ruth is that the tradition of Christianity (which is still the
only coherent ethic of Europe) rests on two or three paradoxes or
mysteries which can easily be impugned in argument and as easily
justified in life. One of them, for instance, is the paradox of hope or
faith--that the more hopeless is the situation the more hopeful must be
the man. Stevenson understood this, and consequently Mr. Moore cannot
understand Stevenson. Another is the paradox of charity or chivalry
that the weaker a thing is the more it should be respected, that the
more indefensible a thing is the more it should appeal to us for a
certain kind of defence. Thackeray understood this, and therefore Mr.
Moore does not understand Thackeray. Now, one of these very practical
and working mysteries in the Christian tradition, and one which the
Roman Catholic Church, as I say, has done her best work in singling
out, is the conception of the sinfulness of pride. Pride is a weakness
in the character; it dries up laughter, it dries up wonder, it dries up
chivalry and energy. The Christian tradition understands this;
therefore Mr. Moore does not understand the Christian tradition.

For the truth is much stranger even than it appears in the formal
doctrine of the sin of pride. It is not only true that humility is a
much wiser and more vigorous thing than pride. It is also true that
vanity is a much wiser and more vigorous thing than pride. Vanity is
social--it is almost a kind of comradeship; pride is solitary and
uncivilized. Vanity is active; it desires the applause of infinite
multitudes; pride is passive, desiring only the applause of one person,
which it already has. Vanity is humorous, and can enjoy the joke even
of itself; pride is dull, and cannot even smile. And the whole of this
difference is the difference between Stevenson and Mr. George Moore,
who, as he informs us, has "brushed Stevenson aside." I do not know
where he has been brushed to, but wherever it is I fancy he is having a
good time, because he had the wisdom to be vain, and not proud.
Stevenson had a windy vanity; Mr. Moore has a dusty egoism. Hence
Stevenson could amuse himself as well as us with his vanity; while the
richest effects of Mr. Moore's absurdity are hidden from his eyes.

If we compare this solemn folly with the happy folly with which
Stevenson belauds his own books and berates his own critics, we shall
not find it difficult to guess why it is that Stevenson at least