THE SET-BACK TO ENGLISH SOCIALISM
BY G. K. CHESTERTON
THE present condition of England is a very curious one, and the only obvious thing to say about it is that there is virtually nothing about it in the English papers. When I heard long ago that Mr. Balfour never read the papers, I thought it was because he was languid and frivolous; by which you will see that I did read the papers. Now I am older, I think it was more likely because he was practical and busy, and preferred to deal direct with the real facts. If, like the English, you run what is still at best an aristocracy with most of the forms of a democracy, it is found virtually necessary that the journalists should talk in public about anything or everything except what the politicians are really doing in private.
You may therefore utterly disregard all the things printed in very large letters in the “Daily Mail” or the “Daily Chronicle.” I have heard that American journalism is in a manner more truthful, if it is only by being more transparently untrue; but I will not presume to guess about that, or to imagine what the headlines in American papers mean. The headlines in English papers mean nothing. Mr. Bonar Law means nothing. Sir Edward Carson means nothing. Belfast means nothing. There is not one man of education and influence in England who cares a button about Belfast; at least in the governing classes, who have long seen that Home Rule is horse sense and nothing else; and least of all in the Conservative party, where a general High-Church flavor can be varied by Romanism, Atheism, Theosophy, Christian Science, or Devil-worship, but where such a thing as a No Popery puritan simply could not live for twenty minutes. Nor is there anything in Mr. Churchill’s supposed frenzy for war, or the other Radicals’ frenzy for peace. There is no more division among Englishmen about the need for national defense than there would be among you Americans or among Frenchmen or any other white men. And the mysterious ambitions and alterations of Mr. Churchill (of which you will see a great deal in the papers) mean nothing whatever but this: that the man is a cynic and an oligarch, but not a traitor; and that he is behaving exactly as any Englishman in his place would behave.
There was more in the comparatively slight stir about the tragedy of the Titanic. For that was connected, though largely unconsciously, with what is the deepest thing in modern England, a general suspicion that the men and methods now on top everywhere are not the best even from their own paternalist point of view; or, to use the foolish modern phraseology, that the survival of the unfittest rather than the fittest is the real result of our competitions or conspiracies. But here again the very phrase reminds us that in the modern world the real issue is carefully cloaked with a false issue.
There is much in the English papers just now, and I do not doubt in the American papers also, about degeneration and eugenics and the appalling sexual conduct and physical condition of the submerged. This also is a mere plutocratic fad, and corresponds to no general public feeling. Every sensible man in England knows that the poor must somehow or other be given more money for food and rest; but every sensible man also knows that in other respects they are as mixed and average as any other class, and marry and are given in marriage, as people always have done and always will do.
The suspicion really abroad in England is not a doubt about the people below, but about the people above. Looking at those who emerge into the first social rank, we are more inclined to be ashamed of our successes than of our failures. It is the breed of the top dog rather than the breed of the bottom dog that is becoming a mongrel breed. And there is certainly something amusing in the picture of the rich and powerful peering down into the abyss and dropping tears over the poor specimens that make up the populace, while by far the greater part of the populace is remarking more and more what uncommonly poor specimens are looking down at them.
This doubt of the powers that be is vague but universal, and had a sort of stifled explosion at the time of the Titanic affair; a general suspicion that governors cannot be trusted to govern or inspectors to inspect or arbiters to arbitrate, that captains are not to be trusted with ships, that lawyers are not to be trusted with laws. The kind of man who comes to the top everywhere conquers nothing but his superiors, gains nothing but his own gain. In modern England the successful man is not a success.
Now this state of public feeling has produced one rather odd, but very important, effect. While our attitude is growing more revolutionary, it is growing less Socialistic. For Socialism proposes to give to the state, and therefore to statesmen, fresh powers against social abuses. And England in its modern mood is rather more suspicious of the statesmen than of the bosses or middlemen whom they are supposed to control. The simple Socialistic formula that government should own the mines, for example—that simple formula begins to look a little too simple when people are suspecting that the mine-owners own the government. The mere proposal to set the politician to watch the capitalist has been disturbed by the rather disconcerting discovery that they are both the same man. We are past the point where being a capitalist is the only way of becoming a politician, and we are dangerously near the point where being a politician is much the quickest way of becoming a capitalist. But while the European haute politique is hypocritical and diseased (much more so, I should say, than the American), there is certainly less “graft” and corrupt give-and-take in the mass of minor functionaries or moderate fortunes; and this very comparative honesty in the less successful mass of Europe increases their uneasiness touching the national leadership. The English people, so far from being supine or decadent, are much more vigorous and wide-awake than they have been for a long time. But they have awakened in a cage. This cage produces a curious situation in which we silently but suddenly find ourselves.
When your nation separated from our nation, to my present delight and yours, it separated before most men had become commercial wage-earners. Our ruler was called Farmer George; but yours might have been called Farmer George also. Last week I went up the great Sussex road where stands the village of Washington; and I remembered that your sword was also beaten out of a plowshare. If we had separated later, he might have been called General Brighton, or Heaven knows what.
Now the big difference made by that fact is this: that in America industrialism may be quite as strong; but agriculture is not so weak. A hazy horizon of free farms surrounds your most insane cities: but with us all the eager and intelligent have become servants of the capitalists; it is only the idle or idiotic that remain servants of the landlords. It is undoubtedly tenable that the idle and idiotic were the wiser of the two.
On us, thus situated, has come an insurrection against industrialism itself. Our recent strikes have really been a revolt against the whole system of wage-earning. But while your workers would have some cloudy notion of an alternative in farming the larger country by freer men, with us the agricultural alternative has slipped out of sight. The workers know what they don’t want more than what they do; like Miss Arabella Allen in “Pickwick.” This state of mind is called by the learned syndicalism. It is really something much more serious; it is anger.
In the stress of these strikes two extraordinary things happened. The capitalist became a Socialist. The proletarian became an individualist. The employer wanted the community to intervene; and the employee didn’t want it to intervene. It was the rich man who used the Socialist argument; the comfort and convenience of the whole nation. It was the poor man who used the individualist argument; the freedom of contract and the private rights of man. It was the coal-owner who said, “Salus populi suprema lex.” It was the coal-miner who said, “Fiat justitia ruat cœlum.” He may not have expressed it precisely in those terms; though he is often no more illiterate than the coal-owner. This, then, is the extraordinary inversion that is the deepest dilemma of England to-day. Hamlet and Laertes have really changed swords in the scuffle: which is the poisoned sword I will not at this moment inquire.
The results of this extend and solidify every hour. For nearly a century now Socialists and social reformers in England, as in the rest of Europe and in America, have preached either greater philanthropy among the rich or greater rebellion among the poor. In both cases they have been suddenly taken at their word; but in such a manner as to sweep away the very foundations of their social science and their social scheme. The rich have become philanthropists; the rich have, in a sense, become Socialists; but only on condition that they may also be slave-owners. The poor have become rebels—but rebels against Socialism.
So far is this from being an exaggeration that every daily detail in the present development illustrates this and nothing else. The railway men, who led the revolt, were not, literally and legally, striking against an employer at all. They were striking against the decisions of State Arbitration Courts and Conciliation Boards such as State Socialists would set up; and semi-socialistic publicists had set up. The capitalists, wishing to strike back at the trade-unions, have not struck back by cutthroat competition or irresponsible locking out. They have struck back by a big act of Parliament, aimed at limiting the trade-unions by the law of the land; and tying men to their masters by a new and constructive social scheme. Here they have much the advantage of their proletarian opponents; who have to fight mainly with the remains of rather rhetorical Socialism and dreams, as yet somewhat dim, of the old liberty of the medieval guilds and charters. Thus it may too often seem that capitalists can combine and Socialists can only quarrel.
I do not myself think things can be cured except by a wider equalization of strictly private property, especially in land. This is not done or even demanded, not because it is impossible, but because its tradition has been lost. Meanwhile the Insurance Act, by which the rich contribute to the medical support of their servants, on condition of obtaining a tighter hold on their service, is the first of many legislative acts which will have for their object the ordering and cleansing, but also the strengthening, of the wage-system. They will attempt to forbid strikes. Thus we shall have the poor, with better conditions perhaps and under some general social stipulations; but bound irrevocably to particular and private masters.
The only thing I have to say about such a scheme concerns your country more than mine. This system of fixed service for certain masters has much to be said for it; and much was said by men dead and alive. In the wilderness by Chancellorsville or down all the roads to Richmond, there must be the dust of great gentlemen who came up out of the South to fight for such a system; and I think our Liberal social reformers owe them an apology. I think they ought to stand a moment and salute the dead, who had the courage to die for this thing, and the courage to call it by its name.
“LIGHT IS THERE ABOVE | © V. O. | TO THAT CREATURE |
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PARADISO |
| THE |
The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri
Studies in Red Chalk by Violet Oakley, for the medallions of a painted glass window made for the house of Mr. Robert J. Collier
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“O GLORY AND LIGHT | © V. O. | AVAIL ME AND THE |
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INFERNO |
| DANTE, |
| IN THE MID-JOURNEY OF OUR LIFE BELOW, I FOUND MYSELF WITHIN A GLOOMY WOOD, ... HOW FIRST I ENTERED, IT IS HARD TO SAY; IN SUCH DEEP SLUMBER WERE MY SENSES BOUND, ... BUT SOON AS I HAD REACHED A MOUNTAIN’S BASE, ... TO CLIMB THE ASCENT I SCARCELY HAD ESSAYED, WHEN LO! AN AGILE PANTHER BARRED MY WAY ... ... I SAW APPEAR A LION’S FORM THAT BURST UPON MY SIGHT, ... A SHE-WOLF TOO, ... RAVENOUS AND LEAN. “THEE IT BEHOVES ANOTHER PATH TO TAKE, ... FOR YONDER BEAST THAT FILLS THEE WITH DISMAY DOTH NONE PERMIT TO JOURNEY O’ER HER ROAD ... UNTIL THE GREYHOUND COME, TO MAKE HER DIE ... HIM NEITHER LAND NOR LUCRE SHALL SUSTAIN BY LOVE, BY WISDOM, AND BY VIRTUE FED; ... BACK TO THE LIMITS OF HER NATIVE HELL, WHENCE ENVY DREW HER FIRST—WITH POTENT SWAY FROM TOWN TO TOWN SHALL HE THE BEAST REPEL.” |
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“THEN GRIEVED I, AND | © V. O. | MIND TO WHAT I SAW, AND |
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INFERNO |
| VERGIL LEADS |
| THEN CAME WE TO A BOUNDARY, WHICH PARTS THE THIRD AND SECOND CIRCLES, WHERE ARE SHOWN THE RACKS OF JUSTICE, ... ... WE REACHED A WIDE AND DESERT GROUND, THAT SPURNS EACH PLANT FROM ITS UNGENIAL BREAST; THIS PLAIN IS COMPASSED BY THE MOURNFUL WOOD, AND THAT ENCIRCLED BY THE FOSS PROFOUND: HERE ON THE VERY EDGE OF BOTH WE STOOD. BEFORE US LAY A THICK AND ARID SAND . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . O HEAVENLY VENGEANCE! HOW SHOULDEST THOU BE FEARED . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . O’ER ALL THE SANDY DESERT FELL BELOW LARGE FLAKES OF FIRE, AS WHEN ON ALPINE HILL, WHILE SLEEP THE WINDS, ARE FALLING FLAKES OF SLOW. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “LETHE, BEYOND THIS FOSS, THOU SHALT SURVEY, THERE, WHERE THE SHADES RESORT, THEIR FORMS TO LAVE, WHEN PENITENCE HATH WASHED THEIR SINS AWAY.” |
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“THY WILL HENCEFORTH | © V. O. | LORD OF THYSELF |
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PURGATORIO |
| DANTE |
| EAGER THAT HEAVENLY FOREST TO SURVEY, ... ... I LEFT THE ROCKY BOUND, AND THERE APPEARED TO ME ... A LADY ALL ALONE: WHO ROVED ABOUT SINGING, AS SHE SELECTED FLOWER FROM FLOWER, WITH WHICH HER PATHWAY PAINTED WAS THROUGHOUT ... LIKE TO A LADY TURNING IN THE DANCE, FOOT BEFORE FOOT FROM EARTH SO SLIGHTLY MOVED, THAT SCARCE PERCEPTIBLE IS HER ADVANCE;— ... TO ME SHE TURNED AROUND, ... “THE STREAMS THOU SEE’ST SPRING NOT FROM EARTHLY VEIN, ... BUT ISSUE FROM A NEVER-FAILING SOURCE, REPLENISHED BY THE WILL OF GOD ... ON THIS HAND, ABLE—SUCH THE POWER ASSIGNED— TO TAKE AWAY THE MEMORY OF SIN; ON THAT—TO CALL EACH VIRTUOUS DEED TO MIND: THIS, LETHE NAMED—THAT EUNÖE.” ... AS THOUGH BY LOVE INSPIRED—HER HEAVENLY LAY TO ITS LAST CADENCE SANG THAT LADY FAIR: “BLESSED ARE THOSE WHOSE SINS ARE WASHED AWAY.” |
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“A LITTLE WHILE AND ME | © V. O. | O SISTERS, MY DELIGHT, A |
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PURGATORIO |
| BEATRICE, |
| AND LO! A VOICE—“COME, SPOUSE FROM LEBANON,” AS THOUGH FROM HEAVENLY MESSENGER ... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “O BLESSED THOU WHO COMEST,” THEY ALL CRIED; “SCATTER WE LILIES WITH UNSPARING HAND”; . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . E’EN SO, ENCOMPASSED IN A CLOUD OF FLOWERS, WHICH UPWARD BY ANGELIC HANDS WERE FLUNG, AND ALL ABOUT THE CHARIOT FELL IN SHOWERS— IN VEIL OF WHITE, WITH OLIVE CHAPLET BOUND, A MAID APPEARED BENEATH A MANTLE GREEN, WITH HUE OF LIVING FLAME ENROBED AROUND. AND NOW MY SPIRIT (WHICH FOR MANY A DAY, UNUSED TO FEEL HER PRESENCE) ... FELT, THOUGH SHE WAS NOT FULLY MANIFEST, ... HOW STRONG THE LOVE THAT ERST MY SOUL POSSESSED. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “YES, I AM BEATRICE; REGARD ME WELL:— AND HAS THOUGH DEIGNED AT LAST TO ASCEND THE MOUNT, WHERE JOYS UNSPEAKABLE FOREVER DWELL?” |
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“HIS WILL IS OUR PEACE. | © V. O. | MOVING ALL THINGS |
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PARADISO |
| BEATRICE |
| THE CEASELESS INNATE THIRSTING OF THE SOUL BORE US TO GOD’S OWN DWELLING ... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I LOOKED ON BEATRICE—AND SHE ON HEAVEN; “AS TO THE HAMMER FROM THE ARTIST’S BLOW, SO, THAT SAME HEAVEN WITH STARS RESPLENDENT DIGHT RECEIVES ITS IMPRESS FROM THE MIND PROFOUND THAT ROLLS IT EVER THROUGH THE FIELDS OF LIGHT. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . THUS DOTH INTELLIGENCE WITH GOODNESS FILL THE ORBS OF HEAVEN; THOUGH MULTIPLIED, THE SAME; ON ITS OWN UNITY REVOLVING STILL. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . SHINES THROUGH EACH ORB THE INFLUENCE DIVERSELY, SWAYED BY THE JOYOUS NATURE WHENCE IT STREAMS, LIKE GLADNESS THROUGH THE PUPIL OF THE EYE. HENCE IS DERIVED THE DIFFERENCE THAT WE MARK ’TWIXT STAR AND STAR ...” |
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“HER BEAUTY RAINETH | © V. O. | THAT INSPIRES LOVE AND IN |
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PARADISO |
| THE SACRED |
| NOW ON THE FACE OF MY LOVED LADY WERE MY EYES AND MIND AGAIN INTENTLY STAYED: ... HER LOOK BORE NOT THE ACCUSTOMED SMILE DIVINE; . . . . . . . . . . . . . . SHE SAID: . . . “FOR SINCE MY BEAUTY, HIGHER AS WE RISE TOWARDS THE ETERNAL PALACE, GLOWS MORE BRIGHT AT EVERY STEP, AS WITNESSED BY THINE EYES,— WERE NOT A VEIL BEFORE ITS RADIANCE CAST, THY MORTAL VISION, DAZZLED AT THE SIGHT, WOULD SHRINK AS LEAVES BEFORE THE LIGHTNING BLAST.” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . MY SOARING EYE BEHELD A STAIR OF GOLDEN COLOURS BRIGHT ... “O SPIRIT BLEST THAT DOST THY FORM CONCEAL WITHIN THINE OWN DELIGHT, TO ME DISCLOSE ... WHY THE SWEET SYMPHONY OF PARADISE IN THIS HIGH SPHERE IS SILENT.” ... “MORTAL THY HEARING AS THY SIGHT,” SHE SAID; “AND THE SAME REASON NOW FORBIDS THE SONG, THAT LATE IN BEATRICE THE SMILE FORBADE.” |
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“IN ITS DEPTH I SAW THAT | © V. O. | IN SEPARATE LEAVES— |
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PARADISO |
| THE TENTH |
| “SEE THE VAST NUMBER OF THESE SNOW-WHITE DRESSES! SEE HOW EXTENSIVE IS OUR CITY!”.... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ARRAYED IN SEMBLANCE OF A SNOW-WHITE ROSE THAT HOLY ARMY WAS REVEALED TO SIGHT WHICH FOR HIS SPOUSE, IN DEATH OUR SAVIOUR CHOSE. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “VIEW NOW THE CIRCLES E’EN THE MOST REMOTE UNTIL THE QUEEN UPON HER THRONE THOU SEE’ST.” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . O SOVRAN LIGHT! WHO DOST EXALT THEE HIGH ABOVE ALL THOUGHTS THAT MORTAL MAY CONCEIVE, O PLENTEOUS GRACE THAT NERVED MY SOUL TO RAISE SO FIXT A LOOK ON THE ETERNAL LIGHT. THAT I ACHIEVED THE OBJECT OF MY GAZE.... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . THE GLORIOUS VISION HERE MY POWERS O’ERCAME:— BUT NOW MY WILL AND WISH WERE SWAYED BY LOVE— (AS TURNS A WHEEL ON EVERY SIDE THE SAME) LOVE—AT WHOSE WORD THE SUN AND PLANETS MOVE. |
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