G.K. Chesterton once said, “The opposite of employment is not unemployment, but independence.” Employment, or work, is activity done for some utilitarian end. So, when he says the opposite of employment is independence, he is saying that true independence (or freedom) involves doing things for their own sake.
Things done for their own sake he called “useless.” Doing things for their own sake he called freedom. Doing everything for a wage is not freedom. “A wage slave,” writes Chesterton, “is a slave.”
This doesn’t mean that everyone who works for a living is a slave or that work is somehow bad, but work is something we do so that we can have time away from work. Aristotle said in the Politics, “Men work so that they can have leisure.” Chesterton would put it this way: We partake in useful activity, so that we may have time and place for useless activity.
Chesterton warned that as we do away with useless activities, we will do away with self-governance and lose our freedom.
Sanity is necessary for freedom. A man cannot be free if he is not sane. An insane man is not free; he is enslaved by his own delusions. But another distinction between the sane man and insane man is this: The sane man partakes in useless activity while the insane man is obsessed with being useful.
Chesterton got into a debate with R.B. Suthers on this matter. He recounts it early in his book Orthodoxy. Suthers claimed that free-will was lunacy because it meant useless action; and only the actions of a lunatic would be useless. Chesterton claimed that the last thing that can be said of a lunatic is that his actions are useless. If any human actions may be called useless, writes Chesterton, “they are the minor acts of a healthy man; whistling as he walks; slashing the grass with a stick; kicking his heels or rubbing his hands. It is the happy man who does the useless things.”
Chesterton writes, “If the madman could for an instant become careless, he would become sane.” The mad man reads too much reasonableness and usefulness into human activity.
Flag waving for instance. Men have never needed a hugely significant reason to wave their nation’s flag. It’s one of those useless things that we have always done. The maniac looks at men waving flags and thinks, “These men are insurrectionists.”
If you have ever had a coworker who believed everyone in the office was conspiring against him, then you’ve dealt with a maniac. He hyper-focuses on instances where the HR-lady was mean to him, but he never considers the fact that the HR lady is mean to everybody. Making people miserable is just her schtick; it is something she does out of habit. But the maniac cannot accept this.
As Chesterton puts it, “he is trapped in that clean, well-lit prison of a single idea.” The idea that all patriotic men are secretly subversive, or the idea that everyone in the office is out to get him.
If the maniac would simply set aside his precious single idea and take a leisurely walk, he’d realize that most of the people in the office don’t care about him, and patriotic men are not monsters. If the maniac could simply be careless and partake in some useless activity, he would be rid of his mania.
When we take time away from our usual toil and engage in useless activity, when we gaze at things for no reason but simply to see what there is to see—as a child gazes at things—we begin to fear that there is some layer of complexity that we do not yet comprehend. We begin to wonder.
The sane man begins his thinking by wondering. First, he gazes upon things, then he wonders about them, and finally he comes to his conclusion. The maniac thinks backwards. He starts at his conclusion and then he looks for things that support his conclusion—things that support his one isolated idea.
The thinking of the maniac is confined. “The maniac thinks in a circle,” says Chesterton. But the thinking of a sane man is not confined. His thinking progresses down a road. He observes things, he wonders, he reasons his way to some truth. He wonders about that truth and figures out more truth. He progresses from what is more familiar to what is less familiar; from what is more known to what is less known. Aristotle called this “the order of learning.” Chesterton called it “free thinking.”
Why does Chesterton begin Orthodoxy with this chapter about mania? After a brief introduction, we get this chapter titled “The Maniac” where Chesterton tells us about some insane asylum called Hanwell. He spends a lot of time telling us how to avoid Hanwell, but why doesn’t he tell us how to avoid hell? Hell is worse than Hanwell, right?
Chesterton explains that modern men do not believe in Hell, but they do believe in Hanwell. He knows that Hanwell is more familiar to his readers. Men usually encounter insanity before they encounter damnation. They see Hanwell before they see Hell.
Chesterton is proceeding from what is more familiar to what is less familiar. And so, he does not begin by asking his reader what must man do to avoid Hell, but what must man do to avoid Hanwell?
Chesterton is inviting his reader to proceed down Aristotle’s Road—the order of learning. He is inviting his reader to partake in free thinking. You see, Chesterton was a free thinker.
Free thinking is necessary for freedom. Free thinking is our next example. If you cannot think for yourself, you cannot govern yourself.
Freethought is not “keeping an open mind.” As Chesterton writes, “I opened my intellect as I opened my mouth, in order to shut it again on something solid.” If you cannot close your mind around solid truth, you cannot think. The whole point of freethought is to satisfy man’s natural desire to know.
There are two big groups of professional thinkers—or so-called philosophers—who are out to destroy freethought: 1) those who say thinking is not valid, and 2) those who say there’s nothing to think about.
The former insists the intellect cannot be trusted. The latter insists there is nothing the intellect can trust. Both agree that the common man cannot think for himself—Don’t even try it! There’s no use! Let us think for you!
Chesterton called this the “Suicide of Thought.” He writes:
Just as one generation could prevent the very existence of the next generation, by all entering a monastery or jumping into the sea, so one set of thinkers can in some degree prevent further thinking by teaching the next generation that there is no validity in any human thought.
The suicide of thought precipitates an entrenchment and growth of the current powers within government and business. If the common man doesn’t trust his own thinking, he will not take time to consider how to drastically improve things. He will not foment revolution even in the face of tyrants.
It is for this reason, according to Chesterton, tyrants like to propagate modern philosophical literature—it keeps the common man from engaging in the useless act of thinking, which often precedes the useful act of revolution.
Chesterton tells the story of Mr. Gradgrind, the factory owner who distributes modern books that sew doubt and relativism in the minds of his employees all to the benefit of Gradgrind:
The worker in Mr. Gradgrind’s factory, the little clerk in Mr. Gradgrind’s office—he is too mentally worried to believe in freedom. He is kept quiet with revolutionary literature. He is calmed and kept in his place by a constant succession of wild philosophies. He is a Marxian one day, a Nietzscheite the next day, a Superman (probably) the next day; and a slave every day. The only thing that remains after all the philosophies is the factory. The only man who gains by all the philosophies is Gradgrind. It would be worth his while to keep his commercial helotry supplied with skeptical literature. And now as I come to think of it, of course, Gradgrind is famous for giving libraries. He shows his sense. All modern books are on his side.
All modern philosophy is a war on the common man and his free thinking. Once a man is drunk on this literature, he will be skeptical of everything—even his own thinking. He will not gather with friends at the public house to discuss what must be done with those in power.
That is what politics used look like: men going off to the public house to discuss what is to be done about those in power. Now, politics consists of the powerful meeting in Washington to discuss what is to be done about us.
But what were the public houses? They were local watering holes, places where men would gather, drink, and share thoughts with one another. They would engage in free thought together. They would wonder about things together and gain common sense.
What is common sense? Common sense consists of experiences and events that can be sensed by the common ruck of men. Common sense is yet another useless thing that is necessary for freedom. Common sense won’t buy you a cup of coffee but your ability to govern yourself depends on it.
Some things are just a matter of common sense—Not all things, but some things.
Is it snowing outside? Our ancestors would have used common sense to answer that question. They would have walked outside. Today, if you ask a young person, “is it snowing outside,” he will take his cell phone out and check his weather app. But this question can be answered without a machine or a meteorologist.
Likewise, on the question of abortion. The common man does not need some expert in a lab coat to tell him that murdering your own child in the womb is bad. It is a matter of common sense.
Then, there’s the debate over transgender surgery. The progressive presents his study indicating that people who get trans-surgery live happy lives. The conservative presents his own study showing that they do not. Isn’t this absurd? Should this debate be adjudicated by competing studies?
Our common lived experience would inform us that mutilating one’s own genitalia is not a path to human happiness. We do not need a man in a lab coat to tell us so much.
Nor do we need a man in a lab coat to tell us that men and women exist and that they are distinct from one-another and that they are created to be this way. It is apparent to any normal person.
When a community is governed by common men—with common sense—little boys are taught to be men and little girls are taught be women, regardless of what any scientific study says.
We lose common sense when we accept the modern notion that machines, and studies are the only means by which truth can be attained. We gain common sense—according to Chesterton—by partaking in this thing called “culture.” But what is culture?
Culture is the process whereby free, independent men are melded into a free, independent community. That’s what it means to “cultivate.” When a man cultivates a garden, he takes the various parts—the soil, fertilizer, seed, etc.—and he brings them together into a self-sustaining, distinct community.
A self-governing community of free men has its own culture. If the men in the community do not share a common culture, then they are not a community. If they adopt the culture of another community then that other community is dictating terms to them, and they are no longer self-governing.
Culture is a collection of useless things and useless activities, created by the common ruck of men and handed down to subsequent generations. It is made by common men within a community; therefore, it is democratic; but it is passed down to posterity, therefore it is also traditional. Culture is both democratic and traditional. For this reason, Chesterton refers to culture as “the democracy of the dead.”
The primary example of culture, in Chesterton’s Orthodoxy, is the fairytale.
Fairytales are crafted by the common ruck of men, not by experts. As Chesterton writes, “the fairytale is written by the majority of men in the village who are sane. The history book is written by the one man in the village who is insane.” And of course, fairytales are passed down to posterity.
The same could be said of festivals, holidays, dances, songs, and perhaps even liturgy, which after all means “community action.” Liturgy is, also, passed down through generations.
Notice: All these things—fairytales, holidays, dances, liturgy, etc.—are useless things. We partake in them for their own sake and not for any utilitarian end.
These useless things are necessary for freedom to survive within a community. As they go, so goes freedom. Indeed, our loss of freedom has a great deal to do with our loss of culture.
When we stop dancing and singing for ourselves, we hire professionals to dance and sing for us. When we stop telling our own stories conveying our own morals, we pay professionals in Hollywood to tell us stories conveying their morals.
The prominent place once occupied by fairytales is now occupied by superhero movies, which are not fairytales.
These Superhero films are not written by, or passed down from, our ancestors. They’re Hollywood creations. They have nothing to do with the common man or his patrimony. They are not crafted by common men in the public house, nor are they bequeathed to us by our parents. They are not culture.
Hollywood films—according to Chesterton—are indicative of cultural decline and a loss of freedom. “Modern men cannot enjoy themselves,” writes Chesterton. “That is, they cannot amuse themselves and therefore they must be amused.” He continues,
They do not enjoy themselves just as they do not govern themselves. … They have to enjoy something that does not come from themselves but from a class of men richer or more cunning or more scientific than themselves. … Men will not be truly free so long as they depend even on the most magic machine for the emotion of seeing other people falling off precipices or rescuing brides from burning houses. Freedom will mean a citizen’s interest in his own wife, in his own hearth, or his own house on fire; and a free man will fall off his own private precipice. (“Objections to the Cinema,” Illustrated London News, June 19, 1920)
Chesterton compared modern cinema to the bread and circuses of the late Roman Republic. It’s cheap entertainment that the powerful give to the common man to keep him distracted and docile.
We should not rely on professionals for our storytelling—said Chesterton—nor should we rely on them for our fighting.
Chesterton was weary of professional soldiers. He considered them yet another sign of freedom slipping away from the common man. He cautioned that power was transferring from the common man to the professional soldier due to a loss of courage within the community.
Chesterton writes that “The professional soldier gains more and more power as the general courage of a community declines.” (“On Rudyard Kipling and Making the World Small,” Heretics). When men lose their courage, they pay professionals to fight for them.
Courage is important for the preservation of freedom. By how do men foster courage? Where does it come from?
The honor paid to useless things plays a special role in fostering courage within a community by asking men to look foolish. As Chesterton writes,
A man who has faith must be prepared not only to be a martyr, but to be a fool. It is absurd to say that a man is ready to toil and die for his convictions when he is not even ready to wear a wreath around his head for them.
The useless activities comprising our culture appear foolish to modern men. On Ash Wednesday, your co-workers ask, “Why do you have dirt on your forehead.” Strangers in the restaurant look askance, as your family says grace before eating. The world thinks you are a fool.
If you’re willing to look foolish for the cause, it doesn’t mean you’re willing to die for it, but it’s hard to imagine a man willing to die for a cause when he’s unwilling to be a fool for it. A father must be willing to die for his kids, but also willing to make silly faces so that they may laugh.
But we stopped doing foolish things. That’s just another thing we pay professionals for.
Today, the common man in this country knows he has lost his freedom. But how did it happen?
As men thought less and less about the causes of things, as they stopped gathering and wondering—completely discarding leisure—they came to rely on machines, professionals, experts, government bureaucrats, and other outside conveniences to handle various tasks that their ancestors would have handled for themselves. That is how freedom was lost.
So, what do we do now? How do we reverse this trend?
I bring no grand top-down political solution. I ask nothing of professional politicians, experts, or wise guys.
Chesterton wrote: “I would rather be governed by the common ruck of men than by that troublesome literary class to which I belong.” Likewise, William F. Buckley, Jr., famously said, “I would rather be governed by the first 2,000 names in the Boston telephone directory than by the 2,000 faculty members of Harvard University.”
I share that sentiment.
We can leave the experts to their own devices. In our present crises they are not the solution to our problem—they are the problem.
We need to, once again, do things for their own sake. Chesterton says we should do some things even if we do them badly. Such as writing our own love letters.
But the trend, today, is toward automation. Over the last few years, I have received automated Holiday Cards in my email inbox from friends and coworkers. The automated Holiday card is the hot new thing with young people. It is non-offensive, tolerant, cheap, efficient, and impersonal. No more running around: fussing with pens and postage or scrambling to find a mailing address. Best of all, it takes only a few minutes—so you can get right back to work.
“Donald wishes you a Happy New Year! Click here to send a reply!”
We have computer programs to sign-and-send our Christmas Cards. How long before we have computers writing our love letters?
If we cannot even write our own letters, how can we govern ourselves?
I propose that we write our own letters and sign our own cards during this Christmas season. Can we do that? I think we can. You don’t have to do it on parchment with a quill—although, that would be cool. You can use a pen and paper; and then, you can send it to your loved one. Or you can hand-deliver it to them.
If you do that, you will have done a beautifully useless thing. And that is how this starts. Because, in our struggle for freedom, it is the useless things that are most useful.
I sincerely hope this essay has been useless.
__________
This essay was first delivered as a talk to the Chesterton Academy of the Immaculate Heart in Volo, Illinois.
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The featured image is a photograph of G. K. Chesterton at work, and is in the public domain, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
