REVIEW

Globe, Volume IX, Issue 1255, 15 March 1878, Page 3

REVIEW

THE NEW REPUBLIC*

[from the press.]

This now book suggests comparison ■vjith, Plato’s famous Republic on the one and with Helps’ Fr-eudo In' on, the other. Tno former oTfhgae works has been for more tV4p’ twenty centuries a treasured volume both by scholar and thinker. It is Plato’s masterpiece. It is also the pioneer, the parent, and the model of Cicero’s Do Eopublica, Augustin’s City of God, and the Utopia of Sir Thomas More. Though acknowledged to be unpractical as a whole, it has nevertheless been the primal source of our best and most fruitful ideas on the training ot the intellect, the reign of tyw, the

truth and beauty of philosophy. Sir Arthur Helps’ double series of Friends in Council are as perfect as they can bo in their conversational power, and in quiet, suggestive, refined play of thought. In his knowledge of human nature, in his command of a lucid and graceful stylo, and in his homely and practical wisdom, Sir Arthur is a true son of the highest culture. In private life he is said to have been the nearest modern approach to a fine old English gentleman in the truest sense of the phrase. Now Mr Mallock is like the Grecian masterthinker in the choice of his title only. Plato never admitted a woman to his symposiums. Lady Grace would have been Ids unmitigated horror. Again, Mr Luke (Matthew Arnold) would have been iguomiuiously rejected. Poets, lyric, epic, and dramatic, had no place in the ideal republic. They were regarded as madmen, and condemned to perpetual exile. The other characters, both in number and in nature, pretty nearly correspond, and it would be easy to pair them off one with the other. Plato’s Cephalus and Mallock’s Dr. Jenkineon (Jowett), for example, aro as near alike as two peas, Mr Mallock follows Sir Arthur Helps in taking his goodly company to an English country mansion, and still more in admitting a “ sweet girl graduate ” to the discussions, msthetic, scientific, and otherwise.' Dismissing these points of comparison, it can be truthfully said that the author lias a way of his own. To begin with his characters. Unlike those of either the Grecian philosopher or the English gentleman, Mr Mallock’s characters arc real men and women. They may be typical, but first of all they are actually living contemporaries. The sentiments put into their mouths are in perfect harmony with what wo know of their published writings. The little tricks of manner, too, aro true to the life. There is also throughout the book a subdued but keen sense of humour. There is nothing coarse, rarely anything caustic; but all is expressed with subtle, good-tempered playfulness. The situations into which the speakers are put, the exclamations they make, and the interruptions they submit to, are as droll in their way as they can be. To one who both knows the speakers personally and the different schools of current thought represented, the reading of the book will bo a thorough pleasure. It combines the faithfulness of a portrait with all the charm of a romance. But even those who know neither the men nor their views may hero readily and accurately learn much of them both. It was a happy stroke of fancy to take living men as exponents of representative schools of thought, and by bringing them together make them either to neutralise or else to annihilate each other. Otho Laurence is the fictitious personage whom Mr Mullock uses to bring this about. Sprung from a good family, possessed of ample me am, living in a baronial mansion of the old-fashioned| style, Laurence invites his select circle of friends to spend a quiet Sunday with him at his cool villa by the sea. His views, if ne had any at all, were of the vaguest desc'iption. How nice, ho thought, it would be to bring together the elite of culture, science, and philosophy, and in this way try to get some definite ideas of things, and, if possible, to find out his mission in life. The plan was instantly put into execution. Under feigned names the arrival of each guest is duly described. Each is belabled with some expressive characteristic epithet. Seeing the diversity of manner and of sentiment, the reader is reminded of the varied menagerie—known as the happy family. And the idea is well borne out too; for the motley crowd seem quite disposed by sinking their animosities to agree to differ. Though it is fully expected that there will be a free fight, and there is one accordingly, yet no hones are crunched. There is plenty of hard hitting, as each puts forward his panacea for all the ills that flesh is heir to, but they nevertheless part, company on the best of terms. To expect each of the characters to he equally perfect would be absurd. Sympathy and knowledge have inevitably made Mr Mallock more at home with some of the speakers than with others. Carlyle, under the soubriquet of Donald Gordon, is the worst done of them all. Lady Ambrose is made to say of a friend “To hear her tell a bit of scandal—not that I approve of scandal myself—l always think it is so uncharitable.” “Ah,” said Donald Gordon gently, “I have the very highest opinion of scandal. It is founded on the most sacred of things —that is on Truth, and it is built up by the most beautiful of things—that is Imagination.” Now the humour of that of course is perfect ; but to make the idea Carlyle’s is carrying caricature and paradox just a trifle too far. Dr. Pusey, as Seyton, representing theology, is fairly well done. But we see him more as a skilled controversialist instead of a theologian, in which capacity he shines best of all. Mr Pater, as Mr Rose, is capitally done. His delicate sensuous manner of speech is perfect. Read a page of the “ Renaissance Studies,” and his remarks a.t the dinner table on the gloaming of the twilight, and tho two are seen to be twin brothers. Dr. M. Arnold (Mr Luke) is splendid. Thought and manner are alike caught with the faithfulness of a photograph. Dr. Jowett, as Dr. Jenkinson, is true to the very life, Tho sketch in the “ World” newspaper of a few months back will enable any one to verify the likeness. Among men of science are Tyndall (Stockton), Huxley (Storks), and Clifford (Saunders) ; the two former easily recognisable, but not the latter. Then there are Mrs M. Patteson, as Lady Grace, and Mrs Sinclair, as Mrs Singleton (Violet Fane), the former being charming as a lover of art and a leader of fashion. John Ruskin should have been added, who, under the name of Mr Herbert, is done best of all, and receives the greatest prominence in the book. If the author can be said to have a favorite, the great art-critic is unquestionably the one. His philosophy, theology, and morality, are the only things that come out of the discussion unscathed and entire. The reader who has not been fortunate enough as yet to get the book will be naturally glad to have some taste of its quality. But owing to the consecutive character of tho discussion it is extremely difficult to fasten on any one passage as a sample. Perhaps the following is as good as can be given, as it brings the advocates of science, art, aud culture into close combat with each other. Lord Allen is the usual good steady orthodox English country nobleman who addresses Mr Herbert with the words —“ Don’t you think that though at the present moment things as they are may be worse than they have ever been before, there are yet ideas amongst us of things as they might be, that are in advance of what has ever been before ? I know quite well that society is falling to pieces, and how all our notions of duty are becoming confused or lost. I know, too, how utterly without religion we are—(Lady Ambrose started) —at least any religion that one man can express to another, [and that can enable men to act in concert. But still I cannot help thinking that in spite of all this, a higher class of conception, both of religion and morality, and social relations also, is forming itself in the minds of thinking men,’ “Perfectly true, Lord Allen,” said Mr Luke, “ perfectly true. It is indeed tho very essence of the cultured classes to be before their time—to have indeed every requisite for making everything, except the practical power. As you say, what man’s life ought to be—what morality is—what is true sense, and what is nonsense--these aro mutters never at any time distinguished so truly as by some of us in the latter half of the nineteenth century. Only, unfortunately,” said Mr Luke, sighing slowly, and looking round the table, “ the dense ignorance of the world hampers and hinders such as these, so tlu>t all that their teaching and their insight can do is only to suggest a Utopia in the future, instead of leading to any reality i,n the present^’ “All my happiness is in a kind of Utopia,” si;-died Mrs Sinclair,

11 Yes, yes,” said Mr Luke, wearily, “so in these days must be the happiness of all of us, except that of the world at largo.” Mr Storks was here heard clearing his throat. With an ominous pugilistic smile lie turned towards Mr Luke —“Arc you quite sure,” ho said, “that the reason why your friends do nothing practical is not because they will build Utopias? I entirely hold with Dr. Jenkinson that the world is as good as it can be—has, indeed, been always as

* The Now Republic; or, Cult uro, Faith and riulosophy in jin Bullish country house, by W. H. T-iidlock, Chattoaud jVindus, 1878.

good as it could have been —has, that is, been always persistently progressing by one constant course of evolution We

are all part of nature, and little as we think it, we arc all working together by invincible and inviolable laws. Nature will have her own way. Suppose we could transplant ourselves into some different, some more advanced state of society, my dear sir, do you think we should be happier then ? ... . The air of our own age is the only air fit for us. In any other we should languish.” “ I languish in this,” said Mr Luke, looking up to the ceiling. Scarcely were the words out of his mouth than Mr Saunders exclaimed in his most excited and shrillest voice, “ Deny it, I entirely deny it.” Mr Luke was thunderstruck. Even Mr Storks was taken back by the audacity of the contradiction, and, as for the rest of the company, they could not conceive where on earth Air Saunders had left his manners.

“ I entirely deny,” Mr Saunders went on, “ that the ways of nature are the best ways. The belief that they are so is of all faiths the one that most obviously contradicts experience. I maintain that Nature is the most odious of things—that the whole universe is constructed on the most hateful principles ; in fact, that out of the primordial atoms, only one thing, has developed itself in which the good outweighs the evil; and that is the one thing that is usually opposed to Nature — man, and the reason of man.” Mr Storks turned sharply round, and, with an awful look in his eyes of contemptuous indignation, stared Mr Saunders into silence. Ho held him fixed in this way for a few moments, and then, in a voice of grim unconcern, said “ May I trouble you for the mustard.” Then again, turning to Mr Luke, “You see,” he proceeded, “whatl take to bo civilisation—indeed, the whole duty of man—is the gradual self-adaptation of the human organism to its environment —an adaptation that must take place, and any attempts to hinder which are simply neither less than disease. . . . The tendency of our day, lam proud to say, is towards firm, solid, verifiable knowledge, as a result of this, towards the acquisition of a firm and solid happiness also.” 3 ;“To me,” said Mr Herbert, “ it seems rather that the only hope for the present age lies in the possibility of some individual wiser than the rest, getting the necessary power, and in the most arbitrary way possible putting an end to this progress—utterly stamping out and obliterating every general tendency peculiar to our time. Mr Storks will perhaps think mo very foolish. Perhaps I am. I freely own that I could more easily tell fa good action if I saw it, than a good piece of protoplasm, and I think the understanding of a holy moral law, by which an individual may live, of infinitely more importance than the discovery of all the laws of progress in the world. But let Air Storks despise me, and not be angry with me,” “ Aly dear, sir,” interposed Mr Storks with a gruff courtesy, “ why should I do either the one or the other ?”

“ Because,” said Mr Herbert, slightly waving his hand, and speaking with great emphasis, “ Had I only the power, I would myself put a forcible stop to all this evolution. I would make a clean sweep of all the improvements which the present day vaunts so much. I would collect an army of strong, serviceable, honest workmen, and send them to blow up Manchester, and Birmingham, and Leeds,andWoli erhampton.” “And all the artisans?” asked Mr Storks. “Well,” said Mr Herbert, smiling, “I would perhaps give the artisans notice of this gunpowder plot of mine.” . . . “ 1 would blow up all the anatomical museums in the land, that the foul sights in them should not taint men’s imaginations and give them an appetite for beastly knowledge. I would destroy every railway, and nearly every steam engine, and I would do a number of other things of like sort, by way of preparing the ground for a better state of society—for a Utopia iu fact, in which I trust may be once again realised upon earth, those two things to which we are now such strangers —order and justice.” (p.p. 127-134.)