What's Wrong with the World

Opening of the book

WHAT’S WRONG WITH THE WORLD
By G.K. Chesterton
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

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