heretics-第41节
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the image of the horrible and hairy East…ender； merely to keep alive
in us a fearful and childlike wonder at external peculiarities。
But the Middle Ages （with a great deal more common sense than it
would now be fashionable to admit） regarded natural history at bottom
rather as a kind of joke； they regarded the soul as very important。
Hence； while they had a natural history of dog…headed men；
they did not profess to have a psychology of dog…headed men。
They did not profess to mirror the mind of a dog…headed man； to share
his tenderest secrets； or mount with his most celestial musings。
They did not write novels about the semi…canine creature；
attributing to him all the oldest morbidities and all the newest fads。
It is permissible to present men as monsters if we wish to make
the reader jump； and to make anybody jump is always a Christian act。
But it is not permissible to present men as regarding themselves
as monsters； or as making themselves jump。 To summarize；
our slum fiction is quite defensible as aesthetic fiction；
it is not defensible as spiritual fact。
One enormous obstacle stands in the way of its actuality。
The men who write it； and the men who read it； are men of the middle
classes or the upper classes； at least； of those who are loosely termed
the educated classes。 Hence； the fact that it is the life as the refined
man sees it proves that it cannot be the life as the unrefined man
lives it。 Rich men write stories about poor men； and describe
them as speaking with a coarse； or heavy； or husky enunciation。
But if poor men wrote novels about you or me they would describe us
as speaking with some absurd shrill and affected voice； such as we
only hear from a duchess in a three…act farce。 The slum novelist gains
his whole effect by the fact that some detail is strange to the reader；
but that detail by the nature of the case cannot be strange in itself。
It cannot be strange to the soul which he is professing to study。
The slum novelist gains his effects by describing the same grey mist
as draping the dingy factory and the dingy tavern。 But to the man
he is supposed to be studying there must be exactly the same difference
between the factory and the tavern that there is to a middle…class
man between a late night at the office and a supper at Pagani's。 The
slum novelist is content with pointing out that to the eye of his
particular class a pickaxe looks dirty and a pewter pot looks dirty。
But the man he is supposed to be studying sees the difference between
them exactly as a clerk sees the difference between a ledger and an
edition de luxe。 The chiaroscuro of the life is inevitably lost；
for to us the high lights and the shadows are a light grey。
But the high lights and the shadows are not a light grey in that life
any more than in any other。 The kind of man who could really
express the pleasures of the poor would be also the kind of man
who could share them。 In short； these books are not a record
of the psychology of poverty。 They are a record of the psychology
of wealth and culture when brought in contact with poverty。
They are not a description of the state of the slums。 They are only
a very dark and dreadful description of the state of the slummers。
One might give innumerable examples of the essentially
unsympathetic and unpopular quality of these realistic writers。
But perhaps the simplest and most obvious example with which we
could conclude is the mere fact that these writers are realistic。
The poor have many other vices； but； at least； they are never realistic。
The poor are melodramatic and romantic in grain； the poor all believe
in high moral platitudes and copy…book maxims； probably this is
the ultimate meaning of the great saying； 〃Blessed are the poor。〃
Blessed are the poor； for they are always making life； or trying
to make life like an Adelphi play。 Some innocent educationalists
and philanthropists （for even philanthropists can be innocent）
have expressed a grave astonishment that the masses prefer shilling
shockers to scientific treatises and melodramas to problem plays。
The reason is very simple。 The realistic story is certainly
more artistic than the melodramatic story。 If what you desire is
deft handling； delicate proportions； a unit of artistic atmosphere；
the realistic story has a full advantage over the melodrama。
In everything that is light and bright and ornamental the realistic
story has a full advantage over the melodrama。 But； at least；
the melodrama has one indisputable advantage over the realistic story。
The melodrama is much more like life。 It is much more like man；
and especially the poor man。 It is very banal and very inartistic when a
poor woman at the Adelphi says； 〃Do you think I will sell my own child？〃
But poor women in the Battersea High Road do say； 〃Do you think I
will sell my own child？〃 They say it on every available occasion；
you can hear a sort of murmur or babble of it all the way down
the street。 It is very stale and weak dramatic art （if that is all）
when the workman confronts his master and says； 〃I'm a man。〃
But a workman does say 〃I'm a man〃 two or three times every day。
In fact； it is tedious； possibly； to hear poor men being
melodramatic behind the footlights； but that is because one can
always hear them being melodramatic in the street outside。
In short； melodrama； if it is dull； is dull because it is too accurate。
Somewhat the same problem exists in the case of stories about schoolboys。
Mr。 Kipling's 〃Stalky and Co。〃 is much more amusing （if you are
talking about amusement） than the late Dean Farrar's 〃Eric； or；
Little by Little。〃 But 〃Eric〃 is immeasurably more like real
school…life。 For real school…life； real boyhood； is full of the things
of which Eric is fullpriggishness； a crude piety； a silly sin；
a weak but continual attempt at the heroic； in a word； melodrama。
And if we wish to lay a firm basis for any efforts to help the poor；
we must not become realistic and see them from the outside。
We must become melodramatic； and see them from the inside。
The novelist must not take out his notebook and say； 〃I am
an expert。〃 No； he must imitate the workman in the Adelphi play。
He must slap himself on the chest and say； 〃I am a man。〃
XX。 Concluding Remarks on the Importance of Orthodoxy
Whether the human mind can advance or not； is a question too
little discussed； for nothing can be more dangerous than to found
our social philosophy on any theory which is debatable but has
not been debated。 But if we assume； for the sake of argument；
that there has been in the past； or will be in the future；
such a thing as a growth or improvement of the human mind itself；
there still remains a very sharp objection to be raised against
the modern version of that improvement。 The vice of the modern
notion of mental progress is that it is always something concerned
with the breaking of bonds； the effacing of boundaries； the casting
away of dogmas。 But if there be such a thing as mental growth；
it must mean the growth into more and more definite convictions；
into more and more dogmas。 The human brain is a machine for coming
to conclusions； if it cannot come to conclusions it is rusty。
When we hear of a man too clever to believe； we are hearing of
something having almost the character of a contradiction in terms。
It is like hearing of a nail that was too good to hold down
a carpet； or a bolt that was too strong to keep a door shut。
Man can hardly be defined； after the fashion of Carlyle； as an animal
who makes tools； ants and beavers and many other animals make tools；
in the sense that they make an apparatus。 Man can be defined
as an animal that makes dogmas。 As he piles doctrine on doctrine
and conclusion on conclusion in the formation of some tremendous
scheme of philosophy and religion； he is； in the only legitimate sense
of which the expression is capable； becoming more and more human。
When he drops one doctrine after another in a refined scepticism；
when he declines to tie himself to a system； when he says that he has
outgrown definitions； when he says that he disbelieves in finality；
when； in his own imagination； he sits as God； holding no form
of creed but contemplating all； then he is by that very process
sinking slowly backwards into the vagueness of the vagrant animals
and the unconsciousness of the grass。 Trees have no dogmas。
Turnips are s
