But I wish to insist here that it is exactly what is called the
unpractical part of the thing that is really the practical. The chief
difference between men and the animals is that all men are artists; though
the overwhelming majority of us are bad artists. As the old fable truly
says, lions do not make statues; even the cunning of the fox can go no
further than the accomplishment of leaving an exact model of the vulpine
paw: and even that is an accomplishment which he wishes he hadn't got.
There are Chryselephantine statues, but no purely elephantine ones. And,
though we speak in a general way of an elephant trumpeting, it is only by
human blandishments that he can be induced to play the drum. But man,
savage or civilised, simple or complex always desires to see his own soul
outside himself; in some material embodiment. He always wishes to point
to a table in a temple, or a cloth on a stick, or a word on a scroll, or a
badge on a coat, and say: "This is the best part of me. If need be, it
shall be the rest of me that shall perish." This is the method which
seems so unbusinesslike to the men with an eye to business. This is also
the method by which battles are won.
The Symbolism of the Badge
The badge on a Trade Unionist's coat is a piece of poetry in the genuine,
lucid, and logical sense in which Milton defined poetry (and he ought to
know) when he said that it was simple, sensuous, and passionate.
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