The Ethics of Drink and Other Social Questions | Page 2

all this is good. Considering,
then, how the English people directly and indirectly force the man of
drink onward until he must of necessity fancy there is something of the
moral demi-god about him; considering how he is wildly implored to
aid in ruling us from Westminster; considering that his aid at an
election may procure him the same honour which fell to the share of
William Pitt, Earl of Chatham--may we not say that the community
makes the brewer, and that if the brewer's stuff mars the community we
have no business to howl at him. We are answerable for his living, and
moving, and having his being--the few impulsive people who gird at
him should rather turn in shame and try to make some impression on
the huge, cringing, slavering crowd who make the plutocrat's pompous
reign possible.
But for myself, I cannot be bothered with bare figures and vague abuse
nowadays; abstractions are nothing, and neat arguments are less than
nothing, because the dullest quack that ever quacked can always clench
an argument in a fashion. Every turn that talk can take on the drink
question brings the image of some man or woman, or company of men
and women, before me, and that image is alive to my mind. If you pelt

me with tabular forms, and tell me that each adult in Britain drank so
many pints last year, you might just as well recite a mathematical proof.
I fix on some one human figure that your words may suggest and the
image of the bright lad whom I saw become a dirty, loafing, thievish
sot is more instructive and more woeful than all your columns of
numerals.
Before me passes a tremendous procession of the lost: I can stop its
march when I choose and fix on any given individual in the ranks, so
that you can hardly name a single fact concerning drink, which does not
recall to me a fellow-creature who has passed into the place of wrecked
lives and slain souls. The more I think about it the more plainly I see
that, if we are to make any useful fight against drink, we must drop the
preachee-preachee; we must drop loud execrations of the people whose
existence the State fosters; we must get hold of men who know what
drinking means, and let them come heart to heart with the victims who
are blindly tramping on to ruin for want of a guide and friend. My
hideous procession of the damned is always there to importune me; I
gathered the dolorous recruits who form the procession when I was
dwelling in strange, darkened ways, and I know that only the
magnetism of the human soul could ever have saved one of them. If
anybody fancies that Gothenburg systems, or lectures, or little tiresome
tracts, or sloppy yarns about "Joe Tomkins's Temperance Turkey," or
effusive harangues by half-educated buffoons, will ever do any good,
he must run along the ranks of my procession with me, and I reckon he
may learn something. The comic personages who deal with the subject
are cruelly useless; the very notion of making jokes in presence of such
a mighty living Terror seems desolating to the mind; I could not joke
over the pest of drink, for I had as lief dance a hornpipe to the blare of
the last Trumpet.
I said you must have men who _know_, if you care to rescue any
tempted creature. You must also have men who address the individual
and get fast hold of his imagination; abstractions must be completely
left alone, and your workers must know so much of the minute details
of the horror against which they are fighting that each one who comes
under their influence shall feel as if the story of his life were known
and his soul laid bare. I do not believe that you will ever stop one man
from drinking by means of legislation; you may level every tavern over

twenty square miles, but you will not thereby prevent a fellow who has
the bite of drink from boozing himself mad whenever he likes. As for
stopping a woman by such merely mechanical means as the closing of
public-houses, the idea is ridiculous to anybody who knows the foxy
cunning, the fixed determination of a female soaker. It is a great moral
and physical problem that we want to solve, and Bills and clauses are
only so much ink and paper which are ineffective as a schoolboy's
copybook. If a man has the desire for alcohol there is no power known
that can stop him from gratifying himself; the end to be aimed at is to
remove the desire--to get the drinker past that stage when the craving
presses hardly on him, and