We have all tried our hands at categories. Philosophy is, itself, but a system of definitions. What, then, made the Chatelaine’s theory remarkable, when Civilization has wearied itself with distinctions? The attempt to classify one’s acquaintance is the common sport of the thinker, from the fastidious who says: “There are two kinds of persons—those who like olives and those who don’t,” to the fatuous, immemorial lover who says: “There are two kinds of women—Daisy, and the Other Kind!”
Previous attempts, less fantastic, have had this fault in common: their categories were susceptible of gradation—extremes fused one into the other. What thinking person has not felt the need of some definite, final, absolute classification? We speak of “my kind” and “the other sort,” of Those who Understand, of Impossibles, and Outsiders. Some of these categories have attained considerable vogue. There is the Bohemian versus the Philistine, the Radical versus the Conservative, the Interesting versus the Bores, and so on. But always there is a shifting population at the vague frontier—the types intermingle and lose identity. Your Philistine is the very one who says: “This is Liberty Hall!”—and one must drink beer whether one likes it or not. It is the conservative business man, hard-headed, stubborn, who is converted by the mind-reader or the spiritualistic medium—one extreme flying to the other. It is the bore who, at times, unconsciously to himself, amuses you to the point of repressed laughter. These terms are fluent—your friends have a way of escaping from the labeled boxes into which you have put them; they seem to defy your definitions, your Orders and Genera. Fifteen minutes’ consideration of the great Sulphitic Theory will, as the patent medicines say, convince one of its efficacy. A Bromide will never jump out of his box into that ticketed “Sulphite.”
So much comment has been made upon the terminology of this theory that it should be stated frankly, at the start, that the words Sulphite and Bromide, and their derivatives, sulphitic and bromidic, are themselves so sulphitic that they are not susceptible of explanation. In a word, they are empirical, although, accidentally it might seem, they do appeal and convince the most skeptical. I myself balked, at first, at these inconsequent names. I would have suggested the terms “Gothic” and “Classic” to describe the fundamental types of mind. But it took but a short conversation with the Chatelaine to demonstrate the fact that the words were inevitable, and the rapid increase in their use has proved them something more real than slang—an acceptable and accepted terminology. Swallow them whole, therefore, and you will be so much better for the dose that, upon finishing this thesis you will say, “Why, of course there are no other words possible!”
Let us, therefore, first proceed with a general statement of the theory and then develop some of its corollaries. It is comparatively easy to define the Bromide; let us consider his traits and then classify the Sulphite by a mere process of exclusion.
In this our world the Bromides constitute, alas! by far the larger group. In this, the type resembles the primary bodies of other systems of classification, such as the Philistines, the Conservatives, the Bores and so on, ad nauseam. The Bromide does his thinking by syndicate. He follows the main traveled roads, he goes with the crowd. In a word, they all think and talk alike—one may predicate their opinion upon any given subject. They follow custom and costume, they obey the Law of Averages. They are, intellectually, all peas in the same conventional pod, unenlightened, prosaic, living by rule and rote. They have their hair cut every month and their minds keep regular office hours. Their habits of thought are all ready-made, proper, sober, befitting the Average Man. They worship dogma. The Bromide conforms to everything sanctioned by the majority, and may be depended upon to be trite, banal and arbitrary.
So much has a mere name already done for us that we may say, boldly, and this is our First Theorem: that all Bromides are bromidic in every manifestation of their being. But a better comprehension of the term, and one which will perhaps remove the taint of malediction, will be attained if we examine in detail a few essential bromidic tendencies. The adjective is used more in pity than in anger or disgust. The Bromide can’t possibly help being bromidic—though, on the other hand, he wouldn’t if he could.