and　the　unconsciousness　of　the　grass。　　Trees　have　no　dogmas。
  Turnips　are　singularly　broad…minded。
  If　then；　I　repeat；　there　is　to　be　mental　advance；　it　must　be　mental
  advance　in　the　construction　of　a　definite　philosophy　of　life。　　And　that
  philosophy　of　life　must　be　right　and　the　other　philosophies　wrong。
  Now　of　all；　or　nearly　all；　the　able　modern　writers　whom　I　have
  briefly　studied　in　this　book；　this　is　especially　and　pleasingly　true；
  that　they　do　each　of　them　have　a　constructive　and　affirmative　view；
  and　that　they　do　take　it　seriously　and　ask　us　to　take　it　seriously。
  There　is　nothing　merely　sceptically　progressive　about　Mr。　Rudyard　Kipling。
  There　is　nothing　in　the　least　broad　minded　about　Mr。　Bernard　Shaw。
  The　paganism　of　Mr。　Lowes　Dickinson　is　more　grave　than　any　Christianity。
  Even　the　opportunism　of　Mr。　H。　G。　Wells　is　more　dogmatic　than
  the　idealism　of　anybody　else。　　Somebody　complained；　I　think；
  to　Matthew　Arnold　that　he　was　getting　as　dogmatic　as　Carlyle。
  He　replied；　〃That　may　be　true；　but　you　overlook　an　obvious　difference。
  I　am　dogmatic　and　right；　and　Carlyle　is　dogmatic　and　wrong。〃
  The　strong　humour　of　the　remark　ought　not　to　disguise　from　us　its
  everlasting　seriousness　and　common　sense；　no　man　ought　to　write　at　all；
  or　even　to　speak　at　all；　unless　he　thinks　that　he　is　in　truth　and　the　other
  man　in　error。　　In　similar　style；　I　hold　that　I　am　dogmatic　and　right；
  while　Mr。　Shaw　is　dogmatic　and　wrong。　　But　my　main　point；　at　present；
  is　to　notice　that　the　chief　among　these　writers　I　have　discussed
  do　most　sanely　and　courageously　offer　themselves　as　dogmatists；
  as　founders　of　a　system。　　It　may　be　true　that　the　thing　in　Mr。　Shaw
  most　interesting　to　me；　is　the　fact　that　Mr。　Shaw　is　wrong。
  But　it　is　equally　true　that　the　thing　in　Mr。　Shaw　most　interesting
  to　himself；　is　the　fact　that　Mr。　Shaw　is　right。　　Mr。　Shaw　may　have
  none　with　him　but　himself；　but　it　is　not　for　himself　he　cares。
  It　is　for　the　vast　and　universal　church；　of　which　he　is　the　only　member。
  The　two　typical　men　of　genius　whom　I　have　mentioned　here；　and　with　whose
  names　I　have　begun　this　book；　are　very　symbolic；　if　only　because　they
  have　shown　that　the　fiercest　dogmatists　can　make　the　best　artists。
  In　the　fin　de　siecle　atmosphere　every　one　was　crying　out　that
  literature　should　be　free　from　all　causes　and　all　ethical　creeds。
  Art　was　to　produce　only　exquisite　workmanship；　and　it　was　especially　the
  note　of　those　days　to　demand　brilliant　plays　and　brilliant　short　stories。
  And　when　they　got　them；　they　got　them　from　a　couple　of　moralists。
  The　best　short　stories　were　written　by　a　man　trying　to　preach　Imperialism。
  The　best　plays　were　written　by　a　man　trying　to　preach　Socialism。
  All　the　art　of　all　the　artists　looked　tiny　and　tedious　beside
  the　art　which　was　a　byproduct　of　propaganda。
  The　reason；　indeed；　is　very　simple。　　A　man　cannot　be　wise　enough　to　be
  a　great　artist　without　being　wise　enough　to　wish　to　be　a　philosopher。
  A　man　cannot　have　the　energy　to　produce　good　art　without　having
  the　energy　to　wish　to　pass　beyond　it。　　A　small　artist　is　content
  with　art；　a　great　artist　is　content　with　nothing　except　everything。
  So　we　find　that　when　real　forces；　good　or　bad；　like　Kipling　and
  G。　B。　S。；　enter　our　arena；　they　bring　with　them　not　only　startling
  and　arresting　art；　but　very　startling　and　arresting　dogmas。　　And　they
  care　even　more；　and　desire　us　to　care　even　more；　about　their　startling
  and　arresting　dogmas　than　about　their　startling　and　arresting　art。
  Mr。　Shaw　is　a　good　dramatist；　but　what　he　desires　more　than
  anything　else　to　be　is　a　good　politician。　　Mr。　Rudyard　Kipling
  is　by　divine　caprice　and　natural　genius　an　unconventional　poet；
  but　what　he　desires　more　than　anything　else　to　be　is　a　conventional　poet。
  He　desires　to　be　the　poet　of　his　people；　bone　of　their　bone；　and　flesh
  of　their　flesh；　understanding　their　origins；　celebrating　their　destiny。
  He　desires　to　be　Poet　Laureate；　a　most　sensible　and　honourable　and
  public…spirited　desire。　　Having　been　given　by　the　gods　originality
  that　is；　disagreement　with　othershe　desires　divinely　to　agree　with　them。
  But　the　most　striking　instance　of　all；　more　striking；　I　think；
  even　than　either　of　these；　is　the　instance　of　Mr。　H。　G。　Wells。
  He　began　in　a　sort　of　insane　infancy　of　pure　art。　　He　began　by　making
  a　new　heaven　and　a　new　earth；　with　the　same　irresponsible　instinct
  by　which　men　buy　a　new　necktie　or　button…hole。　He　began　by　trifling
  with　the　stars　and　systems　in　order　to　make　ephemeral　anecdotes；
  he　killed　the　universe　for　a　joke。　　He　has　since　become　more　and
  more　serious；　and　has　become；　as　men　inevitably　do　when　they　become
  more　and　more　serious；　more　and　more　parochial。　　He　was　frivolous　about
  the　twilight　of　the　gods；　but　he　is　serious　about　the　London　omnibus。
  He　was　careless　in　〃The　Time　Machine；〃　for　that　dealt　only　with
  the　destiny　of　all　things；　but　be　is　careful；　and　even　cautious；
  in　〃Mankind　in　the　Making；〃　for　that　deals　with　the　day　after
  to…morrow。　He　began　with　the　end　of　the　world；　and　that　was　easy。
  Now　he　has　gone　on　to　the　beginning　of　the　world；　and　that　is　difficult。
  But　the　main　result　of　all　this　is　the　same　as　in　the　other　cases。
  The　men　who　have　really　been　the　bold　artists；　the　realistic　artists；
  the　uncompromising　artists；　are　the　men　who　have　turned　out；　after　all；
  to　be　writing　〃with　a　purpose。〃　　Suppose　that　any　cool　and　cynical
  art…critic；　any　art…critic　fully　impressed　with　the　conviction
  that　artists　were　greatest　when　they　were　most　purely　artistic；
  suppose　that　a　man　who　professed　ably　a　humane　aestheticism；
  as　did　Mr。　Max　Beerbohm；　or　a　cruel　aestheticism；　as　did
  Mr。　W。　E。　Henley；　had　cast　his　eye　over　the　whole　fictional
  literature　which　was　recent　in　the　year　1895；　and　had　been　asked
  to　select　the　three　most　vigorous　and　promising　and　original　artists
  and　artistic　works；　he　would；　I　think；　most　certainly　have　said
  that　for　a　fine　artistic　audacity；　for　a　real　artistic　delicacy；
  or　for　a　whiff　of　true　novelty　in　art；　the　things　that　stood　first
  were　〃Soldiers　Three；〃　by　a　Mr。　Rudyard　Kipling；　〃Arms　and　the　Man；〃
  by　a　Mr。　Bernard　Shaw；　and　〃The　Time　Machine；〃　by　a　man　called　Wells。
  And　all　these　men　have　shown　themselves　ingrainedly　didactic。
  You　may　express　the　matter　if　you　will　by　saying　that　if　we　want
  doctrines　we　go　to　the　great　artists。　　But　it　is　clear　from
  the　psychology　of　the　matter　that　this　is　not　the　true　statement；
  the　true　statement　is　that　when　we　want　any　art　tolerably　brisk
  and　bold　we　have　to　go　to　the　doctrinaires。
  In　concluding　this　book；　therefore；　I　would　ask；　first　and　foremost；
  that　men　such　as　these　of　whom　I　have　spoken　should　not　be　insulted
  by　being　taken　for　artists。　　No　man　has　any　right　whatever　merely
  to　enjoy　the　work　of　Mr。　Bernard　Shaw；　he　might　as　well　enjoy
  the　invasion　of　his　country　by　the　French。　　Mr。　Shaw　writes　either
  to　convince　or　to　enrage　us。　　No　man　has　any　business　to　be　a
  Kiplingite　without　being　a　politician；　and　an　Imperialist　politician。
  If　a　man　is　first　with　us；　it　should　be　because　of　what　is　first　with　him。
  If　a　man　convinces　us　at　all；　it　should　be　by　his　convictions。
  If　we　hate　a　poem　of　Kipling's　from　political　passion；　we　are　hating　it
  for　the　same　reason　that　the　poet　loved　it；　if　we　dislike　him　because　of
  his　opinions；　we　are　disliking　him　for　the　best　of　all　possible　reasons。
  If　a　man　comes　into　Hyde　Park　to　preach　it　is　permissible　to　hoot　him；
  but　it　is　discourteous　to　applaud　him　as　a　performing　bear。
  And　an　artist　is　only　a　performing　bear　compared　with　the　meanest
  man　who　fancies　he　has　anything　to　say。
  There　is；　indeed；　one　class　of　modern　writers　and　thinkers　who　cannot
  altogether　be　overlooked　in　this　question；　though　there　is　no　space
  here　for　a　lengthy　account　of　them；　which；　indeed；　to　confess
  the　truth；　would　consist　chiefly　of　abuse。　　I　mean　those　who　get
  over　all　these　abysses　and　reconcile　all　these　wars　by　talking　about
  〃aspects　of　truth；〃　by　saying　that　the　art　of　Kipling　represents
  one　aspect　of　the　truth；　and　the　art　of　William　Watson　another；
  the　art　of　Mr。　Bernard　Shaw　one　aspect　of　the　truth；　and　the　art
  of　Mr。　Cunningham　Grahame　another；　the　art　of　Mr。　H。　G。　Wells
  one　aspect；　and　the　art　of　Mr。　Coventry　Patmore　（say）　another。
  I　will　only　say　here　that　this　seems　to　me　an　evasion　which　has
  not　even　bad　the　sense　to　disguise　itself　ingeniously　in　words。
  If　we　talk　of　a　certain　thing　being　an　aspect　of　truth；
  it