Fear of What Others Think

Very few people can be happy unless on the whole their way of life and their outlook on the world is approved by those with whom they have social relations, and more especially by those with whom they live. It is a peculiarity of modern communities that they are divided into sets which differ profoundly in their morals and in their beliefs. This state of affairs began with the Reformation, or perhaps one should say with the Renaissance, and has grown more pronounced ever since. There were Protestants and Catholics, who differed not only in theology but on many more practical matters. There were aristocrats who permitted various kinds of action that were not tolerated among the bourgeoisie. Then there came to be latitudinarians and free-thinkers who did not recognize the duties of religious observance. In our own day throughout the Continent of Europe there is a profound division between socialists and others, which covers not only politics but almost every department of life. In English-speaking countries the divisions are very numerous. In some sets art is admired, while in others it is thought to be of the devil, at any rate if it is modern. In some sets devotion to the Empire is the supreme virtue, in others it is considered a vice, and in yet others a form of stupidity. Conventional people consider adultery one of the worst of crimes, but large sections of the population regard it as excusable if not positively laudable. Among Catholics divorce is totally forbidden, while most non-Catholics accept it as a necessary alleviation of matrimony.

Very few people can be happy unless their social circle generally approves of their lifestyle and outlook on the world. The approval of those they live with is especially important. One distinctive feature of modern communities is their division into groups with profoundly different morals and beliefs. These divisions began with the Reformation, or perhaps with the Renaissance, and have grown more pronounced ever since. Protestants and Catholics differed not only in theology but also on many practical matters. Aristocrats allowed various kinds of behavior that the middle classes would not tolerate. Then came people with more relaxed religious views and free-thinkers who did not accept religious observance as a duty. Today, throughout the Continent of Europe, a deep division separates socialists from everyone else. This division extends beyond politics into almost every area of life. In English-speaking countries, there are many divisions. Some groups admire art, while others consider art the work of the devil, at least if the art is modern. In some groups, devotion to the Empire is the highest virtue. In others, such devotion is considered a vice, and in still others, a form of stupidity. Conventional people consider adultery one of the worst crimes. But large sections of the population regard adultery as excusable, if not actually praiseworthy. Among Catholics, divorce is completely forbidden. Most non-Catholics, however, accept divorce as a necessary way to ease the burdens of marriage.

Owing to all these differences of outlook a person of given tastes and convictions may find himself practically an outcast while he lives in one set, although in another set he would be accepted as an entirely ordinary human being. A very great deal of unhappiness, especially among the young, arises in this way. A young man or young woman somehow catches ideas that are in the air, but finds that these ideas are anathema in the particular milieu in which he or she lives. It easily seems to the young as if the only milieu with which they are acquainted were representative of the whole world. They can scarcely believe that in another place or another set the views which they dare not avow for fear of being thought utterly perverse would be accepted as the ordinary commonplaces of the age. Thus through ignorance of the world a great deal of unnecessary misery is endured, sometimes only in youth, but not infrequently throughout life. This isolation is not only a source of pain, it also causes a great dissipation of energy in the unnecessary task of maintaining mental independence against hostile surroundings, and in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred produces a certain timidity in following out ideas to their logical conclusions. The Brontë sisters never met any congenial people until after their books had been published. This did not affect Emily, who was heroic and in the grand manner, but it certainly did affect Charlotte, whose outlook, in spite of her talents, remained always to a large extent that of a governess. Blake, like Emily Brontë, lived in extreme mental isolation, but like her was great enough to overcome its bad effects, since he never doubted that he was right and his critics wrong. His attitude towards public opinion is expressed in the lines:

Because of all these differences in outlook, people with particular tastes and beliefs may find themselves practically outcasts in one group. Yet another group would accept them as entirely ordinary people. A great deal of unhappiness, especially among the young, arises this way. A young man or woman somehow picks up ideas that are circulating, but finds those ideas unacceptable in their own surroundings. Young people can easily feel that the only social world they know represents the whole world. They can hardly believe that another place or group would treat their views as ordinary ideas of the time. Yet they dare not express those views at home for fear of being thought utterly wrongheaded. So, through ignorance of the world, people endure a great deal of unnecessary misery. Sometimes this misery lasts only through youth, but quite often it lasts throughout life. This isolation causes more than pain. It also wastes a great deal of energy on the unnecessary struggle to think independently in hostile surroundings. And in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, isolation makes people somewhat afraid to follow ideas to their logical conclusions. The Brontë sisters never met any like-minded people until after their books had been published. This isolation did not affect Emily, who had a heroic spirit and a natural grandeur. But it certainly affected Charlotte. Despite her talents, Charlotte's outlook always remained largely that of a governess. Blake, like Emily Brontë, lived in extreme intellectual isolation. But, like her, he was great enough to overcome its harmful effects. He never doubted that he was right and his critics were wrong. His attitude toward public opinion is expressed in these lines:

But there are not many who have this degree of force in their inner life. To almost everybody sympathetic surroundings are necessary to happiness. To the majority, of course, the surroundings in which they happen to find themselves are sympathetic. They imbibe current prejudices in youth, and instinctively adapt themselves to the beliefs and customs which they find in existence around them. But to a large minority, which includes practically all who have any intellectual or artistic merit, this attitude of acquiescence is impossible. A person born, let us say, in some small country town finds himself from early youth surrounded by hostility to everything that is necessary for mental excellence. If he wishes to read serious books, other boys despise him, and teachers tell him that such works are unsettling. If he cares for art, his contemporaries think him unmanly, and his elders think him immoral. If he desires any career, however respectable, which has not been common in the circle to which he belongs, he is told that he is setting himself up, and that what was good enough for his father ought to be good enough for him. If he shows any tendency to criticize his parents’ religious tenets or political affiliations, he is likely to find himself in serious trouble. For all these reasons, to most young men and young women of exceptional merit adolescence is a time of great unhappiness. To their more ordinary companions it may be a time of gaiety and enjoyment, but for themselves they want something more serious, which they can find neither among their elders nor among their contemporaries in the particular social setting in which chance has caused them to be born.

But few people have such a strong inner life. Almost everyone needs a supportive environment to be happy. For most people, of course, the surroundings they happen to live in are supportive. They absorb the prevailing prejudices when young. They instinctively adapt to the beliefs and customs around them. But a large minority cannot accept things so readily. This minority includes practically everyone with any intellectual or artistic talent. Consider someone born in a small country town. From early youth, he faces hostility toward everything needed for intellectual excellence. If he wants to read serious books, other boys look down on him. His teachers tell him such books are unsettling. If he cares about art, people his own age think him unmanly, and older people think him immoral. If he wants a career uncommon in his social circle, however respectable, he is told he is getting above himself. He is told that what was good enough for his father ought to be good enough for him. If he shows any inclination to criticize his parents’ religious beliefs or political loyalties, he is likely to face serious trouble. For all these reasons, adolescence is a deeply unhappy time for most young men and women of exceptional ability. For their more ordinary companions, adolescence may be a time of fun and enjoyment. But these exceptional young people want something more serious. They can find it neither among their elders nor among people their own age in the social setting where they happened to be born.

When such young people go to a University they probably discover congenial souls and enjoy a few years of great happiness. If they are fortunate, they may succeed, on leaving the University, in obtaining some kind of work that gives them still the possibility of choosing congenial companions; an intelligent man who lives in a city as large as London or New York can generally find some congenial set in which it is not necessary to practise any constraint or hypocrisy. But if his work obliges him to live in some smaller place, and more particularly if it necessitates retention of the respect of ordinary people, as is the case, for example, with a doctor or a lawyer, he may find himself throughout his whole life practically compelled to conceal his real tastes and convictions from most of the people that he meets in the course of his day. This is especially true in America because of the vastness of the country. In the most unlikely places, north, south, east, and west, one finds lonely individuals who know from books that there are places where they would not be lonely, but who have no chance to live in such places, and only the rarest opportunity of congenial conversation. Real happiness in such circumstances is impossible to those who are built on a less magnificent scale than Blake and Emily Brontë. If it is to become possible, some way must be found by which the tyranny of public opinion can be either lessened or evaded, and by which members of the intelligent minority can come to know each other and enjoy each other’s society.

When such young people go to a university, they probably find like-minded people and enjoy a few very happy years. If they are fortunate, they may find work after university that still lets them choose like-minded companions. An intelligent man living in a city as large as London or New York can generally find a like-minded group. Among such people, he need not hold back or pretend to be someone he is not. But his work may force him to live somewhere smaller. His work may also require him to keep the respect of ordinary people, as a doctor or lawyer must. In those circumstances, he may find himself practically forced to hide his real tastes and beliefs throughout his life. He may have to hide them from most people he meets during his day. This need to hide is especially common in America because the country is so vast. In the most unlikely places, north, south, east, and west, one finds lonely individuals. They know from books that there are places where they would not be lonely. But they have no chance to live in those places and only the rarest opportunity to talk with like-minded people. In such circumstances, real happiness is impossible for anyone whose spirit is less magnificent than Blake’s or Emily Brontë’s. If happiness is to become possible, some way must be found to reduce or escape the tyranny of public opinion. A way must also be found for members of the intelligent minority to meet and enjoy each other’s company.

In a good many cases unnecessary timidity makes the trouble worse than it need be. Public opinion is always more tyrannical towards those who obviously fear it than towards those who feel indifferent to it. A dog will bark more loudly and bite more readily when people are afraid of him than when they treat him with contempt, and the human herd has something of this same characteristic. If you show that you are afraid of them, you give promise of good hunting, whereas if you show indifference, they begin to doubt their own power and therefore tend to let you alone. I am not, of course, thinking of extreme forms of defiance. If you hold in Kensington the views that are conventional in Russia, or in Russia the views that are conventional in Kensington, you must accept the consequences. I am thinking, not of such extremes, but of much milder lapses from conventionality, such as failure to dress correctly or to belong to some Church or to abstain from reading intelligent books. Such lapses, if they are done with gaiety and insouciance, not defiantly but spontaneously, will come to be tolerated even in the most conventional society. Gradually it may become possible to acquire the position of licensed lunatic, to whom things are permitted which in another man would be thought unforgivable. This is largely a matter of a certain kind of good nature and friendliness. Conventional people are roused to fury by departures from convention, largely because they regard such departures as a criticism of themselves. They will pardon much unconventionality in a man who has enough jollity and friendliness to make it clear, even to the stupidest, that he is not engaged in criticizing them.

In many cases, needless fear makes the trouble worse than it needs to be. Public opinion is always more oppressive toward people who clearly fear it than toward people who do not care. A dog barks louder and bites more readily when people fear him than when they treat him with contempt. The human herd shares something of this trait. If you show people you fear them, you look like promising prey. But if you show indifference, they begin to doubt their own power and tend to leave you alone. Of course, I am not thinking of extreme forms of defiance. Suppose you hold views in Kensington that are conventional in Russia, or views in Russia that are conventional in Kensington. You must then accept the consequences. I am thinking not of these extremes, but of much milder departures from convention. These include failing to dress properly, belong to a Church, or avoid intelligent books. Even the most conventional society will come to tolerate such departures if they are cheerful and carefree, spontaneous rather than defiant. Gradually, you may gain the status of a lunatic who is allowed special freedom. You will then be permitted things that would be considered unforgivable in another man. Much depends on a certain kind of good nature and friendliness. Conventional people become furious at departures from convention, largely because they see these departures as criticism of themselves. They will forgive a great deal of unconventional behavior in a man cheerful and friendly enough to make his intentions clear. Even the stupidest must be able to see that he is not criticizing them.

This method of escaping censure is, however, impossible to many of those whose tastes or opinions cause them to be out of sympathy with the herd. Their lack of sympathy makes them uncomfortable and causes them to have a pugnacious attitude, even if outwardly they conform or manage to avoid any sharp issue. People who are not in harmony with the conventions of their own set tend therefore to be prickly and uncomfortable and lacking in expansive good humour. These same people, transported into another set where their outlook is not thought strange, will seem to change their character entirely. From being serious, shy and retiring they may become gay and self-confident; from being angular they may become smooth and easy; from being self-centred they may become sociable and extravert.

However, this way of avoiding criticism is impossible for many whose tastes or opinions put them at odds with the crowd. Feeling at odds makes them uncomfortable and combative, even if they outwardly conform or manage to avoid open conflict. So people who do not fit their social circle’s conventions tend to be prickly, uncomfortable, and lacking in easy good humor. Put these same people in a different circle, where their outlook is not considered strange, and their character will seem entirely changed. From being serious, shy, and withdrawn, they may become cheerful and self-confident. From being awkward, they may become relaxed and at ease. From being self-centered, they may become sociable and outgoing.

Wherever possible, therefore, young people who find themselves out of harmony with their surroundings should endeavour in the choice of a profession to select some career which will give them a chance of congenial companionship, even if this should entail a considerable loss of income. Often they hardly know that this is possible, since their knowledge of the world is very limited, and they may easily imagine that the prejudices to which they have become accustomed at home are world wide. This is a matter in which older men should be able to give much assistance to the young, since a considerable experience of mankind is essential.

So, whenever possible, young people who feel out of place in their surroundings should choose their careers with companionship in mind. They should look for work that offers a chance to meet like-minded people, even if it means earning considerably less. Often, young people barely realize that such a choice is possible, because they know very little of the world. They may easily imagine that the prejudices they have grown used to at home exist everywhere. Older men should be able to offer young people much help with this choice. Such guidance requires considerable experience of people.

It is customary in these days of psycho-analysis to assume that, when any young person is out of harmony with his environment, the cause must lie in some psychological disorder. This is to my mind a complete mistake. Suppose, for example, that a young person has parents who believe the doctrine of evolution to be wicked. Nothing except intelligence is required in such a case to cause him to be out of sympathy with them. To be out of harmony with one’s surroundings is, of course, a misfortune, but it is not always a misfortune to be avoided at all costs. Where the environment is stupid or prejudiced or cruel, it is a sign of merit to be out of harmony with it. And to some degree these characteristics exist in almost every environment. Galileo and Kepler had “dangerous thoughts” (as they are called in Japan), and so have the most intelligent men of our own day. It is not desirable that the social sense should be so strongly developed as to cause such men to fear the social hostility which their opinions may provoke. What is desirable is to find ways of making this hostility as slight and as ineffective as possible.

In this age of psychoanalysis, people commonly assume that young people who clash with their surroundings must have some psychological disorder. To my mind, this assumption is completely mistaken. Suppose, for example, that a young person’s parents believe evolution is wicked. Intelligence alone is enough to make the young person disagree with them. Being at odds with your surroundings is, of course, unfortunate. But being at odds is not always something to avoid at all costs. When your surroundings are foolish, prejudiced, or cruel, being at odds with them is a sign of merit. And almost every environment has these qualities to some degree. Galileo and Kepler had “dangerous thoughts” (as they are called in Japan). So have the most intelligent men of our own day. Their sense of belonging to society should not be so strong that they fear the hostility their opinions may provoke. Instead, we should find ways to make this hostility as mild and as ineffective as possible.

In the modern world the most important part of this problem arises in youth. If a man is once launched upon the right career and in the right surroundings, he can in most cases escape social persecution, but while he is young and his merits are still untested, he is liable to be at the mercy of ignorant people who consider themselves capable of judging in matters about which they know nothing, and who are outraged at the suggestion that so young a person may know better than they do with all their experience of the world. Many people who have ultimately escaped from the tyranny of ignorance have had so hard a fight and so long a time of repression that in the end they are embittered and their energy is impaired. There is a comfortable doctrine that genius will always make its way, and on the strength of this doctrine many people consider that the persecution of youthful talent cannot do much harm. But there is no ground whatever for accepting this doctrine. It is like the theory that murder will out. Obviously all the murders we know of have been discovered, but who knows how many there may be which have never been heard of? In like manner all the men of genius that we have ever heard of have triumphed over adverse circumstances, but that is no reason for supposing that there were not innumerable others who succumbed in youth. Moreover, it is not a question only of genius, but also of talent, which is just as necessary to the community. And it is not only a question of emerging somehow, but also of emerging unembittered and with unimpaired energy. For all these reasons the way of youth should not be made too hard.

In the modern world, the most important part of this problem concerns young people. If a man gets started in the right career and the right surroundings, he can usually escape social persecution. But while he is young and his abilities remain untested, he may be at the mercy of ignorant people. These people think they can judge matters they know nothing about. They are outraged by the suggestion that someone so young may know better than they do. After all, they have so much experience of the world. Many people eventually escape the tyranny of ignorance, but only after a hard struggle and years of repression. By then, they are bitter and their energy has been weakened. There is a comforting belief that genius will always succeed. On that basis, many people think persecuting talented young people cannot do much harm. But there is no reason at all to accept this belief. It is like the theory that every murder will eventually be discovered. Obviously, all the murders we know about have been discovered. But who knows how many murders have never been heard of? In the same way, all the people of genius we have heard of have overcome difficult circumstances. But that gives us no reason to suppose that countless others did not give up in their youth. Besides, the issue is not just genius, but also talent, which is just as necessary to the community. Nor is it enough simply to make it through somehow. People must also come through without bitterness and with their energy undiminished. For all these reasons, we should not make life too hard for young people.

While it is desirable that the old should treat with respect the wishes of the young, it is not desirable that the young should treat with respect the wishes of the old. The reason is simple, namely that in either case it is the lives of the young that are concerned, not the lives of the old. When the young attempt to regulate the lives of the old, as, for example, by objecting to the remarriage of a widowed parent, they are quite as much in the wrong as are the old who attempt to regulate the lives of the young. Old and young alike, as soon as years of discretion have been reached, have a right to their own choices, and if necessary to their own mistakes. Young people are ill-advised if they yield to the pressure of the old in any vital matter. Suppose, for example, that you are a young person who wishes to go on the stage, and that your parents oppose your wish, either on the ground that the stage is immoral or on the ground that it is socially inferior. They may bring every kind of pressure to bear; they may tell you that they will cast you off if you ignore their commands; they may say that you will certainly repent within a few years; they may mention whole strings of horrid examples of young persons who have been rash enough to do what you contemplate doing and came to a bad end in consequence. They may of course be right in thinking that the stage is not the career for you; it may be that you have no talent for acting, or that you have a bad voice. If this is the case, however, you will soon discover it from theatrical people, and there will still be plenty of time to adopt a different career. The arguments of parents should not be a sufficient reason for relinquishing the attempt. If, in spite of all they say, you carry out your intention, they will soon come round, much sooner in fact than either you or they suppose. If on the other hand you find professional opinion discouraging, that is another matter, for professional opinion must always be treated with respect by beginners.

Older people should respect the wishes of the young, but young people should not respect the wishes of the old. The reason is simple. In both cases, the lives at stake belong to the young, not the old. When young people try to control older people’s lives, they are just as wrong as older people who try to control theirs. For example, young people may object when a widowed parent wants to remarry. Both young and old, once mature enough to judge for themselves, have a right to their own choices. If necessary, they also have a right to their own mistakes. Young people are unwise to give in to pressure from older people on any matter of great importance. Suppose, for example, that you are young and want to become an actor, but your parents oppose your wish. They may believe that the theater is immoral or that acting has a low social status. Your parents may put every kind of pressure on you. They may threaten to disown you if you disobey them. They may say you will certainly regret your choice within a few years. They may list one terrible example after another of young people who rashly did what you are considering. Those young people, they may say, came to a bad end as a result. Of course, your parents may be right in thinking that acting is not the career for you. You may have no acting talent, or you may have a bad voice. If so, however, you will soon find out from people in the theater. You will still have plenty of time to choose another career. Your parents’ arguments alone should not be enough to make you give up the attempt. If you follow your plan despite everything your parents say, they will soon come around. In fact, they will come around much sooner than either you or they expect. If, on the other hand, professionals give you discouraging feedback, that is another matter. Beginners must always respect professional opinion.

I think that in general, apart from expert opinion, there is too much respect paid to the opinions of others, both in great matters and in small ones. One should as a rule respect public opinion in so far as is necessary to avoid starvation and to keep out of prison, but anything that goes beyond this is voluntary submission to an unnecessary tyranny, and is likely to interfere with happiness in all kinds of ways. Take, for example, the matter of expenditure. Very many people spend money in ways quite different from those that their natural tastes would enjoin, merely because they feel that the respect of their neighbours depends upon their possession of a good car and their ability to give good dinners. As a matter of fact, any man who can obviously afford a car but genuinely prefers travel or a good library will in the end be much more respected than if he behaved exactly like everyone else. There is, of course, no point in deliberately flouting public opinion; this is still to be under its domination, though in a topsy-turvy way. But to be genuinely indifferent to it is both a strength and a source of happiness. And a society composed of men and women who do not bow too much to the conventions is a far more interesting society than one in which all behave alike. Where each person’s character is developed individually, differences of type are preserved, and it is worth while to meet new people, because they are not mere replicas of those whom one has met already. This has been one of the advantages of aristocracy, since where status depended upon birth behaviour was allowed to be erratic. In the modern world we are losing this source of social freedom, and therefore a more deliberate realization of the dangers of uniformity has become desirable. I do not mean that people should be intentionally eccentric, which is just as uninteresting as being conventional. I mean only that people should be natural, and should follow their spontaneous tastes in so far as these are not definitely anti-social.

I think that, in general, people give too much weight to others’ opinions, except those of experts. This is true in both large matters and small ones. As a rule, you should respect public opinion enough to avoid starvation and stay out of prison. But going any further means willingly submitting to an unnecessary tyranny. Such submission is likely to interfere with happiness in all kinds of ways. Take spending, for example. Very many people spend money in ways quite different from what their natural tastes would lead them to choose. They do so merely because they feel their neighbours’ respect depends on owning a good car and hosting good dinners. In fact, someone who can clearly afford a car may genuinely prefer travel or a good library. In the end, that person will be much more respected than if they behaved exactly like everyone else. Of course, there is no point in deliberately defying public opinion. Deliberate defiance still leaves you under its control, though in a reversed way. But being genuinely indifferent to public opinion is both a strength and a source of happiness. A society whose men and women do not bow too much to convention is far more interesting. It is more interesting than a society where everyone behaves alike. When each person develops their own character, differences between types of people survive. Meeting new people is then worthwhile because they are not mere copies of people you have already met. This has been one advantage of aristocracy. Where status depended on birth, people were allowed to behave unpredictably. In the modern world, we are losing this source of social freedom. So we now need a more conscious awareness of the dangers of uniformity. I do not mean that people should be deliberately eccentric. Deliberate eccentricity is just as uninteresting as being conventional. I mean only that people should be natural and follow their spontaneous tastes, provided those tastes are not clearly antisocial.

In the modern world, owing to the swiftness of locomotion, people are less dependent than they used to be upon their geographically nearest neighbours. Those who have cars can regard as a neighbour any person living within twenty miles. They have therefore a much greater power than was formerly the case of choosing their companions. In any populous neighbourhood a man must be very unfortunate if he cannot find congenial souls within twenty miles. The idea that one should know one’s immediate neighbours has died out in large centres of population, but still lingers in small towns and in the country. It has become a foolish idea, since there is no need to be dependent upon immediate neighbours for society. More and more it becomes possible to choose our companions on account of congeniality rather than on account of mere propinquity. Happiness is promoted by associations of persons with similar tastes and similar opinions. Social intercourse may be expected to develop more and more along these lines, and it may be hoped that by these means the loneliness that now afflicts so many unconventional people will be gradually diminished almost to vanishing point. This will undoubtedly increase their happiness, but it will of course diminish the sadistic pleasure which the conventional at present derive from having the unconventional at their mercy. I do not think, however, that this is a pleasure which we need be greatly concerned to preserve.

In the modern world, faster travel means people depend less on their nearest neighbours than they used to. People with cars can consider anyone living within twenty miles a neighbour. So they have much more freedom than before to choose their companions. In any densely populated area, someone must be very unlucky not to find like-minded people within twenty miles. The idea that people should know their immediate neighbours has died out in large population centres. But it still survives in small towns and the countryside. This idea has become foolish, since people no longer need to depend on their immediate neighbours for company. Increasingly, we can choose our companions because we get along, rather than simply because we live nearby. Spending time with people who share our tastes and opinions makes us happier. We can expect social life to develop increasingly along these lines. And we may hope that these changes will gradually reduce the loneliness affecting so many unconventional people until it almost disappears. This will undoubtedly make unconventional people happier. But of course, it will reduce the sadistic pleasure conventional people now get from having unconventional people at their mercy. I do not think, however, that we need to be greatly concerned about preserving this pleasure.

Fear of public opinion, like every other form of fear, is oppressive and stunts growth. It is difficult to achieve any kind of greatness while a fear of this kind remains strong, and it is impossible to acquire that freedom of spirit in which true happiness consists, for it is essential to happiness that our way of living should spring from our own deep impulses and not from the accidental tastes and desires of those who happen to be our neighbours, or even our relations. Fear of immediate neighbours is no doubt less than it was, but there is a new kind of fear, namely the fear of what newspapers may say. This is quite as terrifying as anything connected with mediæval witch-hunts. When the newspaper chooses to make a scapegoat of some perhaps quite harmless person, the results may be very terrible. Fortunately, as yet this is a fate which most people escape through their obscurity, but as publicity gets more and more perfect in its methods, there will be an increasing danger in this novel form of social persecution. This is too grave a matter to be treated with disdain by the individual who is its victim, and whatever may be thought of the great principle of the freedom of the Press, I think the line will have to be drawn more sharply than it is by the existing libel laws, and anything will have to be forbidden that makes life intolerable for innocent individuals, even if they should happen to have done or said things which, published maliciously, can cause them to become unpopular. The only ultimate cure for this evil is, however, an increase of toleration on the part of the public. The best way to increase toleration is to multiply the number of individuals who enjoy real happiness and do not therefore find their chief pleasure in the infliction of pain upon their fellow-men.

Fear of public opinion, like every other kind of fear, weighs us down and limits our growth. It is difficult to achieve any kind of greatness while such fear remains strong. And it is impossible to gain the freedom of spirit that true happiness consists of. To be happy, we must live according to our own deepest impulses. Our lives must not be shaped by the chance preferences and desires of our neighbours, or even our relatives. Fear of our immediate neighbours is no doubt weaker than it once was. But a new fear has emerged: fear of what newspapers may say. This fear is just as terrifying as anything connected with medieval witch hunts. When a newspaper chooses to make a scapegoat of someone who may be quite harmless, the consequences can be terrible. Fortunately, most people still escape this fate because they are unknown. But as methods of publicity become ever more effective, the danger of this new form of social persecution will grow. Such persecution is too serious for its victims simply to brush aside. Whatever we may think of the great principle of press freedom, I believe stricter limits are needed. Existing libel laws do not draw the line sharply enough. Anything that makes life unbearable for innocent people will have to be forbidden. This must apply even if those people have done or said things that, when maliciously publicized, can make them unpopular. But the only lasting cure for this evil is greater tolerance among the public. The best way to increase tolerance is to increase the number of people who are truly happy. Such people therefore do not find their greatest pleasure in causing others pain.