Monday, November 16, 2009


A century ago, the august British newspaper The Times asked several eminent writers “What’s Wrong With The World?” GK Chesterton responded in the form of a letter.
Dear Sirs, I am. Sincerely, Gilbert K Chesterton.

I have said enough for now.


terri said...

If I didn't know better, this would seem like a final post for ending a blog, or taking an extended break

But I tend to read too much into things.

lelia said...

I have taken than quote seriously for a long time. It's why I have never criticized any church I belong to. I figure whatever is wrong is my fault and I don't wanna talk about it.

karrde said...

If any other writer had said this, I would have passed it off as an arrogant joke.

Chesterton is too good at embedding deep wisdom in a humorous statement; I am trying to discern the wisdom here.

Perhaps Lelia is closest: it is hardest for anyone to admit that they are the cause of some of their problems; Chesterton is here claiming that he cannot blame others for the problems he created.

Still, I have a hard time believing that Chesterton could claim to be the cause of all that is wrong with the world. But he could claim to be the cause of some of it, and the paper had asked his opinion on the matter.

terri said...

Just in case the weight of human nature's natural depravity is weighing you down.....replace Chesterton's "I am," with Christ's, "I am."

Hoping your moments of internet silence are beneficial for you.

Gringo said...

This reminds me of something that recently was in The People’s Cube: Local Man Claims Responsibility For Own Problems.

With a HT to Maggie’s Farm.

Assistant Village Idiot said...

thank you terri, but not to worry. As we said to our talkative 8th-grader recently, "Not all silences are awkward."

Chesterton's statement seemed wise, and reminded me that repeating myself is perhaps unnecessary.

Donna B. said...

"Not all silences are awkward."

Oh how that made me laugh. Surely I'm not the only parent here who has tried to play the "quiet" game with my children.

One of my fondest memories of my youngest daughter (she was 3, maybe 4 when this happened) is of her losing the silent game. In the car, for the 20+ mile trip home from school/town were my three children in the back seat and my mother in the front and me driving.

Frankly, we were all exhausted. My mother suggested the "quiet game" soon after we headed home.

For my youngest daughter this lasted about a 1/2 mile. She said something... typical of her exuberance... and then, after notifying all of us that she had lost the game and we could all talk, kept up a monologue of every thing that entered her mind for 20 miles.

Frankly, I didn't know who to be proudest of -- the youngest for a quite interesting monologue, her older brother and sister for keeping their mouths shut, or my mother for successfully squelching her giggles.

Assistant Village Idiot said...

Our version of the quiet game was called "Quaker Meeting" when I were a lad.

For my own, I also had one where I would encourage them to guess when a mile had passed. It was successful at toning down their noise about two out of the half-dozen times I tried it.

That long childish chatter that comes with exhaustion we called "the song has ended, but the melody lingers on."

Gringo said...

AVI: you aren't going to delete the spam comment?

Assistant Village Idiot said...

yeah. Thanks.

I've been reading off the email instead of the site, and forgot it was there.

terri said...

You can start blogging again any time now!

Or at least post some cheesy ABBA photos. It's been so long I'm forgetting what they look like!


Anonymous said...


Unknown said...

What a profound comment. Only some as witty as Chesterton could have said it. If only all of us could sit down and mull over it, almost all conflicts the world over would cease. This is Ben from Israeli Uncensored News

wagman said...

Stepping from the internet shadows...

I have been a faithful reader of this blog for several years and would be disappointed to see it go dark.

Anonymous said...

I, and suspect very many others, miss your writings. Sir, do you hear...miss you and them.

Hope you are well.

Anonymous said...

I, and I suspect VERY many more, miss you writing and thoughts. If you can, do come back.

lelia said...

AVI, where are you?
Please come back! You are the first place I visit every morning!