1. THOU SHALT NOT!
Today we are in the midst of an age of analytical criticism. Today all thought is destructive. We have become a race of iconoclasts.
When Greece ejected its Gods and entered its age of Agnosticism, it created the finest examples of sculpture the world has ever seen. When Europe ejected a host of out-worn dogmas and became Protestant, it gave birth to the Renaissance in Architecture, Letters, and Art. And with the inundation of iconoclastic tendencies in the realm of thought, which we today are witnessing, has come this much-despised but worthy thing Commercialism. And Commercialism stands for construction. It seems therefore that a period of destructive thought is always accompanied by a period of constructive arts.
Today we are destroying creeds while we are building airships. We erect sky-scrapers while the metaphysical gates of Heaven are tumbling about our ears. We construct Dreadnoughts while the pamphleteers are smashing every scheme of polity. And while a certain sect who regard ill-health as a myth are flourishing, the sale of patent medicines is increasing, and the hoardings are covered with advertisements for pills and ointments.
The battle-cry of our modern civilization is—Progress! In the name of progress we are hewing down all ancient barriers. In the name of progress we are casting to the winds all ancient dogmas and doctrines. The folly of such a course is pointed out with admirable clearness by Mr. G.K. Chesterton, in the following extract from “Heretics”: -
“Nobody can be progressive without being doctrinal; I might say that nobody can be progressive without being infallible—at any rate, without believing in some infallibility. For progress by its very name indicates a direction; and the moment we are in the least doubtful, we become in the same degree doubtful about the progress … But it is precisely about the direction that we disagree. Whether the future excellence lies in more or less law, in more liberty or less liberty; whether property will be finally concentrated or finally cut up; whether sexual passion will reach its sanest in an almost virgin intellectualism or in a full animal freedom; whether we should love everybody with Tolstoy, or spare nobody with Nietsche;—these are the things about which we are actually fighting most.”
And Nietsche himself, in more flamboyant manner, states the same truth, in “Thus Spake Zarathustra”.
“A thousand goals have existed hitherto, for a thousand peoples existed. But the fetter of the thousand neck is lacking, the one goal is lacking. Humanity hath no goal yet.”
Not only are there a thousand goals, but a thousand different paths to every one of the thousand goals—a thousand sign-posts, a thousand self-appointed guides. The pulpit, the lecturer’s platform, the stage, the columns of the newspapers;—all those are the means to a thousand ends; but the only one end which all seem to be driving at, is the slandering of everyone else.
In thought and literature we are all critics. In action we are all constructionalists. It is imperative that we must construct something, although the result will inevitably be destructive. We must all be making something, even though it be a catapult to break windows or kill birds. We must all invent something, even though it be a new rifle or a new bullet for the destruction of future generations. We must all construct something, although it be a speech or an article of a destructive tendency.
What are we coming to, when the Queen of England issues a mandate that pads and rats and hobble skirts must not be worn at her coronation. What are we coming to, when the professors tell us not to wash too often. What are we coming to when Miss Cicely Hamilton turns Antichrist, tells us that we must not become as little children, and that it is better to recognise the infant “for what in truth it is—a small barbarian.”
“Everybody’s Weekly” recently published under the heading of the “Trend of Thought,” a succinct paragraph on the intellectual confusion of our day, concluding with the words—“What the world waits for is a thinker with a grand constructive genius.”
But the world has had many thinkers with constructive genius. Christ’s commandment “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself,” is the most positive thing ever uttered. And surely the writer of the “Trend of Thought” remembers that Huxley, whom he puts down as one of the originators of our modern confusion of thought, was contemporary with the greatest constructive and synthetic philosopher that ever lived—Herbert Spencer.
It is not a man that the world waits for—it is a policy. It is not a genius of constructive thought that is wanted—it is a system of constructive thought. And, moreover, it is not a system such as Comte’s “Positivism” that is wanted. Positivism has merely taken a place among the negativistic “isms” of the hour. What the world wants is a system of thought that applies to every-day life; not a system that can be followed only in the church or the study, for all such systems have failed; not a system that deals with the direction of progress, for all such systems have failed; but a system which deals with the ways and means of getting at some common direction.
2. THE MUCK RAKE
We are all inoculated with the poison of Negativism. We are not only a race of iconoclasts—we are a race of muck-rakers.
It started in America, of course, where all these things are carried to the limit and a little beyond; but the seed of it came from Europe. “The Jungle” was written after Zola had given “The Downfall” and “The Dram-Shop” to the world. Tom Lawson’s “Frenzied Finance” was a sort of echo of the Liberator and Whitaker Wright frauds, heard through the megaphone of American vituperation and bombast.
In short, there being no more gods to cast down, the revolutionists have commenced to cast calumny in the faces of men. Nietsche, with thunderous, semi-biblical verbosity has accused us of everything—everything under the sun; calling us “Back-Worlds-Men”—“Despisers of Body”—“Tarantulae” and “The Much-too-many.”
Shaw with much paradoxical paraphernalia has muck-racked our Imperialism, our Militarism, our Marriages, our Parliaments, and above all—our Shakespeare. Chesterton, with more paradox and less malice, perhaps, has not only done a considerable quantity of muck-racking in his time, but has achieved still more notoriety by muck-racking the muck-rakers, in his inimitable portrait-gallery of “Heretics.”
Ibsen is also of the galaxy, and Maxim Gorky. In fact, Russia is full of them. And then there are Mr. Galsworthy and Mr. Maurice Hewlett. Mr. Blatchford and Mr. Bart Kennedy also, along a different line.
Not one of our honoured institutions is spared. We wake up in the morning to find that some eminent muck-raker has discovered another one at which to cast the mud of his persiflage. Today it is the War-Office. Tomorrow it is the Post-Office. Yesterday it was Capital. The day before it was Labour. Last week it was the Salvation Army. This week the House of Lords. Next week—Heaven knows what.
In England, one of our most popular papers—“John Bull” is almost entirely devoted to this sort of thing. It pays. It pays to muck-rake. It pays to publish sensational articles on Canada and Crippen, on Mormonism and the White Slave traffic. In Canada there is a newspaper, sold in secret practically, called “The Eye-Opener,” which does little else than publish the most disgusting details of the lives of politicians, eminent and otherwise. In England again, the periodical—“Truth”—is practically devoted to error. The journalist’s pocket-book is the register of dishonoured reputations, and the author’s stock-in-trade, a host of degraded institutions.
And when we come to the critics of the critics, we find the same principle prevailing amongst them also. “John Bull” for instance, is not satisfied with criticizing every man, woman and child that comes to its notice, but criticizes everybody else’s criticisms of every other man, woman and child, awarding imaginary biscuits each week to other critical editors, and thus making the nauseating circle of the criticism complete.
With the art critics and the literary critics it is the same. They fasten on some insignificant defect in the painting or drawing or writing or acting of some eminent person, and, with the assistance of half-a-dozen dictionaries, a vivid imagination, a dyspeptic stomach, and a dampened towel, they make a mountain of a mole-hill, and of swans—geese.
They talk much of Post-Impressionism, of Pre-Raphaelitism, of the Renaissance, of Realism, and they stand in front of a picture at the galleries, and say to their diminutive souls or diminutive neighbours—“Methinks yon eyebrow is bad.” They are obsessed with adverbial phraseology, and haggle over split infinitives. They are looking for what is wrong and not for what is right, for what is bad and not for what is good, for what is blameworthy and not for what is praiseworthy, for it has become fashionable to blame. It is supposed that anyone can see the good points in a work of art, but that only a very clever person can see the bad ones. It is supposed to be a sign of strength to pull everyone else to pieces, and a sign of weakness to praise.
If the plot of a novel is good they will criticize the dialogue. If the plot and dialogue are good, they will criticize the atmosphere. They love to prate about atmosphere. If the plot and the dialogue and the atmosphere are all good, they will complain that the characters are not true to life. If the plot and the dialogue and the atmosphere and the characters are all perfectly done, they will say it is too long. If it is not too long, they will say it is too short. If it is neither, they will complain about the title. If they can find absolutely nothing in it to criticize, they will say that it is a studied imitation of Dickens or Scott or Thomas a Kempis or the author of “Black-eyed Susan.” If it is immoral, they will say it is not. If it is not immoral, they will say it is. If it is dramatic, they will say it is sensational. If it is not dramatic, they will say it is dull.
To such a pass has our civilisation come.
In a recent number of “Everybody’s Weekly,” there appeared an article by John Foster Fraser, entitled “Let us Praise Britain!” It is the first article of the kind that I have seen for some time. Why cannot we have more of them? “After all,” says Mr. Fraser, “we have done something in the world, we are doing something, and we will do more.” He says—“There ought to be established a “Society for the Praising of Britain”. Most certainly there should. Here’s my hand on it, Mr. Fraser. And there should also be established a “Society for the Praising of Everything”. But, who is there to be a President of it? Who will be the members?
4. THE SUPERMEN
The chain of negation is complete.
For years the anarchists have been crying—No Rulers! For years the revolutionists have been shrieking—No Rules! The Socialists have been crying—No Capitalists! and the Protestants—No Popery! And now, the clarion voices of the Futurists right round the world—No more man! We are human, all too human! Make way for the Superman!
At first sight this idea of a Superman appears to be a constructive idea. Many have hailed it as the last hope of a degraded civilisation. And Mr. Chesterton in a splendid page or two about ideals, although he ridicules it, still admits it to be an ideal.
But is the Superman an ideal?
Mr. Shaw had accepted it as such, and written a play about it, as usual. And yet, Nietsche’s “Beyond-Man,” is no more an ideal than is Shelley’s “Prometheus,” or Emerson’s “Over-Soul,”—not anything like such an ideal as Wagner’s “Siegfried,” or Wells’ “New Republican,” that Mr. Shaw ridicules in the same play that he presents us with his Superman ideal.
The “Beyond-Man” as Nietsche conceives him, and the “Superman” as Shaw conceives him, is nothing but Man minus the Animal, and minus almost everything that distinguishes him from the Animal. In short, the Superman is the last possible negation. The Negativists have personified every destructive tendency that ever existed, and have named him the effigy they have made—The Superman!
Nietsche is the high-priest of the Destructionists. His own words shall convince you—
“What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not a goal; what can be loved in man is that he is a TRANSITION and a DESTRUCTION.
I love him who liveth to perceive, and who is longing for perception in order that some day beyond-man may live. And thus he willeth his own destruction.
I love him who worketh and inventeth to build a house for beyond-man and make ready for him earth, animal, and plant; for thus he willeth his own destruction.
I love him whose soul is over-full so that he forgetteth himself and all things are within him: thus all things become his destruction.
I love him who is of a free spirit and of a free heart: thus his head is merely the intestine of his heart, but his heart driveth him to destruction.”
This is the doctrine of the destruction of man, in order that beyond-man can rise phoenix-like out of his ashes. But what does Nietsche know; what does anyone know of that which lies beyond and above man? Who knows to what end evolution is striving? Nietsche himself says—“Humanity hath no goal yet.” But still he urges us to destroy ourselves, to make room for beyond-man. Still he urges us to sacrifice ourselves for a dream.
Maeterlinck, in “Wisdom and Destiny” raises his voice against such suicidal folly, saying —
“In this world there are thousands of weak, noble creatures who fancy that sacrifice always must be the last word of duty; thousands of beautiful souls that know not what should be done, and seek only to yield up their life, holding that to be virtue supreme. They are wrong; supreme virtue consists in the knowledge of what should be done, in the power to decide for ourselves whereto we should offer our life.”
It is precisely this however, that Nietsche is ignorant of, that everyone is ignorant of. No one seems to know what should be done, and as Mr. Holbrook Jackson says—“it is as impossible for man to visualise Superman as it was for ape to visualise man.”
Prof. Max Muller in his book on the “Science of Thought,” defines thinking as simple addition and subtraction. Let us therefore, for a moment, examine this idea of a Superman, in the light of this theory of addition and subtraction.
In the first place, the conception of Man that we all possess is simply an accumulation, an addition of varied perceptions of what men have been in the past, and what we perceive of them in the present. Now, the essence of the Superman idea is that we must subtract, distinctly a negative proceeding, several of the intrinsic characteristics of man. We must subtract all bestial instincts. We must subtract the values of good and evil that men have created. We must subtract pity, for the Superman, they say, will have no pity. We must subtract culture, for culture was created by the past, and the Superman shall have broken with the past. We must subtract the idea of God, the idea of Heaven, the idea of Hell—and above all, the idea of hope, for the Superman has no hope. The Superman will be sufficient unto himself.
And now, what is there that we must add. Strength? The beasts have strength, and so had Samson and Goliath of old. Moral strength? The martyrs possessed it—the martyrs both of religion and of science—Socrates and Christ. The Will to Power? All men possess it. Who has not heard of Alexander, of Napoleon, of Rockefeller? The will to live alone? The hermits and the monks have existed for centuries, despised by the very men that now hail the approaching birth of the Superman.
What is there to add?
The philosophers know nothing can be conceived that is beyond or above experience. The Superman is possible, but he is not conceivable, simply because the future is unknown. We can find nothing to add to man that shall make him a Superman, except the things that all men in some degree have possessed. And as soon as we begin to agree as to what we actually do possess, as soon as we cast out Negativism and begin to have a few positive ideas about the most fundamental realities of life, we shall begin to achieve what is now a dream in the minds of a few philosophers—we shall become men instead of preachers, heroes instead of muck-rakers, and after all, from a hen-pecked race may rise the scions of the Superman.
5. COSMIC PATRIOTISM
We have seen how the Negativists have arrived at the last possible negation—namely, the Superman. There is nothing left in the universe that has not been denied, that has not been execrated, that has not been destroyed, at least in theory. A counter-revolution is therefore due. It is possible that before long there will be nothing left to praise, as soon as the cult of praising is commenced. History so far, has been a chronicle of revolutions.
Here is what Mr. Shaw has to say about the matter, in “The Perfect Wagnerite.”
“Ecclesiasticism and Constitutionalism send us one way, Protestantism and Anarchism the other; Order rescues us from Confusion and lands us in Tyranny; Liberty then saves the situation and is presently found to be as great a nuisance as Despotism … And so for the present we must be content to proceed by reactions, hoping that each will establish some permanently practical and beneficial reform or moral habit that will survive the correction of its excesses by the next reaction.”
This is precisely what we must not do, however. We must not be content to proceed by reactions. In short, we must not be content with anything until it is perfect. We must all be artists thus far. We must all be pessimists in so far that we can see what is wrong, but not so far as to talk and write and preach about it for ever, without setting it right. We must all be optimists enough to love everything that is worth while loving, but not enough to bellow jingoistic eulogies from morn till night.
Mr. Chesterton has caught the right spirit in “Orthodoxy,” from which I have borrowed the sub-title of this article. He writes —
“My acceptance of the universe is not optimism, it is more like patriotism. It is a matter of primary loyalty. The world is not a lodging-house at Brighton, which we are to leave because it is miserable. It is the fortress of our family, with the flag flying on the turret, and the more miserable it is the less we should leave it. The point is not that this world is too sad to love or too glad not to love; the point is that when you do love a thing, its gladness is a reason for loving it, and its sadness a reason for loving it more.”
The cure of Negativism is to be found in Cosmic-Patriotism, and not in Positivism. Positivism is as much wrong as Negativism, simply because it is extreme. It is neither negations nor assertions that are required. It is the spirit of patriotism—the spirit that shall maintain that this world is “somehow good,” that it is worth living for, fighting for, dying for. But above all, it is the rallying spirit that we require to regenerate the world.
It would be ridiculous to turn round now and say that there is a God, that there is a Heaven, that there is a Hell, that man is perfect, and the whole wide world an El Dorado. It would be absurd to revolt from Negativism now, and praise everything that the Negativists have blamed. It would be suicidal to state that everything is right, and nothing wrong. What we have to do is to construct, to build, to create.
The time is ripe.
Commercialism is here, and Commercialism stands for construction. Already it has cast down all artificial aristocracies, and is building up a democracy that will some day be the patriots of the world. Already it has done more than Christianity ever did to prevent war between nation and nation, and thus, this thing without a soul, this sordid thing, as it is so often called, has tightened the cosmic bands that hold this little worldful of people together in peace.
Commercialism has proved that honesty is the best policy. Commercialism is developing the minds of thousands who were once serfs, and creating a new race, such as Mr. H.G. Wells anticipates, will be the strength and stay of the New Republic. Commercialism is linking art with life, and giving every man an occupation worth living for.
Religion was chiefly concerned with death and not life—death as a means to a larger life after death. Feudalism was chiefly concerned with death and not life—death as a means to more power, and honour, and glory, and worship. But Commercialism is concerned with life, here and now—life as a means to larger life here, and for our children. I do not say that the founders or the maintainers of Commercialism share this broad view of their activities, probably they do not, but whether consciously or not, they are working to this end.
And here and there this idea is leaking into our philosophy. Maeterlinck says, in “The Treasure of the Humble” —
“We know that the dead do not die. We know now that it is not in our churches that they are to be found, but in the houses, the habits of us all. That there is not a gesture, a thought, a sin, a tear, an atom of acquired consciousness that is lost in the depths of the earth; and that at the most insignificant of our acts our ancestors arise, not in their tombs where they move not, but in ourselves, where they always live …”
Yesterday the world was concerned with destruction. Today the world is concerned with every kind of construction, except in the realm of thought. If only our thoughts could be linked more closely with our lives, the destiny of man might be changed in one short, ever-to-be-remembered epoch, whose unsurpassed achievement should stand like an imperishable monument to the greatness of man, unto the end of time …