heretics-第18节
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of iron into a useless bit of wood。 A man goes on to an American
platform and behaves like a mountebank fool with a board and
a hammer； well； I do not blame him； I might even admire him。
He may be a dashing and quite decent strategist。 He may be a fine
romantic actor； like Burke flinging the dagger on the floor。
He may even （for all I know） be a sublime mystic； profoundly impressed
with the ancient meaning of the divine trade of the Carpenter；
and offering to the people a parable in the form of a ceremony。
All I wish to indicate is the abyss of mental confusion in
which such wild ritualism can be called 〃sound common sense。〃
And it is in that abyss of mental confusion； and in that alone；
that the new Imperialism lives and moves and has its being。
The whole glory and greatness of Mr。 Chamberlain consists in this：
that if a man hits the right nail on the head nobody cares where he hits
it to or what it does。 They care about the noise of the hammer； not about
the silent drip of the nail。 Before and throughout the African war；
Mr。 Chamberlain was always knocking in nails； with ringing decisiveness。
But when we ask； 〃But what have these nails held together？
Where is your carpentry？ Where are your contented Outlanders？
Where is your free South Africa？ Where is your British prestige？
What have your nails done？〃 then what answer is there？
We must go back （with an affectionate sigh） to our Pearson
for the answer to the question of what the nails have done：
〃The speaker who hammered nails into a board won thousands of votes。〃
Now the whole of this passage is admirably characteristic of the new
journalism which Mr。 Pearson represents； the new journalism which has
just purchased the Standard。 To take one instance out of hundreds；
the incomparable man with the board and nails is described in the Pearson's
article as calling out （as he smote the symbolic nail）； 〃Lie number one。
Nailed to the Mast！ Nailed to the Mast！〃 In the whole office there
was apparently no compositor or office…boy to point out that we
speak of lies being nailed to the counter； and not to the mast。
Nobody in the office knew that Pearson's Magazine was falling
into a stale Irish bull； which must be as old as St。 Patrick。
This is the real and essential tragedy of the sale of the Standard。
It is not merely that journalism is victorious over literature。
It is that bad journalism is victorious over good journalism。
It is not that one article which we consider costly and beautiful is being
ousted by another kind of article which we consider common or unclean。
It is that of the same article a worse quality is preferred to a better。
If you like popular journalism （as I do）； you will know that Pearson's
Magazine is poor and weak popular journalism。 You will know it
as certainly as you know bad butter。 You will know as certainly
that it is poor popular journalism as you know that the Strand；
in the great days of Sherlock Holmes； was good popular journalism。
Mr。 Pearson has been a monument of this enormous banality。
About everything he says and does there is something infinitely
weak…minded。 He clamours for home trades and employs foreign
ones to print his paper。 When this glaring fact is pointed out；
he does not say that the thing was an oversight； like a sane man。
He cuts it off with scissors； like a child of three。 His very cunning
is infantile。 And like a child of three； he does not cut it quite off。
In all human records I doubt if there is such an example of a profound
simplicity in deception。 This is the sort of intelligence which now
sits in the seat of the sane and honourable old Tory journalism。
If it were really the triumph of the tropical exuberance of the
Yankee press； it would be vulgar； but still tropical。 But it is not。
We are delivered over to the bramble； and from the meanest of
the shrubs comes the fire upon the cedars of Lebanon。
The only question now is how much longer the fiction will endure
that journalists of this order represent public opinion。
It may be doubted whether any honest and serious Tariff Reformer
would for a moment maintain that there was any majority
for Tariff Reform in the country comparable to the ludicrous
preponderance which money has given it among the great dailies。
The only inference is that for purposes of real public opinion
the press is now a mere plutocratic oligarchy。 Doubtless the
public buys the wares of these men； for one reason or another。
But there is no more reason to suppose that the public admires
their politics than that the public admires the delicate philosophy
of Mr。 Crosse or the darker and sterner creed of Mr。 Blackwell。
If these men are merely tradesmen； there is nothing to say except
that there are plenty like them in the Battersea Park Road；
and many much better。 But if they make any sort of attempt
to be politicians； we can only point out to them that they are not
as yet even good journalists。
IX。 The Moods of Mr。 George Moore
Mr。 George Moore began his literary career by writing his
personal confessions； nor is there any harm in this if he had
not continued them for the remainder of his life。 He is a man
of genuinely forcible mind and of great command over a kind
of rhetorical and fugitive conviction which excites and pleases。
He is in a perpetual state of temporary honesty。 He has admired
all the most admirable modern eccentrics until they could stand
it no longer。 Everything he writes； it is to be fully admitted；
has a genuine mental power。 His account of his reason for
leaving the Roman Catholic Church is possibly the most admirable
tribute to that communion which has been written of late years。
For the fact of the matter is； that the weakness which has rendered
barren the many brilliancies of Mr。 Moore is actually that weakness
which the Roman Catholic Church is at its best in combating。
Mr。 Moore hates Catholicism because it breaks up the house
of looking…glasses in which he lives。 Mr。 Moore does not dislike
so much being asked to believe in the spiritual existence
of miracles or sacraments； but he does fundamentally dislike
being asked to believe in the actual existence of other people。
Like his master Pater and all the aesthetes； his real quarrel with
life is that it is not a dream that can be moulded by the dreamer。
It is not the dogma of the reality of the other world that troubles him；
but the dogma of the reality of this world。
The truth is that the tradition of Christianity （which is still the only
coherent ethic of Europe） rests on two or three paradoxes or mysteries
which can easily be impugned in argument and as easily justified in life。
One of them； for instance； is the paradox of hope or faith
that the more hopeless is the situation the more hopeful must be the man。
Stevenson understood this； and consequently Mr。 Moore cannot
understand Stevenson。 Another is the paradox of charity or chivalry
that the weaker a thing is the more it should be respected；
that the more indefensible a thing is the more it should appeal
to us for a certain kind of defence。 Thackeray understood this；
and therefore Mr。 Moore does not understand Thackeray。 Now； one of
these very practical and working mysteries in the Christian tradition；
and one which the Roman Catholic Church； as I say； has done her best
work in singling out； is the conception of the sinfulness of pride。
Pride is a weakness in the character； it dries up laughter；
it dries up wonder； it dries up chivalry and energy。
The Christian tradition understands this； therefore Mr。 Moore does
not understand the Christian tradition。
For the truth is much stranger even than it appears in the formal
doctrine of the sin of pride。 It is not only true that
humility is a much wiser and more vigorous thing than pride。
It is also true that vanity is a much wiser and more vigorous thing
than pride。 Vanity is socialit is almost a kind of comradeship；
pride is solitary and uncivilized。 Vanity is active；
it desires the applause of infinite multitudes； pride is passive；
desiring only the applause of one person； which it already has。
Vanity is humorous； and can enjoy the joke even of itself；
pride is dull； and cannot even smile。 And the whole of this
difference is the difference between Stevenson and Mr。 George Moore；
who； as he informs us； has 〃brushed Stevenson aside。〃 I do not know
