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BYGONES WORTH REMEMBERING

"The best prophet of the future is the past."

Lord Byron

New York E. P. Dutton And Company

PREFACE If the preface of a book be a plea to the reader, its force must lie in the aims of the author. In the following pages his main aim has been to be of service to somebody. That is a principle, which, amid the ravelment, perplexity, and entanglements of the world, always finds a pathway open. Such a principle is as an All-Seeing Eye, to which he who acknowledges it, is amenable, since it makes plain to him the devious, time-serving byways he should avoid.

The writer has no interest, no taste, no trust, save in definite, verifiable ideas. His aim has been to keep clear of the Sin of Pretension, which consists in declaring, or assuming to be true, that which the writer or speaker does not know to be true. What errors negligence of this rule has bred! What misdirection it has perpetuated! Into how many labyrinths, where truth was not to be found, has it led men! What can be more useful, or holier, than inciting the reader to beware of pretension in speech, in morals, in politics, and in piety? To keep as clear as possible of this universal sin may serve many and mislead none.

Professor Jowett has told us that "where Inquiry is denied at the door, Doubt gets in at the window." This is the way it came to the writer of this preface, and accounts for a certain liberty of expression the reader may meet with, if he ventures further into these pages.

A sentence of Mr. Allen Upward will sufficiently describe the spirit of this book: "Let us try to tolerate each other instead of trying to convert each other." The author disclaims belonging to that class who have "great expectations," which are as vain in literature as in life. The utmost the author looks forward to is that semi-friendly applause which is accorded to a platform speaker, not so much for any merit in his oration as for his unexpected consideration for the audience by concluding.

G. J. HOLYOAKE.

It was a saying of Dryden that "Anything, though ever so little, which a man speaks of himself, in my opinion, is still too much." This depends upon what a writer says. No man is required to give an opinion of himself. Others will do that much better, if he will wait But if a man may not speak of himself at all--reports of adventure, of personal endeavour, or of service, will be largely impossible. To relate is not to praise. The two things are quite distinct. Othello's imperishable narrative of his love of Desdemona contained no eulogy of himself. A story of observation, of experience, or of effort, or estimate of men or of opinions, I may venture upon--is written for the reader alone. The writer will be an entirely negligible quantity.

Lord Rosebery, who can make proverbs as well as cite them, lately recalled one which has had great vogue in its day, namely, "Let bygones be bygones." Life would be impossible or very unpleasant if every one persisted in remembering what had better be forgotten. Proverbs are like plants: they have a soil and climate under which alone they flourish. Noble maxims have their limitations. Few have universal applicability. If, for instance, the advice to "let bygones be bygones" be taken as universally true, strange questions arise. Are mistakes never more to teach us what to avoid? Are the errors of others no more to be a warning to us? Is the Book of Experience to be closed? Is no more history to be written? If so philosophy could no longer teach wisdom by examples, for there would no longer be any examples to go upon. If all the mistakes of mankind and all the miscalculations of circumstance be forgotten, the warnings of the sages will die with them.

He who has debts, or loans not repaid, or promises not kept, or contracts unfulfilled in his memory, had better keep them there until he has made what reparation he can. The Bygone proverb does not apply to him. There are other derelictions of greater gravity than fall under the head of intellectual petty larceny, such as the conscious abandonment of principle, or desertion of a just cause, which had better be kept in mind for rectification.

If an admiral wrecked his ships, or a general lost his army, or a statesman ruined his country, by flagrant want of judgment--ever so conscientiously--it is well such things should be borne in mind by those who may renew, by fresh appointment, these opportunities of calamity. It would be to encourage incapacity were such bygones consigned to oblivion. It may be useless to dwell upon "spilt milk," but further employment of the spiller may not be prudent.

Slaves of the saying, "Let bygones perish," would construct mere political man-traps, which never act when depredators are about. In human affairs bygones have occurred worth remembering as guides for the future.

It is said that "greatness is thrust upon a man"--what is meant is a position of greatness. Greatness lies in the quality of the individual, and cannot be "thrust" on any man. It is true that intrinsic greatness is often left unrecognised. It would be a crime against progress were these cases, when known, consigned to forgetfulness. Noble thoughts as well as noble acts are worth bearing in mind, however long ago they may have occurred.

My friend Joseph Cowen, who from his youth had regarded me as a chartered disturber of the unreasoning torpidity of the public conscience, described me as an agitator. All the while I never was a Pedlar of Opinions. I never asked people to adopt mine, but to reason out their own. I merely explained the nature of what I took to be erroneous in theological and public affairs. Neither did I find fault with prevailing ideas, save where I could, or thought I could, suggest other principles of action more conducive to the welfare of all who dwell in cottages or lodgings--for whom I mainly care. I was for equal opportunities for all men, guaranteed by law, and for equitable participation in profit among all who, by toil of hand or brain, contributed to the wealth of the State.

Yet, though I never obtruded my convictions, neither did I conceal them. No public questioner ever went empty away,--if his inquiry was relevant and I had the knowledge he sought Sometimes, as at Cheltenham , when an inquiry was malicious and the reply penal, the questioner got his answer. My maxim was that of Professor Blackie:--

"Wear thy heart not on thy sleeve, But on just occasion Let men know what you believe, With breezy ventilation."

Thus, without intending it, I came to be counted an "agitator."

As to the matter of the following pages, they relate, as all autobiographical reminiscences do, to events that are past. But whether they relate to acts, or events, or opinions, to tragedy or gaiety, they are all meant to fulfil one condition--that of having instruction or guidance of some kind in them--which bring them within the class of "bygones worth remembering."

One day as I was walking briskly along Fleet Street, a person in greater haste than myself running down Johnson's Court collided with me, and both of us fell to the ground. On rising, I said, "If you knocked me down, never mind; if I knocked you down, I beg your pardon." He did not reciprocate my forgiveness, thinking I had run against him intentionally. Nevertheless, I say to any resenting reader who does me mischief, "never mind." If I have done him any harm it has been unwittingly, and I tender him real apologies.

The habit of my thoughts is to run into speeches, as the thoughts of a poet run into verse; but if there be a more intrinsic characteristic of my mind it is accurately described in the words of Coleridge:--

In 1895 , I had a brass tablet cast bearing the simple inscription--

"Near this spot was buried

MADELINE,

Daughter of George Jacob and Eleanor Holyoake,

WHO PERISHED

October! 1842."

This tablet I had placed on the wall over the grave where the poor child lay. The grave is close to the wall. The cemetery authorities had objections to the word "Perished." When I explained to them the circumstances of Madeline's death, they permitted its erection, on my paying a cemetery fee of two guineas. The tablet will endure as long as the cemetery wall lasts. The tablet is on the left side of the main entrance to the cemetery, somewhat obscured by trees now.

The phrase "Science is the Providence of Life" was an expression I had used in drawing up a statement of Secular Principles twenty-four years before I found it in the poem of Akenside's.

Problem 1. Given--an angry man to answer without being angry yourself.

Problem 2. Given--an opponent full of bitterness and unjust insinuations to reply to without asperity or stooping to counter insinuations.

Problem 3. Given--your own favourite truths to state without dogmatism, and to praise without pride, adducing with fairness the objections to them without disparaging the judgment of those who hold the objections.

Problem 4. Given--an inconsistent and abusive opponent. It is required to reply to him by argument, convincing rather than retorting. All opportunities of "thrashing" him are to be passed by, all pain to be saved him as far as possible, and no word set down whose object is not the opponent's improvement.

Problem 5. Given--the error of an adversary to annihilate with the same vigour with which you could annihilate him.

Problem 6. Required--out of the usual materials to construct a public body, who shall tolerate just censure and despise extravagant praise.

It is probably vanity--though I disguise it under the name of pride--that induces me to insert here certain incidents. Nevertheless pride is the major motive. When I have been near unto death, and have asked myself what has been the consolation of this life, I found it in cherished memories of illustrious persons of thought and action, whose friendship I had shared. There are other incidents--as Harriet Martineau's Letter to Lloyd Garrison, Tyndall's testimony, elsewhere quoted--which will never pass from my memory.

The first dedication to me was that of a poem by Allen Davenport, 1843--an ardent Whitechapel artisan. The tribute had value in my eyes, coming from one of the toiling class--and being a recognition on the part of working men of London, that I was one of their way of thinking and could be trusted to defend the interests of industry.

The next came from the theological world--a quite unexpected incident in those days. The Rev. Henry Crosskey dedicated his "Defence of Religion" to me. He was of the priestly profession, but had a secular heart, and on questions of freedom at home and abroad he could be counted upon, as though he was merely human. The dedication brought Mr. Crosskey into trouble with Dr. Martineau. Unitarians were personally courteous to heretics in private, but they made no secret that they were disinclined to recognise them in public. Dr. Martineau shared that reservation.

Letter from Dr. James Martineau to Rev. W. H. Crosskey:--

Thus he gave the young minister to understand--that while there was nothing wrong in his having respect for me, he need not have made it public. At that time it was chivalry in Mr. Crosskey to do what he did, for which I respected him all his days.

A third dedication I thought more of, and still value, came from the political world, and was the first literary testimony of my interest in it. It came from "Mark Rutherford" , who knew everything I knew, and a good deal more. He inscribed to me, 1866, a remarkable "Argument for the Extension of the Franchise," which had all the characteristics of statement, which have brought him renown in later years. He said in his prefatory letter to me: "If my argument does any service for Reform, Reformers will have to thank you for it, as they have to thank you for a good many other things." They were words to prize.

Recently a letter came from Professor Goldwin Smith, who was Cobden's admiration and envy, as he once told me, for the power of expressing an argument or a career in a sentence. His letter to me was as follows:--

"You and I have lived together through many eventful and changeful years. The world in these years has, I hope and believe, grown better than it was when we came into it. In respect of freedom of opinion and industrial justice, the two objects to which your life has been most devoted, real progress has certainly been made."

The main objects of my life are here distinguished and expressed in six words.

Reviewers of the autobiographic volumes preceding these, complained that they contained too little about myself. If they read the last four paragraphs given here they will be of opinion that I have said enough now.

At the Co-operative Congress held in Gloucester, 1879, a number of delegates went down to see the gaol. When they arrived before it, Mr. Abraham Greenwood, of Rochdale, exclaimed, "Take off your hats, lads! That's where Holyoake was imprisoned." They did so. That incident--when it was related to me--impressed me more than anything else connected with Co-operation. I did not suppose those tragical six months in that gaol were in the minds of co-operators, or that any one had respect for them.

The chapter, "Things which went as they Would," shows that serving co-operators had its inconveniences, but there were compensatory incidents which I recount with pleasure. One was their contribution to the Annuity of 1876, which Mr. Hughes himself commended to them at the London Congress. It was owing to Major Evans Bell and Mr. Walter Morrison that the project was successful.

The other occurred at the Doncaster Congress, 1903. In my absence a resolution had been passed thanking me for services I had rendered in Ten Letters in Defence of Co-operation. When I rose to make acknowledgment, all the large audience stood up. It was the first time I had ever been so received anywhere, showing that services which seemed un-noted at the time, lived in remembrance.

Here I may cite a letter from Wendell Phillips. Of the great American Abolitionists, Phillips, with his fine presence and intrepid eloquence, was regarded as the "noblest Roman of them all." Theodore Parker, he described to me as the Jupiter of the pulpit; and Russell Lowell has drawn Lloyd Garrison, in the famous verse--

"In a dark room, unfriended and unseen, Toiled o'er his types, a poor unlearn'd young man. The place was low, unfurnitured and mean, But there the freedom of a race began."

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