In common with most parents, I have devoted considerable time and energy to teaching my children that stealing is wrong, that they should obey the law, and that they ought to try hard at school because education is important. I have also read them, with great enthusiasm and delight, the following books.
Danny, The Champion Of The World – in which the young hero is taught the art of poaching by his beloved father, and a running joke is made of the fact that all the respectable people in their village – policeman, doctor and parson – are involved in the practice.
The Wind In The Willows – in which Mr Toad, justly imprisoned for car theft, and guilty of other motoring offences, escapes from jail and returns in triumph to Toad Hall with the help of his friends, who make no effort to return him to lawful custody.
The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe – in which the “liberation” of young fawns and satyrs from compulsory schooling is mentioned as a great achievement of Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy during their reign in Narnia’s first golden age.
Many well-known and much-loved kids’ books have characters who stretch the bounds of morality. Harry Potter, for example, lies frequently when it benefits him, in matters large and small, and JK Rowling has no discernible interest in exploring the moral complexion of such deceit. This is in stark contrast to authors like CS Lewis and Enid Blyton, whose main characters generally recognise, and abide by, a strict prohibition against intentional false statements, even when telling the truth is difficult or dangerous.
I am intrigued by how the books mentioned above maintain what you might call a conservative moral atmosphere – valuing good manners, public order and respect for persons – while also favourably presenting a certain scepticism towards established authority, not least its coercive or bureaucratic aspects. The worldview that combines these two stances has sometimes been termed “Tory anarchism”, a self-consciously paradoxical way of describing a particular temperament. The Tory anarchist is fond of freedom, but this love is idio- syncratic rather than systematic. He does not resent the law itself, nor does he wish to disturb the King’s Peace, but he is the enemy of the busybody and the scold. He favours the underdog – the fox in flight from the hounds, or the poacher lifting the odd pheasant from the pompous squire. He does not want to overthrow the police, but he might, once in a while, get one over on them in a more or less harmless fashion. Think of Bertie Wooster pinching a constable’s helmet on Boat Race night. Tory anarchism can be distinguished from mere liberalism by its general fondness for tradition and its hostility to well-meaning bossy reformers, and from libertarianism by its non-ideological, even haphazard, approach.
Its prevalence in children’s books is perhaps unsurprising. Children are natural Tory anarchists, insofar as they yearn strongly for a basically stable and predictable environment, while also wishing to push against boundaries and explore the world under their own steam. Stretching the rules or circumventing the instructions of an authority figure – especially a dislikeable or unjust authority figure – is a natural and near-universal childhood experience.
I have often mused on how Christians should react to this tendency. Years ago, I read that many men decorated for bravery in battle during the world wars had been a handful during their schooldays, through daredevil antics such as climbing on roofs. It seemed in some peculiar sense that their courage and leadership was inseparable from their rather cavalier attitude to what they perceived as pointless restrictions. Or to take a different example, many of us will have watched the TV programmes Only Fools And Horses or The Darling Buds Of May, and cheered on Del Boy and Pop Larkin as they led the taxman a merry dance. Were we right to do so? Cheating on your taxes, and selling stolen goods à la Derek Trotter, is, after all, immoral and illegal.
My ethical reflection has yet to yield any very satisfactory conclusion. The best I can do is that Tory anarchism has in common with Christianity one important characteristic, namely the recognition that following rules and regulations is not the greatest good of hum- an life, and that the man who simply keeps the law, without a spirit of charity, might be far from the kingdom of heaven. And Messrs Larkin and Trotter are certainly not lacking in the charity department. Like Mr Toad and friends, and like the central characters in Danny, The Champion Of The World, they are devoted to their friends and family and neighbours, generous to a fault, and without malice, violence or cruelty. They bring joy to the world. Despite their undoubted failings, they are in touch with the underlying truth of things, so beautifully expressed by St Paul: “if I should have prophecy and should know all mysteries, and all knowledge, and if I should have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.”
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