The Egoist: No. 10, Vol. 1, May 15th 1914.
by Dora Marsden
SALVATION, service, saviours: the alliterative trinity whose kingdom does so alarmingly spread. The reason that this phenomenon of modern times-the raising up of "Saviours" by the squad so to speak-gets less attention than its significance deserves, is to be sought in the existence of a certain clashing between the "deliverers " modesty and their vocabulary: their business, without a doubt, they conceive to be the "saving of society," but remain a trifle deprecating labelling of themselves boldly and assertively, Saviours. It is a pity, for the special link which is the mark of the saviours is quite considerably interesting. The thought that the existence of even their least little one should be over looked for want of its proper designation seems to make it worthwhile lifting the name of the species into the currency of recognised labels. So as Saviours let them be known for our better appreciation of their unique quality.
Two publications-a book published by Mr. Heinemann on "Prisons and Prisoners" and a volume of cartoons by Mr. W. Dyson published under the auspices of the "Daily Herald"-"both signs of the times" and therefore reserved for comment in these columns, are the inspiration of the foregoing reflections. Together they make a complete presentation of salvationism-form and substance. "Society saved through the Service Of Saviours and How it is Done" as conceived by the agents in person, is the gist expressed by line and word of both the volumes. Both look to the swelling of the already stout host of Saviours by the winning for it certain particular chunks of the populace. The author of the written volume "Prisons and Prisoners" -Lady Constance Lytton-believes that her own little lot--"women" in general, and "leisured women" in particular, together with a lost tribe called Liberal Government will be won in response to the call of the spirit of sacrifice. Whereas Mr. Dyson in his role of saviour conceives his mission to be with a stouter party: an unsaved crowd which he calls the "Fat," and his way is by chiding. Both believe that a future day will see their special flocks, enlightened and redeemed, won for humanity and the service of the world, all their ancient greedy selfish tricks remembered only to be blushed for while the rest of us-all, that is, who do not belong to "women in general," the Liberal Government, Leisured Women and the Fat, will contribute to the salvation scheme by remembering that the verb to serve is transitive and requires an object: the awkwardness which ensues when many people strive to enter one door at one and the same time: the futility of talking in each other's washing: that, in short, to make the salvation-scheme work we must serve by being served: by allowing the saviours and servers to live the Higher Life in serving us.
The subject of serving is really a very amusing one, worth following out: and Lady Constance Lytton's book makes an irresistible invitation: it does so satisfyingly go the whole hog in its devotion to Service. Lady Constance wonders how long it will be before women are "threaded together by means of the woman's movement into a great organised band, self-expressive yet co-ordinated, and ruled by the bond of mutual service." It is her faith that "where doctrine, precept and example all fail, the Spirit of Sacrifice, which makes an echo in all human hearts, will find a way." In response to which spirit she says:
"My whole being responded and I yearned to hand on the message as I myself had in spirit received it: `Women, you are wanted. Women, as women, because you are women, come out in all your womanliness, and whether or not victory is for your day, at least each one of you make sure that the one course impossible to you is surrender of your share in the struggle.' To you, dear, faithful suffragettes at heart, whatever the handcuffs of circumstance which may limit your powers of visible service, I pass on this message."
As we have said, this author's way of putting things does make one curious as to what all the bother is about. Of course the rhythm, the alliteration, the satisfying recurrence of the sound, "Woman, as women, because you are women-in all your womanliness," one knows and recognises all that as good stage property; it titillates as "Around the rugged rocks the ragged robber ran," and the like. It is to the rhetorician what topical patter is to the comedian, or the string of sausages to the clown: his stand-by: a safe pull with his audience. But the solemnity in the business belongs to quite other matters: to salvation and service; and only the saviours' attitude towards these can explain it. The noticeable feature about these salvation movements is that they are effected mainly through faith alone. In the humdrum ways of daily life of course "saving" is a matter which demands capacity and competence for the job. A man whose business is just going under for lack of money would require that his saviour should actually possess money: a stony-broke individual offering to save him would seem uncommonly like a mocker. A man unable to swim drowning in mid-stream would require a saviour who either could swim, or offer a raft or a boat. In normal affairs, in short, a saviour must be competent for his job. Which shows the advantage which great causes possess in comparison with common affairs. To be a saviour, then, demands nothing in particular; in fact the less competent you are, the more you are drawn to the role. It is your only chance of getting into goodly company: as when Mr. Kingsley said: "Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever": he offered a choice of roles in terms which implied one could select either with dignity, or as Miss Christabel Pankhurst put it exquisitely once when she said: "If Joan of Arc can die for her country surely we can stand a little ridicule," a sentiment which her audience endorsed in applause equally distributed between themselves and the saviour of France.
Lady Constance Lytton is very frank about her own qualifications. A spinster, approaching the age of forty, a semi-invalid unaccustomed to leaving home "save for family reasons," conventionally-reared, the reverse of wealthy, few interests, vaguely bored, belonging to a class of women which she describes as
"this leisured class, herded as I have so often seen them at ballrooms and parties, enduring the labours, the penalties, of futile, superficial, sordidly useless lives, quarrelling in their marriage market, revelling in their petty triumphs, concerned continually with money, yielding all opinion to social exigencies, grovelling to those they consider above them, despising and crushing those they think beneath them, pretending to be lovers of art and intellect, but concerned at heart only with the appearance of being so. Subservient to a superficial morality, tested not by the question, 'What has been done?' but 'What is the general opinion about what has been done?'": a debit account mainly. On the credit side she could advance one item: she is the daughter of an Earl, and also, discerning readers would advance that she was gentle, courteous, and kind, a definite competence among intimates though nothing for the world outside. For that, only the first item counts, whether it is composed of Government officials, Liberal politicians, or the erstwhile committee of the W.S. and P.U. Lady Constance's book is very unhappily named under the title of "Prisons and Prisoners." It should have been, "My emotions and some events during my spell with the Suffragists." It would have guided the author's theme better. A vague uncertainty of intention has led her to believe that she is concerning herself with prisons and has served to confusion: quite literally she does not know what she is talking about. Although detail by detail as she gives them are doubtless true, she appears completely unaware as to what they hang on: so that she is driven into charging up against a "government" or a handful of officials what is common to all women and men. All men and women respect that which they must have a mind for: that in fact is what respecting a thing means: it is a bearing in mind of probable and definite consequences which will follow from dealings with so-and-so: consequences which are in direct ratio with so-and-so's competence, i.e. the sum total of his powers. If he is nothing in particular in himself but is connected with a family whose interests are respected by the powerful: he will be respected because of and in proportion to those same family interests: not of course from love of the family but to ensure not being selected as the scapegoat when the family's amour propre having been inadvertently offended sets out demanding vengeance. Now Lady Constance Lytton's "prison plot" is just this: "How will the prison authorities respect me if I carefully conceal the evidences of family which always and everywhere have been sufficient to secure for me respect?" The answer is obviously foregone: A person who is to all intents and purposes of the status of a washerwoman will be given the sort of treatment washerwomen get: and that, all the world over. How little Lady Constance grasps this simple "truth" is plain from the fact that it never occurred to her to think of the results a similar plot would have had, had she cared to play it upon the very capable, very astute and very charming persons, Mrs. Pankhurst or Mrs. Pethick-Lawrence. Had she adopted still another role, say plain "Martha Jones" and presented herself at Clement's Inn as a deputant would she have "rested" in Miss Christabel's boudoir? In faith, love and truth we declare unto her she would not. NO, not, not, NOT. She would have been more in the path to receive what she is pleased to call justice among the prison officials than among these saving ladies. Because government offices are, ordinarily speaking, safe steady berths: whereas the cause of salvation is ever climbing: aspiring to the top of the "interested" tree. Its "leaders" cannot afford to miss any chances: their entire organising ability is tested by the exercise of a precise economy in expending respect, accuracy in respecting the powerful persons. No matter to what follies of speech they may have given way in order not to disturb the stupid praseology of word-addled audiences they have never been guilty in action of pandering to any humorous notions about "equality."
A keener appreciation of the master-qualities of her heroines would have helped Lady Constance very considerably towards an understanding of her "villains." Phrases such as Mrs. Pankhurst, "the guardian protector of this amazing woman's movement, conscious not only of the thousands who follow her lead today, but of the martyred generations of the past and of the women of the future whose welfare depends upon the path hewn out for them today," or Christabel Pankhurst, "the sunrise of the woman's movement," would look well on Christmas cards, samplers and souvenirs of this kind, but they do not mean much, and have not proved illuminating for their author. Tags as enveloping as shrouds have successfully obscured the fact that one would need to travel far before encountering a trio of women as selfish as the former committee of the W.S. and P.U., and that just because they were as selfish as they could hang together they were charming and had their following of worshippers only too willing and pleased to be charmed. It is not because they were selfish that followers have fallen off: but because these charming and selfish ladies were more than a little obtuse. As so often happens they realised they were worshipped without realising why: unfortunate-for a worshipper is a delicate subject in a delicate position: his idiosyncracy is that when under the spell you can acquire his money or his life, but you may not interfere with his worship: especially if you are his divinity. For this reason: it is a necessity from time to time to give ourselves the abandon of worship: which is an impulse after the same principle as that which makes it imperative to stretch a cramped limb. The worshipped one is merely the point of support for an extended effort which is the satisfaction of itself, like a footstool on which to rest a gouty leg. If the support becomes fidgetty: fussing about making bargains, stipulating that in return for something done-or attempted- the "following" of the worshipper be guaranteed, there will be fretting and trouble. If Miss Christabel after intoxicatingly assuring us the night before that she is the Life-Force, tracks down our thrills with a bill of costs in the morning, asking how far her authority is being respected and the like, she is likely to meet with as little ceremony from the painfully dashed worshipper as would the footstool which argued with the leg the proprieties of give and take. No: gods must be gods: and know their places. They are expected to please themselves and go their own way unheeding: there is only one thing in which they may not meddle and that is the worship which is offered them.
The argument has made a wide loop round but is now ready to return to the gospel of "service": to the saviours who are believing to save the world by serving; an argument competent, we hope, to make clear to these persons who are misguided more than willingly by erring; that their avocation is futile and distressful; that they in concrete fact actually spoil the landscape for those whom they believe they serve. Their mistake comes from a belief that people can be served, whereas people can only serve themselves. They can and do serve themselves to what they are competent for, but what balks is not merely what may be a limited power to serve themselves but a real meagreness in the repast to which their powers must be related.
Those of our readers who remember the days when they were settlement workers will remember how the fact was borne in upon them that it was not the faithful ever-ready but rather plain tract deliverer and district visitor who was really appreciated by the "settled" ones. It was the graceless and charming person, who came down once a session garbed in her best clothes for the occasion whom they voted it had proved worth while accepting the invitation ticket for. One could in the light of such experiences ask the Saving Classes to calculate precisely, without flattery and without excessive modesty, what they think they can be worth in a saving capacity to the "world," and the "poor." To begin with these leisured ladies: women of position such as Lady Constance Lytton and wealth such as Mrs. Pethick-Lawrence and other moneyed persons who have for instance "run" the W.S. and P.U. Were the acuteness theirs they would recognise that they themselves and the family and moneyed interests which make them "respected" are a direct charge on the "poor": before the "poor" feed themselves with crusts they must first feed these on whatever expensive things they can conceive they want. In the second place, for the execution of these tasks which make the production of this unequally distributed wealth possible, the "poor" are competent: equipped with strength and skill: their saviours but rarely supplied with either: in this sense therefore the "poor" serve their would be servers and there must be some humour for them in the suggestion that it is otherwise. It is true of course that they would not serve could they avoid it, but until they can themselves increase their competence, this forced service is a necessity and in accepting it for the time being they look about for compensations. They serve themselves as far as they can to what there is, and among the choicer dishes of the feast at which they may fare, there is chief the graces and aspect of those who have served themselves better. If those of the leisured female aristocracy who are thinking of plunging into Salvationism will hesitate a moment while they turn over a few points, reflection will give them pause. Apart from their own incompetence to do anything beyond remaining leisured, i.e. do- nothings, they might remember that they form picturesque points in a land scape. If they require to learn in detail what we mean, they may purchase the kind of literature which the "poor" devour in quantities: the novelette which costs a copper, and they will see how important a part they play in the world of the poor. Or the novels of Ouida will guide them aright. They will realise that for anything short of saving their own souls it would be sheer brutality to shatter these visions of the poor. They will realise that the difference between the view-points of the poor and rich is as that between persons who occupy a hut in a park and of those who inhabit a mansion in a slum, and we believe it will dawn upon them why the wardresses in a prison for instance do not wax enthusiastic over the distresses of an earl's daughter among them. They are rather cast down, as perhaps some self- mortifying saint might be who accidentally got a peep into heaven and saw the real thing. The root of the misunderstanding which leads saviours astray is that people do so tend to narrow the number of things of which we can make use: serve ourselves from. The rose tree is as useful as the cabbage patch: a delicate vase as a slop-pail: a friend more useful than a servant; an expensive wife than an economical housekeeper: the mistaken notion that these things are otherwise comes from a too misleading divorce of what we need from what we want. A closer linking of the two together may guide these disturbed leisured ladies to a more satisfying decision as to whether they are to save or not to save. If they feel it is for their own benefit, in their own self-interest, if to intrude on the "poor," to drag tired feet along, evil streets, to go to prison, or to starve or anything else is to please themselves, that should settle the matter: by all means let them do it. It is what they want and doubtless the "poor" will survive it, for they lead a tenacious life and when one interest fails they put a firm tentacle round another.
In the foregoing remarks, we have dealt rather with Lady Constance Lytton's assumptions as to "Women's" mission: to the tenets which her atmosphere and the remarks and assertions she makes in passing imply she takes as established; but inextricably interknitted into the structure and phraseology of her book there is something far more curious and arresting. It is too insistent to be counted as an impression, or as something implied: it refuses either to be ignored or fenced with, it must be faced: the book is either it or nothing. It was a first intention mere]y to count the number of refercnces made to the subject and dismiss it in that way: but as one read on it became clear that to do so would be to bone a skeleton. One must either refer to this preoccupation with the exigencies of the alimentary system in "Prisons and Prisoners" or merely fence with the book. One might if one wished, make a com ment on the apparent mental effect of persistently wearing the white flower of a blameless life, and of doing the other thing, and draw a parallel for instance between two productions-"Prisons and Prisoners" and "The Ballad of Reading Goal," one a trivial account of sanitary arrangements and one the vision of souls in pain. Why this one feature of prison life should have loomed so importantly in the author's account we do not dare definitely to say, but after conceiving and rejecting various explanations we alighted on one conclusion and give it for what it is worth. It is Lady Constance Lytton's contribution to the "sex question." On the "touching pitch undefiled," "to the pure all things are pure" principles she sings on this one note without a tremor and considers it a daring deed done for purity.
Oh Saviours ! Oh brains !
We suppose that it would mean little to the "movemental" mind if one were to say that when one has invoked a label one has advanced no further towards explaining the thing to which it is attached. We remember just before one of the suffragist processions, one of the leaders of subsidiary hosts, in telling over the prospects of her own muster, who said "And I've got four prostitutes coming too," in a tone which revealed how overcome she was with her own daring. . . . Afterwards we looked to her contingent for four in scarlet: but no: these members of an alient species if they were there were labelless and not to be distingished from the lady's daughters. Happily for the "movement" however prisoners are much easier quarry because they wear the garment: hence they may rise to the interest level of "hobbies."
"Prisons as you know have been my hobby. What maternity there lurks in me has for years past been gradually awakening over the fate of prisoners, the deliberate, cruel harm that is done to them, their souls and bodies, the ignorant, exasperating waste of good opportunities in connection with them, till now the thought of them, the yearning after them, turns in me and tugs at me as vitally and irrepressibly as ever a physical child can call upon its mother. The moment I got near the Suffragettes the way to this child of mine seemed easy and straight, but I knew the temptation to think this must make me doubly sure of my ground. I have felt from the first that I could not take this woman's movement merely as an excuse for Holloway. . . . It is my yearning after the hobby that sucks up my soul like a tide, my Nile sources, my Thibet, my Ruvenzori. If you, ..... will only help me in spirit that the little spark in Sven Hedin shall not fail in me. I am no hero, but the thought of other travellers' much worse privations on that road will, I believe, fizzle up my flimsy body enough for what is necessary."
It is difficult to get into the mind which chooses prisons as a hobby. One supposes prisons are selected on account of their human content-the prisoners and in order to "help" them: yet one would doubt whether there are many "prisoners" so hard put to it that they would choose prisons as a hobby: nor indeed so little capable of satisfying the human loneliness which the prison-hobby seeks to fill. They are not of the kind which tolerates things easily: not so humble and submissive as their saviours seem: nor so lost for ways and means of personal salvation. A servant-girl would not waste words over the "yearnings for motherhood," nor take to hobbies as alternatives. Out of the many "fallen" in prisons whom Lady Constance would "raise up" and "save," if the two cases were plainly put to them-hers and their own-they would account their own the more preferable. But it is very possible to take all these "yearning" women too seriously: there is an air of unreality about their phrases; if it is children they want when they can so easily get them, is there sense or reason in being fobbed off with a "prison"? If only they would insist on having a few minutes' serious discussion with themselves we should probably henceforward hear less twaddling cant about motherhood. When we are unblushingly presented with the following as a soul- to-soul talk which the author has with Annie Kenney ("through whose whole being throbbed the passion of her soul for other women": "marching arm-in-arm around the garden, under dripping trees"):-"She told how amongst these offices of women was the glorious act of motherhood and the tending of little children. Was there anything in a man's career that could be so honourable as this?" what can one say except that Miss Kenney is really quite too sudden! Lady Constance makes the comment, "All that she said was obvious, but in it there was a call from far off, something inevitable as the voice of fate." It is as likely as not that it will be a call from the attendant of a lunatic asylum unless they pull themselves together.
Perhaps they would claim that mania has its advantages: undoubtedly these two women mooning about in a wet garden, persuading each other that the "act of motherhood" which they share with the cats and dogs, birds and trees placed a special halo round their heads were having the time of their lives: as men driven mad by money worries may grow happy under the mania that they have inherited great wealth. One can question the kindness of restoring them to sanity. But however this may be for the patient, to onlookers their condition conveys a serious malaise. To them the complaint of which the sufferers are oblivious is the most salient feature about them, and these women, the victims of tepid emotions too frail to rise to the consummation-point where they strike their definite image and define their nature, are genuine sources of distress. The obvious course to take in relation to them would be to forget them: but in these times their numbers are legion: they rule the roost, and it is difficult. They emerge everywhere, in literature and affairs-everywhere. Only when the Art of Living grows better known will they be catalogued in their proper place: forces too feeble for knowledge. Till then we must all perforce swim in their treacle-ish stream of emotions too feeble to clarify themselves.
To our regret the expenditure of space upon one volume leaves but little to give to the second-Mr. Dyson's cartoons. In mitigation be it said that in writing of the first we have been all the while mindful of the second. If salvationism were limited to suffragists and other persons of delicate intelligence it would scarcely be matter for more than bare mention: it is because one can see the trace of the insidious poison vitiating the work of a gifted craftsman that it has seemed worth while to linger over the subject. Bluntly, the spirit which runs its sapping course in "Prisons and Prisoners" is the same spirit as that of the editor of the "Daily Herald": soft, gentle, smudging, blearing, confusing, competent to defeat the finest pencil which is effected by its influence. And Mr. Dyson is under its influence: it has gone so far as to start cataracts growing on his eyes so they cannot see straight. Always they are touched by this confounded propaganda. What business has an artist with propaganda? his business is to bear true witness and look straight through opinion which merely queers one's vision and record what he sees. If truth won't save a case, partisanship can't. A year ago, in the first issue of this paper, we reviewed a first volume of Mr. Dyson's drawings and drew attention to the fact that English working men did not present the appearance of some beautiful lawn tennis champion masquerading as a navvy, viewing the ways and works of fat plutocrats with a delicate ironic scorn. And that a hoofed fat and genial devil, with horns which would be suitable as ears on a rabbit, attractive as a gollywog, a face kindly as the Trafalgar Square lions is not a creation likely to cut any ice here. His Lean Men and his Fat Men were both failures: they are still running and they are still failures. We suggest that Mr. Dyson sack Mr. Lansbury, forget for the moment Plutocracy, Democracy, Justice, Equality, Fraternity and purge his soul by a series of satirical sketches on himself, a proceeding which will absorb all the slush and slop which have been his portion as one among the saviours: and all upright persons will pray for his soul.
The best things in the volume (which is handsomely got up and worth its price many times over) are Mr. H. G. Wells' boots, and the cartoon which they make smile, entitled-"A little child shall lead them" is the best in the collection. But why on earth are English authors placed in an unaccountable situation in the train of this infant? Any one of them would have done quite as well put in the place of Miss Christabel Pankhurst (aged twelve) who leads them. Mr. Bernard Shaw, Mr. Chesterton or any of the group in fact done out in tie-ups and ankle-strap shoes would have penetrated to the root of the situation and would have been far less misleading, for it is because the spirit of the "little child" (special brand) which is so strong in our modern authors had already done its white-sheet work that the spirit of Miss Pankhurst and other saviours is now so much in command of the situation.