Summary of "On Running After One's Hat" by G K Chesterton

The essay begins with the author expressing his envy on the flooding of London while he is in the countryside with Battersea being particularly favored as a meeting of waters. Battersea, a beautiful location, now has the additional splendor of vast sheets of water making it a truly unique landscape. It must resemble Venice with boats gliding along silver lanes like gondolas bringing meat and cabbages, giving an unearthly grace to the scene. Flooded districts become like an archipelago of islands, adding a perfectly poetical touch to the surroundings. The image of my own romantic town transformed by the floodwaters is truly incomparable and must be a sight to behold.

Some people may view romanticizing inconveniences like floods or fires as detached from reality, but the author argues that it is just as practical as any other perspective. The author praises the optimist who finds enjoyment in such situations, contrasting them with the typical complainer. Real pain, such as being burnt at Smithfield, is undeniable, but most inconveniences that cause frustration are more sentimental or imaginative in nature. The author gives the example of adults complaining about waiting at a railway station, while children find wonder and excitement in the same situation. The author admires the childlike ability to see magic in mundane activities, contrasting it with the jaded attitudes of adults. The author shares their own fond memories of spending time at Clapham Junction, suggesting that emotional perspective greatly influences how one experiences inconveniences. Overall, the text emphasizes the importance of maintaining a positive and imaginative outlook when faced with life's challenges.

The text argues that society finds it amusing when someone chases after his or her hat, considering it humiliating and comic. However, the author questions why this is seen as negative, as people willingly chase after less important things such as a ball. The author suggests that the act of pursuing something important, like a hat, should not be considered a nuisance. They further explain that many human behaviors, such as eating and making love, are inherently comic, yet worthwhile. Therefore, chasing after a hat should not be ridiculed, as there are far more humorous and important pursuits in life, such as pursuing romantic relationships.

If a man feels rightly, he can pursue his hat with enthusiasm as if he were a skilled hunter chasing a wild animal. Hat-hunting on windy days might become a future sport for the upper classes. Participants would gather on a breezy morning and be informed that a hat has been released by professional attendants. This activity would combine sport with humanitarianism, as the hunters would not be causing pain but providing joy to onlookers. When an old gentleman chased his hat in Hyde Park, it was suggested that he should feel grateful for the joy he was unintentionally bringing to those watching.

The same principle of patience can be applied to everyday domestic frustrations. For example, a man trying to remove a fly from his milk or a cork from his wine may feel irritated. However, if he considers the patience of anglers waiting by dark pools, he will find gratification and peace. Similarly, some people use theological terms when faced with modern problems, such as a jammed drawer, to which they do not truly ascribe doctrinal meaning. By altering his perspective, a man can turn a frustrating situation into an exciting challenge. By imagining himself tugging a lifeboat from the sea or rescuing someone from an Alpine crevasse(a deep narrow crack in a glacier or ice sheet), he can transform the struggle. This shift in mindset can make daily tasks more engaging and less exasperating. The narrator's friend, who constantly dealt with a jammed drawer, was advised to view the situation as a heroic effort rather than a mundane annoyance. The idea was that approaching challenges with a sense of adventure and determination can lead to a more fulfilling experience.

It is not far-fetched to see floods in London as poetic and enjoyable. The inconveniences caused by them are just one aspect of a romantic situation. An adventure is simply an inconvenience seen in the right light, and vice versa. The water surrounding the buildings in London likely added to their charm. Following the comment made by a Roman Catholic priest in the story, "Wine is good with everything except water," one can suggest that "water is good with everything except wine" meaning water enhances everything except wine.

Text of "ON RUNNING AFTER ONE’S HAT" by G K Chesterton

 GILBERT KEITH CHESTERTON 

(1874 — 1936) 

Essayist, novelist, humorist, poet and artist, Chesterton had a keen sense of humour and the ridiculous and a great love of paradox ; the latter appears particularly in his detective stories. Like his friend Hilaire Belloc, he wrote on almost every possible subject, always with striking originality. 

ON RUNNING AFTER ONE’S HAT 

I feel an almost savage envy on hearing that London has been flooded in my absence, while I am in the mere country. My own Battersea has been, I understand, particularly favoured as a meeting of the waters. Battersea was already, as I need hardly say, the most beautiful of human localities. Now that it has the additional splendour of great sheets of water, there must be something quite incomparable in the landscape (or waterscape) of my own romantic town. Battersea must be a vision of Venice. The boat that brought the meat from the butcher’s must have shot along those lanes of rippling silver with the strange smoothness of the gondola. The greengrocer who brought cabbages to the corner of the Latchmere Road must have leant upon the oar with the unearthly grace of the gondolier. There is nothing so perfectly poetical as an island; and when a district is flooded it becomes an archipelago. 

Some consider such romantic views of flood or fire slightly lacking in reality. But really this romantic view of such inconveniences is quite as practical as the other. The true optimist who sees in such things an opportunity for enjoyment is quite as logical and much more sensible than the ordinary ‘indignant Ratepayer’ who sees in them an opportunity for grumbling. Real pain, as in the case of being burnt at Smithfield or having a toothache, is a positive thing; it can be supported, but scarcely enjoyed. But, after all, our toothaches are the exception, and as for being burnt at Smithfield, it only happens to us at the very longest intervals. And most of the inconveniences that make men swear or women cry are really sentimental or imaginative inconveniences — things altogether of the mind. For instance, we often hear grown-up people complaining of having to hang about a railway station and wait for a train. Did you ever hear a small boy complain of having to hang about a railway station and wait for a train? No;  for him to be inside a railway station is to be inside a cavern of wonder and a palace of poetical pleasures. Because to him the red light and the green light on the signal are like a new sun and a new moon. Because to him when the wooden arm of the signal falls down suddenly, it is as if a great king had thrown down his staff as a signal and started a shrieking tournament of trains. I myself am of little boys’ habit in this matter. They also serve who only stand and wait for the two fifteen. Their meditations may be full of rich and fruitful things. Many of the most purple hours of my life have been passed at Clapham Junction, which is now, I suppose, under water. I have been there in many moods so fixed and mystical that the water might well have come up to my waist before I noticed it particularly. But in the case of all such annoyances, as I have said, everything depends upon the emotional point of view.

You can safely apply the test to almost every one of the things that are currently talked of as the typical nuisance of daily life. For instance, there is a current impression that it is unpleasant to have to run after one’s hat. Why should it be unpleasant to the well-ordered and pious mind? Not merely because it is running, and running exhausts one. The same people run much more eagerly after an uninteresting little leather ball than they will after a nice silk hat. There is an idea that it is humiliating to run after one’s hat; and when people say it is humiliating they mean that it is comic. It certainly is comic ; but man is a very comic creature and most of the things he does are comic — eating, for instance. And the most comic things of all are exactly the thing that are most worth doing — such as making love. A man running after a hat is not half so ridiculous as a man running after a wife. 

Now a man could, if he felt rightly in the matter, run after his hat with the manliest ardour and the most sacred joy. He might regard himself as a jolly huntsman pursuing a wild animal, for certainly no animal could be wilder. In fact, I am inclined to believe that hat-hunting on windy days will be the sport of the upper classes in the future. There will be a meet of ladies and gentlemen on some high ground on a gusty morning. They will be told that the professional attendants have started a hat in such-and-such a thicket, or whatever be the technical term. Notice that this employment will in the fullest degree combine sport with humanitarianism. The hunters would feel that they were not inflicting pain. Nay, they would feel that they were inflicting pleasure, rich, almost riotous pleasure, upon the people who were looking on. When last I saw an old gentleman running after his hat in Hyde Park, I told him that a heart so benevolent as his ought to be filled with peace and thanks at the thought of how much unaffected pleasure his every gesture and bodily attitude were at that moment giving to the crowd.

The same principle can be applied to every other typical domestic worry. A gentleman trying to get a fly out of the milk or a piece-of cork out of his glass of wine often imagines himself to be irritated. Let him think for a moment of the patience of anglers sitting by dark pools, and let his soul be immediately irradiated with gratification and repose. Again, I have known some people of very modern views driven by their distress to the use of theological terms to which they attached no doctrinal significance, merely because a drawer was jammed tight and they could not pull it out. A friend of mine was particularly afflicted in this way. Everyday his drawer was jammed, and every day in consequence it was something else that rhymes to it. But I pointed out to him that this sense of wrong was really subjective and relative, it rested entirely upon the assumption that the drawer could, should, and would come out easily. ‘But if,’ I said, ‘you picture to yourself that you are pulling against some powerful and oppressive enemy, the struggle will become merely exciting and not exasperating. Imagine that you are tugging up a lifeboat out of the sea. Imagine that you are roping up a fellow-creature out of an Alpine crevasse. Imagine even that you are a boy again and engaged in a tug-of-war between French and English. Shortly after saying this I left him ; but I have no doubt at all that my words bore the best possible fruit. I have no doubt that every day of his life he hangs on to the handle of that drawer with flushed face and eyes bright with battle, uttering encouraging shouts to himself, and seeming to hear all round him the roar of an applauding ring.

So I do not think that it is altogether fanciful or incredible to suppose that even the floods in London may be accepted and enjoyed poetically. Nothing beyond inconvenience, really to have been caused by them; and inconvenience, as I have said, is only one aspect, and that the most unimaginative and accidental aspect of a really romantic situation. An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered. The water that girdled the houses and shops of London must if anything, have only increased their previous witchery and wonder. For as the Roman Catholic priest in the story said : "Wine is good with everything except water,” and on a similar principle water is good with everything except wine.