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46
granted that we know all that is to be known about them.
Nothing blinds us so much as custom and habit. We don't
know, and we don't know that we don't know.
We English are supposed to be rather proud of our
national cleanliness, and in particular of our personal habits.
No respectable Englishman—according to the books—would
ever dream of omitting his morning " tub " under any circumstances. The term, " the great unwashed " seems to carry to
the English mind the limit of debasement, and to suggest
foreign rather than English practice.
It would be interesting, and perhaps useful, to know how
far these pretensions are justified by actual practice, and, if
not, what prevents the performance from coming up to the
profession.
In such an inquiry many interesting problems inevitably
arise, and demand solution. How far is washing a necessity
or a luxury, an imitative or an instinctive act, a custom or a
habit ? How is it affected by facilities, or the lack of them ?
Is there in humanity a natural antipathy to water and washing ?
Are we to judge by the small boy as he protests and struggles
against the operation when accompanied by such unpleasant
conditions as soap in the nose and eyes, or as he yells with
delight when plunging into a pond in summer ? Are we to
judge by the filthy civilised man in our slums, who has limited
facilities, or by the clean untutored savage who bathes repeatedly
every day in the clear waters of a tepid sea ?
Why should the exposed and visible parts of the body be
so often washed, and the hidden parts be so persistently
neglected, even to the extent of producing unlimited discomfort
and disease ?
If the " means to do " often makes ill (or good) deeds done,
how far will the lack of means prohibit their performance ?