Orthodoxy

By G. K. Chesterton

Catholic-ometer: 4.5 of 5

Enjoyability: 3.5 of 5

I've given most books by G.K. Chesterton high marks in the past, because I like his wit, and frankly, his orthodoxy.  I was also impressed by his sharp understanding of the errors in the thinking of the time in which he lived, and his talent for humor and rhetoric, and especially his admiration of Saint Thomas Aquinas, who single-handedly saved me from a ten-year run of agnosticism.

Nevertheless, sometimes, his prose gets decidedly purple; more so than is good for it.  I just don't complain about it because he uses the prose to outline some very clear and provable truth.

Orthodoxy, though considered by many to be Chesterton's magnum opus, is, in fact, one of my least favorite of his books, and the main reason is that he demonstrates so clearly that it is prejudices and preferences; not reason, on which his view of the world rests.

I'm sorry to have to say this, because we share so much in common, but in the early parts of the book, Chesterton begins saying that he is assuming that he's speaking to people who want the world to be dramatic and romantic, rather than a system.  He starts talking about lessons that he learned from classic fairy tales, and about the joys in monotony that babies seem to experience, and none of this has anything to do with logic or reason.  If I could ask Chesterton about these passages, I would put it in this way.

"Suppose that you met a person who had never heard any of the old fairy tales, never heard a poem or a song, and discovered joy, only in those rare instances in which he was victorious over something.  How would you defend your world view to this person?  What frame of reference would you use?  What frame of reference would you -be able- to use?"

I fear things have gotten much worse since Chesterton's time, in that children no longer hear the instructive fairy tales, and no longer have much experience of the world outside their doors.  Because of this, the process of "letting fresh air in," as Chesterton puts it; letting it into their thoughts is not so simple as reminding them of their childhood.  Their childhood, very often, did not contain any recognition of the things that make life worth living.

However, as the book progresses, Chesterton extends this problem, making aesthetic claims as though they were truth claims.

In chapter 4, he claims that we should be grateful for snow being white, because it could have been black, and for roses being red because they could have been blue.  The problem is, I don't see any reason to agree with him on this, simply because my aesthetics differ from his.  Aesthetics are not objective statements, but expressions of how certain stimuli make one feel.  If white snow and red roses make him happy, then good for him, but this is not a statement of fact, nor is it constant for everyone.  I, for example, love red roses, but would -prefer- black snow to white.  I just dislike the color white.  It provokes unpleasant emotions in me.  So what?  That proves nothing, and for the most part, it effects none of the choices I make, simply because I choose not to let it.

In the same chapter, he seems to praise monotony, or at least, to claim that it's better, since small babies seem to enjoy it so much.  Then, he criticizes naturalism for being monotonous.  Clearly there's a problem with this.  I'd say monotony is the least of naturalism's problems, of which there are many.

Chapter 4, paragraph 31; Chesterton claims that people choose which emotions to have.  This is false.  People choose which emotions to -express,- but the emotions which you have are completely beyond your control.

He then goes -far- off topic, defending "smallness" as being inherently more lovable and romantic than "bigness," and again, using only personal sentiments as his evidence.  Needless to say, I was unconvinced, and even somewhat angered, as it seems, to me, totally irrelevant to the subject of the book, and unlikely to provoke the reaction that he wishes.  The fact that I personally find smallness repulsive, and bigness enchanting is a side issue, though it is, in fact, one of my primary reasons for being willing to listen to the gospel message of dying to this life in pursuit of the next; the pearl of great price is not worth pursuing because of its smallness.

Chesterton uses the last few paragraphs of chapter 4 to try to outline why the need to practice economics is a fun and romantic need, by comparing it to Robinson Crusoe being marooned on an island with only a few items surviving the shipwreck.  However, there are several reasons why this comparison fails.

1. Sure, economics can be part of an adventure, but only when there seems to be some chance of losing, or of winning.  Crusoe had the chance to do either, and that's what makes his experiences an "adventure."

2. Simply because something -can- be fun, it doesn't follow that it -will- be.  I doubt that Crusoe thought it was very much fun being shipwrecked, regardless of how much we may enjoy reading about his escapades from a safe, warm armchair, which brings me to the next reason.

3. There is a difference between fantasy and reality.  We may have great fun watching a movie about a boxer who's badly injured in a fight, and has to work his way back to the top, but that doesn't mean that it would be fun to -be- badly injured, or that bad injuries are somehow good because of this.

4. Even if something -is- fun, it doesn't follow that it's in any way related to drama or romance, or even to risk.  If you can appreciate having small tools at your disposal for large tasks, you can also appreciate having large tools for even larger tasks.

5. None of this is relevent.  It's all subjective aesthetics, which we don't all share, and since that's the whole message in this case, if you don't already share his aesthetics, you won't get his message.

Chapter 5 opens with a cursory glance at the concepts of pessimism and optimism, which, unfortunately, he gets completely wrong.  He remarks that he thinks optimists are people who think everything is good except pessimists, and pessimists are people who think everything is bad except themselves.  Again; problems.

1. Many optimists (and pessimists) think that pessimists are good.

2. Many pessimists -loath- themselves.

3. Pessimism and optimism, even as abstractions, are not about whether you think things are good or bad.  Rather, they're about how often you -dwell on- the things that you think are good, versus the ones you think are bad.  A man may recognize that his neighbors never talk to him, except to scorn, that his government is run by a tyrant, than the businesses that surround him are all using their money for evil purposes, and that he himself is friendless, relationless, childless and destitute, and yet, still be an optimist, because he comforts himself by reminding himself of the things that -are not- horrible, even if those things are mere dreams.

4. Pessimism and optimism are not real people-types.  They're abstractions invented by psychologists to try to keep track of trends in psychology.  It would be a mistake to assume that any human being is a -pure- optimist or a -pure- pessimist.

5. Again, what does this have to do with philosophy?  Nothing, as far as I can tell.

Next comes the point where Chesterton begins to speak as though we have some obligation to be loyal to the universe, by our very nature.  This sounds suspiciously like "My universe, right or wrong," which he seems to admit later, strangely.  Then, in Chapter 5, Paragraph 6, he launches a broadside attack against pessimists, claiming them to be "candid friends."  This is clearly not always true, since often, pessimists will be very candid about -not- being your friend, especially when you criticize them for being pessimists.

He becomes more and more derogatory towards pessimists as the chapter continues, calling them traitors to the universe and the like.  It's just garbage by this point.  None of this has anything to do with sanity or philosophy.  He's just coming down on his least favorite type of personality.  For example, he claims that pessimists don't love the things they chastise.  I know for fact this is not true of all pessimists.  Frankly, I expected better.

Next, Chesterton defines the difference between "good" and "bad" optimism; that bad optimism leads to laziness and complacence, while good optimism leads to eager action.  It's an important point to make, and I'm glad he made it, but in a way, it also serves to further outline his mistakes regarding pessimism.  After all, if optimism can motivate a person well or badly, why can't pessimism do the same?  Why is it only optimism which has a "good" version, while all pessimists are lumped into the same pile?

However, midway through chapter 6 (paragraph 16,) Chesterton begins defending the faith again, and the book picks up!  He includes several brilliant examples of accusations thrown at the church, and how they contradict one another, as well as a fantastic interpretation of the "lion will lay down with the lamb" passage in paragraph 27, which seems to imply that there's room for more than one type of personality in Christianity, in defiance of his previous remarks.

However, it doesn't last, and by the end of chapter 7, he's singing the praises of levity again, and trying to claim that the saints would back him up (I can think of at least a dozen of the great saints of the Church who were as serious-minded as IRS agents.)  If he wants to claim that the faith has plenty of room for those who don't take themselves too seriously, I would say that claim is true, but the way he's talking, it almost sounds as though serious individuals have little or no place in the kingdom of God.  I hope I don't need to explain why that's false.

Nevertheless, Chapter 8 opens up, and once again, we're back to strong critiques of anti-Christian arguments, then in Chapter 9, arguments for why doubt is unjustified in the case of belief in God.  These chapters are -really good.-

I guess my conclusion with regard to the book is a sort of "halfway" conclusion.  It gets points just for being orthodox, but I have to say that I think the book meandered somewhat between legitimate defenses of the faith, and irrelevant aesthetics, with which I very much disagree.  Statements of aesthetics and outlook (positive vs. negative) are not matters of faith or morals, and don't really matter when it comes to believing in God, or being a Christian.  As long as you take it in that context, I can't imagine this book's "low points" doing you any harm, and I do recommend the other half of it, because, as I said, the "high points" are -very- high.