I had a period in my youth where I absolutely devoured Chesterton's essays. But even then, in my late teens/early 20s, it was clear to me that what was amazing about him wasn't his ideas, but his turn of phrase and rhetorical skill. I always viewed his essays as something like magic tricks, where you could find yourself, if not agreeing with his thesis, at least thinking he'd made a compelling argument. And most of the time he started out saying something he clearly knew was borderline inflammatory. As such, I honestly never got the feeling that being correct was the point. He was a writer—really, an entertainer (think Father Brown)—first and foremost. And it seemed clear to me he was really just savouring the process of crafting language and entertaining his readers. Taking his ideas seriously would be a bit like believing in the world Tolkien wove from words.