Chapter II: Preface

I have been asked to explain the purpose of this study. I find a ridiculous difficulty in doing so, for it had none. My interest in dragons was aroused by some incidental paragraphs in Leslie Stephen’s _The Playground of Europe_. I determined to find out all that there was to be known about dragons: with the unfailing assistance of that great institution, the London Library, I made a fairly careful search; and, when I had exhausted my authorities (to whom I am greatly indebted), I set down with some pleasure the facts that had come under my notice. That is all.

In case it should be objected that no sane man could have done anything so elaborately purposeless, I will attempt a more plausible explanation――though the truth is exactly what I have said.

The first four sections give a fair account of the dragon as known to history: in ancient Greece, in early Christendom, and in modern Europe. The last two endeavour to explain how the dragon-story may have originated from the myths and customs of prehistoric Egypt, and how humanly foolish the whole thing is; and they close with the pious hope that the species may in time become extinct.

It will be objected that the dragon is already dead, as has been shown in the course of the study. It is true that the living, breathing, devouring dragon has passed away with Perseus and the gods of old; we have to-day only an occasional saga, such as the “Jabberwock,” a pale reflection of the full-blooded ancient tales, lacking many essential details and almost apologized for by its author; a herald’s act of piety, or the unreal enthusiasm of an æsthete vainly seeking de-sophistication. It is all a faint afterglow of the age of faith. And yet, in England at any rate, the dragon is not dead.

What are the chief characteristics of modern Englishmen――not the ornaments of society, nor artists, nor any other lovely ones, but these poor plain people who earn their daily bread, with or without the sweat of their brows, because they must; who make up nine-tenths of our population; who control our political destinies; and whom the Carlton Club delights to honour?

They are respectability, bigotry, and cant. There can be no doubt about this. The consequence is that the men have no character and the women no charm, and we rule over a quarter of the world with complete satisfaction to ourselves. These three together make up our modern dragon. Respectability is the deadliest, for it is a plausible substitute for better things; but it is a dead end, like innocence.

Most men who have realized the existence of this monster apparently try to meet it by joining the Labour Party. There is nothing immoral about that, but I pin my faith to the less dogmatic method of general education. It is curious, by the way, to note that the devil is historically associated with knowledge and not with ignorance. It would take too long to explain how this bogey came to be hoisted, but it is still very commonly made use of to frighten children, and my true purpose is to plead that it _is_ only a bogey, and that ignorance is the devil’s most effective weapon.

The devil’s advocate might argue much as follows:

1. “You don’t really like the ‘vulgar’――they are not as interesting
as your own friends.

2. “It will come to nothing. What _is_ the ultimate value of ‘free
discussion’ and ‘reasoning without prejudice’ among people who
don’t read and can’t think?

3. “In so far as you do succeed, you will merely make them miserable:
as thus:

‘Happiness is the end of life.

‘It consists of (_a_) the admiring contemplation of the
truly admirable, and the delighted companionship of the
truly delightful. This is the best. (_b_) The second
best is to enjoy in imagination what you know to be
imaginary. (_c_) The third best is to enjoy mistakenly
what is in fact non-existent or ugly.

‘There is no other good.’

“All this is A B C, and no longer worth arguing about. Then imagine a man well content with a mistaken religion, a dreary home, and an unlovely wife (and this describes nearly all mankind). What happens when you educate him? It is difficult for him to change his wife, very difficult to change his religion, and impossibly difficult to change his home――and the man is uprooted and miserable for life.”

The answer is: This is all substantially true (which is the definition of caricature). Comfortable folk too commonly ignore the prosaic foundations of imperishable things. Many of the more delightful virtues are impossible vices to men struggling for the bare necessities of life (as you may see any day if you try to practise ordinary courtesy in mounting a ’bus), and it is complacent cant to propose such virtues to them. And men so struggling are not altogether delightful. The point about them is, by what right or merit of yours do you live so much more easily, with so many more opportunities of the good life; and do you use your opportunities? And can you be of any use to others less fortunate than yourself? For the rest:

(1) The argument defends too much. It defends every _status quo_ against all change. But change, though not necessarily progress, is evidently necessary to progress; and, even if progress be despaired of, change is in itself nearly always healthy. It prevents men from going to sleep.

(2) When all the world is delightful, all men will be able to enjoy delightful companionship. Meanwhile, the pioneers must suffer, and hope for better things for their children.

If it be argued that education does not make men delightful, in fact very much the contrary, I answer that that depends upon the education, and that, if genuine education doesn’t, nothing will; which is absurd.

(3) When all the world loves lovely things, then lovely things will be easily come by, and ugly things will not be tolerated. This is not a generous illusion but a simple economic truth. Suppose I manufacture purple handkerchiefs adorned with green dragons: I do it because there is a demand, and if you want one perfectly plain (and if nobody else does) you will have to pay twice as much for it because it is a “special”; but if all the world wanted them plain, they would be a stock line and you could have them for half the money. Meanwhile, the pioneers must pay double or go without.

(4) When all the world has passed through the stage of intelligent scepticism and examined its foundations, it will worship the unknown god without fear and without reproach――a very right and proper thing to do. Meanwhile, the pioneers must be damned dissenters.

That is the gist of this study: “Methinks I see in my mind a noble and puissant nation....” Good (_b_) is in itself better than (_c_); and it is a half-way house to (_a_), which (_c_) is not.

All the textbooks tell us about the nature and origin of belief. I have but shown a few examples of what incredible things men believed almost down to our own day, and still believe. One of the chief functions of History is to show what wrongs good men have tolerated, and what absurdities wise men have believed, as a warning to their later sons to look warily about them for the like. In that sense this study may claim to be true history.

That low man seeks a little thing to do,
Sees it and does it:
This high man, with a great thing to pursue,
Dies ere he knows it.
That low man goes on adding one to one,
His hundred’s soon hit:
This high man, aiming at a million,
Misses an unit.

We may miss an unit and die; but at least we shall have striven to be worthy of a grammarian’s funeral.

OF DRAGONS

(An Introduction to the Study of Man)

I must first ask your pardon for troubling you with this digression, but the facts and the theories are so many and curious and the whole subject is of such vital importance, that I dared not trust to my memory alone. It must be admitted that most of the facts recorded are obviously untrue and that most of the theories are unsupported by evidence and highly improbable; though the facts are guaranteed by the highest authorities of the most ancient religions and the theories upheld by the most eminent modern scientists. Whence it is evident that I, like Sir John Mandeville, “have taken pains to ascertain the exact truth”; and yet I think that from this jumble of superstitions and fables and conjectures and absurdities there does emerge something that may repay you for the weariness of an hour, and throw some light upon the hopes and fears with which the unconquerable spirit of man has progressed through the ages to the crowning triumphs of this twentieth century. Indeed, as Sir Thomas Browne finely says in his Preface: “A work of this nature is not to be performed upon one legg: and should smell of oyl, if duly and deservedly handled.” And, on second thoughts, I fully and unreservedly withdraw my apology.

I shall begin with some attempt to define our subject, and then take you through the dragons of classical antiquity and early Christendom down to the twilight uncertainty of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries and the blank incredulity of our modern age. I shall then go back to the earliest legends of all――the Egyptian, and close with an attempt to harmonize the whole, and with a critical estimate of the place of the dragon in human thought and experience.