COMFORT AND HAPPINESS.
There is another side to the question of comparative happiness that may be stated in the words of William Morris, when he says, in "Hopes and Fears for Art," that a Greek or a Roman of the luxurious time (and of course a fortiori a medieval of the Thirteenth Century) would [{476}] stare astonished could he be brought back again and shown the comforts of a well-to-do middle-class house. This expression is often re-echoed, and one is prone to wonder how many of those who use it realize that it is a quotation, and, above all, appreciate the fact that Morris made the statement in order to rebut it. His answer is in certain ways so complete that it deserves to be quoted.
"When you hear of the luxuries of the Ancients, you must remember that they were not like our luxuries, they were rather indulgence in pieces of extravagant folly than what we to-day call luxury—which, perhaps, you would rather call comfort; well, I accept the word, and say that a Greek or a Roman of the luxurious time would stare astonished could he be brought back again and shown the comforts of a well-to-do middle-class house.
"But some, I know, think that the attainment of these very comforts is what makes the difference between civilization and uncivilization—that they are the essence of civilization. Is it so indeed? Farewell my hope then! I had thought that civilization meant the attainment of peace and order and freedom, of good-will between man and man, of the love of truth and the hatred of injustice, and by consequence the attainment of the good life which these things breed, a life free from craven fear, but full of incident; that was what I thought it meant, not more stuffed chairs and more cushions, and more carpets and gas, and more dainty meat and drink—and therewithal more and sharper differences between class and class.
"If that be what it is, I for my part wish I were well out of it and living in a tent in the Persian desert, or a turf hut on the Iceland hillside. But, however it be, and I think my view is the true view, I tell you that art abhors that side of civilization; she cannot breath in the houses that lie under its stuffy slavery.
"Believe me, if we want art to begin at home, as it must, we must clear our houses of troublesome superfluities that are forever in our way, conventional comforts that are no real comforts, and do but make work for servants and doctors. If you want a golden rule that will fit everybody, this is it: 'Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.'"