When on 14th November 1906 William James mounted the lectern at the Lowell Institute in Boston, his audience knew what to expect. His work as a psychologist and philosopher was prolific and celebrated; his scholarship was almost as well-known as the fiction of his younger brother, Henry. But the pioneering polymath of Harvard yard was yet capable of surprising the assembled. They had come to hear his thoughts on ‘The Present Dilemma in Philosophy’; they had come to glean the wisdom of a venerated professor. He cleared his throat, and what he gave them was G. K. Chesterton:

Perhaps James wanted to set an informal tone by opening with words from one who was at this time known primarily as a London hack with a side-line in pulp fiction. In any event, he clearly believed that Chesterton's remarks provided a useful way into his subsequent argument (‘I think with Mr. Chesterton in this matter’, he continues). It is the argument of this chapter that James's lecture also happens to provide a useful way back into Chesterton. Specifically, James's thoughts on how that ‘most practical and important thing about a man’ is formed may illuminate the perverse possibility that Chesterton often appears most confused, careless and contrarian where he aims to be most coherent, deliberate and sincere.