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On Turnpikes and Medievalism

by G.K. Chesterton

From: All I Survey, 1933.

Opening my newspaper the other day, I saw a short but emphaticleaderette entitled `A Relic of Medievalism'. It expressed aprofound indignation upon the fact that somewhere or other, insome fairly remote corner of this country, there is aturnpike-gate, with a toll. It insisted that this antiquatedtyranny is insupportable, because it is supremely important that ourroad traffic should go very fast; presumably a little faster thanit does. So it described the momentary delay in this place as arelic of medievalism. I fear the future will look at thatsentence, somewhat sadly and a little contemptuously, as a very typicalrelic of modernism. I mean it will be a melancholy relic ofthe only period in all human history when people were proud of beingmodern. For though to-day is always to-day and the moment isalways modern, we are the only men in all history who fellback upon bragging about the mere fact that to-day is notyesterday. I fear that some in the future will explain it by saying that

we had precious little else to brag about. For, whatever themedieval faults, they went with one merit. Medieval people neverworried about being medieval; and modern people do worry horriblyabout being modern.

To begin with, note the queer, automatic assumption that itmust always mean throwing mud at a thing to call it a relic ofmedievalism. The modern world contains a good many relics ofmedievalism, and most of us would be surprised if theargument were logically enforced even against the things thatare commonly called medieval. We should express some regret ifsomebody blew up Westminster Abby, because it is a relic ofmedievalism. Doubts would trouble us if the Government burned

all existing copies of Dante's Divine Comedy and Chaucer'sCanterbury Tales, because they are quite certainly relics ofmedievalism. We could not throw ourselves into unreserved andenthusiastic rejoicing even if the Tower of Giotto weredestroyed as a relic of medievalism. And only just lately,in Oxford and Paris (themselves, alas! relics of medievalism), therehas been a perverse and pedantic revival of the ThomistPhilosophy and the logical method of the medieval Schoolmen.Similarly, curious and restless minds, among the very youngestartists and art critics, have unaccountably gone back evenfarther into the barbaric period than the limit of the Tower ofGiotto, and are even now telling us to look back to the austerityof Cimabue and Byzantine diagrams of the Dark Ages. These relics

must be more medieval even than medievalism.

But, in fact, this queer phrase would not cover only what iscommonly called medievalism. If a relic of medievalism only meanssomething that has come down to us from medieval times, suchwriters would probably be surprised at the size and solidity ofthe relics. If I told these honest pressmen that the Press isa relic of medievalism, they would probably prove their love of aclich by accusing me of a paradox. But it is at least certainthat the Printing Press is a relic of medievalism. It was discovered

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and established by entirely medieval men, steeped in medievalideas, stuffed with the religion and social spirit of the MiddleAges. There are no more typically medieval words than thosenoble words of the eulogy that was pronounced by the greatEnglish printer on the great English poet; the words of Caxtonupon Chaucer. If I were to say that Parliament is a relic ofmedievalism, I should be on even stronger ground; for, while thePress did at least come at the end of the Middle Ages, theParliaments came much more nearly at the beginning of the MiddleAges. They began, I think, in Spain and the provinces ofthe Pyrenees; but our own traditional date, connecting them withthe revolt of Simon de Montfort, if not strictly accurate, doesroughly represent the time. I need not say that half the greateducational foundations, not only Oxford and Cambridge, butGlasgow and Paris, are relics of medievalism. It would seem ratherhard on the poor journalistic reformer if he is not allowedto pull down a little turnpike-gate till he has proved his rightto pull down all these relics of medievalism.

Next we have, of course, the very considerable historic doubtabout whether the turnpike-gate is a relic of medievalism. I donot know what was the date of this particular turnpike; butturnpikes and tolls of that description were perhaps most widelypresent, most practically enforced, or, at least, most generally

noted, in the eighteenth century. When Pitt and Dundas, both ofthem roaring drunk, jumped over a turnpike-gate and were firedat with a blunderbuss, I hope nobody will suggest that thosetwo great politicians were relics of medievalism. Nobody surelycould be more modern than Pitt and Dundas, for one of themwas a great financial statesman, depending entirely on the bankers,and the other was a swindler. It is possible, of course, thatsome such local toll was really medieval, but I rather doubt whetherthe journalist even inquired whether it was medieval. Heprobably regards everything that happened before the time ofJazz and the Yellow Press as medieval. For him medieval onlymeans old, and old means bad; so that we come to the last question,which ought to have been the first question, of whether a

turnpike really is necessarily bad. If we were really relics ofmedievalism--that is, if we had really been taught to think--weshould have put that question first, and discussed whether a thingis bad or good before discussing whether it is modern ormedieval. There is no space to discuss it here at length, but avery simple test in the matter may be made. The aim and effect oftolls is simply this: that those who use the roads shall pay forthe roads. As it is, the poor people of a district, including thosewho never stir from their villages, and hardly from their firesides,pay to maintain roads which are ploughed up and torn topieces by the cars and lorries of rich men and big businesses,coming from London and the distant cities. It is not self-evidentthat this is a more just arrangement than that by which wayfarers

pay to keep up the way, even if that arrangement were a relicof medievalism. Lastly, we might well ask, is it indeed so certainthat our roads suffer from the slowness of petrol traffic; andthat, if we can only make every sort of motor go faster and faster,we shall all be saved at last? That motors are moreimportant than men is doubtless an admitted principle of a trulymodern philosophy; nevertheless, it might be well to keep somesort of reasonable ratio between them, and decide exactly how manyhuman beings should be killed by each car in the courseof each year. And I fear that a mere policy of the acceleration of

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traffic may take us beyond the normal modern recognition ofmurder into something resembling a recognition of massacre.And about this, I for one still have a scruple; which is probably arelic of medievalism.

This newspaper column was collected into the book All I Survey, published in 1933.

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Last modified: 21st April, 1998Martin Ward, Computer Science Dept., University of Durham, Durham DH1 3LE,UK.Email: Martin.Ward@durham.ac.uk