{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_75928/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_75928","id":"gutenberg_75928","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/75928","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Psychiatry/Psychology","Conduct of life"],"text":"WORKS BY ARNOLD BENNETT\n\n\nNOVELS\n\n  A Man from the North\n  Anna of the Five Towns\n  Leonora\n  A Great Man\n  Sacred and Profane Love\n  Whom God hath Joined\n  Buried Alive\n  The Old Wives\u2019 Tale\n  The Glimpse\n  Helen with the High Hand\n  Clayhanger\n  The Card\n  Hilda Lessways\n  The Regent\n  The Price of Love\n  These Twain\n  The Lion\u2019s Share\n  The Pretty Lady\n  The Roll-Call\n\n\nFANTASIAS\n\n  The Grand Babylon Hotel\n  The Gates of Wrath\n  Teresa of Watling Street\n  The Loot of Cities\n  Hugo\n  The Ghost\n  The City of Pleasure\n\n\nSHORT STORIES\n\n  Tales of the Five Towns\n  The Grim Smile of the Five Towns\n  The Matador of the Five Towns\n\n\nBELLES-LETTRES\n\n  How to Live on Twenty-Four Hours a Day\n  The Human Machine\n  Mental Efficiency\n  Literary Taste\n  Friendship and Happiness\n  Married Life\n  Those United States\n  Paris Nights\n  Books and Persons\n\n\nDRAMA\n\n  Polite Farces\n  Cupid and Common Sense\n  What the Public Wants\n  The Honeymoon\n  The Great Adventure\n  The Title\n\n\n\n\n                       SELF AND SELF-MANAGEMENT\n\n\n\n\n                               SELF AND\n                            SELF-MANAGEMENT\n\n\n                         ESSAYS ABOUT EXISTING\n\n\n\n\n                                  BY\n                            ARNOLD BENNETT\n\n\n\n\n                         HODDER AND STOUGHTON\n                   LONDON      NEW YORK      TORONTO\n                               MCMXVIII\n\n\n\n\n                               CONTENTS\n\n\n                                                             PAGE\n\n RUNNING AWAY FROM LIFE                                         3\n\n SOME AXIOMS ABOUT WAR-WORK                                    25\n\n THE DIARY HABIT                                               45\n\n A DANGEROUS LECTURE TO A YOUNG\n     WOMAN                                                     65\n\n THE COMPLETE FUSSER                                           85\n\n THE MEANING OF FROCKS                                        103\n\n\n\n\n                        RUNNING AWAY FROM LIFE\n\n\n\n\n                        RUNNING AWAY FROM LIFE\n\n\n                                   I\n\nI WILL take the extreme case of the social butterfly, because it\nhas the great advantage of simplicity. This favourite variety of\nthe lepidopteral insects is always spoken of as female. But as the\nvariety persists from generation to generation obviously it cannot be\nof one sex only. And, as a fact, there are indubitably male social\nbutterflies, though the differences between the male and the female may\nbe slight. I shall, however, confine myself to the case of the female\nsocial butterfly--again for the sake of simplicity.\n\nThis beautiful creature combines the habits of the butterfly with the\nhabits of the moth. For whereas the moth flies only by night and the\nbutterfly flies only by day, the social butterfly flies both by day\nand by night. She is universally despised and condemned, and almost\nuniversally envied: one of the strangest among the many strange facts\nof natural history. She lives with a single purpose--to be for ever in\nthe movement--not any particular movement, but _the_ movement,\nwhich is a grand combined tendency comprising all lesser tendencies.\nFor the social butterfly the constituents of the movement are chiefly\nmen, theatres, restaurants, dances, noise, and hurry. The minor\nconstituents may and do frequently change, but the major constituents\nhave not changed for a considerable number of years. The minor\nconstituents of the movement are usually \u2018serious,\u2019 and hence in a\nminor way the social butterfly is serious. If books happen to be of the\nmovement, she will learn the names of books and authors, and in urgent\ncrises will even read. If music, she will learn to distinguish from\nall other sounds the sounds which are of the movement, the sounds at\nwhich she must shut her eyes in ecstasy and sigh. If social reform, she\nwill at once be ready to reform everybody and everything except herself\nand her existence. If charity or mercifulness, she will be charitable\nor merciful according to the latest devices and in the latest frocks.\nYes, and if war happens to be of the movement, she will be serious\nabout the war.\n\nYou observe how sarcastic I am about the social butterfly. It is\nnecessary to be so. The social butterfly never has since the earliest\ntimes been mentioned in print without sarcasm or pity, and she never\nwill be. She is greatly to be pitied. What is her aim? Her aim, like\nthe aim of most people except the very poor (whose aim is simply to\nkeep alive), is happiness. But the unfortunate creature, as you and\nI can so clearly see, has confused happiness with pleasure. She runs\nday and night after pleasure--that is to say, after distraction:\neating, drinking, posing, seeing, being seen, laughing, jostling, and\nthe singular delight of continual imitation. She is only alive in\npublic, and the whole of her days and nights are spent in being in\npublic, or in preparing to be in public, or in recovering from the\neffects of being in public. Habit drives her on from one excitement to\nanother. She flies eternally from something mysterious and sinister\nwhich is eternally overtaking her. You and I know that she is never\nhappy--she is only intoxicated or narcotised by a drug that she calls\npleasure. And her youth is going; her figure is going; her complexion\nis practically gone. She is laying up naught for the future save\ndisappointment, dissatisfaction, disillusion, and no doubt rheumatism.\nAnd all this inordinate, incredible folly springs from a wrong and\nchildish interpretation of the true significance of happiness.\n\n\n                                  II\n\nHow much wiser, you say, and indeed we all say, is that other young\nwoman who has chosen the part of content. She has come to terms with\nthe universe. She is not for ever gadding about in search of something\nwhich she has not got, and which not one person in a hundred round\nabout her has got. She has said: \u2018The universe is stronger than I am. I\nwill accommodate myself to the universe.\u2019\n\nAnd she acts accordingly. She makes the best of her lot. She treats\nher body in a sane manner, and she treats her mind in a sane manner.\nShe has perceived the futility of what is known as pleasure in circles\nwhere they play bridge and organise charity f\u00eates on the Field of\nthe Cloth of Gold. She has frankly admitted that youth is fleeting,\nand that part of it must be spent in making preparations against the\nrigours of old age. She seeks her pleasure in literature and the arts\nbecause such pleasure strengthens instead of weakening the mind,\nand never palls. She is prudent. She is aware that there can be no\nhappiness where duty has been left undone, and that loving-kindness\nis a main source of felicity. Hence she is attentive to duty, and\nshe practises the altruism which is at once the cause and the result\nof loving-kindness. She deliberately cultivates cheerfulness and\nresignation; she discourages discontent as gardeners discourage a weed.\nShe has duly noted that the kingdom of heaven is \u2018within you,\u2019 not near\nthe band at the expensive restaurant, nor in the trying-on room of the\nfashionable dressmaker\u2019s next door to the expensive restaurant, nor in\nthe _salons_ of the well-advertised great. Her life is reflected\nin her face, which is a much better face than the face of the social\nbutterfly. Whatever may occur--within reason--she is armed against\ndestiny, married or single.\n\n\n                                  III\n\nWhat can there be in common between these two types? Well, the point\nI am coming to is that they may have one tragic similarity which\nvitiates their lives equally, or almost equally. One may be vastly more\nadmirable than the other, and in many matters vastly more sensible.\nAnd yet they may both have made the same stupendous mistake: the\nmisinterpretation of the significance of the word happiness. Towards\nthe close of existence, and even throughout existence, the second, in\nspite of all her precautions, may suffer the secret and hidden pangs of\nunhappiness just as acutely as the first; and her career may in the\nend present itself to her as just as much a sham.\n\nAnd for the same reason. The social butterfly was running after\nsomething absurd, and the other woman knew that it was absurd and left\nit alone. But the root of the matter was more profound. The social\nbutterfly\u2019s chief error was not that she was running after something,\nbut that she was running away from something--something which I have\ndescribed as mysterious and sinister. And the other woman also may\nbe--and as a fact frequently is--running away from just that mysterious\nand sinister something. And that something is neither more nor less\nthan life itself in its every essence. Both may be afraid of life and\nmay have to pay an equal price for their cowardice. Both may have\nrefused to listen to the voice within them, and will suffer equally for\nthe wilful shutting of the ear.\n\n(It is true that the other woman may just possibly have a true vocation\nfor a career of resignation and altruism, and the spreading of a\nsort of content in a thin layer over the entire length of existence.\nIf so, well and good. But it is also true that the social butterfly\nmay have a true vocation for being a social butterfly, and the thick\nsquandering of a sort of pleasure on the earlier part of existence, to\nthe deprivation of the latter part. Then neither the one nor the other\nwill have been guilty of the cowardice of running away from life.)\n\nMy point is that you may take refuge in good works or you may take\nrefuge in bad works, but that the supreme offence against life lies in\ntaking refuge from it, and that if you commit this offence you will\nmiss the only authentic happiness--which springs no more from content\nand resignation than it springs from mere pleasure. It is indisputable\nthat the conscience can be, and is constantly narcotised as much by\nrelatively good deeds as by relatively bad deeds. Nevertheless, to\ndope the conscience is always a crime, and is always punished by the\nultimate waking up of the conscience.\n\n\n                                  IV\n\nTo take refuge from life is to refuse it. Life generally offers due\nscope for the leading instinct in a man or a woman; and sometimes it\noffers the scope at a very low price, at no price at all.\n\nFor example, a young man may have a very marked instinct for\nengineering, and his father may be a celebrated and wealthy engineer\nwho is only too anxious that the son should follow the same profession.\nLife has offered the scope and charged nothing for it.\n\nBut, on the other hand, a man may have a very marked instinct for\nauthorship, and his father may be a celebrated and wealthy engineer\nwho, being convinced that literature is an absurd and despicable\nprofession, has determined that his son shall not be an author but an\nengineer. \u2018Become an engineer,\u2019 says the father, \u2018and I will give you\nunique help, and you are a made man. Become an author, and you get\nnothing whatever from me except opposition.\u2019\n\nLife, however, which has provided the instinct for literature, has also\nprovided the scope for its fulfilment. The scope for young authors\nis vaster to-day on two continents than ever it was. But the price\nwhich in this case life quotes is very high. The young man hesitates.\nThe price quoted includes comfort, parental approval, domestic peace,\nmoney, luxury, and perhaps also a comfortable and not unsatisfactory\nmarriage. It includes practically all the ingredients of the mixture\ncommonly known as happiness. Of course, by following literature the\nyoung man may recover all and more than all the price paid. But also he\nmay not. The chances are about a hundred to one that he will not. He is\nrisking nearly everything in order to buy a ticket in a lottery.\n\nLet us say that, being a prudent and obedient young fellow, he declines\nto beggar himself for a ticket in a lottery. His instinct towards\nliterature has not developed very far; he sacrifices it and becomes\nthe engineer. By industry and goodwill and native brains he becomes\na very fair engineer, the prop of the firm, the aid, and in due\ncourse the successor, of his father. He treats his work-people well.\nHe marries a delightful girl, and he even treats her well. He has\ndelightful children. He is a terrific worldly success, and a model to\nhis fellow-creatures. That man\u2019s attention to duty, his altruism, his\nreal kindness, are the theme of conversation among all his friends. He\ntreats his conscience with the most extraordinary respect.\n\nAnd yet, if his instinct towards literature was genuine, he is not\nfundamentally happy, and when he chances to meet an author, or to read\nabout authors (even about their suicides of despair), or to be deeply\nimpressed by a book, he is acutely aware that he has committed the sin\nof taking refuge from life; he knows that the extraordinary respect\nwhich he pays to his conscience is at bottom a doping of that organ;\nhe perceives that the smooth path is in fact the rough path, and that\nthe rough path, which he dared not face, might have been, with all\nits asperities, the smooth one. His existence is a vast secret and\npoisonous regret; and there is nothing whatever to be done; there is no\nantidote for the poison; the dope is a drug--and insufficient at that.\n\n\n                                   V\n\nWomen, even in these latter days when reason is supposed to have\ngot human nature by the neck, have far greater opportunities and\ntemptations than men to run away from life. Indeed, many of them are\ntaught and encouraged to do so. The practice of the three ancient\ncardinal female virtues--shutting your eyes, stopping your ears, and\nburying your head in the sand--is very carefully inculcated; and then,\nof course, people turn round on young women and upbraid them because\nthey are afraid of existence! And, though things are changing, they\nhave not yet definitely changed. I would not blame a whole sex--no\nmatter which--for anything whatever. But to state a fact is not to\nblame. The fact is that women, when they get a chance, do show a\ntendency to shirk life. Large numbers of them come to grips with life\nsimply because they are compelled to do so. A woman whose material\nexistence is well assured will not as a rule go out into the world.\nFurther, she will not marry as willingly as the woman who needs a home\nand cannot see the prospect of it except through marriage. By which\nI mean to imply that with women the achievement of marriage is due\nless to the instinct to mate than to an economic instinct. Men are\nwicked animals and know not righteousness, but it may be said of them\ngenerally that with them the achievement of marriage _is_ due to\nthe instinct to mate.\n\nExamining the cases of certain women who put off marrying, I have been\nforced to the conclusion that their only reason for hesitating to\nmarry is that men are not perfect, and that to marry an imperfect man\ninvolves risk. It does, but the reason is not valid. Risk is the very\nessence of life, and the total absence of danger is equal to death.\nI do not say that to follow an unsatisfactory vocation and to fail in\nit is better than to follow no vocation. But I am inclined to say that\nany marriage is better than no marriage--for both sexes. And I think\nthat the most tragic spectacle on earth is an old woman metaphorically\nwrapped in cotton-wool who at some period of her career has refused\nlife because of the peril of inconvenience and unhappiness.\n\nBoth men and women can run away from life in ways far more subtle and\nless drastic than those which I have named. For the sake of clearness\nI have confined myself to rather crude and obvious examples of flight.\nThere are probably few of us who are not conscious of having declined\nat least some minor challenge of existence. And there are still fewer\nof us who can charge ourselves with having been consistently too bold\nin our desire to get the full savour of existence.\n\n\n                                  VI\n\nEach individual must define happiness for himself or herself. For my\npart, I rule out practically all the dictionary definitions. In most\ndictionaries you will find that the principal meaning attached to the\nword is \u2018good fortune\u2019 or \u2018prosperity.\u2019 Which is notoriously absurd.\nThen come such definitions as \u2018a state of well-being characterised\nby relative permanence, by dominantly agreeable emotion ... and by a\nnatural desire for its continuation.\u2019 This last is from Webster, and\nit is very clever. Yet I will have none of it, unless I am allowed to\ndefine the word \u2018well-being\u2019 in my own way.\n\nFor me, an individual cannot be in a state of well-being if any of his\nfaculties are permanently idle through any fault of his own. The full\nutilisation of all the faculties seems to me to be the foundation of\nwell-being. But I doubt if a full utilisation of all the faculties\nnecessarily involves the idea of good fortune, or prosperity, or\ntranquillity, or contentedness with one\u2019s lot, or even a \u2018dominantly\nagreeable emotion\u2019; very often it rather involves the contrary.\n\nIn my view happiness includes chiefly the idea of \u2018satisfaction after\nfull honest effort.\u2019 Everybody is guilty of mistakes and of serious\nmistakes, and the contemplation of these mistakes must darken, be it\never so little, the last years of existence. But it need not be fatal\nto a general satisfaction. Men and women may in the end be forced to\nadmit: \u2018I made a fool of myself,\u2019 and still be fairly happy. But no\none can possibly be satisfied, and therefore no one can in my sense be\nhappy, who feels that in some paramount affair he has failed to take\nup the challenge of life. For a voice within him, which none else can\nhear, but which he cannot choke, will constantly be murmuring:\n\n\u2018You lacked courage. You hadn\u2019t the pluck. You ran away.\u2019\n\nAnd it is happier to be unhappy in the ordinary sense all one\u2019s life\nthan to have to listen at the end to that dreadful interior verdict.\n\n\n\n\n                      SOME AXIOMS ABOUT WAR-WORK\n\n\n\n\n                      SOME AXIOMS ABOUT WAR-WORK\n\n\n                                   I\n\nTHIS essay concerns men, but it concerns women more.\n\nWhen citizens begin to learn, through newspapers and general rumour,\nthat voluntary war-work is afoot, and that volunteers are badly wanted,\nand that there is work for all who love their country, then those who\nlove their country are at once sharply divided into two classes--the\npeople to whom the work comes, and the people who have to go out to\nseek the work. The former are the people of prominent social position;\nthe latter are the remainder of the population. The prominent persons\nwill see work rolling up to their front doors in quantities huge\nenough to overthrow the entire house. The remainder will look out of\nthe window and see nothing at all unusual in the street. They are then\napt to say: \u2018This is very odd. There is much work to do. I am ready to\ndo my share. Why doesn\u2019t somebody come along and ask me to do it?\u2019 And\nthey feel rather hurt at the neglect, and finally they sigh: \u2018Well, if\nno one gives me anything to do, of course I can\u2019t do anything.\u2019\n\nSuch an attitude would be quite reasonable if society was like a\ntelephone-exchange, and anybody could get precisely the person he or\nshe was after by paying a girl a pound or two a week to stick plugs\ninto holes. But society not being like a telephone-exchange, the\nattitude is unreasonable. Patriots cannot expect the organisers of\nwar-work to run up and down streets knocking at doors and crying:\n\u2018Come! You are the very woman I need!\u2019 However much urgent war-work\nis waiting to be done, nine-tenths of the individuals who are anxious\nto do it will have to put themselves to a certain amount of trouble in\norder to discover the work, perhaps to a great deal of trouble. Having\nlocated the work, they may even have almost to beg for the privilege of\ndoing it. Again, they are rather hurt. They demand, why should they go\non their knees? They are not asking a favour.\n\nA woman will say:\n\n\u2018I went and offered my services. And he looked at me as if I was a\ndoubtful character, and you never heard such a cross-examination as I\nhad to go through! It was most humiliating.\u2019\n\nTrue! True! But could she reasonably expect the cross-examiner to see\ninto the inside of her head? The first use and the last use of the\ngift of speech is to ask questions. Moreover, respected madam, it is\nquite probable that the cross-examiner was not a bit suspicious, and\nthat his manner was simply due to dumbfoundedness, to mere inability\nto believe that so ideal a person as yourself had, so to speak, fallen\nfrom heaven straight into his net. And further, respected madam, are\nnot you yourself suspicious? If the cross-examiner had come to you,\ninstead of you going to him, might not your first thought have been:\n\u2018What advantage is he trying to gain by coming to me? I shall say No!\u2019\nIf it is true that people who ask for work are stared at, it is equally\ntrue that people who are asked to work also stare--a little haughtily.\nAnd when the latter graciously promise assistance, they often say to\nthemselves: \u2018I shall do as little as I can, because I\u2019m not going to be\ntaken advantage of.\u2019 And they almost invariably end by doing more than\nthey can, and by insisting on being taken advantage of. Human nature\nis mean, but it is also noble.\n\nAxiom: The preliminary trouble and weariness and annoyance incidental\nto getting the work are themselves a necessary and inevitable part of\nwar-work, just as much as bandaging the brows of heroes.\n\n\n                                  II\n\nLife is a continual passage from one illusion to another. No sooner\nhas the eager volunteer found out that the desire to help is apt to\nbe treated as evidence of a criminal disposition, and that war-work\nis as shy as deer in the depths of a forest--no sooner has he or she\ndiscovered these things than yet another discovery destroys yet another\nillusion. The war-work when brought to bay and caught is not the right\nkind of war-work. You--for I may as well admit that I am talking direct\nto the eager volunteer--you had expected something else. This war-work\nthat presents itself is either beneath your powers, or it is beyond\nyour powers; or it is unsuited to your individuality or to your social\nstation or to your health or to your hands or feet. You can scarcely\nsay what you had expected, but at any rate ... I will tell you what\nyou had expected. You had expected the ideal--work that showed you at\nyour best, picturesque work, interesting work, work free from monotony,\nwork of which you could see the immediate beautiful results, work which\ntaxed you without overtaxing you, really important work without the\nmoral risks attaching to real responsibility. Such was the work you\nhad expected, and the chances are ten to one that the work you have\nactually got is dull, monotonous, apparently futile; any fool could do\nit, though it is exhausting and inconvenient. Or, on the other hand,\nit is, while dull and monotonous, too exacting for a well-intentioned\nmediocre brain like yours (you don\u2019t actually mean that, but you try to\nbe modest)--in short it is not suitable work.\n\nAxiom: There is not enough suitable work to go round, nor the\nthousandth part of what would be enough. Unsuitableness is a\ncharacteristic of nearly all war-work. Lowering your great powers\ndown, or forcing your little powers up, to the level of the work\noffered--this, too, is part of war-work.\n\n\n                                  III\n\nAgain, you have to get away from the illusion that you can live a\nnew life and still keep on living the old life. Everybody, as has\nsomewhere been stated, possesses twenty-four hours in each day.\nEverybody occupies every one of his twenty-four hours. You do, though\nyou may think you don\u2019t. If you do not occupy them in labour then you\noccupy them in idleness; if not in usefulness, then in futility. Now\nidleness and futility are much more difficult to expel from hours\nwhich they have appropriated than labour and usefulness are difficult\nto expel. But if war-work is brought in, something will have to be\nexpelled. Habits of labour and usefulness are sometimes hard enough\nto change; habits of idleness and futility are still harder. If you\nwere previously spending your afternoons in giving and accepting\nelaborate afternoon teas, you will have more trouble in devoting\nyour afternoons to war-work than if you had been spending them, for\nexample, in the pursuit of knowledge. It is child\u2019s play to abandon the\npursuit of knowledge; no moral stamina is required; but to give up the\nexciting sociabilities of afternoon tea is a tremendous feat. So much\nso, that if you are a votary of this indigestive practice, you will\ninfallibly endeavour to persuade yourself at first: \u2018I can manage the\ntwo--war-work and afternoon teas as well. I can fit them in.\u2019\n\nYou cannot fit them in--at any rate successfully. The essence of\nwar-work is that it may not be fitted in. If it does not mean\nsacrifice, it means naught. Sacrifice is giving something for nothing.\nYou cannot give something and yet stick to it. Certain persons are\napt to buy an article to give away, and then are so pleased with\nthe article that they decide to keep it for themselves. They thus\nobtain for a period the sensation of benevolence without any ultimate\ncorresponding sacrifice. This is the nearest approach, that I know of,\nto giving something and yet sticking to it; but it has no relation\nwhatever to war-work.\n\nAxiom: If a tea-cup is full you cannot pour anything into it until you\nhave poured something out.\n\n\n                                  IV\n\nThe next, and the next to the last, illusion to go is a masterpiece\nof simple-mindedness, and yet nearly all who take up war-work are\nfound at first to be under its sway. It is the illusion that war-work,\nbeing a fine and noble thing, ought to change people\u2019s natures\nand dispositions, in such a manner as to produce the maximum of\nco-operating effort with the minimum of friction.\n\nNow the very heart of all war-work is the grand and awe-inspiring\ninstitution of the Committee. If you are engaged on war-work you\nare bound to sit on a Committee; or, in default of a Committee, a\nSub-Committee (which usually has more real power than the bumptious\nand unwieldy body that overlords it). And, if you are on neither a\nCommittee nor a Sub-Committee, then you are bound sooner or later to\nbe called up before a Committee or a Sub-Committee, and to be in a\nposition to give the Committee or Sub-Committee a piece of your mind.\nThus your legitimate ambition will somehow be satisfied.\n\nBut let us suppose that you are at once elected to a Committee. Well,\namong the members of the Committee are three persons you know--Miss X,\nMr. Y, and Mrs. Z. Miss X used to be a mannish and reckless and cheeky\nyoung maid. Mr. Y used to be an interfering and narrow-minded old maid.\nMrs. Z used to be nothing in particular. You enter the Committee-room,\nand you see these three, together with a few others who have not a\nvery promising air. (Probably no sight is more depressing than the\ncordon of faces round a Committee-room table.) You, however, are not\ndowncast. You feel in yourself the uplifting power of a great ideal.\nYou are determined to make the best of yourself and of everybody. And\nyou are convinced that everybody is determined to do the same. But in\nless than five minutes Miss X, despite her obvious lack of experience,\nis offering the most absurd proposals; she has put her elbows on the\ntable; and she is calmly teaching all her grandmothers to suck eggs.\nMr. Y is objecting to the ruling of the Chairman, and obstinately\narguing against a resolution that has been carried, and indeed implying\nthat the Committee ought not to do anything at all. As for Mrs. Z she\nhas scarcely opened her mouth; when the Chairman asked her for her\nopinion she blushed and said she rather agreed, and she voted both for\nand against the first resolution.\n\n\u2018Is it conceivable,\u2019 you exclaim in your soul, \u2018is it conceivable\nthat these individuals can behave so in such a supreme crisis of\nthe nation\u2019s history, at a moment when the nation has need of every\ncitizen\u2019s loyal goodwill, of every--?\u2019 etc. etc. \u2018No! They cannot have\nrealised that we are at war!\u2019\n\nAnd sundry other members of the Committee are not much better than\nthe ignoble three. Indeed, your faith in Committees is practically\ndestroyed. You say to yourself, with your blunt, vigorous common\nsense: \u2018If only the Committee would adjourn and leave the whole matter\nto me, I am sure I could manage it much better than they are doing.\u2019\nYou consider that a Committee is a device for wasting time and for\nflattering the conceit of opinionated fools.... Then Mr. Y becomes\nabsolutely impossible. You feel that you are prepared to stand a lot,\nbut that there is a limit and that Mr. Y has gone beyond it. You are\nready to work, and to work hard, but you cannot be expected to work\nwith people who are impossible. You decide to send in your resignation\nto the Chairman at once.\n\nI hope you will not send it in. For at least half the Committee are\nthinking just as you are thinking. And one or two of them are thinking\nthese things, not apropos of Miss X, Mr. Y, or Mrs. Z, but apropos of\nyou! And if you are startled at the spectacle of people persisting in\nbeing just themselves in war-work, then the fault is yours, and you\nshould be gently ashamed. You ought to have known that people are never\nmore themselves than in a great crisis, especially when the crisis is\nprolonged. You ought to be thankful that the Committee has unscaled\nyour eyes to so fundamental a truth. You have realised that we are\nat war,--you ought also to realise that it takes all sorts to make a\nworld, even a world at war. You ought to imagine what would happen if\nevery member of the Committee, like you, resigned because Mr. Y was\nimpossible, and thus left the impossible Mr. Y in possession of the\ntable and the secretary.\n\nAxiom: The most valorous and morally valuable war-work is the work of\nworking with impossible people.\n\nAnd may I warn you that you will later on, if you succeed as a\nwar-worker, encounter more terrible phenomena than Mr. Y, who at the\nworst can always be out-voted? You will encounter, for example, the\nfamous and fashionable lady who, justifiably relying on human nature\u2019s\nprofound and incurable snobbishness, will give all the hard work to you\nand those like you, while appropriating all the glory and advertisement\nfor herself. And, more terrible even than the famous and fashionable\nlady, you will run up against the Official Mind. The Official Mind is\nthe worst of all obstacles to getting things done. And the gravest\ndanger of the war-worker, particularly if he attains high rank on\nCommittees, is the danger of becoming official-minded himself.\n\n\n                                   V\n\nWhen you have proved that in war-work you are a decent human being--and\nyou will prove this by sticking to the work long after you are weary of\nit, and by refusing to fly off to something else because it promises\nto be more diverting and less annoying than your present job--then you\nwill part company with the war-workers\u2019 last illusion. Namely, the\nillusion that her efforts will meet with gratitude. Gratitude is going\nto be an extremely rare commodity, and it is not a very good thing to\nreceive, anyhow. You see, there will be so few people with leisure to\ndevote to gratitude. Everybody is or will be war-working. Even soldiers\nand sailors are doing something for the war, though to listen to some\ncivilians one would suppose the military side of war to be relatively\nquite unimportant. No! Gratitude will not choke the market. On the\ncontrary, criticism will be rife, for we are all experts in war-work.\nThe highest hope of the average war-worker must be to escape censure.\nOfficial food-controllers, who are possibly the supreme type of\nwar-worker, are thankful if they escape with their heads. And herein is\na great lesson.\n\nAxiom: The reward of war-work will be in the treaty of peace.\n\n\n\n\n                            THE DIARY HABIT\n\n\n\n\n                            THE DIARY HABIT\n\n\n                                   I\n\nLET us consider, first, a strange quality of the written word.\n\nThe spoken word is bad enough. Such things as misfortunes, blunders,\nsins, and apprehensions become more serious when they have been\ndescribed even in conversation. A woman who secretly fears cancer\nwill fear it much more once she has mentioned her fear to another\nperson. The spoken word has somehow given reality to her fear. But the\nwritten word is far more formidable than the spoken word. It is said\nthat the ignorant and the uncultured have a superstitious dread of\nwriting. The dread is not superstitious; it is based on a mysterious\nand intimidating phenomenon which nearly anybody can test for himself.\nThe fact is that almost all people are afraid of writing--I mean true,\nhonest writing. Vast numbers of people hate and loathe it, as though\nit were a high explosive that might suddenly go off and blow them to\npieces. (That is one reason why realistic novels never have a very\nlarge sale.) But the difference between one man\u2019s dread of writing\nand another man\u2019s dread of writing is merely a difference of degree,\nnot of kind. And if any among you asserts that he has no fear of the\nwritten word, merely because it is written, let him try the following\nexperiment.\n\nTake--O exceptional individual!--take some concealed and blameworthy\naction or series of thoughts of your own. I do not mean necessarily\nmurder or embezzlement; not everybody has committed murder or\nembezzlement, or even desires to do so; I mean some matter--any\nmatter--of which you are so ashamed, or about which you are so\nnervous, that you have never mentioned it to a soul. All of us--even\nyou--have such matters hidden beneath waistcoat or corsage. Write down\nthat matter; put it in black and white. The chances are that you won\u2019t;\nthe chances are that you will find some excuse for not writing it down.\n\nYou may say:\n\n\u2018Ah! But suppose some one happened to see it!\u2019\n\nTo which I would reply:\n\n\u2018Write it and lock it up in your safe.\u2019\n\nTo which you may rejoin:\n\n\u2018Ah! But I might lose the key of the safe and some one might find it\nand open the safe. Also I might die suddenly.\u2019\n\nTo which I would retort:\n\n\u2018If you are dead you needn\u2019t mind discovery.\u2019\n\nTo which you might respond:\n\n\u2018How do you know that if I was dead I needn\u2019t mind discovery?\u2019\n\nWell, I will yield you that point, and still prove to you that your\nobjection to the written word does not spring from the fear of\ngiving yourself away. The experiment shall be performed under strict\nconditions.\n\nEmpty your house of all its inhabitants save yourself. Lock the\nfront-door and the back-door. Go upstairs to your own room. Lock the\ndoor of your own room. Pile furniture before the door, so that you\ncannot possibly be surprised. Light a fire. Place the writing-table\nnear the fire. Arrange it so that at the slightest alarm of discovery\nyou can with a single movement thrust your writing into the fire. Then\nbegin to write down that of which you are ashamed. You are absolutely\nsafe. Nevertheless you will hesitate to write. And you will not have\ngot very far in your narration before you find yourself writing down\nsomething that is not quite so unpleasant as the truth, or before you\nfind yourself omitting some detail which ought not to be omitted. You\nwill have great difficulty in forcing yourself to be utterly frank on\npaper. You may fail in being utterly frank; you probably will so fail;\nmost people do. When you have finished and hold the document in your\nhand, you will start guiltily if the newly moved furniture creaks in\nfront of the door. You will read through the document with discomfort\nand constraint. And you will stick it in the fire and watch it burn\nwith a very clear feeling of relief.\n\nWhy all these strange sensations? You could not have been caught in the\nact. Moreover, there was nothing on the paper of which you were not\nfully aware, and which you had not fully realised. Nobody can write\ndown that which he does not know and realise. Quite possibly the whole\nmatter had been thoroughly familiar to you, a commonplace of your\nbrain, for weeks, months, years. Quite possibly you had recalled every\ndetail of it hundreds of times, and it had never caused you any grave\ninconvenience. But, instantly it is written down it becomes acutely,\nintolerably disturbing--so much so that you cannot rest until the\nwritten word is destroyed. You are precisely the same man as you were\nbefore beginning to write; naught is altered; you have committed no\nnew crime. But you have a new shame. I repeat, why? The only immediate\nanswer is that the honest written word possesses a mysterious and\nintimidating power. This power has to do with the sense of sight. You\nsee something. You do not see your action or your thoughts as it might\nbe on the cinema screen--happily!--but you do see _something_ in\nregard to the matter.\n\n\n                                  II\n\nThe above considerations are offered to that enormous class of people,\nspringing up afresh every year, who say to themselves: \u2018I will keep\na diary and it shall be absolutely true.\u2019 You may keep a diary, but\nbeyond question it will not be absolutely true. You will be lucky, or\nyou must be rather gifted, if it is not studded with untruths. You\nprotest that you have a well-earned reputation for veracity. I would\nnot doubt it. When I say \u2018untruths\u2019 I do not mean, for instance, that\nif the day was beautifully fine you would write in your diary: \u2018A very\nwet day to-day; went for a walk and got soaked through.\u2019 I am convinced\nthat you would be above such lying perversions. But also I am convinced\nthat if a husband and wife, both as veracious and conscientious as\nyourself, had a quarrel and described the history of the quarrel\neach in a private diary, the two accounts would by no means coincide,\nand the whole truth would be in neither of them. Some people start a\ndiary as casually as they start golf, stamps, or a new digestive cure.\nWhereas to start a diary ought to be a solemn and notable act, done\nwith a due appreciation of the difficulties thereby initiated. The very\nessence of a diary is truth--a diary of untruth would be pointless--and\nto attain truth is the hardest thing on earth. To attain partial truth\nis not a bit easy, and even to avoid falsehood is decidedly a feat.\n\n\n                                  III\n\nHaving discouraged, I now wish to encourage. Many who want to keep\ndiaries and who ought to keep diaries do not, because they are too\ndiffident. They say: \u2018My life is not interesting enough.\u2019 I ask:\n\u2018Interesting to whom? To the world in general or to themselves?\u2019 It\nis necessary only that a life should be interesting to the person who\nlives that life. If you have a desire to keep a diary, it follows that\nyour existence is interesting to you. Otherwise obviously you would not\nwish to make a record of it. The greatest diarists did not lead very\npalpitating lives. Ninety-five per cent. of _Pepys\u2019s Diary_ deals\nwith tiny daily happenings of the most banal sort--such happenings as\nwe all go through. If Pepys re-read his entries the day after he wrote\nthem, he must have found them somewhat tedious. Certainly he had not\nthe slightest notion that he was writing one of the great outstanding\nbooks of English literature.\n\nBut diaries are the opposite of novels, in that time increases instead\nof decreasing their interest. After a reasonable period every sentence\nin a diary blossoms into interest, and the diarist simply cannot be\ndull--any more than a great wit such as Sidney Smith could be unfunny.\nIf Sidney Smith asked Helen to pass him the salt, the entire table\nroared with laughter because it was inexplicably so funny. If the\ndiarist writes in his diary, \u2018I asked Helen to pass me the salt,\u2019\nwithin three years he will find the sentence inexplicably interesting\nto himself. In thirty years his family will be inexplicably interested\nto read that on a certain day he asked Helen to pass him the salt. In\nthree hundred years a whole nation will be reading with inexplicable\nand passionate interest that centuries earlier he asked Helen to pass\nhim the salt, and critics will embroider theories upon both Helen\nand the salt and will even earn a living by producing new annotated\neditions of Helen and the salt. And if the diary turns up after three\nthousand years, the entire world will hum with the inexplicable\nthrilling fact that he asked Helen to pass him the salt; which\nfact will be cabled round the globe as a piece of latest news; and\nimmediately afterwards there will be cabled round the globe the views\nof expert scholars of all nationalities on the problem whether, when\nhe had asked Helen to pass him the salt, Helen did actually pass him\nthe salt, or not. Timid prospective diarists in need of encouragement\nshould keep this great principle in mind.\n\nYou will say:\n\n\u2018But what do I care about posterity? I would not keep a diary for the\nsake of posterity.\u2019\n\nPossibly not, but some people would. Some people, if they thought their\ndiaries would be read three hundred years hence, or even a hundred\nyears hence, would begin diaries to-morrow and persevere with them to\nthe day of death. Some people of course are peculiar. And I admit that\nI am of your opinion. The thought of posterity leaves me stone cold.\n\nThere is only one valid reason for beginning a diary--namely, that you\nfind pleasure in beginning it; and only one valid reason for continuing\na diary--namely, that you find pleasure in continuing it. You may find\nprofit in doing so, but that is not the main point--though it is a\npoint. You will most positively experience pleasure in reading it after\na long interval; but that is not the main point either--though it is an\nimportant point. A diary should find its sufficient justification in\nthe writing of it. If the act of writing is not its own reward, then\nlet the diary remain for ever unwritten.\n\n\n                                  IV\n\nBut beware of that word \u2018writing\u2019. Just as some persons are nervous\nwhen entering a drawing-room (or even a restaurant!), so some persons\nare nervous when taking up a pen. All persons, as I have tried to show,\nare nervous about the psychological effects of the written word, but\nsome persons--indeed many--are additionally nervous about the mere\nbusiness of writing the word. They begin to hanker, with awe, after\na mysterious ideal known as \u2018correct style.\u2019 They are actually under\nthe delusion that writing is essentially different from talking--a\nsecret trade process!--and they are not aware that he who says or\nthinks interesting things can write interesting things, and that he who\ncan make himself understood in speech can make himself understood in\nwriting--if he goes the right way to work!\n\nI have known people, especially the young, who could discourse on\nthemselves in the most attractive manner for hours, and yet who simply\ncould not discover in their heads sufficient material for a short\nletter. They would bemoan: \u2018I can\u2019t think of anything to say.\u2019 It was\ntrue. And, of course, they could not think of anything to _say_,\nthe reason being that they were trying to think of something to\n_write_, and very wrongly assuming that writing is necessarily\ndifferent from saying! Writing may be different from saying, but it\nneed not be different, and for the diarist it should not be different.\nAnd, above all, it should not be superficially different. The\ninexperienced, when they use ink, have a pestilent notion that saying\nhas to be translated or transmogrified into writing. They conceive an\nidea in spoken words, and then they subconsciously or consciously ask\nthemselves: \u2018I should say it like that--but how ought I to write it?\u2019\nThey alter the forms of their sentences. They worry about grammar and\nphrase-construction and even spelling. As for grammar and spelling, in\nthe greatest age of English literature neither subject was understood,\nand no writer could be trusted either in spelling or in grammar.\nTo this day very few writers of genius are to be trusted either in\nspelling or in grammar. As for phrase-construction, the phrase that\ncomes to your tongue is more likely to be well constructed than the\nphrase which you bring forcibly into being at the point of your pen.\nIf you know enough grammar to talk comprehensibly, you know enough to\nwrite comprehensibly, and you need not trouble about anything else; in\nfact, you ought not to do so, and you must not. Formality in a diary is\na mistake. Write as you think, as you speak, and it may be given to you\nto produce literature. But if while you are writing you remember that\nthere is such a thing as literature, you will assuredly never produce\nliterature.\n\nThis does not mean that you are entitled to write anyhow, without\nthought and without effort. Not a bit. Good diaries are not achieved\nthus. Although you may and should ignore the preoccupations of what I\nwill call, sarcastically, \u2018literary composition,\u2019 you must have always\nbefore you the ideal of effectively getting your thought on to the\npaper. You would, sooner or later, _say_ your thought effectively,\nbut in writing it down some travail is needed to imagine what the\nperhaps unstudied spoken words would be. And also, the memory must\nbe fully and honestly exercised to recall the scene or the incident\ndescribed. By carelessness you run the risk of \u2018leaving out the\ninteresting part.\u2019 By being conscientious you ensure that the maximum\nof interest is attained.\n\nLastly, it is necessary to conquer the human objection to hard labour\nof any sort. It is not a paradox to assert that man often dislikes\nthe work which he likes. For myself, every day anew, I hate to start\nwork. You may end your day with the full knowledge that you have had\nexperiences that day worthy to go into the diary, which experiences\nremain in your mind obstinately. And yet you hate to open the diary,\nand even when you have opened it you hate to put your back into the\nbusiness of writing. You are tempted to write without reflection,\nwithout order, and too briefly. To resist the temptation to be slack\nand casual and second-rate involves constant effort. Diary-keeping\nshould be a pastime, but properly done it is also a task--like many\nother pastimes. I have kept a diary for over twenty-one years,\nand I know a little about it. I know more than a little about the\nremorse--alas, futile!--which follows negligence. In diary-keeping\nnegligence cannot be repaired. That which is gone is gone beyond\nreturn.\n\n\n\n\n                 A DANGEROUS LECTURE TO A YOUNG WOMAN\n\n\n\n\n                 A DANGEROUS LECTURE TO A YOUNG WOMAN\n\n\n                                   I\n\nIT was at a war-charity sale, in a hot, crowded public room of\na fashionable hotel, amid the humorous bellowings of an amateur\nauctioneer and the guffaws of amused bidders, that this thing happened\nto me. A young woman was passing, and, as she passed, she looked and\nstopped, and abruptly charged me with being myself. I admitted the\nundeniable.\n\n\u2018I hope you\u2019ll excuse me,\u2019 she said. \u2018I\u2019ve read all your books.\u2019\n\n\u2018The usual amiable chatter,\u2019 I thought, and made aloud my usual,\nstilted, self-conscious reply to such a conversational opening:\n\n\u2018You must have worked very hard.\u2019\n\nShe frowned--just a little frown in the middle of her forehead. She\nwas very well-dressed (which is not a fault), and she had a pleasant,\nsympathetic, serious face. She said:\n\n\u2018I\u2019ve often wanted to tell you; in fact, I thought I ought to tell you\nabout all those little books of yours about life and improving oneself,\nand being efficient and not wasting time, and so on, and so on. They\u2019re\nvery nice to read, but they\u2019ve never done me any good--practically.\u2019\nShe smiled.\n\n(No; it was not to be the usual amiable chatter!)\n\n\u2018I\u2019m sorry,\u2019 I said. \u2018But, of course, books don\u2019t act by themselves.\nYou can\u2019t expect them to be of much practical good until you begin to\nput them into practice.\u2019\n\n\u2018But that\u2019s just the point,\u2019 she answered. \u2018I can\u2019t _begin_ to put\nthem into practice. I can\u2019t resolve, and I can\u2019t concentrate, and I\ncan\u2019t clench my teeth and make up my mind. And if I do make a sort of\nstart, it\u2019s a failure after the first day. And this goes on year after\nyear. No use blaming me--I can\u2019t help myself. I want awfully--but I\ncan\u2019t.\u2019\n\n\u2018But _what_ do you want?\u2019\n\n\u2018I want to make the best of myself. I want to stop wasting time and to\nperfect my \u201chuman machine.\u201d I want to succeed in life. I want to live\nproperly and bring out all my faculties. Only, you see, I haven\u2019t got\nany resolution. I simply have not got it in me. You tell me to make\nup my mind, steel myself, resolve, stick to it, and so forth. Well, I\njust can\u2019t. And yet I do want to. You\u2019ve never dealt with my case--and,\nwhat\u2019s more, I don\u2019t think you can deal with it. I hope you\u2019ll pardon\nall this bluntness. But I thought that, as a student of human nature,\nyou might be interested.\u2019\n\nI stood silent for a moment. She bowed with much charm and fled away.\nI gazed everywhere. But she was lost in the huge room. I could not\nvery well run in pursuit of her--these things are not done in literary\ncircles. She had vanished. And I knew naught of her. She might be young\ngirl, young wife, young mother, anything--but I knew naught of her\nexcept that she had a sympathetic, rather sad face, and that she had\nleft an arrow quivering in my side.\n\n\n                                  II\n\nA few hours later, however, I spoke to the young creature as follows:\n\n\u2018It seems to me that you may have been running your delightful head\nup against an impossible proposition. Perhaps you have been hoping to\n_create_ energy in yourself. Now, you cannot create energy, either\nin yourself or elsewhere. Nobody can. You can only set energy free,\nloosen it, transform it, direct it.\n\n\u2018You may take a ton of coal and warm a house with it. The heat-energy\nof the coal is transformed, set free, and directed to a certain\npurpose. But if you try to warm the house by means of open coal fires\nin old-fashioned fire-grates, you will warm the chimneys and some of\nthe air above the chimneys--and yet the rooms of the house will not be\nappreciably warmer than they were when you began. On the other hand,\nyou may take a ton of exactly the same kind of coal and by means of\na steam-heating system in the cellar warm the rooms of the house to\nsuch an extent that you have to wear your summer clothes in the depth\nof winter. The steam-heating system, however, has not increased the\nheat-energy of the coal; it has merely set free, utilised, and directed\nthe heat-energy of the coal in a common-sense--that is to say, a\nscientific--manner. No amount of common sense and ingenuity will get\nas much heat-energy out of half a ton as out of a ton of coal. You may\ndevise the most marvellous steam-heating system that exists on this\nside of the grave, but if there is no fuel in the furnace, or if there\nis in the furnace a quantity of coal inadequate to the size of the\nhouse, the house will never be comfortable except for polar bears and\nlovers. The available coal is the prime factor.\n\n\u2018Well, an individual is born with a certain amount of energy--and\nno more. Just as you cannot pour five quarts out of a gallon (as a\nrule, you cannot pour even four quarts), so you cannot extract from\nthat individual more energy than there is in him. And, what is more\nimportant, you cannot put additional quantities of energy into him. You\nmay sometimes seem to be putting energy into him, but you are not; you\nare simply setting his original energy free, applying a match to the\ncoal or fanning the fire. An individual is an island on whose rocky\nshores no ship can ever land that most mysterious commodity--energy.\nYou may transfuse blood, but not the inexplicable force that makes the\nheart beat and defies circumstance.\n\n\u2018Some individuals appear to lack energy, when, as a fact, they are full\nof energy which is merely dormant, waiting for the match, or waiting\nfor direction. Other individuals appear to lack energy, and, in fact,\ndo lack energy. And you cannot supply their need any more than you can\nstop their hair from growing.\n\n\u2018No, young lady; it is useless to interrupt me by asking me to define\nwhat I mean by the word \u201cenergy.\u201d To define some words is to cripple\nthem. You know well enough what I mean by energy. I mean the most\nfundamental thing in you.\n\n\u2018Being a reasonable woman, you admit this--and then go on to demand,\nfirst, how you can be quite sure whether you have been born with a\nlarge or medium or a small quantity of energy, and, second, how you can\nbe quite sure that you have not lots of energy lying dormant within\nyou. You cannot be quite sure of anything. This is not a perfect world.\n\n\u2018But, as regards the second part of your question, you can be\nreasonably sure after a certain number of years--I will not suggest\nhow many--that energy is not lying dormant within you, awaiting the\nmatch. It is impossible for anybody indefinitely to continue to wander\nin a world full of lighted matches without one day encountering the\nparticular match that will set fire to _his_ fuel. And beware of\nthat match, for sometimes the result of the contact is an explosion\nwhich shatters everything in the vicinity. If you have dormant energy,\none day it will wake up and worry you, and you will know it is there.\n\n\u2018As regards the first part of your question, the usual index of the\namount of energy possessed by an individual is the intensity of the\ndesires of that individual. It is desire that uses energy. Strong\ndesires generally betoken much energy, and they are definite desires.\nWithout desires, energy is rendered futile. Nobody will consume energy\nin action unless he desires to perform the action, either for itself or\nas a means to a desired end.\n\n\u2018But now you complain that I am once more avoiding your case. You\nassert that you have desires without the corresponding energy or\ncorresponding will to put them into execution. I doubt it. I do not\nadmit it. You must not confuse vague, general aspirations with desire.\nA real desire is definite, concrete. If you have a real desire, you\nknow what you want. You cannot merely want--you are bound to want\nsomething.\n\n\u2018Further, to want something only at intervals, when the mind is\notherwise unoccupied, is no proof of a real desire; it amounts to\nnothing more than a sweet, sad diversion, a spiritual pastime, a simple\nand pleasant way of making yourself believe that you are a serious\nperson. The desire which indicates great energy is always there,\nworrying. It is an obsession; it is a nuisance; it is a whip and a\nscorpion; it has no mercy.\n\n\u2018And individuals having immense energy have commonly been actuated by\na single paramount desire, which monopolises and canalises all their\nforce. The pity is that these individuals have become the special\nsymbols of success. When they have achieved their single paramount\ndesire, they are said to have \u201cgot on,\u201d to have succeeded. And every\none points an admiring finger at them and cries, \u201cThis is success in\nlife!\u201d And the majority of books about success in life deal with this\nparticular brand of success, and assume that it is the only brand\nof success worth a bilberry, and exhort all people to imitate the\nnotorious exemplars of the art of \u201cgetting on\u201d and in that narrow\nsense. Which is absurd.\n\n\u2018And now, perhaps, we both feel that I am at last approaching your case.\n\n\u2018But I do not wish to be personal. Let us take the case of Mr. Flack,\nwho died last week, unknown. His discerning friends said of him:\n\u201cHe had a wonderful financial gift. If he\u2019d concentrated on it, he\nmight have rivalled Harriman. But he wouldn\u2019t concentrate either on\nthat or on anything else. He was interested in too many different\nsubjects--books, pictures, music, travel, physical science, love,\neconomics--in fact, everything interested him, and he was always\ninterested in something. He was too all-round. He frittered his\nenergy away, and wasted enormous quantities of time. And so he never\nsucceeded.\u201d\n\n\u2018Such was the verdict of some of Flack\u2019s admirers. But it occurs to me\nthat Flack may have succeeded after all. Certainly he did not succeed\nin being a financial magnate. But he succeeded in being interested\nin a large number of things, and therefore in having a wide mind. He\nsucceeded in being always interested. And he succeeded in not being\nlop-sided, which men of one supreme desire as a rule are. (Men who are\nsuccessful in the narrow sense generally pay a fearful price for their\nsuccess.) His friends regret that he wasted his time, but really, if he\naccomplished all that he admittedly did accomplish, he couldn\u2019t have\nwasted a very great deal of time.\n\n\u2018Quite possibly the late Mr. Flack used to wake up in the night and\ncurse himself because he could not concentrate, and because he could\nnot stick to one thing, and because he wasted his time, and because,\nwith all his gifts, he did not materially progress, and because he made\nno impression on the great public. Quite possibly, in moments of gloom,\nhe had regrets about the dissipation of his energy. But he could not\nhonestly have regarded himself as a failure.\n\n\u2018I should like to know why it is necessarily more righteous to confine\none\u2019s energy to a single direction than to let it spread out in various\ndirections. It is not more righteous. If a man has one imperious\ndesire, his righteousness is to satisfy it fully. But if a man has many\nmild, equal desires, _his_ righteousness is to satisfy all of them\nas reasonably well as circumstances permit. And I see no reason why\none should be deemed more successful than the other.\n\n\u2018Yes, young woman; I know what your excellent modesty is going to\nsay. It is going to say that the late Mr. Flack did show energy,\nthough he \u201cfrittered it away,\u201d and that you do not show energy.\nNow, I do not want to defend you against yourself (for possibly\nyou enjoy denouncing yourself and proving that you are worthless).\nNevertheless, I would point out that energy is often used in ways quite\nunsuspected. Energy is a very various thing. Some people use energy\nin arranging time-tables and sticking to them, and in clenching their\nteeth and making terrific resolves and executing them, and in never\nwasting a moment, and in climbing--climbing. And this is all very\nlaudable. But energy can be used in other ways--in contemplation, in\nself-understanding, in understanding other people, in pleasing other\npeople, in appreciating the world, in lessening the friction of life.\n\n\u2018I have personally come across persons--especially women--who were\nidle, who were mentally inefficient, who made no material contribution\nto the enterprise of remaining alive, but whose mere manner of\nexistence was such that I would say to them in my heart, \u201cIt is enough\nfor me that you exist.\u201d\n\n\u2018We have all of us come across such persons. And the world would be a\nmarkedly inferior sort of place if they did not exist exactly as they\nare.\n\n\u2018You, dear young woman, may or may not be one of these. I cannot\ndecide. But, anyhow, if you are not one of the hard-striving, resolute,\npersevering, teeth-clenching, totally efficient, one-ideaed, ambitious\nspecies, you need not despair.\n\n\u2018Imagine what the world would be like if we were all ruthlessly\nset on \u201csucceeding\u201d! It would be like a scene of carnage. And it is\nconceivable that you are, in fact, much more efficient than you think,\nand that you are wasting much less time than you think, and that you\nare employing much more energy than you think. You complained that\nyou lacked resolution, which means that you lacked one steady desire.\nBut perhaps your steady desire and resolution are so instinctive, so\nprofoundly a part of you, that they function without being noticed.\nAnd if you do indeed lack one steady desire and the energy firmly to\nresolve--well, you just do. And you will have to be content with your\nlot. Why envy others? An over-mastering desire and its accompanying\nenergy are not necessarily to be envied.\n\n\u2018A dangerous doctrine, you say. You say that I am leaving the door open\nto sloth and slackness and other evils. You say that I am finding an\nexcuse for every unserious person under the sun. Perhaps so; but what\nI have said is true, and I will not be afraid of the truth because it\nhappens to be dangerous. Moreover, every person ought to know in his\nheart whether or not he is conducting his existence satisfactorily. But\nhe must interrogate his conscience fairly. It is not fair, either to\none\u2019s conscience or to oneself, to listen to it always, for example, in\nthe desolating dark hour before the dawn, and never to listen to it,\nfor example, after one has had a good meal or a good slice of any sort\nof honest pleasure.\n\n\u2018And, lastly, I have mentioned envy. We are apt to mistake mere envy\nof the successful for an individual desire to succeed. Yet an envious\nrealisation of all the advantages (and none of the disadvantages) of\nsuccess is scarcely the same thing as a genuine instinct for \u201cgetting\non\u201d--is it?\u2019\n\n\n                                  III\n\nThis long speech which I made to the young, dissatisfied creature might\nhave been extremely effective if I could have made it to her face. I\nought, however, to mention that I did not make it to her face. I have\nbeen reporting a harangue which I delivered in the sleepless middle of\nthe night to her imagined image. It is easier to be effective in reply\nwhen the argumentative opponent is not present.\n\n\n\n\n                          THE COMPLETE FUSSER\n\n\n\n\n                          THE COMPLETE FUSSER\n\n\n                                   I\n\nFREQUENTERS of lunatic asylums are familiar with the person who, being\nconvinced that he is a poached egg, continually demands to be put on\nhot toast, and is continually unhappy because nobody will put him on\nhot toast. This man is quite harmless; he is merely a bore by reason of\na ridiculous delusion about the fulfilment of his true destiny being\nbound up with hot toast; in character he is one of the most amiable\nindividuals that ever lived, amiable even to the point of offering\nhimself for consumption to those of his fellow-patients who are hungry,\nand who happen to fancy a poached egg with their tea. Nevertheless, on\nthe score of his undeniable delusion he is segregated from ordinary\nsociety, and indeed imprisoned for life. Such may be the consequence of\na delusion.\n\nBut not all deluded people are treated alike. A lady went for the\nweek-end to stay in a country cottage. Now, this lady was accustomed to\nsmoke a cigarette in her bath of a morning.\n\nLet there be no mistake. She was a perfectly respectable lady. In\nformer days respectable ladies neither smoked cigarettes nor took\nbaths. The one habit was nearly as disreputable as the other. In the\npresent epoch they do both with impunity, and though possibly a section\nof the public may consider that while for a woman to smoke a cigarette\nis quite nice, and for a woman to have a bath is quite nice, to smoke a\ncigarette in a bath is not quite nice for a woman, that section of the\npublic is in a very small minority and should therefore be howled down.\n\nAnyhow the lady in question was everything that a lady ought to be. She\nwas in fact a well-known social worker and writer on social subjects.\nOn the Sunday morning a terrible rumour was propagated throughout the\ncountry cottage. The lady did not smoke merely a cigarette in her\nbath--she smoked a special brand of cigarette in her bath. And she\nhad forgotten to bring a due supply of the special brand, and her\ncigarette-case had been emptied on the previous night. It became known\nthat she was in a fearful state, and would not be comforted. The brand\nwas Egyptian. At first none but the brand would do for her, but after a\nperiod of agony she announced that she was ready to smoke any Egyptian\nor Turkish cigarette. The cottage, however, was neither Egyptian nor\nTurkish, but a Virginian cottage. She could not be induced to try a\nVirginian cigarette, and the cottage was miles from anywhere, and the\nday was the Sabbath.\n\nShe came downstairs miserable, unnerved, futile, a nuisance to herself\nand to her hosts. She could not discuss important social matters,\nwhich she had come on purpose to discuss. She could do naught except\nsympathise with herself, and this she did on a tremendous scale. In the\nafternoon a visitor called who possessed Egyptian cigarettes. The lady\ngot one, and at the first puff was instantly restored to her normal\ncondition. The hot toast had been brought to the poached egg.\n\nThe lady, I maintain, was suffering from a delusion at least as\noutrageous as the poached egg delusion, the delusion that her body and\nbrain could not function properly--in other words that her destiny\ncould not be fulfilled--unless she took into her mouth at a certain\ntime a particular variety of gaseous fluid scarcely distinguishable\nfrom a thousand other similar varieties of gaseous fluid. Her physical\nperceptions were not at all delicate. Like most women, for example,\nshe could not tell the difference between tea stewed and tea properly\ninfused. If a Virginian cigarette had been falsely marked in an\nEgyptian manner she would have smoked it with gusto. And if she had\nbeen smoking in the dark she could not have told whether her cigarette\nwas in or out--unless she inhaled.\n\nThe delusion was nothing but a delusion. Her mind, by a habitual\nprocess, had imagined it, and she had ended by being victimised by\nit. She had ended by seriously believing that she was physically and\nspiritually dependent upon a factor which had no appreciable power\nbeyond the power mistakenly and insanely attributed to it by her morbid\nimagination.\n\nBut, did any one suggest that she ought to be confined in a lunatic\nasylum? Assuredly not. If ever she goes to a lunatic asylum it will\nbe as a visitor, to smile superiorly at the man whose welfare depends\nutterly on hot toast. From the moral height of a cigarette she will\npity hot toast.\n\nFar from scheming to get the lady into a lunatic asylum, her hosts were\nextraordinarily sympathetic, and even when they were by themselves the\nworst thing they said was:\n\n\u2018Poor thing! She\u2019s rather fussy about cigarettes.\u2019\n\n\n                                  II\n\nNo one, I think, will assert that I have overdrawn the picture of\na person victimised by a delusion and yet not inhabiting a lunatic\nasylum. Every one will be able out of his own experience of the world\nto match my example with examples of his own. And indeed there are few\nof us who are not familiar with at least one example immensely worse\nthan the lady who staked her daily existence on getting an Egyptian\ncigarette in her bath. Few of us have not met the gentleman who can\nonly be described as \u2018the complete fusser.\u2019\n\nThis gentleman has slowly convinced himself that the proper fulfilment\nof his destiny depends absolutely upon about ten thousand different\nthings. All things of course have their importance, but this gentleman\nattaches a supreme and quite fatal importance to all the ten thousand\nthings. He begins to be fussy on waking up, and he stops being fussy\nwhen he goes to sleep. He may not smoke a cigarette in his bath, but he\nwill probably keep a thermometer in his bath because he is convinced\nthat there is a \u2018right\u2019 temperature for the bath-water, and that any\nother temperature would impair his efficiency. He may detest smoking,\nin which case he will probably have rigid ideas about the precise sort\nof woven stuff he must wear next to his skin. He may be almost any\nkind of character, and yet be fussy. He may be so tidy that he cannot\nexist in a room, either in his own house or in anybody else\u2019s, until he\nhas been round the walls and made all the pictures exactly horizontal.\nHe may be so untidy that if his wife privily tidies his desk he is put\noff work for the rest of the day. He may be so fond of open air that he\ncan only sleep with his head out of a window, or so afraid of open air\nthat a draught deranges all his activities for a fortnight. He may be\nso regular that he kisses his wife by the clock, or so irregular that\nhe is never conscious of appetite until a meal has been going cold for\nhalf an hour. And so on endlessly.\n\nBut whatever he does and thinks he does and thinks under the conviction\nthat if he did and thought otherwise the consequences would be\ndisastrous to himself if not to others. Whereas the truth is that to\nchange all his habits from morn to eve would result in great benefit\nto him. He spends his days attaching vast quantities of importance to a\nvast number of things. Whereas the truth is, that scarcely any of the\nsaid things are important in more than the slightest degree. He is the\nvictim of not one delusion but of hundreds of delusions, and especially\nthe grand delusion that the world is ready to come to an end on the\nmost trifling provocation.\n\nBut there is no hope of him being sent to join the poached egg in the\nlunatic asylum. His friends are content to say of him:\n\n\u2018He\u2019s rather a particular man.\u2019\n\nTrue, his enemies scorn and objurgate him, and proclaim him pernicious\nto society. You naturally are his enemy, and you scorn him. But you\nshould beware how you scorn him, because you may unconsciously be on\nthe way to becoming a complete fusser yourself. All of us--or at\nany rate ninety-nine out of every hundred of us--have within us the\ninsidious microbe of fussiness.\n\n\n                                  III\n\nThe way to becoming a complete fusser is obscure at the start of it.\nTo determine the predisposing causes to fussiness would necessitate\nvolumes of research into the secrets of individuality and the origins\nof character--and would assuredly lead to no practical result, because\nthese creative mysteries lie beyond our influence--at any rate for the\npresent. A man is born with or without the instinct to fuss--that must\nsuffice for us.\n\nNevertheless the real instinct to fuss ought not to be confused with\nperfectly normal impulses which may superficially resemble it. Thus\nit is often assumed that domestic servants as a class are fussy,\nespecially about their food. I can see no reason why domestic\nservants as a class should be fussy, and I do not believe they are.\nWhat is mistaken for fussiness in them is merely the universal human\nprejudice against anything to which one is not accustomed. Labouring\npeople are, unfortunately for themselves, used to a narrow diet. A\nhundred comestibles which to their alleged superiors may seem quite\ncommonplace are fearsomely strange to labouring people. A rural girl\ngoes to serve in a large house; she is offered excellent fish, and she\nrefuses it; she \u2018can\u2019t fancy it.\u2019 Whereupon the mistress exclaims upon\nthe astounding fussiness of the poor! The explanation of the affair is\nsimply that the rural girl has never had opportunity to regard fish as\nan article of diet.\n\nSimilar phenomena may be observed in children of even the superior\nunfussy classes. And, for another instance, gardeners will grow the\nmost superb asparagus who would not dream of eating it, and could\nscarcely bring themselves to eat it. For them asparagus is not a\nluxury, but something unnatural in the mouth, like snails or the\nhind-legs of frogs. Snails and the hind-legs of frogs are luxuries in\nvarious parts of the world; the Anglo-Saxon maid-scorning mistress\nwould certainly recoil from them if they were put on her plate, and in\nso doing she would not lay herself open to a charge of fussiness. Yet\nin recoiling from them she would be behaving exactly like the rural\nmaid whom she scorns.\n\nNor must fussiness be confused with certain profound and incurable\nantipathies, such as the strong repulsion of some individuals for cats,\napples, horses, etc.\n\nThe real instinct to fuss can always be distinguished from the other\nthing by this--the real instinct to fuss is progressive. If it is\nnot checked with extreme firmness it goes steadily on its way. And\nthough the start of the way to becoming a complete fusser may be\nobscure, the later portions of the journey are not so obscure. Pride,\nif not conceit, presides over them, and is always pushing forward\nthe traveller from one abnormality to the next. Thus a man discloses\na dislike to black clothes. His aunt dies at a great distance and\nleaves him some money. His wife asks him: \u2018Shall you wear black?\u2019 He\nanswers with somewhat pained dignity: \u2018Darling, you know I never wear\nblack.\u2019 He is now known to himself and to his wife as the man who will\nnot wear black. Then his father dies, in the same town where the son\nlives; the objector to black will have to attend the funeral. After a\nlittle conversation with him the wife says to friends: \u2018You know Edward\nobjects to black. He does really. He _never_ wears it, and I\u2019m\nafraid he won\u2019t wear it even for his father\u2019s funeral.\u2019\n\nHenceforth Edward is known not merely to himself and his wife but to\nthe whole town as the man who won\u2019t wear black. It is a distinction.\nHe is proud of it. His wife is rather impressed by the sturdiness of\nhis resolution. He has suffered a little for his objection to black.\nHis reputation is made. An anti-black clause inserts itself into his\nreligion. Pride develops into conceit. Success and renown encourage the\ninstinct to fuss, and soon he has grown fussy about something else. And\nthus does the fellow reach his goal of being a complete fusser.\n\n\n                                  IV\n\nThere is no cure for the complete fusser. You might think that some\ntremendous disaster--such as marrying a shrew who hated fussing, or\nbeing cast on a desert island, or being imprisoned--would cure him.\nBut it would not. It would only cause a change in the symptoms; for\nevery human environment whatsoever gives occasion for fussiness to\nthe complete fusser. Even in the army, even in the lowest and most\norder-ridden grades of the army, the complete fusser contrives to\nflourish. And he is incurable because he is unconscious of being fussy.\nWhat the world regards as fussiness he regards as wisdom essential to a\nreasonable existence. He sincerely looks down upon the rest of mankind.\nSpiritual pride puts him into the category of the hopeless case--along\nwith the alcoholic drunkard, the genuine kleptomaniac, and other\nspecimens whom he would chillingly despise.\n\nApparently the sole use of the complete fusser is to serve as a\nterrible warning to those who are on the way to becoming complete\nfussers themselves--a terrible warning to pull up.\n\nThat fussiness in its earlier stages can be cured is certain. But the\ncure is very drastic in nature. There are lucid moments in the life\nof the as yet incomplete fusser when he suspects his malady, when he\nguiltily says to himself: \u2018I know I am peculiar, but--\u2019 Such a moment\nmust be seized, and immediate action taken. (The \u2018but\u2019 must be choked.\nThe \u2018but\u2019 may be full of wisdom, but it must be choked; the \u2018but\u2019 is\nfatal.) If the fusser is anti-black let him proceed to the shopping\nquarter at once. Let him not order a suit-to-measure of black. Let him\nbuy a ready-made suit. Let him put it on in the store or shop, and let\nhim have the other suit sent home. Let him then walk about the town in\nblack.... He is saved! No less thorough procedure will save him.\n\nAnd similarly for all other varieties of fussiness.\n\n\n\n\n                         THE MEANING OF FROCKS\n\n\n\n\n                         THE MEANING OF FROCKS\n\n\n                                   I\n\nBEING a man, I know that on the subject of women\u2019s fashions men\nstill talk a vast amount of nonsense, partly sincere and partly\ninsincere--especially when there are no women present. The fact is\nthat the whole subject is deeply misunderstood, and the great majority\nof people, both men and women, live and dress and die without getting\nanywhere near the truth of it.\n\nMen try to explain the feminine cult of clothes by asserting that women\nas a sex are vain. It is a profound truth that women as a sex are vain.\nIt is also a profound truth that men as a sex are vain. Have you ever\nbeen with a man into a hosier\u2019s shop? If you are a woman you certainly\nhave not, because, though a woman is often glad to be accompanied by a\nman when she is choosing her adornments, a man will not allow a woman\nto watch him at the same work. Fashionable dressmakers are delighted\nto welcome the accompanying man. But at the sight of a woman in his\nestablishment the fashionable hosier would begin to fear for the safety\nof the commonwealth. Even if you are a man you probably have not been\nwith another man into a hosier\u2019s shop. Men prefer to do these deeds\nquite alone; they shun even their own sex; the shopman does not count.\nWhy this secrecy? The answer is clear. Men are ashamed of themselves on\nsuch occasions because on such occasions their real vanity is exposed.\nTailors, hosiers, and hatters are a loyal clan; but it must be admitted\nthat they all have a strange look on their faces. That look is due to\nthe revelations of male vanity which they carry locked eternally in\ntheir breasts. To these purveyors men give themselves away and are\nshameless before them. The ordinary man well knows that he is vain.\nBesides, you can see him surreptitiously glancing at himself in shop\nwindows any day. And in some American periodicals there are positively\nmore advertisements of men\u2019s finery than of women\u2019s.\n\nAgain, men try to explain the feminine cult of clothes by asserting\nthat women are like sheep and must follow one another. What one does\nall must do. This argument is more than insincere; it is impudent.\nFor women show much wider originality and variations of attire\namong themselves than men do among themselves. Half a dozen average\nwell-dressed women will be as different one from another as half a\ndozen flowers of different species; you could distinguish between\nthem half a mile off. But half a dozen well-dressed men would be\nindistinguishably alike if you decapitated them. It is notorious that\nmen are the slaves of fashion. If a new shade of cravat or sock comes\nout, the city will be painted with that shade in less than a week. One\nyear every handkerchief is worn in the sleeve. Another year it will be\nshocking to wear a handkerchief in the sleeve, because the only proper\nplace for wearing a handkerchief is in a pocket over the heart. At the\nslightest change in the fashionable diameter of the leg of a pair of\ntrousers every man with adequate cash or credit will rush privily to\nhis tailor\u2019s, and in sixty hours a parcel will arrive at that man\u2019s\nhome marked: \u2018Very urgent. Deliver at once.\u2019\n\nMen have a perfect passion for being exactly like other men--not merely\nin clothes, but in everything. So much so that they cannot bear to\nthink that there are men unlike themselves. Thus men will form clubs of\nwhich all the members are alike in some important point, so that while\nthey are in the club they will live under the beautiful illusion of\nuniversal resemblance. They loathe opinions which are unfashionable,\nor unfashionable in their particular set and environment; they will\nnot even read about such opinions if they can help it; they are ready\nto imprison or kill (and often actually have imprisoned or killed) the\nholders of such opinions, solely because they are not in the fashion.\nAnd could a man with a bag-wig walk down the Strand or Fifth Avenue\nwithout having it knocked off or being arrested for obstruction? He\ncould not. Nevertheless a bag-wig is less preposterous than a silk hat.\n\nYet again, men try to explain the feminine cult of clothes by asserting\nthat women as a sex really enjoy the huge task of dressing, and really\nenjoy spending money for the sake of spending money, and have no\nbrains above personal embellishment. All these arguments are patently\nridiculous. To very many well-dressed women the task of dressing is\nnaught but a tedious and heavy burden. As for brains, it frequently\noccurs that the women with the most intelligence (intelligence far\nsurpassing that of the average man) are the most _chic_. In regard\nto the enjoyment of mere spending, the charge is true. It is, however,\nequally true of men. I could refer to tailors, hosiers, and hatters,\nbut I will not. Take, for a change, two dining parties at a restaurant,\none consisting of three men and three women, the other consisting of\nsix men. The bill of the six men will be the heavier. As a sex men, in\nthe French phrase, \u2018refuse themselves nothing.\u2019 And their felicity in\nspending for the sake of spending is touchingly boyish.\n\nWhatever may be the explanation of the subjection of women to costly\nfashion, we are now, at any rate, in a position to say what the\nexplanation is _not_. It is not that women are specially vain.\nIt is not that women are specially like sheep. It is not that they\nlack intelligence. It is not that they enjoy the tyranny. And it is\nnot that they are spendthrift. If the explanation lay in any of these\ndirections men would read fashion papers, go to sales, and change their\nsuits four times a day.\n\n\n                                  II\n\nYou will say:\n\n\u2018Women adorn themselves in order to be attractive to the other sex.\u2019\n\nThis is true, but only to a limited extent. And men also adorn\nthemselves in order to be attractive to the other sex. Moreover, a\nwoman who has found the man of her desire, and is utterly satisfied\ntherewith, will still go on adorning herself, even though the man in\nquestion has made it quite clear that she would attract him just as\nstrongly in a sack as in a Poiret gown. Further, some fashions do\nnot attract; they excite ridicule rather than admiration; yet they\nare persisted in. And women of the classes who do not and cannot\ncultivate fashionableness succeed at least as well as the other woman\nin attracting men, even when these men by reason of laborious lives\nhave almost no leisure for dalliance. The truth is that the competition\namong women for men is chiefly a legend--not wholly. There are more\nwomen than men, but not many more. Women want marriage more than\nmen want marriage, but not much more. Competition is by no means so\nfierce that women have to perform prodigies of self-ornamentation\nin order to inveigle a fellow-creature so simple that he worries\nabout the tint of his own necktie and socks; and the idea of such a\nphenomenon is derogatory to women. After all, nature has the business\nof sex-attraction in hand, and she is not dependent on fashions. Long\nbefore fashions had been evolved she managed it precisely as well as\nshe manages it to-day. She relies, not upon textile stuffs, but upon\nthe stuff that dreams are made on; namely, glances, gestures, actions,\nand speech.\n\nThe authentic major explanation of the expensive fashionableness of\nwomen must be sought in another direction. As usual, men are at the\nbottom of the affair. When woman gloriously dresses herself up to go\nout, she does so in order to prove to the world something which man\nwants to be proved to the world. In old days the two attributes which\nman held in the highest esteem were wealth and idleness. To be poor was\nshameful, and to work for a living was shameful. Man, therefore, had to\ndemonstrate publicly that he was neither needy nor industrious. One of\nthe best methods of demonstration was costume, and the costume of the\nsuccessful man in those days was very expensive, and so gorgeous and\ndelicate as to make toil impossible for him.\n\nThe time came when man ceased to be proud of his own idleness, and his\ncostume altered accordingly. Then the duty of demonstrating wealth\nand idleness by means of costume fell on woman. Man could not do\nthe demonstration on his own person--he was too busy--and hence he\nemployed the lady to be expensive on his behalf. Such was her function,\nand still is her function. The Rue de la Paix is based firmly on the\ndistant past. Assuredly long years will elapse before feminine costume\nceases to be used as a demonstration that man possesses the attributes\nthat are most admired. Estates demonstrate the possession of those\nattributes; bonds demonstrate the possession of those attributes. But\nestates are a fixture, and bonds are kept in a safe. Costume walks\nabout; your wife can take it to the seaside with her; the world cannot\nhelp noticing it; and it has the further advantage of ministering to\nthe senses.\n\nThe proofs of the substantial correctness of this explanation of\nwomen\u2019s dress are innumerable. Perhaps the principal proof is that the\nvery man who grumbles at fashionableness in women would be the first to\ncomplain if his wife started to ignore fashion and to dress merely for\ncomfort, utility, and charm. No man objects to the inexpensiveness of\nhis wife\u2019s clothes, but every man objects to them looking inexpensive.\nThe advertised lure of a blouse marked one pound at a sale is that it\nhas the air of a blouse costing two pounds. Suppose a rich man sees\na delightful typewriting young woman walking down the street, falls\nin love with her, and marries her. Now, although the clothes in which\nhe saw her suited her admirably in every way, and although she has\nsimple tastes, and more elaborate clothes do not suit her so well, the\nfirst thing she has to do on marriage is to alter her style of dress\nfor a more expensive style. Otherwise the man will say: \u2018I don\u2019t want\nmy wife to look like a clerk.\u2019 In other words: \u2018I insist on my wife\ndemonstrating to the universe that I possess wealth and can afford\nto keep her idle on my behalf.\u2019 Even in small provincial towns where\npersonal adornment is theoretically discouraged, and where people\npreach the entirely false maxim that externals don\u2019t matter--even there\nthe theory holds good. The middle-class wife will have her sealskin\ncoat before she has her automobile. Fur coats are detestable garments\nto walk in, but real sealskin is a symbol which cannot be denied.\n\nAnd it is as important that that costume should prove idleness as that\nit should prove wealth. Hence the fragility of extremely fashionable\ncostumes, and their unpracticalness. The fashionable costume must be\nof such a nature that the least touch of the workaday world will ruin\nit; and it must go beyond this--it must be of such a nature that the\nwearer is actually prevented by it from her full and proper activity.\nAn unconsidered movement would rip it to pieces. Rich Chinese males\ntill recently kept their finger-nails so long that it was impossible\nfor them to use their hands, and they maimed females so that they could\nnot walk. Both sexes were thus rendered helpless, and the ability\nto be futile was proved like a problem of Euclid. We laugh at that.\nCrinolines were admirably designed to hinder honest work. And we laugh\nat crinolines too. But we still have the corset, though the corset is\nnot the homicidal contrivance it once was. And we have the high-heeled\nshoe, higher than ever. You say: \u2018But women have high heels to increase\ntheir apparent height.\u2019 Not a bit! All women whose business it is to\ndemonstrate idleness to the universe wear high heels, because high\nheels are a clear presumption that the wearer is not obliged really\nto exert herself. If a woman with a rich husband is so inordinately\ntall that she is ashamed of her height, she will wear high heels to\nprove that her husband is rich. And, not to be outdone, the delightful\ntypewriting girl walking down the street at 8.30 A.M. will\nalso wear high heels--and each hurried step she takes is a miracle of\nbalance, pluck, and endurance. Life is marvellous.\n\n\n                                  III\n\nYou will say:\n\n\u2018Life may be marvellous, but these revelations about human motives are\nterrible, and they depress us.\u2019\n\nThey ought not to depress you. The saving quality about human motives\nis that they are so human, and therefore so forgivable. And, be it\nremembered, I have not asserted that the demonstration of wealth and\nleisure is the sole explanation of fashionableness. I have already\nreferred to the desire to be attractive; and to this must be added the\nsense of beauty, which is nearly allied to it. The woman who bedecks\nherself is actuated by all three motives--the motive of ostentation (to\nsatisfy primarily the man), the motive to attract, and the motive to\nsatisfy the sense of beauty.\n\nAs regards the last, it may be said that the sense of beauty does not\nregularly improve in mankind, like, for instance, the sense of justice.\nNo feminine raiment has ever equalled the classic Greek, which was\nnot costly. But then the Greeks were not worried by too much wealth.\nAnd the Greek dress would be highly inconvenient without the Greek\ndaily life, and especially without the Greek climate. And I doubt if\nnowadays we should care greatly for the Greek life. Still, the sense\nof beauty does emphatically exist among us, and the desire of women to\nbe attractive is quite as powerful as it was in the time of Aspasia.\nThese two motives are constantly, and often victoriously, fighting\nagainst the motive of ostentation, and it is probably the interplay of\nthe three motives that produces the continual confusing and expensive\nchanges of fashion, as has been well argued by Professor Franklin Henry\nGiddings, one of the most brilliant social philosophers in the United\nStates.\n\n\u2018But all this must be altered!\u2019 the ardent among you will cry out.\n\u2018In future women must dress solely to be attractive and to satisfy the\nsense of beauty.\u2019\n\nWell, they just won\u2019t. Men will never allow it, and women themselves\nwould never agree to it. Costume will always be more than costume;\ncostume is so handy and effective as a symbol of something else; and\nthat something else will always be--success. When wealth ceases to be\nthe standard of success, then costume will cease to be employed as a\nproof of wealth, and not before. Meanwhile, we must admit that, if the\npossession of wealth has to be proved to the world, it could not be\nproved in a more charming and less offensive way than in the costumes\nof women. The spectacle of a stylish dress stylishly worn is extremely\nagreeable. The spectacle of a room full of stylish dresses stylishly\nworn is thrilling. He among you who has never been to a ball should go\nto one and try the experience for himself.\n\nLeisure, the ability to be idle and useless, is still to a certain\nextent a standard of success in life, but not anything like so much\nas in the past. People are gradually perceiving that to be idle and\nuseless is vicious. Hence the unpracticalness of women\u2019s costumes will\ngradually decrease. Beyond question high heels, for example, will\nvanish from our pavements and from our drawing-rooms. I even have hope\nthat women will one day wear dresses which they can put on and fasten\nunaided without the help of one, two, or three assistants. But such\nchanges will arrive slowly. You cannot hurry nature. It is a great\ntruth that the present is firmly rooted in the past. It refuses to be\npulled up by the roots. Futile to announce that you will in future be\nguided by nothing but common sense! Whose common sense? Common sense\nis a purely relative thing. The common sense of the past often seems\nsilly to us, and the common sense of the present will often seem silly\nto the future. The progress of mankind is an extraordinarily complex\nbusiness. It cannot be settled in a phrase. Nothing in it is simple;\nnothing in it is unrelated to the rest. Everything in it has a reason\nwhich will appeal to true intelligence. And men should bear this in\nmind when they talk lightly and scornfully (and foolishly) about\nwomen\u2019s fashions.\n\nTo conclude, let me utter one word about the secret fear that lies\nalways at the back of most men\u2019s minds--the fear that such-and-such a\nchange in the habits of women will destroy their femininity. This fear\nis groundless. Femininity--thank heaven!--is entirely indestructible.\nIt will survive all progress and all revolutions of taste. And when the\nend comes on this cooling planet the last vestige of it will be there,\nfronting the last vestige of masculinity.\n\n\nPrinted in Great Britain by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty\nat the Edinburgh University Press.\n\n\n\n\n                         =TRANSCRIBER\u2019S NOTES=\n\nSimple typographical errors have been silently corrected; unbalanced\nquotation marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and\notherwise left unbalanced.\n\nPunctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant\npreference was found in the original book; otherwise they were not\nchanged.\n\nInconsistent hyphens left as printed.","title":"Self and self-management : $b Essays about existing","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":15970}