquisite that even Sir Wilfrid Lawson might +waver on the threshold for a moment, suffering the poet to struggle with +the moralist. So it was with the heraldic images. It is impossible to +believe that the red lion of Scotland acted upon those employing it +merely as a naked convenience like a number or a letter; it is +impossible to believe that the Kings of Scotland would have cheerfully +accepted the substitute of a pig or a frog. There are, as we say, +certain real advantages in pictorial symbols, and one of them is that +everything that is pictorial suggests, without naming or defining. There +is a road from the eye to the heart that does not go through the +intellect. Men do not quarrel about the meaning of sunsets; they never +dispute that the hawthorn says the best and wittiest thing about the +spring.</p> + +<p>Thus in the old aristocratic days there existed this vast pictorial<!-- Page 71 --><a name="Page_71"></a> +symbolism of all the colours and degrees of aristocracy. When the great +trumpet of equality was blown, almost immediately afterwards was made +one of the greatest blunders in the history of mankind. For all this +pride and vivacity, all these towering symbols and flamboyant colours, +should have been extended to mankind. The tobacconist should have had a +crest, and the cheesemonger a war-cry. The grocer who sold margarine as +butter should have felt that there was a stain on the escutcheon of the +Higginses. Instead of doing this, the democrats made the appalling +mistake—a mistake at the root of the whole modern malady—of decreasing +the human magnificence of the past instead of increasing it. They did +not say, as they should have done, to the common citizen, 'You are as +good as the Duke of Norfolk,' but used that meaner democratic formula, +'The Duke of Norfolk is no better than you are.'</p> + +<p>For it cannot be denied that the world lost something finally and most +unfortunately about the beginning of the nineteenth century. In former +times the mass of the people was conceived as mean and commonplace, but +only as comparatively mean and commonplace; they were dwarfed and +eclipsed by certain high stations and splendid callings. But with the<!-- Page 72 --><a name="Page_72"></a> +Victorian era came a principle which conceived men not as comparatively, +but as positively, mean and commonplace. A man of any station was +represented as being by nature a dingy and trivial person—a person +born, as it were, in a black hat. It began to be thought that it was +ridiculous for a man to wear beautiful garments, instead of it +being—as, of course, it is—ridiculous for him to deliberately wear +ugly ones. It was considered affected for a man to speak bold and heroic +words, whereas, of course, it is emotional speech which is natural, and +ordinary civil speech which is affected. The whole relations of beauty +and ugliness, of dignity and ignominy were turned upside down. Beauty +became an extravagance, as if top-hats and umbrellas were not the real +extravagance—a landscape from the land of the goblins. Dignity became a +form of foolery and shamelessness, as if the very essence of a fool were +not a lack of dignity. And the consequence is that it is practically +most difficult to propose any decoration or public dignity for modern +men without making them laugh. They laugh at the idea of carrying +crests and coats-of-arms instead of laughing at their own boots and +neckties. We are forbidden to say that tradesmen should have a poetry of<!-- Page 73 --><a name="Page_73"></a> +their own, although there is nothing so poetical as trade. A grocer +should have a coat-of-arms worthy of his strange merchandise gathered +from distant and fantastic lands; a postman should have a coat-of-arms +capable of expressing the strange honour and responsibility of the man +who carries men's souls in a bag; the chemist should have a coat-of-arms +symbolizing something of the mysteries of the house of healing, the +cavern of a merciful witchcraft.</p> + +<p>There were in the French Revolution a class of people at whom everybody +laughed, and at whom it was probably difficult, as a practical matter, +to refrain from laughing. They attempted to erect, by means of huge +wooden statues and brand-new festivals, the most extraordinary new +religions. They adored the Goddess of Reason, who would appear, even +when the fullest allowance has been made for their many virtues, to be +the deity who had least smiled upon them. But these capering maniacs, +disowned alike by the old world and the new, were men who had seen a +great truth unknown alike to the new world and the old. They had seen +the thing that was hidden from the wise and understanding, from the<!-- Page 74 --><a name="Page_74"></a> +whole modern democratic civilization down to the present time. They +realized that democracy must have a heraldry, that it must have a proud +and high-coloured pageantry, if it is to keep always before its own mind +its own sublime mission. Unfortunately for this ideal, the world has in +this matter followed English democracy rather than French; and those who +look back to the nineteenth century will assuredly look back to it as we +look back to the reign of the Puritans, as the time of black coats and +black tempers. From the strange life the men of that time led, they +might be assisting at the funeral of liberty instead of at its +christening. The moment we really believe in democracy, it will begin to +blossom, as aristocracy blossomed, into symbolic colours and shapes. We +shall never make anything of democracy until we make fools of ourselves. +For if a man really cannot make a fool of himself, we may be quite +certain that the effort is superfluous.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_UGLY_THINGS"></a>A DEFENCE OF UGLY THINGS</h2><!-- Page 75 --><a name="Page_75"></a> +<br> + +<p>There are some people who state that the exterior, sex, or physique of +another person is indifferent to them, that they care only for the +communion of mind with mind; but these people need not detain us. There +are some statements that no one ever thinks of believing, however often +they are made.</p> + +<p>But while nothing in this world would persuade us that a great friend of +Mr. Forbes Robertson, let us say, would experience no surprise or +discomfort at seeing him enter the room in the bodily form of Mr. +Chaplin, there is a confusion constantly made between being attracted by +exterior, which is natural and universal, and being attracted by what is +called physical beauty, which is not entirely natural and not in the +least universal. Or rather, to speak more strictly, the conception of +physical beauty has been narrowed to mean a certain kind of physical +beauty which no more exhausts the possibilities of external +attractiveness than the respectability of a Clapham builder exhausts<!-- Page 76 --><a name="Page_76"></a> +the possibilities of moral attractiveness.</p> + +<p>The tyrants and deceivers of mankind in this matter have been the +Greeks. All their splendid work for civilization ought not to have +wholly blinded us to the fact of their great and terrible sin against +the variety of life. It is a remarkable fact that while the Jews have +long ago been rebelled against and accused of blighting the world with a +stringent and one-sided ethical standard, nobody has noticed that the +Greeks have committed us to an infinitely more horrible asceticism—an +asceticism of the fancy, a worship of one aesthetic type alone. Jewish<!-- Page 77 --><a name="Page_77"></a> +severity had at least common-sense as its basis; it recognised that men +lived in a world of fact, and that if a man married within the degrees +of blood certain consequences might follow. But they did not starve +their instinct for contrasts and combinations; their prophets gave two +wings to the ox and any number of eyes to the cherubim with all the +riotous ingenuity of Lewis Carroll. But the Greeks carried their police +regulation into elfland; they vetoed not the actual adulteries of the +earth but the wild weddings of ideas, and forbade the banns of thought.</p> + +<p>It is extraordinary to watch the gradual emasculation of the monsters +of Greek myth under the pestilent influence of the Apollo Belvedere. The +chimaera was a creature of whom any healthy-minded people would have +been proud; but when we see it in Greek pictures we feel inclined to tie +a ribbon round its neck and give it a saucer of milk. Who ever feels +that the giants in Greek art and poetry were really big—big as some +folk-lore giants have been? In some Scandinavian story a hero walks for +miles along a mountain ridge, which eventually turns out to be the +bridge of the giant's nose. That is what we should call, with a calm +conscience, a large giant. But this earthquake fancy terrified the +Greeks, and their terror has terrified all mankind out of their natural<!-- Page 78 --><a name="Page_78"></a> +love of size, vitality, variety, energy, ugliness. Nature intended every +human face, so long as it was forcible, individual, and expressive, to +be regarded as distinct from all others, as a poplar is distinct from an +oak, and an apple-tree from a willow. But what the Dutch gardeners did +for trees the Greeks did for the human form; they lopped away its living +and sprawling features to give it a certain academic shape; they hacked +off noses and pared down chins with a ghastly horticultural calm. And +they have really succeeded so far as to make us call some of the most +powerful and endearing faces ugly, and some of the most silly and +repulsive faces beautiful. This disgraceful <i>via media</i>, this pitiful +sense of dignity, has bitten far deeper into the soul of modern +civilization than the external and practical Puritanism of Israel. The +Jew at the worst told a man to dance in fetters; the Greek put an +exquisite vase upon his head and told him not to move.</p> + +<p>Scripture says that one star differeth from another in glory, and the +same conception applies to noses. To insist that one type of face is +ugly because it differs from that of the Venus of Milo is to look at it<!-- Page 79 --><a name="Page_79"></a> +entirely in a misleading light. It is strange that we should resent +people differing from ourselves; we should resent much more violently +their resembling ourselves. This principle has made a sufficient hash of +literary criticism, in which it is always the custom to complain of the +lack of sound logic in a fairy tale, and the entire absence of true +oratorical power in a three-act farce. But to call another man's face +ugly because it powerfully expresses another man's soul is like +complaining that a cabbage has not two legs. If we did so, the only +course for the cabbage would be to point out with severity, but with +some show of truth, that we were not a beautiful green all over.</p> + +<p>But this frigid theory of the beautiful has not succeeded in conquering +the art of the world, except in name. In some quarters, indeed, it has +never held sway. A glance at Chinese dragons or Japanese gods will show +how independent are Orientals of the conventional idea of facial and +bodily regularity, and how keen and fiery is their enjoyment of real +beauty, of goggle eyes, of sprawling claws, of gaping mouths and +writhing coils. In the Middle Ages men broke away from the Greek +standard of beauty, and lifted up in adoration to heaven great towers, +which seemed alive with dancing apes and devils. In the full summer of +technical artistic perfection the revolt was carried to its real<!-- Page 80 --><a name="Page_80"></a> +consummation in the study of the faces of men. Rembrandt declared the +sane and manly gospel that a man was dignified, not when he was like a +Greek god, but when he had a strong, square nose like a cudgel, a +boldly-blocked head like a helmet, and a jaw like a steel trap.</p> + +<p>This branch of art is commonly dismissed as the grotesque. We have never +been able to understand why it should be humiliating to be laughable, +since it is giving an elevated artistic pleasure to others. If a +gentleman who saw us in the street were suddenly to burst into tears at +the mere thought of our existence, it might be considered disquieting +and uncomplimentary; but laughter is not uncomplimentary. In truth, +however, the phrase 'grotesque' is a misleading description of ugliness +in art. It does not follow that either the Chinese dragons or the Gothic +gargoyles or the goblinish old women of Rembrandt were in the least +intended to be comic. Their extravagance was not the extravagance of +satire, but simply the extravagance of vitality; and here lies the whole +key of the place of ugliness in aesthetics. We like to see a crag jut +out in shameless decision from the cliff, we like to see the red pines<!-- Page 81 --><a name="Page_81"></a> +stand up hardily upon a high cliff, we like to see a chasm cloven from +end to end of a mountain. With equally noble enthusiasm we like to see a +nose jut out decisively, we like to see the red hair of a friend stand +up hardily in bristles upon his head, we like to see his mouth broad and +clean cut like the mountain crevasse. At least some of us like all this; +it is not a question of humour. We do not burst with amusement at the +first sight of the pines or the chasm; but we like them because they are +expressive of the dramatic stillness of Nature, her bold experiments, +her definite departures, her fearlessness and savage pride in her +children. The moment we have snapped the spell of conventional beauty, +there are a million beautiful faces waiting for us everywhere, just as +there are a million beautiful spirits.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_FARCE"></a>A DEFENCE OF FARCE</h2> +<br><!-- Page 82 --><a name="Page_82"></a> + +<p>I have never been able to understand why certain forms of art should be +marked off as something debased and trivial. A comedy is spoken of as +'degenerating into farce'; it would be fair criticism to speak of it +'changing into farce'; but as for degenerating into farce, we might +equally reasonably speak of it as degenerating into tragedy. Again, a +story is spoken of as 'melodramatic,' and the phrase, queerly enough, is +not meant as a compliment. To speak of something as 'pantomimic' or +'sensational' is innocently supposed to be biting, Heaven knows why, for +all works of art are sensations, and a good pantomime (now extinct) is +one of the pleasantest sensations of all. 'This stuff is fit for a +detective story,' is often said, as who should say, 'This stuff is fit +for an epic.'</p> + +<p>Whatever may be the rights and wrongs of this mode of classification, +there can be no doubt about one most practical and disastrous effect of +it. These lighter or wilder forms of art, having no standard set up for +them, no gust of generous artistic pride to lift them up, do actually +tend to become as bad as they are supposed to be. Neglected children of +the great mother, they grow up in darkness, dirty and unlettered, and<!-- Page 83 --><a name="Page_83"></a> +when they are right they are right almost by accident, because of the +blood in their veins. The common detective story of mystery and murder +seems to the intelligent reader to be little except a strange glimpse of +a planet peopled by congenital idiots, who cannot find the end of their +own noses or the character of their own wives. The common pantomime +seems like some horrible satiric picture of a world without cause or +effect, a mass of 'jarring atoms,' a prolonged mental torture of +irrelevancy. The ordinary farce seems a world of almost piteous +vulgarity, where a half-witted and stunted creature is afraid when his +wife comes home, and amused when she sits down on the doorstep. All this +is, in a sense, true, but it is the fault of nothing in heaven or earth +except the attitude and the phrases quoted at the beginning of this +article. We have no doubt in the world that, if the other forms of art +had been equally despised, they would have been equally despicable. If +people had spoken of 'sonnets' with the same accent with which they +speak of 'music-hall songs,' a sonnet would have been a thing so +fearful and wonderful that we almost regret we cannot have a specimen; a +rowdy sonnet is a thing to dream about. If people had said that epics +were only fit for children and nursemaids, 'Paradise Lost' might have<!-- Page 84 --><a name="Page_84"></a> +been an average pantomime: it might have been called 'Harlequin Satan, +or How Adam 'Ad 'em.' For who would trouble to bring to perfection a +work in which even perfection is grotesque? Why should Shakespeare write +'Othello' if even his triumph consisted in the eulogy, 'Mr. Shakespeare +is fit for something better than writing tragedies'?</p> + +<p>The case of farce, and its wilder embodiment in harlequinade, is +especially important. That these high and legitimate forms of art, +glorified by Aristophanes and Molière, have sunk into such contempt may +be due to many causes: I myself have little doubt that it is due to the +astonishing and ludicrous lack of belief in hope and hilarity which +marks modern aesthetics, to such an extent that it has spread even to +the revolutionists (once the hopeful section of men), so that even those +who ask us to fling the stars into the sea are not quite sure that they +will be any better there than they were before. Every form of literary +art must be a symbol of some phase of the human spirit; but whereas the +phase is, in human life, sufficiently convincing in itself, in art it +must have a certain pungency and neatness of form, to compensate for its +lack of reality. Thus any set of young people round a tea-table may have<!-- Page 85 --><a name="Page_85"></a> +all the comedy emotions of 'Much Ado about Nothing' or 'Northanger +Abbey,' but if their actual conversation were reported, it would +possibly not be a worthy addition to literature. An old man sitting by +his fire may have all the desolate grandeur of Lear or Père Goriot, but +if he comes into literature he must do something besides sit by the +fire. The artistic justification, then, of farce and pantomime must +consist in the emotions of life which correspond to them. And these +emotions are to an incredible extent crushed out by the modern +insistence on the painful side of life only. Pain, it is said, is the +dominant element of life; but this is true only in a very special sense. +If pain were for one single instant literally the dominant element in +life, every man would be found hanging dead from his own bed-post by the +morning. Pain, as the black and catastrophic thing, attracts the +youthful artist, just as the schoolboy draws devils and skeletons and +men hanging. But joy is a far more elusive and elvish matter, since it +is our reason for existing, and a very feminine reason; it mingles with +every breath we draw and every cup of tea we drink. The literature of +joy is infinitely more difficult, more rare and more triumphant than the<!-- Page 86 --><a name="Page_86"></a> +black and white literature of pain. And of all the varied forms of the +literature of joy, the form most truly worthy of moral reverence and +artistic ambition is the form called 'farce'—or its wilder shape in +pantomime. To the quietest human being, seated in the quietest house, +there will sometimes come a sudden and unmeaning hunger for the +possibilities or impossibilities of things; he will abruptly wonder +whether the teapot may not suddenly begin to pour out honey or +sea-water, the clock to point to all hours of the day at once, the +candle to burn green or crimson, the door to open upon a lake or a +potato-field instead of a London street. Upon anyone who feels this +nameless anarchism there rests for the time being the abiding spirit of +pantomime. Of the clown who cuts the policeman in two it may be said +(with no darker meaning) that he realizes one of our visions. And it may +be noted here that this internal quality in pantomime is perfectly +symbolized and preserved by that commonplace or cockney landscape and +architecture which characterizes pantomime and farce. If the whole +affair happened in some alien atmosphere, if a pear-tree began to grow +apples or a river to run with wine in some strange fairyland, the effect +would be quite different. The streets and shops and door-knockers of the<!-- Page 87 --><a name="Page_87"></a> +harlequinade, which to the vulgar aesthete make it seem commonplace, are +in truth the very essence of the aesthetic departure. It must be an +actual modern door which opens and shuts, constantly disclosing +different interiors; it must be a real baker whose loaves fly up into +the air without his touching them, or else the whole internal excitement +of this elvish invasion of civilization, this abrupt entrance of Puck +into Pimlico, is lost. Some day, perhaps, when the present narrow phase +of aesthetics has ceased to monopolize the name, the glory of a farcical +art may become fashionable. Long after men have ceased to drape their +houses in green and gray and to adorn them with Japanese vases, an +aesthete may build a house on pantomime principles, in which all the +doors shall have their bells and knockers on the inside, all the +staircases be constructed to vanish on the pressing of a button, and all +the dinners (humorous dinners in themselves) come up cooked through a +trapdoor. We are very sure, at least, that it is as reasonable to +regulate one's life and lodgings by this kind of art as by any other.</p> + +<p>The whole of this view of farce and pantomime may seem insane to us; but +we fear that it is we who are insane. Nothing in this strange age of +transition is so depressing as its merriment. All the most brilliant men<!-- Page 88 --><a name="Page_88"></a> +of the day when they set about the writing of comic literature do it +under one destructive fallacy and disadvantage: the notion that comic +literature is in some sort of way superficial. They give us little +knick-knacks of the brittleness of which they positively boast, although +two thousand years have beaten as vainly upon the follies of the 'Frogs' +as on the wisdom of the 'Republic.' It is all a mean shame of joy. When +we come out from a performance of the 'Midsummer Night's Dream' we feel +as near to the stars as when we come out from 'King Lear.' For the joy +of these works is older than sorrow, their extravagance is saner than +wisdom, their love is stronger than death.</p> + +<p>The old masters of a healthy madness, Aristophanes or Rabelais or +Shakespeare, doubtless had many brushes with the precisians or ascetics +of their day, but we cannot but feel that for honest severity and +consistent self-maceration they would always have had respect. But what +abysses of scorn, inconceivable to any modern, would they have reserved +for an aesthetic type and movement which violated morality and did not +even find pleasure, which outraged sanity and could not attain to<!-- Page 89 --><a name="Page_89"></a> +exuberance, which contented itself with the fool's cap without the +bells!</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_HUMILITY"></a>A DEFENCE OF HUMILITY</h2> +<br> + +<p>The act of defending any of the cardinal virtues has to-day all the<!-- Page 90 --><a name="Page_90"></a> +exhilaration of a vice. Moral truisms have been so much disputed that +they have begun to sparkle like so many brilliant paradoxes. And +especially (in this age of egoistic idealism) there is about one who +defends humility something inexpressibly rakish.</p> + +<p>It is no part of my intention to defend humility on practical grounds. +Practical grounds are uninteresting, and, moreover, on practical grounds +the case for humility is overwhelming. We all know that the 'divine +glory of the ego' is socially a great nuisance; we all do actually value +our friends for modesty, freshness, and simplicity of heart. Whatever +may be the reason, we all do warmly respect humility—in other people.</p> + +<p>But the matter must go deeper than this. If the grounds of humility are +found only in social convenience, they may be quite trivial and +temporary. The egoists may be the martyrs of a nobler dispensation, +agonizing for a more arduous ideal. To judge from the comparative lack +of ease in their social manner, this seems a reasonable suggestion.</p> +<!-- Page 91 --><a name="Page_91"></a> +<p>There is one thing that must be seen at the outset of the study of +humility from an intrinsic and eternal point of view. The new philosophy +of self-esteem and self-assertion declares that humility is a vice. If +it be so, it is quite clear that it is one of those vices which are an +integral part of original sin. It follows with the precision of +clockwork every one of the great joys of life. No one, for example, was +ever in love without indulging in a positive debauch of humility. All +full-blooded and natural people, such as schoolboys, enjoy humility the +moment they attain hero-worship. Humility, again, is said both by its +upholders and opponents to be the peculiar growth of Christianity. The +real and obvious reason of this is often missed. The pagans insisted +upon self-assertion because it was the essence of their creed that the +gods, though strong and just, were mystic, capricious, and even +indifferent. But the essence of Christianity was in a literal sense the +New Testament—a covenant with God which opened to men a clear +deliverance. They thought themselves secure; they claimed palaces of +pearl and silver under the oath and seal of the Omnipotent; they +believed themselves rich with an irrevocable benediction which set them +above the stars; and immediately they discovered humility. It was only<!-- Page 92 --><a name="Page_92"></a> +another example of the same immutable paradox. It is always the secure +who are humble.</p> + +<p>This particular instance survives in the evangelical revivalists of the +street. They are irritating enough, but no one who has really studied +them can deny that the irritation is occasioned by these two things, an +irritating hilarity and an irritating humility. This combination of joy +and self-prostration is a great deal too universal to be ignored. If +humility has been discredited as a virtue at the present day, it is not +wholly irrelevant to remark that this discredit has arisen at the same +time as a great collapse of joy in current literature and philosophy. +Men have revived the splendour of Greek self-assertion at the same time +that they have revived the bitterness of Greek pessimism. A literature +has arisen which commands us all to arrogate to ourselves the liberty of +self-sufficing deities at the same time that it exhibits us to ourselves +as dingy maniacs who ought to be chained up like dogs. It is certainly a +curious state of things altogether. When we are genuinely happy, we +think we are unworthy of happiness. But when we are demanding a divine +emancipation we seem to be perfectly certain that we are unworthy of<!-- Page 93 --><a name="Page_93"></a> +anything.</p> + +<p>The only explanation of the matter must be found in the conviction that +humility has infinitely deeper roots than any modern men suppose; that +it is a metaphysical and, one might almost say, a mathematical virtue. +Probably this can best be tested by a study of those who frankly +disregard humility and assert the supreme duty of perfecting and +expressing one's self. These people tend, by a perfectly natural +process, to bring their own great human gifts of culture, intellect, or +moral power to a great perfection, successively shutting out everything +that they feel to be lower than themselves. Now shutting out things is +all very well, but it has one simple corollary—that from everything +that we shut out we are ourselves shut out. When we shut our door on the +wind, it would be equally true to say that the wind shuts its door on +us. Whatever virtues a triumphant egoism really leads to, no one can +reasonably pretend that it leads to knowledge. Turning a beggar from the +door may be right enough, but pretending to know all the stories the +beggar might have narrated is pure nonsense; and this is practically +the claim of the egoism which thinks that self-assertion can obtain<!-- Page 94 --><a name="Page_94"></a> +knowledge. A beetle may or may not be inferior to a man—the matter +awaits demonstration; but if he were inferior by ten thousand fathoms, +the fact remains that there is probably a beetle view of things of which +a man is entirely ignorant. If he wishes to conceive that point of view, +he will scarcely reach it by persistently revelling in the fact that he +is not a beetle. The most brilliant exponent of the egoistic school, +Nietszche, with deadly and honourable logic, admitted that the +philosophy of self-satisfaction led to looking down upon the weak, the +cowardly, and the ignorant. Looking down on things may be a delightful +experience, only there is nothing, from a mountain to a cabbage, that is +really <i>seen</i> when it is seen from a balloon. The philosopher of the ego +sees everything, no doubt, from a high and rarified heaven; only he sees +everything foreshortened or deformed.</p> + +<p>Now if we imagine that a man wished truly, as far as possible, to see +everything as it was, he would certainly proceed on a different +principle. He would seek to divest himself for a time of those personal +peculiarities which tend to divide him from the thing he studies. It is<!-- Page 95 --><a name="Page_95"></a> +as difficult, for example, for a man to examine a fish without +developing a certain vanity in possessing a pair of legs, as if they +were the latest article of personal adornment. But if a fish is to be +approximately understood, this physiological dandyism must be overcome. +The earnest student of fish morality will, spiritually speaking, chop +off his legs. And similarly the student of birds will eliminate his +arms; the frog-lover will with one stroke of the imagination remove all +his teeth, and the spirit wishing to enter into all the hopes and fears +of jelly-fish will simplify his personal appearance to a really alarming +extent. It would appear, therefore, that this great body of ours and all +its natural instincts, of which we are proud, and justly proud, is +rather an encumbrance at the moment when we attempt to appreciate things +as they should be appreciated. We do actually go through a process of +mental asceticism, a castration of the entire being, when we wish to +feel the abounding good in all things. It is good for us at certain +times that ourselves should be like a mere window—as clear, as +luminous, and as invisible.</p> +<!-- Page 96 --><a name="Page_96"></a> +<p>In a very entertaining work, over which we have roared in childhood, it +is stated that a point has no parts and no magnitude. Humility is the +luxurious art of reducing ourselves to a point, not to a small thing or +a large one, but to a thing with no size at all, so that to it all the +cosmic things are what they really are—of immeasurable stature. That +the trees are high and the grasses short is a mere accident of our own +foot-rules and our own stature. But to the spirit which has stripped off +for a moment its own idle temporal standards the grass is an everlasting +forest, with dragons for denizens; the stones of the road are as +incredible mountains piled one upon the other; the dandelions are like +gigantic bonfires illuminating the lands around; and the heath-bells on +their stalks are like planets hung in heaven each higher than the other. +Between one stake of a paling and another there are new and terrible +landscapes; here a desert, with nothing but one misshapen rock; here a +miraculous forest, of which all the trees flower above the head with the +hues of sunset; here, again, a sea full of monsters that Dante would not +have dared to dream. These are the visions of him who, like the child in +the fairy tales, is not afraid to become small. Meanwhile, the sage +whose faith is in magnitude and ambition is, like a giant, becoming +larger and larger, which only means that the stars are becoming smaller +and smaller. World after world falls from him into insignificance; the<!-- Page 97 --><a name="Page_97"></a> +whole passionate and intricate life of common things becomes as lost to +him as is the life of the infusoria to a man without a microscope. He +rises always through desolate eternities. He may find new systems, and +forget them; he may discover fresh universes, and learn to despise them. +But the towering and tropical vision of things as they really are—the +gigantic daisies, the heaven-consuming dandelions, the great Odyssey of +strange-coloured oceans and strange-shaped trees, of dust like the wreck +of temples, and thistledown like the ruin of stars—all this colossal +vision shall perish with the last of the humble.</p><!-- Page 98 --><a name="Page_98"></a> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_SLANG"></a>A DEFENCE OF SLANG</h2> +<br> + +<p>The aristocrats of the nineteenth century have destroyed entirely their +one solitary utility. It is their business to be flaunting and arrogant; +but they flaunt unobtrusively, and their attempts at arrogance are +depressing. Their chief duty hitherto has been the development of +variety, vivacity, and fulness of life; oligarchy was the world's first +experiment in liberty. But now they have adopted the opposite ideal of +'good form,' which may be defined as Puritanism without religion. Good +form has sent them all into black like the stroke of a funeral bell. +They engage, like Mr. Gilbert's curates, in a war of mildness, a +positive competition of obscurity. In old times the lords of the earth +sought above all things to be distinguished from each other; with that +object they erected outrageous images on their helmets and painted<!-- Page 99 --><a name="Page_99"></a> +preposterous colours on their shields. They wished to make it entirely +clear that a Norfolk was as different, say, from an Argyll as a white +lion from a black pig. But to-day their ideal is precisely the opposite +one, and if a Norfolk and an Argyll were dressed so much alike that they +were mistaken for each other they would both go home dancing with joy.</p> + +<p>The consequences of this are inevitable. The aristocracy must lose their +function of standing to the world for the idea of variety, experiment, +and colour, and we must find these things in some other class. To ask +whether we shall find them in the middle class would be to jest upon +sacred matters. The only conclusion, therefore, is that it is to certain +sections of the lower class, chiefly, for example, to +omnibus-conductors, with their rich and rococo mode of thought, that we +must look for guidance towards liberty and light.</p> + +<p>The one stream of poetry which is continually flowing is slang. Every +day a nameless poet weaves some fairy tracery of popular language. It +may be said that the fashionable world talks slang as much as the +democratic; this is true, and it strongly supports the view under<!-- Page 100 --><a name="Page_100"></a> +consideration. Nothing is more startling than the contrast between the +heavy, formal, lifeless slang of the man-about-town and the light, +living, and flexible slang of the coster. The talk of the upper strata +of the educated classes is about the most shapeless, aimless, and +hopeless literary product that the world has ever seen. Clearly in this, +again, the upper classes have degenerated. We have ample evidence that +the old leaders of feudal war could speak on occasion with a certain +natural symbolism and eloquence that they had not gained from books. +When Cyrano de Bergerac, in Rostand's play, throws doubts on the reality +of Christian's dulness and lack of culture, the latter replies:</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Bah! on trouve des mots quand on monte à l'assaut;</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oui, j'ai un certain esprit facile et militaire;'</span><br> + +<p>and these two lines sum up a truth about the old oligarchs. They could +not write three legible letters, but they could sometimes speak +literature. Douglas, when he hurled the heart of Bruce in front of him +in his last battle, cried out, 'Pass first, great heart, as thou wert +ever wont.' A Spanish nobleman, when commanded by the King to receive a<!-- Page 101 --><a name="Page_101"></a> +high-placed and notorious traitor, said: 'I will receive him in all +obedience, and burn down my house afterwards.' This is literature +without culture; it is the speech of men convinced that they have to +assert proudly the poetry of life.</p> + +<p>Anyone, however, who should seek for such pearls in the conversation of +a young man of modern Belgravia would have much sorrow in his life. It +is not only impossible for aristocrats to assert proudly the poetry of +life; it is more impossible for them than for anyone else. It is +positively considered vulgar for a nobleman to boast of his ancient +name, which is, when one comes to think of it, the only rational object +of his existence. If a man in the street proclaimed, with rude feudal +rhetoric, that he was the Earl of Doncaster, he would be arrested as a +lunatic; but if it were discovered that he really was the Earl of +Doncaster, he would simply be cut as a cad. No poetical prose must be +expected from Earls as a class. The fashionable slang is hardly even a +language; it is like the formless cries of animals, dimly indicating +certain broad, well-understood states of mind. 'Bored,' 'cut up,' +'jolly,' 'rotten,' and so on, are like the words of some tribe of +savages whose vocabulary has only twenty of them. If a man of fashion<!-- Page 102 --><a name="Page_102"></a> +wished to protest against some solecism in another man of fashion, his +utterance would be a mere string of set phrases, as lifeless as a string +of dead fish. But an omnibus conductor (being filled with the Muse) +would burst out into a solid literary effort: 'You're a gen'leman, +aren't yer ... yer boots is a lot brighter than yer 'ed...there's +precious little of yer, and that's clothes...that's right, put yer cigar +in yer mouth 'cos I can't see yer be'ind it...take it out again, do yer! +you're young for smokin', but I've sent for yer mother.... Goin'? oh, +don't run away: I won't 'arm yer. I've got a good 'art, I 'ave.... "Down +with croolty to animals," I say,' and so on. It is evident that this +mode of speech is not only literary, but literary in a very ornate and +almost artificial sense. Keats never put into a sonnet so many remote +metaphors as a coster puts into a curse; his speech is one long +allegory, like Spenser's 'Faerie Queen.'</p> + +<p>I do not imagine that it is necessary to demonstrate that this poetic +allusiveness is the characteristic of true slang. Such an expression as +'Keep your hair on' is positively Meredithian in its perverse and +mysterious manner of expressing an idea. The Americans have a well-known +expression about 'swelled-head' as a des<!-- Page 103 --><a name="Page_103"></a>cription of self-approval, and +the other day I heard a remarkable fantasia upon this air. An American +said that after the Chinese War the Japanese wanted 'to put on their +hats with a shoe-horn.' This is a monument of the true nature of slang, +which consists in getting further and further away from the original +conception, in treating it more and more as an assumption. It is rather +like the literary doctrine of the Symbolists.</p> + +<p>The real reason of this great development of eloquence among the lower +orders again brings us back to the case of the aristocracy in earlier +times. The lower classes live in a state of war, a war of words. Their +readiness is the product of the same fiery individualism as the +readiness of the old fighting oligarchs. Any cabman has to be ready with +his tongue, as any gentleman of the last century had to be ready with +his sword. It is unfortunate that the poetry which is developed by this +process should be purely a grotesque poetry. But as the higher orders of +society have entirely abdicated their right to speak with a heroic +eloquence, it is no wonder that the language should develop by itself in +the direction of a rowdy eloquence. The essential point is that somebody +must be at work adding new symbols and new circumlocutions to a<!-- Page 104 --><a name="Page_104"></a> +language.</p> + +<p>All slang is metaphor, and all metaphor is poetry. If we paused for a +moment to examine the cheapest cant phrases that pass our lips every +day, we should find that they were as rich and suggestive as so many +sonnets. To take a single instance: we speak of a man in English social +relations 'breaking the ice.' If this were expanded into a sonnet, we +should have before us a dark and sublime picture of an ocean of +everlasting ice, the sombre and baffling mirror of the Northern nature, +over which men walked and danced and skated easily, but under which the +living waters roared and toiled fathoms below. The world of slang is a +kind of topsy-turveydom of poetry, full of blue moons and white +elephants, of men losing their heads, and men whose tongues run away +with them—a whole chaos of fairy tales.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> +<!-- Page 105 --><a name="Page_105"></a> +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_BABY-WORSHIP"></a>A DEFENCE OF BABY-WORSHIP</h2> +<br> + +<p>The two facts which attract almost every normal person to children are, +first, that they are very serious, and, secondly, that they are in +consequence very happy. They are jolly with the completeness which is +possible only in the absence of humour. The most unfathomable schools +and sages have never attained to the gravity which dwells in the eyes of +a baby of three months old. It is the gravity of astonishment at the +universe, and astonishment at the universe is not mysticism, but a +transcendent common-sense. The fascination of children lies in this: +that with each of them all things are remade, and the universe is put +again upon its trial. As we walk the streets and see below us those +delightful bulbous heads, three times too big for the body, which mark +these human mushrooms, we ought always primarily to remember that within<!-- Page 106 --><a name="Page_106"></a> +every one of these heads there is a new universe, as new as it was on +the seventh day of creation. In each of those orbs there is a new system +of stars, new grass, new cities, a new sea.</p> + +<p>There is always in the healthy mind an obscure prompting that religion +teaches us rather to dig than to climb; that if we could once understand +the common clay of earth we should understand everything. Similarly, we +have the sentiment that if we could destroy custom at a blow and see the +stars as a child sees them, we should need no other apocalypse. This is +the great truth which has always lain at the back of baby-worship, and +which will support it to the end. Maturity, with its endless energies +and aspirations, may easily be convinced that it will find new things to +appreciate; but it will never be convinced, at bottom, that it has +properly appreciated what it has got. We may scale the heavens and find +new stars innumerable, but there is still the new star we have not +found—that on which we were born.</p> +<!-- Page 107 --><a name="Page_107"></a> +<p>But the influence of children goes further than its first trifling +effort of remaking heaven and earth. It forces us actually to remodel +our conduct in accordance with this revolutionary theory of the +marvellousness of all things. We do (even when we are perfectly simple +or ignorant)—we do actually treat talking in children as marvellous, +walking in children as marvellous, common intelligence in children as +marvellous. The cynical philosopher fancies he has a victory in this +matter—that he can laugh when he shows that the words or antics of the +child, so much admired by its worshippers, are common enough. The fact +is that this is precisely where baby-worship is so profoundly right. Any +words and any antics in a lump of clay are wonderful, the child's words +and antics are wonderful, and it is only fair to say that the +philosopher's words and antics are equally wonderful.</p> + +<p>The truth is that it is our attitude towards children that is right, and +our attitude towards grown-up people that is wrong. Our attitude towards +our equals in age consists in a servile solemnity, overlying a +considerable degree of indifference or disdain. Our attitude towards +children consists in a condescending indulgence, overlying an +unfathomable respect. We bow to grown people, take off our hats to them,<!-- Page 108 --><a name="Page_108"></a> +refrain from contradicting them flatly, but we do not appreciate them +properly. We make puppets of children, lecture them, pull their hair, +and reverence, love, and fear them. When we reverence anything in the +mature, it is their virtues or their wisdom, and this is an easy +matter. But we reverence the faults and follies of children.</p> + +<p>We should probably come considerably nearer to the true conception of +things if we treated all grown-up persons, of all titles and types, with +precisely that dark affection and dazed respect with which we treat the +infantile limitations. A child has a difficulty in achieving the miracle +of speech, consequently we find his blunders almost as marvellous as his +accuracy. If we only adopted the same attitude towards Premiers and +Chancellors of the Exchequer, if we genially encouraged their stammering +and delightful attempts at human speech, we should be in a far more wise +and tolerant temper. A child has a knack of making experiments in life, +generally healthy in motive, but often intolerable in a domestic +commonwealth. If we only treated all commercial buccaneers and bumptious +tyrants on the same terms, if we gently chided their brutalities as +rather quaint mistakes in the conduct of life, if we simply told them +that they would 'understand when they were older,' we should probably be +adopting the best and most crushing attitude towards the weaknesses of +humanity. In our relations to children we prove that the paradox is<!-- Page 109 --><a name="Page_109"></a> +entirely true, that it is possible to combine an amnesty that verges on +contempt with a worship that verges upon terror. We forgive children +with the same kind of blasphemous gentleness with which Omar Khayyam +forgave the Omnipotent.</p> + +<p>The essential rectitude of our view of children lies in the fact that we +feel them and their ways to be supernatural while, for some mysterious +reason, we do not feel ourselves or our own ways to be supernatural. The +very smallness of children makes it possible to regard them as marvels; +we seem to be dealing with a new race, only to be seen through a +microscope. I doubt if anyone of any tenderness or imagination can see +the hand of a child and not be a little frightened of it. It is awful to +think of the essential human energy moving so tiny a thing; it is like +imagining that human nature could live in the wing of a butterfly or the +leaf of a tree. When we look upon lives so human and yet so small, we +feel as if we ourselves were enlarged to an embarrassing bigness of +stature. We feel the same kind of obligation to these creatures that a +deity might feel if he had created something that he could not<!-- Page 110 --><a name="Page_110"></a> +understand.</p> + +<p>But the humorous look of children is perhaps the most endearing of all +the bonds that hold the Cosmos together. Their top-heavy dignity is +more touching than any humility; their solemnity gives us more hope for +all things than a thousand carnivals of optimism; their large and +lustrous eyes seem to hold all the stars in their astonishment; their +fascinating absence of nose seems to give to us the most perfect hint of +the humour that awaits us in the kingdom of heaven.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_DETECTIVE_STORIES"></a>A DEFENCE OF DETECTIVE STORIES</h2> +<br> + +<p>In attempting to reach the genuine psychological reason for the +popularity of detective stories, it is necessary to rid ourselves of<!-- Page 111 --><a name="Page_111"></a> +many mere phrases. It is not true, for example, that the populace prefer +bad literature to good, and accept detective stories because they are +bad literature. The mere absence of artistic subtlety does not make a +book popular. Bradshaw's Railway Guide contains few gleams of +psychological comedy, yet it is not read aloud uproariously on winter +evenings. If detective stories are read with more exuberance than +railway guides, it is certainly because they are more artistic. Many +good books have fortunately been popular; many bad books, still more +fortunately, have been unpopular. A good detective story would probably +be even more popular than a bad one. The trouble in this matter is that +many people do not realize that there is such a thing as a good +detective story; it is to them like speaking of a good devil. To write a +story about a burglary is, in their eyes, a sort of spiritual manner of +committing it. To persons of somewhat weak sensibility this is natural +enough; it must be confessed that many detective stories are as full of +sensational crime as one of Shakespeare's plays.</p> + +<p>There is, however, between a good detective story and a bad detective +story as much, or, rather more, difference than there is between a good +epic and a bad one. Not only is a detective story a perfectly legitimate +form of art, but it has certain definite and real advantages as an agent<!-- Page 112 --><a name="Page_112"></a> +of the public weal.</p> + +<p>The first essential value of the detective story lies in this, that it +is the earliest and only form of popular literature in which is +expressed some sense of the poetry of modern life. Men lived among +mighty mountains and eternal forests for ages before they realized that +they were poetical; it may reasonably be inferred that some of our +descendants may see the chimney-pots as rich a purple as the +mountain-peaks, and find the lamp-posts as old and natural as the trees. +Of this realization of a great city itself as something wild and obvious +the detective story is certainly the 'Iliad.' No one can have failed to +notice that in these stories the hero or the investigator crosses London +with something of the loneliness and liberty of a prince in a tale of<!-- Page 113 --><a name="Page_113"></a> +elfland, that in the course of that incalculable journey the casual +omnibus assumes the primal colours of a fairy ship. The lights of the +city begin to glow like innumerable goblin eyes, since they are the +guardians of some secret, however crude, which the writer knows and the +reader does not. Every twist of the road is like a finger pointing to +it; every fantastic skyline of chimney-pots seems wildly and derisively +signalling the meaning of the mystery.</p> + +<p>This realization of the poetry of London is not a small thing. A city +is, properly speaking, more poetic even than a countryside, for while +Nature is a chaos of unconscious forces, a city is a chaos of conscious +ones. The crest of the flower or the pattern of the lichen may or may +not be significant symbols. But there is no stone in the street and no +brick in the wall that is not actually a deliberate symbol—a message +from some man, as much as if it were a telegram or a post-card. The +narrowest street possesses, in every crook and twist of its intention, +the soul of the man who built it, perhaps long in his grave. Every brick<!-- Page 114 --><a name="Page_114"></a> +has as human a hieroglyph as if it were a graven brick of Babylon; every +slate on the roof is as educational a document as if it were a slate +covered with addition and subtraction sums. Anything which tends, even +under the fantastic form of the minutiae of Sherlock Holmes, to assert +this romance of detail in civilization, to emphasize this unfathomably +human character in flints and tiles, is a good thing. It is good that +the average man should fall into the habit of looking imaginatively at +ten men in the street even if it is only on the chance that the eleventh +might be a notorious thief. We may dream, perhaps, that it might be +possible to have another and higher romance of London, that men's souls +have stranger adventures than their bodies, and that it would be harder +and more exciting to hunt their virtues than to hunt their crimes. But +since our great authors (with the admirable exception of Stevenson) +decline to write of that thrilling mood and moment when the eyes of the +great city, like the eyes of a cat, begin to flame in the dark, we must +give fair credit to the popular literature which, amid a babble of +pedantry and preciosity, declines to regard the present as prosaic or +the common as commonplace. Popular art in all ages has been interested +in contemporary manners and costume; it dressed the groups around the +Crucifixion in the garb of Florentine ge<!-- Page 115 --><a name="Page_115"></a>ntlefolk or Flemish burghers. +In the last century it was the custom for distinguished actors to +present Macbeth in a powdered wig and ruffles. How far we are ourselves +in this age from such conviction of the poetry of our own life and +manners may easily be conceived by anyone who chooses to imagine a +picture of Alfred the Great toasting the cakes dressed in tourist's +knickerbockers, or a performance of 'Hamlet' in which the Prince +appeared in a frock-coat, with a crape band round his hat. But this +instinct of the age to look back, like Lot's wife, could not go on for +ever. A rude, popular literature of the romantic possibilities of the +modern city was bound to arise. It has arisen in the popular detective +stories, as rough and refreshing as the ballads of Robin Hood.</p> + +<p>There is, however, another good work that is done by detective stories. +While it is the constant tendency of the Old Adam to rebel against so +universal and automatic a thing as civilization, to preach departure and +rebellion, the romance of police activity keeps in some sense before the +mind the fact that civilization itself is the most sensational of +departures and the most romantic of rebellions. By dealing with the<!-- Page 116 --><a name="Page_116"></a> +unsleeping sentinels who guard the outposts of society, it tends to +remind us that we live in an armed camp, making war with a chaotic +world, and that the criminals, the children of chaos, are nothing but +the traitors within our gates. When the detective in a police romance +stands alone, and somewhat fatuously fearless amid the knives and fists +of a thieves' kitchen, it does certainly serve to make us remember that +it is the agent of social justice who is the original and poetic figure, +while the burglars and footpads are merely placid old cosmic +conservatives, happy in the immemorial respectability of apes and +wolves. The romance of the police force is thus the whole romance of +man. It is based on the fact that morality is the most dark and daring +of conspiracies. It reminds us that the whole noiseless and unnoticeable +police management by which we are ruled and protected is only a +successful knight-errantry.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<h2><a name="A_DEFENCE_OF_PATRIOTISM"></a>A DEFENCE OF PATRIOTISM</h2><!-- Page 117 --><a name="Page_117"></a> +<br> + +<p>The decay of patriotism in England during the last year or two is a +serious and distressing matter. Only in consequence of such a decay +could the current lust of territory be confounded with the ancient love +of country. We may imagine that if there were no such thing as a pair of +lovers left in the world, all the vocabulary of love might without +rebuke be transferred to the lowest and most automatic desire. If no +type of chivalrous and purifying passion remained, there would be no one +left to say that lust bore none of the marks of love, that lust was +rapacious and love pitiful, that lust was blind and love vigilant, that +lust sated itself and love was insatiable. So it is with the 'love of +the city,' that high and ancient intellectual passion which has been +written in red blood on the same table with the primal passions of our +being. On all sides we hear to-day of the love of our country, and yet +anyone who has literally such a love must be bewildered at the talk, +like a man hearing all men say that the moon shines by day and the sun +by night. The conviction must come to him at last that these men do not +realize what the word 'love' means, that they mean by the love of +country, not what a mystic might mean by the love of God, but something +of what a child might mean by the love of jam. To one who loves his<!-- Page 118 --><a name="Page_118"></a> +fatherland, for instance, our boasted indifference to the ethics of a +national war is mere mysterious gibberism. It is like telling a man that +a boy has committed murder, but that he need not mind because it is only +his son. Here clearly the word 'love' is used unmeaningly. It is the +essence of love to be sensitive, it is a part of its doom; and anyone +who objects to the one must certainly get rid of the other. This +sensitiveness, rising sometimes to an almost morbid sensitiveness, was +the mark of all great lovers like Dante and all great patriots like +Chatham. 'My country, right or wrong,' is a thing that no patriot would +think of saying except in a desperate case. It is like saying, 'My +mother, drunk or sober.' No doubt if a decent man's mother took to drink<!-- Page 119 --><a name="Page_119"></a> +he would share her troubles to the last; but to talk as if he would be +in a state of gay indifference as to whether his mother took to drink or +not is certainly not the language of men who know the great mystery.</p> + +<p>What we really need for the frustration and overthrow of a deaf and +raucous Jingoism is a renascence of the love of the native land. When +that comes, all shrill cries will cease suddenly. For the first of all +the marks of love is seriousness: love will not accept sham bulletins or +the empty victory of words. It will always esteem the most candid +counsellor the best. Love is drawn to truth by the unerring magnetism of +agony; it gives no pleasure to the lover to see ten doctors dancing with +vociferous optimism round a death-bed.</p> + +<p>We have to ask, then, Why is it that this recent movement in England, +which has honestly appeared to many a renascence of patriotism, seems to +us to have none of the marks of patriotism—at least, of patriotism in +its highest form? Why has the adoration of o<!-- Page 120 --><a name="Page_120"></a>ur patriots been given +wholly to qualities and circumstances good in themselves, but +comparatively material and trivial:—trade, physical force, a skirmish +at a remote frontier, a squabble in a remote continent? Colonies are +things to be proud of, but for a country to be only proud of its +extremities is like a man being only proud of his legs. Why is there not +a high central intellectual patriotism, a patriotism of the head and +heart of the Empire, and not merely of its fists and its boots? A rude +Athenian sailor may very likely have thought that the glory of Athens +lay in rowing with the right kind of oars, or having a good supply of +garlic; but Pericles did not think that this was the glory of Athens. +With us, on the other hand, there is no difference at all between the +patriotism preached by Mr. Chamberlain and that preached by Mr. Pat +Rafferty, who sings 'What do you think of the Irish now?' They are both +honest, simple-minded, vulgar eulogies upon trivialities and truisms.</p> + +<p>I have, rightly or wrongly, a notion of the chief cause of this +pettiness in English patriotism of to-day, and I will attempt to expound +it. It may be taken generally that a man loves his own stock and +environment, and that he will find something to praise in it; but +whether it is the most praiseworthy thing or no will depend upon the +man's enlightenment as to the facts. If the son of Thackeray, let us<!-- Page 121 --><a name="Page_121"></a> +say, were brought up in ignorance of his father's fame and genius, it is +not improbable that he would be proud of the fact that his father was +over six feet high. It seems to me that we, as a nation, are precisely +in the position of this hypothetical child of Thackeray's. We fall back +upon gross and frivolous things for our patriotism, for a simple reason. +We are the only people in the world who are not taught in childhood our +own literature and our own history.</p> + +<p>We are, as a nation, in the truly extraordinary condition of not knowing +our own merits. We have played a great and splendid part in the history +of universal thought and sentiment; we have been among the foremost in +that eternal and bloodless battle in which the blows do not slay, but +create. In painting and music we are inferior to many other nations; but +in literature, science, philosophy, and political eloquence, if history +be taken as a whole, we can hold our own with any. But all this vast +heritage of intellectual glory is kept from our schoolboys like a +heresy; and they are left to live and die in the dull and infantile type +of patriotism which they learnt from a box of tin soldiers. There is no +harm in the box of tin soldiers; we do not expect children to be equally<!-- Page 122 --><a name="Page_122"></a> +delighted with a beautiful box of tin philanthropists. But there is +great harm in the fact that the subtler and more civilized honour of +England is not presented so as to keep pace with the expanding mind. A +French boy is taught the glory of Molière as well as that of Turenne; a +German boy is taught his own great national philosophy before he learns +the philosophy of antiquity. The result is that, though French +patriotism is often crazy and boastful, though German patriotism is +often isolated and pedantic, they are neither of them merely dull, +common, and brutal, as is so often the strange fate of the nation of +Bacon and Locke. It is natural enough, and even righteous enough, under +the circumstances. An Englishman must love England for something; +consequently, he tends to exalt commerce or prize-fighting, just as a +German might tend to exalt music, or a Flamand to exalt painting, +because he really believes it is the chief merit of his fatherland. It +would not be in the least extraordinary if a claim of eating up +provinces and pulling down princes were the chief boast of a Zulu. The +extraordinary thing is, that it is the chief boast of a people who have +Shakespeare, Newton, Burke, and Darwin to boast of.</p><!-- Page 123 --><a name="Page_123"></a> + +<p>The peculiar lack of any generosity or delicacy in the current English +nationalism appears to have no other possible origin but in this fact of +our unique neglect in education of the study of the national literature. +An Englishman could not be silly enough to despise other nations if he +once knew how much England had done for them. Great men of letters +cannot avoid being humane and universal. The absence of the teaching of +English literature in our schools is, when we come to think of it, an +almost amazing phenomenon. It is even more amazing when we listen to the +arguments urged by headmasters and other educational conservatives +against the direct teaching of English. It is said, for example, that a +vast amount of English grammar and literature is picked up in the course +of learning Latin and Greek. This is perfectly true, but the +topsy-turviness of the idea never seems to strike them. It is like +saying that a baby picks up the art of walking in the course of learning +to hop, or that a Frenchman may successfully be taught German by helping +a Prussian to learn Ashanti. Surely the obvious foundation of all +education is the language in which that education is conveyed; if a boy +has only time to learn one thing, he had better learn that.</p> +<!-- Page 124 --><a name="Page_124"></a> +<p>We have deliberately neglected this great heritage of high national +sentiment. We have made our public schools the strongest walls against a +whisper of the honour of England. And we have had our punishment in this +strange and perverted fact that, while a unifying vision of patriotism +can ennoble bands of brutal savages or dingy burghers, and be the best +thing in their lives, we, who are—the world being judge—humane, +honest, and serious individually, have a patriotism that is the worst +thing in ours. What have we done, and where have we wandered, we that +have produced sages who could have spoken with Socrates and poets who +could walk with Dante, that we should talk as if we have never done +anything more intelligent than found colonies and kick niggers? We are +the children of light, and it is we that sit in darkness. If we are +judged, it will not be for the merely intellectual transgression of +failing to appreciate other nations, but for the supreme spiritual +transgression of failing to appreciate ourselves.</p> +<br> +<!-- Page 125 --><a name="Page_125"></a> +<p>THE END</p> + +<p>BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD</p> + + + + + +<!-- Page 132 --><a name="Page_132"></a><!-- Page 126 --><a name="Page_126"></a><!-- Page 128 --><a name="Page_128"></a><!-- Page 130 --><a name="Page_130"></a><!-- Page 131 --><a name="Page_131"></a><!-- Page 127 --><a name="Page_127"></a><!-- Page 129 --><a name="Page_129"></a> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Defendant, by G.K. 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Chesterton + +Release Date: May 3, 2004 [EBook #12245] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEFENDANT *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Shimmin, Frank van Drogen and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + + + +THE DEFENDANT + +BY G. K. CHESTERTON + +AUTHOR OF 'THE WILD KNIGHT' AND 'GREYBEARDS AT PLAY' + +SECOND EDITION + +LONDON. MDCCCCII + +R. BRIMLEY JOHNSON + + * * * * * + +The 'Defences' of which this volume is composed have appeared in _The +Speaker_, and are here reprinted, after revision and amplification, by +permission of the Editor. Portions of 'The Defence of Publicity' +appeared in _The Daily News_. + +_October_, 1901. + + * * * * * + +CONTENTS + + +IN DEFENCE OF A NEW EDITION + +INTRODUCTION + +A DEFENCE OF PENNY DREADFULS + +A DEFENCE OF RASH VOWS + +A DEFENCE OF SKELETONS + +A DEFENCE OF PUBLICITY + +A DEFENCE OF NONSENSE + +A DEFENCE OF PLANETS + +A DEFENCE OF CHINA SHEPHERDESSES + +A DEFENCE OF USEFUL INFORMATION + +A DEFENCE OF HERALDRY + +A DEFENCE OF UGLY THINGS + +A DEFENCE OF FARCE + +A DEFENCE OF HUMILITY + +A DEFENCE OF SLANG + +A DEFENCE OF BABY-WORSHIP + +A DEFENCE OF DETECTIVE STORIES + +A DEFENCE OF PATRIOTISM + + + * * * * * + + +_IN DEFENCE OF A NEW EDITION + +The reissue of a series of essays so ephemeral and even superfluous may +seem at the first glance to require some excuse; probably the best +excuse is that they will have been completely forgotten, and therefore +may be read again with entirely new sensations. I am not sure, however, +that this claim is so modest as it sounds, for I fancy that Shakespeare +and Balzac, if moved to prayers, might not ask to be remembered, but to +be forgotten, and forgotten thus; for if they were forgotten they would +be everlastingly re-discovered and re-read. It is a monotonous memory +which keeps us in the main from seeing things as splendid as they are. +The ancients were not wrong when they made Lethe the boundary of a +better land; perhaps the only flaw in their system is that a man who had +bathed in the river of forgetfulness would be as likely as not to climb +back upon the bank of the earth and fancy himself in Elysium. + +If, therefore, I am certain that most sensible people have forgotten +the existence of this book--I do not speak in modesty or in pride--I +wish only to state a simple and somewhat beautiful fact. In one respect +the passing of the period during which a book can be considered current +has afflicted me with some melancholy, for I had intended to write +anonymously in some daily paper a thorough and crushing exposure of the +work inspired mostly by a certain artistic impatience of the too +indulgent tone of the critiques and the manner in which a vast number of +my most monstrous fallacies have passed unchallenged. I will not repeat +that powerful article here, for it cannot be necessary to do anything +more than warn the reader against the perfectly indefensible line of +argument adopted at the end of p. 28. I am also conscious that the title +of the book is, strictly speaking, inaccurate. It is a legal metaphor, +and, speaking legally, a defendant is not an enthusiast for the +character of King John or the domestic virtues of the prairie-dog. He is +one who defends himself, a thing which the present writer, however +poisoned his mind may be with paradox, certainly never dreamed of +attempting. + +Criticism upon the book considered as literature, if it can be so +considered, I should, of course, never dream of discussing--firstly, +because it is ridiculous to do so; and, secondly, because there was, in +my opinion, much justice in such criticism. + +But there is one matter on which an author is generally considered as +having a right to explain himself, since it has nothing to do with +capacity or intelligence, and that is the question of his morals. + +I am proud to say that a furious, uncompromising, and very effective +attack was made upon what was alleged to be the utter immorality of this +book by my excellent friend Mr. C.F.G. Masterman, in the 'Speaker.' The +tendency of that criticism was to the effect that I was discouraging +improvement and disguising scandals by my offensive optimism. Quoting +the passage in which I said that 'diamonds were to be found in the +dust-bin,' he said: 'There is no difficulty in finding good in what +humanity rejects. The difficulty is to find it in what humanity accepts. +The diamond is easy enough to find in the dust-bin. The difficulty is to +find it in the drawing-room.' I must admit, for my part, without the +slightest shame, that I have found a great many very excellent things in +drawing-rooms. For example, I found Mr. Masterman in a drawing-room. But +I merely mention this purely ethical attack in order to state, in as few +sentences as possible, my difference from the theory of optimism and +progress therein enunciated. At first sight it would seem that the +pessimist encourages improvement. But in reality it is a singular truth +that the era in which pessimism has been cried from the house-tops is +also that in which almost all reform has stagnated and fallen into +decay. The reason of this is not difficult to discover. No man ever did, +and no man ever can, create or desire to make a bad thing good or an +ugly thing beautiful. There must be some germ of good to be loved, some +fragment of beauty to be admired. The mother washes and decks out the +dirty or careless child, but no one can ask her to wash and deck out a +goblin with a heart like hell. No one can kill the fatted calf for +Mephistopheles. The cause which is blocking all progress today is the +subtle scepticism which whispers in a million ears that things are not +good enough to be worth improving. If the world is good we are +revolutionaries, if the world is evil we must be conservatives. These +essays, futile as they are considered as serious literature, are yet +ethically sincere, since they seek to remind men that things must be +loved first and improved afterwards. + +G. K. C_. + + * * * * * + +THE DEFENDANT + +INTRODUCTION + +In certain endless uplands, uplands like great flats gone dizzy, slopes +that seem to contradict the idea that there is even such a thing as a +level, and make us all realize that we live on a planet with a sloping +roof, you will come from time to time upon whole valleys filled with +loose rocks and boulders, so big as to be like mountains broken loose. +The whole might be an experimental creation shattered and cast away. It +is often difficult to believe that such cosmic refuse can have come +together except by human means. The mildest and most cockney imagination +conceives the place to be the scene of some war of giants. To me it is +always associated with one idea, recurrent and at last instinctive. The +scene was the scene of the stoning of some prehistoric prophet, a +prophet as much more gigantic than after-prophets as the boulders are +more gigantic than the pebbles. He spoke some words--words that seemed +shameful and tremendous--and the world, in terror, buried him under a +wilderness of stones. The place is the monument of an ancient fear. + +If we followed the same mood of fancy, it would be more difficult to +imagine what awful hint or wild picture of the universe called forth +that primal persecution, what secret of sensational thought lies buried +under the brutal stones. For in our time the blasphemies are threadbare. +Pessimism is now patently, as it always was essentially, more +commonplace than piety. Profanity is now more than an affectation--it is +a convention. The curse against God is Exercise I. in the primer of +minor poetry. It was not, assuredly, for such babyish solemnities that +our imaginary prophet was stoned in the morning of the world. If we +weigh the matter in the faultless scales of imagination, if we see what +is the real trend of humanity, we shall feel it most probable that he +was stoned for saying that the grass was green and that the birds sang +in spring; for the mission of all the prophets from the beginning has +not been so much the pointing out of heavens or hells as primarily the +pointing out of the earth. + +Religion has had to provide that longest and strangest telescope--the +telescope through which we could see the star upon which we dwelt. For +the mind and eyes of the average man this world is as lost as Eden and +as sunken as Atlantis. There runs a strange law through the length of +human history--that men are continually tending to undervalue their +environment, to undervalue their happiness, to undervalue themselves. +The great sin of mankind, the sin typified by the fall of Adam, is the +tendency, not towards pride, but towards this weird and horrible +humility. + +This is the great fall, the fall by which the fish forgets the sea, the +ox forgets the meadow, the clerk forgets the city, every man forgets his +environment and, in the fullest and most literal sense, forgets himself. +This is the real fall of Adam, and it is a spiritual fall. It is a +strange thing that many truly spiritual men, such as General Gordon, +have actually spent some hours in speculating upon the precise location +of the Garden of Eden. Most probably we are in Eden still. It is only +our eyes that have changed. + +The pessimist is commonly spoken of as the man in revolt. He is not. +Firstly, because it requires some cheerfulness to continue in revolt, +and secondly, because pessimism appeals to the weaker side of everybody, +and the pessimist, therefore, drives as roaring a trade as the publican. +The person who is really in revolt is the optimist, who generally lives +and dies in a desperate and suicidal effort to persuade all the other +people how good they are. It has been proved a hundred times over that +if you really wish to enrage people and make them angry, even unto +death, the right way to do it is to tell them that they are all the sons +of God. Jesus Christ was crucified, it may be remembered, not because of +anything he said about God, but on a charge of saying that a man could +in three days pull down and rebuild the Temple. Every one of the great +revolutionists, from Isaiah to Shelley, have been optimists. They have +been indignant, not about the badness of existence, but about the +slowness of men in realizing its goodness. The prophet who is stoned is +not a brawler or a marplot. He is simply a rejected lover. He suffers +from an unrequited attachment to things in general. + +It becomes increasingly apparent, therefore, that the world is in a +permanent danger of being misjudged. That this is no fanciful or +mystical idea may be tested by simple examples. The two absolutely basic +words 'good' and 'bad,' descriptive of two primal and inexplicable +sensations, are not, and never have been, used properly. Things that are +bad are not called good by any people who experience them; but things +that are good are called bad by the universal verdict of humanity. + +Let me explain a little: Certain things are bad so far as they go, such +as pain, and no one, not even a lunatic, calls a tooth-ache good in +itself; but a knife which cuts clumsily and with difficulty is called a +bad knife, which it certainly is not. It is only not so good as other +knives to which men have grown accustomed. A knife is never bad except +on such rare occasions as that in which it is neatly and scientifically +planted in the middle of one's back. The coarsest and bluntest knife +which ever broke a pencil into pieces instead of sharpening it is a good +thing in so far as it is a knife. It would have appeared a miracle in +the Stone Age. What we call a bad knife is a good knife not good enough +for us; what we call a bad hat is a good hat not good enough for us; +what we call bad cookery is good cookery not good enough for us; what we +call a bad civilization is a good civilization not good enough for us. +We choose to call the great mass of the history of mankind bad, not +because it is bad, but because we are better. This is palpably an unfair +principle. Ivory may not be so white as snow, but the whole Arctic +continent does not make ivory black. + +Now it has appeared to me unfair that humanity should be engaged +perpetually in calling all those things bad which have been good enough +to make other things better, in everlastingly kicking down the ladder by +which it has climbed. It has appeared to me that progress should be +something else besides a continual parricide; therefore I have +investigated the dust-heaps of humanity, and found a treasure in all of +them. I have found that humanity is not incidentally engaged, but +eternally and systematically engaged, in throwing gold into the gutter +and diamonds into the sea. I have found that every man is disposed to +call the green leaf of the tree a little less green than it is, and the +snow of Christmas a little less white than it is; therefore I have +imagined that the main business of a man, however humble, is defence. I +have conceived that a defendant is chiefly required when worldlings +despise the world--that a counsel for the defence would not have been +out of place in that terrible day when the sun was darkened over Calvary +and Man was rejected of men. + + + * * * * * + + +A DEFENCE OF PENNY DREADFULS + + +One of the strangest examples of the degree to which ordinary life is +undervalued is the example of popular literature, the vast mass of which +we contentedly describe as vulgar. The boy's novelette may be ignorant +in a literary sense, which is only like saying that a modern novel is +ignorant in the chemical sense, or the economic sense, or the +astronomical sense; but it is not vulgar intrinsically--it is the actual +centre of a million flaming imaginations. + +In former centuries the educated class ignored the ruck of vulgar +literature. They ignored, and therefore did not, properly speaking, +despise it. Simple ignorance and indifference does not inflate the +character with pride. A man does not walk down the street giving a +haughty twirl to his moustaches at the thought of his superiority to +some variety of deep-sea fishes. The old scholars left the whole +under-world of popular compositions in a similar darkness. + +To-day, however, we have reversed this principle. We do despise vulgar +compositions, and we do not ignore them. We are in some danger of +becoming petty in our study of pettiness; there is a terrible Circean +law in the background that if the soul stoops too ostentatiously to +examine anything it never gets up again. There is no class of vulgar +publications about which there is, to my mind, more utterly ridiculous +exaggeration and misconception than the current boys' literature of the +lowest stratum. This class of composition has presumably always existed, +and must exist. It has no more claim to be good literature than the +daily conversation of its readers to be fine oratory, or the +lodging-houses and tenements they inhabit to be sublime architecture. +But people must have conversation, they must have houses, and they must +have stories. The simple need for some kind of ideal world in which +fictitious persons play an unhampered part is infinitely deeper and +older than the rules of good art, and much more important. Every one of +us in childhood has constructed such an invisible _dramatis personae_, +but it never occurred to our nurses to correct the composition by +careful comparison with Balzac. In the East the professional +story-teller goes from village to village with a small carpet; and I +wish sincerely that anyone had the moral courage to spread that carpet +and sit on it in Ludgate Circus. But it is not probable that all the +tales of the carpet-bearer are little gems of original artistic +workmanship. Literature and fiction are two entirely different things. +Literature is a luxury; fiction is a necessity. A work of art can hardly +be too short, for its climax is its merit. A story can never be too +long, for its conclusion is merely to be deplored, like the last +halfpenny or the last pipelight. And so, while the increase of the +artistic conscience tends in more ambitious works to brevity and +impressionism, voluminous industry still marks the producer of the true +romantic trash. There was no end to the ballads of Robin Hood; there is +no end to the volumes about Dick Deadshot and the Avenging Nine. These +two heroes are deliberately conceived as immortal. + +But instead of basing all discussion of the problem upon the +common-sense recognition of this fact--that the youth of the lower +orders always has had and always must have formless and endless romantic +reading of some kind, and then going on to make provision for its +wholesomeness--we begin, generally speaking, by fantastic abuse of this +reading as a whole and indignant surprise that the errand-boys under +discussion do not read 'The Egoist' and 'The Master Builder.' It is the +custom, particularly among magistrates, to attribute half the crimes of +the Metropolis to cheap novelettes. If some grimy urchin runs away with +an apple, the magistrate shrewdly points out that the child's knowledge +that apples appease hunger is traceable to some curious literary +researches. The boys themselves, when penitent, frequently accuse the +novelettes with great bitterness, which is only to be expected from +young people possessed of no little native humour. If I had forged a +will, and could obtain sympathy by tracing the incident to the influence +of Mr. George Moore's novels, I should find the greatest entertainment +in the diversion. At any rate, it is firmly fixed in the minds of most +people that gutter-boys, unlike everybody else in the community, find +their principal motives for conduct in printed books. + +Now it is quite clear that this objection, the objection brought by +magistrates, has nothing to do with literary merit. Bad story writing is +not a crime. Mr. Hall Caine walks the streets openly, and cannot be put +in prison for an anticlimax. The objection rests upon the theory that +the tone of the mass of boys' novelettes is criminal and degraded, +appealing to low cupidity and low cruelty. This is the magisterial +theory, and this is rubbish. + +So far as I have seen them, in connection with the dirtiest book-stalls +in the poorest districts, the facts are simply these: The whole +bewildering mass of vulgar juvenile literature is concerned with +adventures, rambling, disconnected and endless. It does not express any +passion of any sort, for there is no human character of any sort. It +runs eternally in certain grooves of local and historical type: the +medieval knight, the eighteenth-century duellist, and the modern cowboy, +recur with the same stiff simplicity as the conventional human figures +in an Oriental pattern. I can quite as easily imagine a human being +kindling wild appetites by the contemplation of his Turkey carpet as by +such dehumanized and naked narrative as this. + +Among these stories there are a certain number which deal +sympathetically with the adventures of robbers, outlaws and pirates, +which present in a dignified and romantic light thieves and murderers +like Dick Turpin and Claude Duval. That is to say, they do precisely the +same thing as Scott's 'Ivanhoe,' Scott's 'Rob Roy,' Scott's 'Lady of +the Lake,' Byron's 'Corsair,' Wordsworth's 'Rob Roy's Grave,' +Stevenson's 'Macaire,' Mr. Max Pemberton's 'Iron Pirate,' and a thousand +more works distributed systematically as prizes and Christmas presents. +Nobody imagines that an admiration of Locksley in 'Ivanhoe' will lead a +boy to shoot Japanese arrows at the deer in Richmond Park; no one thinks +that the incautious opening of Wordsworth at the poem on Rob Roy will +set him up for life as a blackmailer. In the case of our own class, we +recognise that this wild life is contemplated with pleasure by the +young, not because it is like their own life, but because it is +different from it. It might at least cross our minds that, for whatever +other reason the errand-boy reads 'The Red Revenge,' it really is not +because he is dripping with the gore of his own friends and relatives. + +In this matter, as in all such matters, we lose our bearings entirely by +speaking of the 'lower classes' when we mean humanity minus ourselves. +This trivial romantic literature is not especially plebeian: it is +simply human. The philanthropist can never forget classes and callings. +He says, with a modest swagger, 'I have invited twenty-five factory +hands to tea.' If he said 'I have invited twenty-five chartered +accountants to tea,' everyone would see the humour of so simple a +classification. But this is what we have done with this lumberland of +foolish writing: we have probed, as if it were some monstrous new +disease, what is, in fact, nothing but the foolish and valiant heart of +man. Ordinary men will always be sentimentalists: for a sentimentalist +is simply a man who has feelings and does not trouble to invent a new +way of expressing them. These common and current publications have +nothing essentially evil about them. They express the sanguine and +heroic truisms on which civilization is built; for it is clear that +unless civilization is built on truisms, it is not built at all. +Clearly, there could be no safety for a society in which the remark by +the Chief Justice that murder was wrong was regarded as an original and +dazzling epigram. + +If the authors and publishers of 'Dick Deadshot,' and such remarkable +works, were suddenly to make a raid upon the educated class, were to +take down the names of every man, however distinguished, who was caught +at a University Extension Lecture, were to confiscate all our novels and +warn us all to correct our lives, we should be seriously annoyed. Yet +they have far more right to do so than we; for they, with all their +idiotcy, are normal and we are abnormal. It is the modern literature of +the educated, not of the uneducated, which is avowedly and aggressively +criminal. Books recommending profligacy and pessimism, at which the +high-souled errand-boy would shudder, lie upon all our drawing-room +tables. If the dirtiest old owner of the dirtiest old bookstall in +Whitechapel dared to display works really recommending polygamy or +suicide, his stock would be seized by the police. These things are our +luxuries. And with a hypocrisy so ludicrous as to be almost unparalleled +in history, we rate the gutter-boys for their immorality at the very +time that we are discussing (with equivocal German Professors) whether +morality is valid at all. At the very instant that we curse the Penny +Dreadful for encouraging thefts upon property, we canvass the +proposition that all property is theft. At the very instant we accuse it +(quite unjustly) of lubricity and indecency, we are cheerfully reading +philosophies which glory in lubricity and indecency. At the very instant +that we charge it with encouraging the young to destroy life, we are +placidly discussing whether life is worth preserving. + +But it is we who are the morbid exceptions; it is we who are the +criminal class. This should be our great comfort. The vast mass of +humanity, with their vast mass of idle books and idle words, have never +doubted and never will doubt that courage is splendid, that fidelity is +noble, that distressed ladies should be rescued, and vanquished enemies +spared. There are a large number of cultivated persons who doubt these +maxims of daily life, just as there are a large number of persons who +believe they are the Prince of Wales; and I am told that both classes of +people are entertaining conversationalists. But the average man or boy +writes daily in these great gaudy diaries of his soul, which we call +Penny Dreadfuls, a plainer and better gospel than any of those +iridescent ethical paradoxes that the fashionable change as often as +their bonnets. It may be a very limited aim in morality to shoot a +'many-faced and fickle traitor,' but at least it is a better aim than to +be a many-faced and fickle traitor, which is a simple summary of a good +many modern systems from Mr. d'Annunzio's downwards. So long as the +coarse and thin texture of mere current popular romance is not touched +by a paltry culture it will never be vitally immoral. It is always on +the side of life. The poor--the slaves who really stoop under the +burden of life--have often been mad, scatter-brained and cruel, but +never hopeless. That is a class privilege, like cigars. Their drivelling +literature will always be a 'blood and thunder' literature, as simple as +the thunder of heaven and the blood of men. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF RASH VOWS + +If a prosperous modern man, with a high hat and a frock-coat, were to +solemnly pledge himself before all his clerks and friends to count the +leaves on every third tree in Holland Walk, to hop up to the City on one +leg every Thursday, to repeat the whole of Mill's 'Liberty' seventy-six +times, to collect 300 dandelions in fields belonging to anyone of the +name of Brown, to remain for thirty-one hours holding his left ear in +his right hand, to sing the names of all his aunts in order of age on +the top of an omnibus, or make any such unusual undertaking, we should +immediately conclude that the man was mad, or, as it is sometimes +expressed, was 'an artist in life.' Yet these vows are not more +extraordinary than the vows which in the Middle Ages and in similar +periods were made, not by fanatics merely, but by the greatest figures +in civic and national civilization--by kings, judges, poets, and +priests. One man swore to chain two mountains together, and the great +chain hung there, it was said, for ages as a monument of that mystical +folly. Another swore that he would find his way to Jerusalem with a +patch over his eyes, and died looking for it. It is not easy to see that +these two exploits, judged from a strictly rational standpoint, are any +saner than the acts above suggested. A mountain is commonly a stationary +and reliable object which it is not necessary to chain up at night like +a dog. And it is not easy at first sight to see that a man pays a very +high compliment to the Holy City by setting out for it under conditions +which render it to the last degree improbable that he will ever get +there. + +But about this there is one striking thing to be noticed. If men behaved +in that way in our time, we should, as we have said, regard them as +symbols of the 'decadence.' But the men who did these things were not +decadent; they belonged generally to the most robust classes of what is +generally regarded as a robust age. Again, it will be urged that if men +essentially sane performed such insanities, it was under the capricious +direction of a superstitious religious system. This, again, will not +hold water; for in the purely terrestrial and even sensual departments +of life, such as love and lust, the medieval princes show the same mad +promises and performances, the same misshapen imagination and the same +monstrous self-sacrifice. Here we have a contradiction, to explain which +it is necessary to think of the whole nature of vows from the beginning. +And if we consider seriously and correctly the nature of vows, we shall, +unless I am much mistaken, come to the conclusion that it is perfectly +sane, and even sensible, to swear to chain mountains together, and that, +if insanity is involved at all, it is a little insane not to do so. + +The man who makes a vow makes an appointment with himself at some +distant time or place. The danger of it is that himself should not keep +the appointment. And in modern times this terror of one's self, of the +weakness and mutability of one's self, has perilously increased, and is +the real basis of the objection to vows of any kind. A modern man +refrains from swearing to count the leaves on every third tree in +Holland Walk, not because it is silly to do so (he does many sillier +things), but because he has a profound conviction that before he had got +to the three hundred and seventy-ninth leaf on the first tree he would +be excessively tired of the subject and want to go home to tea. In other +words, we fear that by that time he will be, in the common but hideously +significant phrase, _another man_. Now, it is this horrible fairy tale +of a man constantly changing into other men that is the soul of the +Decadence. That John Paterson should, with apparent calm, look forward +to being a certain General Barker on Monday, Dr. Macgregor on Tuesday, +Sir Walter Carstairs on Wednesday, and Sam Slugg on Thursday, may seem a +nightmare; but to that nightmare we give the name of modern culture. One +great decadent, who is now dead, published a poem some time ago, in +which he powerfully summed up the whole spirit of the movement by +declaring that he could stand in the prison yard and entirely comprehend +the feelings of a man about to be hanged: + + 'For he that lives more lives than one + More deaths than one must die.' + +And the end of all this is that maddening horror of unreality which +descends upon the decadents, and compared with which physical pain +itself would have the freshness of a youthful thing. The one hell which +imagination must conceive as most hellish is to be eternally acting a +play without even the narrowest and dirtiest greenroom in which to be +human. And this is the condition of the decadent, of the aesthete, of +the free-lover. To be everlastingly passing through dangers which we +know cannot scathe us, to be taking oaths which we know cannot bind us, +to be defying enemies who we know cannot conquer us--this is the +grinning tyranny of decadence which is called freedom. + +Let us turn, on the other hand, to the maker of vows. The man who made a +vow, however wild, gave a healthy and natural expression to the +greatness of a great moment. He vowed, for example, to chain two +mountains together, perhaps a symbol of some great relief, or love, or +aspiration. Short as the moment of his resolve might be, it was, like +all great moments, a moment of immortality, and the desire to say of it +_exegi monumentum oere perennius_ was the only sentiment that would +satisfy his mind. The modern aesthetic man would, of course, easily see +the emotional opportunity; he would vow to chain two mountains together. +But, then, he would quite as cheerfully vow to chain the earth to the +moon. And the withering consciousness that he did not mean what he said, +that he was, in truth, saying nothing of any great import, would take +from him exactly that sense of daring actuality which is the excitement +of a vow. For what could be more maddening than an existence in which +our mother or aunt received the information that we were going to +assassinate the King or build a temple on Ben Nevis with the genial +composure of custom? + +The revolt against vows has been carried in our day even to the extent +of a revolt against the typical vow of marriage. It is most amusing to +listen to the opponents of marriage on this subject. They appear to +imagine that the ideal of constancy was a yoke mysteriously imposed on +mankind by the devil, instead of being, as it is, a yoke consistently +imposed by all lovers on themselves. They have invented a +phrase, a phrase that is a black and white contradiction in two +words--'free-love'--as if a lover ever had been, or ever could be, free. +It is the nature of love to bind itself, and the institution of marriage +merely paid the average man the compliment of taking him at his word. +Modern sages offer to the lover, with an ill-flavoured grin, the largest +liberties and the fullest irresponsibility; but they do not respect him +as the old Church respected him; they do not write his oath upon the +heavens, as the record of his highest moment. They give him every +liberty except the liberty to sell his liberty, which is the only one +that he wants. + +In Mr. Bernard Shaw's brilliant play 'The Philanderer,' we have a vivid +picture of this state of things. Charteris is a man perpetually +endeavouring to be a free-lover, which is like endeavouring to be a +married bachelor or a white negro. He is wandering in a hungry search +for a certain exhilaration which he can only have when he has the +courage to cease from wandering. Men knew better than this in old +times--in the time, for example, of Shakespeare's heroes. When +Shakespeare's men are really celibate they praise the undoubted +advantages of celibacy, liberty, irresponsibility, a chance of continual +change. But they were not such fools as to continue to talk of liberty +when they were in such a condition that they could be made happy or +miserable by the moving of someone else's eyebrow. Suckling classes love +with debt in his praise of freedom. + + 'And he that's fairly out of both + Of all the world is blest. + He lives as in the golden age, + When all things made were common; + He takes his pipe, he takes his glass, + He fears no man or woman.' + +This is a perfectly possible, rational and manly position. But what have +lovers to do with ridiculous affectations of fearing no man or woman? +They know that in the turning of a hand the whole cosmic engine to the +remotest star may become an instrument of music or an instrument of +torture. They hear a song older than Suckling's, that has survived a +hundred philosophies. 'Who is this that looketh out of the window, fair +as the sun, clear as the moon, terrible as an army with banners?' + +As we have said, it is exactly this backdoor, this sense of having a +retreat behind us, that is, to our minds, the sterilizing spirit in +modern pleasure. Everywhere there is the persistent and insane attempt +to obtain pleasure without paying for it. Thus, in politics the modern +Jingoes practically say, 'Let us have the pleasures of conquerors +without the pains of soldiers: let us sit on sofas and be a hardy race.' +Thus, in religion and morals, the decadent mystics say: 'Let us have the +fragrance of sacred purity without the sorrows of self-restraint; let us +sing hymns alternately to the Virgin and Priapus.' Thus in love the +free-lovers say: 'Let us have the splendour of offering ourselves +without the peril of committing ourselves; let us see whether one cannot +commit suicide an unlimited number of times.' + +Emphatically it will not work. There are thrilling moments, doubtless, +for the spectator, the amateur, and the aesthete; but there is one +thrill that is known only to the soldier who fights for his own flag, to +the ascetic who starves himself for his own illumination, to the lover +who makes finally his own choice. And it is this transfiguring +self-discipline that makes the vow a truly sane thing. It must have +satisfied even the giant hunger of the soul of a lover or a poet to know +that in consequence of some one instant of decision that strange chain +would hang for centuries in the Alps among the silences of stars and +snows. All around us is the city of small sins, abounding in backways +and retreats, but surely, sooner or later, the towering flame will rise +from the harbour announcing that the reign of the cowards is over and a +man is burning his ships. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF SKELETONS + + +Some little time ago I stood among immemorial English trees that seemed +to take hold upon the stars like a brood of Ygdrasils. As I walked among +these living pillars I became gradually aware that the rustics who lived +and died in their shadow adopted a very curious conversational tone. +They seemed to be constantly apologizing for the trees, as if they were +a very poor show. After elaborate investigation, I discovered that their +gloomy and penitent tone was traceable to the fact that it was winter +and all the trees were bare. I assured them that I did not resent the +fact that it was winter, that I knew the thing had happened before, and +that no forethought on their part could have averted this blow of +destiny. But I could not in any way reconcile them to the fact that it +_was_ winter. There was evidently a general feeling that I had caught +the trees in a kind of disgraceful deshabille, and that they ought not +to be seen until, like the first human sinners, they had covered +themselves with leaves. So it is quite clear that, while very few +people appear to know anything of how trees look in winter, the actual +foresters know less than anyone. So far from the line of the tree when +it is bare appearing harsh and severe, it is luxuriantly indefinable to +an unusual degree; the fringe of the forest melts away like a vignette. +The tops of two or three high trees when they are leafless are so soft +that they seem like the gigantic brooms of that fabulous lady who was +sweeping the cobwebs off the sky. The outline of a leafy forest is in +comparison hard, gross and blotchy; the clouds of night do not more +certainly obscure the moon than those green and monstrous clouds obscure +the tree; the actual sight of the little wood, with its gray and silver +sea of life, is entirely a winter vision. So dim and delicate is the +heart of the winter woods, a kind of glittering gloaming, that a figure +stepping towards us in the chequered twilight seems as if he were +breaking through unfathomable depths of spiders' webs. + +But surely the idea that its leaves are the chief grace of a tree is a +vulgar one, on a par with the idea that his hair is the chief grace of a +pianist. When winter, that healthy ascetic, carries his gigantic razor +over hill and valley, and shaves all the trees like monks, we feel +surely that they are all the more like trees if they are shorn, just as +so many painters and musicians would be all the more like men if they +were less like mops. But it does appear to be a deep and essential +difficulty that men have an abiding terror of their own structure, or of +the structure of things they love. This is felt dimly in the skeleton of +the tree: it is felt profoundly in the skeleton of the man. + +The importance of the human skeleton is very great, and the horror with +which it is commonly regarded is somewhat mysterious. Without claiming +for the human skeleton a wholly conventional beauty, we may assert that +he is certainly not uglier than a bull-dog, whose popularity never +wanes, and that he has a vastly more cheerful and ingratiating +expression. But just as man is mysteriously ashamed of the skeletons of +the trees in winter, so he is mysteriously ashamed of the skeleton of +himself in death. It is a singular thing altogether, this horror of the +architecture of things. One would think it would be most unwise in a man +to be afraid of a skeleton, since Nature has set curious and quite +insuperable obstacles to his running away from it. + +One ground exists for this terror: a strange idea has infected humanity +that the skeleton is typical of death. A man might as well say that a +factory chimney was typical of bankruptcy. The factory may be left naked +after ruin, the skeleton may be left naked after bodily dissolution; but +both of them have had a lively and workmanlike life of their own, all +the pulleys creaking, all the wheels turning, in the House of Livelihood +as in the House of Life. There is no reason why this creature (new, as I +fancy, to art), the living skeleton, should not become the essential +symbol of life. + +The truth is that man's horror of the skeleton is not horror of death at +all. It is man's eccentric glory that he has not, generally speaking, +any objection to being dead, but has a very serious objection to being +undignified. And the fundamental matter which troubles him in the +skeleton is the reminder that the ground-plan of his appearance is +shamelessly grotesque. I do not know why he should object to this. He +contentedly takes his place in a world that does not pretend to be +genteel--a laughing, working, jeering world. He sees millions of animals +carrying, with quite a dandified levity, the most monstrous shapes and +appendages, the most preposterous horns, wings, and legs, when they are +necessary to utility. He sees the good temper of the frog, the +unaccountable happiness of the hippopotamus. He sees a whole universe +which is ridiculous, from the animalcule, with a head too big for its +body, up to the comet, with a tail too big for its head. But when it +comes to the delightful oddity of his own inside, his sense of humour +rather abruptly deserts him. + +In the Middle Ages and in the Renaissance (which was, in certain times +and respects, a much gloomier period) this idea of the skeleton had a +vast influence in freezing the pride out of all earthly pomps and the +fragrance out of all fleeting pleasures. But it was not, surely, the +mere dread of death that did this, for these were ages in which men went +to meet death singing; it was the idea of the degradation of man in the +grinning ugliness of his structure that withered the juvenile insolence +of beauty and pride. And in this it almost assuredly did more good than +harm. There is nothing so cold or so pitiless as youth, and youth in +aristocratic stations and ages tended to an impeccable dignity, an +endless summer of success which needed to be very sharply reminded of +the scorn of the stars. It was well that such flamboyant prigs should be +convinced that one practical joke, at least, would bowl them over, that +they would fall into one grinning man-trap, and not rise again. That the +whole structure of their existence was as wholesomely ridiculous as that +of a pig or a parrot they could not be expected to realize; that birth +was humorous, coming of age humorous, drinking and fighting humorous, +they were far too young and solemn to know. But at least they were +taught that death was humorous. + +There is a peculiar idea abroad that the value and fascination of what +we call Nature lie in her beauty. But the fact that Nature is beautiful +in the sense that a dado or a Liberty curtain is beautiful, is only one +of her charms, and almost an accidental one. The highest and most +valuable quality in Nature is not her beauty, but her generous and +defiant ugliness. A hundred instances might be taken. The croaking noise +of the rooks is, in itself, as hideous as the whole hell of sounds in a +London railway tunnel. Yet it uplifts us like a trumpet with its coarse +kindliness and honesty, and the lover in 'Maud' could actually persuade +himself that this abominable noise resembled his lady-love's name. Has +the poet, for whom Nature means only roses and lilies, ever heard a pig +grunting? It is a noise that does a man good--a strong, snorting, +imprisoned noise, breaking its way out of unfathomable dungeons through +every possible outlet and organ. It might be the voice of the earth +itself, snoring in its mighty sleep. This is the deepest, the oldest, +the most wholesome and religious sense of the value of Nature--the value +which comes from her immense babyishness. She is as top-heavy, as +grotesque, as solemn and as happy as a child. The mood does come when we +see all her shapes like shapes that a baby scrawls upon a slate--simple, +rudimentary, a million years older and stronger than the whole disease +that is called Art. The objects of earth and heaven seem to combine into +a nursery tale, and our relation to things seems for a moment so simple +that a dancing lunatic would be needed to do justice to its lucidity and +levity. The tree above my head is flapping like some gigantic bird +standing on one leg; the moon is like the eye of a Cyclops. And, however +much my face clouds with sombre vanity, or vulgar vengeance, or +contemptible contempt, the bones of my skull beneath it are laughing for +ever. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF PUBLICITY + + +It is a very significant fact that the form of art in which the modern +world has certainly not improved upon the ancient is what may roughly be +called the art of the open air. Public monuments have certainly not +improved, nor has the criticism of them improved, as is evident from the +fashion of condemning such a large number of them as pompous. An +interesting essay might be written on the enormous number of words that +are used as insults when they are really compliments. It is in itself a +singular study in that tendency which, as I have said, is always making +things out worse than they are, and necessitating a systematic attitude +of defence. Thus, for example, some dramatic critics cast contempt upon +a dramatic performance by calling it theatrical, which simply means that +it is suitable to a theatre, and is as much a compliment as calling a +poem poetical. Similarly we speak disdainfully of a certain kind of work +as sentimental, which simply means possessing the admirable and +essential quality of sentiment. Such phrases are all parts of one +peddling and cowardly philosophy, and remind us of the days when +'enthusiast' was a term of reproach. But of all this vocabulary of +unconscious eulogies nothing is more striking than the word 'pompous.' + +Properly speaking, of course, a public monument ought to be pompous. +Pomp is its very object; it would be absurd to have columns and pyramids +blushing in some coy nook like violets in the woods of spring. And +public monuments have in this matter a great and much-needed lesson to +teach. Valour and mercy and the great enthusiasms ought to be a great +deal more public than they are at present. We are too fond nowadays of +committing the sin of fear and calling it the virtue of reverence. We +have forgotten the old and wholesome morality of the Book of Proverbs, +'Wisdom crieth without; her voice is heard in the streets.' In Athens +and Florence her voice was heard in the streets. They had an outdoor +life of war and argument, and they had what modern commercial +civilization has never had--an outdoor art. Religious services, the most +sacred of all things, have always been held publicly; it is entirely a +new and debased notion that sanctity is the same as secrecy. A great +many modern poets, with the most abstruse and delicate sensibilities, +love darkness, when all is said and done, much for the same reason that +thieves love it. The mission of a great spire or statue should be to +strike the spirit with a sudden sense of pride as with a thunderbolt. It +should lift us with it into the empty and ennobling air. Along the base +of every noble monument, whatever else may be written there, runs in +invisible letters the lines of Swinburne: + + 'This thing is God: + To be man with thy might, + To go straight in the strength of thy spirit, and live + out thy life in the light.' + +If a public monument does not meet this first supreme and obvious need, +that it should be public and monumental, it fails from the outset. + +There has arisen lately a school of realistic sculpture, which may +perhaps be better described as a school of sketchy sculpture. Such a +movement was right and inevitable as a reaction from the mean and dingy +pomposity of English Victorian statuary. Perhaps the most hideous and +depressing object in the universe--far more hideous and depressing than +one of Mr. H.G. Wells's shapeless monsters of the slime (and not at all +unlike them)--is the statue of an English philanthropist. Almost as bad, +though, of course, not quite as bad, are the statues of English +politicians in Parliament Fields. Each of them is cased in a cylindrical +frock-coat, and each carries either a scroll or a dubious-looking +garment over the arm that might be either a bathing-towel or a light +great-coat. Each of them is in an oratorical attitude, which has all the +disadvantage of being affected without even any of the advantages of +being theatrical. Let no one suppose that such abortions arise merely +from technical demerit. In every line of those leaden dolls is expressed +the fact that they were not set up with any heat of natural enthusiasm +for beauty or dignity. They were set up mechanically, because it would +seem indecorous or stingy if they were not set up. They were even set up +sulkily, in a utilitarian age which was haunted by the thought that +there were a great many more sensible ways of spending money. So long as +this is the dominant national sentiment, the land is barren, statues and +churches will not grow--for they have to grow, as much as trees and +flowers. But this moral disadvantage which lay so heavily upon the early +Victorian sculpture lies in a modified degree upon that rough, +picturesque, commonplace sculpture which has begun to arise, and of +which the statue of Darwin in the South Kensington Museum and the statue +of Gordon in Trafalgar Square are admirable examples. It is not enough +for a popular monument to be artistic, like a black charcoal sketch; it +must be striking; it must be in the highest sense of the word +sensational; it must stand for humanity; it must speak for us to the +stars; it must declare in the face of all the heavens that when the +longest and blackest catalogue has been made of all our crimes and +follies there are some things of which we men are not ashamed. + +The two modes of commemorating a public man are a statue and a +biography. They are alike in certain respects, as, for example, in the +fact that neither of them resembles the original, and that both of them +commonly tone down not only all a man's vices, but all the more amusing +of his virtues. But they are treated in one respect differently. We +never hear anything about biography without hearing something about the +sanctity of private life and the necessity for suppressing the whole of +the most important part of a man's existence. The sculptor does not work +at this disadvantage. The sculptor does not leave out the nose of an +eminent philanthropist because it is too beautiful to be given to the +public; he does not depict a statesman with a sack over his head because +his smile was too sweet to be endurable in the light of day. But in +biography the thesis is popularly and solidly maintained, so that it +requires some courage even to hint a doubt of it, that the better a man +was, the more truly human life he led, the less should be said about it. + +For this idea, this modern idea that sanctity is identical with secrecy, +there is one thing at least to be said. It is for all practical purposes +an entirely new idea; it was unknown to all the ages in which the idea +of sanctity really flourished. The record of the great spiritual +movements of mankind is dead against the idea that spirituality is a +private matter. The most awful secret of every man's soul, its most +lonely and individual need, its most primal and psychological +relationship, the thing called worship, the communication between the +soul and the last reality--this most private matter is the most public +spectacle in the world. Anyone who chooses to walk into a large church +on Sunday morning may see a hundred men each alone with his Maker. He +stands, in truth, in the presence of one of the strangest spectacles in +the world--a mob of hermits. And in thus definitely espousing publicity +by making public the most internal mystery, Christianity acts in +accordance with its earliest origins and its terrible beginning. It was +surely by no accident that the spectacle which darkened the sun at +noonday was set upon a hill. The martyrdoms of the early Christians were +public not only by the caprice of the oppressor, but by the whole desire +and conception of the victims. + +The mere grammatical meaning of the word 'martyr' breaks into pieces at +a blow the whole notion of the privacy of goodness. The Christian +martyrdoms were more than demonstrations: they were advertisements. In +our day the new theory of spiritual delicacy would desire to alter all +this. It would permit Christ to be crucified if it was necessary to His +Divine nature, but it would ask in the name of good taste why He could +not be crucified in a private room. It would declare that the act of a +martyr in being torn in pieces by lions was vulgar and sensational, +though, of course, it would have no objection to being torn in pieces by +a lion in one's own parlour before a circle of really intimate friends. + +It is, I am inclined to think, a decadent and diseased purity which has +inaugurated this notion that the sacred object must be hidden. The stars +have never lost their sanctity, and they are more shameless and naked +and numerous than advertisements of Pears' soap. It would be a strange +world indeed if Nature was suddenly stricken with this ethereal shame, +if the trees grew with their roots in the air and their load of leaves +and blossoms underground, if the flowers closed at dawn and opened at +sunset, if the sunflower turned towards the darkness, and the birds +flew, like bats, by night. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF NONSENSE + + +There are two equal and eternal ways of looking at this twilight world +of ours: we may see it as the twilight of evening or the twilight of +morning; we may think of anything, down to a fallen acorn, as a +descendant or as an ancestor. There are times when we are almost +crushed, not so much with the load of the evil as with the load of the +goodness of humanity, when we feel that we are nothing but the +inheritors of a humiliating splendour. But there are other times when +everything seems primitive, when the ancient stars are only sparks blown +from a boy's bonfire, when the whole earth seems so young and +experimental that even the white hair of the aged, in the fine biblical +phrase, is like almond-trees that blossom, like the white hawthorn grown +in May. That it is good for a man to realize that he is 'the heir of all +the ages' is pretty commonly admitted; it is a less popular but equally +important point that it is good for him sometimes to realize that he is +not only an ancestor, but an ancestor of primal antiquity; it is good +for him to wonder whether he is not a hero, and to experience ennobling +doubts as to whether he is not a solar myth. + +The matters which most thoroughly evoke this sense of the abiding +childhood of the world are those which are really fresh, abrupt and +inventive in any age; and if we were asked what was the best proof of +this adventurous youth in the nineteenth century we should say, with all +respect to its portentous sciences and philosophies, that it was to be +found in the rhymes of Mr. Edward Lear and in the literature of +nonsense. 'The Dong with the Luminous Nose,' at least, is original, as +the first ship and the first plough were original. + +It is true in a certain sense that some of the greatest writers the +world has seen--Aristophanes, Rabelais and Sterne--have written +nonsense; but unless we are mistaken, it is in a widely different sense. +The nonsense of these men was satiric--that is to say, symbolic; it was +a kind of exuberant capering round a discovered truth. There is all the +difference in the world between the instinct of satire, which, seeing in +the Kaiser's moustaches something typical of him, draws them continually +larger and larger; and the instinct of nonsense which, for no reason +whatever, imagines what those moustaches would look like on the present +Archbishop of Canterbury if he grew them in a fit of absence of mind. We +incline to think that no age except our own could have understood that +the Quangle-Wangle meant absolutely nothing, and the Lands of the +Jumblies were absolutely nowhere. We fancy that if the account of the +knave's trial in 'Alice in Wonderland' had been published in the +seventeenth century it would have been bracketed with Bunyan's 'Trial of +Faithful' as a parody on the State prosecutions of the time. We fancy +that if 'The Dong with the Luminous Nose' had appeared in the same +period everyone would have called it a dull satire on Oliver Cromwell. + +It is altogether advisedly that we quote chiefly from Mr. Lear's +'Nonsense Rhymes.' To our mind he is both chronologically and +essentially the father of nonsense; we think him superior to Lewis +Carroll. In one sense, indeed, Lewis Carroll has a great advantage. We +know what Lewis Carroll was in daily life: he was a singularly serious +and conventional don, universally respected, but very much of a pedant +and something of a Philistine. Thus his strange double life in earth and +in dreamland emphasizes the idea that lies at the back of nonsense--the +idea of _escape_, of escape into a world where things are not fixed +horribly in an eternal appropriateness, where apples grow on pear-trees, +and any odd man you meet may have three legs. Lewis Carroll, living one +life in which he would have thundered morally against any one who walked +on the wrong plot of grass, and another life in which he would +cheerfully call the sun green and the moon blue, was, by his very +divided nature, his one foot on both worlds, a perfect type of the +position of modern nonsense. His Wonderland is a country populated by +insane mathematicians. We feel the whole is an escape into a world of +masquerade; we feel that if we could pierce their disguises, we might +discover that Humpty Dumpty and the March Hare were Professors and +Doctors of Divinity enjoying a mental holiday. This sense of escape is +certainly less emphatic in Edward Lear, because of the completeness of +his citizenship in the world of unreason. We do not know his prosaic +biography as we know Lewis Carroll's. We accept him as a purely fabulous +figure, on his own description of himself: + + 'His body is perfectly spherical, + He weareth a runcible hat.' + +While Lewis Carroll's Wonderland is purely intellectual, Lear +introduces quite another element--the element of the poetical and even +emotional. Carroll works by the pure reason, but this is not so strong a +contrast; for, after all, mankind in the main has always regarded reason +as a bit of a joke. Lear introduces his unmeaning words and his +amorphous creatures not with the pomp of reason, but with the romantic +prelude of rich hues and haunting rhythms. + + 'Far and few, far and few, + Are the lands where the Jumblies live,' + +is an entirely different type of poetry to that exhibited in +'Jabberwocky.' Carroll, with a sense of mathematical neatness, makes his +whole poem a mosaic of new and mysterious words. But Edward Lear, with +more subtle and placid effrontery, is always introducing scraps of his +own elvish dialect into the middle of simple and rational statements, +until we are almost stunned into admitting that we know what they mean. +There is a genial ring of commonsense about such lines as, + + 'For his aunt Jobiska said "Every one knows + That a Pobble is better without his toes,"' + +which is beyond the reach of Carroll. The poet seems so easy on the +matter that we are almost driven to pretend that we see his meaning, +that we know the peculiar difficulties of a Pobble, that we are as old +travellers in the 'Gromboolian Plain' as he is. + +Our claim that nonsense is a new literature (we might almost say a new +sense) would be quite indefensible if nonsense were nothing more than a +mere aesthetic fancy. Nothing sublimely artistic has ever arisen out of +mere art, any more than anything essentially reasonable has ever arisen +out of the pure reason. There must always be a rich moral soil for any +great aesthetic growth. The principle of _art for art's sake_ is a very +good principle if it means that there is a vital distinction between the +earth and the tree that has its roots in the earth; but it is a very bad +principle if it means that the tree could grow just as well with its +roots in the air. Every great literature has always been +allegorical--allegorical of some view of the whole universe. The 'Iliad' +is only great because all life is a battle, the 'Odyssey' because all +life is a journey, the Book of Job because all life is a riddle. There +is one attitude in which we think that all existence is summed up in the +word 'ghosts'; another, and somewhat better one, in which we think it +is summed up in the words 'A Midsummer Night's Dream.' Even the +vulgarest melodrama or detective story can be good if it expresses +something of the delight in sinister possibilities--the healthy lust for +darkness and terror which may come on us any night in walking down a +dark lane. If, therefore, nonsense is really to be the literature of the +future, it must have its own version of the Cosmos to offer; the world +must not only be the tragic, romantic, and religious, it must be +nonsensical also. And here we fancy that nonsense will, in a very +unexpected way, come to the aid of the spiritual view of things. +Religion has for centuries been trying to make men exult in the +'wonders' of creation, but it has forgotten that a thing cannot be +completely wonderful so long as it remains sensible. So long as we +regard a tree as an obvious thing, naturally and reasonably created for +a giraffe to eat, we cannot properly wonder at it. It is when we +consider it as a prodigious wave of the living soil sprawling up to the +skies for no reason in particular that we take off our hats, to the +astonishment of the park-keeper. Everything has in fact another side to +it, like the moon, the patroness of nonsense. Viewed from that other +side, a bird is a blossom broken loose from its chain of stalk, a man a +quadruped begging on its hind legs, a house a gigantesque hat to cover a +man from the sun, a chair an apparatus of four wooden legs for a cripple +with only two. + +This is the side of things which tends most truly to spiritual wonder. +It is significant that in the greatest religious poem existent, the Book +of Job, the argument which convinces the infidel is not (as has been +represented by the merely rational religionism of the eighteenth +century) a picture of the ordered beneficence of the Creation; but, on +the contrary, a picture of the huge and undecipherable unreason of it. +'Hast Thou sent the rain upon the desert where no man is?' This simple +sense of wonder at the shapes of things, and at their exuberant +independence of our intellectual standards and our trivial definitions, +is the basis of spirituality as it is the basis of nonsense. Nonsense +and faith (strange as the conjunction may seem) are the two supreme +symbolic assertions of the truth that to draw out the soul of things +with a syllogism is as impossible as to draw out Leviathan with a hook. +The well-meaning person who, by merely studying the logical side of +things, has decided that 'faith is nonsense,' does not know how truly he +speaks; later it may come back to him in the form that nonsense is +faith. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF PLANETS + + +A book has at one time come under my notice called 'Terra Firma: the +Earth not a Planet.' The author was a Mr. D. Wardlaw Scott, and he +quoted very seriously the opinions of a large number of other persons, +of whom we have never heard, but who are evidently very important. Mr. +Beach of Southsea, for example, thinks that the world is flat; and in +Southsea perhaps it is. It is no part of my present intention, however, +to follow Mr. Scott's arguments in detail. On the lines of such +arguments it may be shown that the earth is flat, and, for the matter of +that, that it is triangular. A few examples will suffice: + +One of Mr. Scott's objections was that if a projectile is fired from a +moving body there is a difference in the distance to which it carries +according to the direction in which it is sent. But as in practice there +is not the slightest difference whichever way the thing is done, in the +case of the earth 'we have a forcible overthrow of all fancies relative +to the motion of the earth, and a striking proof that the earth is not +a globe.' + +This is altogether one of the quaintest arguments we have ever seen. It +never seems to occur to the author, among other things, that when the +firing and falling of the shot all take place upon the moving body, +there is nothing whatever to compare them with. As a matter of fact, of +course, a shot fired at an elephant does actually often travel towards +the marksman, but much slower than the marksman travels. Mr. Scott +probably would not like to contemplate the fact that the elephant, +properly speaking, swings round and hits the bullet. To us it appears +full of a rich cosmic humour. + +I will only give one other example of the astronomical proofs: + +'If the earth were a globe, the distance round the surface, say, at 45 +degrees south latitude, could not possibly be any greater than the same +latitude north; but since it is found by navigators to be twice the +distance--to say the least of it--or double the distance it ought to be +according to the globular theory, it is a proof that the earth is not a +globe.' + +This sort of thing reduces my mind to a pulp. I can faintly resist when +a man says that if the earth were a globe cats would not have four +legs; but when he says that if the earth were a globe cats would not +have five legs I am crushed. + +But, as I have indicated, it is not in the scientific aspect of this +remarkable theory that I am for the moment interested. It is rather with +the difference between the flat and the round worlds as conceptions in +art and imagination that I am concerned. It is a very remarkable thing +that none of us are really Copernicans in our actual outlook upon +things. We are convinced intellectually that we inhabit a small +provincial planet, but we do not feel in the least suburban. Men of +science have quarrelled with the Bible because it is not based upon the +true astronomical system, but it is certainly open to the orthodox to +say that if it had been it would never have convinced anybody. + +If a single poem or a single story were really transfused with the +Copernican idea, the thing would be a nightmare. Can we think of a +solemn scene of mountain stillness in which some prophet is standing in +a trance, and then realize that the whole scene is whizzing round like a +zoetrope at the rate of nineteen miles a second? Could we tolerate the +notion of a mighty King delivering a sublime fiat and then remember +that for all practical purposes he is hanging head downwards in space? A +strange fable might be written of a man who was blessed or cursed with +the Copernican eye, and saw all men on the earth like tintacks +clustering round a magnet. It would be singular to imagine how very +different the speech of an aggressive egoist, announcing the +independence and divinity of man, would sound if he were seen hanging on +to the planet by his boot soles. + +For, despite Mr. Wardlaw Scott's horror at the Newtonian astronomy and +its contradiction of the Bible, the whole distinction is a good instance +of the difference between letter and spirit; the letter of the Old +Testament is opposed to the conception of the solar system, but the +spirit has much kinship with it. The writers of the Book of Genesis had +no theory of gravitation, which to the normal person will appear a fact +of as much importance as that they had no umbrellas. But the theory of +gravitation has a curiously Hebrew sentiment in it--a sentiment of +combined dependence and certainty, a sense of grappling unity, by which +all things hang upon one thread. 'Thou hast hanged the world upon +nothing,' said the author of the Book of Job, and in that sentence +wrote the whole appalling poetry of modern astronomy. The sense of the +preciousness and fragility of the universe, the sense of being in the +hollow of a hand, is one which the round and rolling earth gives in its +most thrilling form. Mr. Wardlaw Scott's flat earth would be the true +territory for a comfortable atheist. Nor would the old Jews have any +objection to being as much upside down as right way up. They had no +foolish ideas about the dignity of man. + +It would be an interesting speculation to imagine whether the world will +ever develop a Copernican poetry and a Copernican habit of fancy; +whether we shall ever speak of 'early earth-turn' instead of 'early +sunrise,' and speak indifferently of looking up at the daisies, or +looking down on the stars. But if we ever do, there are really a large +number of big and fantastic facts awaiting us, worthy to make a new +mythology. Mr. Wardlaw Scott, for example, with genuine, if unconscious, +imagination, says that according to astronomers, 'the sea is a vast +mountain of water miles high.' To have discovered that mountain of +moving crystal, in which the fishes build like birds, is like +discovering Atlantis: it is enough to make the old world young again. +In the new poetry which we contemplate, athletic young men will set out +sturdily to climb up the face of the sea. If we once realize all this +earth as it is, we should find ourselves in a land of miracles: we shall +discover a new planet at the moment that we discover our own. Among all +the strange things that men have forgotten, the most universal and +catastrophic lapse of memory is that by which they have forgotten that +they are living on a star. + +In the early days of the world, the discovery of a fact of natural +history was immediately followed by the realization of it as a fact of +poetry. When man awoke from the long fit of absent-mindedness which is +called the automatic animal state, and began to notice the queer facts +that the sky was blue and the grass green, he immediately began to use +those facts symbolically. Blue, the colour of the sky, became a symbol +of celestial holiness; green passed into the language as indicating a +freshness verging upon unintelligence. If we had the good fortune to +live in a world in which the sky was green and the grass blue, the +symbolism would have been different. But for some mysterious reason this +habit of realizing poetically the facts of science has ceased abruptly +with scientific progress, and all the confounding portents preached by +Galileo and Newton have fallen on deaf ears. They painted a picture of +the universe compared with which the Apocalypse with its falling stars +was a mere idyll. They declared that we are all careering through space, +clinging to a cannon-ball, and the poets ignore the matter as if it were +a remark about the weather. They say that an invisible force holds us in +our own armchairs while the earth hurtles like a boomerang; and men +still go back to dusty records to prove the mercy of God. They tell us +that Mr. Scott's monstrous vision of a mountain of sea-water rising in a +solid dome, like the glass mountain in the fairy-tale, is actually a +fact, and men still go back to the fairy-tale. To what towering heights +of poetic imagery might we not have risen if only the poetizing of +natural history had continued and man's fancy had played with the +planets as naturally as it once played with the flowers! We might have +had a planetary patriotism, in which the green leaf should be like a +cockade, and the sea an everlasting dance of drums. We might have been +proud of what our star has wrought, and worn its heraldry haughtily in +the blind tournament of the spheres. All this, indeed, we may surely do +yet; for with all the multiplicity of knowledge there is one thing +happily that no man knows: whether the world is old or young. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF CHINA SHEPHERDESSES + + +There are some things of which the world does not like to be reminded, +for they are the dead loves of the world. One of these is that great +enthusiasm for the Arcadian life which, however much it may now lie open +to the sneers of realism, did, beyond all question, hold sway for an +enormous period of the world's history, from the times that we describe +as ancient down to times that may fairly be called recent. The +conception of the innocent and hilarious life of shepherds and +shepherdesses certainly covered and absorbed the time of Theocritus, of +Virgil, of Catullus, of Dante, of Cervantes, of Ariosto, of Shakespeare, +and of Pope. We are told that the gods of the heathen were stone and +brass, but stone and brass have never endured with the long endurance of +the China Shepherdess. The Catholic Church and the Ideal Shepherd are +indeed almost the only things that have bridged the abyss between the +ancient world and the modern. Yet, as we say, the world does not like +to be reminded of this boyish enthusiasm. + +But imagination, the function of the historian, cannot let so great an +element alone. By the cheap revolutionary it is commonly supposed that +imagination is a merely rebellious thing, that it has its chief function +in devising new and fantastic republics. But imagination has its highest +use in a retrospective realization. The trumpet of imagination, like the +trumpet of the Resurrection, calls the dead out of their graves. +Imagination sees Delphi with the eyes of a Greek, Jerusalem with the +eyes of a Crusader, Paris with the eyes of a Jacobin, and Arcadia with +the eyes of a Euphuist. The prime function of imagination is to see our +whole orderly system of life as a pile of stratified revolutions. In +spite of all revolutionaries it must be said that the function of +imagination is not to make strange things settled, so much as to make +settled things strange; not so much to make wonders facts as to make +facts wonders. To the imaginative the truisms are all paradoxes, since +they were paradoxes in the Stone Age; to them the ordinary copy-book +blazes with blasphemy. + +Let us, then, consider in this light the old pastoral or Arcadian ideal. +But first certainly one thing must be definitely recognised. This +Arcadian art and literature is a lost enthusiasm. To study it is like +fumbling in the love-letters of a dead man. To us its flowers seem as +tawdry as cockades; the lambs that dance to the shepherd's pipe seem to +dance with all the artificiality of a ballet. Even our own prosaic toil +seems to us more joyous than that holiday. Where its ancient exuberance +passed the bounds of wisdom and even of virtue, its caperings seem +frozen into the stillness of an antique frieze. In those gray old +pictures a bacchanal seems as dull as an archdeacon. Their very sins +seem colder than our restraints. + +All this may be frankly recognised: all the barren sentimentality of the +Arcadian ideal and all its insolent optimism. But when all is said and +done, something else remains. + +Through ages in which the most arrogant and elaborate ideals of power +and civilization held otherwise undisputed sway, the ideal of the +perfect and healthy peasant did undoubtedly represent in some shape or +form the conception that there was a dignity in simplicity and a dignity +in labour. It was good for the ancient aristocrat, even if he could not +attain to innocence and the wisdom of the earth, to believe that these +things were the secrets of the priesthood of the poor. It was good for +him to believe that even if heaven was not above him, heaven was below +him. It was well that he should have amid all his flamboyant triumphs +the never-extinguished sentiment that there was something better than +his triumphs, the conception that 'there remaineth a rest.' + +The conception of the Ideal Shepherd seems absurd to our modern ideas. +But, after all, it was perhaps the only trade of the democracy which was +equalized with the trades of the aristocracy even by the aristocracy +itself. The shepherd of pastoral poetry was, without doubt, very +different from the shepherd of actual fact. Where one innocently piped +to his lambs, the other innocently swore at them; and their divergence +in intellect and personal cleanliness was immense. But the difference +between the ideal shepherd who danced with Amaryllis and the real +shepherd who thrashed her is not a scrap greater than the difference +between the ideal soldier who dies to capture the colours and the real +soldier who lives to clean his accoutrements, between the ideal priest +who is everlastingly by someone's bed and the real priest who is as glad +as anyone else to get to his own. There are ideal conceptions and real +men in every calling; yet there are few who object to the ideal +conceptions, and not many, after all, who object to the real men. + +The fact, then, is this: So far from resenting the existence in art and +literature of an ideal shepherd, I genuinely regret that the shepherd is +the only democratic calling that has ever been raised to the level of +the heroic callings conceived by an aristocratic age. So far from +objecting to the Ideal Shepherd, I wish there were an Ideal Postman, an +Ideal Grocer, and an Ideal Plumber. It is undoubtedly true that we +should laugh at the idea of an Ideal Postman; it is true, and it proves +that we are not genuine democrats. + +Undoubtedly the modern grocer, if called upon to act in an Arcadian +manner, if desired to oblige with a symbolic dance expressive of the +delights of grocery, or to perform on some simple instrument while his +assistants skipped around him, would be embarrassed, and perhaps even +reluctant. But it may be questioned whether this temporary reluctance of +the grocer is a good thing, or evidence of a good condition of poetic +feeling in the grocery business as a whole. There certainly should be an +ideal image of health and happiness in any trade, and its remoteness +from the reality is not the only important question. No one supposes +that the mass of traditional conceptions of duty and glory are always +operative, for example, in the mind of a soldier or a doctor; that the +Battle of Waterloo actually makes a private enjoy pipeclaying his +trousers, or that the 'health of humanity' softens the momentary +phraseology of a physician called out of bed at two o'clock in the +morning. But although no ideal obliterates the ugly drudgery and detail +of any calling, that ideal does, in the case of the soldier or the +doctor, exist definitely in the background and makes that drudgery worth +while as a whole. It is a serious calamity that no such ideal exists in +the case of the vast number of honourable trades and crafts on which the +existence of a modern city depends. It is a pity that current thought +and sentiment offer nothing corresponding to the old conception of +patron saints. If they did there would be a Patron Saint of Plumbers, +and this would alone be a revolution, for it would force the individual +craftsman to believe that there was once a perfect being who did +actually plumb. + +When all is said and done, then, we think it much open to question +whether the world has not lost something in the complete disappearance +of the ideal of the happy peasant. It is foolish enough to suppose that +the rustic went about all over ribbons, but it is better than knowing +that he goes about all over rags and being indifferent to the fact. The +modern realistic study of the poor does in reality lead the student +further astray than the old idyllic notion. For we cannot get the +chiaroscuro of humble life so long as its virtues seem to us as gross as +its vices and its joys as sullen as its sorrows. Probably at the very +moment that we can see nothing but a dull-faced man smoking and drinking +heavily with his friend in a pot-house, the man himself is on his soul's +holiday, crowned with the flowers of a passionate idleness, and far more +like the Happy Peasant than the world will ever know. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF USEFUL INFORMATION + + +It is natural and proper enough that the masses of explosive ammunition +stored up in detective stories and the replete and solid sweet-stuff +shops which are called sentimental novelettes should be popular with the +ordinary customer. It is not difficult to realize that all of us, +ignorant or cultivated, are primarily interested in murder and +love-making. The really extraordinary thing is that the most appalling +fictions are not actually so popular as that literature which deals with +the most undisputed and depressing facts. Men are not apparently so +interested in murder and love-making as they are in the number of +different forms of latchkey which exist in London or the time that it +would take a grasshopper to jump from Cairo to the Cape. The enormous +mass of fatuous and useless truth which fills the most widely-circulated +papers, such as _Tit-Bits, Science Siftings_, and many of the +illustrated magazines, is certainly one of the most extraordinary kinds +of emotional and mental pabulum on which man ever fed. It is almost +incredible that these preposterous statistics should actually be more +popular than the most blood-curdling mysteries and the most luxurious +debauches of sentiment. To imagine it is like imagining the humorous +passages in Bradshaw's Railway Guide read aloud on winter evenings. It +is like conceiving a man unable to put down an advertisement of Mother +Seigel's Syrup because he wished to know what eventually happened to the +young man who was extremely ill at Edinburgh. In the case of cheap +detective stories and cheap novelettes, we can most of us feel, whatever +our degree of education, that it might be possible to read them if we +gave full indulgence to a lower and more facile part of our natures; at +the worst we feel that we might enjoy them as we might enjoy +bull-baiting or getting drunk. But the literature of information is +absolutely mysterious to us. We can no more think of amusing ourselves +with it than of reading whole pages of a Surbiton local directory. To +read such things would not be a piece of vulgar indulgence; it would be +a highly arduous and meritorious enterprise. It is this fact which +constitutes a profound and almost unfathomable interest in this +particular branch of popular literature. + +Primarily, at least, there is one rather peculiar thing which must in +justice be said about it. The readers of this strange science must be +allowed to be, upon the whole, as disinterested as a prophet seeing +visions or a child reading fairy-tales. Here, again, we find, as we so +often do, that whatever view of this matter of popular literature we can +trust, we can trust least of all the comment and censure current among +the vulgar educated. The ordinary version of the ground of this +popularity for information, which would be given by a person of greater +cultivation, would be that common men are chiefly interested in those +sordid facts that surround them on every side. A very small degree of +examination will show us that whatever ground there is for the +popularity of these insane encyclopaedias, it cannot be the ground of +utility. The version of life given by a penny novelette may be very +moonstruck and unreliable, but it is at least more likely to contain +facts relevant to daily life than compilations on the subject of the +number of cows' tails that would reach the North Pole. There are many +more people who are in love than there are people who have any +intention of counting or collecting cows' tails. It is evident to me +that the grounds of this widespread madness of information for +information's sake must be sought in other and deeper parts of human +nature than those daily needs which lie so near the surface that even +social philosophers have discovered them somewhere in that profound and +eternal instinct for enthusiasm and minding other people's business +which made great popular movements like the Crusades or the Gordon +Riots. + +I once had the pleasure of knowing a man who actually talked in private +life after the manner of these papers. His conversation consisted of +fragmentary statements about height and weight and depth and time and +population, and his conversation was a nightmare of dulness. During the +shortest pause he would ask whether his interlocutors were aware how +many tons of rust were scraped every year off the Menai Bridge, and how +many rival shops Mr. Whiteley had bought up since he opened his +business. The attitude of his acquaintances towards this inexhaustible +entertainer varied according to his presence or absence between +indifference and terror. It was frightful to think of a man's brain +being stocked with such inexpressibly profitless treasures. It was like +visiting some imposing British Museum and finding its galleries and +glass cases filled with specimens of London mud, of common mortar, of +broken walking-sticks and cheap tobacco. Years afterwards I discovered +that this intolerable prosaic bore had been, in fact, a poet. I learnt +that every item of this multitudinous information was totally and +unblushingly untrue, that for all I knew he had made it up as he went +along; that no tons of rust are scraped off the Menai Bridge, and that +the rival tradesmen and Mr. Whiteley were creatures of the poet's brain. +Instantly I conceived consuming respect for the man who was so +circumstantial, so monotonous, so entirely purposeless a liar. With him +it must have been a case of art for art's sake. The joke sustained so +gravely through a respected lifetime was of that order of joke which is +shared with omniscience. But what struck me more cogently upon +reflection was the fact that these immeasurable trivialities, which had +struck me as utterly vulgar and arid when I thought they were true, +immediately became picturesque and almost brilliant when I thought they +were inventions of the human fancy. And here, as it seems to me, I laid +my finger upon a fundamental quality of the cultivated class which +prevents it, and will, perhaps, always prevent it from seeing with the +eyes of popular imagination. The merely educated can scarcely ever be +brought to believe that this world is itself an interesting place. When +they look at a work of art, good or bad, they expect to be interested, +but when they look at a newspaper advertisement or a group in the +street, they do not, properly and literally speaking, expect to be +interested. But to common and simple people this world is a work of art, +though it is, like many great works of art, anonymous. They look to life +for interest with the same kind of cheerful and uneradicable assurance +with which we look for interest at a comedy for which we have paid money +at the door. To the eyes of the ultimate school of contemporary +fastidiousness, the universe is indeed an ill-drawn and over-coloured +picture, the scrawlings in circles of a baby upon the slate of night; +its starry skies are a vulgar pattern which they would not have for a +wallpaper, its flowers and fruits have a cockney brilliancy, like the +holiday hat of a flower-girl. Hence, degraded by art to its own level, +they have lost altogether that primitive and typical taste of man--the +taste for news. By this essential taste for news, I mean the pleasure in +hearing the mere fact that a man has died at the age of 110 in South +Wales, or that the horses ran away at a funeral in San Francisco. Large +masses of the early faiths and politics of the world, numbers of the +miracles and heroic anecdotes, are based primarily upon this love of +something that has just happened, this divine institution of gossip. +When Christianity was named the good news, it spread rapidly, not only +because it was good, but also because it was news. So it is that if any +of us have ever spoken to a navvy in a train about the daily paper, we +have generally found the navvy interested, not in those struggles of +Parliaments and trades unions which sometimes are, and are always +supposed to be, for his benefit; but in the fact that an unusually large +whale has been washed up on the coast of Orkney, or that some leading +millionaire like Mr. Harmsworth is reported to break a hundred pipes a +year. The educated classes, cloyed and demoralized with the mere +indulgence of art and mood, can no longer understand the idle and +splendid disinterestedness of the reader of _Pearson's Weekly_. He still +keeps something of that feeling which should be the birthright of +men--the feeling that this planet is like a new house into which we have +just moved our baggage. Any detail of it has a value, and, with a truly +sportsmanlike instinct, the average man takes most pleasure in the +details which are most complicated, irrelevant, and at once difficult +and useless to discover. Those parts of the newspaper which announce the +giant gooseberry and the raining frogs are really the modern +representatives of the popular tendency which produced the hydra and the +werewolf and the dog-headed men. Folk in the Middle Ages were not +interested in a dragon or a glimpse of the devil because they thought +that it was a beautiful prose idyll, but because they thought that it +had really just been seen. It was not like so much artistic literature, +a refuge indicating the dulness of the world: it was an incident +pointedly illustrating the fecund poetry of the world. + +That much can be said, and is said, against the literature of +information, I do not for a moment deny. It is shapeless, it is trivial, +it may give an unreal air of knowledge, it unquestionably lies along +with the rest of popular literature under the general indictment that it +may spoil the chance of better work, certainly by wasting time, possibly +by ruining taste. But these obvious objections are the objections which +we hear so persistently from everyone that one cannot help wondering +where the papers in question procure their myriads of readers. The +natural necessity and natural good underlying such crude institutions is +far less often a subject of speculation; yet the healthy hungers which +lie at the back of the habits of modern democracy are surely worthy of +the same sympathetic study that we give to the dogmas of the fanatics +long dethroned and the intrigues of commonwealths long obliterated from +the earth. And this is the base and consideration which I have to offer: +that perhaps the taste for shreds and patches of journalistic science +and history is not, as is continually asserted, the vulgar and senile +curiosity of a people that has grown old, but simply the babyish and +indiscriminate curiosity of a people still young and entering history +for the first time. In other words, I suggest that they only tell each +other in magazines the same kind of stories of commonplace portents and +conventional eccentricities which, in any case, they would tell each +other in taverns. Science itself is only the exaggeration and +specialization of this thirst for useless fact, which is the mark of the +youth of man. But science has become strangely separated from the mere +news and scandal of flowers and birds; men have ceased to see that a +pterodactyl was as fresh and natural as a flower, that a flower is as +monstrous as a pterodactyl. The rebuilding of this bridge between +science and human nature is one of the greatest needs of mankind. We +have all to show that before we go on to any visions or creations we can +be contented with a planet of miracles. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF HERALDRY + + +The modern view of heraldry is pretty accurately represented by the +words of the famous barrister who, after cross-examining for some time a +venerable dignitary of Heralds' College, summed up his results in the +remark that 'the silly old man didn't even understand his own silly old +trade.' + +Heraldry properly so called was, of course, a wholly limited and +aristocratic thing, but the remark needs a kind of qualification not +commonly realized. In a sense there was a plebeian heraldry, since every +shop was, like every castle, distinguished not by a name, but a sign. +The whole system dates from a time when picture-writing still really +ruled the world. In those days few could read or write; they signed +their names with a pictorial symbol, a cross--and a cross is a great +improvement on most men's names. + +Now, there is something to be said for the peculiar influence of +pictorial symbols on men's minds. All letters, we learn, were originally +pictorial and heraldic: thus the letter A is the portrait of an ox, but +the portrait is now reproduced in so impressionist a manner that but +little of the rural atmosphere can be absorbed by contemplating it. But +as long as some pictorial and poetic quality remains in the symbol, the +constant use of it must do something for the aesthetic education of +those employing it. Public-houses are now almost the only shops that use +the ancient signs, and the mysterious attraction which they exercise may +be (by the optimistic) explained in this manner. There are taverns with +names so dreamlike and exquisite that even Sir Wilfrid Lawson might +waver on the threshold for a moment, suffering the poet to struggle with +the moralist. So it was with the heraldic images. It is impossible to +believe that the red lion of Scotland acted upon those employing it +merely as a naked convenience like a number or a letter; it is +impossible to believe that the Kings of Scotland would have cheerfully +accepted the substitute of a pig or a frog. There are, as we say, +certain real advantages in pictorial symbols, and one of them is that +everything that is pictorial suggests, without naming or defining. There +is a road from the eye to the heart that does not go through the +intellect. Men do not quarrel about the meaning of sunsets; they never +dispute that the hawthorn says the best and wittiest thing about the +spring. + +Thus in the old aristocratic days there existed this vast pictorial +symbolism of all the colours and degrees of aristocracy. When the great +trumpet of equality was blown, almost immediately afterwards was made +one of the greatest blunders in the history of mankind. For all this +pride and vivacity, all these towering symbols and flamboyant colours, +should have been extended to mankind. The tobacconist should have had a +crest, and the cheesemonger a war-cry. The grocer who sold margarine as +butter should have felt that there was a stain on the escutcheon of the +Higginses. Instead of doing this, the democrats made the appalling +mistake--a mistake at the root of the whole modern malady--of decreasing +the human magnificence of the past instead of increasing it. They did +not say, as they should have done, to the common citizen, 'You are as +good as the Duke of Norfolk,' but used that meaner democratic formula, +'The Duke of Norfolk is no better than you are.' + +For it cannot be denied that the world lost something finally and most +unfortunately about the beginning of the nineteenth century. In former +times the mass of the people was conceived as mean and commonplace, but +only as comparatively mean and commonplace; they were dwarfed and +eclipsed by certain high stations and splendid callings. But with the +Victorian era came a principle which conceived men not as comparatively, +but as positively, mean and commonplace. A man of any station was +represented as being by nature a dingy and trivial person--a person +born, as it were, in a black hat. It began to be thought that it was +ridiculous for a man to wear beautiful garments, instead of it +being--as, of course, it is--ridiculous for him to deliberately wear +ugly ones. It was considered affected for a man to speak bold and heroic +words, whereas, of course, it is emotional speech which is natural, and +ordinary civil speech which is affected. The whole relations of beauty +and ugliness, of dignity and ignominy were turned upside down. Beauty +became an extravagance, as if top-hats and umbrellas were not the real +extravagance--a landscape from the land of the goblins. Dignity became a +form of foolery and shamelessness, as if the very essence of a fool were +not a lack of dignity. And the consequence is that it is practically +most difficult to propose any decoration or public dignity for modern +men without making them laugh. They laugh at the idea of carrying +crests and coats-of-arms instead of laughing at their own boots and +neckties. We are forbidden to say that tradesmen should have a poetry of +their own, although there is nothing so poetical as trade. A grocer +should have a coat-of-arms worthy of his strange merchandise gathered +from distant and fantastic lands; a postman should have a coat-of-arms +capable of expressing the strange honour and responsibility of the man +who carries men's souls in a bag; the chemist should have a coat-of-arms +symbolizing something of the mysteries of the house of healing, the +cavern of a merciful witchcraft. + +There were in the French Revolution a class of people at whom everybody +laughed, and at whom it was probably difficult, as a practical matter, +to refrain from laughing. They attempted to erect, by means of huge +wooden statues and brand-new festivals, the most extraordinary new +religions. They adored the Goddess of Reason, who would appear, even +when the fullest allowance has been made for their many virtues, to be +the deity who had least smiled upon them. But these capering maniacs, +disowned alike by the old world and the new, were men who had seen a +great truth unknown alike to the new world and the old. They had seen +the thing that was hidden from the wise and understanding, from the +whole modern democratic civilization down to the present time. They +realized that democracy must have a heraldry, that it must have a proud +and high-coloured pageantry, if it is to keep always before its own mind +its own sublime mission. Unfortunately for this ideal, the world has in +this matter followed English democracy rather than French; and those who +look back to the nineteenth century will assuredly look back to it as we +look back to the reign of the Puritans, as the time of black coats and +black tempers. From the strange life the men of that time led, they +might be assisting at the funeral of liberty instead of at its +christening. The moment we really believe in democracy, it will begin to +blossom, as aristocracy blossomed, into symbolic colours and shapes. We +shall never make anything of democracy until we make fools of ourselves. +For if a man really cannot make a fool of himself, we may be quite +certain that the effort is superfluous. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF UGLY THINGS + + +There are some people who state that the exterior, sex, or physique of +another person is indifferent to them, that they care only for the +communion of mind with mind; but these people need not detain us. There +are some statements that no one ever thinks of believing, however often +they are made. + +But while nothing in this world would persuade us that a great friend of +Mr. Forbes Robertson, let us say, would experience no surprise or +discomfort at seeing him enter the room in the bodily form of Mr. +Chaplin, there is a confusion constantly made between being attracted by +exterior, which is natural and universal, and being attracted by what is +called physical beauty, which is not entirely natural and not in the +least universal. Or rather, to speak more strictly, the conception of +physical beauty has been narrowed to mean a certain kind of physical +beauty which no more exhausts the possibilities of external +attractiveness than the respectability of a Clapham builder exhausts +the possibilities of moral attractiveness. + +The tyrants and deceivers of mankind in this matter have been the +Greeks. All their splendid work for civilization ought not to have +wholly blinded us to the fact of their great and terrible sin against +the variety of life. It is a remarkable fact that while the Jews have +long ago been rebelled against and accused of blighting the world with a +stringent and one-sided ethical standard, nobody has noticed that the +Greeks have committed us to an infinitely more horrible asceticism--an +asceticism of the fancy, a worship of one aesthetic type alone. Jewish +severity had at least common-sense as its basis; it recognised that men +lived in a world of fact, and that if a man married within the degrees +of blood certain consequences might follow. But they did not starve +their instinct for contrasts and combinations; their prophets gave two +wings to the ox and any number of eyes to the cherubim with all the +riotous ingenuity of Lewis Carroll. But the Greeks carried their police +regulation into elfland; they vetoed not the actual adulteries of the +earth but the wild weddings of ideas, and forbade the banns of thought. + +It is extraordinary to watch the gradual emasculation of the monsters +of Greek myth under the pestilent influence of the Apollo Belvedere. The +chimaera was a creature of whom any healthy-minded people would have +been proud; but when we see it in Greek pictures we feel inclined to tie +a ribbon round its neck and give it a saucer of milk. Who ever feels +that the giants in Greek art and poetry were really big--big as some +folk-lore giants have been? In some Scandinavian story a hero walks for +miles along a mountain ridge, which eventually turns out to be the +bridge of the giant's nose. That is what we should call, with a calm +conscience, a large giant. But this earthquake fancy terrified the +Greeks, and their terror has terrified all mankind out of their natural +love of size, vitality, variety, energy, ugliness. Nature intended every +human face, so long as it was forcible, individual, and expressive, to +be regarded as distinct from all others, as a poplar is distinct from an +oak, and an apple-tree from a willow. But what the Dutch gardeners did +for trees the Greeks did for the human form; they lopped away its living +and sprawling features to give it a certain academic shape; they hacked +off noses and pared down chins with a ghastly horticultural calm. And +they have really succeeded so far as to make us call some of the most +powerful and endearing faces ugly, and some of the most silly and +repulsive faces beautiful. This disgraceful _via media_, this pitiful +sense of dignity, has bitten far deeper into the soul of modern +civilization than the external and practical Puritanism of Israel. The +Jew at the worst told a man to dance in fetters; the Greek put an +exquisite vase upon his head and told him not to move. + +Scripture says that one star differeth from another in glory, and the +same conception applies to noses. To insist that one type of face is +ugly because it differs from that of the Venus of Milo is to look at it +entirely in a misleading light. It is strange that we should resent +people differing from ourselves; we should resent much more violently +their resembling ourselves. This principle has made a sufficient hash of +literary criticism, in which it is always the custom to complain of the +lack of sound logic in a fairy tale, and the entire absence of true +oratorical power in a three-act farce. But to call another man's face +ugly because it powerfully expresses another man's soul is like +complaining that a cabbage has not two legs. If we did so, the only +course for the cabbage would be to point out with severity, but with +some show of truth, that we were not a beautiful green all over. + +But this frigid theory of the beautiful has not succeeded in conquering +the art of the world, except in name. In some quarters, indeed, it has +never held sway. A glance at Chinese dragons or Japanese gods will show +how independent are Orientals of the conventional idea of facial and +bodily regularity, and how keen and fiery is their enjoyment of real +beauty, of goggle eyes, of sprawling claws, of gaping mouths and +writhing coils. In the Middle Ages men broke away from the Greek +standard of beauty, and lifted up in adoration to heaven great towers, +which seemed alive with dancing apes and devils. In the full summer of +technical artistic perfection the revolt was carried to its real +consummation in the study of the faces of men. Rembrandt declared the +sane and manly gospel that a man was dignified, not when he was like a +Greek god, but when he had a strong, square nose like a cudgel, a +boldly-blocked head like a helmet, and a jaw like a steel trap. + +This branch of art is commonly dismissed as the grotesque. We have never +been able to understand why it should be humiliating to be laughable, +since it is giving an elevated artistic pleasure to others. If a +gentleman who saw us in the street were suddenly to burst into tears at +the mere thought of our existence, it might be considered disquieting +and uncomplimentary; but laughter is not uncomplimentary. In truth, +however, the phrase 'grotesque' is a misleading description of ugliness +in art. It does not follow that either the Chinese dragons or the Gothic +gargoyles or the goblinish old women of Rembrandt were in the least +intended to be comic. Their extravagance was not the extravagance of +satire, but simply the extravagance of vitality; and here lies the whole +key of the place of ugliness in aesthetics. We like to see a crag jut +out in shameless decision from the cliff, we like to see the red pines +stand up hardily upon a high cliff, we like to see a chasm cloven from +end to end of a mountain. With equally noble enthusiasm we like to see a +nose jut out decisively, we like to see the red hair of a friend stand +up hardily in bristles upon his head, we like to see his mouth broad and +clean cut like the mountain crevasse. At least some of us like all this; +it is not a question of humour. We do not burst with amusement at the +first sight of the pines or the chasm; but we like them because they are +expressive of the dramatic stillness of Nature, her bold experiments, +her definite departures, her fearlessness and savage pride in her +children. The moment we have snapped the spell of conventional beauty, +there are a million beautiful faces waiting for us everywhere, just as +there are a million beautiful spirits. + + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF FARCE + + +I have never been able to understand why certain forms of art should be +marked off as something debased and trivial. A comedy is spoken of as +'degenerating into farce'; it would be fair criticism to speak of it +'changing into farce'; but as for degenerating into farce, we might +equally reasonably speak of it as degenerating into tragedy. Again, a +story is spoken of as 'melodramatic,' and the phrase, queerly enough, is +not meant as a compliment. To speak of something as 'pantomimic' or +'sensational' is innocently supposed to be biting, Heaven knows why, for +all works of art are sensations, and a good pantomime (now extinct) is +one of the pleasantest sensations of all. 'This stuff is fit for a +detective story,' is often said, as who should say, 'This stuff is fit +for an epic.' + +Whatever may be the rights and wrongs of this mode of classification, +there can be no doubt about one most practical and disastrous effect of +it. These lighter or wilder forms of art, having no standard set up for +them, no gust of generous artistic pride to lift them up, do actually +tend to become as bad as they are supposed to be. Neglected children of +the great mother, they grow up in darkness, dirty and unlettered, and +when they are right they are right almost by accident, because of the +blood in their veins. The common detective story of mystery and murder +seems to the intelligent reader to be little except a strange glimpse of +a planet peopled by congenital idiots, who cannot find the end of their +own noses or the character of their own wives. The common pantomime +seems like some horrible satiric picture of a world without cause or +effect, a mass of 'jarring atoms,' a prolonged mental torture of +irrelevancy. The ordinary farce seems a world of almost piteous +vulgarity, where a half-witted and stunted creature is afraid when his +wife comes home, and amused when she sits down on the doorstep. All this +is, in a sense, true, but it is the fault of nothing in heaven or earth +except the attitude and the phrases quoted at the beginning of this +article. We have no doubt in the world that, if the other forms of art +had been equally despised, they would have been equally despicable. If +people had spoken of 'sonnets' with the same accent with which they +speak of 'music-hall songs,' a sonnet would have been a thing so +fearful and wonderful that we almost regret we cannot have a specimen; a +rowdy sonnet is a thing to dream about. If people had said that epics +were only fit for children and nursemaids, 'Paradise Lost' might have +been an average pantomime: it might have been called 'Harlequin Satan, +or How Adam 'Ad 'em.' For who would trouble to bring to perfection a +work in which even perfection is grotesque? Why should Shakespeare write +'Othello' if even his triumph consisted in the eulogy, 'Mr. Shakespeare +is fit for something better than writing tragedies'? + +The case of farce, and its wilder embodiment in harlequinade, is +especially important. That these high and legitimate forms of art, +glorified by Aristophanes and Moliere, have sunk into such contempt may +be due to many causes: I myself have little doubt that it is due to the +astonishing and ludicrous lack of belief in hope and hilarity which +marks modern aesthetics, to such an extent that it has spread even to +the revolutionists (once the hopeful section of men), so that even those +who ask us to fling the stars into the sea are not quite sure that they +will be any better there than they were before. Every form of literary +art must be a symbol of some phase of the human spirit; but whereas the +phase is, in human life, sufficiently convincing in itself, in art it +must have a certain pungency and neatness of form, to compensate for its +lack of reality. Thus any set of young people round a tea-table may have +all the comedy emotions of 'Much Ado about Nothing' or 'Northanger +Abbey,' but if their actual conversation were reported, it would +possibly not be a worthy addition to literature. An old man sitting by +his fire may have all the desolate grandeur of Lear or Pere Goriot, but +if he comes into literature he must do something besides sit by the +fire. The artistic justification, then, of farce and pantomime must +consist in the emotions of life which correspond to them. And these +emotions are to an incredible extent crushed out by the modern +insistence on the painful side of life only. Pain, it is said, is the +dominant element of life; but this is true only in a very special sense. +If pain were for one single instant literally the dominant element in +life, every man would be found hanging dead from his own bed-post by the +morning. Pain, as the black and catastrophic thing, attracts the +youthful artist, just as the schoolboy draws devils and skeletons and +men hanging. But joy is a far more elusive and elvish matter, since it +is our reason for existing, and a very feminine reason; it mingles with +every breath we draw and every cup of tea we drink. The literature of +joy is infinitely more difficult, more rare and more triumphant than the +black and white literature of pain. And of all the varied forms of the +literature of joy, the form most truly worthy of moral reverence and +artistic ambition is the form called 'farce'--or its wilder shape in +pantomime. To the quietest human being, seated in the quietest house, +there will sometimes come a sudden and unmeaning hunger for the +possibilities or impossibilities of things; he will abruptly wonder +whether the teapot may not suddenly begin to pour out honey or +sea-water, the clock to point to all hours of the day at once, the +candle to burn green or crimson, the door to open upon a lake or a +potato-field instead of a London street. Upon anyone who feels this +nameless anarchism there rests for the time being the abiding spirit of +pantomime. Of the clown who cuts the policeman in two it may be said +(with no darker meaning) that he realizes one of our visions. And it may +be noted here that this internal quality in pantomime is perfectly +symbolized and preserved by that commonplace or cockney landscape and +architecture which characterizes pantomime and farce. If the whole +affair happened in some alien atmosphere, if a pear-tree began to grow +apples or a river to run with wine in some strange fairyland, the effect +would be quite different. The streets and shops and door-knockers of the +harlequinade, which to the vulgar aesthete make it seem commonplace, are +in truth the very essence of the aesthetic departure. It must be an +actual modern door which opens and shuts, constantly disclosing +different interiors; it must be a real baker whose loaves fly up into +the air without his touching them, or else the whole internal excitement +of this elvish invasion of civilization, this abrupt entrance of Puck +into Pimlico, is lost. Some day, perhaps, when the present narrow phase +of aesthetics has ceased to monopolize the name, the glory of a farcical +art may become fashionable. Long after men have ceased to drape their +houses in green and gray and to adorn them with Japanese vases, an +aesthete may build a house on pantomime principles, in which all the +doors shall have their bells and knockers on the inside, all the +staircases be constructed to vanish on the pressing of a button, and all +the dinners (humorous dinners in themselves) come up cooked through a +trapdoor. We are very sure, at least, that it is as reasonable to +regulate one's life and lodgings by this kind of art as by any other. + +The whole of this view of farce and pantomime may seem insane to us; but +we fear that it is we who are insane. Nothing in this strange age of +transition is so depressing as its merriment. All the most brilliant men +of the day when they set about the writing of comic literature do it +under one destructive fallacy and disadvantage: the notion that comic +literature is in some sort of way superficial. They give us little +knick-knacks of the brittleness of which they positively boast, although +two thousand years have beaten as vainly upon the follies of the 'Frogs' +as on the wisdom of the 'Republic.' It is all a mean shame of joy. When +we come out from a performance of the 'Midsummer Night's Dream' we feel +as near to the stars as when we come out from 'King Lear.' For the joy +of these works is older than sorrow, their extravagance is saner than +wisdom, their love is stronger than death. + +The old masters of a healthy madness, Aristophanes or Rabelais or +Shakespeare, doubtless had many brushes with the precisians or ascetics +of their day, but we cannot but feel that for honest severity and +consistent self-maceration they would always have had respect. But what +abysses of scorn, inconceivable to any modern, would they have reserved +for an aesthetic type and movement which violated morality and did not +even find pleasure, which outraged sanity and could not attain to +exuberance, which contented itself with the fool's cap without the +bells! + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF HUMILITY + + +The act of defending any of the cardinal virtues has to-day all the +exhilaration of a vice. Moral truisms have been so much disputed that +they have begun to sparkle like so many brilliant paradoxes. And +especially (in this age of egoistic idealism) there is about one who +defends humility something inexpressibly rakish. + +It is no part of my intention to defend humility on practical grounds. +Practical grounds are uninteresting, and, moreover, on practical grounds +the case for humility is overwhelming. We all know that the 'divine +glory of the ego' is socially a great nuisance; we all do actually value +our friends for modesty, freshness, and simplicity of heart. Whatever +may be the reason, we all do warmly respect humility--in other people. + +But the matter must go deeper than this. If the grounds of humility are +found only in social convenience, they may be quite trivial and +temporary. The egoists may be the martyrs of a nobler dispensation, +agonizing for a more arduous ideal. To judge from the comparative lack +of ease in their social manner, this seems a reasonable suggestion. + +There is one thing that must be seen at the outset of the study of +humility from an intrinsic and eternal point of view. The new philosophy +of self-esteem and self-assertion declares that humility is a vice. If +it be so, it is quite clear that it is one of those vices which are an +integral part of original sin. It follows with the precision of +clockwork every one of the great joys of life. No one, for example, was +ever in love without indulging in a positive debauch of humility. All +full-blooded and natural people, such as schoolboys, enjoy humility the +moment they attain hero-worship. Humility, again, is said both by its +upholders and opponents to be the peculiar growth of Christianity. The +real and obvious reason of this is often missed. The pagans insisted +upon self-assertion because it was the essence of their creed that the +gods, though strong and just, were mystic, capricious, and even +indifferent. But the essence of Christianity was in a literal sense the +New Testament--a covenant with God which opened to men a clear +deliverance. They thought themselves secure; they claimed palaces of +pearl and silver under the oath and seal of the Omnipotent; they +believed themselves rich with an irrevocable benediction which set them +above the stars; and immediately they discovered humility. It was only +another example of the same immutable paradox. It is always the secure +who are humble. + +This particular instance survives in the evangelical revivalists of the +street. They are irritating enough, but no one who has really studied +them can deny that the irritation is occasioned by these two things, an +irritating hilarity and an irritating humility. This combination of joy +and self-prostration is a great deal too universal to be ignored. If +humility has been discredited as a virtue at the present day, it is not +wholly irrelevant to remark that this discredit has arisen at the same +time as a great collapse of joy in current literature and philosophy. +Men have revived the splendour of Greek self-assertion at the same time +that they have revived the bitterness of Greek pessimism. A literature +has arisen which commands us all to arrogate to ourselves the liberty of +self-sufficing deities at the same time that it exhibits us to ourselves +as dingy maniacs who ought to be chained up like dogs. It is certainly a +curious state of things altogether. When we are genuinely happy, we +think we are unworthy of happiness. But when we are demanding a divine +emancipation we seem to be perfectly certain that we are unworthy of +anything. + +The only explanation of the matter must be found in the conviction that +humility has infinitely deeper roots than any modern men suppose; that +it is a metaphysical and, one might almost say, a mathematical virtue. +Probably this can best be tested by a study of those who frankly +disregard humility and assert the supreme duty of perfecting and +expressing one's self. These people tend, by a perfectly natural +process, to bring their own great human gifts of culture, intellect, or +moral power to a great perfection, successively shutting out everything +that they feel to be lower than themselves. Now shutting out things is +all very well, but it has one simple corollary--that from everything +that we shut out we are ourselves shut out. When we shut our door on the +wind, it would be equally true to say that the wind shuts its door on +us. Whatever virtues a triumphant egoism really leads to, no one can +reasonably pretend that it leads to knowledge. Turning a beggar from the +door may be right enough, but pretending to know all the stories the +beggar might have narrated is pure nonsense; and this is practically +the claim of the egoism which thinks that self-assertion can obtain +knowledge. A beetle may or may not be inferior to a man--the matter +awaits demonstration; but if he were inferior by ten thousand fathoms, +the fact remains that there is probably a beetle view of things of which +a man is entirely ignorant. If he wishes to conceive that point of view, +he will scarcely reach it by persistently revelling in the fact that he +is not a beetle. The most brilliant exponent of the egoistic school, +Nietszche, with deadly and honourable logic, admitted that the +philosophy of self-satisfaction led to looking down upon the weak, the +cowardly, and the ignorant. Looking down on things may be a delightful +experience, only there is nothing, from a mountain to a cabbage, that is +really _seen_ when it is seen from a balloon. The philosopher of the ego +sees everything, no doubt, from a high and rarified heaven; only he sees +everything foreshortened or deformed. + +Now if we imagine that a man wished truly, as far as possible, to see +everything as it was, he would certainly proceed on a different +principle. He would seek to divest himself for a time of those personal +peculiarities which tend to divide him from the thing he studies. It is +as difficult, for example, for a man to examine a fish without +developing a certain vanity in possessing a pair of legs, as if they +were the latest article of personal adornment. But if a fish is to be +approximately understood, this physiological dandyism must be overcome. +The earnest student of fish morality will, spiritually speaking, chop +off his legs. And similarly the student of birds will eliminate his +arms; the frog-lover will with one stroke of the imagination remove all +his teeth, and the spirit wishing to enter into all the hopes and fears +of jelly-fish will simplify his personal appearance to a really alarming +extent. It would appear, therefore, that this great body of ours and all +its natural instincts, of which we are proud, and justly proud, is +rather an encumbrance at the moment when we attempt to appreciate things +as they should be appreciated. We do actually go through a process of +mental asceticism, a castration of the entire being, when we wish to +feel the abounding good in all things. It is good for us at certain +times that ourselves should be like a mere window--as clear, as +luminous, and as invisible. + +In a very entertaining work, over which we have roared in childhood, it +is stated that a point has no parts and no magnitude. Humility is the +luxurious art of reducing ourselves to a point, not to a small thing or +a large one, but to a thing with no size at all, so that to it all the +cosmic things are what they really are--of immeasurable stature. That +the trees are high and the grasses short is a mere accident of our own +foot-rules and our own stature. But to the spirit which has stripped off +for a moment its own idle temporal standards the grass is an everlasting +forest, with dragons for denizens; the stones of the road are as +incredible mountains piled one upon the other; the dandelions are like +gigantic bonfires illuminating the lands around; and the heath-bells on +their stalks are like planets hung in heaven each higher than the other. +Between one stake of a paling and another there are new and terrible +landscapes; here a desert, with nothing but one misshapen rock; here a +miraculous forest, of which all the trees flower above the head with the +hues of sunset; here, again, a sea full of monsters that Dante would not +have dared to dream. These are the visions of him who, like the child in +the fairy tales, is not afraid to become small. Meanwhile, the sage +whose faith is in magnitude and ambition is, like a giant, becoming +larger and larger, which only means that the stars are becoming smaller +and smaller. World after world falls from him into insignificance; the +whole passionate and intricate life of common things becomes as lost to +him as is the life of the infusoria to a man without a microscope. He +rises always through desolate eternities. He may find new systems, and +forget them; he may discover fresh universes, and learn to despise them. +But the towering and tropical vision of things as they really are--the +gigantic daisies, the heaven-consuming dandelions, the great Odyssey of +strange-coloured oceans and strange-shaped trees, of dust like the wreck +of temples, and thistledown like the ruin of stars--all this colossal +vision shall perish with the last of the humble. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF SLANG + + +The aristocrats of the nineteenth century have destroyed entirely their +one solitary utility. It is their business to be flaunting and arrogant; +but they flaunt unobtrusively, and their attempts at arrogance are +depressing. Their chief duty hitherto has been the development of +variety, vivacity, and fulness of life; oligarchy was the world's first +experiment in liberty. But now they have adopted the opposite ideal of +'good form,' which may be defined as Puritanism without religion. Good +form has sent them all into black like the stroke of a funeral bell. +They engage, like Mr. Gilbert's curates, in a war of mildness, a +positive competition of obscurity. In old times the lords of the earth +sought above all things to be distinguished from each other; with that +object they erected outrageous images on their helmets and painted +preposterous colours on their shields. They wished to make it entirely +clear that a Norfolk was as different, say, from an Argyll as a white +lion from a black pig. But to-day their ideal is precisely the opposite +one, and if a Norfolk and an Argyll were dressed so much alike that they +were mistaken for each other they would both go home dancing with joy. + +The consequences of this are inevitable. The aristocracy must lose their +function of standing to the world for the idea of variety, experiment, +and colour, and we must find these things in some other class. To ask +whether we shall find them in the middle class would be to jest upon +sacred matters. The only conclusion, therefore, is that it is to +certain sections of the lower class, chiefly, for example, to +omnibus-conductors, with their rich and rococo mode of thought, that we +must look for guidance towards liberty and light. + +The one stream of poetry which is continually flowing is slang. Every +day a nameless poet weaves some fairy tracery of popular language. It +may be said that the fashionable world talks slang as much as the +democratic; this is true, and it strongly supports the view under +consideration. Nothing is more startling than the contrast between the +heavy, formal, lifeless slang of the man-about-town and the light, +living, and flexible slang of the coster. The talk of the upper strata +of the educated classes is about the most shapeless, aimless, and +hopeless literary product that the world has ever seen. Clearly in this, +again, the upper classes have degenerated. We have ample evidence that +the old leaders of feudal war could speak on occasion with a certain +natural symbolism and eloquence that they had not gained from books. +When Cyrano de Bergerac, in Rostand's play, throws doubts on the reality +of Christian's dulness and lack of culture, the latter replies: + + 'Bah! on trouve des mots quand on monte a l'assaut; + Oui, j'ai un certain esprit facile et militaire;' + +and these two lines sum up a truth about the old oligarchs. They could +not write three legible letters, but they could sometimes speak +literature. Douglas, when he hurled the heart of Bruce in front of him +in his last battle, cried out, 'Pass first, great heart, as thou wert +ever wont.' A Spanish nobleman, when commanded by the King to receive a +high-placed and notorious traitor, said: 'I will receive him in all +obedience, and burn down my house afterwards.' This is literature +without culture; it is the speech of men convinced that they have to +assert proudly the poetry of life. + +Anyone, however, who should seek for such pearls in the conversation of +a young man of modern Belgravia would have much sorrow in his life. It +is not only impossible for aristocrats to assert proudly the poetry of +life; it is more impossible for them than for anyone else. It is +positively considered vulgar for a nobleman to boast of his ancient +name, which is, when one comes to think of it, the only rational object +of his existence. If a man in the street proclaimed, with rude feudal +rhetoric, that he was the Earl of Doncaster, he would be arrested as a +lunatic; but if it were discovered that he really was the Earl of +Doncaster, he would simply be cut as a cad. No poetical prose must be +expected from Earls as a class. The fashionable slang is hardly even a +language; it is like the formless cries of animals, dimly indicating +certain broad, well-understood states of mind. 'Bored,' 'cut up,' +'jolly,' 'rotten,' and so on, are like the words of some tribe of +savages whose vocabulary has only twenty of them. If a man of fashion +wished to protest against some solecism in another man of fashion, his +utterance would be a mere string of set phrases, as lifeless as a string +of dead fish. But an omnibus conductor (being filled with the Muse) +would burst out into a solid literary effort: 'You're a gen'leman, +aren't yer ... yer boots is a lot brighter than yer 'ed...there's +precious little of yer, and that's clothes...that's right, put yer cigar +in yer mouth 'cos I can't see yer be'ind it...take it out again, do yer! +you're young for smokin', but I've sent for yer mother.... Goin'? oh, +don't run away: I won't 'arm yer. I've got a good 'art, I 'ave.... "Down +with croolty to animals," I say,' and so on. It is evident that this +mode of speech is not only literary, but literary in a very ornate and +almost artificial sense. Keats never put into a sonnet so many remote +metaphors as a coster puts into a curse; his speech is one long +allegory, like Spenser's 'Faerie Queen.' + +I do not imagine that it is necessary to demonstrate that this poetic +allusiveness is the characteristic of true slang. Such an expression as +'Keep your hair on' is positively Meredithian in its perverse and +mysterious manner of expressing an idea. The Americans have a well-known +expression about 'swelled-head' as a description of self-approval, and +the other day I heard a remarkable fantasia upon this air. An American +said that after the Chinese War the Japanese wanted 'to put on their +hats with a shoe-horn.' This is a monument of the true nature of slang, +which consists in getting further and further away from the original +conception, in treating it more and more as an assumption. It is rather +like the literary doctrine of the Symbolists. + +The real reason of this great development of eloquence among the lower +orders again brings us back to the case of the aristocracy in earlier +times. The lower classes live in a state of war, a war of words. Their +readiness is the product of the same fiery individualism as the +readiness of the old fighting oligarchs. Any cabman has to be ready with +his tongue, as any gentleman of the last century had to be ready with +his sword. It is unfortunate that the poetry which is developed by this +process should be purely a grotesque poetry. But as the higher orders of +society have entirely abdicated their right to speak with a heroic +eloquence, it is no wonder that the language should develop by itself in +the direction of a rowdy eloquence. The essential point is that somebody +must be at work adding new symbols and new circumlocutions to a +language. + +All slang is metaphor, and all metaphor is poetry. If we paused for a +moment to examine the cheapest cant phrases that pass our lips every +day, we should find that they were as rich and suggestive as so many +sonnets. To take a single instance: we speak of a man in English social +relations 'breaking the ice.' If this were expanded into a sonnet, we +should have before us a dark and sublime picture of an ocean of +everlasting ice, the sombre and baffling mirror of the Northern nature, +over which men walked and danced and skated easily, but under which the +living waters roared and toiled fathoms below. The world of slang is a +kind of topsy-turveydom of poetry, full of blue moons and white +elephants, of men losing their heads, and men whose tongues run away +with them--a whole chaos of fairy tales. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF BABY-WORSHIP + + +The two facts which attract almost every normal person to children are, +first, that they are very serious, and, secondly, that they are in +consequence very happy. They are jolly with the completeness which is +possible only in the absence of humour. The most unfathomable schools +and sages have never attained to the gravity which dwells in the eyes of +a baby of three months old. It is the gravity of astonishment at the +universe, and astonishment at the universe is not mysticism, but a +transcendent common-sense. The fascination of children lies in this: +that with each of them all things are remade, and the universe is put +again upon its trial. As we walk the streets and see below us those +delightful bulbous heads, three times too big for the body, which mark +these human mushrooms, we ought always primarily to remember that within +every one of these heads there is a new universe, as new as it was on +the seventh day of creation. In each of those orbs there is a new system +of stars, new grass, new cities, a new sea. + +There is always in the healthy mind an obscure prompting that religion +teaches us rather to dig than to climb; that if we could once understand +the common clay of earth we should understand everything. Similarly, we +have the sentiment that if we could destroy custom at a blow and see the +stars as a child sees them, we should need no other apocalypse. This is +the great truth which has always lain at the back of baby-worship, and +which will support it to the end. Maturity, with its endless energies +and aspirations, may easily be convinced that it will find new things to +appreciate; but it will never be convinced, at bottom, that it has +properly appreciated what it has got. We may scale the heavens and find +new stars innumerable, but there is still the new star we have not +found--that on which we were born. + +But the influence of children goes further than its first trifling +effort of remaking heaven and earth. It forces us actually to remodel +our conduct in accordance with this revolutionary theory of the +marvellousness of all things. We do (even when we are perfectly simple +or ignorant)--we do actually treat talking in children as marvellous, +walking in children as marvellous, common intelligence in children as +marvellous. The cynical philosopher fancies he has a victory in this +matter--that he can laugh when he shows that the words or antics of the +child, so much admired by its worshippers, are common enough. The fact +is that this is precisely where baby-worship is so profoundly right. Any +words and any antics in a lump of clay are wonderful, the child's words +and antics are wonderful, and it is only fair to say that the +philosopher's words and antics are equally wonderful. + +The truth is that it is our attitude towards children that is right, and +our attitude towards grown-up people that is wrong. Our attitude towards +our equals in age consists in a servile solemnity, overlying a +considerable degree of indifference or disdain. Our attitude towards +children consists in a condescending indulgence, overlying an +unfathomable respect. We bow to grown people, take off our hats to them, +refrain from contradicting them flatly, but we do not appreciate them +properly. We make puppets of children, lecture them, pull their hair, +and reverence, love, and fear them. When we reverence anything in the +mature, it is their virtues or their wisdom, and this is an easy +matter. But we reverence the faults and follies of children. + +We should probably come considerably nearer to the true conception of +things if we treated all grown-up persons, of all titles and types, with +precisely that dark affection and dazed respect with which we treat the +infantile limitations. A child has a difficulty in achieving the miracle +of speech, consequently we find his blunders almost as marvellous as his +accuracy. If we only adopted the same attitude towards Premiers and +Chancellors of the Exchequer, if we genially encouraged their stammering +and delightful attempts at human speech, we should be in a far more wise +and tolerant temper. A child has a knack of making experiments in life, +generally healthy in motive, but often intolerable in a domestic +commonwealth. If we only treated all commercial buccaneers and bumptious +tyrants on the same terms, if we gently chided their brutalities as +rather quaint mistakes in the conduct of life, if we simply told them +that they would 'understand when they were older,' we should probably be +adopting the best and most crushing attitude towards the weaknesses of +humanity. In our relations to children we prove that the paradox is +entirely true, that it is possible to combine an amnesty that verges on +contempt with a worship that verges upon terror. We forgive children +with the same kind of blasphemous gentleness with which Omar Khayyam +forgave the Omnipotent. + +The essential rectitude of our view of children lies in the fact that we +feel them and their ways to be supernatural while, for some mysterious +reason, we do not feel ourselves or our own ways to be supernatural. The +very smallness of children makes it possible to regard them as marvels; +we seem to be dealing with a new race, only to be seen through a +microscope. I doubt if anyone of any tenderness or imagination can see +the hand of a child and not be a little frightened of it. It is awful to +think of the essential human energy moving so tiny a thing; it is like +imagining that human nature could live in the wing of a butterfly or the +leaf of a tree. When we look upon lives so human and yet so small, we +feel as if we ourselves were enlarged to an embarrassing bigness of +stature. We feel the same kind of obligation to these creatures that a +deity might feel if he had created something that he could not +understand. + +But the humorous look of children is perhaps the most endearing of all +the bonds that hold the Cosmos together. Their top-heavy dignity is +more touching than any humility; their solemnity gives us more hope for +all things than a thousand carnivals of optimism; their large and +lustrous eyes seem to hold all the stars in their astonishment; their +fascinating absence of nose seems to give to us the most perfect hint of +the humour that awaits us in the kingdom of heaven. + + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF DETECTIVE STORIES + + +In attempting to reach the genuine psychological reason for the +popularity of detective stories, it is necessary to rid ourselves of +many mere phrases. It is not true, for example, that the populace prefer +bad literature to good, and accept detective stories because they are +bad literature. The mere absence of artistic subtlety does not make a +book popular. Bradshaw's Railway Guide contains few gleams of +psychological comedy, yet it is not read aloud uproariously on winter +evenings. If detective stories are read with more exuberance than +railway guides, it is certainly because they are more artistic. Many +good books have fortunately been popular; many bad books, still more +fortunately, have been unpopular. A good detective story would probably +be even more popular than a bad one. The trouble in this matter is that +many people do not realize that there is such a thing as a good +detective story; it is to them like speaking of a good devil. To write a +story about a burglary is, in their eyes, a sort of spiritual manner of +committing it. To persons of somewhat weak sensibility this is natural +enough; it must be confessed that many detective stories are as full of +sensational crime as one of Shakespeare's plays. + +There is, however, between a good detective story and a bad detective +story as much, or, rather more, difference than there is between a good +epic and a bad one. Not only is a detective story a perfectly legitimate +form of art, but it has certain definite and real advantages as an agent +of the public weal. + +The first essential value of the detective story lies in this, that it +is the earliest and only form of popular literature in which is +expressed some sense of the poetry of modern life. Men lived among +mighty mountains and eternal forests for ages before they realized that +they were poetical; it may reasonably be inferred that some of our +descendants may see the chimney-pots as rich a purple as the +mountain-peaks, and find the lamp-posts as old and natural as the trees. +Of this realization of a great city itself as something wild and obvious +the detective story is certainly the 'Iliad.' No one can have failed to +notice that in these stories the hero or the investigator crosses London +with something of the loneliness and liberty of a prince in a tale of +elfland, that in the course of that incalculable journey the casual +omnibus assumes the primal colours of a fairy ship. The lights of the +city begin to glow like innumerable goblin eyes, since they are the +guardians of some secret, however crude, which the writer knows and the +reader does not. Every twist of the road is like a finger pointing to +it; every fantastic skyline of chimney-pots seems wildly and derisively +signalling the meaning of the mystery. + +This realization of the poetry of London is not a small thing. A city +is, properly speaking, more poetic even than a countryside, for while +Nature is a chaos of unconscious forces, a city is a chaos of conscious +ones. The crest of the flower or the pattern of the lichen may or may +not be significant symbols. But there is no stone in the street and no +brick in the wall that is not actually a deliberate symbol--a message +from some man, as much as if it were a telegram or a post-card. The +narrowest street possesses, in every crook and twist of its intention, +the soul of the man who built it, perhaps long in his grave. Every brick +has as human a hieroglyph as if it were a graven brick of Babylon; every +slate on the roof is as educational a document as if it were a slate +covered with addition and subtraction sums. Anything which tends, even +under the fantastic form of the minutiae of Sherlock Holmes, to assert +this romance of detail in civilization, to emphasize this unfathomably +human character in flints and tiles, is a good thing. It is good that +the average man should fall into the habit of looking imaginatively at +ten men in the street even if it is only on the chance that the eleventh +might be a notorious thief. We may dream, perhaps, that it might be +possible to have another and higher romance of London, that men's souls +have stranger adventures than their bodies, and that it would be harder +and more exciting to hunt their virtues than to hunt their crimes. But +since our great authors (with the admirable exception of Stevenson) +decline to write of that thrilling mood and moment when the eyes of the +great city, like the eyes of a cat, begin to flame in the dark, we must +give fair credit to the popular literature which, amid a babble of +pedantry and preciosity, declines to regard the present as prosaic or +the common as commonplace. Popular art in all ages has been interested +in contemporary manners and costume; it dressed the groups around the +Crucifixion in the garb of Florentine gentlefolk or Flemish burghers. +In the last century it was the custom for distinguished actors to +present Macbeth in a powdered wig and ruffles. How far we are ourselves +in this age from such conviction of the poetry of our own life and +manners may easily be conceived by anyone who chooses to imagine a +picture of Alfred the Great toasting the cakes dressed in tourist's +knickerbockers, or a performance of 'Hamlet' in which the Prince +appeared in a frock-coat, with a crape band round his hat. But this +instinct of the age to look back, like Lot's wife, could not go on for +ever. A rude, popular literature of the romantic possibilities of the +modern city was bound to arise. It has arisen in the popular detective +stories, as rough and refreshing as the ballads of Robin Hood. + +There is, however, another good work that is done by detective stories. +While it is the constant tendency of the Old Adam to rebel against so +universal and automatic a thing as civilization, to preach departure and +rebellion, the romance of police activity keeps in some sense before the +mind the fact that civilization itself is the most sensational of +departures and the most romantic of rebellions. By dealing with the +unsleeping sentinels who guard the outposts of society, it tends to +remind us that we live in an armed camp, making war with a chaotic +world, and that the criminals, the children of chaos, are nothing but +the traitors within our gates. When the detective in a police romance +stands alone, and somewhat fatuously fearless amid the knives and fists +of a thieves' kitchen, it does certainly serve to make us remember that +it is the agent of social justice who is the original and poetic figure, +while the burglars and footpads are merely placid old cosmic +conservatives, happy in the immemorial respectability of apes and +wolves. The romance of the police force is thus the whole romance of +man. It is based on the fact that morality is the most dark and daring +of conspiracies. It reminds us that the whole noiseless and unnoticeable +police management by which we are ruled and protected is only a +successful knight-errantry. + + + * * * * * + +A DEFENCE OF PATRIOTISM + + +The decay of patriotism in England during the last year or two is a +serious and distressing matter. Only in consequence of such a decay +could the current lust of territory be confounded with the ancient love +of country. We may imagine that if there were no such thing as a pair of +lovers left in the world, all the vocabulary of love might without +rebuke be transferred to the lowest and most automatic desire. If no +type of chivalrous and purifying passion remained, there would be no one +left to say that lust bore none of the marks of love, that lust was +rapacious and love pitiful, that lust was blind and love vigilant, that +lust sated itself and love was insatiable. So it is with the 'love of +the city,' that high and ancient intellectual passion which has been +written in red blood on the same table with the primal passions of our +being. On all sides we hear to-day of the love of our country, and yet +anyone who has literally such a love must be bewildered at the talk, +like a man hearing all men say that the moon shines by day and the sun +by night. The conviction must come to him at last that these men do not +realize what the word 'love' means, that they mean by the love of +country, not what a mystic might mean by the love of God, but something +of what a child might mean by the love of jam. To one who loves his +fatherland, for instance, our boasted indifference to the ethics of a +national war is mere mysterious gibberism. It is like telling a man that +a boy has committed murder, but that he need not mind because it is only +his son. Here clearly the word 'love' is used unmeaningly. It is the +essence of love to be sensitive, it is a part of its doom; and anyone +who objects to the one must certainly get rid of the other. This +sensitiveness, rising sometimes to an almost morbid sensitiveness, was +the mark of all great lovers like Dante and all great patriots like +Chatham. 'My country, right or wrong,' is a thing that no patriot would +think of saying except in a desperate case. It is like saying, 'My +mother, drunk or sober.' No doubt if a decent man's mother took to drink +he would share her troubles to the last; but to talk as if he would be +in a state of gay indifference as to whether his mother took to drink or +not is certainly not the language of men who know the great mystery. + +What we really need for the frustration and overthrow of a deaf and +raucous Jingoism is a renascence of the love of the native land. When +that comes, all shrill cries will cease suddenly. For the first of all +the marks of love is seriousness: love will not accept sham bulletins or +the empty victory of words. It will always esteem the most candid +counsellor the best. Love is drawn to truth by the unerring magnetism of +agony; it gives no pleasure to the lover to see ten doctors dancing with +vociferous optimism round a death-bed. + +We have to ask, then, Why is it that this recent movement in England, +which has honestly appeared to many a renascence of patriotism, seems to +us to have none of the marks of patriotism--at least, of patriotism in +its highest form? Why has the adoration of our patriots been given +wholly to qualities and circumstances good in themselves, but +comparatively material and trivial:--trade, physical force, a skirmish +at a remote frontier, a squabble in a remote continent? Colonies are +things to be proud of, but for a country to be only proud of its +extremities is like a man being only proud of his legs. Why is there not +a high central intellectual patriotism, a patriotism of the head and +heart of the Empire, and not merely of its fists and its boots? A rude +Athenian sailor may very likely have thought that the glory of Athens +lay in rowing with the right kind of oars, or having a good supply of +garlic; but Pericles did not think that this was the glory of Athens. +With us, on the other hand, there is no difference at all between the +patriotism preached by Mr. Chamberlain and that preached by Mr. Pat +Rafferty, who sings 'What do you think of the Irish now?' They are both +honest, simple-minded, vulgar eulogies upon trivialities and truisms. + +I have, rightly or wrongly, a notion of the chief cause of this +pettiness in English patriotism of to-day, and I will attempt to expound +it. It may be taken generally that a man loves his own stock and +environment, and that he will find something to praise in it; but +whether it is the most praiseworthy thing or no will depend upon the +man's enlightenment as to the facts. If the son of Thackeray, let us +say, were brought up in ignorance of his father's fame and genius, it is +not improbable that he would be proud of the fact that his father was +over six feet high. It seems to me that we, as a nation, are precisely +in the position of this hypothetical child of Thackeray's. We fall back +upon gross and frivolous things for our patriotism, for a simple reason. +We are the only people in the world who are not taught in childhood our +own literature and our own history. + +We are, as a nation, in the truly extraordinary condition of not knowing +our own merits. We have played a great and splendid part in the history +of universal thought and sentiment; we have been among the foremost in +that eternal and bloodless battle in which the blows do not slay, but +create. In painting and music we are inferior to many other nations; but +in literature, science, philosophy, and political eloquence, if history +be taken as a whole, we can hold our own with any. But all this vast +heritage of intellectual glory is kept from our schoolboys like a +heresy; and they are left to live and die in the dull and infantile type +of patriotism which they learnt from a box of tin soldiers. There is no +harm in the box of tin soldiers; we do not expect children to be equally +delighted with a beautiful box of tin philanthropists. But there is +great harm in the fact that the subtler and more civilized honour of +England is not presented so as to keep pace with the expanding mind. A +French boy is taught the glory of Moliere as well as that of Turenne; a +German boy is taught his own great national philosophy before he learns +the philosophy of antiquity. The result is that, though French +patriotism is often crazy and boastful, though German patriotism is +often isolated and pedantic, they are neither of them merely dull, +common, and brutal, as is so often the strange fate of the nation of +Bacon and Locke. It is natural enough, and even righteous enough, under +the circumstances. An Englishman must love England for something; +consequently, he tends to exalt commerce or prize-fighting, just as a +German might tend to exalt music, or a Flamand to exalt painting, +because he really believes it is the chief merit of his fatherland. It +would not be in the least extraordinary if a claim of eating up +provinces and pulling down princes were the chief boast of a Zulu. The +extraordinary thing is, that it is the chief boast of a people who have +Shakespeare, Newton, Burke, and Darwin to boast of. + +The peculiar lack of any generosity or delicacy in the current English +nationalism appears to have no other possible origin but in this fact of +our unique neglect in education of the study of the national literature. +An Englishman could not be silly enough to despise other nations if he +once knew how much England had done for them. Great men of letters +cannot avoid being humane and universal. The absence of the teaching of +English literature in our schools is, when we come to think of it, an +almost amazing phenomenon. It is even more amazing when we listen to the +arguments urged by headmasters and other educational conservatives +against the direct teaching of English. It is said, for example, that a +vast amount of English grammar and literature is picked up in the course +of learning Latin and Greek. This is perfectly true, but the +topsy-turviness of the idea never seems to strike them. It is like +saying that a baby picks up the art of walking in the course of learning +to hop, or that a Frenchman may successfully be taught German by helping +a Prussian to learn Ashanti. Surely the obvious foundation of all +education is the language in which that education is conveyed; if a boy +has only time to learn one thing, he had better learn that. + +We have deliberately neglected this great heritage of high national +sentiment. We have made our public schools the strongest walls against a +whisper of the honour of England. And we have had our punishment in this +strange and perverted fact that, while a unifying vision of patriotism +can ennoble bands of brutal savages or dingy burghers, and be the best +thing in their lives, we, who are--the world being judge--humane, +honest, and serious individually, have a patriotism that is the worst +thing in ours. What have we done, and where have we wandered, we that +have produced sages who could have spoken with Socrates and poets who +could walk with Dante, that we should talk as if we have never done +anything more intelligent than found colonies and kick niggers? We are +the children of light, and it is we that sit in darkness. If we are +judged, it will not be for the merely intellectual transgression of +failing to appreciate other nations, but for the supreme spiritual +transgression of failing to appreciate ourselves. + + +THE END + +BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Defendant, by G.K. 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