the　image　of　the　horrible　and　hairy　East…ender；　merely　to　keep　alive
  in　us　a　fearful　and　childlike　wonder　at　external　peculiarities。
  But　the　Middle　Ages　（with　a　great　deal　more　common　sense　than　it
  would　now　be　fashionable　to　admit）　regarded　natural　history　at　bottom
  rather　as　a　kind　of　joke；　they　regarded　the　soul　as　very　important。
  Hence；　while　they　had　a　natural　history　of　dog…headed　men；
  they　did　not　profess　to　have　a　psychology　of　dog…headed　men。
  They　did　not　profess　to　mirror　the　mind　of　a　dog…headed　man；　to　share
  his　tenderest　secrets；　or　mount　with　his　most　celestial　musings。
  They　did　not　write　novels　about　the　semi…canine　creature；
  attributing　to　him　all　the　oldest　morbidities　and　all　the　newest　fads。
  It　is　permissible　to　present　men　as　monsters　if　we　wish　to　make
  the　reader　jump；　and　to　make　anybody　jump　is　always　a　Christian　act。
  But　it　is　not　permissible　to　present　men　as　regarding　themselves
  as　monsters；　or　as　making　themselves　jump。　　To　summarize；
  our　slum　fiction　is　quite　defensible　as　aesthetic　fiction；
  it　is　not　defensible　as　spiritual　fact。
  One　enormous　obstacle　stands　in　the　way　of　its　actuality。
  The　men　who　write　it；　and　the　men　who　read　it；　are　men　of　the　middle
  classes　or　the　upper　classes；　at　least；　of　those　who　are　loosely　termed
  the　educated　classes。　　Hence；　the　fact　that　it　is　the　life　as　the　refined
  man　sees　it　proves　that　it　cannot　be　the　life　as　the　unrefined　man
  lives　it。　　Rich　men　write　stories　about　poor　men；　and　describe
  them　as　speaking　with　a　coarse；　or　heavy；　or　husky　enunciation。
  But　if　poor　men　wrote　novels　about　you　or　me　they　would　describe　us
  as　speaking　with　some　absurd　shrill　and　affected　voice；　such　as　we
  only　hear　from　a　duchess　in　a　three…act　farce。　　The　slum　novelist　gains
  his　whole　effect　by　the　fact　that　some　detail　is　strange　to　the　reader；
  but　that　detail　by　the　nature　of　the　case　cannot　be　strange　in　itself。
  It　cannot　be　strange　to　the　soul　which　he　is　professing　to　study。
  The　slum　novelist　gains　his　effects　by　describing　the　same　grey　mist
  as　draping　the　dingy　factory　and　the　dingy　tavern。　　But　to　the　man
  he　is　supposed　to　be　studying　there　must　be　exactly　the　same　difference
  between　the　factory　and　the　tavern　that　there　is　to　a　middle…class
  man　between　a　late　night　at　the　office　and　a　supper　at　Pagani's。　The
  slum　novelist　is　content　with　pointing　out　that　to　the　eye　of　his
  particular　class　a　pickaxe　looks　dirty　and　a　pewter　pot　looks　dirty。
  But　the　man　he　is　supposed　to　be　studying　sees　the　difference　between
  them　exactly　as　a　clerk　sees　the　difference　between　a　ledger　and　an
  edition　de　luxe。　　The　chiaroscuro　of　the　life　is　inevitably　lost；
  for　to　us　the　high　lights　and　the　shadows　are　a　light　grey。
  But　the　high　lights　and　the　shadows　are　not　a　light　grey　in　that　life
  any　more　than　in　any　other。　　The　kind　of　man　who　could　really
  express　the　pleasures　of　the　poor　would　be　also　the　kind　of　man
  who　could　share　them。　　In　short；　these　books　are　not　a　record
  of　the　psychology　of　poverty。　　They　are　a　record　of　the　psychology
  of　wealth　and　culture　when　brought　in　contact　with　poverty。
  They　are　not　a　description　of　the　state　of　the　slums。　　They　are　only
  a　very　dark　and　dreadful　description　of　the　state　of　the　slummers。
  One　might　give　innumerable　examples　of　the　essentially
  unsympathetic　and　unpopular　quality　of　these　realistic　writers。
  But　perhaps　the　simplest　and　most　obvious　example　with　which　we
  could　conclude　is　the　mere　fact　that　these　writers　are　realistic。
  The　poor　have　many　other　vices；　but；　at　least；　they　are　never　realistic。
  The　poor　are　melodramatic　and　romantic　in　grain；　the　poor　all　believe
  in　high　moral　platitudes　and　copy…book　maxims；　probably　this　is
  the　ultimate　meaning　of　the　great　saying；　〃Blessed　are　the　poor。〃
  Blessed　are　the　poor；　for　they　are　always　making　life；　or　trying
  to　make　life　like　an　Adelphi　play。　　Some　innocent　educationalists
  and　philanthropists　（for　even　philanthropists　can　be　innocent）
  have　expressed　a　grave　astonishment　that　the　masses　prefer　shilling
  shockers　to　scientific　treatises　and　melodramas　to　problem　plays。
  The　reason　is　very　simple。　　The　realistic　story　is　certainly
  more　artistic　than　the　melodramatic　story。　　If　what　you　desire　is
  deft　handling；　delicate　proportions；　a　unit　of　artistic　atmosphere；
  the　realistic　story　has　a　full　advantage　over　the　melodrama。
  In　everything　that　is　light　and　bright　and　ornamental　the　realistic
  story　has　a　full　advantage　over　the　melodrama。　　But；　at　least；
  the　melodrama　has　one　indisputable　advantage　over　the　realistic　story。
  The　melodrama　is　much　more　like　life。　　It　is　much　more　like　man；
  and　especially　the　poor　man。　　It　is　very　banal　and　very　inartistic　when　a
  poor　woman　at　the　Adelphi　says；　〃Do　you　think　I　will　sell　my　own　child？〃
  But　poor　women　in　the　Battersea　High　Road　do　say；　〃Do　you　think　I
  will　sell　my　own　child？〃　　They　say　it　on　every　available　occasion；
  you　can　hear　a　sort　of　murmur　or　babble　of　it　all　the　way　down
  the　street。　　It　is　very　stale　and　weak　dramatic　art　（if　that　is　all）
  when　the　workman　confronts　his　master　and　says；　〃I'm　a　man。〃
  But　a　workman　does　say　〃I'm　a　man〃　two　or　three　times　every　day。
  In　fact；　it　is　tedious；　possibly；　to　hear　poor　men　being
  melodramatic　behind　the　footlights；　but　that　is　because　one　can
  always　hear　them　being　melodramatic　in　the　street　outside。
  In　short；　melodrama；　if　it　is　dull；　is　dull　because　it　is　too　accurate。
  Somewhat　the　same　problem　exists　in　the　case　of　stories　about　schoolboys。
  Mr。　Kipling's　〃Stalky　and　Co。〃　　is　much　more　amusing　（if　you　are
  talking　about　amusement）　than　the　late　Dean　Farrar's　〃Eric；　or；
  Little　by　Little。〃　　But　〃Eric〃　is　immeasurably　more　like　real
  school…life。　For　real　school…life；　real　boyhood；　is　full　of　the　things
  of　which　Eric　is　fullpriggishness；　a　crude　piety；　a　silly　sin；
  a　weak　but　continual　attempt　at　the　heroic；　in　a　word；　melodrama。
  And　if　we　wish　to　lay　a　firm　basis　for　any　efforts　to　help　the　poor；
  we　must　not　become　realistic　and　see　them　from　the　outside。
  We　must　become　melodramatic；　and　see　them　from　the　inside。
  The　novelist　must　not　take　out　his　notebook　and　say；　〃I　am
  an　expert。〃　　No；　he　must　imitate　the　workman　in　the　Adelphi　play。
  He　must　slap　himself　on　the　chest　and　say；　〃I　am　a　man。〃
  XX。　　Concluding　Remarks　on　the　Importance　of　Orthodoxy
  Whether　the　human　mind　can　advance　or　not；　is　a　question　too
  little　discussed；　for　nothing　can　be　more　dangerous　than　to　found
  our　social　philosophy　on　any　theory　which　is　debatable　but　has
  not　been　debated。　　But　if　we　assume；　for　the　sake　of　argument；
  that　there　has　been　in　the　past；　or　will　be　in　the　future；
  such　a　thing　as　a　growth　or　improvement　of　the　human　mind　itself；
  there　still　remains　a　very　sharp　objection　to　be　raised　against
  the　modern　version　of　that　improvement。　　The　vice　of　the　modern
  notion　of　mental　progress　is　that　it　is　always　something　concerned
  with　the　breaking　of　bonds；　the　effacing　of　boundaries；　the　casting
  away　of　dogmas。　　But　if　there　be　such　a　thing　as　mental　growth；
  it　must　mean　the　growth　into　more　and　more　definite　convictions；
  into　more　and　more　dogmas。　　The　human　brain　is　a　machine　for　coming
  to　conclusions；　if　it　cannot　come　to　conclusions　it　is　rusty。
  When　we　hear　of　a　man　too　clever　to　believe；　we　are　hearing　of
  something　having　almost　the　character　of　a　contradiction　in　terms。
  It　is　like　hearing　of　a　nail　that　was　too　good　to　hold　down
  a　carpet；　or　a　bolt　that　was　too　strong　to　keep　a　door　shut。
  Man　can　hardly　be　defined；　after　the　fashion　of　Carlyle；　as　an　animal
  who　makes　tools；　ants　and　beavers　and　many　other　animals　make　tools；
  in　the　sense　that　they　make　an　apparatus。　　Man　can　be　defined
  as　an　animal　that　makes　dogmas。　　As　he　piles　doctrine　on　doctrine
  and　conclusion　on　conclusion　in　the　formation　of　some　tremendous
  scheme　of　philosophy　and　religion；　he　is；　in　the　only　legitimate　sense
  of　which　the　expression　is　capable；　becoming　more　and　more　human。
  When　he　drops　one　doctrine　after　another　in　a　refined　scepticism；
  when　he　declines　to　tie　himself　to　a　system；　when　he　says　that　he　has
  outgrown　definitions；　when　he　says　that　he　disbelieves　in　finality；
  when；　in　his　own　imagination；　he　sits　as　God；　holding　no　form
  of　creed　but　contemplating　all；　then　he　is　by　that　very　process
  sinking　slowly　backwards　into　the　vagueness　of　the　vagrant　animals
  and　the　unconsciousness　of　the　grass。　　Trees　have　no　dogmas。
  Turnips　are　s