Sunday, October 9, 2016

THE TRUMP OF DOOM

THE AMERICAN IDEAL -- G K CHESTERTON (sourced from here)

There is nothing the matter with Americans except their ideals.  The real American is all right; it is the ideal American who is all wrong.  It is the code and conception of life imposed from above, much more than the merely human faults and weaknesses working up from below.
In so far as the citizens of the Western democracy have really gone wrong, they have not inherently or quite naturally gone wrong.  They have been taught wrong; instructed wrong; educated wrong; exalted and uplifted wrong.  A huge heresy, rather peculiar to modern times, yet singularly uncriticised by modern critics, has actually perverted them in a way which is not really very consonant to their personalities.  The real, natural Americans are candid, generous, capable of a beautiful wonder and gratitude; enthusiastic about things external to themselves; easily contented and not particularly conceited.  They have been deliberately and dogmatically taught to be conceited.  They have been systematically educated in a theory of enthusiasm, which degrades it into mere egotism.  The American has received as a sort of religion the notion that blowing his own trumpet is as important as the trump of doom.
It is, I am almost certain, in the main an example of the hardening effect of a heresy, and even of a hostile heresy.  There are more examples of it than those admit who ignore the peril of heresy.  The Scots are an example; they were never naturally Calvinists; and when they break free, it is to become very romantic figures like Stevenson or Cunninghame Graham.  The Americans were never naturally boomsters or business bullies.  They would have been much happier and more themselves as a race of simple and warm-hearted country people eager for country sports or gazing at the wonders in country fairs.  An egotist heresy, produced by the modern heathenry, has taught them against all their Christian instincts that boasting is better than courtesy and pride better than humility.
It is queer to note how raw and recent is the heresy; and how little it has been spotted by any heresy-hunt.  We have heard much of modern polygamy or promiscuity reversing the Christian idea of purity.  We have heard something, and we ought to hear more, of modern capitalism and commercialism reversing the Christian idea of charity to the poor.  But we have not heard much about Advertisement, with its push, publicity; and self-assertion, reversing the idea of Christian humility.  Yet we can at once test the ethics of publicity by removing it from public life; by merely applying it to private life.  What should we think, in a private party, if an old gentleman had written on his shirtfront in large fine flowing hand: “I am the only well-bred person in this company.” What should we think of any person of taste and humour who went about wearing a placard inscribed “Please note quiet charm of my personality.”   What should we say if people gravely engraved on their visiting card the claim to be the handsomest or the wittiest or the most subtly, strangely attractive people about town.  We should not only think, with great accuracy, that they were behaving like asses, and certainly destroying beforehand any social advantages they might really have.  We should also think they were wantonly reversing and destroying a principle of social amenity and moral delicacy, recognized in all civilised states and ages, but especially emphasized in the ethics of Christianity.  Yet modern business, especially in America, does really enforce this sort of publicity in public life; and has begun to press it even in private life.  But the point to be emphasized here is that it is really pressed upon most of the Americans; they are goaded and driven into this sort of public life; large numbers of them would have been perfectly contented with private life.  They would have endured it even if it had retained au the old decency and dignity of private life.  For this is where the critic must deal most delicately with the subtlety of their simplicity.
The Americans are always excused as a new nation; though it is no longer exactly a new excuse.  But in truth these terms are very misleading; and in some ways they have rather the atmosphere of an old nation.  Over whole tracts of that vast country, they are certainly what we should call an old-fashioned nation.  In no nation in the world are so many people attached to a certain sort of old texts, familiar quotations, or the pieces of sentiment that were written on the pink pages of Victorian albums.  A popular book was published, while I was in America, bearing the somewhat alarming name of Heart Throbs, from which compilation one might learn that some great and grim judge of High Court had for his favourite poem “Grandmother’s Blessing,” or that some colossus of Commerce, a Steel-King or an Oil-King, preferred the simple lines entitled, “Daddy’s Hat.” It is only fair to say that some of these hard-headed and ruthless rulers had never forgotten the real classical claims of “Love’s Young Dream,” or “The Seven Ages of Man.” Some may sneer at these extracts, but surely not at their novelty or crudity I do not mention them for the purpose of sneering at them, but, on the contrary, for the purpose of showing that there must be a great block of solid and normal sentiment, even of traditional sentiment.  And people having that sentiment, people inheriting that tradition, would not necessarily, on their own account, have become believers in selfish, sensational self-advertisement.  Suspect, as a matter of fact, that there is rather less of such callous and contemptuous egoism in America than anywhere else.  The older civilisations, some of which I will venture to call the more civilised civilisations, have a great many advantages in variety of culture and a conspectus of criticism; but I should guess that their wickedness is more wicked.  A Frenchman can be much more cynical and sceptical than an American; a German much more morbid and perverted than an American; an Englishman much more frozen and sophisticated with pride.  What has happened to America is that a number of people who were meant to be heroic and fighting farmers, at once peasants and pioneers, have been swept by the pestilence of a particular fad or false doctrine; the ideal which has and deserves the detestable title of Making Good.  The very words are a hypocrisy, that would have been utterly unintelligible to any man of any other age or creed; as meaningless to a Greek sophist as to a Buddhist monk.  For they manage, by one mean twist of words, to combine the notion of making money with the entirely opposite notion of being good.  But the abnormality of this notion can best be seen, as I have said, in its heathen and barbaric appeal to a brazen self-praise.  Selling the goods meant incidentally, of course, lying about the goods; but it was almost worse that it meant bragging about the goods.
There is a very real sense in which certain crudities in the Americans are not so much a part of American crudity as actually a part of American culture.  They are not mere outbreaks of human nature; they are something systematically impressed upon human nature.  It is not for nothing that some of the most prominent features of their actual academic training are things like schools of commerce or schools of journalism.  There is a vital distinction between these things and all that the world has generally meant by a school; especially the most scholastic sort of school.  Even those who think little of learning Greek and Latin will agree that it carried with it a vague suggestion of admiring Greeks and Latins.  The schoolboy was supposed in some sense to feel inferior.  But even in a commercial academy the boy is not occupied in gazing at some great millionaire doing a straddle in wheat, with the feelings of the simplest pagan of antiquity gazing at the Colossus of Rhodes.  It would not do him much good if he did; but in general practise he does not.  If he learns anything, he learns to do a straddle in wheat himself, or to hope that he will do it as acrobatically as any other acrobat.  He does not even learn to venerate Mr. Rockefeller, but only to imitate Mr. Rockefeller.
Nor does the practical study of journalism lead to any particular veneration for literature.  The qualities inculcated and encouraged are the same as those which commerce inculcates and encourages.  I say it with no particular hostility or bitterness, but it is a fact that the school of commerce or the school of journalism might almost as well be called a school of impudence or a school of swagger or a school of grab and greed.
But the point is that people are taught to be impudent or greedy, not that they are naturally impudent and greedy.  As a matter of fact, they are not.  And that is the whole paradox of the position, which I have already suggested and should like here to expand.  I have seen in the United States young people, coming out of this course of culture, who actually pulled themselves together to be rude, as normal young people have always pulled themselves together to be polite.  They were shy in fact and shameless on principle.  They would ask rude questions, but they were as timid about asking a rude question as an ordinary youth about paying a compliment.  They would use the most brazen methods to induce somebody to see them, and anybody who did see them would pity them for their bashfulness.  They were always storming the stage in a state of stage fright.
The very simple explanation of this puzzling contradiction is that they were perfectly nice and normal people in themselves, but they had never been left to themselves by those who were always telling them to assert themselves.  They had been bounced into bouncing and bullied into being bullies.  And the explanation is the existence of this modern heresy false ideal, that has been preached to everybody by every organ of publicity and plutocracy: the theory that self-praise is the only real recommendation.
I have suggested that the American character might have developed in an infinitely more healthy and human fashion if it had not been for this heresy.  Of course the American character would in any case have been very much more alert and lively and impetuous than the English character.  But that has nothing to do with the particular features and fashions of commercial advertisement and ambition.  There are many other races that are more vivacious or vehement than the English d who yet live the normal life of contented country folk, and practise the traditional ideas of modesty and courtesy.
The trouble with the false commercial ideal is that it has made these men struggle against modesty as if it were morbidity; and actually try to coarsen their natural courtesy, as other men stifle a natural crudity.  I do not think that bragging and go-getting are American faults.  I hate them as American virtues; I think the quarrel is not so much with the men as with the gods: the false gods they have been taught to worship and still only worship with half their hearts.  And these gods of the heathen are stone and brass, but especially brass; and there is an eternal struggle in that half-hearted idolatry; for often, while the gods are of brass, the hearts are of gold.

Thursday, May 12, 2016

The first business of a story is to be a good story.

TO CYNTHIA DONNELLY, who had asked C S Lewis about being a Christian writer: On good work rather than good works.

14 August 1954

Thank you for your most kind and encouraging letter. I think you have a mistaken idea of a Christian writer’s duty. We must use the talent we have, not the talents we haven’t. We must not of course write anything that will flatter lust, pride or ambition. But we needn’t all write patently moral or theological work. Indeed, work whose Christianity is latent may do quite as much good and may reach some whom the more obvious religious work would scare away.

The first business of a story is to be a good story. When Our Lord made a wheel in the carpenter shop, depend upon it: It was first and foremost a good wheel. Don’t try to ‘bring in’ specifically Christian bits: if God wants you to serve him in that way (He may not: there are different vocations), you will find it coming in of its own accord. If not, well—a good story which will give innocent pleasure is a good thing, just like cooking a good nourishing meal. (You don’t put little texts in your family soup, I’ll be bound.)

By the way, none of my stories began with a Christian message. I always start from a mental picture—the floating islands, a faun with an umbrella in a snowy wood, an ‘injured’ human head. Of course my non-fiction works are different. But they succeed because I’m a professional teacher and explanation happens to be one of the things I’ve learned to do.


But the great thing is to cultivate one’s own garden, to do well the job which one’s own natural capacities point out (after first doing well whatever the ‘duties of one’s station’ impose). Any honest workmanship (whether making stories, shoes, or rabbit hutches) can be done to the glory of God. . . .

Thursday, April 21, 2016

Everyone has warned me not to tell you what I am going to tell you in this last book

Everyone has warned me not to tell you what I am going to tell you in this last book. They all say "the ordinary reader does not want Theology; give him plain practical religion." I have rejected their advice. I do not think the ordinary reader is such a fool. Theology means "the science of God," and I think any man who wants to think about God at all would like to have the clearest and most accurate ideas about Him which are available. You are not children: why should you be treated like children?

In a way I quite understand why some people are put off by Theology. I remember once when I had been giving a talk to the RA.F., an old, hard-bitten officer got up and said, "I've no use for all that stuff. But, mind you, I'm a religious man too. I know there's a God. I've felt Him: out alone in the desert at night: the tremendous mystery. And that's just why I don't believe all your neat little dogmas and formulas about Him. To anyone who's met the real thing they all seem so petty and pedantic and unreal!"


Now in a sense I quite agreed with that man. I think he had probably had a real experience of God in the desert. And when he turned from that experience to the Christian creeds, I think he really was turning from something real to something less real.

In the same way, if a man has once looked at the Atlantic from the beach, and then goes and looks at a map of the Atlantic, he also will be turning from something real to something less real: turning from real waves to a bit of coloured paper. But here comes the point. The map is admittedly only coloured paper, but there are two things you have to remember about it. In the first place, it is based on what hundreds and thousands of people have found out by sailing the real Atlantic. In that way it has behind it masses of experience just as real as the one you could have from the beach; only, while yours would be a single isolated glimpse, the map fits all those different experiences together.


In the second place, if you want to go anywhere, the map is absolutely necessary. As long as you are content with walks on the beach, your own glimpses are far more fun than looking at a map. But the map is going to be more use than walks on the beach if you want to get to America.

Now, Theology is like the map. Merely learning and thinking about the Christian doctrines, if you stop there, is less real and less exciting than the sort of thing my friend got in the desert. Doctrines are not God: they are only a kind of map. But that map is based on the experience of hundreds of people who really were in touch with God—experiences compared with which any thrills or pious feelings you and I are likely to get on our own are very elementary and very confused. And secondly, if you want to get any further, you must use the map.

You see, what happened to that man in the desert may have been real, and was certainly exciting, but nothing comes of it. It leads nowhere. There is nothing to do about it In fact, that is just why a vague religion—all about feeling God in nature, and so on—is so attractive. It is all thrills and no work; like watching the waves from the beach. But you will not get to Newfoundland by studying the Atlantic that way, and you will not get eternal life by simply feeling the presence of God in flowers or music. Neither will you get anywhere by looking at maps without going to sea. Nor will you be very safe if you go to sea without a map.

In other words, Theology is practical: especially now. In the old days, when there was less education and discussion, perhaps it was possible to get on with a very few simple ideas about God. But it is not so now. Everyone reads, everyone hears things discussed. Consequently, if you do not listen to Theology, that will not mean that you have no ideas about God. It will mean that you have a lot of wrong ones—bad, muddled, out-of-date ideas. For a great many of the ideas about God which are trotted out as novelties today, are simply the ones which real Theologians tried centuries ago and rejected.


Friday, April 8, 2016

Quotes: Distributism

“If we do not restore the Institution of Property we cannot escape restoring the Institution of Slavery; there is no third course.”  Hilaire Belloc, The Servile State


"Big Business and State Socialism are very much alike, especially Big Business." - G.K.'s Weekly, 4/10/26

"A citizen can hardly distinguish between a tax and a fine, except that the fine is generally much lighter." - ILN, 5/25/31

"Too much capitalism does not mean too many capitalists, but too few capitalists." - The Uses of Diversity, 1921

"Price is a crazy and incalculable thing, while Value is an intrinsic and indestructible thing." - Reflections on a Rotten Apple, The Well and the Shallows, 1935

"Business, especially big business, is now organized like an army. It is, as some would say, a sort of mild militarism without bloodshed; as I say, a militarism without the military virtues." - The Thing



"All but the hard hearted man must be torn with pity for this pathetic dilemma of the rich man, who has to keep the poor man just stout enough to do the work and just thin enough to have to do it." - Utopia of Usurers, 1917

"From the standpoint of any sane person, the present problem of capitalist concentration is not only a question of law, but of criminal law, not to mention criminal lunacy." - "A Case In Point," The Outline of Sanity

"There is only one thing that stands in our midst, attenuated and threatened, but enthroned in some power like a ghost of the Middle Ages: the Trade Unions." - A Short History of England

"[Capitalism is] that commercial system in which supply immediately answers to demand, and in which everybody seems to be thoroughly dissatisfied and unable to get anything he wants." - "How to Write a Detective Story." The Spice of Life

"Our society is so abnormal that the normal man never dreams of having the normal occupation of looking after his own property. When he chooses a trade, he chooses one of the ten thousand trades that involve looking after other people's property." – Commonwealth 10-12-32

"The real argument against aristocracy is that it always means the rule of the ignorant. For the most dangerous of all forms of ignorance is ignorance of work." - NY Sun 11-3-18

"Making the landlord and the tenant the same person has certain advantages, as that the tenant pays no rent, while the landlord does a little work." - "Hudge and Gudge," What's Wrong with the World

The conservatives and the liberals have successfully reduced meaningful debate to name-calling. We use catchwords as a substitute for thinking. We know things only by their labels, and we have “not only no comprehension but no curiosity touching their substance or what they are made of.” -- William Cobbett by G K Chesterton 1925

We can only thrive within our means, just as we can only be free within the rules. The modern understanding of the word economy is, once again, just the opposite. It is about accumulation instead of thrift. Even worse, it is about mere exchange. It is about trade, and not even about the things that are traded. It is about figures in a ledger. It is about noughts. It is about the accumulation of zeros. It is more about nothing than it is about something. -- William Cobbett by G K Chesterton 1925


Monday, April 4, 2016

WHAT GOES INTO THE BEER?


"The habit of thinking about work as something one does to make money is so ingrained in us that we can scarcely imagine what a revolutionary change it would be to think about it instead in terms of the work done. To do so would mean taking the attitude of mind we reserve for our unpaid work – our hobbies, our leisure interests, the things we make and do for pleasure – and making that the standard
of all our judgments about things and people. We should ask of an enterprise, not “will it pay?” but “is it good?”; of a man, not “what does he make?” but “what is his work worth?”; of goods, not “Can we induce people to buy them?” but “are they useful things well made?”; of employment, not “how much a week?” but “will it exercise my faculties to the utmost?” And shareholders in – let us say – brewing companies, would astonish the directorate by arising at shareholders’ meeting and demanding to know, not merely where the profits go or what dividends are to be paid, not even merely whether the workers’ wages are sufficient and the conditions of labor satisfactory, but loudly and with a proper sense of personal responsibility: “What goes into the beer?”"
-- From the 1942 essay, 'Why Work' by Dorothy Sayers (English crime writer, poet, playwright, essayist, translator, feminist, Christian humanist and student of classical and modern languages.)

Monday, January 25, 2016

J K Rowling on Dorothy Sayers' influence:-




"There's a theory – this applies to detective novels, and then Harry, which is not really a detective novel, but it feels like one sometimes – that you should not have romantic intrigue in a detective book. Dorothy L. Sayers, who is queen of the genre said – and then broke her own rule, but said – that there is no place for romance in a detective story except that it can be useful to camouflage other people's motives. That's true; it is a very useful trick. I've used that on Percy and I've used that to a degree on Tonks in this book, as a red herring. But having said that, I disagree inasmuch as mine are very character-driven books, and it's so important, therefore, that we see these characters fall in love, which is a necessary part of life."
http://www.nashpanache.com/sayers/placetne.pdf