Orwell on July 7th: a conversation

The night following the terrorist attacks on London, I was depressed and angry and I couldn't sleep. After spending nearly a decade in London, it felt like an assault on my home. I tried to get answers for my feelings by listening to the instant punditry of those 'in the know.' But I was left unsatisfied. So I got out of my bed, went to my bookshelf and opened my dog—eared and underlined paperback copy of George Orwell's The Lion and the Unicorn —— and then I had a conversation. Below is a rough account of this talk, which calmed me immensely.

Question: In the recent effort to remove fascism from Iraq, the English almost alone in the world have died with us. As a result, a profound gratitude for England suffuses the heart of millions of Americans. Would you mind sharing with me your thoughts about your land and people, so that I might better understand the 'special relationship' between our two countries?

Orwell:

When you come back to England from any foreign country, you have immediately the sensation of breathing a different air. Even in the first few minutes dozens of small things conspire to give you this feeling. The beer is bitterer, the coins are heavier, the grass is greener, the advertisements are more blatant. The crowds in the big towns, with their knobby faces, their bad teeth and gentle manners, are different from a European crowd. Then the vastness of England swallows you up, and you lose for a while your feeling that the whole nation has a single identifiable character.... But talk to foreigners, read foreign books or newspapers, and you are brought back to the same thought. Yes, there is something distinctive and recognizable in English civilization. It is a culture as individual as that of Spain. It is somehow bound up with solid breakfasts and gloomy Sundays, smoky towns and winding roads, green fields and red pillarboxes. It has a flavour of its own. Moreover it is continuous, it stretches into the future and the past, there is something in it that persists, as in a living creature. ('The Lion and the Unicorn,' Part I: England Your England, sect. 1)

Question: How does that make you feel?

Orwell:

Above all, it is your civilization, it is you. However much you hate it or laugh at it, you will never be happy away from it for any length of time. The suet puddings and the red pillarboxes have entered your soul. Good or evil, it is yours, you belong to it, and this side the grave you will never get away from the marks that it has given you. (ibid, slight editing).

Question: Please tell me more.

Orwell:

In England patriotism takes different forms in different classes, but it runs like a connecting thread through nearly all of them. Only the Europeanized intelligentsia are really immune to it. (ibid, sect. 3)

Question: 'Europeanized intelligentsia' —— that sounds like an apt description of not a few academics I've known. Please go on.

Orwell:

As a positive force it is stronger in the middle class than in the upper class — the cheap public schools, for instance, are more given to patriotic demonstrations than the expensive ones — but the number of definitely treacherous rich men is probably very small. (ibid)

Question: What about love of country among the working classes?

Orwell:

In the working class patriotism is profound, but it is unconscious. The working man's heart does not leap when he sees a Union Jack. But the famous 'insularity' and 'xenophobia' of the English is far stronger in the working class than in the bourgeoisie. (ibid)

Question: 'Insular', 'xenophobic' —— I thought only we Americans were called such awful names. What are the consequences of this insularity in the English context?

Orwell:

The insularity of the English, their refusal to take foreigners seriously, is a folly that has to be paid for very heavily from time to time. But it plays its part in the English mystique, and the intellectuals who have tried to break it down have generally done more harm than good. At bottom it is the same quality in the English character that repels the tourist and keeps out the invader. (ibid)

Question: What else would you say about the English working class?

Orwell:

In all countries the poor are more national than the rich, but the English working class are outstanding in their abhorrence of foreign habits. Even when they are obliged to live abroad for years they refuse either to accustom themselves to foreign food or to learn foreign languages. Nearly every Englishman of working—class origin considers it effeminate to pronounce a foreign word correctly. (ibid)

Question: Sounds like America's working men...

Orwell:

During the war of 1914—18 the English working class were in contact with foreigners to an extent that is rarely possible. (ibid)

Question: What happened?

Orwell:

The sole result was that they brought back a hatred of all Europeans, except the Germans, whose courage they admired. (ibid)

Question: And the French?

Orwell:

In four years on French soil they did not even acquire a liking for wine. (ibid)

Question: How would you say America and England are alike?

Orwell:

The sense of national unity is a substitute for a 'world—view'. Just because patriotism is all but universal and not even the rich are uninfluenced by it, there can be moments when the whole nation suddenly swings together and does the same thing, like a herd of cattle facing a wolf. (ibid)

Question: Now let me invite your comment on something else. A prevalent stereotype in Europe is that 'Americans are dumb,' that we're not 'intellectuals.' This is probably true in so far as our single original contribution to Western philosophy was pragmatism, a sort of good—natured 'if it works, use it' type of thought. In that respect, would you say the English are pragmatists like Americans or more 'intellectual' like the Continentals?

Orwell:

As Europeans go, the English are not intellectual. They have a horror of abstract thought, they feel no need for any philosophy or systematic 'world—view'.... But they have a certain power of acting without taking thought. (ibid, sect. 2)

Question: How do you mean?

Orwell:

In moments of supreme crisis the whole nation can suddenly draw together and act upon a species of instinct, really a code of conduct which is understood by almost everyone, though never formulated. The phrase that Hitler coined for the Germans, 'a sleep—walking people', would have been better applied to the English. (ibid)

Question: Yes, indeed it would: you guys walked all over him and his dreams for Germany. In some ways, I pity the Jihadists who attacked London. I wouldn't want to pick a fight with the English. 

Orwell:

But does this mean that the instinct of the English will always tell them to do the right thing? Not at all, merely that it will tell them to do the same thing. In the 1931 General Election, for instance, we all did the wrong thing in perfect unison.... But I honestly doubt whether we can say that we were shoved down the slope against our will. (ibid, sect. 3)

Question: What does that tell you?

Orwell:

It follows that British democracy is less a fraud than it sometimes appears. A foreign observer sees only the huge inequality of wealth, the unfair electoral system, the governing—class control over the press, the radio and education, and concludes that democracy is simply a polite name for dictatorship. But this ignores the considerable agreement that does unfortunately exist between the leaders and the led. (ibid)

Question: Why do you say 'unfortunately'?

Orwell:

In spite of the campaigns of a few thousand left—wingers, it is fairly certain that the bulk of the English people were behind Chamberlain's foreign policy.... Like the mass of people, he did not want to pay the price of peace or of war. And public opinion was behind him all the while, in policies that were completely incompatible with one another.... Only when the results of his policy became apparent did it turn against him; which is to say that it turned against its own lethargy of the past seven years. Thereupon the people picked a leader nearer to their mood, Churchill, who was at any rate able to grasp that wars are not won without fighting. (ibid)

Question: Some of the things you say about England during the 40s sounds rather like what European leftists say about the United States today, that our democracy is a fraud, that income inequality suggests visceral divisions in the republic, that our media is 'censored,' and so on. In your own context, what do you make of these accusations against England?

Orwell:

England is the most class—ridden country under the sun. It is a land of snobbery and privilege, ruled largely by the old and silly. But in any calculation about it one has got to take into account its emotional unity, the tendency of nearly all its inhabitants to feel alike and act together in moments of supreme crisis. (ibid)

Question:  Still, as an open democracy, you have dissent, often angry and vociferous. Was that also true in your war against European fascism?

Orwell:

At that moment, after a year of war, newspapers and pamphlets abusing the Government, praising the enemy and clamoring for surrender were being sold on the street, almost without interference.(ibid, with verb tense edited)

Question: Tell me about it. One needs only read Juan Cole's blog or the pages of The Nation to see it here too. Besides annoying you, how would you characterize this kind of hypercritical writing?

Orwell:

The mentality of the English left—wing intelligentsia can be studied in half a dozen weekly and monthly papers. The immediately striking thing about all these papers is their generally negative, querulous attitude, their complete lack at all times of any constructive suggestion. There is little in them except the irresponsible carping of people who have never been and never expect to be in a position of power. (ibid, sect. 5)

Question: But they do have some influence, no?

Orwell:

The general weakening of the whole British morale, that took place during the nineteen—thirties, was partly the work of the left—wing intelligentsia, itself a kind of growth that had sprouted from the stagnation of the Empire. (ibid, edited)

Question: What else would you say of leftwing intellectuals?

Orwell:

Another marked characteristic is the emotional shallowness of people who live in a world of ideas and have little contact with physical reality. (ibid)

Question: Go on. You do realize, though, that with these words you're unlikely to get a favorable book review or a university position nowadays?

Orwell:

Many intellectuals of the Left were flabbily pacifist up to 1935—9, and then promptly cooled off when the war started. It is broadly though not precisely true that the people who were most 'anti—Fascist' during the Spanish Civil War are most defeatist now. And underlying this is the really important fact about so many of the English intelligentsia — their severance from the common culture of the country. (ibid)

Question: What do you mean?

Orwell:

England is perhaps the only great country whose intellectuals are ashamed of their own nationality. In left—wing circles it is always felt that there is something slightly disgraceful in being an Englishman and that it is a duty to snigger at every English institution, from horse racing to suet puddings. (ibid)

Question: What snobs. That same smugness is also found on the American Left.

Orwell:

It is a strange fact, but it is unquestionably true that almost any English intellectual would feel more ashamed of standing to attention during 'God Save the King' than of stealing from a poor box. (ibid)

Question: You sound angry.

Orwell:

All through the critical years many left—wingers were chipping away at English morale, trying to spread an outlook that was sometimes squashily pacifist, sometimes violently pro—Russian, but always anti—British. (ibid)

Question: What were the effects?

Orwell:

It is questionable how much effect this had, but it certainly had some. If the English people suffered for several years a real weakening of morale, so that Fascist nations judged that they were 'decadent' and that it was safe to plunge into war, the intellectual sabotage from the Left was partly responsible. Both the New Statesman and News Chronicle cried out against the Munich settlement, but even they had done something to make it possible. Ten years of systematic Blimp—baiting affected even the Blimps themselves and made it harder than it had been before to get intelligent young men to enter the armed forces. (ibid)

Question: Was there, then, a class disconnect between the working classes, whom leftwing intellectuals purported to defend, and the Left itself? 

Orwell:

If you were a patriot you read Blackwood's Magazine and publicly thanked God that you were 'not brainy'. If you were an intellectual you sniggered at the Union Jack and regarded physical courage as barbarous. (ibid)

Question: Are you worried about this divide?

Orwell:

It is obvious that this preposterous convention cannot continue. The Bloomsbury highbrow, with his mechanical snigger, is as out—of—date as the cavalry colonel. A modern nation cannot afford either of them. Patriotism and intelligence will have to come together again. (ibid)

Question: Do you think that could happen? The West is knee—deep in anti—American and anti—British intellectuals.

Orwell:

It is the fact that we are fighting a war, and a very peculiar kind of war, that may make this possible. (ibid)

Question: What do you make of those, like Ward Churchill and Michael Moore, who argue that Western democracies, such as the United States and England, are the true culprits in our war with Jihadists?

Orwell:

An illusion can become a half—truth, a mask can alter the expression of a face. The familiar arguments to the effect that democracy is 'just the same as' or 'just as bad as' totalitarianism never take account of this fact. All such arguments boil down to saying that half a loaf is the same as no bread. (ibid, sect. 2)

Question: What do you make of such histrionics when they occur in the English context? For instance, the slurring of Tony Blair as a 'poodle' of the 'fascist' George Bush?

Orwell:

The left—wing writers who denounce the whole of the ruling class as 'pro—Fascist' are grossly over—simplifying. Even among the inner clique of politicians who brought us to our present pass, it is doubtful whether there were any conscious traitors. The corruption that happens in England is seldom of that kind. Nearly always it is more in the nature of self—deception, of the right hand not knowing what the left hand doeth. And being unconscious, it is limited. (ibid, sect. 3)

Question: Putting politics aside for a moment, tell me more about some notable English traits.

Orwell:

It is worth noting a minor English trait which is extremely well marked though not often commented on, and that is a love of flowers. This is one of the first things that one notices when one reaches England from abroad, especially if one is coming from southern Europe. (ibid, sect. 2)

Question: Indeed, that is lovely about England. What else?

Orwell:

Another English characteristic which is so much part of us that we barely notice it, and that is the addiction to hobbies and spare—time occupations, the privateness of English life. We are a nation of flower—lovers, but also a nation of stamp—collectors, pigeon—fanciers, amateur carpenters, coupon—snippers, darts—players, crossword—puzzle fans. All the culture that is most truly native centres round things which even when they are communal are not official — the pub, the football match, the back garden, the fireside and the 'nice cup of tea.' (ibid)

Question: I think I grasp what you're getting at. When threatened, such personal things, however trivial they may seem, are in fact what leads men and women to fight for their country. The London bombers made a grave mistake on 7/7 disrupting the unconscious rhythms of the ordinary English citizen. Is that your point?

Orwell:

The liberty of the individual is still believed in, almost as in the nineteenth century. But this has nothing to do with economic liberty, the right to exploit others for profit. It is the liberty to have a home of your own, to do what you like in your spare time, to choose your own amusements instead of having them chosen for you from above.... Like all other modern people, the English are in process of being numbered, labelled, conscripted, 'coordinated'. But the pull of their impulses is in the other direction, and the kind of regimentation that can be imposed on them will be modified in consequence. No party rallies, no Youth Movements, no coloured shirts, no Jew—baiting or 'spontaneous' demonstrations. No Gestapo either, in all probability. (ibid)

Question: You just concisely spelled out why Americans love England.

Orwell:

The genuinely popular culture of England is something that goes on beneath the surface, unofficially and more or less frowned on by the authorities. One thing one notices if one looks directly at the common people, especially in the big towns, is that they are not puritanical. They are inveterate gamblers, drink as much beer as their wages will permit, are devoted to bawdy jokes, and use probably the foulest language in the world. (ibid)

Question: But would you still say the English working class is religious?

Orwell:

The common people are without definite religious belief, and have been so for centuries. The Anglican Church never had a real hold on them, it was simply a preserve of the landed gentry, and the Nonconformist sects only influenced minorities. Yet they have a deep tinge of Christian feeling, while almost forgetting the name of Christ. (ibid)

Question: Explain how English Christian—feeling manifested itself during World War II.

Orwell:

The power—worship which was the new religion of Europe, and which had infected the English intelligentsia, had never touched the common people. They had never caught up with power politics. The 'realism' which was preached in Japanese and Italian newspapers would horrify them. (ibid)

Question: Why were they uncomfortable with 'realism'?

Orwell:

The gentleness of English civilization is perhaps its most marked characteristic. You notice it the instant you set foot on English soil.... And with this goes something that is always written off by European observers as 'decadence' or hypocrisy, the English hatred of war and militarism.... The mass of people are without military knowledge or tradition, and their attitude towards war is invariably defensive. No politician could rise to power by promising them conquests or military 'glory', no Hymn of Hate has ever made any appeal to them. (ibid)

Question: Yet all this irritates many foreigners.

Orwell:

The reason why the English anti—militarism disgusts foreign observers is that it ignores the existence of the British Empire. It looks like sheer hypocrisy. After all, the English absorbed a quarter of the earth and held on to it by means of a huge navy. How dare they then turn round and say that war is wicked? (ibid, some editing)

Question: And yet you yourself remained deeply patriotic, though your country wasn't perfect?

Orwell:

It is quite true that the English were hypocritical about their Empire. In the working class this hypocrisy took the form of not knowing that the Empire existed. But.... English people of nearly all classes loathe from the bottom of their hearts the swaggering officer type, the jingle of spurs and the crash of boots. Decades before Hitler was ever heard of, the word 'Prussian' had much the same significance in England as 'Nazi' has today. So deep does this feeling go that for a hundred years past the officers of the British army, in peace time, have always worn civilian clothes when off duty. (ibid)

Question: What else would you say about the English? I mean, have they, for example, bought into the postmodern philosophies of Continental Europe, such as those of Derrida and Foucault, which seem to reject objective truth and meaningful language?

Orwell:

In England such concepts as justice, liberty and objective truth are still believed in. They may be illusions, but they are very powerful illusions. The belief in them influences conduct, national life is different because of them. (ibid)

Question: How do those philosophical assumptions influence national life?

Orwell:

Here one comes upon an all—important English trait: the respect for constitutionalism and legality, the belief in 'the law' as something above the State and above the individual, something which is cruel and stupid, of course, but at any rate incorruptible.... Remarks like 'They can't run me in; I haven't done anything wrong', or 'They can't do that; it's against the law', are part of the atmosphere of England. The professed enemies of society have this feeling as strongly as anyone else. One sees it in the solemn idiocies that take place at the trials of conscientious objectors, in letters to the papers from eminent Marxist professors, pointing out that this or that is a 'miscarriage of British justice'. (ibid)

Question: How, then, would you sum up your view of England?

Orwell:

England is not the jeweled isle of Shakespeare's much—quoted message, nor is it the inferno depicted by Dr. Goebbels. More than either it resembles a family, a rather stuffy Victorian family, with not many black sheep in it but with all its cupboards bursting with skeletons.... Still, it is a family. It has its private language and its common memories, and at the approach of an enemy it closes its ranks. (ibid, sect. 3)

Thank you, Mr. Orwell. You truly do come from a magnificent culture and country. Good night and God bless. 

Note: in the above fictional conversation there is some very minor editing where indicated above. If this causes the reader to read the entire essay to see if I was faithful to Orwell, all the better.

Jonah Avriel Cohen received his PhD in philosophy and religion at the University of London. He lcan be reached at jac1974@gmail.com