Praising P.G. Wodehouse for his humour is rather like praising the Royal Gurkha Rifles for their ability to march and fold socks. Wodehouse is indeed a hilarious writer, but he’s worth reading for more than just the gags. His books transport readers to an older world in which the deepest of predicaments can be escaped with planning, optimism, and a touch of good fortune.

What runs through Wodehouse’s books like a seam of gold is the idea that everything will come right in the end. His stories are defined by an inexhaustible optimism that is not only comforting, but intelligent and thoughtful. Beneath the japes, scrapes, pig-stealing and aunt-dodging, there’s a genuine attention to the texture of human existence.

The Jeeves stories, for instance, contemplate serious philosophical questions around human agency, fate and the existence of free will. The joy of these stories is their predictability, and this is deliberate. No matter how difficult a fix Bertie gets into, the reader knows that the hidden hand of Jeeves will always be there, quietly directing events towards a satisfactory conclusion.

Bertie meanwhile remains oblivious, labouring under the delusion that he is free to decide the course of his life. This inevitably backfires. It’s often only at the end of each story that Bertie understands that his attempts at independent action have actually been part of a far grander plan envisioned by Jeeves. In this sense, the Jeeves stories are an allegory for real life: we go along believing we are masters of our own fate, but we do so unaware of the hidden forces directing our path.

This allegory takes place in Wodehouse’s books not only on the level of plot, but also literally at the level of ideas. Jeeves, for example, warns Bertie against reading the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, telling him that Nietzsche’s work is ‘fundamentally unsound’. Despite this warning, however, Bertie later paraphrases an axiom taken from Nietzsche’s monograph Twilight of the Idols:

You know, I rather think I agree with those poet-and-philosopher Johnnies who insist that a fellow ought to be devilish pleased if he has a bit of trouble. All that stuff about being refined by suffering, you know. Suffering does give a chap a sort of broader and more sympathetic outlook.

On one level, Bertie’s parroting of Nietzsche is a comic device – especially given the easy, affluent life he enjoys. On another, it situates Bertie in opposition to Jeeves’ worldview. Jeeves doesn’t specify exactly why he believes Nietzsche’s ideas are ‘unsound’, but presumably it’s because he associates Nietzsche with ideas of autonomy and self-determination, behaviours from which Jeeves attempts to discourage Bertie.

Bertie’s optimistic attitude also expresses itself in philosophical terms. Schopenhauer, famous for his pessimistic outlook, receives a good kicking. In Clustering Round Young Bingo Bertie refers to Schopenhauer as a ‘grouch of the most pronounced description’, which – although I’m no expert – seems as fitting a summary of Schopenhauer as any.

As one would expect, Jeeves has a rather more precise grip on philosophy than Bertie. He is a keen reader of Baruch Spinoza, the 17^th-century rationalist philosopher. This is noteworthy because Spinoza was known for his ardent determinism and his denial of free will. Jeeves is also familiar with Marcus Aurelius. He offers a quote of his to Bertie in a time of difficulty:

Does aught befall you? It is good. It is part of the destiny of the Universe ordained for you from the beginning. All that befalls you is part of the great web.

Bertie responds by saying: ‘Well, you can tell him from me he’s an ass.’

In Wodehouse’s world, the ‘the great web’ doesn’t equate to the bleak, windswept attitude of a pessimistic fatalist. Instead, it represents a kind of optimistic determinism. In other words: there’s a certain degree of equanimity that comes with resigning oneself to the fact that the future is decided, one being unable to change its course.

Wodehouse’s stoical optimism doesn’t just appear in the Jeeves novels, but in Wodehouse’s earlier work. His 1909 school story Mike makes a similar observation:

When affairs get into a real tangle, it is best to sit still and let them straighten themselves out. Or, if one does not do that, simply to think no more about them. This is Philosophy. The true philosopher is the man who says ‘All right,’ and goes to sleep in his arm-chair.

Wodehouse wasn’t merely a champion of the stiff upper-lip, but a true stoic. He believed in adapting the self to the world, rather than trying to change the world to fit around the self.

Wodehouse appears to have taken the same attitude towards aspects of his own life, occasionally with unfortunate consequences. When the Germans advanced into France in 1940, Wodehouse and his wife were staying at their house in Le Touquet. The two were separated and Wodehouse was sent to an internment camp in Upper Silesia. ‘If this is Upper Silesia, what must Lower Silesia be like?’ Wodehouse joked.

Although conditions in the camp were generally tolerable, the winter months were so severe that some of the inmates died from the cold. Others killed themselves. Even throughout this difficult period, Wodehouse’s optimism won through, and he became a sort of ‘father figure’ to many of the camp’s inmates. He inquired after their welfare, and reminding them they’d ‘be home by Christmas’ to maintain morale.

Then came the most tragic episode in Wodehouse’s life: the broadcasts he was persuaded to make during Nazi captivity. While the broadcasts he made were comical rather than fascist in nature, they provoked significant outrage in Britain, and prompted commentators to liken Wodehouse to fascist traitors such William Joyce (aka Lord Haw-Haw). The entirely predictable controversy that ensued marred Wodehouse’s reputation permanently, and he never returned to England, instead seeking refuge in the United States. When later asked about this in an interview he said ‘No, I never feel bitter about anything, I just felt uncomfortable about it. I was sorry that it’d happened.’

One of many writers to spring to Wodehouse’s defence was George Orwell. ‘The events of 1941 do not convict Wodehouse of anything worse than stupidity,’ wrote Orwell. ‘The really interesting question is how and why he could be so stupid.’ I believe it’s possible this unfortunate affair in Wodehouse’s life could be an example of Wodehouse becoming a victim of his own ideas. If one’s philosophy, pace Wodehouse, amounts to ‘saying “All right” and going to sleep in an armchair’ it’s much easier to be led astray by those with malevolent political intentions. Stoicism and optimism can be isolating philosophies. In the extreme, they can lead a person to become naïve, and ideologically defenceless.

It’d be obtuse to argue that P.G. Wodehouse should be remembered as a philosopher. He’d have no doubt thought that preposterous. But his reputation as a master of the English comic novel – though apt – obscures the brilliance of his writing. It should be remembered that although his books were comical, they were far from frivolous. They contain a resilient optimism that will comfort, cheer and entertain readers for generations. While watching a documentary on Wodehouse, I was struck by a comment left by a reader: ‘God bless ole Plum. He got me through the death of my father, the death of my mother, and some of the hardest times I’ve ever faced.’