utopia of usurers and other essays-第3部分

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Twelfth　Night；　let　us　say；　you　have　the　pleasure　of　removing　three　layers
of　pasteboards；　five　layers　of　brown　paper；　and　fifteen　layers　of　tissue
paper　and　discovering　the　fragments　of　an　artificial　crocodile。　　You　smile
in　an　expansive　spirit。　　You　feel　that　your　soul　has　been　broadened　by　the
vision　of　incompetence　conducted　on　so　large　a　scale。　　You　admire　all　the
more　the　colossal　and　Omnipresent　Brain　of　the　Organiser　of　Industry；　who
amid　all　his　multitudinous　cares　did　not　disdain　to　remember　his　duty　of
smashing　even　the　smallest　toy　of　the　smallest　child。　　Or；　supposing　you
have　asked　him　to　send　you　some　two　rolls　of　cocoa…nut　matting：　and
supposing　（after　a　due　interval　for　reflection）　he　duly　delivers　to　you
the　five　rolls　of　wire　netting。　　You　take　pleasure　in　the　consideration
of　a　mystery：　which　coarse　minds　might　have　called　a　mistake。　　It　consoles
you　to　know　how　big　the　business　is：　and　what　an　enormous　number　of　people
were　needed　to　make　such　a　mistake。

That　is　the　romance　that　has　been　told　about　the　big　shops；　in　the
literature　and　art　which　they　have　bought；　and　which　（as　I　said　in　my
recent　articles）　will　soon　be　quite　indistinguishable　from　their　ordinary
advertisements。　　The　literature　is　commercial；　and　it　is　only　fair　to　say
that　the　commerce　is　often　really　literary。　　It　is　no　romance；　but　only
rubbish。

The　big　commercial　concerns　of　to…day　are　quite　exceptionally　incompetent。
They　will　be　even　more　incompetent　when　they　are　omnipotent。　　Indeed；
that　is；　and　always　has　been；　the　whole　point　of　a　monopoly；　the　old　and
sound　argument　against　a　monopoly。　　It　is　only　because　it　is　incompetent
that　it　has　to　be　omnipotent。　　When　one　large　shop　occupies　the　whole　of
one　side　of　a　street　（or　sometimes　both　sides）；　it　does　so　in　order　that
men　may　be　unable　to　get　what　they　want；　and　may　be　forced　to　buy　what
they　don't　want。　　That　the　rapidly　approaching　kingdom　of　the　Capitalists
will　ruin　art　and　letters；　I　have　already　said。　　I　say　here　that　in　the
only　sense　that　can　be　called　human；　it　will　ruin　trade；　too。

I　will　not　let　Christmas　go　by；　even　when　writing　for　a　revolutionary
paper　necessarily　appealing　to　many　with　none　of　my　religious　sympathies；
without　appealing　to　those　sympathies。　　I　knew　a　man　who　sent　to　a　great
rich　shop　for　a　figure　for　a　group　of　Bethlehem。　　It　arrived　broken。　　I
think　that　is　exactly　all　that　business　men　have　now　the　sense　to　do。



IV。　The　War　on　Holidays

The　general　proposition；　not　always　easy　to　define　exhaustively；　that　the
reign　of　the　capitalist　will　be　the　reign　of　the　cadthat　is；　of　the
unlicked　type　that　is　neither　the　citizen　nor　the　gentlemancan　be
excellently　studied　in　its　attitude　towards　holidays。　　The　special
emblematic　Employer　of　to…day；　especially　the　Model　Employer　（who　is　the
worst　sort）　has　in　his　starved　and　evil　heart　a　sincere　hatred　of　holidays。
I　do　not　mean　that　he　necessarily　wants　all　his　workmen　to　work　until
they　drop；　that　only　occurs　when　he　happens　to　be　stupid　as　well　as　wicked。
I　do　not　mean　to　say　that　he　is　necessarily　unwilling　to　grant　what　he
would　call　〃decent　hours　of　labour。〃　He　may　treat　men　like　dirt；　but　if
you　want　to　make　money；　even　out　of　dirt；　you　must　let　it　lie　fallow　by
some　rotation　of　rest。　　He　may　treat　men　as　dogs；　but　unless　he　is　a
lunatic　he　will　for　certain　periods　let　sleeping　dogs　lie。

But　humane　and　reasonable　hours　for　labour　have　nothing　whatever　to　do
with　the　idea　of　holidays。　　It　is　not　even　a　question　of　tenhours　day　and
eight…hours　day；　it　is　not　a　question　of　cutting　down　leisure　to　the　space
necessary　for　food；　sleep　and　exercise。　　If　the　modern　employer　came　to
the　conclusion；　for　some　reason　or　other；　that　he　could　get　most　out　of
his　men　by　working　them　hard　for　only　two　hours　a　day；　his　whole　mental
attitude　would　still　be　foreign　and　hostile　to　holidays。　　For　his　whole
mental　attitude　is　that　the　passive　time　and　the　active　time　are　alike
useful　for　him　and　his　business。　　All　is；　indeed；　grist　that　comes　to　his
mill；　including　the　millers。　　His　slaves　still　serve　him　in
unconsciousness；　as　dogs　still　hunt　in　slumber。　　His　grist　is　ground　not
only　by　the　sounding　wheels　of　iron；　but　by　the　soundless　wheel　of　blood
and　brain。　　His　sacks　are　still　filling　silently　when　the　doors　are　shut
on　the　streets　and　the　sound　of　the　grinding　is　low。


The　Great　Holiday

Now　a　holiday　has　no　connection　with　using　a　man　either　by　beating　or
feeding　him。　　When　you　give　a　man　a　holiday　you　give　him　back　his　body　and
soul。　　It　is　quite　possible　you　may　be　doing　him　an　injury　（though　he
seldom　thinks　so）；　but　that　does　not　affect　the　question　for　those　to　whom
a　holiday　is　holy。　　Immortality　is　the　great　holiday；　and　a　holiday；　like
the　immortality　in　the　old　theologies；　is　a　double…edged　privilege。　　But
wherever　it　is　genuine　it　is　simply　the　restoration　and　completion　of　the
man。　　If　people　ever　looked　at　the　printed　word　under　their　eye；　the　word
〃recreation〃　would　be　like　the　word　〃resurrection；〃　the　blast　of　a　trumpet。


A　man；　being　merely　useful；　is　necessarily　incomplete；　especially　if　he　be
a　modern　man　and　means　by　being　useful　being　〃utilitarian。〃　A　man　going
into　a　modern　club　gives　up　his　hat；　a　man　going　into　a　modern　factory
gives　up　his　head。　　He　then　goes　in　and　works　loyally　for　the　old　firm　to
build　up　the　great　fabric　of　commerce　（which　can　be　done　without　a　head）；
but　when　he　has　done　work　he　goes　to　the　cloak…room；　like　the　man　at　the
club；　and　gets　his　head　back　again；　that　is　the　germ　of　the　holiday。　　It
may　be　urged　that　the　club　man　who　leaves　his　hat　often　goes　away　with
another　hat；　and　perhaps　it　may　be　the　same　with　the　factory　hand　who　has
left　his　head。　　A　hand　that　has　lost　its　head　may　affect　the　fastidious　as
a　mixed　metaphor；　but；　God　pardon　us　all；　what　an　unmixed　truth！　　We　could
almost　prove　the　whole　ease　from　the　habit　of　calling　human　beings　merely
〃hands〃　while　they　are　working；　as　if　the　hand　were　horribly　cut　off；　like
the　hand　that　has　offended；　as　if；　while　the　sinner　entered　heaven　maimed；
his　unhappy　hand　still　laboured　laying　up　riches　for　the　lords　of　hell。
But　to　return　to　the　man　whom　we　found　waiting　for　his　head　in　the
cloak…room。　　It　may　be　urged；　we　say；　that　he　might　take　the　wrong　head；
like　the　wrong　hat；　but　here　the　similarity　ceases。　　For　it　has　been
observed　by　benevolent　onlookers　at　life's　drama　that　the　hat　taken　away
by　mistake　is　frequently　better　than　the　real　hat；　whereas　the　head　taken
away　after　the　hours　of　toil　is　certainly　worse：　stained　with　the　cobwebs
and　dust　of　this　dustbin　of　all　the　centuries。


The　Supreme　Adventure

All　the　words　dedicated　to　places　of　eating　and　drinking　are　pure　and
poetic　words。　　Even　the　word　〃hotel〃　is　the　word　hospital。　　And　St。　Julien；
whose　claret　I　drank　this　Christmas；　was　the　patron　saint　of　innkeepers；
because　（as　far　as　I　can　make　out）　he　was　hospitable　to　lepers。　　Now　I　do
not　say　that　the　ordinary　hotel…keeper　in　Piccadilly　or　the　Avenue　de
l'Opera　would　embrace　a　leper；　slap　him　on　the　back；　and　ask　him　to　order
what　he　liked；　but　I　do　say　that　hospitality　is　his　trade　virtue。　　And　I
do　also　say　it　is　well　to　keep　before　our　eyes　the　supreme　adventure　of　a
virtue。　　If　you　are　brave；　think　of　the　man　who　was　braver　than　you。　　If
you　are　kind；　think　of　the　man　who　was　kinder　than　you。

That　is　what　was　meant　by　having　a　patron　saint。　　That　is　the　link　between
the　poor　saint　who　received　bodily　lepers　and　the　great　hotel　proprietor
who　（as　a　rule）　receives　spiritual　lepers。　　But　a　word　yet　weaker　than
〃hotel〃　illustrates　the　same　pointthe　word　〃restaurant。〃　　There　again
you　have　the　admission　that　there　is　a　definite　building　or　statue　to
〃restore〃；　that　ineffaceable　image　of　man　that　some　call　the　image　of　God。
And　that　is　the　holiday；　it　is　the　restaurant　or　restoring　thing　that；　by
a　blast　of　magic；　turns　a　man　into　himself。

This　complete　and　reconstructed　man　is　the　nightmare　of　the　modern
capitalist。　　His　whole　scheme　would　crack　across　like　a　mirror　of　Shallot；
if　once　a　plain　man　were　ready　for　his　two　plain　dutiesready　to　live　and
ready　to　die。　　And　that　horror　of　holidays　which　marks　the　modern
capitalist　is　very　largely　a　horror　of　the　vision　of　a　whole　human　being：
something　that　is　not　a　〃hand〃　or　a　〃head　for　figutes。〃　　But　an　awful
creature　who　has　met　himself　in　the　wilderness。　　The　employers　will　give
time　to　eat；　time　to　sleep；　they　are　in　terror　of　a　time　to　think。

To　anyone　who　knows　any　history　it　is　wholly　needless　to　say　that　holidays
have　been　destroyed。　　As　Mr。　Belloc；　who　knows　much　more　history　than　you
or　I；　recently　pointed　out　in　the　〃Pall　Mall　Magazine；〃　Shakespeare's
title　of　〃Twelfth　Night：　or　What　You　Will〃　simply　meant　that　a　winter
carnival　for　everybody　went　on　wildly　till　the　twelfth　night　after
Christmas。　　Those　of　my　readers　who　work　for　modern　offices　or　factories
might　ask　their　employers　for　twelve　days'　holidays　after　Christmas。　　And
they　might　let　me　know　the　reply。



V。　THE　CHURCH　OF　THE　SERVILE　STATE

I　confess　I　cannot　see　why　mere　blasphemy　by　itself　should　be　an　excuse
for　tyranny　and　treason；　or　how　the　mere　isolated　fact　of　a　man　not
believing　in　God　should　be　a　reason　for　my　believing　in　Him。

But　the　rather　spinsterish　flutter　among　some　of　the　old　Freethinkers　has
put　one　tiny　ripple　of　truth　in　it；　and　that　affects　the　idea　which　I　wish
to　emphasise　even　to　monotony　in　these　pages。　　I　mean　the　idea　that　the
new　community　which　the　capitalists　are　now　constructing　will　be　a　very
complete　and　absolute　community；　and　one　which　will　tolerate　nothing
really　independent　of　itself。　　Now；　it　is　true　that　any　positive　creed；
true　or　false；　would　tend　to　be　independent　of　itself。　　It　might　be　Roman
Catholicism　or　Mahomedanism　or　Materialism；　but；　if　strongly　held；　it
would　be　a　thorn　in　the　side　of　the　Servile　State。　　The　Moslem　thinks　all
men　immortal：　the　Materialist　thinks　all　men　mortal。　　But　the　Moslem　does
not　think　the　rich　Sinbad　will　live　forever；　but　the　poor　Sinbad　will　die
on　his　deathbed。　　The　Materialist　does　not　think　that　Mr。　Haeckel　will　go
to　heaven；　while　all　the　peasants　wi