I do not think that they have yet denied the existence of a
lunatic asylum. We all agree still that there is a collapse of
the intellect as unmistakable as a falling house. Men deny hell,
but not, as yet, Hanwell. For the purpose of our primary argument
the one may very well stand where the other stood. I mean that as
all thoughts and theories were once judged by whether they tended
to make a man lose his soul, so for our present purpose all modern
thoughts and theories may be judged by whether they tend to make
a man lose his wits.

It is true that some speak lightly and loosely of insanity
as in itself attractive. But a moment's thought will show that if
disease is beautiful, it is generally some one else's disease.
A blind man may be picturesque; but it requires two eyes to see
the picture. And similarly even the wildest poetry of insanity can
only be enjoyed by the sane. To the insane man his insanity is
quite prosaic, because it is quite true. A man who thinks himself
a chicken is to himself as ordinary as a chicken. A man who thinks
he is a bit of glass is to himself as dull as a bit of glass.
It is the homogeneity of his mind which makes him dull, and which
makes him mad. It is only because we see the irony of his idea
that we think him even amusing; it is only because he does not see
the irony of his idea that he is put in Hanwell at all. In short,
oddities only strike ordinary people. Oddities do not strike
odd people. This is why ordinary people have a much more exciting time;
while odd people are always complaining of the dulness of life.
This is also why the new novels die so quickly, and why the old
fairy tales endure for ever. The old fairy tale makes the hero
a normal human boy; it is his adventures that are startling;
they startle him because he is normal. But in the modern