{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_14653/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_14653","id":"gutenberg_14653","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14653","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christmas"],"text":"THE FEAST OF ST. FRIEND\n\nA Christmas Book\n\nby\n\nARNOLD BENNETT\n\nAuthor of _The Old Wives' Tale_, _Buried Alive_, etc., etc.\n\nNew York\nGeorge H. Doran Company\n\n1911\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\nCHAPTER\n\n   I. THE FACT\n  II. THE REASON\n III. THE SOLSTICE AND GOODWILL\n  IV. THE APPOSITENESS OF CHRISTMAS\n   V. DEFENCE OF FEASTING\n  VI. TO REVITALIZE THE FESTIVAL\n VII. THE GIFT OF ONESELF\nVIII. THE FEAST OF ST. FRIEND\n  IX. THE REACTION\n   X. ON THE LAST DAY OF THE YEAR\n\n\n\n\n\nONE\n\nTHE FACT\n\n\nSomething has happened to Christmas, or to our hearts; or to both. In\norder to be convinced of this it is only necessary to compare the\npresent with the past. In the old days of not so long ago the festival\nbegan to excite us in November. For weeks the house rustled with\ncharming and thrilling secrets, and with the furtive noises of paper\nparcels being wrapped and unwrapped; the house was a whispering gallery.\nThe tension of expectancy increased to such a point that there was a\npositive danger of the cord snapping before it ought to snap. On the\nEve we went to bed with no hope of settled sleep. We knew that we should\nbe wakened and kept awake by the waits singing in the cold; and we were\nglad to be kept awake so. On the supreme day we came downstairs hiding\ndelicious yawns, and cordially pretending that we had never been more\nfit. The day was different from other days; it had a unique romantic\nquality, tonic, curative of all ills. On that day even the tooth-ache\nvanished, retiring far into the wilderness with the spiteful word, the\nvenomous thought, and the unlovely gesture. We sang with gusto\n\"Christians awake, salute the happy morn.\" We did salute the happy morn.\nAnd when all the parcels were definitely unpacked, and the secrets of\nall hearts disclosed, we spent the rest of the happy morn in waiting,\ncandidly greedy, for the first of the great meals. And then we ate, and\nwe drank, and we ate again; with no thought of nutrition, nor of\nreasonableness, nor of the morrow, nor of dyspepsia. We ate and drank\nwithout fear and without shame, in the sheer, abandoned ecstasy of\ncelebration. And by means of motley paper headgear, fit only for a\ncarnival, we disguised ourselves in the most absurd fashions, and yet\ndid not make ourselves seriously ridiculous; for ridicule is in the\nvision, not in what is seen. And we danced and sang and larked, until we\ncould no more. And finally we chanted a song of ceremony, and separated;\nending the day as we had commenced it, with salvoes of good wishes. And\nthe next morning we were indisposed and enfeebled; and we did not care;\nwe suffered gladly; we had our pain's worth, and more. This was the\npast.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nEven today the spirit and rites of ancient Christmas are kept up, more\nor less in their full rigour and splendour, by a race of beings that is\nscattered over the whole earth. This race, mysterious, masterful,\nconservative, imaginative, passionately sincere, arriving from we know\nnot where, dissolving before our eyes we know not how, has its way in\nspite of us. I mean the children. By virtue of the children's faith, the\nreindeer are still tramping the sky, and Christmas Day is still\nsomething above and beyond a day of the week; it is a day out of the\nweek. We have to sit and pretend; and with disillusion in our souls we\ndo pretend. At Christmas, it is not the children who make-believe; it\nis ourselves. Who does not remember the first inkling of a suspicion\nthat Christmas Day was after all a day rather like any other day? In the\nhouse of my memories, it was the immemorial duty of my brother on\nChristmas morning, before anything else whatever happened, to sit down\nto the organ and perform \"Christians Awake\" with all possible stops\ndrawn. He had to do it. Tradition, and the will that emanated from the\nbest bedroom, combined to force him to do it. One Christmas morning, as\nhe was preparing the stops, he glanced aside at me with a supercilious\ncurl of the lips, and the curl of my lips silently answered. It was as\nif he had said: \"I condescend to this,\" and as if I had said: \"So do I.\"\n\nSuch a moment comes to most of us of this generation. And thenceforward\nthe change in us is extraordinarily rapid. The next thing we know is\nthat the institution of waits is a rather annoying survival which at\nonce deprives us of sleep and takes money out of our pockets. And then\nChristmas is gluttony and indigestion and expensiveness and quarter-day,\nand Christmas cards are a tax and a nuisance, and present-giving is a\nheavier tax and a nuisance. And we feel self-conscious and foolish as we\nsing \"Auld Lang Syne.\" And what a blessing it will be when the\n\"festivities\" (as they are misleadingly called) are over, and we can\nsettle down into commonsense again!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI do not mean that our hearts are black with despair on Christmas Day.\nI do not mean that we do not enjoy ourselves on Christmas Day. There is\nno doubt that, with the inspiriting help of the mysterious race, and by\nthe force of tradition, and by our own gift of pretending, we do still\nvery much enjoy ourselves on Christmas Day. What I mean to insinuate,\nand to assert, is that beneath this enjoyment is the disconcerting and\ndistressing conviction of unreality, of non-significance, of exaggerated\nand even false sentiment. What I mean is that we have to brace and force\nourselves up to the enjoyment of Christmas. We have to induce\ndeliberately the \"Christmas feeling.\" We have to remind ourselves that\n\"it will never do\" to let the heartiness of Christmas be impaired. The\npeculiarity of our attitude towards Christmas, which at worst is a\nvacation, may be clearly seen by contrasting it with our attitude\ntowards another vacation--the summer holiday. We do not have to brace\nand force ourselves up to the enjoyment of the summer holiday. We\nexperience no difficulty in inducing the holiday feeling. There is no\nfear of the institution of the summer holiday losing its heartiness. Nor\ndo we need the example of children to aid us in savouring the August\n\"festivities.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIf any person here breaks in with the statement that I am deceived and\nthe truth is not in me, and that Christmas stands just where it did in\nthe esteem of all right-minded people, and that he who casts a doubt on\nthe heartiness of Christmas is not right-minded, let that person read no\nmore. This book is not written for him. And if any other person,\nkindlier, condescendingly protests that there is nothing wrong with\nChristmas except my advancing age, let that person read no more. This\nbook is not written for him, either. It is written for persons who can\nlook facts cheerfully in the face. That Christmas has lost some of its\nmagic is a fact that the common sense of the western hemisphere will not\ndispute. To blink the fact is infantile. To confront it, to try to\nunderstand it, to reckon with it, and to obviate any evil that may\nattach to it--this course alone is meet for an honest man.\n\n\n\n\n\nTWO\n\nTHE REASON\n\n\nIf the decadence of Christmas were a purely subjective phenomenon,\nconfined to the breasts of those of us who have ceased to be children\nthen it follows that Christmas has always been decadent, because people\nhave always been ceasing to be children. It follows also that the\nfestival was originally got up by disillusioned adults, for the benefit\nof the children. Which is totally absurd. Adults have never yet invented\nany institution, festival or diversion specially for the benefit of\nchildren. The egoism of adults makes such an effort impossible, and the\ningenuity and pliancy of children make it unnecessary. The pantomime,\nfor example, which is now pre-eminently a diversion for children, was\ncreated by adults for the amusement of adults. Children have merely\naccepted it and appropriated it. Children, being helpless, are of course\nfatalists and imitators. They take what comes, and they do the best they\ncan with it. And when they have made something their own that was adult,\nthey stick to it like leeches.\n\nThey are terrific Tories, are children; they are even reactionary! They\npowerfully object to changes. What they most admire in a pantomime is\nthe oldest part of it, the only true pantomime--the harlequinade! Hence\nthe very nature of children is a proof that what Christmas is now to\nthem, it was in the past to their elders. If they now feel and exhibit\nfaith and enthusiasm in the practice of the festival, be sure that, at\none time, adults felt and exhibited the same faith and enthusiasm--yea,\nand more! For in neither faith nor enthusiasm can a child compete with a\nconvinced adult. No child could believe in anything as passionately as\nthe modern millionaire believes in money, or as the modern social\nreformer believes in the virtue of Acts of Parliament.\n\nAnother and a crowning proof that Christmas has been diminished in our\nhearts lies in the fiery lyrical splendour of the old Christmas hymns.\nThose hymns were not written by people who made-believe at Christmas for\nthe pleasure of youngsters. They were written by devotees. And this age\ncould not have produced them.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNo! The decay of the old Christmas spirit among adults is undeniable,\nand its cause is fairly plain. It is due to the labours of a set of\nidealists--men who cared not for money, nor for glory, nor for anything\nexcept their ideal. Their ideal was to find out the truth concerning\nnature and concerning human history; and they sacrificed all--they\nsacrificed the peace of mind of whole generations--to the pleasure of\nslaking their ardour for truth. For them the most important thing in the\nworld was the satisfaction of their curiosity. They would leave naught\nalone; and they scorned consequences. Useless to cry to them: \"That is\nholy. Touch it not!\" I mean the great philosophers and men of\nscience--especially the geologists--of the nineteenth century. I mean\nsuch utterly pure-minded men as Lyell, Spencer, Darwin and Huxley. They\ninaugurated the mighty age of doubt and scepticism. They made it\nimpossible to believe all manner of things which before them none had\nquestioned. The movement spread until uneasiness was everywhere in the\nrealm of thought, and people walked about therein fearsomely, as in a\nland subject to earthquakes. It was as if people had said: \"We don't\nknow what will topple next. Let's raze everything to the ground, and\nthen we shall feel safer.\" And there came a moment after which nobody\ncould ever look at a picture of the Nativity in the old way. Pictures of\nthe Nativity were admired perhaps as much as ever, but for the exquisite\nbeauty of their na\u00efvet\u00e9, the charm of their old-world simplicity, not\nas artistic renderings of fact.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAn age of scepticism has its faults, like any other age, though certain\npersons have pretended the contrary. Having been compelled to abandon\nits belief in various statements of alleged fact, it lumps principles\nand ideals with alleged facts, and hastily decides not to believe in\nanything at all. It gives up faith, it despises faith, in spite of the\nwarning of its greatest philosophers, including Herbert Spencer, that\nfaith of some sort is necessary to a satisfactory existence in a\nuniverse full of problems which science admits it can never solve. None\nwere humbler than the foremost scientists about the narrowness of the\nfield of knowledge, as compared with the immeasurability of the field\nof faith. But the warning has been ignored, as warnings nearly always\nare. Faith is at a discount. And the qualities which go with faith are\nat a discount; such as enthusiasm, spontaneity, ebullition, lyricism,\nand self-expression in general. Sentimentality is held in such horror\nthat people are afraid even of sentiment. Their secret cry is: \"Give us\nsomething in which we can believe.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThey forget, in their confusion, that the great principles, spiritual\nand moral, remain absolutely intact. They forget that, after all the\nshattering discoveries of science and conclusions of philosophy, mankind\nhas still to live with dignity amid hostile nature, and in the presence\nof an unknowable power and that mankind can only succeed in this\ntremendous feat by the exercise of faith and of that mutual goodwill\nwhich is based in sincerity and charity. They forget that, while facts\nare nothing, these principles are everything. And so, at that epoch of\nthe year which nature herself has ordained for the formal recognition of\nthe situation of mankind in the universe and of its resulting duties to\nitself and to the Unknown--at that epoch, they bewail, sadly or\nimpatiently or cynically: \"Oh! The bottom has been knocked out of\nChristmas!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBut the bottom has not been knocked out of Christmas. And people know\nit. Somewhere, in the most central and mysterious fastness of their\nhearts, they know it. If they were not, in spite of themselves,\nconvinced of it, why should they be so pathetically anxious to keep\nalive in themselves, and to foster in their children, the Christmas\nspirit? Obviously, a profound instinct is for ever reminding them that,\nwithout the Christmas spirit, they are lost. The forms of faith change,\nbut the spirit of faith, which is the Christmas spirit, is immortal amid\nits endless vicissitudes. At a crisis of change, faith is weakened for\nthe majority; for the majority it may seem to be dead. It is conserved,\nhowever, in the hearts of the few supremely great and in the hearts of\nthe simple. The supremely great are hidden from the majority; but the\nsimple are seen of all men, and them we encourage, often without knowing\nwhy, to be the depositaries of that which we cannot ourselves guard, but\nwhich we dimly feel to be indispensable to our safety.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHREE\n\nTHE SOLSTICE AND GOOD WILL\n\n\nIn order to see that there is underlying Christmas an idea of faith\nwhich will at any rate last as long as the planet lasts, it is only\nnecessary to ask and answer the question: \"Why was the Christmas feast\nfixed for the twenty-fifth of December?\" For it is absolutely certain,\nand admitted by everybody of knowledge, that Christ was not born on the\ntwenty-fifth of December. Those disturbing impassioned inquirers after\ntruth, who will not leave us peaceful in our ignorance, have settled\nthat for us, by pointing out, among other things, that the twenty-fifth\nof December falls in the very midst of the Palestine rainy season, and\nthat, therefore, shepherds were assuredly not on that date watching\ntheir flocks by night.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nChristians were not, at first, united in the celebration of Christmas.\nSome kept Christmas in January, others in April, others in May. It was a\npre-Christian force which drove them all into agreement upon the\ntwenty-fifth of December. Just as they wisely took the Christmas tree\nfrom the Roman Saturnalia, so they took the date of their festival from\nthe universal pre-Christian festival of the winter solstice, Yule, when\nmankind celebrated the triumph of the sun over the powers of darkness,\nwhen the night begins to decrease and the day to increase, when the\nyear turns, and hope is born again because the worst is over. No more\nsuitably symbolic moment could have been chosen for a festival of faith,\ngoodwill and joy. And the appositeness of the moment is just as perfect\nin this era of electric light and central heating, as it was in the era\nof Virgil, who, by the way, described a Christmas tree. We shall say\nthis year, with exactly the same accents of relief and hope as our pagan\nancestors used, and as the woaded savage used: \"The days will begin to\nlengthen now!\" For, while we often falsely fancy that we have subjugated\nnature to our service, the fact is that we are as irremediably as ever\nat the mercy of nature.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIndeed, the attitude of us moderns towards the forces by which our\nexistence is governed ought to be, and probably is, more reverent and\nawe-struck than that of the earlier world. The discoveries of science\nhave at once quickened our imagination and compelled us to admit that\nwhat we know is the merest trifle. The pagan in his ignorance explained\neverything. Our knowledge has only deepened the mystery, and all that we\nshall learn will but deepen it further. We can explain the solstice. We\nare aware with absolute certitude that the solstice and the equinox and\nthe varying phenomena of the seasons are due to the fact that the plane\nof the equator is tilted at a slight angle to the plane of the ecliptic.\nWhen we put on the first overcoat in autumn, and when we give orders to\nlet the furnace out in spring, we know that we are arranging our lives\nin accordance with that angle. And we are quite duly proud of our\nknowledge. And much good does our knowledge do us!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWell, it does do us some good, and in a spiritual way, too! For nobody\ncan even toy with astronomy without picturing to himself, more clearly\nand startlingly than would be otherwise possible, a revolving globe that\nwhizzes through elemental space around a ball of fire: which, in turn,\nis rushing with all its satellites at an inconceivable speed from\nnowhere to nowhere; and to the surface of the revolving, whizzing globe\na multitude of living things desperately clinging, and these living\nthings, in the midst of cataclysmic danger, and between the twin enigmas\nof birth and death, quarrelling and hating and calling themselves kings\nand queens and millionaires and beautiful women and aristocrats and\ngeniuses and lackeys and superior persons! Perhaps the highest value of\nastronomy is that it renders more vivid the ironical significance of\nsuch a vision, and thus brings home to us the truth that in spite of all\nthe differences which we have invented, mankind is a fellowship of\nbrothers, overshadowed by insoluble and fearful mysteries, and dependent\nupon mutual goodwill and trust for the happiness it may hope to achieve.\n* * * Let us remember that Christmas is, among other things, the winter\nsolstice, and that the bottom has not yet been knocked out of the winter\nsolstice, nor is likely to be in the immediate future!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt is a curious fact that the one faith which really does flourish and\nwax in these days should be faith in the idea of social justice. For\nsocial justice simply means the putting into practice of goodwill and\nthe recognition of the brotherhood of mankind. Formerly, people were\nenthusiastic and altruistic for a theological idea, for a national idea,\nfor a political idea. You could see men on the rack for the sake of a\ndogma; you could see men of a great nation fitting out regiments and\nruining themselves and going forth to save a small nation from\ndestruction. You could see men giving their lives to the aggrandisement\nof an empire. And the men who did these things had the best brains and\nthe quickest wits and the warmest hearts of their time. But today,\nwhenever you meet a first-class man who is both enthusiastic and\naltruistic, you may be sure that his pet scheme is neither theological,\nmilitary nor political; you may be sure that he has got into his head\nthe notion that some class of persons somewhere are not being treated\nfairly, are not being treated with fraternal goodwill, and that he is\ndetermined to put the matter right, or perish.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn England, nearly all the most interesting people are social reformers:\nand the only circles of society in which you are not bored, in which\nthere is real conversation, are the circles of social reform. These\npeople alone have an abounding and convincing faith. Their faith has,\nfor example, convinced many of the best literary artists of the day,\nwith the result that a large proportion of the best modern imaginative\nliterature has been inspired by the dream of social justice. Take away\nthat idea from the works of H.G. Wells, John Galsworthy and George\nBernard Shaw, and there would be exactly nothing left. Despite any\nappearance to the contrary, therefore, the idea of universal goodwill is\nreally alive upon the continents of this planet: more so, indeed, than\nany other idea--for the vitality of an idea depends far less on the\nnumbers of people who hold it than on the quality of the heart and brain\nof the people who hold it. Whether the growth of the idea is due to the\nspiritual awe and humility which are the consequence of increased\nscientific knowledge, I cannot say, and I do not seriously care.\n\n\n\n\n\nFOUR\n\nTHE APPOSITENESS OF CHRISTMAS\n\n\n\"Yes,\" you say, \"I am quite at one with you as to the immense importance\nof goodwill in social existence, and I have the same faith in it as you\nhave. But why a festival? Why eating and drinking and ceremonies? Surely\none can have faith without festivals?\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe answer is that one cannot; or at least that in practice, one never\ndoes. A disinclination for festivals, a morbid self-conscious fear of\nletting oneself go, is a sure sign of lack of faith. If you have not\nenough enthusiasm for the cult of goodwill to make you positively\ndesire to celebrate the cult, then your faith is insufficient and needs\nfostering by study and meditation. Why, if you decide to found a\nsailing-club up your creek, your very first thought is to signalise your\nfaith in the sailing of those particular waters by a dinner and a\njollity, and you take care that the event shall be an annual one! * * *\nYou have faith in your wife, and in your affection for her. Surely you\ndon't need a festival to remind you of that faith, you so superior to\nhuman weaknesses? But you do! You insist on having it. And, if the\nfestival did not happen, you would feel gloomy and discouraged. A\nbirthday is a device for recalling to you in a formal and impressive\nmanner that a certain person still lives and is in need of goodwill. It\nis a device which experience has proved to be both valuable and\nnecessary.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nReal faith effervesces; it shoots forth in every direction; it\ncommunicates itself. And the inevitable result is a festival. The\nfestival is anticipated with pleasure, and it is remembered with\npleasure. And thus it reacts stimulatingly on that which gave it birth,\nas the vitality of children reacts stimulatingly on the vitality of\nparents. It provides a concrete symbol of that which is invisible and\nintangible, and mankind is not yet so advanced in the path of spiritual\nperfection that we can afford to dispense with concrete symbols. Now, if\nwe maintain festivals and formalities for the healthy continuance and\nhonour of a pastime or of a personal affection, shall we not maintain a\nfestival--and a mighty one--in behalf of a faith which makes the\ncorporate human existence bearable amid the menaces and mysteries that\nfor ever threaten it,--the faith of universal goodwill and mutual\nconfidence?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIf then, there is to be a festival, why should it not be the festival of\nChristmas? It can, indeed, be no other. Christmas is most plainly\nindicated. It is dignified and made precious by traditions which go back\nmuch further than the Christian era; and it has this tremendous\nadvantage--it exists! In spite of our declining faith, it has been\npreserved to us, and here it is, ready to hand. Not merely does it fall\nat the point which uncounted generations have agreed to consider as the\nturn of the solar year and as the rebirth of hope! It falls also\nimmediately before the end of the calendar year, and thus prepares us\nfor a fresh beginning that shall put the old to shame. It could not be\nbetter timed. Further, its traditional spirit of peace and goodwill is\nthe very spirit which we desire to foster. And finally its customs--or\nat any rate, its main customs--are well designed to symbolize that\nspirit. If we have allowed the despatch of Christmas cards to degenerate\ninto naught but a tedious shuffling of paste-boards and overwork of\npost-office officials, the fault is not in the custom but in ourselves.\nThe custom is a most striking one--so long as we have sufficient\nimagination to remember vividly that we are all in the same boat--I\nmean, on the same planet--and clinging desperately to the flying ball,\nand dependent for daily happiness on one another's good will! A\nChristmas card sent by one human being to another human being is more\nthan a piece of coloured stationery sent by one log of wood to another\nlog of wood: it is an inspiring and reassuring message of high value.\nThe mischief is that so many self-styled human beings are just logs of\nwood, rather stylishly dressed.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd then the custom of present-giving! What better and more convincing\nproof of sympathy than a gift? The gift is one of these obvious\ncontrivances--like the wheel or the lever--which smooth and simplify\nearthly life, and the charm of whose utility no obviousness can stale.\nBut of course any contrivance can be rendered futile by clumsiness or\nnegligence. There is a sort of Christmas giver who says pettishly: \"Oh!\nI don't know what to give to So-and-So this Christmas! What a bother! I\nshall write and tell her to choose something herself, and send the bill\nto me!\" And he writes. And though he does not suspect it, what he really\nwrites, and what So-and-So reads, is this: \"Dear So-and-So. It is\nnothing to me that you and I are alive together on this planet, and in\nvarious ways mutually dependent. But I am bound by custom to give you a\npresent. I do not, however, take sufficient interest in your life to\nknow what object it would give you pleasure to possess; and I do not\nwant to be put to the trouble of finding out, nor of obtaining the\nobject and transmitting it to you. Will you, therefore, buy something\nfor yourself and send the bill to me. Of course, a sense of social\ndecency will prevent you from spending more than a small sum, and I\nshall be spared all exertion beyond signing a cheque. Yours insincerely\nand loggishly * * *.\" So managed, the contrivance of present-giving\nbecomes positively sinister in its working. But managed with the\nsympathetic imagination which is infallibly produced by real faith in\ngoodwill, its efficacy may approach the miraculous.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Christmas ceremony of good-wishing by word of mouth has never been\nin any danger of falling into insincerity. Such is the power of\ntradition and virtue of a festival, and such the instinctive\nbrotherliness of men, that on this day the mere sight of an\nacquaintance will soften the voice and warm the heart of the most\nsuperior sceptic and curmudgeon that the age of disillusion has\nproduced. In spite of himself, faith flickers up in him again, be it\nonly for a moment. And, during that moment, he is almost like those\nwhose bright faith the age has never tarnished, like the great and like\nthe simple, to whom it is quite unnecessary to offer a defence and\nexplanation of Christmas or to suggest the basis of a new faith therein.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nFIVE\n\nDEFENCE OF FEASTING\n\n\nAnd now I can hear the superior sceptic disdainfully questioning: \"Yes,\nbut what about the orgy of Christmas? What about all the eating and\ndrinking?\" To which I can only answer that faith causes effervescence,\nexpansion, joy, and that joy has always, for excellent reasons, been\nconnected with feasting. The very words 'feast' and 'festival' are\netymologically inseparable. The meal is the most regular and the least\ndispensable of daily events; it happens also to be an event which is in\nitself almost invariably a source of pleasure, or, at worst, of\nsatisfaction: and it will continue to have this precious quality so long\nas our souls are encased in bodies. What could be more natural,\ntherefore, than that it should be employed, with due enlargement and\nornamentation, as the kernel of the festival? What more logical than\nthat the meal should be elevated into a feast?\n\n\"But,\" exclaims the superior sceptic, \"this idea involves the idea of\nexcess!\" What if it does? I would not deny it! Assuredly, a feast means\nmore than enough, and more than enough means excess. It is only because\na feast means excess that it assists in the bringing about of expansion\nand joy. Such is human nature, and it is the case of human nature that\nwe are discussing. Of course, excess usually exacts its toll, within\ntwenty-four hours, especially from the weak. But the benefit is worth\nits price. The body pays no more than the debt which the soul has\nincurred. An occasional change of habit is essential to well-being, and\nevery change of habit results in temporary derangement and\ninconvenience.\n\nDo not misunderstand me. Do not push my notion of excess to extremes.\nWhen I defend the excess inevitably incident to a feast, I am not\nseeking to prove that a man in celebrating Christmas is entitled to\ndrink champagne in a public restaurant until he becomes an object of\nscorn and disgust to the waiters who have travelled from Switzerland in\norder to receive his tips. Much less should I be prepared to justify him\nif, in his own home, he sank lower than the hog. Nor would I\nsympathetically carry him to bed. There is such a thing as excess in\nmoderation and dignity. Every wise man has practised this. And he who\nhas not practised it is a fool, and deserves even a harder name. He\nought indeed to inhabit a planet himself, for all his faith in humanity\nwill be exhausted in believing in himself. * * * So much for the feast!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBut the accompaniments of the feast are also excessive. For example, you\nmake a tug-of-war with your neighbour at table, and the rope is a\nfragile packet of tinselled paper, which breaks with a report like a\npistol. You open your half of the packet, and discover some doggerel\nverse which you read aloud, and also a perfectly idiotic coloured cap,\nwhich you put on your head to the end of looking foolish. And this\nceremony is continued until the whole table is surrounded by\npreposterous headgear, and doggerel verse is lying by every plate.\nSurely no man in his senses, no woman in hers, would, etc., etc. * * *!\nBut one of the spiritual advantages of feasting is that it expands you\nbeyond your common sense. One excess induces another, and a finer one.\nThis acceptance of the ridiculous is good for you. It is particularly\ngood for an Anglo-Saxon, who is so self-contained and self-controlled\nthat his soul might stiffen as the unused limb of an Indian fakir\nstiffens, were it not for periodical excitements like that of the\nChristmas feast. Everybody has experienced the self-conscious reluctance\nwhich precedes the putting on of the cap, and the relief, followed by\nfurther expansion and ecstasy, which ensues after the putting on.\nEverybody who has put on a cap is aware that it is a beneficial thing to\nput on a cap. Quite apart from the fact that the mysterious and fanciful\nrace of children are thereby placated and appeased, the soul of the\ncapped one is purified by this charming excess.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd the Tree! What an excess of the fantastic to pretend that all those\nglittering balls, those coloured candles and those variegated parcels\nare the blossoms of the absurd tree! How excessively grotesque to tie\nall those parcels to the branches, in order to take them off again!\nSurely, something less medieval, more ingenious, more modern than this\ncould be devised--if symbolism is to be indulged in at all! Can you\ndevise it, O sceptical one, revelling in disillusion? Can you invent a\nsymbol more natural and graceful than the symbol of the Tree? Perhaps\nyou would have a shop-counter, and shelves behind it, so as to instill\nearly into the youthful mind that this is a planet of commerce! Perhaps\nyou would abolish the doggerel of crackers, and substitute therefor\nextracts from the Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin! Perhaps you would\nexchange the caps for blazonry embroidered with chemical formula, your\nobject being the advancement of science! Perhaps you would do away with\nthe orgiastic eating and drinking, and arrange for a formal conversation\nabout astronomy and the idea of human fraternity, upon strictly\nreasonable rations of shredded wheat! You would thus create an original\nfestival, and eliminate all fear of a dyspeptic morrow. You would\nimprove the mind. And you would avoid the ridiculous. But also, in\navoiding the ridiculous, you would tumble into the ridiculous, deeply\nand hopelessly! And think how your very original festival would delight\nthe participators, how they would look forward to it with joy, and back\nupon it with pleasurable regret; how their minds would dwell sweetly\nupon the conception of shredded wheat, and how their faith would be\nencouraged and strengthened by the intellectuality of the formal\nconversation!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHe who girds at an ancient established festival should reflect upon\nsundry obvious truths before he withers up the said festival by the\nsirocco of his contempt. These truths are as follows:--First, a\nfestival, though based upon intelligence, is not an affair of the\nintellect, but an affair of the emotions. Second, the human soul can\nonly be reached through the human body. Third, it is impossible to\nreplace an ancient festival by a new one. Robespierre, amongst others,\ntried to do so, and achieved the absurd. Reformers, heralds of new\nfaiths, and rejuvenators of old faiths, have always, when they\nsucceeded, adopted an ancient festival, with all or most of its forms,\nand been content to breathe into it a new spirit to replace the old\nspirit which had vanished or was vanishing. Anybody who, persuaded that\nChristmas is not what it was, feels that a festival must nevertheless be\npreserved, will do well to follow this example. To be content with the\nold forms and to vitalize them: that is the problem. Solve it, and the\nforms will soon begin to adapt themselves to the process of\nvitalization. All history is a witness in proof.\n\n\n\n\n\nSIX\n\nTO REVITALIZE THE FESTIVAL\n\n\nIt being agreed, then, that the Christmas festival has lost a great deal\nof its old vitality, and that, to many people, it is a source of tedium\nand the cause of insincerity; and it being further agreed that the\ndifficulty cannot be got over by simply abolishing the festival, as no\none really wants it to be abolished; the question remains--what should\nbe done to vitalize it? The former spirit of faith, the spirit which\nmade the great Christmas of the golden days, has been weakened; but one\nelement of it--that which is founded on the conviction that goodwill\namong men is a prime necessity of reasonable living--survives with a\ncertain vigour, though even it has not escaped the general scepticism of\nthe age. This element unites in agreement all the pugnacious sectaries\nwho join battle over the other elements of the former faith. This\nelement has no enemies. None will deny its lasting virtue. Obviously,\ntherefore, the right course is to concentrate on the cultivation of\ngoodwill. If goodwill can be consciously increased, the festival of\nChristmas will cease to be perfunctory. It will acquire a fresh and more\ngenuine significance, which, however, will not in any way inconvenience\nthose who have never let go of the older significance. No tradition will\nbe overthrown, no shock administered, and nobody will be able to croak\nabout iconoclasm and new-fangled notions and the sudden end of the\nworld, and so on.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe fancy of some people will at once run to the formation of a grand\ninternational Society for the revivifying of Christmas by the\ncultivation of goodwill, with branches in all the chief cities of Europe\nand America, and headquarters--of course at the Hague; and committees\nand subcommittees, and presidents and vice-presidents; and honorary\nsecretaries and secretaries paid; and quarterly and annual meetings, and\ntriennial congresses! And a literary organ or two! And a\nbadge--naturally a badge, designed by a famous artist in harmonious\ntints!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBut my fancy does not run at all in this direction. I am convinced that\nwe have already far too many societies for the furtherance of our ends.\nTo my mind, most societies with a moral aim are merely clumsy machines\nfor doing simple jobs with the maximum of friction, expense and\ninefficiency. I should define the majority of these societies as a group\nof persons each of whom expects the others to do something very\nwonderful. Why create a society in order to help you to perform some act\nwhich nobody can perform but yourself? No society can cultivate goodwill\nin you. You might as well create a society for shaving or for saying\nyour prayers. And further, goodwill is far less a process of performing\nacts than a process of thinking thoughts. To think, is it necessary to\ninvolve yourself in the cog-wheels of a society? Moreover, a society\nmeans fuss and shouting: two species of disturbance which are both\nfutile and deleterious, particularly in an intimate affair of morals.\n\nYou can best help the general cultivation of goodwill along by\ncultivating goodwill in your own heart. Until you have started the task\nof personal cultivation, you will probably assume that there will be\ntime left over for superintending the cultivation of goodwill in other\npeople's hearts. But a very little experience ought to show you that\nthis is a delusion. You will perceive, if not at once, later, that you\nhave bitten off just about as much as you can chew. And you will\nappreciate also the wisdom of not advertising your enterprise. Why,\nindeed, should you breathe a word to a single soul concerning your\nadmirable intentions? Rest assured that any unusual sprouting of the\ndesired crop will be instantly noticed by the persons interested.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe next point is: Towards whom are you to cultivate goodwill?\nNaturally, one would answer: Towards the whole of humanity. But the\nwhole of humanity, as far as you are concerned, amounts to naught but a\nmagnificent abstract conception. And it is very difficult to cultivate\ngoodwill towards a magnificent abstract conception. The object of\ngoodwill ought to be clearly defined, and very visible to the physical\neye, especially in the case of people, such as us, who are only just\nbeginning to give to the cultivation of goodwill, perhaps, as much\nattention as we give to our clothes or our tobacco. If a novice sets out\nto embrace the whole of humanity in his goodwill, he will have even\nless success than a young man endeavouring to fall in love with four\nsisters at once; and his daily companions--those who see him eat his\nbacon and lace his boots and earn his living--will most certainly have a\nrough time of it. * * * No! It will be best for you to centre your\nefforts on quite a small group of persons, and let the rest of humanity\nstruggle on as well as it can, with no more of your goodwill than it has\nhitherto had.\n\nIn choosing the small group of people, it will be unnecessary for you to\ngo to Timbuktu, or into the next street or into the next house. And, in\nthis group of people you will be wise, while neglecting no member of the\ngroup, to specialise on one member. Your wife, if you have one, or your\nhusband? Not necessarily. I was meaning simply that one who most\nfrequently annoys you. He may be your husband, or she may be your wife.\nThese things happen. He may be your butler. Or you may be his butler.\nShe may be your daughter, or he may be your father, and you a charming\nomniscient girl of seventeen wiser than anybody else. Whoever he or she\nmay be who oftenest inspires you with a feeling of irritated\nsuperiority, aim at that person in particular.\n\nThe frequency of your early failures with him or her will show you how\nprudent you were not to make an attempt on the whole of humanity at\nonce. And also you will see that you did well not to publish your\nexcellent intentions. If nobody is aware of your striving, nobody will\nbe aware that you have failed in striving. Your successes will appear\neffortless, and most important of all, you will be free from the horrid\ncurse of self-consciousness. Herein is one of the main advantages of not\nwearing a badge. Lastly, you will have the satisfaction of feeling that,\nif everybody else is doing as you are, the whole of humanity is being\nattended to after all. And the comforting thought is that very probably,\nalmost certainly, quite a considerable number of people are in fact\ndoing as you are; some of them--make no doubt--are doing a shade better.\nI now come to the actual method of cultivating goodwill.\n\n\n\n\n\nSEVEN\n\nTHE GIFT OF ONESELF\n\n\nChildren divide their adult acquaintances into two categories--those who\nsympathise with them in the bizarre and trying adventure called life;\nand those who don't. The second category is much the larger of the two.\nVery many people belong to it who think that they belong to the first.\nThey may deceive themselves, but they cannot deceive a child. Although\nyou may easily practise upon the credulity of a child in matters of\nfact, you cannot cheat his moral and social judgment. He will add you\nup, and he will add anybody up, and he will estimate conduct, upon\nprinciples of his own and in a manner terribly impartial. Parents have\nno sterner nor more discerning critics than their own children.\n\nAnd so you may be polite to a child, and pretend to appreciate his point\nof view; but, unless you really do put yourself to the trouble of\nunderstanding him, unless you throw yourself, by the exercise of\nimagination, into his world, you will not succeed in being his friend.\nTo be his friend means an effort on your part, it means that you must\ndivest yourself of your own mental habit, and, for the time being, adopt\nhis. And no nice phrases, no gifts of money, sweets or toys, can take\nthe place of this effort, and this sacrifice of self. With five minutes\nof genuine surrender to him, you can win more of his esteem and\ngratitude than five hundred pounds would buy. His notion of real\ngoodwill is the imaginative sharing of his feelings, a convinced\nparticipation in his pains and pleasures. He is well aware that, if you\nhonestly do this, you will be on his side.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow, adults, of course, are tremendously clever and accomplished persons\nand children are no match for them; but still, with all their talents\nand omniscience and power, adults seem to lack important pieces of\nknowledge which children possess; they seem to forget, and to fail to\nprofit by, their infantile experience. Else why should adults in general\nbe so extraordinarily ignorant of the great truth that the secret of\ngoodwill lies in the sympathetic exercise of the imagination? Since\ngoodwill is the secret of human happiness, it follows that the secret\nof goodwill must be one of the most precious aids to sensible living;\nand yet adults, though they once knew it, have gone and forgotten it!\nChildren may well be excused for concluding that the ways of the adult,\nin their capricious irrationality, are past finding out.\n\nTo increase your goodwill for a fellow creature, it is necessary to\nimagine that you are he: and nothing else is necessary. This feat is not\neasy; but it can be done. Some people have less of the divine faculty of\nimagination than others, but nobody is without it, and, like all other\nfaculties, it improves with use, just as it deteriorates with neglect.\nImagination is a function of the brain. In order to cultivate goodwill\nfor a person, you must think frequently about that person. You must\ninform yourself about all his activities. You must be able in your\nmind's eye to follow him hour by hour throughout the day, and you must\nascertain if he sleeps well at night--because this is not a trifle. And\nyou must reflect upon his existence with the same partiality as you\nreflect upon your own. (Why not?) That is to say, you must lay the\nfullest stress on his difficulties, disappointments and unhappinesses,\nand you must minimise his good fortune. You must magnify his efforts\nafter righteousness, and forget his failures. You must ever remember\nthat, after all, he is not to blame for the faults of his character,\nwhich faults, in his case as in yours, are due partly to heredity and\npartly to environment. And beyond everything you must always give him\ncredit for good intentions. Do not you, though sometimes mistakenly,\nalways act for the best? You know you do! And are you alone among\nmortals in rectitude?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThis mental exercise in relation to another person takes time, and it\ninvolves a fatiguing effort. I repeat that it is not easy. Nor is it\ninvariably agreeable. You may, indeed, find it tedious, for example, to\npicture in vivid detail all the worries that have brought about your\nwife's exacerbation--negligent maid, dishonest tradesman, milk in a\nthunder storm, hypercritical husband, dirt in the wrong place--but, when\nyou have faithfully done so, I absolutely defy you to speak to her in\nthe same tone as you used to employ, and to cherish resentment against\nher as you used to do. And I absolutely defy you not to feel less\ndiscontented with yourself than in the past. It is impossible that the\nexercise of imagination about a person should not result in goodwill\ntowards that person. The exercise may put a strain upon you; but its\neffect is a scientific certainty. It is the supreme social exercise, for\nit is the giving of oneself in the most intimate and complete sense. It\nis the suspension of one's individuality in favour of another. It\nestablishes a new attitude of mind, which, though it may well lead to\nspecific social acts, is more valuable than any specific act, for it is\nceaselessly translating itself into demeanour.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe critic with that terrible English trait, an exaggerated sense of the\nridiculous, will at this point probably remark to himself, smiling: \"I\nsuppose the time will come, when by dint of regular daily practice, I\nshall have achieved perfect goodwill towards the first object of my\nattentions. I can then regard that person as 'done.' I can put him on a\nshelf, and turn to the next; and, in the end, all my relations, friends\nand acquaintances will be 'done' and I can stare at them in a row on the\nshelf of my mind, with pride and satisfaction * * *.\" Except that no\nperson will ever be quite \"done,\" human nature, still being human, in\nspite of the recent advances of civilisation, I do not deprecate this\nmanner of stating the case.\n\nThe ambitious and resolute man, with an exaggerated sense of the\nridiculous, would see nothing ridiculous in ticking off a number of\ndifferent objects as they were successively achieved. If for example it\nwas part of his scheme to learn various foreign languages, he would know\nthat he could only succeed by regular application of the brain, by\nconcentration of thought daily; he would also know that he could never\nacquire any foreign language in absolute perfection. Still, he would\nreach a certain stage in a language, and then he would put it aside and\nturn to the next one on his programme, and so on. Assuredly, he would\nnot be ashamed of employing method to reach his end.\n\nNow all that can be said of the acquirement of foreign languages can be\nsaid of the acquirement of goodwill. In remedying the deficiences of the\nheart and character, as in remedying the deficiences of mere knowledge,\nthe brain is the sole possible instrument, and the best results will be\nobtained by using it regularly and scientifically, according to an\narranged method. Why, therefore, if a man be proud of method in\nimproving his knowledge, should he see something ridiculous in a\ndeliberate plan for improving his heart--the affair of his heart being\nimmensely more important, more urgent and more difficult? The reader who\nhas found even one good answer to the above question, need read no more\nof this book, for he will have confounded me and it.\n\n\n\n\n\nEIGHT\n\nTHE FEAST OF ST. FRIEND\n\n\nThe consequences of the social self-discipline which I have outlined\nwill be various. A fairly early result will be the gradual decline, and\nultimately the death, of the superior person in oneself. It is true\nthat the superior person in oneself has nine lives, and is capable of\nrising from the dead after even the most fatal blows. But, at worst,\nthe superior person--(and who among us does not shelter that sinister\ninhabitant in his soul?)--will have a very poor time in the soul of him\nwho steadily practises the imaginative understanding of other people.\nIn the first place, the mere exercise of the imagination on others\nabsolutely scotches egotism as long as it lasts, and leaves it weakened\nafterwards. And, in the second and more important place, an improved\ncomprehension of others (which means an intensified sympathy with them)\nmust destroy the illusion, so widespread, that one's own case is\nunique. The amicable study of one's neighbours on the planet inevitably\nshows that the same troubles, the same fortitudes, the same feats of\nintelligence, the same successes and failures, are constantly happening\neverywhere. One can, indeed, see oneself in nearly everybody else, and,\nin particular, one is struck by the fact that the quality in which one\ntook most pride is simply spread abroad throughout humanity in heaps!\nIt is only in sympathetically contemplating others that one can get\noneself in a true perspective. Yet probably the majority of human\nbeings never do contemplate others, save with the abstracted gaze which\nproves that the gazer sees nothing but his own dream.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnother result of the discipline is an immensely increased interest in\none's friends. One regards them even with a sort of proprietary\ninterest, for, by imagination, one has come into sympathetic possession\nof them. Further, one has for them that tender feeling which always\nfollows the conferring of a benefit, especially the secret conferring of\na benefit. It is the benefactor, not the person benefited, who is\ngrateful. The benefit which one has conferred is, of course, the gift of\noneself. The resulting emotion is independent of any sympathy rendered\nby the other; and where the sympathy is felt to be mutual, friendship\nacquires a new significance. The exercise of sympathetic imagination\nwill cause one to look upon even a relative as a friend--a startling\nachievement! It will provide a new excitement and diversion in life.\n\nWhen the month of December dawns, there need be no sensation of weary\napprehension about the difficulty of choosing a present that will suit a\nfriend. Certainly it will not be necessary, from sheer indifference and\nignorance, to invite the friend to choose his own present. On the\ncontrary, one will be, in secret, so intimate with the friend's\nsituation and wants and desires, that sundry rival schemes for\npleasuring him will at once offer themselves. And when he receives the\npresent finally selected, he will have the conviction, always\ndelightfully flattering to a donee, that he has been the object of a\nparticular attention and insight. * * * And when the cards of greeting\nare despatched, formal phrases will go forth charged, in the\nconsciousness of the sender, with a genuine meaning, with the force of a\nclimax, as though the sender had written thereon, in invisible ink: \"I\nhave had you well in mind during the last twelve months; I think I\nunderstand your difficulties and appreciate your efforts better than I\ndid, and so it is with a peculiar sympathetic knowledge that I wish you\ngood luck. I have guessed what particular kind of good luck you require,\nand I wish accordingly. My wish is not vague and perfunctory only.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd on the day of festival itself one feels that one really has\nsomething to celebrate. The occasion has a basis, if it had no basis\nfor one before; and if a basis previously existed, then it is widened\nand strengthened. The festival becomes a public culmination to a private\nenterprise. One is not reminded by Christmas of goodwill, because the\nenterprise of imaginative sympathy has been a daily affair throughout\nthe year; but Christmas provides an excuse for taking satisfaction in\nthe success of the enterprise and new enthusiasm to correct its\nfailures. The symbolism of the situation of Christmas, at the turn of\nthe year, develops an added impressiveness, and all the Christmas\ncustoms, apt to produce annoyance in the breasts of the unsentimental,\nare accepted with indulgence, even with eagerness, because their\nsymbolism also is shown in a clearer light. Christmas becomes as\npersonal as a birthday. One eats and drinks to excess, not because it\nis the custom to eat and drink to excess, but from sheer effervescent\nfaith in an idea. And as one sits with one's friends, possessing them in\nthe privacy of one's heart, permeated by a sense of the value of\nsympathetic comprehension in this formidable adventure of existence on a\nplanet that rushes eternally through the night of space; assured indeed\nthat companionship and mutual understanding alone make the adventure\nagreeable,--one sees in a flash that Christmas, whatever else it may be,\nis and must be the Feast of St. Friend, and a day on that account\nsupreme among the days of the year.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe third and greatest consequence of the systematic cultivation of\ngoodwill now grows blindingly apparent. To state it earlier in all its\ncrudity would have been ill-advised; and I purposely refrained from\ndoing so. It is the augmentation of one's own happiness. The increase of\namity, the diminution of resentment and annoyance, the regular\nmaintenance of an attitude mildly benevolent towards mankind,--these\nthings are the surest way to happiness. And it is because they are the\nsurest way to happiness, that the most enlightened go after them. All\nreal motives are selfish motives; were it otherwise humanity would be\nutterly different from what it is. A man may perform some act which will\nbenefit another while working some striking injury to himself. But his\nreason for doing it is that he prefers the evil of the injury to the\ndeeper evil of the fundamental dissatisfaction which would torment him\nif he did not perform the act. Nobody yet sought the good of another\nsave as a means to his own good. And it is in accordance with common\nsense that this should be so. There is, however, a lower egotism and a\nhigher. It is the latter which we call unselfishness. And it is the\nlatter of which Christmas is the celebration. We shall legitimately bear\nin mind, therefore, that Christmas, in addition to being the Feast of\nSt. Friend, is even more profoundly the feast of one's own welfare.\n\n\n\n\n\nNINE\n\nTHE REACTION\n\n\nA reaction sets in between Christmas and the New Year. It is inevitable;\nand I should be writing basely if I did not devote to it a full chapter.\nIn those few dark days of inactivity, between a fete and the resumption\nof the implacable daily round, when the weather is usually cynical, and\nwe are paying in our tissues the fair price of excess, we see life and\nthe world in a grey and sinister light, which we imagine to be the only\ntrue light. Take the case of the average successful man of thirty-five.\nWhat is he thinking as he lounges about on the day after Christmas?\n\nHis thoughts probably run thus: \"Even if I live to a good old age,\nwhich is improbable, as many years lie behind me as before me. I have\nlived half my life, and perhaps more than half my life. I have realised\npart of my worldly ambition. I have made many good resolutions, and kept\none or two of them in k more or less imperfect manner. I cannot, as a\ncommonsense person, hope to keep a larger proportion of good resolutions\nin the future than I have kept in the past. I have tried to understand\nand sympathise with my fellow creatures, and though I have not entirely\nfailed to do so, I have nearly failed. I am not happy and I am not\ncontent. And if, after all these years, I am neither happy nor content,\nwhat chance is there of my being happy and content in the second half\nof my life? The realisation of part of my worldly ambition has not made\nme any happier, and, therefore, it is unlikely that the realisation of\nthe whole of my ambition will make me any happier. My strength cannot\nimprove; it can only weaken; and my health likewise. I in my turn am\ncoming to believe--what as a youth I rejected with disdain--namely, that\nhappiness is what one is not, and content is what one has not. Why,\nthen, should I go on striving after the impossible? Why should I not let\nthings slide?\"\n\nThus reflects the average successful man, and there is not one of us,\nsuccessful or unsuccessful, ambitious or unambitious, whose reflections\nhave not often led him to a conclusion equally dissatisfied. Why should\nI or anybody pretend that this is not so?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd yet, in the very moment of his discouragement and of his blackest\nvision of things, that man knows quite well that he will go on striving.\nHe knows that his instinct to strive will be stronger than his genuine\nconviction that the desired end cannot be achieved. Positive though he\nmay be that a worldly ambition realised will produce the same\ndissatisfaction as Dead Sea fruit in the mouth, he will still continue\nto struggle. * * * Now you cannot argue against facts, and this is a\nfact. It must be accepted. Conduct must be adjusted to it. The struggle\nbeing inevitable, it must be carried through as well as it can be\ncarried through. It will not end brilliantly, but precautions can be\ntaken against it ending disgracefully. These precautions consist in the\ndevising of a plan of campaign, and the plan of campaign is defined by a\nseries of resolutions: which resolutions are generally made at or\nimmediately before the beginning of a New Year. Without these the\nstruggle would be formless, confused, blind and even more futile than it\nis with them. Organised effort is bound to be less ineffective than\nunorganised effort.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA worldly ambition can be, frequently is, realised: but an ideal cannot\nbe attained--if it could, it would not be an ideal. The virtue of an\nideal is its unattainability. It seems, when it is first formed, just as\nattainable as a worldly ambition which indeed is often schemed as a\nmeans to it. After twenty-four hours, the ideal is all but attained.\nAfter forty-eight, it is a little farther off. After a week, it has\nreceded still further. After a month it is far away; and towards the end\nof a year even the keen eye of hope has almost lost sight of it; it is\ndefinitely withdrawn from the practical sphere. And then, such is the\ndivine obstinacy of humanity, the turn of the year gives us an excuse\nfor starting afresh, and forming a new ideal, and forgetting our shame\nin yet another organised effort. Such is the annual circle of the ideal,\nthe effort, the failure and the shame. A rather pitiful history it may\nappear! And yet it is also rather a splendid history! For the failure\nand the shame are due to the splendour of our ideal and to the audacity\nof our faith in ourselves. It is only in comparison with our ideal that\nwe have fallen low. We are higher, in our failure and our shame, than we\nshould have been if we had not attempted to rise.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere are those who will say: \"At any rate, we might moderate somewhat\nthe splendour of our ideal and the audacity of our self-conceit, so that\nthere should be a less grotesque disparity between the aim and the\nachievement. Surely such moderation would be more in accord with common\nsense! Surely it would lessen the spiritual fatigue and disappointment\ncaused by sterile endeavour!\" It would. But just try to moderate the\nideal and the self-conceit! And you will find, in spite of all your sad\nexperiences, that you cannot. If there is the stuff of a man in you, you\nsimply cannot! The truth, is that, in the supreme things, a man does\nnot act under the rules of earthly common sense. He transcends them,\nbecause there is a quality in him which compels him to do so. Common\nsense may persuade him to attempt to keep down the ideal, and\nself-conceit may pretend to agree. But all the time, self-conceit will\nbe whispering: \"I can go one better than that.\" And lo! the ideal is\nfurtively raised again.\n\nA man really has little scientific control over the height of his ideal\nand the intensity of his belief in himself. He is born with them, as he\nis born with a certain pulse and a certain reflex action. He can neglect\nthe ideal, so that it almost dissolves, but he cannot change its height.\nHe can maim his belief in himself by persistent abandonment to folly,\nbut he cannot lower its flame by an effort of the will, as he might\nlower the flame of a gas by a calculated turn of the hand. In the secret\nand inmost constitution of humanity it is ordained that the disparity\nbetween the aim and the achievement shall seem grotesque; it is ordained\nthat there shall be an enormous fuss about pretty nearly nothing; it is\nordained that the mountain shall bring forth a mouse. But it is also\nordained that men shall go blithely on just the same, ignoring in\npractice the ridiculousness which they admit in theory, and drawing\nrenewed hope and conceit from some magic, exhaustless source. And this\nis the whole philosophy of the New Year's resolution.\n\n\n\n\n\nTEN\n\nON THE LAST DAY OF THE YEAR\n\n\nThere are few people who arrive at a true understanding of life, even in\nthe calm and disillusioned hours of reflection that come between the end\nof one annual period and the beginning of another. Nearly everybody has\nan idea at the back of his head that if only he could conquer certain\ndifficulties and embarrassments, he might really start to live properly,\nin the full sense of living. And if he has pluck he says to himself: \"I\n_will_ smooth things out, and then I'll really live.\" In the same way,\nnearly everybody, regarding the spectacle of the world, sees therein a\nprinciple which he calls Evil; and he thinks: \"If only we could get rid\nof this Evil, if only we could set things right, how splendid the world\nwould be!\" Now, in the meaning usually attached to it, there is no such\npositive principle as Evil. Assuming that there is such a positive\nprinciple in a given phenomenon--such as the character of a particular\nman--you must then admit that there is the same positive principle\neverywhere, for just as the character of no man is so imperfect that you\ncould not conceive a worse, so the character of no man is so perfect\nthat you could not conceive a better. Do away with Evil from the world,\nand you would not merely abolish certain specially distressing matters,\nyou would change everything. You would in fact achieve perfection. And\nwhen we say that one thing is evil and another good, all that we mean\nis that one thing is less advanced than another in the way of\nperfection. Evil cannot therefore be a positive principle; it signifies\nonly the falling short of perfection.\n\nAnd supposing that the desires of mankind were suddenly fulfilled, and\nthe world was rendered perfect! There would be no motive for effort, no\naltercation of conflicting motives in the human heart; nothing to do, no\none to befriend, no anxiety, no want unsatisfied. Equilibrium would be\nestablished. A cheerful world! You can see instantly how amusing it\nwould be. It would have only one drawback--that of being dead. Its\nreason for being alive would have ceased to operate. Life means change\nthrough constant development. But you cannot develop the perfect. The\nperfect can merely expire.\n\nThat average successful man whom I have previously cited feels all this\nby instinct, though he does not comprehend it by reason. He reaches his\nambition, and retires from the fight in order to enjoy life,--and what\ndoes he then do? He immediately creates for himself a new series of\ndifficulties and embarrassments, either by undertaking the management of\na large estate, or by some other device. If he does not maintain for\nhimself conditions which necessitate some kind of struggle, he quickly\ndies--spiritually or physically, often both. The proportion of men who,\nhaving established an equilibrium, proceed to die on the spot, is\nenormous. Continual effort, which means, of course, continual\ndisappointment, is the _sine qua non_--without it there is literally\nnothing vital. Its abolition is the abolition of life. Hence, people,\nwho, failing to savour the struggle itself, anticipate the end of the\nstruggle as the beginning of joy and happiness--these people are simply\nmissing life; they are longing to exchange life for death. The hemlock\nwould save them a lot of weary waiting.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWe shall now perceive, I think, what is wrong with the assumptions of\nthe average successful man as set forth in the previous chapter. In\npostulating that happiness is what one is not, he has got hold of a\nmischievous conception of happiness. Let him examine his conception of\nhappiness, and he will find that it consists in the enjoyment of love\nand luxury, and in the freedom from enforced effort. He generally wants\nall three ingredients. Now passionate love does not mean happiness; it\nmeans excitement, apprehension and continually renewed desire. And\naffectionate love, from which the passion has faded, means something\nless than happiness, for, mingled with its gentle tranquility is a\ndisturbing regret for the more fiery past. Luxury, according to the\nuniversal experience of those who have had it, has no connection\nwhatever with happiness. And as for freedom from enforced effort, it\nmeans simply death.\n\nHappiness as it is dreamed of cannot possibly exist save for brief\nperiods of self-deception which are followed by terrible periods of\nreaction. Real, practicable happiness is due primarily not to any kind\nof environment, but to an inward state of mind. Real happiness consists\nfirst in acceptance of the fact that discontent is a condition of life,\nand, second, in an honest endeavour to adjust conduct to an ideal. Real\nhappiness is not an affair of the future; it is an affair of the\npresent. Such as it is, if it cannot be obtained now, it can never be\nobtained. Real happiness lives in patience, having comprehended that if\nvery little is accomplished towards perfection, so a man's existence is\na very little moment in the vast expanse of the universal life, and\nhaving also comprehended that it is the struggle which is vital, and\nthat the end of the struggle is only another name for death.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Well,\" I hear you exclaiming, \"if this is all we can look forward to,\nif this is all that real, practicable happiness amounts to, is life\nworth living?\" That is a question which each person has to answer for\nhimself. If he answers it in the negative, no argument, no persuasion,\nno sentimentalisation of the facts of life, will make him alter his\nopinion. Most people, however, answer it in the affirmative. Despite all\nthe drawbacks, despite all the endless disappointments, they decide that\nlife is worth living. There are two species of phenomena which bring\nthem to this view. The first may be called the golden moments of life,\nwhich seem somehow in their transient brevity to atone for the dull\nexasperation of interminable mediocre hours: moments of triumph in the\nstruggle, moments of fierce exultant resolve; moments of joy in\nnature--moments which defy oblivion in the memory, and which, being\npriceless, cannot be too dearly bought.\n\nThe second species of compensatory phenomena are all the agreeable\nexperiences connected with human friendship; the general feeling, under\ndiverse forms, that one is not alone in the world. It is for the\nmultiplication and intensification of these phenomena that Christmas,\nthe Feast of St. Friend, exists. And, on the last day of the year, on\nthe eve of a renewed effort, our thoughts may profitably be centered\nupon a plan of campaign whose execution shall result in a less imperfect\nintercourse.","title":"The Feast of St. Friend","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":11817}