The Universe According to G. K. Chesterton Read online

  The Universe According to G. K. CHESTERTON

  A Dictionary of the Mad, Mundane and Metaphysical

  G. K. CHESTERTON

  With Illustrations by the Author

  Edited by

  DALE AHLQUIST

  DOVER PUBLICATIONS, INC.

  MINEOLA, NEW YORK

  Copyright

  Copyright (c) 2011 by Dover Publications, Inc.

  Introduction copyright (c) 2011 by Dale Ahlquist

  Bibliographical Note

  The Universe According to G. K. Chesterton: A Dictionary of the Mad, Mundane and Metaphysical, first published by Dover Publications, Inc., in 2011, is a new compilation edited by Dale Ahlquist. Artwork by G. K. Chesterton has been selected to illustrate the text.

  International Standard Book Number

  eISBN-13: 978-0-486-32102-8

  Manufactured in the United States by Courier Corporation

  48115801

  www.doverpublications.com

  Contents

  List of Illustrations

  Introduction to the Dover Edition

  G. K. Chesterton on Definitions

  Chesternitions

  List of Illustrations

  Aesthete

  Anthropology

  Childhood

  Dancing

  Danger

  Diabolist

  Drunkard

  Duel

  Earth

  Executioner

  Farce

  Fashion

  Gentleman

  Head

  Humor

  Insomnia

  Knighthood

  Madness

  Nightmare

  People

  Rivalry

  Seriousness

  Sport

  Superman

  Umbrella

  Vulgar

  Introduction to the Dover Edition

  Dale Ahlquist

  The heart of [Chesterton’s] style is lucidity, produced by a complete rejection of ambiguity: complete exactitude of definition.

  —Hilaire Belloc, On the Place of Gilbert Chesterton in English Letters

  In a lecture at Oxford in 1914, G. K. Chesterton talked about the word “romance.” The modern world, he said, had lost the idea of what this word means. If an aged nobleman married a young lady in tights who danced in a chorus line, journalists—“who were subject to sudden fits of dementia”—would describe it in the papers as a “romantic” marriage. Ordinary people, he pointed out, really did marry for romantic reasons; there was plenty of romance in the plain towns of Tooting and Clapham, and he found it difficult to understand why his fellow journalists should reserve the word “romance” for the one instance in which the two people getting married had different but equally degraded motives. It was an example of how degraded a good word could become.

  Chesterton then proceeded to define “romance.” In literature, it was a mood that combined to the keenest extent the idea of danger and the idea of hope. The essence of romance was “adventure, and above all, unexpected success.” It differed from tragedy in that it had from the very beginning the idea of hope; it differed from comedy in that it had from the beginning the idea of danger. “There must be courage in it, but the courage must not be mere fortitude, like that of Hector looking forward to his doom. And the courage must not be mere confidence, like that of Achilles driving all the Trojans before him. It must be a fighting chance.”1

  It is a shining, yet typical, example of Chesterton’s poetic way of merely defining his terms before proceeding to his main argument. Though he is conventionally criticized as being paradoxical, and even sloppy and inattentive, as a writer, Chesterton is, on the contrary, razor sharp and radiantly lucid. The clarity of his thought is as astonishing as the vastness of his literary output. Though he seemingly writes about everything, he is always focused, always precise. It is difficult to force a different meaning onto something he says. It also is difficult to be ambiguous in one’s own thinking afterwards. You have to do battle with the definitions he gives you.

  H. I. Brock of the New York Times ventured to Beaconsfield, England, in 1912 to interview Chesterton. Brock, like many others, noted the comparison between Chesterton and the famous eighteenth-century man of letters, Dr. Samuel Johnson, who, like Chesterton, was a master essayist and a quotable commentator on the world around him. But Dr. Johnson was most famous for writing a dictionary; Chesterton never wrote a dictionary. In spite of this, Brock called him a lexicographer, “a twentieth century modification of the old dictionary maker—intent on putting words in their place.”

  The American reporter observed that Chesterton was constantly wrestling with the language, trying to express the clear idea and to extract truth from the raw material and muddled metaphors that had been handed down to him. “The trouble with words,” Chesterton told his interviewer, “was that you had no sooner tacked one of them upon an observed fact—merely as a label—than the word began to take charge, as it were, to usurp the place of the fact. So presently the fact was lost sight of and the word remained, saying sweeping and false things.”2

  We cannot fault Chesterton, who was always wrestling with words, for not writing a dictionary. He gave us one hundred books and hundreds of poems and at least five thousand essays on a myriad of topics. We are still very busy reading all that he wrote, and still tracking down all that he wrote. And yet, we wish he had written a dictionary. It would have been one of the great delights of twentieth-century literature, a book to open again and again and again, like any dictionary, only more so.

  The connection between Chesterton and Dr. Johnson is pretty tight (in spite of the fact that the former failed to write a dictionary). Gilbert Keith Chesterton would often dress up to portray his literary predecessor. He also wrote an entertaining and provocative, though seldom performed, play called The Judgment of Dr. Johnson, in which the lines spoken by the title character contain both actual Johnson quotations and Chestertonian fabrications—the two are indistinguishable. In addition, Chesterton wrote introductions to books about Johnson, to new editions of his writings, and to a later edition of Boswell’s classic Life. Perhaps the only other thing that separates Chesterton from Dr. Johnson is that Chesterton never had his own Boswell.

  I might argue that Chesterton’s greatest accomplishment was as a literary critic. He compares Johnson himself to a dictionary: “He took each thing, big or small, as it came. He told the truth, but on miscellaneous matters and in an accidental order.” And, “he judged all things with a gigantic and detached good sense.”3 According to Chesterton, “a literary critic is permitted a greater levity.”4 There is levity in much of Johnson’s Dictionary, and we see a similar levity in many of the definitions that Chesterton offers when he lays out his own terms. And this is the point of the present volume: even though G. K. Chesterton never explicitly wrote a dictionary, he explained his terms so explicitly in everything else he wrote, that he, in fact, wrote the bones of a dictionary, which we have reassembled here.

  The first person to figure out that Chesterton was writing pieces of a dictionary was John Peterson, who started a newsletter in 1990 with the catchy title Midwest Chesterton News. It was a humble publication that would prove to be very fruitful, eventually giving birth to Gilbert Magazine, which has been called “the best magazine in the world.”5 John started a little feature in his newsletter called “Chesternitions,” matching up Chesterton’s definitions to the words he used, as he used them. I was immediately swept up by this idea, and, as I read Chesterton, I began circling the words that I noticed Chesterton would define as they cropped up. Nathan Allen joined in the chase, capturing a few good specimens as well. “Chesternitions” should be the name of this book because it is a perfect name for a Chesterton dictionary, and it is just a great word. Chesternitions. [It makes you wonder why the publisher didn’t agree to it. Must be neologophobia: a fear of new words.]

  In any case, this book has been many years in the making. First of all, it is compiled from thirty-six years of Chesterton’s published writing, the first third of the twentieth century. Then, the compiling itself took about twenty years. And we have only begun. We still haven’t gotten serious about it. There is a much larger Chesterton dictionary to be created.

  Dr. Johnson’s dictionary had 2,300 pages and 43,000 entries. I’m not saying that we could equal that accomplishment, but if we did some more work mining Chesterton’s writings, which are in excess of sixteen million words, we could come up with a much more substantial Chester-lexicon than the present effort. The more that I have worked on this project, the more I am convinced that Chesterton could have written a dictionary. His vivid descriptions of ideas, his clear explanations of what he means, his poetic renderings of words, not only leave us wanting more, but heavily hint that there is more.

  Some of his definitions are satirical, but never really coldly sarcastic, as in Ambrose Bierce’s Devil’s Dictionary. In fact, The Universe According to G. K. Chesterton is, in many respects, the counterpart, or even the antidote, to The Devil’s Dictionary. Chesterton’s philosophy is one of hope, not despair. While Bierce scoffs at sacred beliefs, Chesterton skewers skepticism with a very sharp sword. He scoffs at the scoffers. He also draws his strength from tradition and has very little faith in fashion.

  Frequently occurring words in Chesterton’s writings produce multiple definitions that reinforce each other. But some of his richest definitions are his sho
rtest: conclude is “to shut up,” corruption is “death from within.” Chesterton can pack huge meanings into a minimum of words. That is what poets do.

  These are not dull and detached definitions. They are not neutral, but neither are they narrow and purely subjective. There really are no neutral words. Every word is full of meaning that is connected to the larger meaning of things. Chesterton’s definitions are defensible even if they can be disagreed with, as they most certainly will be. But a man who takes a position cannot take it ambiguously. Nor can he take it dishonestly. As Chesterton explains:

  It is true of almost anything that he who defends it defines it. Defense involves definition either in conducting a controversy or constructing a fort. The wall round a city is not merely a precaution against the city being destroyed; it is also the process by which the city is created. This is the truth of psychology which really feeds the passion of patriotism, and even of militant patriotism. The things we love, the things we think beautiful, are things of a certain shape which we recognize.6

  Each of Chesterton’s definitions, like any other definition, hangs on the word “is.” Every definition is stating that one thing is something else, even though it is itself, not something else. There is a paradox here. We are trying to understand a word using other words. When defining a word, we are forced to use different words than the word we are defining. It does no good, as it were, to call a spade a spade. There is not, as Chesterton says, “any kind of logical or philosophical use in merely saying the same word twice over.”7

  It is a further paradox that some of the simplest things are most difficult to define. The simple things are not simple. The most basic words are extremely subtle and complex and tend to be larger than our understanding of them. The challenge of the lexicographer is to rein in these wild beasts. Not only to rein them in, but pen them in. Chesterton says, “to define a thing is literally and grammatically to limit it,”8 and thus to define art or God is “to limit the illimitable,” which seems rather impossible. (Yet you will find Chesternitions of these words.) Chesterton himself admits that the one unbearable insult to the divine order is “the insult that it is very easily explained after all.”9

  To further complicate matters, we are using a decaying language to define these words. We suffer from “that perpetual degeneration of words which is the whole history of human language.”10 It is a dilemma that Chesterton claims is indicative of “the restlessness and fugitive quality of our time.”11

  Chesterton considers himself a collector of catchwords, much as a butterfly collector tries to pin down those things that flutter past. The difference is that catchwords are more like moths than like butterflies; that is, they corrupt and destroy. Catchwords, says Chesterton, are used as “a substitute for thinking,”12 and come to mean the very opposite of what the words themselves ought to mean. For example, Chesterton catches his friend H. G. Wells using a catchword when he says that we need “a restatement of religious truth.” But Chesterton knows that this is not what Wells really means:

  To restate a thing is to state it over again; possibly to state the thing in other words, but to state the same thing. It is nonsense to say that the statement, “The dog is mad,” is restated in the amended form, “The cow is dead”; and it is equally absurd that the news that the devil is dead should be called a restatement of the tradition that the devil is dangerous. In truth, as I have said, these people really mean the very reverse of what they say. They do not mean that we are to take the same idea and restate it in new words. On the contrary, they mean that we are to use the old words and attach to them a new idea.13

  Chesterton tries hard to avoid “logomachy,” which is “that mere quarrel about a word.”14 A quarrel differs from an argument in that an argument is productive to the point of ending in agreement, whereas a quarrel is simply wearisome and endless. But the reason we quarrel instead of arguing is that we do not define our terms. We use fewer and fewer words and force them to mean more and more. But the practical result is that we have less and less to say. Not only does this cause one of our “chief troubles at present,” namely, “that words and things do not fit each other,15 but it reflects another problem: Our sloppy and lazy way of speaking leads to sloppy and lazy thinking. And vice versa. “It is difficult to believe,” observes Chesterton, “that people who are obviously careless about language can really be very careful about anything else.”16

  Chesterton complains of the “confusion into which our modern thought has fallen; confusion not I mean merely as to original theories or ultimate conclusions, but confusion about categories and the mere nature of logical terms.”17 And so Chesterton has chosen to fight this confusion: “I deal with the use and abuse of logic; the use and abuse of language; the duty of talking sense even on the wrong side; the duty of not talking nonsense even on the right side. There may be things I think so absolutely abnormal as to deserve to be treated as monstrosities.”18

  We need to agree even to disagree. We need to have some common ground in order to argue. We must start with some agreement so that we can have a fruitful disagreement. We must begin then, by defining our terms.

  In the pages that follow, you will find words defined in a way to delight and perhaps jolt you. In addition to common words, there will be a few uncommon words, and even a few terms that were not used in Chesterton’s time, but for which he still managed to anticipate a definition. For extra spice, there is a sprinkling of unique words that are Chesterton’s own inventions. The sources given are the chapter titles from books by Chesterton, books by others to which Chesterton contributed a chapter or an introduction, and periodicals that featured a literary essay by Chesterton. There are also some selections from the two Maisie Ward biographies of Chesterton. The dates of the Illustrated London News are from the American edition, which, until 1913, were two weeks later than the English edition. If the references are not precise enough for some scholars, they will have to settle for the precision of the definitions themselves. The only reference they will need is this book, which by all rights, should be a standard reference work for years to come. I am not saying this to boast of anything that I have done, because the accomplishment is not mine; it is G. K. Chesterton’s—he is not only Dr. Johnson’s rightful heir as a lexicographer extraordinaire, but a walking and talking gift to the English language. It is a privilege to help his words live on after him.

  Notes

  1. Manchester Guardian, May 18, 1914.

  2. The New York Times, Aug. 18, 1912.

  3. “Dr. Johnson,” GKC as MC, 1929.

  4. Introduction to Vol. IV, The Life Of Samuel Johnson, by James Boswell, Doubleday, Page and Co., Garden City, N.Y., 1922.

  5. by me.

  6. Century, March, 1923.

  7. “Dombey and Son,” Appreciations and Criticisms of the Works of Charles Dickens, 1911.

  8. Daily News, February 7, 1902.

  9. Ibid.

  10. Illustrated London News, December 9, 1905.

  11. Illustrated London News, December 24, 1910.

  12. Illustrated London News, January 14, 1928.

  13. Illustrated London News, June 9, 1928.

  14. “The Hound of Heaven,” The Common Man, 1950.

  15. Ibid.

  16. Illustrated London News, April 4, 1908.

  17. Daily News, April 14, 1906.

  18. Illustrated London News, February 20, 1932.

  G. K. Chesterton on Definitions

  Definitions are very dreadful things: they do the two things that most men, especially comfortable men, cannot endure. They fight; and they fight fair. (“The Church of the Servile State,” Utopia of Usurers)

  To define a thing is literally and grammatically to limit it. (Daily News, Feb. 7, 1902)

  I have generally found dictionary definitions extraordinarily bad. (Illustrated London News, Jan. 8, 1927)

  The word that has no definition is the word that has no substitute. (“The Dickens Period,” Charles Dickens)

  For it is generally difficult to destroy, or even to defy, a thing that we cannot define. (Illustrated London News, June 8, 1929)

  The mere meaning of words is now strangely forgotten and falsified. (“The Chartered Libertine,” A Miscellany of Men)