CONTENTS

PART ONE. THE HOMELESSNESS OF MAN

I. THE MEDICAL MISTAKE

II. WANTED, AN UNPRACTICAL MAN

III. THE NEW HYPOCRITE

IV. THE FEAR OF THE PAST

V. THE UNFINISHED TEMPLE

VI. THE ENEMIES OF PROPERTY

VII. THE FREE FAMILY

VIII. THE WILDNESS OF DOMESTICITY

IX. HISTORY OF HUDGE AND GUDGE

X. OPPRESSION BY OPTIMISM

XI. THE HOMELESSNESS OF JONES

PART TWO. IMPERIALISM, OR THE MISTAKE ABOUT MAN

I. THE CHARM OF JINGOISM

II. WISDOM AND THE WEATHER

III. THE COMMON VISION

IV. THE INSANE NECESSITY

PART THREE. FEMINISM, OR THE MISTAKE ABOUT WOMAN

I. THE UNMILITARY SUFFRAGETTE

II. THE UNIVERSAL STICK

III. THE EMANCIPATION OF DOMESTICITY

IV. THE ROMANCE OF THRIFT

V. THE COLDNESS OF CHLOE

VI. THE PEDANT AND THE SAVAGE

VII. THE MODERN SURRENDER OF WOMAN

VIII. THE BRAND OF THE FLEUR-DE-LIS

IX. SINCERITY AND THE GALLOWS

X. THE HIGHER ANARCHY

XI. THE QUEEN AND THE SUFFRAGETTES

XII. THE MODERN SLAVE

PART FOUR. EDUCATION: OR THE MISTAKE ABOUT THE CHILD

I. THE CALVINISM OF TO-DAY

II. THE TRIBAL TERROR

III. THE TRICKS OF ENVIRONMENT

IV. THE TRUTH ABOUT EDUCATION

V. AN EVIL CRY

VI. AUTHORITY THE UNAVOIDABLE

VII. THE HUMILITY OF MRS. GRUNDY

VIII. THE BROKEN RAINBOW

IX. THE NEED FOR NARROWNESS

X. THE CASE FOR THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS

XI. THE SCHOOL FOR HYPOCRITES

XII. THE STALENESS OF THE NEW SCHOOLS

XIII. THE OUTLAWED PARENT

XIV. FOLLY AND FEMALE EDUCATION

PART FIVE. THE HOME OF MAN

I. THE EMPIRE OF THE INSECT

II. THE FALLACY OF THE UMBRELLA STAND

III. THE DREADFUL DUTY OF GUDGE

IV. A LAST INSTANCE

V. CONCLUSION

THREE NOTES

I. ON FEMALE SUFFRAGE

II. ON CLEANLINESS IN EDUCATION

III. ON PEASANT PROPRIETORSHIP

DEDICATION
To C. F G. Masterman, M. P.
My Dear Charles,
I originally called this book “What is Wrong,” and it would
have satisfied your sardonic temper to note the number of social
misunderstandings that arose from the use of the title. Many a mild lady
visitor opened her eyes when I remarked casually, “I have been doing
‘What is Wrong’ all this morning.” And one minister of religion moved
quite sharply in his chair when I told him (as he understood it) that I
had to run upstairs and do what was wrong, but should be down again in
a minute. Exactly of what occult vice they silently accused me I cannot
conjecture, but I know of what I accuse myself; and that is, of having
written a very shapeless and inadequate book, and one quite unworthy
to be dedicated to you. As far as literature goes, this book is what is
wrong and no mistake.
It may seem a refinement of insolence to present so wild a composition
to one who has recorded two or three of the really impressive visions of
the moving millions of England. You are the only man alive who can
make the map of England crawl with life; a most creepy and enviable
accomplishment. Why then should I trouble you with a book which, even
if it achieves its object (which is monstrously unlikely) can only be a
thundering gallop of theory?
Well, I do it partly because I think you politicians are none the worse
for a few inconvenient ideals; but more because you will recognise the
many arguments we have had, those arguments which the most wonderful
ladies in the world can never endure for very long. And, perhaps, you
will agree with me that the thread of comradeship and conversation must
be protected because it is so frivolous. It must be held sacred, it
must not be snapped, because it is not worth tying together again. It
is exactly because argument is idle that men (I mean males) must take it
seriously; for when (we feel), until the crack of doom, shall we have so
delightful a difference again? But most of all I offer it to you because
there exists not only comradeship, but a very different thing, called
friendship; an agreement under all the arguments and a thread which,
please God, will never break.
Yours always,
G. K. Chesterton.