Category Archives: Chesterton, Gilbert Keith
Eugenics and Other Evil (6): The Unanswered Challenge
G. K. Chesterton
Dr. Saleeby did me the honour of referring to me in one of his addresses on this subject, and said that even I cannot produce any but a feeble-minded child from a feeble-minded ancestry. To which I reply, first of all, that he cannot produce a feeble-minded child. The whole point of our contention is that this phrase conveys nothing fixed and outside opinion. There is such a thing as mania, which has always been segregated; there is such a thing as idiocy, which has always been segregated; but feeble-mindedness is a new phrase under which you might segregate anybody. It is essential that this fundamental fallacy in the use of statistics should be got somehow into the modern mind. Such people must be made to see the point, which is surely plain enough, that it is useless to have exact figures if they are exact figures about an inexact phrase. If I say, „There are five fools in Action,“ it is surely quite clear that, though no mathematician can make five the same as four or six, that will not stop you or anyone else from finding a few more fools in Action. Now weak-mindedness, like folly, is a term divided from madness in this vital manner — that in one sense it applies to all men, in another to most men, in another to very many men, and so on. It is as if Dr. Saleeby were to say, „Vanity, I find, is undoubtedly hereditary. Here is Mrs. Jones, who was very sensitive about her sonnets being criticized, and I found her little daughter in a new frock looking in the glass. The experiment is conclusive, the demonstration is complete; there in the first generation is the artistic temperament — that is vanity; and there in the second generation is dress — and that is vanity.“ We should answer, „My friend, all is vanity, vanity and vexation of spirit — especially when one has to listen to logic of your favourite kind. Obviously all human beings must value themselves; and obviously there is in all such evaluation an element of weakness, since it is not the valuation of eternal justice. What is the use of your finding by experiment in some people a thing we know by reason must be in all of them?“
Here it will be as well to pause a moment and avert one possible misunderstanding. I do not mean that you and I cannot and do not practically see and personally remark on this or that eccentric or intermediate type, for which the word „feeble-minded“ might be a very convenient word, and might correspond to a genuine though indefinable fact of experience. In the same way we might speak, and do speak, of such and such a person being „mad with vanity“ without wanting two keepers to walk in and take the person off. But I ask the reader to remember always that I am talking of words, not as they are used in talk or novels, but as they will be used, and have been used, in warrants and certificates, and Acts of Parliament. The distinction between the two is perfectly clear and practical. The difference is that a novelist or a talker can be trusted to try and hit the mark; it is all to his glory that the cap should fit, that the type should be recognized; that he should, in a literary sense, hang the right man. But it is by no means always to the interest of governments or officials to hang the right man. The fact that they often do stretch words in order to cover cases is the whole foundation of having any fixed laws or free institutions at all. My point is not that I have never met anyone whom I should call feeble-minded, rather than mad or imbecile. My point is that if I want to dispossess a nephew, oust a rival, silence a blackmailer, or get rid of an importunate widow, there is nothing in logic to prevent my calling them feeble-minded too. And the vaguer the charge is the less they will be able to disprove it.
Eugenics and other Evils (5): The Flying Authority
G. K. Chesterton
It happened one day thatan atheist and a man were standing together on a doorstep; and the atheist said, „It is raining.“ To which the man replied, „What is raining?“: which question was the beginning of a violent quarrel and a lasting friendship. I will not touch upon any heads of the dispute, which doubtless included Jupiter, Pluvius, the Neuter Gender, Pantheism, Noah’s Ark, Mackintoshes, and the Passive Mood; but I will record the one point upon which the two persons emerged in some agreement. It was that there is such a thing as an atheistic literary style; that materialism may appear in the mere diction of a man, though he be speaking of clocks or cats or anything quite remote from theology. The mark of the atheistic style is that it instinctively chooses the word which suggests that things are dead things; that things have no souls. Thus they will not speak of waging war, which means willing it; they speak of the „outbreak of war,“ as if all the guns blew up without the men touching them. Thus those Socialists that are atheist will not call their international sympathy, sympathy; they will call it „solidarity,“ as if the poor men of France and Germany were physically stuck together like dates in a grocer’s shop. The same Marxian Socialists are accused of cursing the Capitalists inordinately; but the truth is that they let the Capitalists off much too easily. For instead of saying that employers pay less wages, which might pin the employers to some moral responsibility, they insist on talking about the „rise and fall“ of wages; as if a vast silver sea of sixpences and shillings was always going up and down automatically like the real sea at Margate. Thus they will not speak of reform, but of development; and they spoil their one honest and virile phrase, „the class war“ by talking of it as no one in his wits can talk of a war, predicting its finish and final result as one calculates the coming of Christmas Day or the taxes. Thus, lastly (as we shall see touching our special subject-matter here) the atheist style in letters always avoids talking of love or lust, which are things alive, and calls marriage or concubinage „the relations of the sexes“; as if a man and a woman were two wooden objects standing in a certain angle and attitude to each other like a table and a chair.
Eugenics and other Evils (4): The Lunatic and the Law
G. K. Chesterton
The modern evil, we have said, greatly turns on this: that people do not see that the exception proves the rule. Thus it may or may not be right to kill a murderer; but it can only conceivably be right to kill a murderer because it is wrong to kill a man. If the hangman, having got his hand in, proceeded to hang friends and relatives to his taste and fancy, he would (intellectually) unhang the first man, though the first man might not think so. Or thus again, if you say an insane man is irresponsible, you imply that a sane man is responsible. He is responsible for the insane man. And the attempt of the Eugenists and other fatalists to treat all men as irresponsible is the largest and flattest folly in philosophy. The Eugenist has to treat everybody, including himself, as an exception to a rule that isn’t there.
The Eugenists, as a first move, have extended the frontiers of the lunatic asylum; let us take this as our definite starting point, and ask ourselves what lunacy is, and what is its fundamental relation to human society. Now that raw juvenile scepticism that clogs all thought with catchwords may often be heard to remark that the mad are only the minority, the sane only the majority. There is a neat exactitude about such people’s nonsense; they seem to miss the point by magic. The mad are not a minority because they are not a corporate body; and that is what their madness means. The sane are not a majority; they are mankind. And mankind (as its name would seem to imply) is a kind, not a degree. In so far as the lunatic differs, he differs from all minorities and majorities in kind. The madman who thinks he is a knife cannot go into partnership with the other who thinks he is a fork. There is no trysting place outside reason; there is no inn on those wild roads that are beyond the world.
Eugenics and other Evils (3): The Anarchy from Above
G. K. Chesterton
A silent anarchy is eating out our society. I must pause upon the expression; because the true nature of anarchy is mostly misapprehended. It is not in the least necessary that anarchy should be violent; nor is it necessary that it should come from below. A government may grow anarchic as much as a people. The more sentimental sort of Tory uses the word anarchy as a mere term of abuse for rebellion; but he misses a most important intellectual distinction. Rebellion may be wrong and disastrous; but even when rebellion is wrong, it is never anarchy. When it is not self-defence, it is usurpation. It aims at setting up a new rule in place of the old rule. And while it cannot be anarchic in essence (because it has an aim), it certainly cannot be anarchic in method; for men must be organized when they fight; and the discipline in a rebel army has to be as good as the discipline in the royal army. This deep principle of distinction must be clearly kept in mind. Take for the sake of symbolism those two great spiritual stories which, whether we count them myths or mysteries, have so long been the two hinges of all European morals. The Christian who is inclined to sympathize generally with constituted authority will think of rebellion under the image of Satan, the rebel against God. But Satan, though a traitor, was not an anarchist. He claimed the crown of the cosmos; and had he prevailed, would have expected his rebel angels to give up rebelling. On the other hand, the Christian whose sympathies are more generally with just self-defence among the oppressed will think rather of Christ Himself defying the High Priests and scourging the rich traders. But whether or no Christ was (as some say) a Socialist, He most certainly was not an Anarchist. Christ, like Satan, claimed the throne. He set up a new authority against an old authority; but He set it up with positive commandments and a comprehensible scheme. In this light all mediaeval people — indeed, all people until a little while ago — would have judged questions involving revolt. John Ball would have offered to pull down the government because it was a bad government, not because it was a government. Richard II would have blamed Bolingbroke not as a disturber of the peace, but as a usurper. Anarchy, then, in the useful sense of the word, is a thing utterly distinct from any rebellion, right or wrong. It is not necessarily angry; it is not, in its first stages, at least, even necessarily painful. And, as I said before, it is often entirely silent.
Eugenics and other Evils (2): The First Obstacles
G. K. Chesterton
Now before I set about arguing these things, there is a cloud of skirmishers, of harmless and confused modern sceptics, who ought to be cleared off or calmed down before we come to debate with the real doctors of the heresy. If I sum up my statement thus: „Eugenics, as discussed, evidently means the control of some men over the marriage and unmarriage of others; and probably means the control of the few over the marriage and unmarriage of the many,“ I shall first of all receive the sort of answers that float like skim on the surface of teacups and talk. I may very roughly and rapidly divide these preliminary objectors into five sects; whom I will call the Euphemists, the Casuists, the Autocrats, the Precedenters, and the Endeavourers. When we have answered the immediate protestation of all these good, shouting, short-sighted people, we can begin to do justice to those intelligences that are really behind the idea.
Most Eugenists are Euphemists. I mean merely that short words startle them, while long words soothe them. And they are utterly incapable of translating the one into the other, however obviously they mean the same thing. Say to them „The persuasive and even coercive powers of the citizen should enable him to make sure that the burden of longevity in the previous generations does not become disproportionate and intolerable, especially to the females?“; say this to them and they sway slightly to and fro like babies sent to sleep in cradles. Say to them „Murder your mother,“ and they sit up quite suddenly. Yet the two sentences, in cold logic, are exactly the same. Say to them „It is not improbable that a period may arrive when the narrow if once useful distinction between the anthropoid homo and the other animals, which has been modified on so many moral points, may be modified also even in regard to the important question of the extension of human diet“; say this to them, and beauty born of murmuring sound will pass into their faces. But say to them, in a simple, manly, hearty way „Let’s eat a man!“ and their surprise is quite surprising. Yet the sentences say just the same thing. Now, if anyone thinks these two instances extravagant, I will refer to two actual cases from the Eugenic discussions. When Sir Oliver Lodge spoke of the methods „of the stud-farm“ many Eugenists exclaimed against the crudity of the suggestion. Yet long before that one of the ablest champions in the other interest had written „What nonsense this education is! Who could educate a racehorse or a greyhound?“ Which most certainly either means nothing, or the human stud-farm. Or again, when I spoke of people „being married forcibly by the police,“ another distinguished Eugenist almost achieved high spirits in his hearty assurance that no such thing had ever come into their heads. Yet a few days after I saw a Eugenist pronouncement, to the effect that the State ought to extend its powers in this area. The State can only be that corporation which men permit to employ compulsion; and this area can only be the area of sexual selection. I mean somewhat more than an idle jest when I say that the policeman will generally be found in that area. But I willingly admit that the policeman who looks after weddings will be like the policeman who looks after wedding-presents. He will be in plain clothes. I do not mean that a man in blue with a helmet will drag the bride and bridegroom to the altar. I do mean that nobody that man in blue is told to arrest will even dare to come near the church. Sir Oliver did not mean that men would be tied up in stables and scrubbed down by grooms. He meant that they would undergo a loss of liberty which to men is even more infamous. He meant that the only formula important to Eugenists would be „by Smith out of Jones.“ Such a formula is one of the shortest in the world; and is certainly the shortest way with the Euphemists.
Eugenics and other Evils (1): What is Eugenics?
G. K. Chesterton
To the Reader
I publish these essays at the present time for a particular reason connected with the present situation; a reason which I should like briefly to emphasize and make clear.
Though most of the conclusions, especially towards the end, are conceived with reference to recent events, the actual bulk of preliminary notes about the science of Eugenics were written before the war. It was a time when this theme was the topic of the hour; when eugenic babies — not visibly very distinguishable from other babies — sprawled all over the illustrated papers; when the evolutionary fancy of Nietzsche was the new cry among the intellectuals; and when Mr. Bernard Shaw and others were considering the idea that to breed a man like a cart-horse was the true way to attain that higher civilization, of intellectual magnanimity and sympathetic insight, which may be found in cart-horses. It may therefore appear that I took the opinion too controversially, and it seems to me that I some times took it too seriously. But the criticism of Eugenics soon expanded of itself into a more general criticism of a modern craze for scientific officialism and strict social organization.
And then the hour came when I felt, not without relief, that I might well fling all my notes into the fire. The fire was a very big one, and was burning up bigger things than such pedantic quackeries. And, anyhow, the issue itself was being settled in a very different style. Scientific officialism and organization in the State which had specialized in them, had gone to war with the older culture of Christendom. Either Prussianism would win and the protest would be hopeless, or Prussianism would lose and the protest would be needless. As the war advanced from poison gas to piracy against neutrals, it grew more and more plain that the scientifically organized State was not increasing in popularity. Whatever happened, no Englishmen would ever again go nosing round the stinks of that low laboratory. So I thought all I had written irrelevant, and put it out of my mind.
I am greatly grieved to say that it is not irrelevant. It has gradually grown apparent, to my astounded gaze, that the ruling classes in England are still proceeding on the assumption that Prussia is a pattern for the whole world. If parts of my book are nearly nine years old most of their principles and proceedings are a great deal older. They can offer us nothing but the same stuffy science, the same bullying bureaucracy and the same terrorism by tenth-rate professors that have led the German Empire to its recent conspicuous triumph. For that reason, three years after the war with Prussia, I collect and publish these papers.
G. K. C.
Proč jsem katolík
G. K. Chesterton (1914)
Úvodník v jednom deníku se nedávno věnoval nové Prayer Book, aniž by o ní mohl říct něco zvlášť nového. Věnoval se totiž především tomu, aby po devítisté devadesáté deváté tisící opakoval, že to, co obyčejný Angličan chce, je náboženství bez dogmat (ať už je to cokoliv) a že disputace o církevních věcech jsou plané a neplodné na obou stranách. Jenže jakmile si autor uvědomil, že tímto rovným odsouzením obou stran mohl projevit jakýsi malý ústupek či uznání naší straně, rychle se opravil. Dál totiž uvedl, že je sice špatné být dogmatický, ale zůstává podstatné být dogmaticky protestantský. Naznačil, že běžný Angličan (užitečný to tvor) byl vcelku přesvědčený, že nehledě na jeho aversi vůči všem náboženským odlišnostem, bylo nezbytné, aby se náboženství dál lišilo od katolicismu. Je přesvědčen (tvrdí se nám), že „Británie je tak protestantská jako je moře slané“.
S pohledem uctivě upřeným na protestantismus pana Michaela Arlena nebo pana Noela Cowarda nebo na poslední jazzový taneční večer v Mayfair nás může pokoušet otázka: „Když sůl pozbude chuti, čím bude osolena?“ Jelikož ale z té pasáže můžeme usoudit, že Lord Beaverbrook i pan James Douglas, pan Hannen Swaffer a všichni další jsou pevnými a neústupnými protestanty (a jak víme, protestanté jsou proslulí svým důkladným a rozhodným studiem Písma, v kterém jim nepřekáží ani papež ani kněží), můžeme si dokonce dovolit vyložit toto rčení ve světle méně známého textu. Můžeme se domnívat, že když přirovnali protestantismus k mořské soli, možná jim bleskla hlavou vzdálená vzpomínka na jinou pasáž, v níž ta samá autorita promluvila o jediném a posvátném zdroji živé vody, který dává životodárnou vodu a skutečně hasí lidskou žízeň, kdežto všechna ostatní jezera i kaluže se liší tím, že ti kdo se z nich napijí, budou znovu žíznit. To se občas stává těm, kdo dávají přednost pití slané vody.
Kapitalismus a manželství
G. K. Chesterton (1914)
Tak jak existuje věc zvaná intensivní pěstba, tak musí existovat něco, co by se nazývalo intensivní čtení, čtení celé věty naráz, aby člověk pocítil plnou váhu běžných slov, které používáme. Připomínalo by to, víc než cokoliv jiného, pozornost ke slovům vynakládanou při děsivé úloze korektora, jíž jsem se pár dní věnoval. Je to úloha, při níž člověk musí neustále dávat pozor, zda slunce náhodnou nestoupá na oblohu v podobě sumce, a když napudrovaný lokaj v jakési romanci nechá zavolat kočár, musí se dávat pozor, aby místo toho nevyvolal požár. Ale zatímco korektor musí dávat pozor na slova, která dávají dohromady nesmysl, intensivní čtenář by měl dávat pozor na slova, která dávají smysl, a snažit se z nich vytěžit skutečný význam. Vezme-li nějakou docela obyčejnou větu, třeba „Maria má malého beránka“, nalezne v každém slově větvící se vyhlídky. Slovo „Maria“ odhaluje hustý les legend, vyznání a polemik. Slovo „má“ je čep, na kterém se neustále otáčí socialismus, kapitalismus, syndikalismus a celé závratné kolo našeho industriálního věku. Slovo „malého“ otevírá bezednou propast filosofických sporů o relativitě a odlišnosti stupňů: a také naznačuje, když je vezmeme v souvislostech, tajemství zálibných zdrobnělin a lásky k omezeným věcem. Na první pohled se zdá zbytečné mluvit o malém beránkovi, beránci bývají zřídka obří velkosti. Básníci ale mluví o „malém beránkovi“ tak, jako patrioti mluví o „malém sevřeném“ ostrově, protože všichni věci zmenšujeme, když kolem nich chceme hodně nadělat. A pokud jde o slovo „beránek“, pak se zdá, že od hagagiografie po domácí hospodaření není tématu, o kterém by se v souvislosti s ním nedalo hovořit. Na slově je něco víc, než jeho první odvození či poslední definice. Má svou hodnotu, sílu a magii, a zejména učení, ještě víc než neučení, se dnes zdají hluší a nedbalí k hodnotě slov. Řekl bych, že „Maria má malého beránka“ se obecně říkalo s větší odpovědností a pochopením než „Anglie má malé loďstvo“ nebo „Lloyd George je malý Anligčánek.“
O účelovém románu
G. K. Chesterton (1914)
Všiml jsem si, že pan Patrick Braybrooke a další přispěvatelé do Catholic Times otevřeli otázku katolické propagandy v románech, jejichž autoři jsou katolíci. Samo označení, které jsme všichni nuceni používat, je nešikovné a dokonce falešné.
Když katolík projevuje katolictví v románu, písni, sonetu nebo čemkoliv jiném, není propagandistou, ale jen katolíkem. Každý tomu rozumí, pokud jde o jakýkoliv jiný entusiasmus. Když řekneme, že básníkova krajina a atmosféra jsou plné anglického ducha, nemyslíme tím nutně, že dělá protiněmeckou propagandu za světové války. Máme na mysli, že pokud je skutečně anglickým básníkem, nemůže být jeho poesie jiná než anglická. Když řekneme, že písně jsou plné ducha moře, neříkáme tím, že básník verbuje do válečného námořnictva, ani že se snaží nabrat muže pro obchodní loďstvo. Máme na mysli, že miluje moře, a proto by chtěl, aby je milovali i další lidé.
Osobně jsem všemi deseti pro propagandu, a hodně z toho, co píšu, je záměrná propaganda. Ale i tehdy, když v tom žádná propaganda není, bude mé psaní plné implikací mého náboženství, protože právě to se rozumí pod tím, mít náboženství. Proto by buddhistovy vtípky, pokud by nějaké měl, byly buddhistické. Proto by milostné písně kalvinského metodisty, pokud by nějaké zpíval, byly kalvinsko-metodistické. Katolíci vyprodukovali víc vtipů a milostných písní než kalvinisté a buddhisté. Je to tak proto, že kalvinisté a buddhisté nemají, až na jejich posvátnou přítomnost, tak velké ani lidské náboženství. Ale jakkoliv se projeví a vyjádří, bude to plné přesvědčení, které zastávají. Je to natolik věcí zdravého rozumu, že by se to mohlo zdát docela samozřejmé, přesto ale očekávám velké množství potíží v jednom osamoceném případě katolické církve.
Sufražet
G. K. Chesterton (1914)
Ať už je to v pořádku nebo ne, je jisté, že muž stejně rytířský jako liberální může cítit a často také cítí jistou nepohodu a nedůvěru při setkání s těmi politickými ženami, kterým říkáme sufražetky. Stejně jako podobné populární city bývá i tento obvykle špatně popisován, a to i když je správně pociťován. Jednu jeho část lze nejstručněji představit takto: když se žena postaví před muže se zaťatými pěstmi, staví se do jediné pozice, v níž se jí muž nebojí. Může mít strach z jejích řečí a ještě více z jejího mlčení, ale síla mu připomíná zrezivělou, leč velmi skutečnou zbraň, za niž se naučil stydět.
Taková hrubá shrnutí ovšem nejsou nikdy přesná v žádné věci, která se týká instinktů. Všechny věci, které zůstávají nejprostší, dokud nejsou diskutovány, jsou rázem nejtajemnější, jakmile se stanou předmětem rozpravy: to měl po mém soudu na mysli Joubert, když řekl: „Není těžké věřit v Boha, dokud ho nedefinujeme.“ Když starého Foulhona zlý instinkt přiměl říci na adresu chudých: „Ať jedí trávu,“ dobrý a křesťanský instinkt chudých jej pověsil na lampu pouličního osvětlení s ústy plnými řečené vegetace. Když by se však moderní vegetariánský aristokrat optal chudých „Ale proč nemáte rádi trávu?“ museli by svou inteligenci namáhat mnohem více, aby našli nějakou podobně přiměřeně pádnou odpověď. Otázka role pohlaví je v první řadě též otázkou instinktu: sex a dýchání jsou pravděpodobně jediné dvě věci, které obyčejně nejlépe fungují tehdy, když se o ně nejméně staráme. Myslím, že právě proto sofistikovaný věk znečistil svět, který otrávil feminismem, také dýchacími cvičeními. Vběhli jsme zprudka do pralesa mylných analogií a mizerné popletené historie, zatímco snad každý muž a každá žena ponecháni sami sobě vědí alespoň to, že pohlaví je záležitost úplně jiná než vše ostatní na světě.
