Robert Lynd

Robert Lynd—Indifference
Robert Lynd like his contemporaries A. G. Gardiner, E.V. Lucas and G.K. Chesterton could write an engaging
essay on anything in a typically light-hearted manner. All these essayists of the twentieth century wrote what
could be called ‘familiar’ essays, thus carrying on the tradition of the delightful personal essay. Lynd’s style is
markedly simple and elegant, with wise observations sprinkled in a playful manner. The humour is at times
tinged with irony and mild satire.
Lynd, however, never fails to create in the readers a mood of personal sympathy and affection. As a gentle
observer of the great and the trivial in mankind, he often gives a whimsical twist to our ordinary notions of
things. This is unmistakably what happens in the essay “Indifference” as well.
The major claim or proposition Lynd makes in the essay is that everyone is indifferent to something or the
other. We in fact cannot focus on things that really hold our interest if we are not indifferent to several other
things. In his usual humorous vein Lynd begins with an anecdote (that gives him much food for thought). The
author was excited about the rugby match to be played between Oxford and Cambridge in a few days. He was
astonished to find that some of the fine scholars he met at King’s College (Cambridge) seem to be totally
indifferent to such an event. One of them looked puzzled as if the author was using Gaelic instead of English.
None of them even seemed to have heard about it.
Now Lynd compares the harmless sport at Twickenham between Oxford and Cambridge to the historical wars
of ancient Greece and Rome (between Athens and Sparta, and Rome and Carthage). He found it strange that
scholars who were interested in bloody battles in faraway lands could be totally ‘indifferent’ to an exciting
match in their own neighbourhood. It was even more disappointing because all of them stood for peace (were
pacifists) and were minds trained in humanities (not stockbrokers, says Lynd).
This simple incident seems to trigger the author’s reflections on ‘indifference’. “Each of us must be indifferent
to something,” he muses. A missionary, unlike a non-believer (heathen) cannot be preoccupied with money.
He has to be indifferent to market shares or dog-races. Neither can he be thinking of the perfect way to cook
as Mr. Boulestin, the master chef. He ought to be ‘indifferent’ to many of the pleasures of the world, and
follow the principle of nil admirari [which means to marvel at nothing]. Such is the case of a philosopher who
might not prize many of the things inevitable and valuable to ordinary man. Lynd alludes to Socrates to tell
how the great philosopher indulged in worldly pleasures with utmost indifference.
Lynd now reaches the finding that our indifference, though not essentially a virtue, seems to shape our
personality. He quotes from a Roman dramatist, “nihil humanum,” which means, ‘nothing human is alien to
me,’ and then refutes the precept by saying, “much that is human must be alien to us.” There might not be a
single man of glory who would uphold the motto of nihil humanum, whether it be Diogenes or Bernard Shaw.
Savonarola, the brave Italian religious reformer and Garibaldi the military leader had to forsake many of the
comforts of life, even the pleasure of being alive, to realize their mission.
‘Indifference’ is now dealt with as something innate and inescapably natural. There have been several men of
eminence, who ‘had no ear or love for music,’ for whom the songs of Mozart would be nothing more than the
harsh cry of a bird. Some great men like Dr. Johnson, and even poets like Tennyson and Yeats seem to be
insensitive to the charm of music. Yet it does not take away from their greatness. Such is the fate of poetry as
well, adds Lynd. Nobody ever denies the sublimity and greatness of poetry, yet “indifference to poetry is one
of the most conspicuous characteristics of the human race.”
The thing that gets discussed now is how intolerant we could be to those who do not share our tastes and
opinions. Lynd recounts how as a boy he felt hostile to anyone who disapproved of authors like Stevenson or
Kipling, or even his favourite sea-side resort. Food lovers in the same vein might hate those who don’t take
much interest in food. The author tells how he could in fact outgrow his resentment at other people’s
indifference. Instances are drawn from friends who are variously indifferent to birds, the sea, their own
country or to cats. Lynd also humorously alludes to Arnold Bennet the popular twentieth century novelist who
was indifferent to Dickens, the most popular novelist of the nineteenth century.
The discussion then reaches a full circle with Lynd commenting on the apathetic attitude of King’s men to
rugby. Rugby, after all, is only a game, he concludes, but with an afterword that it was difficult not to get
excited by the game at Twickenham. Even the scholars of Cambridge might have lost their indifference had
they witnessed such perfect use of body and brain. He surmises that Pindar (the ancient Greek poet) might
have celebrated the sport, and yet Plato might prefer to keep away.

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Robert Lynd—Indifference

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