What God is vain about is the ultimate problem in theology
PAUL JOHNSON
A. you vain, reader? And, if so, what are you vain about? I have been thinking of vanity because many will have it that Tony Blair was betrayed into postponing the election, with possibly fatal consequences for his political career, by vanity. It is said that the Queen, archbishops and various non-political dukes played on his vanity by telling him, 'You are a statesman first, a party politician second. So be yourself!' That would work with Tony. He is not, so far as I can tell, at all vain, or arrogant either. But he is an actor. That is his life, his excitement, his enjoyment, his destiny. And what actor does not like a grand part? Tony the Statesman. 'The role of a lifetime', as Ronald Reagan said of the presidency. Now he was an actor, or had been one. Yet vanity was not his failing. It was said that he dyed his hair. Not true. One big newspaper went to trouble and expense to buy clippings from his barbering place, and was disappointed when they showed no signs of anything except vigorous natural growth. Moreover, Reagan did not act in the White House. All his stands there were absolutely genuine. That is why he stuck to them with such relentless and usually successful obstinacy; unlike poor Tony, who enjoys a good part but is always happy to switch to a better one. Or, as General Haig said of Lord Derby, 'Like the feather pillow, [he] bears the marks of the last person who has sat on him.' Reagan was not vain, because he made jokes about all the points on which he was open to criticism: his forgetfulness, his ignorance, his lack of brainpower, his inarticulation and, not least, his Hollywood past, with all the weaknesses thereby acquired. Yet, come to think of it, he was vain about his one-liners — especially his timing in delivering them. The new President, George W. Bush, does not seem to be vain either; that is, he cheerfully mocks his difficulties with the English language and other sore matters. But he surely cannot be vain about his jokes. Perhaps he is vain about not being vain. A common failing.
Actors are not necessarily vain men. There are monsters, of course, such as Laurence Olivier, who could scarcely pass a shop window without glancing in it to see his reflection. Yet Ralph Richardson was not vain, except of his prowess on a motorbike. Alec Guinness was not vain, except (I suspect) of his feline and stealthy skills as a writer. John Gielgud, curiously enough, was not vain either, except of his gift for pretending he was vain, acting the vain man, persuading the
world that he was a martyr to the lookingglass, but really not caring a damn. If Blair is vain not of his political but of his acting skills, as I suspect, I look forward to him playing some dazzling roles: the Good Loser, for instance, when he is turned down by the voters or, more likely, ousted by Gordon Brown. Now Brown is vain, I am sure: about his looks, his masculinity (a sore point with him, I think), his economic expertise, his Scotch robustness, his command of words, his reputation for omniscience, his political persona. And, as with most egotistical people, within the externally vain man there is an even vainer person struggling to get out and posture and swank and pirouette for our admiration. He is ultra-selfish, too, and 'solitary as an oyster'. We shall have some thundering and hysterical dramas before his political career, which may well reach its zenith in the next year or so, comes to a painful end, as it must.
Not, I hasten to add, that vanity is the worst of failings, especially among politicians. Of the four most evil men of the 20th century, three — Hitler, Lenin and Stalin — seem to have had no vanity at all. The exception is Mao, who was vain about everything: his sexappeal, his physical skills, such as swimming miles up the Yangtze, his courage, his sense of strategy, his poetry and calligraphy. Mussolini was an amalgam of vanities, especially smug about his conquest of women, which he totted up. Was it 350? More? General Franco, with characteristic cunning, pretended, like Gielgud, that he was vain, because it led opponents to try to work his vanity — and then he had them. Franco was vain only about small, unimportant things, such as the Letters to the Editor he wrote, signed 'Thomas Babington Macaulay', his cinematic skills as director–scriptwriter–actor, his unusual success in filling out football pools. Dictators are often vain, though not necessarily in ways you would think. Ho Chi Minh was vain about his cooking. Tito appeared vain about uniforms, but what he was really vain about was his shooting — of animals, I mean. Saddam of Iraq is vain about his ability to hit the target, too. but then it is usually human: colleagues, generals, messengers bearing bad news, members of his family. The total must be considerable by now. Is it 350? More? Give me Musso any day. Some of those ladies may have enjoyed it, and they survived to be vain in their turn. Castro is vain about his beard and his oratory — he is the most long-winded gasbag I have ever been forced to listen to, in return for a miserable box of Monte Cristo cigars. Gaddafi is vain about his ability to put up a tent in 30 seconds, just as I, when soldiering, was vain about my ability, blindfold, to dismantle and reassemble a sten gun in — was it one minute? 90 seconds? Old men forget, even their vanities.
I would like to compile a list of what our present elite are vain about. It is not always what you think. Politicians, for instance, are often vain in most unlikely ways. Winston Churchill, who might have been vain about obvious things, was acutely vain about only one: the delicacy of his skin, which he said was so special that he had to wear silk underclothes of the very highest quality. Old Alec Douglas-Home was vain about his skill as a flower-arranger. Mr Gladstone was not at all vain about his looks, as he might well have been, and even resisted the way his wife would arrange his few scanty hairs (when he was in his eighties) to cover his brow. But he was vain about his knowledge of Homer, almost to the point of madness, just as Enoch Powell was vain about his (in fact rather eccentric) grasp of New Testament historiography. Lincoln was vain about nothing, except possibly his jokes, like Reagan. Attlee appeared to be the same; hence Churchill's jest, 'A modest man who has a good deal to be modest about.' In fact, Attlee struck me as far from modest, indeed unusually vain, though not necessarily in salient ways. He was vain about his voice, and it is true that he sang old songs well. But he was vain about his taciturnity, too. He loved his medals and on the eve of his installation at Windsor, he penned the ditty:
Few thought he was even a starter
There were many who thought themselves smarter But he ended PM CH and OM An earl and a knight of the garter.
William Hague is also vain about his voice. Portillo is vain about — well, just vain. You notice that I don't mention women. What is the Queen vain about? Her wit, I think, and the timing of her dress sense, which she calls 'geological'. Margaret Thatcher is also vain about her jokes — or joke, actually, which she reserves for detestable all-male gatherings: 'The cock may crow but it's the hen that lays the eggs.' What is God vain about? That is the ultimate theological question.
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