The Fallacy of Success

“To begin with, of course, there is no such thing as Success. Or, if you like to put it so, there is nothing that is not successful. That a thing is successful merely means that it is […].”

Chesterton presents a philosophical yet plain definition of success, strategically underselling his insight as common sense to nudge readers to accept it. His choice of diction—phrases like “of course” and “if you like to put it so”—sets a tone that makes readers feel like privileged confidants in an intimate, sensible conversation.

“[P]assing over the bad logic and bad philosophy in the phrase, we may take it, as these writers do, in the ordinary sense of success in obtaining money or worldly position.”

Chesterton represents the authors of books on success as thoughtless and disingenuous, establishing the theme of The Complexity of Falsehood and the Simplicity of Truth. According to Chesterton, such writers cannot even accurately name what it is they are writing about, but lose their own focus behind abstractions. Here, Chesterton also establishes the definition of success he uses throughout the rest of the essay: material wealth or status.

“Nobody would dare to publish a book about electricity which literally told one nothing about electricity; no one would dare publish an article on botany which showed that the writer did not know which end of a plant grew in the earth. Yet our modern world is full of books about Success and successful people which literally contain no kind of idea, and scarcely any kind of verbal sense.”

Chesterton claims that by writing about success itself, detached from any specific professional or social context, the authors of such books end up writing about nothing at all, merely spewing empty words. Chesterton implies that the authors are either oblivious or presumptuous.

“It is perfectly obvious that in any decent occupation (such as bricklaying or writing books) there are only two ways (in any special sense) of succeeding. One is by doing very good work, the other is by cheating. Both are much too simple to require any literary explanation.”

Once again Chesterton encourages readers to take his side by establishing a confident, commonsense tone—e.g., the word choice in “perfectly obvious.” Relatedly, Chesterton implies that while other views about success are overcomplicated because those who hold them are self-infatuated, Chesterton’s is simple because he is modest and has truth on his side.

“You may want to jump or to play cards; but you do not want to read wandering statements to the effect that jumping is jumping, or that games are won by winners.”

Chesterton here clarifies why exactly he thinks that books about success offer nothing useful to readers: Their insights and advice are trivial (of course winners win) or tautological (jumping is jumping). His choice of the pronoun “you” further prompts readers to view Chesterton as a personal acquaintance whose opinion is trustworthy.

“There are many definite methods, honest and dishonest, which make people rich; the only ‘instinct’ I know of which does it is that instinct which theological Christianity crudely describes as ‘the sin of avarice.’”

Here Chesterton introduces an ethical-religious dimension to his criticism, which he presses to his advantage through the remainder of the essay in connection with The Viciousness of New Values. He also makes the important distinction between instinct and method and ridicules the idea that success is a product of the former, not the latter.

“I wish to quote the following exquisite paragraphs as a piece of typical advice as to how to succeed. It is so practical; it leaves so little doubt about what should be our next step—”

Chesterton uses sarcasm to put his readers on the alert, not just to entertain them. Having already laid out his reasons for believing that books about success are absurd, he here offers readers the chance to see his reasons confirmed. However, the subtlety of sarcasm—Chesterton does not say what he actually means—allows readers to feel that they detected the absurdity.

“In such strange utterances we see quite clearly what is really at the bottom of all these articles and books. It is not mere business; it is not even mere cynicism. It is mysticism; the horrible mysticism of money.”

Chesterton here alienates readers from the words of these authors. The author of “The Instinct that Makes People Rich” attempts to draw readers in and make them feel like privileged conspirators with the use of the first-person plural pronoun “we.” Chesterton does the same to pull readers back toward his own side. The author of the article uses phrases like “of course” to seem sensible to readers, but Chesterton brands his words as “strange utterances,” suggesting that common sense is instead on his own side.

“For when we really worship anything, we love not only its clearness but its obscurity. We exult in its very invisibility.”

This passage exemplifies Chesterton’s technique of drawing insight from ordinary topics. Chesterton relies on paradox to explore The Instinct to Worship—that our ignorance of a thing should be an occasion for adoring it seems counterintuitive. However, his religious affiliation lends weight to his opinion on the matter: Anyone familiar with Chesterton’s Christianity would likely assume he knows something about worship.

“He really revels in the fact his deity Vanderbilt is keeping a secret from him. And it fills his soul with a sort of transport of cunning, an ecstasy of priestcraft, that he should pretend to be telling to the multitude that terrible secret which he does not know.”

Chesterton never applauds his own cleverness, but he implicitly contrasts his own efforts to unveil truths with the false, empty revelations of the authors writing about success. Chesterton is revealing a secret to a multitude, but the implication is that it is one he actually knows rather than pretends to know, and that he does so honestly and forthrightly rather than deceitfully.

“The old fables of mankind are, indeed, unfathomably wise; but we must not have them expurgated in the interests of Mr. Vanderbilt. We must not have King Midas represented as an example of success; he was a failure of an unusually painful kind.”

Chesterton begins contending with the author of the article for the credibility that comes from alluding to the ancient wisdom of mythology. He points out the obvious truth about the Midas myth that the author of the article conceals from his audience—another example of Chesterton relying on common sense rather than complex, philosophical argument to defend his position.

“His barber, instead of behaving like a go-ahead person of the Succeed-at-all-costs school and trying to blackmail King Midas, went away and whispered this splendid piece of society scandal to the reeds, who enjoyed it enormously. It is said that they also whispered it as the winds swayed them to and fro.”

This is a subtle call to action. Chesterton aligns himself with the barber who whispers the shocking secret—that books about success are ridiculous—to the reeds, his readers, who he hopes will spread the titillating secret with glee. Once again, Chesterton aims to make his readers feel the pleasure of being in the know and having privileged access to a hidden truth.

“I know that I cannot turn everything I touch to gold; but then I also know that I have never tried, having a preference for other substances, such as grass, and good wine.”

With this observation Chesterton comes closest to proposing his own idea of success: humble contentment and the freedom to enjoy the simple pleasures of life. Though Chesterton does not say so explicitly, this success is in fact more of an “instinct” than a method—it is not merely a practice but an attitude, as indicated by the word “preference”—and therefore serves as a subtle dig at the article writer’s ideas of worthwhile “instincts.”