UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES GIFT OF Dr. Ernest Carroll Moor OTttdttr, ).>. THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME. PERSONAL POWER. Counsel* to College Men. THE MAKING AND UNMAKING OF THE PREACH ER. Lectures on the Lyman Beecher Foundation, Yale University, 1898. HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY BOSTON AND NEW YORK THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME AND OTHER ARTICLES THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME AND OTHER ARTICLES CONTRIBUTED TO THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY DURING THE OCCUPANCY OF THE PERIOD DESCRIBED BY WILLIAM JEWETT TUCKER PRESIDENT EMERITUS OF DARTMOUTH COLLEGE BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 1916 COPYRIGHT, 1910, ipll, 1913, 1915, AND 1916 BY THB ATLANTIC MONTHLY COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY WILLIAM JBWETT TUCKER ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Published November /g/6 TO EDWARD TUCK IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE EARLY DAYS OF COLLEGE COMPANIONSHIP AND IN APPRECIATION OF A CAREER HONORABLE ALIKE IN DIPLOMACY, IN FINANCE, AND IN THE MORE ADVANCED FORMS OF MODERN PHILANTHROPY PREFACE As this book had its origin within the period and under the conditions described as the New Reservation of Time, it seemed fit that I should recognize this fact in the title. And for the same reason I allow myself a further word of personal explanation. Two years before I reached the accepted age for retirement I passed through a long and serious illness which necessitated my partial withdrawal from the duties of the presidency of Dartmouth College. The period, therefore, of complete with- drawal, when it was possible to bring it about, came as a welcome relief, made peculiarly grate- ful by my retirement upon the Amos Tuck Foundation, at the request of Mr. Edward Tuck, the donor of the fund. I was not a little surprised, however, to find, as I passed into retirement, that the zest for work remained undiminished under changed circumstances and under reduced strength. The discovery, I need not say, was most gratifying, and greatly stimulated the desire to make some satisfactory use of an invalided age. The diffi- culty of adjusting myself to restricted physical conditions, including the partial loss of sight, was viii PREFACE very much relieved by ready and most competent aid from within the home. Indeed, I soon learned, as many before me had been taught the lesson, that the experiences which make us conscious of our dependence upon others have their compensa- tion in those closer companionships through which we best realize the mutual enjoyments of the intel- lectual life. The readjustment of my intellectual methods and habits was not so easy to effect. I had been trained professionally, and later by the require- ments of my position, to the habit of public speech, for which I was now incapacitated. For further productive work it seemed to be necessary to at- tempt the change from the spoken to the written style a change by no means to be attempted light-heartedly. One might not assume that he could so far divest himself of the speaking habit that it would not be liable to betray him. I doubt in fact if the public speaker can ever hope to make himself over beyond recognition into the essayist. The essay reaches back into a habit of thought as clearly its own as that' which belongs to public speech, and equally necessary to natural- ness and ease of expression. In this dilemma I took refuge in the distinction, which I think is a fair one, between the essay and the article. The article has acquired a definite and PREFACE ix distinct place in the discussion of current topics. Its direct object is some immediate effect upon public opinion. In this immediateness of purpose it differs essentially from the essay. It differs also in regard to the variety of means through which it may seek to produce the requisite effect. It may be strictly informing, it may be argumentative, it may pursue its end with moral urgency. In all of which respects the article has close resemblance to public address, and opens the way, for one ac- customed to this form of expression, to the use under proper restraints of the written page. It may also be added that the subject-matter of public thought during the present decade, especially in the range of its appeal to the ethical sense, has given a notable stimulus to the type of literary composition now very generally adopted in the magazine article. I am indebted to the hospitality of the "Atlantic Monthly " for the publication of the articles which make up the bulk of this volume, and to the courtesy of the Editor for the liberty to reproduce them in book form. With one slight change the "Atlantic" articles are arranged in the order in which they appeared in the magazine. The order shows at a glance the increasing seriousness of the subjects which have occupied the public mind. Any one who discusses current issues in times like x PREFACE those through which we are now passing is made continually conscious of the liability of render- ing imperfect estimates of men and of policies, as well as of encountering the stern contradiction of events. But as neither criticism nor prophecy is the chief function of interpretation, it may be a reasonable hope that every serious attempt to reach into the meaning of those movements and events which are now dominating our lives, may have some beneficial if not altogether permanent result. If the saying of Huxley was true in the period of intellectual and moral confusion which called it forth, much more may we assume that it is true, and that it ought to be made operative, now: "So far as we possess a power of bettering things, it is our paramount duty to use it, and to train all our intellect and energy for this supreme service to our kind." WILLIAM JEWETT TUCKER HANOVER, NEW HAMPSHIRE September, 1916 CONTENTS I THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME 1 (Atlantic Monthly, August, 1910) II UNDEBQRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP 23 (Atlantic Monthly, June, 1911) III THE GOAL OF EQUALITY 50 (Atlantic Monthly, October, 1913) IV NOTES ON THE PROGRESS OF THE SOCIAL CONSCIENCE 79 (Atlantic Monthly, September, 1915) V THE ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR . . . .119 (Atlantic Monthly, June, 1915) VI THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM 146 (Atlantic Monthly, April, 1916) VII ON THE CONTROL OF MODERN CIVILIZATION , . 172 xii CONTENTS APPENDIX THE NEW MOVEMENT IN HUMANITY FROM LIBERTY TO UNITY 195 (A Reprint) THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME I THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME " The years to be Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene That men call age." So far as I have observed, no attempt has been made to forecast the social effect of the various systems which are being put into operation for the retirement of the individual worker upon the ap- proach of age. It is, of course, too early to judge of effects by results, and speculation is always liable to be errant. But it is quite evident that a new principle has been set at work in the social order, which invites careful study at many points. So- ciety is fast becoming reorganized around the prin- ciple of a definite allotment of time to the individ- ual for the fulfillment of his part in the ordinary tasks and employments. The termination of his period of associated labor has been fixed within the decade which falls between his "threescore," and his "threescore and ten" years. The intention of society in trying to bring about this uniform, and, as it will prove to be in most 2 THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME cases, reduced, allotment of time for the ordinary lifework of the individual, is twofold. I am obliged to use the term "society" in this connection; for when the state is not largely concerned in any changes in the social order, I know of no other col- lective term which so well expresses that general consent and approval, if not authority, through which such changes are effected. The first inten- tion, then, of society in this matter is evidently to secure the greatest efficiency, in some employ- ments the best quality of work, in others the larg- est amount. Society virtually notifies the individ- ual that the time will come when it will account itself better off without his service than with it. More efficient workers will be in waiting to take his place. The workshop, whether manual or intel- lectual, must be run at a pace with which he can- not keep step. The second, if equally plain inten- tion of society is to make some adequate provision in time for the individual worker before he becomes a spent force. It therefore creates for him a reser- vation of time sufficient for his more personal uses. Within this new region of personal freedom he may enter upon any pursuits, or engage in any activities required by his personal necessities or prompted by newly awakened ambitions. I am not now concerned with the results which society seeks to gain in carrying out its first inten- THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME 3 tion. I think that the intention lies within the ethics of business, and that the results to be gained may be expected to warrant the proposed allot- ment of time. But what of the second intention of society? How far is it likely to be realized? What will be the effect of the scheme upon those now entering, and upon those who may hereafter enter, on the reservation of time provided for them? What is to be their habit of mind, their disposition, toward the reserved years which have heretofore been reckoned simply as the years of age? Will this change in the ordering of the individual life in- tensify the reproach of age, or remove it? Will the exceptional worker in the ranks of manual or intel- lectual labor, but especially the latter, who feels that he is by no means a spent force, accept reluc- tantly the provision made for him, as if closing his lifework prematurely, or will he accept it hopefully, as if opening a new field for his unspent energies? And as for the average worker, to whom the change will doubtless bring a sense of relief, will he enter upon the new "estate" aimlessly, or "reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly," and withal in good temper and cheer? These questions are vital to society, much more so in fact than they are to the individual himself. For if the changed order is accepted reluctantly or aimlessly, society will soon have on its hands a very 4 THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME considerable number of depressed and restless per- sons for whom some adequate social and spiritual provision must be made. Even if the earlier release from the compulsion of labor does not extend the period of life, the segregation of a retired class will attract public attention, and in time bring the in- dividuals who compose it more distinctly into evi- dence. It must also be considered that the habit of early retirement from the regular occupations will be adopted by many to whom the principle of com- pulsory retirement does not apply. Indirectly this will be a consequence of the wider application of the principle. So that we may fairly assume that the new reservation of time, however it may have been provided, will soon come to represent a social fact of no little significance. The accumulating force of the "reserves" will ultimately count for or against society. It is manifest, therefore, that if this scheme of time, which is going into effect in our generation, is to give us the happiest social results, we must in some way create a habit of mind corresponding to the scheme, and supporting it. We must, that is, secure a revaluation of time at the period of de- clining values which shall make the reservation of time within this period a thing to be desired, and to be fitly utilized. Is such a habit possible, and can it be made natural? I believe that the habit is THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME 5 possible, and that it can be made natural. And if my conclusion should be accepted, I cannot see why this reserved decade should not contribute as much to the tone of society, and to many of its higher in- terests, as any previous decade. Since I came into this way of reflection through recent personal experience, I make no apology for any personal references which may follow. It so happened that the date of my withdrawal from administrative work fell within two days* of the time when I crossed over to the thither side of "threescore and ten." It was a coincidence which I had not noted, so that I had given no thought to the appropriate feelings with which one might be expected to enter upon this new territory. Having gone into residence without forethought or pre- meditation, what I am actually finding to be true is, that the life there is most stimulating and quickening, in spite of the fact that I am cut off from certain public activities, and put upon a re- duced regimen for each day's work. In asking myself the reason for this somewhat unexpected result, I have found what seems to me to be a sufficient answer in the new valuation of time which has come in with the change. It is sur- prising how easily and naturally one acquires the habit of revaluing time when the imperative occa- sion arises. It is also a grateful surprise to find how 6 THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME exhilarating is the feeling which the newly ac- quired sense of the value of time creates. And yet why should not this be accepted as the natural result? Time has now become, in a very appreci- able way, a freed possession. Various mortgages have been cleared off. And if time may thus mean more to a man as he reaches the years which have been set apart for revaluation, why should it not be worth more to him? and if worth more to him, why should not the increment of value become the compensation of age? The petition of the ancient Psalm of Life, that we be taught how "to number our days," is seldom if ever offered in the days of our youth or of our manhood. Perhaps we are wiser than we mean to be in thus deferring the study of time. What if we thereby make this the peculiar privilege of age, if not its high prerogative? What if the revaluation of time shall be found to yield more than any orig- inal values which we may have put 'upon it? Such questions as these naturally arise when we think of the advantages which may accrue to the indi- vidual from the proper use of this new reservation of time. We must allow ourselves, I think, to ex- pect that this reservation of time will carry with it a revaluation of time. What are some of the possibilities, lying within this period of reserved and revalued time, which THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME 7 are open to those who have been withdrawn from the ranks of organized or associated labor open more evidently to those who have been withdrawn from the comradeship of intellectual work? I cannot pass over a certain satisfaction, if not enjoyment, which may come from the more con- scious use of time. As I have already intimated, the unconscious use of time is for the most part the better use. Herein lie the freedom and the charm of youth in the very prodigality of its use of time. Herein, too, lie the freedom and the power of the man who is his own master the thinker, the professional worker, the man of affairs, who is not obliged to shut off work with eight or ten hours, at anybody's command. The right to work "over- time," which usually means the power to work without taking note of time, is a free and joyous right. It makes the difference, as any one knows who enjoys it, between work and the task. Working "on time" has the advantage which belongs to the virtues of punctuality and faithful- ness, and it may be insisted upon in the interest of justice as well as of business, but it has its irrita- tions. Even when the habit is self-imposed it may develop into an irritating self-consciousness. When the habit goes over into the miserly saving of time, it becomes like any other kind of miserliness, in- tolerable to a man's friends, if painfully enjoyable 8 THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME to himself. The people who oblige us to break through their petty routines and systems to get some necessary access to them, put a heavy strain upon friendship. But the consciousness of time which comes with the thought that certain years have been reserved and set apart for us is entirely different from any overconscious use of time which may have gone before. It is rather the appreciation of a gift of which we want to know the full value. "Numbering our days" means measuring their contents. The realized worth of a day now far ex- ceeds the unrealized values of many days. One learns to anticipate and expect a day in its fullness. Of course in this closer estimate and appreciation of time there is no room for prodigality. The man living on reserved time cannot be a spendthrift; neither can he allow himself to become a miser, for the miserly habit will make him timorous and cowardly. The miser straightway begins to "num- ber" by subtraction, not by addition one day less, not one day more to enrich the sum-total. The new economy simply takes due account of those lesser divisions of time which have been over- looked or undervalued. " To-morrow, and to-mor- row, and to-morrow" may seem a "petty pace" for mankind, but it is quite fast enough for the man who is beginning to learn the secret of living in the day. THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME 9 Living in the day, I say; for I count it a very great liberty to be allowed, as it is certainly a very great art to be able, to live in right proportion to the present. This liberty, and the art to use it, make up another of the rights and privileges which belong to those who have entered upon the reser- vation of time. Very few of us get much out of the present. We get the daily paper, the daily task with its environment, the passing word with a friend, and the hours of rest in the home. Our minds are set on the future. Our real world is a world of plans, of expectations, and of anxieties. We become dis- ciplined to forethought and prevision. All this again is far better than that we should not live in the future. We are made to live that way in very large proportion. But we cannot believe that it was meant that our future should empty our present of so many of its rightful satisfactions. Possibly there may be a tendency on the part of one who has been engaged in administrative work, especially in academic administration, to overem- phasize the amount of time actually spent in think- ing for the future; but really the amount is very great. The details of the office take more time, but not more thought. Through all the day's work one is continually asking himself, what next? what better method of administration? what wider range, or more careful limitation, of instruction? what 10 THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME better adjustment of educational force to social and civic needs? what enlargement or what regula- tion of the freedom of students in the interest of character, or of efficiency? and, withal, what new sources of supply to meet the increasing demands of any given institution? The answer to these ques- tions is not in abstract conclusions, but in very practical terms; in books and laboratories, in sala- ries, in dormitories, in standards and rules, in the development in various ways of the academic con- stituency, in the advancement of learning. For this reason I have had occasion to say that the period of academic administration ought as a rule to close earlier, not later, than the period of instruction. When the time comes that an administrator can plan better than he can fulfill, it is not quite fair to his successor to leave plans for two, three, or five years for him to carry out. Each man who takes his place in a succession is entitled to the advantage of his own policy from the very beginning, or as nearly so as may be consistent with his obligations to the inheritance. But making due allowance for the personal or professional equation, I revert to the satisfaction of recovering, or, it may be, of discovering one's rights in the present. It is something, for example, to feel that it is no longer a robbery of anybody's time to read beyond the headlines in one's daily THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME 11 paper, or to renew acquaintance with one's library, or to reopen the half -closed doors of friendship. This satisfaction, however, in the present is much more than the enjoyment of leisure, or of unhur- ried work. It brings us back again, with the ad- vantage of a discriminating experience, into that receptive attitude to the world through which most of us began the intellectual life. Neither the aggres- sive nor the defensive attitude the varying atti- tudes of business can give us the best things which the world has to give. There are some things which we want, which we cannot earn or conquer; we must simply open our minds and let them in. And as we recover something of this receptive atti- tude we are surprised and pleased to find that the world has not been in so much of a hurry as we have been. Men and things most worth knowing have been waiting for us. All that has been want- ing is time for hospitality. One of the first things which I did, when I closed the door of the "office," was to order the back numbers of the "Hibbert Journal." I was gratified to find how quickly the course of discussion running through these num- bers could make connection with the mind of a belated reader. The revaluation of time under the conditions which we are considering represents more than the conscious use of it, or the satisfaction of living again 12 THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME in closer relations with the present. The really sig- nificant thing about it is that it refreshens life by opening again the springs of choice. When we speak, as we so frequently do, of a man's life-work, we think of it as his chosen work. In so saying and thinking we bound the man in by the limitation of time, and by the compulsion of an early choice. The new reservation of time throws off the limita- tion, and gives another chance to the man who has done his assumed life-work, while the revaluation of tune gives him the spirit and courage to take the second chance. I think that it was a conceit of Hawthorne, though I have not been able to verify my remem- brance, that some men ought to have as many as ten chances at life, through successive rebirths, to try as many careers. A given career, however well chosen, or strenuously pursued, or satisfying in its results, seldom expresses the whole man. And yet no man can afford to make his life a series of bold experiments. Every man must prove himself, and satisfy himself as well as he can, through one con- sistent life-work of achievement or sacrifice. But who would not welcome the opportunity to give some urgent, but untried, power the chance of a brief trial; or some avocation, made to serve as running-mate to the vocation, its own chance in the running; or some duty, which has been kept afar THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME 13 in some region of the outer life, the chance to come near and to feel for once the warmth of the heart? The period of reserved and revalued time may certainly be used to make some amend for the stringency of our lives under the stress of the or- dinary life-work. Contrast the utterances of two most gifted English authors whose last books are just now before us Father Tyrrell and William De Morgan. Father Tyrrell writes to a friend, "I am always hurried to get things in before death over- takes me, and am restless while anything is un- finished that I have once begun. Could I feel secure of a year . . . but I always think that it may be in a week." William De Morgan writes in the state- ment "To His Readers Only": "When to my great surprise I published four years since a novel called * Joseph Vance,' a statement was reported more than once in some journals that were kind enough to notice it, that its author was seventy years of age. Why this made me feel like a centenarian I do not know, especially as it was five years ahead of the facts. . . . But in the course of my attempts to procure the reduction to which I was entitled, I expressed a hope that the said author would live to be seventy, and further that he would write four or five volumes, as long as his first, in the interim. To my thinking, he has been as good (or as bad) as his word, for this present volume is the fourth story 14 THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME published since then, and the day of its publication will be the author's seventieth birthday." I do not know that Father Tyrrell, had he lived on, and gained assured health, would ever have entered into the possible freedom of age. The stringency under which he worked may have been in his nature, or in the nature of his self-appointed task. The prolific authorship of William De Mor- gan shows the possibilities which await slumbering genius, and possibly latent talent, when at the ap- proach of age it breaks away from the routine of business, and puts its newly acquired freedom to the test. It may be said in the interest of almost any ca- pable man that the time will come when a change in the subject-matter of his thought, or in the immedi- ate object of his pursuit, may be desirable. No one can expect to compete with two generations. If one has been a successful competitor with the men of his own generation, let that suffice. Not only are the general laws of progress to be recognized, but also the changing fashions in ways of thinking and in modes of action. Every generation has the right to make experiments. The period for which any one may regard himself, or allow himself to be regarded, as an authority in any profession, is very brief. The seat of authority in the investigating professions is moving steadily backward from age. And in the THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME 15 more active callings, productive or executive, the advisory relations of age are growing more and more questionable. "Old men for counsel" is becoming an out- worn motto, because young men have, by virtue of their training, become sufficiently conserv- ative. Facts like these are to be accepted. The re- linquishment in due season of what may have been a rightful claim to authority, or the detachment of one's self from work which has fitly gone over into other hands, is a pretty sure indication that the mind thus set free is capable of achieving other results which may be in themselves desirable, and of possible advantage to society. Assuming that the intellectual worker remains, upon retirement, in possession of his mental powers, there are at least three inciting moods which may lead him to undertake new work the reminiscent, the reflective, the creative. Of course, intellectual work reaches far beyond books, covering an increas- ingly large area of business and affairs. Men of af- fairs, when they have withdrawn from public life, naturally become reminiscent, not under the des- ultory impulses of memory, but with a well-defined purpose. The reminiscent mood may be as con- structive as any which can possess the mind. An actor in events extending over a wide territory, or through a long period, naturally wishes to relate them to one another, or at least to show the con- 16 THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME sistency of his own actions so far as he may have been concerned in them. He would, if possible, open a clear perspective into events which are about to become the material for history. He would like to have the events, and the men, of his generation known and estimated, as he knew and estimated them. Such a purpose as this must be carried out while all the mental processes are trustworthy the mind free from prejudice, memory and imagina- tion clear and sure, and the judgment sane. There are "Reminiscences" and " Autobiographies " which show as much mental grasp as any of the mental activities which they record. Occasionally they reveal a distinct literary quality when there has been no literary training, as was true in so marked a degree of the "Memoirs" of General Grant. The mind that craves reflection may be the mind which has been driven at a rapid pace with a view to a fixed amount of production. I should suppose that the opportunity for the reflective mood would begrateful to most teachers, preachers, and editors, to all persons, in fact, who have been obliged to work for occasions, or to meet some regularly re- curring demand. There are callings which in them- selves train the mind to quick and decisive judg- ments. There are other callings which presuppose and emphasize the communicating impulse. In any of these callings the individual has little chance to THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME 17 indulge in the reflective mood. Probably it is bet- ter for the public that he should not be able to fall into this indulgence. Certainly a change to the reflective habit of mind, as the controlling habit, would be fatal to success in the callings to which I have referred. But the limitations of one's calling in this regard may make all the more welcome the freedom to exercise unused powers. Subjects un- willingly put by because demanding the reflective treatment, or subjects which for this reason have been only partially considered, may be recalled and considered according to their proper demands. Not infrequently, I think, a rejected subject of this sort will prove to be, when recovered, an open door, through which one may pass into a wide region of new and fascinating thought. I believe that I am warranted in admitting the creative mood to a place beside the reminiscent and the reflective, among the later privileges of the mind; not like these a distinctive privilege, but still a fit privilege. Creative work is not to be measured, like the ordinary work of production, by physical vitality. The creative process is subtle, quickened at hidden sources, and sensitive to out- ward suggestion. As no one can tell when it may end, so no one can tell when or how it may begin. It is in no sense impossible that a certain proportion of mind, set free from monotonous toil, may, when 18 THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME it recovers its elasticity, feel the originating impulse; or that the originating impulse which has been al- lowed free action may be perpetuated. Age does not necessarily mean mental invalidism. Examples to the contrary always have been, and are, in abun- dant evidence. What we have most to fear from the new allotment of time is, that some who have wrought all their lives under various kinds of out- ward compulsion will allow the creative impulse to lapse when the outward necessity for its action is past. But over against this liability lies the per- sistent craving of the mind for employment. I doubt if many would be willing to accept, for other than financial reasons, any proposed system of re- tirement if it were understood to carry with it ces- sation from work. As I have before intimated, much of what I am saying in this chapter applies particularly to intel- lectual workers. But what I am just now saying applies equally, if not more, to those who labor with their hands. I think that the average work- ing man will sadly miss his "job," who is retired, in comparative health, from the ranks of organized labor at seventy; and especially if at sixty, the age proposed for the retirement of railroad employees. The morning whistle will sound a different note when it no longer calls him to the day's work. I anticipate no little difficulty in finding satisfactory THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME 19 employment for retired working men of sound health and of industrious habits. What will the trade-unions say to any relieving employment which may be provided for them, or which they may devise? Where is the "open shop" to which they can have access? Putting aside, however, the discussion of any of the "labor questions" to which the various schemes of retirement may give rise, there is one very practi- cal conclusion to be drawn from any discussion of the subject under consideration. If the reservation of time which is now being planned shall be carried out in any large way, it must inevitably produce a change in the present aim, and, to a degree, in the present method, of education. We have been at work for nearly a generation under the one dominat- ing idea of training men for efficiency, meaning thereby the power to secure the largest possible material results within the shortest time. The chief means to efficiency has been specialization. We have set the individual man earlier and earlier upon the training for his specified task, broadening the immediate way, but closing divergent paths. We have reached the desired result. We have gained efficiency through specialization. The spe- cialized man, presumably also a man of will-power, has become the type of the efficient man. But the argument for efficiency is the argument for more 20 THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME efficiency. The efficient man must constantly give place to the more efficient man, who in theory, and usually in fact, has had the more intense training. What is to happen to the supplanted man? When he has done the one thing which he can do to the best advantage of the business, what is he to do then? What is to be done with this increasing suc- cession of second-best men in the industries and in business? Retirement, whatever may be the pen- sion, and however early it may take effect, does not answer the question. We have been training men for ends chiefly outside themselves. We have not given them resources upon which they can draw when the outside ends have been accomplished. As the outward results are to be credited chiefly to education, the deficiencies in personal results, if any such appear, must be charged to its account. And if these are likely to appear, the remedy must be anticipated in education. It would be an un- seemly thing to allow the charitably intentioned retirement of men from their work to result in the exposure of their personal deficiencies. The failure of education to produce personal results commensurate with outward results is easily detected whenever it occurs. We have a striking example of this fact in the present con- trast between the successful training of men in the art of making money, and the unsuccessful THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME 21 training of them in the art of spending money the latter art being more personal than the former. When we pass beyond the use of money as capital, we are confronted by a vast amount of foolish and often shameless expenditure. Much of this expend- iture should be attributed to ignorance rather than to viciousness, to a certain emptiness of mind in respect to taste or satisfying enjoyment. Even the capitalist who knows how to utilize money for large enterprises is quite apt to be deficient in the finer art of giving. The example of the late John Stewart Kennedy is most refreshing, in these days of delegated benevolence, in showing how a man of great fortune can be as capable of disposing of it as he was capable of making it. It is evident that our present ideals and methods must be revised if we are to meet the social condi- tions which will come in with the new reservation of time. We must call back some of the current terms of modern education efficiency, success, and even service and reendow them with a more personal meaning. We must of course continue to train the efficient, successful, and serviceable worker, but we must also make some sure intellec- tual and moral provision for the man himself who is expected to outlast the "practical" requirements of society. I do not attempt to forecast the type of man who can best fulfill what we are pleased to 22 THE NEW RESERVATION OF TIME term his life-work, and also be qualified to enter into the duties and privileges of the period of re- served and revalued time. Perhaps the changed order will evolve a larger and more complete type. It may be enough for us to recall and restore the man whom "Business could not make dull, nor Passion wild: Who saw life steadily, and saw it whole." n UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP UNDERGRADUATE scholarship has been for some time, and not without reason, the object of special criticism in educational discussions. It is a matter of encouragement that criticism is beginning to ad- vance toward the more direct and vital issues involved. Probably nine tenths of the critics, academic and non-academic, have attributed the deficiencies which they note to athletics, to fra- ternities, or to social distractions of various sorts; in a word, to the immediate environment of the student. Such criticism is not uncalled for, but it is quite insufficient. It makes the problem too easy. No one, for example, who deprecates the effect of athletics upon scholarship would be willing to guar- antee an advance in scholarship corresponding to a decline in athletics. Due account must be taken of the reflex influ- ence of environment upon the student; but any criticism of the undergraduate at so vital a point as scholarship, if it is to be really remedial, must concern itself with forces which are immediately and constantly directive, forces in fact which are 24 UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP institutional. Undergraduate scholarship is the product of the undergraduate school, in a broad sense the exponent of its aim, whether the school be a department of a university, or an independent college. To the degree in which the ideal or type of scholarship aimed at, differs from that set forth by the preparatory, technical, or professional school, there must be, as compared with these schools, an equivalent adaptation of means to end. At the same time equal attention must be given to those principles and methods in general practice which are found to be most effective in stimulating scholarship. Nowhere within the whole field of ed- ucation is provincialism so disastrous as in college training. Assuming that the responsibility for undergradu- ate scholarship rests with the undergraduate school, what are the points at which college administra- tion may be brought to bear with most effect for the advancement of scholarship? A student is admitted to college by certification or by examination. In either event, during his course of preparation, his instructors have had con- tinually in mind the tests through which he must pass to enter upon further academic study. They know that they are to be held reasonably respon- UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP 25 sible for the results of their instruction. The certi- ficate system is supposed to stand, and does stand, in increasing degree, for guaranteed fitness on the part of the student certified. By the restriction of the privilege of certification to schools amply quali- fied to fit for college, and by the further restriction of the privilege, by the schools themselves, to students of high grade, a college is reasonably as- sured that authorized instructors have taken a proper responsibility for the training of the incom- ing student. The examination system throws a greater responsibility upon the college, but it in no way lessens the feeling on the part of the pre- paratory teacher that he is held to definite re- sults from his teaching. Whichever the way by which the student is delivered to the college, he comes out of the hands of instructors who have accepted certain well-defined responsibilities for results. Four years later the same student, if he enters a professional school, finds himself at work under like conditions. At the end of his course he must pass given tests, imposed from without by medical boards, by bar associations, by ecclesias- tical councils, in the case of medicine and law the State virtually determining the tests. Instructors in these schools know that their work is to be tested. The student in the graduate school (so called), at 26 UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP work for the doctor's degree, carries on his inves- tigations independently, and yet in a kind of com- radeship with his instructors. The work of college instructors is not subjected to any tests, except to those which are self-im- posed. The diploma of a reputable college will ad- mit to any professional school, unless there is some specific requirement for admission called for; but a college diploma represents the minimum of attain- ment which a given faculty judges to be necessary for graduation. It is not a certification of the special fitness of the student who holds it to proceed with academic study. The majority of college graduates do not carry their studies beyond graduation. This exemption of college instruction from tests out- side the instructing body, such as are applied else- where, has not always obtained in this country. In the days of oral examinations, boards of examiners were appointed by trustees, to pass upon the stand- ing of students. The work of these boards, at the beginning at least, was not perfunctory. The rating of students was largely determined by these ex- aminers, and the relative proficiency of instructors, as well as of students, was freely discussed in the reports which they submitted to trustees. With the necessary change from the oral to the written exam- ination, and for the reasons attending the change, the principles fell into disuse. Trustees put the UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP 27 examination of students, as well as their instruc- tion, into the hands of faculties. Where the principle of separating examination from instruction survives, as in the English col- leges, it is generally conceded that the separation is to the advantage of scholarship. On the one hand, the instructor is relieved altogether of the imputa- tion of being a taskmaster, and becomes the intel- lectual helper and friend of the student in the ac- complishment of a common task. And on the other hand, the substitution of an outside standard for one of his own making is a stimulus to the instructor, so far as his work with and upon the student is con- cerned with definite results. This phase of scholas- tic life in the English colleges is brought out at first hand very clearly in an article by Assistant Pro- fessor Reed, of Yale, entitled "Yale from an Ox- ford Standpoint," in the "Yale Alumni Weekly" for October 7, 1910; and also in the editorial com- ment upon this article in the "Harvard Alumni Bulletin," under date of November 2. Unfortunately, there has come of late into our American colleges a method of separating examina- tion from instruction w T hich is antagonistic to the original principle, and in every way deleterious to scholarship. As this method was in use while I was engaged in college work, and as I was " consenting to it" under the exigencies of administration, I feel 28 UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP justified in condemning it, as in so doing I condemn myself for the official support which. I then gave it. The instructor is allowed, and in most cases pro- vision is made in accordance with the allowance, to turn over minor examinations, and not infre- quently a large part of the major examinations, to subordinates who have had no place in instruction. The equal, if not superior, work of examination is committed to the inferior person. The examiner, known as the reader, may have scarcely more at- tainment in the subject than the better student. What incentive has such a student to do his best in an examination-paper which never comes under the eye of a really competent examiner? As a re- lief to an overworked professor, or to an overbur- dened treasury, the method speaks for itself; but it also speaks for itself as a method to degrade the examination system, to make instruction more impersonal, and to remove one of the chief incen- tives to the highest scholarship. The results of scholarship, when it really becomes scholarship, require delicate handling. The student of good intention and hard work, who can never be classed among scholars, is no less entitled to the most dis- criminating and therefore stimulating treatment. It is also to be considered that the dignity, as well as the validity, of an examination depends upon the safeguards which are thrown around it. But proc- UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP 29 toring is irksome, if not repugnant, to many mem- bers of a faculty. Consequently there is so much difference in the personal conduct of examinations as to affect at times the value of the result: and, what is of more account, the indifference or inef- ficiency of reluctant proctors lowers the general value and significance of the test. I have been for a long time convinced that the greatest possible advance within the technical process of scholarship must be sought in a thorough reconstruction of the whole system of college exami- nations, affecting at least all the major examina- tions, giving as a result a system which should test the instructor as well as the student and serve as a stimulus to each. Such a system, necessitating a board of examiners, would add materially to the cost of instruction, but I believe that it would be found to be fully rewarding. ii The arrangement of the curriculum of the un- dergraduate school has a direct bearing upon the character of undergraduate scholarship. In gen- eral, it may be said that whereas the curriculum of the preparatory school is to a degree intensive and cumulative, and that of the professional school altogether intensive and cumulative, the curricu- lum of the undergraduate school is extensive and SO UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP discursive. Some of the subjects which make up the curriculum are brought over from the prepar- atory school for advanced treatment. Whether specifically required or not, the further study of them is requisite as a condition to the choice of dis- tinctively college subjects. The increasing variety of subject-matter consists in part in the introduc- tion of new subjects, but more in the constant division and subdivision of subjects old and new. In considering the effect of this confusing or tempting variety of subject-matter upon scholar- ship, account is to be taken chiefly of its effect upon those who have the aptitudes and desires of the scholar. The omnivorous scholar still exists. Every new subject whets his appetite. Practically all subjects are of equal interest to him. The scholar still exists who likes to play the game, even though competition has pretty much died out. He is not so much interested in the thing to be done, as in the way of doing it. If anything is to be done it can be done in one way only, and that the best way this compulsion being with him quite as much a matter of taste as of conscience. Such scholars as these are not types: they are simply individuals. Undergraduate scholars are for the most part of three types : the born specialist, taking everything within reach bearing upon his specialty, taking anything else only by compulsion; the student who UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP 31 works under the lure of the practical end, keeping as close as possible to the vocational subject; and the man who wishes to make himself familiar with the widest range of subjects practicable. It is evi- dent that no one of these types can represent the highest degree of conventional scholarship. The undergraduate specialist is pulled down by the necessary, but undesired subjects; the practical student cannot make his whole course, or indeed any large part of it, vocational ; and the man-of-the- world in college does not aim so much at supreme excellence as at ready attainments. What is the effect of the college curriculum upon the scholarship of the average student? It cannot be said that it is a stimulus to competi- tive scholarship. Competition presupposes a com- mon and restricted field of endeavor. Men do not compete in scholarship, more than in other things, for general excellence. The curriculum lacks the essential stimulus of concentrated and protracted interest. It tends rather to discursiveness, to a certain amount of experimentation, and to a con- clusion of effort in secondary results. It was assumed, and with good reason, that the elective system would prove to be a stimulus by individualizing scholarship: that somewhere within the range of personal choice the subject would "find" the man. I think that it has in many cases 32 UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP justified this assumption. I have in mind not a few brilliant illustrations of its finding-power. But in fulfilling this purpose it necessarily allows much experimenting. As a result the majority, unaided (and too much aid is inconsistent with the prin- ciple), never get beyond the stage of self-experi- menting. They keep, that is to say, too closely within the range of elementary courses; and when they are through college they can look back only upon a series of unfinished jobs. Certain correctives, like the group system, the system of majors and minors, and, best of all, the requirement making proficiency in some advanced courses essential to graduation, have been intro- duced with good effect; but still comparatively few students reach the satisfaction, the courage, the joy, of any great accomplishment. It is something, sometimes it is very much, to have gained a certain facility in foreign languages, to have found out some of the methods of scientific research, to have be- come familiar with some of the problems of phi- losophy and of the social sciences, but these results cannot be very well expressed in the terms of exact scholarship. The construction of a curriculum which shall be a surer guide and a more effective stimulus to scholarship is one of the inner prob- lems of college administration which is yet to be solved, if scholarship of the intensive and cumula- UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP 33 tive type is expected of the colleges. At present, the curriculum is set toward breadth rather than toward intensity, toward quantity rather than to- ward quality. in A much more serious difficulty, in its effect upon undergraduate scholarship, than either of the fore- going, is the difficulty of making right adjustment between the mind of the instructor and the mind of the student. In the other higher departments of the educational system this adjustment is more nearly complete. The sympathetic relation between a preparatory-school teacher and his students is usually very close. The most effective teachers in this department, the most effective because the most influential and stimulating, are what Phillips Brooks used to call "boys' men." In the technical and professional schools the mental adjustment of instructor to student is almost complete, largely because the specific intellectual interests are iden- tical. The medical student is as eager to under- stand, as the instructor is eager to explain, the last discovery in medical science. So far as intel- lectual interest is concerned, the gap between the immature and the mature mind closes rapidly when the professional stage is reached. Probably there are no two states of mind within 34 UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP any educational group of persons more remote from one another than the state of mind of the average boy entering college, and the state of mind of the doctor of philosophy just leaving the graduate school to enter upon college instruction. These, of course, are the extremes in the college group, yet they meet there and have to be adjusted. The solu- tion of the difficulty does not lie in any lessening of the intellectual authority of the instructor. College students take very little account of instructors who do not know their subject, who have to draw too hard upon their reserves in teaching. But contact between instructor and student comes about only through the mutual widening of their intellectual sympathies, and here the greater obligation rests upon the instructor. That is, at least, the practical part of his business. The separating effect of specialized study can- not be overlooked. It is manifest in the intellectual life of any faculty. The tendency of personal in- terest is more and more from the general to the specific. A language club tends to break up into several groups, or a scientific club, or any other club, which starts with wide affiliations. Any gen- eral club, to be successful, must be altogether social in its aims. It is doubtful if many members of a faculty take much interest in those parts of the curriculum which are unrelated to their own, but UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP 35 which make an equal claim upon the interest of the student. Probably the relative number of Phi Beta Kappa men among college instructors is less than formerly, not because the men are less intellectual, but because they are more specialized, caring more for the training of the graduate than of the under- graduate school. Meanwhile the undergraduate is in the dilemma of working under a curriculum which is growing more extensive (through the constant division and subdivision of subject-matter), and under instruc- tors who are growing more specialized in their intel- lectual interests. The curriculum bears the stamp of the college, the faculty bears the stamp of the uni- versity, many of them being on their way to univer- sity teaching, or having that before them as the goal of their ambition. Which stamp shall be put upon the student? Which type of scholarship shall he express, so far as he becomes distinctively a scholar? Or, if it be insisted that the inconsistency is not so great as it appears to be, how shall the spirit of scholarship be kindled and developed under these general conditions? When the question is thus simplified, it is quickly answered the instructor must take the initiative. The student is the objec- tive of the instructor, not the instructor of the stu- dent. The immediate objective of the student is the subject before him. If the instructor, who is, 36 UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP as he ought to be, an investigator, is to be a quicken- ing force among undergraduate students, he must see to it that his intellectual sympathies widen as his intellectual interest intensifies. A recognized authority he must be at any cost, but this will not avail without some equivalent power of contact. The early years of college instruction ought to be recognized and accepted by the instructor as years of institutional training. Before he can ex- pect to become a successful college teacher he must be conscious of having become imbued with college sympathies and with college ideals. The questions which have been under considera- tion, suggested by the present state of undergrad- uate scholarship, are all inner questions, institu- tional, as being in and of the undergraduate school itself. Reversing the order of inquiry: How shall the right adjustment be affected between the mind of the instructor and the mind of the student? Which shall determine the type of scholarship in the undergraduate, the curriculum, or the intellec- tual interests of the instructor? Who shall examine the undergraduate? Shall examination be included in instruction, or shall instructor and student work together under the common stimulus of an outside test? These are questions which have an imme- diate bearing upon the scholarship of the under- graduate. On the one hand, the answer to them UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP 37 may relieve his mind of confusion as to the type of scholarship demanded of him. And on the other hand, the answer may determine more clearly the relation in which he stands to his instructor, and to his examiner, whether these be one and the same or different persons. Other questions of like char- acter are coming under discussion. The suggestive and encouraging fact is, as has been already inti- mated, that the college mind is becoming introspec- tive. The turn of thought is that way. It is no longer satisfied with excuses, or explanations, or criticisms, which have to do chiefly with the en- vironment of the undergraduate. Neither is it content to abide in the gains which have defined the progress of the colleges during the past thirty years. From the strictly educational point of view, the great gain of this period has con- sisted in the introduction of the new and vast sub- ject-matter of the sciences, physical and social, into the curriculum; in the reconciliation of this sub- ject-matter with that already in place; and in the provision made for the adequate treatment of the new and the old, by methods equally essential to both. In the order of progress it was clear that the next gain must come from the utilization of the new material and the new methods in the advancement of scholarship. By a happy coincidence, in the case of several of the New England colleges, the oppor- 38 UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP tunity for this specific result in college development comes at the same time with changes in adminis- tration. A group of relatively young men, of simi- lar training, with like general views and purposes, and all imbued with the high spirit of modern scholarship, have entered upon their several tasks with a fine community of interest, and a clear def- initeness of aim. Much in every way is to be ex- pected from their individual and united action, much especially because their approach to their task has been singularly positive and direct in the endeavor to reach the springs of scholarship. Unlike many of the critics, they do not appear to be over- much concerned with questions of mere environ- ment, while closer and more determining questions lie unsolved. IV But what of the environment of the undergradu- ate as affecting his scholarship? Because it is not, as commonly interpreted, the determining influ- ence, it does not follow that it is not a potent influ- ence. There is a very definite, though very subtle, danger to scholarship in the environment of the undergraduate. It is important that no mistakes be made in the attempt to locate it. When a stu- dent enters college he goes into residence for four years in a somewhat detached community. This UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP 39 fact of protracted residence has gradually created an environment unlike anything which has pre- ceded in the experience of the undergraduate, ex- cept as he may have come from a private school of long history; and unlike anything which will probably follow. The average professional student can hardly be said to be in residence. He may live anywhere; and, for that matter, anyhow. Careful provision has been made for the undergraduate in all that goes to make up his life in residence. Col- lege halls are halls of learning; they are equally the homes of men. This man lived or lives here, that man there. This life in residence, as it goes on from generation to generation, evolves its own environ- ment of traditions, of associations and fellowships, of collective or organized activities, and, most subtle and powerful of all influences, of sentiment college sentiment. The ordinary effect of traditions is easily over- estimated. In emergencies, or on occasions, the great traditions come out in commanding force. But the traditions which affect the daily life are quite ephemeral. Many of them disappear as quickly as they are formed. A graduate of ten years is surprised to find, on his return, that most of the traditions of his time have been supplanted. Few customs, good or bad, persist under the force of tradition; and of those which 40 UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP do persist, few have any direct bearing upon scholarship. The social life of the undergraduate seems com- plex and distracting, but the complexity and dis- traction are more in appearance than in reality. For one thing, the undergraduate has no social duties. A few functions like "Junior Prom." are exacting. These are in contrast with the ordinary conven- tions. There is, however, the constant opportunity to waste time agreeably. The temptation to loaf is always at hand, but so is the remedy increase the requirement of work. As to fraternities and clubs, it is probable that men who belong to them rank in scholarship below those who do not, but it is an open question whether the lower rank is due to the fraternity or to the man. The unsocial man has the advantage over the social man in respect to the use of time. It is doubtful if this advantage is a sufficient compensation for real social losses. The college fraternity has the same reason in human nature as the club in the town-community. A lone- some mind is not the only mind fitted for study. Companionship is a proper setting for intellectual effort. For this reason it is doubtful if social inti- macy between the members of a faculty and younger undergraduates can be real enough to be very help- ful. Among mature undergraduates there is a sufficient social basis for any direct intellectual UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP 41 stimulus from those of a faculty who are inclined and qualified to make use of it. It is only as we enter the field of the organized activities of undergraduate life that we find any- thing which comes into competition with scholar- ship. All else is merely diverting: athletics alone are competitive. Why are academic athletics com- petitive with scholarship? Because they represent attainment, an attainment representing many of the qualities, and much of the discipline, which scholarship requires. At present, football is the only game which rises to the dignity of competition, largely because of its intellectual demands. It is a game of strategy quite as much as of force. The recent uncovering of the game makes this fact more evident. Baseball has become, for the most part, a recreation, and training for track events is an in- dividual discipline. An attitude of jealousy on the part of a faculty toward athletics, viewed as competitive with schol- arship, is essentially a weak attitude. Athletics, rising to the standard of attainment, and therefore of interest to a college at large, ought to be treated with the respect implied in steady regulation and control; or they ought to be abolished, that is, reduced to a recreation. Can the colleges afford to reduce athletics to a recreation? Would this course be in the interest of scholarship? What 42 UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP would take their place in supplying virility, physi- cal discipline, and the preventive moral influence which they exert? What substitute would be in- troduced for protection against the soft vices? Any alternative to athletics is to be feared. I be- lieve that the virile sports must keep their place among us, lest there become "dear to us," as to the Phseacians of the Odyssey, "the banquet, and the harp, and the dance, and changes of raiment, and the warm bath, and love, and sleep." Academic athletics have their drawbacks : there are personal liabilities from overtraining as from overstudy, there are tendencies to professionalism which must be carefully watched, there are rival- ries which may become ungenerous, and which ought to be suspended, and the spirit of commer- cialism whenever it appears must be literally stamped out; but, fundamentally, athletics are a protection to vigorous and healthy scholarship far more than a detriment to it, as I believe would appear in no long time, if recreation were offered as a substitute for athletics. From the days of the Greeks till now, athletics have had a legitimate place in academic life. Wherein, then, lies the danger to scholarship from the environment of the undergraduate? I UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP 43 reply at once, in college sentiment the most subtle, constant, and powerful influence which comes upon the undergraduate out of his environ- ment. College sentiment is at present negative toward scholarship. By contrast, it is positive toward one form of athletics. But, as has been argued, if the athlete were removed, it does not follow that college sentiment would become posi- tive toward the scholar. We must look deeper for the reason of the lack of undergraduate enthusiasm for scholarship. Any analysis of college sentiment will show, I think, two facts bearing directly upon the question. First, the undergraduate has learned to dissociate scholarship from leadership. Has learned, I say, for this is the result of his own observation within his own world. It is difficult to show an undergrad- uate that he is mistaken in his observation, for leadership is an unmistakable influence. Men feel it, and can tell from whence it emanates. The opin- ions and practices of the leading men in college virtually determine college sentiment. Leadership grows out of the combination of personality and attainment. The proportion of personality to at- tainment varies greatly, but neither one is sufficient of itself to make a leader. The loafer cannot be- come a leader, however agreeable he may be per- sonally. The athlete cannot become a leader, if he 44 UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP is not essentially a gentleman, with some recog- nizable intellectual force. When the scholar fails to reach leadership, the lack is somewhere in those qualities which make up effective personality - authority, virility, sympathy, sincerity, manners. Probably the majority of real college leaders are to be found in the second grade of scholarship, adding a few athletes, who would be in that grade except for the exacting requirements of athletics at some one season of the year. These men have personality and attainment, but not attainment enough to make them influential scholars. If with one accord, and with generous enthusiasm, these men would add twenty per cent to their scholastic attainment, they would in due time convert the undergraduate to the idea of scholarship. This act on their part would require concentration of pur- pose, where now their energies are directed toward various kinds of attainment and accomplishment. It would not be a difficult thing to effect this result were it not for the second fact which must be considered in this connection, namely, the fact that undergraduate sentiment regarding scholar- ship is the reflection, in large degree, of the senti- ment of the outside world regarding it. Although it is true, as has been said, that the undergraduate lives in a somewhat detached community, still that community is very vitally and sensitively re- UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP 45 lated to the world without, of which it is consciously a part. In this world into which the graduate passes, the scholar as such, with one exception which will be noted, has little public recognition and less pub- lic reward. In Germany the scholar is sure of rep- utation, if not of more tangible reward. This at least is the present fact. Whether the scholarship of the nation, which was developed during the period of its isolation, will maintain its relative place as the nation adjusts itself to the rising com- mercial instinct, and takes the political fortune of a world-power, is yet to be seen. In England, the leaders of the nation are picked from the honor men of the universities. It is not necessary that they make connection with the public service through related subjects of study. It is enough that they prove themselves to be men of power by the ordi- nary tests of scholarship. In this country there is no sure and wide connection between scholarship and reputation, or between scholarship and the highest forms of public service. The graduate, as he takes his place in the outer world, must pass the tests which are applied to personality quite as rigidly as to attainment. In Germany, the personal element is of secondary account. In England, care is taken in advance to see that it meets public re- quirements, so far at least as it can be secured by good breeding. Among us, the scholar of insufficient 46 UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP or of untrained personality takes his chance in the world, and usually at his cost. An exception, a marked exception to the unre- sponsiveness of the public mind to scholarship, ap- pears in the recognition and appreciation of scien- tific research leading to utility. The president of a university has recently proposed to concentrate the work of his university, through a great endow- ment, upon scientific research as the only reward- ing business of a university. This would mean, as he frankly admits, the elimination of students to whom the scientific stimulus could not be applied. This proposal suggests the changing, if not the less- ening, area of contact between academic scholar- ship and the outer world. Science has done much, very much, to quicken and enlarge the intellectual life; but it has not as yet created a widespread cul- ture of its own. Meanwhile, through the interest which it has aroused in its practical application, and in the expectation which it is awakening of yet greater practical results, it has in a measure disconnected the mind of the world from the in- tellectual wealth of the past. Interest in the past has become of the same general kind with interest in the present and future: that is, scientific. The sympathetic attitude toward the higher experiences of mankind, resulting in a familiarity with the best things which men have said and done, has given UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP 47 place to the inquiring and investigating attitude. The humanities have not been discarded, but they have been discredited to the extent that no expres- sion of human thought, outside the realm of poetry, is any longer taken at its face value. It is not too much to say that the current intellectual life is in a state of confusion, which makes it incapable of reacting in any very stimulating way upon that intellectual life in the colleges which is in the form- ative and developing stage. The intellectual life of the undergraduate cannot be considered apart from the intellectual life out of which he comes, and to which he returns. There is a certain apologetic attitude in this country toward intellectual achievement, of which we are hardly conscious, but which is manifest in our desire to associate intellectual power with some conspicuously worthy end an attitude of which the " Nation " has fitly reminded us in a recent edi- torial on "Intellect and Service." Acknowledging its full "admiration of the man who makes his scholarship an instrument of service," the editorial proceeds: "We do not object to praise of the scholar in politics, or of the scholar in social better- ment or in economic reform ; we object only to the preaching of a gospel which leaves all other scholars out in the cold. If, on the one hand, you offer all the shining outward rewards of effort to those who 48 UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP do not go into intellectual pursuit at all, and, on the other hand, you reserve all appreciation and praise for such intellectual achievements as bear directly on the improvement of political and social condi- tions, you cannot expect the life of the scholar and thinker and writer in other domains to present to aspiring youth that fascination which is the great- est factor in determining the direction of his am- bitions. Exalt service by all means, but preserve for pure intellectual achievement its own place of distinction and regard. Do the one, and applaud it; but leave not the other undone or unhonored." The advancement, then, of undergraduate schol- arship is to be considered, not merely or chiefly as a question of the environment of the under- graduate his world of associations or activities, or even of sentiment, except as that is understood in its wide relations. Undergraduate scholarship is fundamentally related to the aim and purpose and actual operation of the undergraduate school, involving many questions of the kind which have been suggested. It is vitally related to those laws of human nature which insist upon personal power as an element in leadership, and which cannot be waived in favor of the scholar who persists in ig- noring the requisite physical and social training. It is no less vitally related to the intellectual life of the whole community, committed as every col- UNDERGRADUATE SCHOLARSHIP 49 lege is, according to the measure of its influence, to the high endeavor of bringing order out of the present confusion; of elevating the intellectual tone of society; and especially of creating a con- stituency able to resist the more enticing, but de- moralizing, influences of modern civilization, and able to support those influences which can alone invigorate and refine it. It is always best to take the real measure of an urgent problem, to dismiss all impatience, to work on under the inspiration of the knowledge that the process of solution is long and hard, and that it widens as it advances; but to feel that delaying questions, which rise on the way, contribute to the assurance of a satisfying re- sult. Something will have been gained in the present instance, if it has been made evident to the public that the problem of undergraduate scholarship is not so easy, so narrow, or so uninspiring a problem, as many of the critics would have us believe. The goal of Progress is a " flying goal." TWENTY years ago I took for the subject of a Phi Beta Kappa address at Harvard, "The New Movement in Humanity: from Liberty to Unity." * The movement thus indicated seemed at the time to warrant a broad generalization. It represented a very radical change in popular thought and feel- ing, and one which was widespread, namely, the change from an absorbing interest in individual rights to an almost equally absorbing interest in the social order. Society became possessed with the sense of the loneliness and the waste incident to individualism. In spiritual relations there was an eager craving for fellowship. In material affairs 1 Originally printed in the Harvard Graduates' Magazine, vol. i, no. 1, and afterwards published in pamphlet form by Houghton, Miffiin and Company in 1892, but now out of print. It is reproduced (in the Appendix) to recall the state of public opinion at the beginning of the movement away from individualism toward present conceptions of the social order. The contrast between the immediate end then sought and that now in view shows how sudden and sharp may be the change in the goal of social progress. I am indebted to my friend Dr. Gordon, of the Old South Church, Boston, for the figure of the "flying goal" which seems to be no less applicable to the aims of social progress than to the ideals of religious faith. THE GOAL OF EQUALITY 51 men stood ready to undertake enterprises of vast moment under the stimulus of the cooperative spirit. Naturally the conception of unity found a place among the ruling ideas of the time. It passed from a vague desire to a rational and practicable object of pursuit, worthy of endeavor and, if need be, of sacrifice, and capable of realization. By common consent unity became the immediate and definite goal of social progress. In many ways the movement toward unity has surpassed the expectations which it awakened. It has effected vital changes in the social order, changes in form as well as in spirit; it has tem- pered the atmosphere of religion, and brought its various agencies into more harmonious action ; and it has given substance and shape, if not a present reality, to what had been the elusive hope of uni- versal peace. But while this movement has been and is advancing throughout Christendom and beyond, it has been sharply arrested at the center - at the heart of the great democracies. No one can overlook or ignore the effect of the struggle for equality which has arisen there. Equality and unity are in no sense incompatible, provided the natural sequence is followed. The demand for equality, like the demand for liberty, whenever it is serious takes precedence. The presumption is in favor of the seriousness and of the justice of 52 THE GOAL OF EQUALITY the present demand, largely because it is so defi- nite. Certainly it is no vague cry of discontent needing most of all to be interpreted to those who utter it. The need of interpretation is much more evidently with those who hear it, who hear, but do not heed or understand. In times of discontent, whether vague or well defined, the greatest dan- ger lies in the over-occupied or dulled mind of the generation. What is the ground of the present demand for equality? Why are we called upon to turn aside from urgent and far-reaching plans in behalf of unity to make equality the more immediate goal of social progress? Incidentally the attempt to answer this ques- tion may lead to a better understanding of the practical significance of equality. To many minds equality is an impossibility. Theoretically it is impossible. Of the classic interpretations which have been given, some have been frankly termed Utopian, and all others have been so regarded. But there are equalities which are entirely practi- cable, and which taken together may create a state of comparative equality. Nature has been grossly overcharged with inequality. It has been found that the area of natural inequality can be greatly THE GOAL OF EQUALITY 53 restricted, and that very many apparently natural inequalities can be relieved. A condition of con- stantly increasing equality is thus possible in almost any community, because the inequalities below the line can be diminished more easily than the in- equalities above the line can be increased. Inequal- ity above the line ought to be allowed and encour- aged in the interest of the individual as it becomes the result of personal merit. The advance of the demand for equality from one kind or form of it to another shows how practicable a thing it really is: it shows still more clearly how impossible it is to satisfy the demand once for all. Equality is altogether a relative matter varying with the rate and general conditions of social prog- ress. A condition of substantial equality may be reached in a democracy, only to be disturbed, and perhaps overthrown, by some unequal develop- ment, economic, educational, or even religious. The most serious mistake possible in this matter is that of assuming that a condition of equality can be maintained by the means through which it was gained. This is the common mistake of a political democracy. It is the mistake which we are now in danger of making, as may be seen from the present tendency to treat all social grievances politically - the tendency on the one hand to make political capital out of them, and the tendency on the other 54 THE GOAL OF EQUALITY hand to deny their existence apart from the opera- tion of political causes. The fact, however, is be- coming more and more evident that the deter- mining considerations affecting the maintenance of equality among the people of this country are no longer altogether or chiefly political, but to an increasing extent economic. Politics, using the term in the conventional sense, has much yet to accomplish in the extension of popular rights, and very much yet to accom- plish for their security. There are belated issues, like woman's suffrage, to be settled, and there are modi- fications of the political system to be effected to make it more responsive to the popular will. The introduction of the Australian ballot, by far the greatest device for insuring equality in the electo- rate as well as purity in elections, opened the way for other devices which are now being incorpo- rated into political programmes, some of which will prove to be permanent, while others will doubtless be laid aside after having fulfilled certain local or temporary ends. The initiative, the referendum, and the recall, and even the primary, are schemes which may be said to be under trial, the problem being to find out how far the increase in political machinery can be made to work in the interest of the people at large how far, that is, the people will be willing to work the machinery them- THE GOAL OF EQUALITY 55 selves without calling in, or allowing, the help of the politicians. These, however, and all like schemes (that of proportional representation must soon be included if political parties increase in num- ber), represent the unfinished tasks of a political democracy, acting with a view to self-preservation or self-assertion. They are really inherited tasks. They belong to the political world of yesterday rather than to the economic world of to-day. What is the essential distinction between the political world of yesterday, from which we have inherited many unfinished tasks, and the economic world of to-day, which is confronting us with new tasks which are as yet mostly in the form of prob- lems? The ruling conception of the political world was, and is, the conception of rights. The ruling conception of the economic world is the conception of values. Political progress toward equality - it has been very great has come about through the recognition of rights. Economic progress toward equality, if it is to be equally marked, must come about through a like recognition of values. In this distinction between rights and values we have the ground of the present advanced demand for equality. The kind of equality now demanded is based, not so much on the sense of rights as on the sense of values. The cause of equality inherits 56 THE GOAL OF EQUALITY through democracy the right of equal opportun- ity. It is still the function of political liberty to guard the right. But new economic conditions call for an equality estimated in terms of value accord- ing to service rendered. My contention is that the satisfaction of this particular demand lies outside the province of politics, unless we accept the tenets of political socialism. The logic of the political invasion of the economic world, beyond the en- deavor to guarantee equality of opportunity, is the socialistic state. ii In the economic world attention and interest center around the creation of wealth. The process is twofold to produce articles of intrinsic worth, and to induce the desire for them. The joint result of the process is expressed in terms of market value. To the extent to which a political democracy becomes an industrial democracy the new values created by industry entitle the industrial worker to another kind of consideration than that conferred upon him by the right of suffrage. Universal suf- frage can no longer satisfy his claim to recogni- tion. He demands a new rating based not simply upon his manhood, but also upon the value of his contribution to the material wealth of society. His claim rests, of course, upon the estimate which so- THE GOAL OF EQUALITY 57 ciety itself places at any time upon material wealth, that is, upon its market value. There can be no question about the present estimate, the almost supreme regard in which it is held, the concentra- tion of desire upon it. In any attempt to understand the growing sense of inequality, as distinct from the various experi- ences of poverty, of misfortune, or even of injustice, there are facts of plain observation which give the right approach. One is the fact to which I have just referred the concentration of popular desire upon material good. This desire has broken down many of the distinctions heretofore existing be- tween persons, and opened the way to general and often fierce competition. Before the competition for material good, other competitions have retired. It is almost impossible, for example, to stimulate competition within the range of education, unless the prize bears the clear mark of utility. This level- ing process, this growing flatness of desire, means leveling up as well as leveling down. Desires meet upon a common plane. The demand for works of art is still limited. Everybody wants an automo- bile. These objects of common desire have come to be the ordinary products of industry, increased in value as they become more artistic in design, but still the products of industry. They represent the comforts, the conveniences, and many of the luxu- 58 THE GOAL OF EQUALITY ries, which any one can appreciate and which every one would like to enjoy. Beyond this lies the further fact, perhaps more significant, of that love of display attending the possession of these objects of common desire, which greatly provokes the sense of inequality. The chief street of any great city is a moving-picture show, open to all dwellers on the side streets and in the alleys. The economies of trade are bringing about an enforced proximity of those who make the more attractive goods to those who buy and display them. The great stores on Fifth Avenue now use their upper floors for workshops. At the noon hour the operatives occupy the Avenue. It is not to be supposed that they are idle observers, or that their daily observation fails to make a cumulative im- pression. Nothing could be better calculated to develop the latent sense of inequality than this increasing familiarity, this more public intimacy, with those who are in possession of the objects of common desire. What may now seem to be a mere incident attending the growth of "publicity" may yet be seen to have far-reaching social results. This growing sense of inequality on the part of industrial workers is not to be attributed to mere envy and greed. Envy and greed are individual qualities. The sense of inequality is becoming a matter of class-consciousness, developed by the THE GOAL OF EQUALITY 59 belief that the new material values are the crea- tion of industry, and excited by the conviction that labor is the supreme agency in industry. Hence the rapid growth of laborism. Laborism, like capitalism, or any other "ism," means simply the overestimation of the value of the things for which it stands. It is the overesti- mation which always makes the trouble, but that would not be possible were it not for the underlying value. Capitalism has produced its own class-con- sciousness with all of its attendant evils arbitra- riness and arrogance, indifference to human needs and rights, and the love of luxury. Laborism, as such, has as its crude aim to supplant capitalism and to rule in its stead, avoiding, of course, in ex- pectation and promise all attendant evils. We are familiar with the development of capitalism from an economic system into what has become almost a social caste. We ought not to be surprised at the counter-development of laborism in making use of class-consciousness to create its own economic system. Our interest, however, in the growth of indus- trial discontent, so far as the present discussion is concerned, lies in the fact that it is just here that the spirit of equality is most evidently at work, and most easily distinguishable in aim and method from any workings of the general spirit of restless- 60 THE GOAL OF EQUALITY ness and discontent. If we say that the mind of the industrial worker demands too much considera- tion because it is the mind of a segregated class, we simply intensify the problem. Why has a class, so large a class, become segregated, and why is it specially imbued with the sense of inequality? The question grows in importance, as well as in clear- ness, as we disconnect the sense of inequality so generally existing among industrial workers from those discontents which are fostered by other causes. The struggle for equality, as we now see it, is a part of the evolution of labor. Shall the labor question, then, to return to our inquiry about the political invasion of the economic world, be made a political question to be settled by political methods, or shall it be allowed to work itself out under the impulse and direction of the spirit of equality? Is it primarily a question of rights or of values? The conflict of labor with capital is a social fact, but unhappily this does not mean that society at large really understands the meaning of the conflict, or follows its programme with growing intelligence. Public opinion still re- flects the political, rather than the economic, state of mind. A strike, for example, we refer at once to some working of the spirit of liberty, although we are often sadly confused in our endeavor to find out the "rights" involved. If we could accustom THE GOAL OF EQUALITY 61 ourselves to think of a strike, or any like move on the part of organized labor, as a continued and progressive assertion of the spirit of equality, we should at least relieve our minds of much confusion, whether in individual cases we approve or disap- prove the strike. What I have termed the evolu- tion of labor has been a steady and, on the whole, consistent struggle for the recognition of the "values" involved in the part taken by labor in the productive industries. No rights have been claimed apart from these values, actual or as- sumed. The labor question is always fundamen- tally a question of values, whatever question of in- dividual rights may spring up in connection with any contest. 1 There is, of course, and always must be, a broad field for political action in the equalization of rights. The Government must be honest, else we shall have the greatest possible inequality; it must be free from privilege and monopoly; it must be fair in the distribution of burdens; it must be wise in the open- 1 The shock to the country from the recent threatened railroad strike pending action by the Congress emphasizes the distinction which has been urged between economic and political methods for the satisfaction of the demands of organized labor. The strike is a legitimate economic weapon: as a political threat it is utterly ille- gitimate. C'arricd over into politics, a strike becomes a revolution. Revolutionary methods have no justification except in the vindica- tion of human rights. They have no place in the settlement of economic values. Should they be adopted by organized labor they would make organized labor a political outlaw. 62 THE GOAL OF EQUALITY ing of opportunities. The Government may also be made the guardian of the national resources, if necessary through ownership; and it may be put in control of those agencies of communication and of distribution upon which all are in common and alike dependent. Within the field of industrialism the Government must be ceaselessly active in the protection of the laborer. It may determine under what conditions work shall be carried on, and in some cases prescribe, as in that of children, who shall not work at all. All these matters are proper subjects of political action, but they do not reach the essential issue between labor and capital, which is simply the question of the relative value of the part taken by each in the productive industries. My contention is that we cannot settle this ques- tion politically, and that any promises to this effect are altogether misleading unless we are prepared to go further and concede the socialistic state. It may be quite possible for a political party to lose control of its original intentions, but it is to be assumed that it will act within the accepted politi- cal limits. Political legislation bearing upon this issue, even when it is accepted and urged by those most con- cerned, is always looked upon with a degree of mistrust, and when it is put forward as a mean? of arresting the socialistic tendency of labor is quite THE GOAL OF EQUALITY 63 sure to provoke reply. What is the motive of it all, the reply runs, except the "conservation of human resources," the "stopping of the waste in the earn- ing power of the Nation." When you have made the State most considerate of the conditions of labor, what have you really done in the interest of a just equality? In fact, have you not, through what you have done, confirmed and established the present inequality? Your programme of leg- islation is designed to increase efficiency, for effi- ciency creates prosperity, and prosperity means more wealth, but not of necessity any change in the distribution of it. Under existing economic conditions, the reply still runs, the relative posi- tion of the classes concerned would not be changed. In prosperous times capital gets more and labor gets more, but the capitalist and the laborer are not thereby brought nearer together. The system which holds them apart remains the same, insuring the continuance of the existing inequality. I do not see how any political programme can satisfy and therefore silence the argument of mili- tant socialism, unless, as I have said, those who urge it are prepared to go further and concede the socialistic state. Personally I am an ardent believer in legislation for the furtherance of "social justice" quite irrespective of the ability or inability of such legislation to stay the socialistic tendencies of labor. 64 THE GOAL OF EQUALITY In my judgment the Government can hardly be set to tasks more worthy of it than those which, in their redress of wrongs, carry the chivalrous sugges- tion of knight-errantry. But I do not allow myself to be beguiled into the belief that the labor question, in so far as it involves the struggle for economic equality, can be settled by legislation, least of all by legislation subject to the vicissitudes of political parties. in I think that it will appear upon due reflection that the goal of equality in the economic world, like the goal of liberty in the political world, is likely to be reached through struggle, if for no other reason than that unworthy and impractica- ble desires may be thereby eliminated. Struggle always carries the liability of conflict, and conflict of violence. In times of conflict, especially if char- acterized by violence, it is difficult to appreciate the fact that the underlying and really prevailing forces may be set toward peace. Yet this has been the fact in most of the conflicts which have resulted in industrial progress. Conflict does not necessarily mean permanent enmity, if it really means enmity at all. More frequently than otherwise it is the means through which those who have mutual inter- ests are able to reach some satisfactory adjustment THE GOAL OF EQUALITY 65 of them. The conflict of labor with capital is a con- flict for the adjustment of mutual interests. The question at issue is the question of the values con- tributed by each in the production of wealth. Who shall settle this question? How can it be settled except by protracted and serious experiment, in- volving at times the element of contention? I have long held the theory that the most re- warding occupations, those which give the greatest intellectual and moral satisfactions, and usually corresponding social position, should not be reck- oned among the more remunerative in the way of money : and that among manual occupations money should be given, in seeming disproportion, to the worker in the monotonous, disheartening, and dan- gerous occupations. I seldom find a person, how- ever, whose opinion coincides with mine. Current opinion is based on the assumption that those who have acquired intellectual tastes ought to have the means of gratifying them, and that those who have acquired skill ought to be paid according to the cost of its acquisition, or its market value. Evidently opinions on this and like subjects cannot be or- ganized into standards. Questions of values can- not be settled out of court, and court in the industrial world is the workshop. Two closely related facts of very great signifi- cance and of very great promise are beginning to 66 THE GOAL OF EQUALITY emerge out of the conflict of labor and capital the growing intelligence of labor, and the growing intelligence of capital, in respect to matters of com- mon interest. Of these two facts, the latter is by far the more significant. The intelligence of capital has not been directed primarily toward the value of labor. Labor has been undervalued partly because it has been undeveloped. Natural forces have in many fields been developed to their full limit, in- ventions have been utilized, machinery has been worked under high tension, while the laborer has been left in a state of relative inefficiency. Sud- denly the mind of capital has become concerned about this lost or unutilized value. A new type of leader has arisen among the captains of industry who is studying the human element in industrialism, directly of course in the interest of efficiency, but also with humane inten- tions and sympathies. "We have got to learn," says one of the most successful of private manu- facturers, a man well known in political life, "we have got to learn to utilize the brains of our work- ers. The man can grow, the machine cannot." What does this mean except partnership in profit-making a step far in advance of profit-sharing? How long will it be after " the brains " of labor have been fully recognized before capital must be prepared to answer questions about costs and profits, about THE GOAL OF EQUALITY 67 methods, about policies, about public questions which affect not labor alone, but labor and capital alike? No one can predict what is to follow the present change of disposition on the part of capital toward labor. Schemes of social welfare, pension systems, cooperative agreements, and limited partnerships are significant in themselves, but still more signi- ficant in what they suggest. The great point in dispute will have been recognized and conceded in all its possibilities when the word which I have quoted becomes an accepted saying- "The man can grow." The full recognition of the growth of the man in the worker will insure a just equality. Industrialism will come to represent increasingly a partnership "for better, for worse." Capitalism and laborism at least will disappear. To dismiss this idea under the charge of im- practicability is simply begging the question. Most movements involving confidence in the intelligence and capacity of the masses have passed through the stage of the impracticable or impossible. Mark Ilanna is credited with having said that "he would rather be the man to adjust the relations of labor and capital than be President of the United States." He was wise in his ambition. It showed a true sense of proportion. It showed also the possibilities evi- dent to the mind of a sagacious man of affairs. The 68 THE GOAL OF EQUALITY man who can make the adjustment suggested is possible. Such a leader ought to arise in due time out of the ranks of labor or capital. The problem is an economic problem. It does not fall within the province of the politician or statesman. Only a statesman with the economic genius of Alexander Hamilton, but thoroughly humanized in his sympa- thies, could hope to solve it. The merely political solution, if the process is logical, must be the social- istic state. The economic solution ought to be such an identification or partnership of labor with capital as may express their essential unity of interest. IV Meanwhile the public cannot be an indifferent spectator of the evolution of labor as it is now go- ing on. The interests of us all are directly affected by the process when it is normal, and much more vitally affected when it becomes at any time abnor- mal. Organized labor, with all its affiliated num- bers, represents a small minority of the nation. The labor question is but one of many questions of public concern. When the labor movement passes without the legitimate bounds of action it must be treated as any other movement would be treated in like circumstances. The sympathetic attitude of the public toward labor ceases when its methods become revolutionary. Offenses against the public THE GOAL OF EQUALITY 69 order which have long been outlawed cannot be condoned. On the other hand there is evident need of very great patience on the part of the public in view of the many complications growing out of the employment of unskilled labor. So long as we invite, or allow, certain kinds of immigration, we must expect trouble. We pay the price of "cheap labor" in disturbed social condi- tions and in debased moral standards. If as a na- tion we had given the same attention to immigra- tion that we have given to the tariff, we might have different results to show in respect to social secur- ity and moral advancement. Public opinion must remain the final arbiter in all labor disputes. It cannot act with military promptness and precision. It is better that it can- not so act. The intervention of the Government on occasions of violence is sufficient. For the most part the process of industrial development, in "vhich all are concerned, must be regarded as educative. It involves the moral discipline of society, as well as of labor and capital. It is but one part of the great endeavor, difficult but necessary, " To drill the raw world for the march of mind, Till crowds at length be sane and crowns be just." The attitude, however, of the public toward the struggle for equality cannot be simply that of inter- est or concern. There is a more imperative duty 70 THE GOAL OF EQUALITY than the duty of arbitration. The social movement which has acquired such moral momentum is the unconscious expression of the spirit of equality working downward to meet the struggle which is going on below. The principle of all social service is community of interest. The concern of one is made the concern of all. Every member of society is regarded as an active and contributing member. He may have nothing to contribute but a grievance. That, if offered in the spirit of a contribution, may be at any given time the best gift of all. In fact, it is this giving from below as well as from above which distinguishes the present social method from the old-time methods of charity. The person who receives, if he receives at all, becomes an active recipient. Thenceforth he is more distinctly a member of the community. Perhaps he represents something more than an individual want. That increases his value. He brings others of like needs into the community into the concern of all. Grievances thus come out into the open. Some give way before mutual understanding. Others become the subject of honest and sympathetic in- vestigation. Meanwhile the larger and common interests of the community are brought within the range of separated and more inaccessible lives. Old channels of communication are reopened and set free. New means of intercourse are established. THE GOAL OF EQUALITY 71 Access is made easy from whatever is lowest and most remote to whatever is best in the community. Individuals and families are taught how to become sharers in the public good. Any one with the gift or training for social ob- servation may see this socializing process going on at the great social settlements of the cities. A social settlement is a human exchange. The values dealt in are personal values. This fact, which is quickly discoverable, stands for the rarest type of equality. The steady contact of persons with persons acting toward a common end offers a very practical relief to the sense of inequality. Personal distinctions cease to be of much account: only dif- ferences in condition remain. And even in this regard the idea of equality is realized, or perhaps better, lost sight of, in the growing sense of a com- munity of interest. Social service has brought out the natural af- filiation between education and organized labor, originally expressed in the relation between the universities and the guilds. From the strictly economic point of view, the representatives of each are upon the same footing. The salary is the same in principle with the wage a fixed remuneration for service rendered according to contract. The average salaried person among educational work- ers, if he compares his position with that of the 72 THE GOAL OF EQUALITY wage-earner, may with equal fitness think of him- self as the hired man of society. That he does not so think of himself is due, not to any large excess of remuneration above his fellow worker in the trades, but rather to a different conception of his task and of its rewards. Judged by the standards of wealth, almost any educational worker in a com- munity is an inferior person. He maintains his place in society by refusing to be judged by these standards, and in so doing puts himself into per- sonal relations with all in the vast brotherhood of work. The principle of community of interest reaches, of course, beyond and below the fellowship of work into the environment of unskilled labor. Unskilled labor touches poverty in every variety of form. The inequalities which are the result of social causes mingle with the inequalities within industrialism in almost inextricable confusion. The work of social reform must be discriminating, and yet it must be inclusive. "The social economist," says an au- thority on social reform, "seeks to establish the normal ... to eradicate the maladjustments and abnormalities, the needless inequalities which pre- vent our realizing our own reasonable standards." It is here, in this undefined region of inequality, that the struggle for equality must go on hand in hand with patient scientific service, and in no less THE GOAL OF EQUALITY 73 close alliance with the forces which are fighting greed and commercialized vice. Nearly all the con- ditions of existence which stir our sympathies, kin- dle indignation, and arouse the public conscience, crowd the line of the "living wage." I am convinced, so far as social progress in this country is concerned, that we are wise if we relate the organized discontent in the midst of us directly to the growth of the spirit of equality. It is time for the spirit of equality to assert itself as a cor- rective to our unequal development. So kindly a critic as Mr. Bryce asks the pertinent question, "Might it not have been better for the United States if their growth had been slower, if their pub- lic lands had not been so hastily disposed of, if in their eagerness to obtain the labor they needed they had not drawn in a multitude of ignorant im- migrants from central and southern Europe?" It would be difficult to find any number of intelli- gent citizens who would answer this question in the negative. We know that we have grown not only rapidly but recklessly. We know that much of our present wealth is capital borrowed from the future. We know that we have stimulated immigration at the cost of labor. We know that our prosperity will 74 THE GOAL OF EQUALITY not bear many of the saving tests to which it ought to be subjected. Knowing these things, and beginning to view them with concern, we cannot deny the need of some essentially human force which shall come in to rectify our mistakes some- thing which shall be more vital in its action than any conventional expedients with which we are familiar. I find, as it seems to me, such a correc- tive in the spirit of equality, which is now at work in the Nation. To many it may seem too narrow in its action, as its sphere of operation is chiefly within industrialism. We have seen the reason for this limitation in the fact that the prevailing con- ditions of our social life are economic conditions. The spirit of equality is concerned, therefore, with the production and distribution of economic values rather than with the righting of purely social in- equalities. And for this task organized labor has been and is the ready and efficient instrument. The question naturally arises Will not the spirit of equality, once given the requisite freedom and scope under present industrial conditions, even if kept free from political complications, carry us over into socialism? Certainly not, if socialism is what the question implies or what the most of us think it is in the last analysis a tyranny. If so- cialism is not this, but only a laissez-faire kind of democracy, the question has no significance. But THE GOAL OF EQUALITY 75 if it is in its nature undemocratic and tyrannous, if it creates an enforced equality, the moment it begins to reveal its nature in practical ways the spirit of liberty may be trusted to guard against any excesses of the spirit of equality. This is one of its prerogatives. It is a part of its ancient and un- relinquished discipline to assert and maintain the rights of the individual. Even now in the midst of our social enthusiasms and compulsions one may hear the protest of liberty recalling us to the larger use of our individuality. To my mind there is a more serious question, be- cause open to a more doubtful answer will the spirit of equality carry us further on the road to materialism? To borrow the figure of Professor Eucken, "Man's works have outstripped man they go their way of their own accord and exact his submission to their demands." If these works are more equally shared, will they draw us further on the downward way? The immediate aim of equality is a fairer distribution of material goods. This implies, as has already been pointed out, a concentration of desire upon those objects. The value of the objects which lie above the range of necessity consists largely in the fact that they are accounted so desirable. May it not be that, with a wider distribution of these objects, their value may be lessened in the eyes of those who have had 76 THE GOAL OF EQUALITY the exclusive possession of them, so that not even a superior quality will give satisfaction? Material- ism has worked its way into the life of the masses from above. If not altogether the gift of those who once enjoyed the things of the mind and of the spirit, it derives its influence from them. The newly made, or simply rich, are not influential. Revul- sion from the vulgarity of materialism is not a very high motive, and will not accomplish much for those who are most sensitive to it, but in due time it will doubtless have its influence through them upon the masses. It is also to be remembered and too great in- sistence cannot be placed upon the fact that materialism is a very different thing to those who have not and to those who have, to those who are struggling up the social grade, and to those who are on the secure social levels. To those who are in want and in the struggle, materialism represents, not merely the material things in sight, but the things which lie back of these, within reach of edu- cation and culture. The constant and honest con- tention of labor for shorter hours and higher wages is a contention for better homes, for better access to the schools, for better social opportunities. The materialism of the ascending classes, in sharp dis- tinction from that of the stationary or descending classes, stands for social aspiration which may have THE GOAL OF EQUALITY 77 in it no little of moral and spiritual quality. One of the compensations for the disastrous economic effects of the immigration of the past decade may yet appear in the spiritual capacity of the unknown races which have been brought here. The public schools in our great foreign centers are beginning to reveal possibilities of a renewed intellectual and spiritual growth on the part of the Nation. I think, however, that the greatest safeguard against any materialistic tendencies in the ad- vancing struggle for equality is to be found in a cor- responding growth of the spirit of altruism. Not a few persons within the knowledge of most of us have already reached, through most satisfying experience, "the belief that our highest pleasures are increased by sharing them." That belief has naturally led to much thought for others, and in the case of those far below the range of all pleas- ures, to much solicitude and eventual sacrifice in their behalf. The altruism of our time is learning how to express itself in splendid self-denials, quite comparable with those of so-called heroic times young women foregoing marriage to serve the chil- dren of want and sin, young men foregoing the op- portunities of fortune to fight in the warfare against greed and lust and the varied cruelties of selfish- ness. The altruistic spirit, which is really the spirit 78 THE GOAL OF EQUALITY of equality working from above in sacrifice, is the most spiritual force of which we have personal knowledge in our generation. It can most easily set at nought the temptations of materialism, and find satisfaction in human rewards. IV NOTES ON THE PROGRESS OF THE SOCIAL CONSCIENCE THE rise of the social conscience was at first re- garded in the light of an ordinary moral awakening. It was referred, perhaps naturally, but certainly with little thought, to the order of moral and spirit- ual phenomena with which we were familiar the anti-slavery struggle, temperance reforms, and revivals of religion. Gradually, however, it be- came evident to careful observers that it was of quite a different order, that it was more nearly comparable, if comparisons were to be made, with such a phenomenon as the rise of the spirit of na- tionality. The spirit of nationality was not a revival of the spirit of race, or of religion, or of any of the traditional forces which had heretofore been domi- nant. It sprang out of its own environment. It was evoked by those conditions, social and political, which marked the transition from feudalism to democracy. Once evoked, it became in turn crea- tive. Working usually, but not always, in coopera- tion with the spirit of liberty, it wrought steadily 80 PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE and persistently till it achieved its result in the nationalization of modern Europe. To what extent the social conscience, called into being under the stress of present social and eco- nomic conditions, will effect a like reconstruction of modern society must be a matter of opinion or of faith; but this much is now evident: its aim is re- constructive as well as reformatory. It has already changed in large degree the moral tone of society. But what is of far more importance, it is giving us a new intellectual perspective through which we view all moral issues affecting society. It has changed the angle of moral vision so that we see the same things differently. The remark of the Right Honorable A. J. Balfour in regard to the mental change effected by the scientific revolu- tion of the latter part of the nineteenth century applies with almost equal pertinency to the mental change which is being effected by the present social revolution: "The mental framework in which we arrange the separate facts in the world of men and things is a new framework." In the following notes I have taken account of certain movements in the progress of the social con- science chiefly within the field of economics and politics. In other fields its activities have been equally marked and often more intense, but here there are clearer signs of sequence and progress. PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE 81 And yet I would not overestimate this distinction. The social conscience has been passing through the stage of knight-errantry. It was not to be ex- pected that the chivalrous approach to social issues would be altogether constructive, although there- by opening the way most clearly for construc- tive methods. The actual progress which it has made is best reflected in the changes wrought in public opinion. There lies the real test of the moral value of its activities, and there also is to be found the best measure of its moral develop- ment. Public opinion, as the governing force in modern democracy, is the objective of the social conscience. FROM CHARITY TO JUSTICE Apparently the social conscience sprang into action to resist the encroachments of monopolistic wealth upon the liberties of the people. That was its first conspicuous task. But it was not the begin- ning of its work. Before the public mind had been stirred by the thought of monopolistic wealth as a menace to liberty, there had been a growing sensi- tiveness and concern about the general relation of wealth to poverty. It was not true, any more then than now, that as the rich were growing richer the 82 PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE poor were growing poorer. But it was true that, while wealth increased rapidly, poverty remained a constant in the social order. The new social movement had for its immediate object a change in this static condition of poverty. It aimed, not simply at the relief of the poor, but at a reduction of poverty itself corresponding at least with the increase of wealth. Starting out of the broad field occupied by the charities, it put forth as its chief principle of action that in any attempt to solve the problem of economic poverty, the stress should be laid upon justice rather than upon charity. Charity had long been the accredited means of communication between the rich and the poor. This was true, not only of private charity, but of the organized charities. The Church was a recog- nized almoner of the rich. Of course the object of charity, especially as privately administered, was to bring the rich and the poor together; but the increasing effect of it under changed economic conditions had been to separate them into classes, to add to the number of the poor, and to confirm them in their poverty. The new movement sought to arrest this tendency by changing both the method and the object of social endeavor. The contrast between the old and the new was thus ex- pressed in the language of the time: the old sought PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE 83 "to put right what social conditions had put wrong," to relieve, that is, the sufferings incident to existing conditions; the new sought "to put right the social conditions themselves." It was clearly recognized that the attempt "to put right social conditions" involved two things, - the thorough understanding of these conditions, and equally the cooperation of those living under them. The community was to be made the unit for social study and for associated effort. A neigh- borhood was regarded as the most practicable field possible for operation. Every neighborhood in a great city had necessities and also resources of its own. It had its own inner life. Relief might come from without, but reform must come from within. "Social justice," a term then first em- ployed, must have its counterpart in "community of interest." The movement which embodied these convic- tions found definite and almost spontaneous ex- pression in the social settlement. With a zeal and self-denial which had been the almost exclusive characteristics of missionary enterprises, many young men and women from the colleges went into residence in the congested districts of the great cities, to study at first hand social and economic conditions, to awaken the neighborhood spirit, to organize for the common advancement, and, above 84 PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE all, to give personal help, stimulus, and coopera- tion. Residential or social settlements were estab- lished in rapid succession. Within two decades there were over four hundred distributed through two thirds of the States of the Union. Many of them soon became recognized civic centers. Some of them assumed national interest and influence. As a body of cooperative organizations they have made contributions of rare and unique value to the literature of social and economic reform. The investigations carried on invariably show thor- oughness of knowledge and sanity of judgment. The settlements have become recruiting grounds for the manifold agencies of social service. Not a few among the residents have been called to posi- tions of high civic responsibility. It is not too much to say that the influence which emanated from these social centers has been the leaven of social reform in our cities. Nor is it too much to say that the spirit of self-denial and sacrifice which marked this inception of the social movement must continue to characterize it if it is to remain the exponent of the social conscience. I have recalled this initial chapter in the history of the social movement in this country chiefly to show how radical a change has been brought about in the public mind regarding the relation of wealth to poverty. In 1889, Mr. Carnegie published two PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE 85 articles in the "North American Review," which at the instance of Mr. Gladstone were republished in the "Pall Mall Gazette" under the title, "The Gospel of Wealth." This term had been used inci- dentally by Mr. Carnegie at the close of his first article. "Such in my opinion is the true gospel concerning wealth, obedience to which is destined some day to solve the problem of the rich and the poor." This gospel was the now familiar theory of Mr. Carnegie, that the millionaire should regard himself as the trustee of the wealth in his hands, to be administered by him for the benefit of society, a theory to which, be it said to his lasting honor, he has clung in practice with fine consistency and splendid optimism, while the premises upon which it rested have been swept away. These premises, to quote his own words, were, first: "We start with a condition of affairs" (referring to the present eco- nomic system) "under which the best interests of the race are promoted but which inevitably gives wealth to the few" '; and second: "The millionaire will be but a trustee for the poor, entrusted for a season with a great part of the increased wealth of the community, but administering it for the com- munity far better than it could or would have done for itself." In the general acclaim which followed the an- nouncement of this gospel the premises on which 86 PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE it rested were almost entirely overlooked, at least in their economic implications. To-day these economic implications, rather than the gospel it- self, are foremost in public thought and concern. I know of no community which would now be willing to accept a gift from Mr. Carnegie upon condition of subscribing to his postulates. The consequences to society of such acceptance are everywhere ap- parent. If the present economic system must "in- evitably give wealth to the few," then socialism is near at hand. If the few can "administer wealth for the community far better than it could or would do for itself," then democracy has reached the limit of its intelligence and responsibility. Doubtless it is owing to Mr. Carnegie's theory of the function of wealth that he is not taken quite seriously as a philanthropist. His public gifts are accepted with a good humor corresponding to his own, but hardly with gratitude. Whatever may be the ultimate effect of some of the benefactions which he has put into permanent form (the good or harm to society depending altogether upon the way in which they are administered), it is evident that the theory lying back of them will expire under personal limitations. The gospel of the millionaire has already been superseded by the law of social justice acting through social responsibility. PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE 87 ii THE STRUGGLE WITH MONOPOLY The growth of monopoly came upon the people of this country as a surprise and as a shock. It was a surprise because it had been assumed that monop- olies were the special perquisites of a monarchical government. What place could they have in a democracy? How could they enter in? It was to be learned only through experience that a democ- racy, established in a rich and unexploited country, might become a fruitful field for monopoly; that the bounty of nature might become a lavish substitute for royal favor; that private enterprise might reach larger results than could be secured by intrigue or preferment; that legislation undertaken in the interest of prosperity, as under certain forms of the tariff, might leave unguarded many places for the incoming of privilege; and that combinations ef- fected to prevent the strife and waste of competi- tion might produce the trust. The shock of this apparent invasion of monopoly was due chiefly to the sudden increase and concentration of wealth. This in itself was sufficient to awaken suspicion. But what especially aroused the social conscience was the arbitrary exercise of power and the osten- tatious display of luxury which attended the new wealth. The social atmosphere grew thick with sus- 88 PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE picion and distrust. Not a few of those who seemed to profit most by the changed conditions were looked upon as "social malefactors." It did not seem possible that so much wealth could be ac- quired so easily and so quickly, and yet honestly. Certainly the new ways of gaining and of spending money were not in keeping with the traditional and accepted habits of a democracy. There was at first a sense of helplessness in the endeavor to stay the social effects of so much cor- rupting wealth. But this feeling only increased and intensified the determination to get at the causes of the sudden and vast increase, and if possible to ar- rest them at the sources. It is difficult even now to determine how much of the new wealth was due to monopoly. But investigation showed very clearly that far too large a proportion of the national re- sources had passed into private ownership without any equivalent return; that gross discriminations had been made by the great carrying companies; that combinations of capital acting in restraint of production and of trade had gained control of various kinds of business; and that the Gov- ernment itself, through tariff legislation, had often become a party to privilege. A much more seri- ous fact was brought to light, namely, that the spirit of monopoly had begun to take possession of the business mind of the country. It was no longer PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE 89 a disgrace, but a mark of enterprise, to acquire privileges. Under various names and guises, al- ways bearing some patriotic stamp, the attempt was constantly made to gain privileges and advan- tages through the State or Federal Government, which were virtually of the nature of monopoly. The story of the struggle against monopoly is for the most part told in the record of legislative enactments, state and federal, and of judicial deci- sions. The record shows remarkable consistency and tenacity of purpose. The struggle has been maintained as the Government has passed from ad- ministration to administration and from party to party. It has been not only consecutive but cumula- tive. An amendment to an anti-monopolistic meas- ure has nearly always been more drastic than the original act. As the occasions for conflict with open monopoly have passed, the spirit of conflict has gone over into the search for monopolistic tenden- cies, in the attempt, to quote the language of the President, "to kill monopoly in the seed." Within the sphere of federal legislation there has been direct sequence of action, from the Sherman Anti-Trust Law of 1890, through the Interstate Commerce Act made effective by the amendment of 190G, through the various enactments for the conservation of the national resources, to the more recent acts creating a Federal Reserve Board to 90 PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE restore "democracy of credit," and a Federal Trade Commission to attempt the restoration of free com- petition in business. I do not refer to the tariff in this enumeration because tariff legislation must follow the swing of the political pendulum until the tariff is placed on a non-partisan and scientific basis. So long as tariff legislation is allowed to be reckoned a party asset it can have little moral significance. Under the plea of "tariff reform" the Democratic Party came into power, and within two years the cry of "tariff and prosperity" very nearly brought back the Republican Party into power. The essential tariff reform is to take the tariff out of politics. An income tax, the necessary complement of tariff reduction, has not yet been made in any true sense a democratic measure. Few will question the justice of a cumulative tax, even at a high rate of progression, but surely a tax is far from being democratic which altogether exempts the vast majority of property-holders, reaching under the present law but one half of one per cent of the whole population. In any conscientious interpretation of democracy, it ought to be as humiliating to the average citizen to be exempted from taxation as to be passed over in the call to arms for the defense of the country. The campaign against monopoly produced cer- tain indirect results, affecting the working of the PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE 91 political system and the method of administering the Government, the full consequences of which can- not as yet be estimated. It gave the people of this country what English writers call "the sense of the State," - not necessarily more devotion to it, but the sense of its power as a political instrumentality. The attempt of the people to make use of the powers of the State against the encroachments of monop- oly showed them how completely they had been anticipated in the use of these powers by those act- ing in the interest of various monopolies. Power- ful interests, often representing non-resident capi- tal, as in California and in some parts of the West, had gained control of state legislatures. Suspicion was rife regarding the financial legislation of the Congress. It was charged in particular that the Senate had become the seat of privilege. The evident remedy for this state of affairs was to prevent the possible alliance of corrupt politics with corrupt business. Two measures were de- vised for the accomplishment of this purpose: the primary, to do away with the party manager or "boss" through whom political deals were made; and the recall, to keep the official representative of the people within their reach while in office. Election to the United States Senate was taken from the state legislatures and put directly into the hands of the people. The movement for more direct 92 PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE government as a safeguard against monopoly was widespread and gave rise to a vast amount of po- litical experimentation, much of which still awaits the test of practicality. Any excess of political machinery in the interest of reform soon defeats its own end unless a suitable corrective can be applied. The most promising corrective for present excesses is the short ballot. Of much more importance, however, in view of future possibilities, is the change which was ef- fected in the method of governmental regulation the change, to so considerable a degree, from general control by the courts to a more immediate supervision by commissions. This modification or enlargement of the federal function looks beyond regulation or even control, and opens the way, when the object may be desired, to government ownership. The history of the Interstate Commerce Commission shows that government regulation and control by commission may not only prepare the way for, but also in certain contingencies necessi- tate, government ownership. It seems improbable that the transportation system of the country can be carried on indefinitely under two masters. With- out doubt the commission system will familiarize both the Government and the people with the idea and with the methods of government ownership. Without doubt also it may help to develop the PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE 93 unexpended national resources and to recover some that are being wasted or mismanaged under private control. Occasions, like the strikes in the mine in- dustries of Colorado, which call for federal inter- ference, suggest very forcibly the idea of federal operation through purchase or lease. In general it may be said that the struggle against monopoly has tended, and still tends, to make larger use of the Government for the ownership and operation of public utilities. The chief danger in this tendency lies in the displacement or disuse of some of the fundamental functions of government. So con- sistent a radical as John Morley remarks, in com- menting on the disturbance of the judiciary in a constitutional government, "Weakening confi- dence in Parliament would be formidable, but confidence destroyed in courts of justice would be taking out the linchpin." in THE VENTURE INTO "PRACTICAL POLITICS" Perhaps it was not to be expected that the newly awakened "sense of the State" would be sat- isfied with changes in the machinery of government allowing a freer and more direct use of govern- mental power by the people. The field of practi- cal politics, always tempting, offered a peculiarly 94 PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE alluring opportunity. Both of the existing political parties had, for different reasons, lost the full con- fidence of the country. The Democratic Party, long out of power, had ceased to fulfill the real function of a party in opposition. The Republican Party, grown arrogant through its long lease of power, and showing distinct monopolistic tenden- cies, had become the object of much popular discon- tent. This discontent culminated in serious inter- nal dissensions. The open revolt of Mr. Roosevelt, following the action of the Chicago Convention of 1912, gave promise of the success of a new party, pledged to the one aim of social justice, under the banner of a leader of personal magnetism and of tried political sagacity. The Progressive Party thus organized drew to its support many of those who had long been at work in various ways under the stimulus of the social conscience. In the enthusi- asm of the hour it seemed to them advisable to commit the issues of social reform to the fortune of politics. Great confidence was placed in the as- sumed analogy between the formation of the Pro- gressive Party and that of the Republican Party. It was believed that corresponding results would follow. The confidence placed in the analogy between the Republican and Progressive Parties proved to be misleading at two vital points. In the first place, PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE 95 the Republican Party started out with a distinct and commanding issue, an issue also which was pregnant with great possibilities. "No more slave States" meant a clear line of defense against the extension of slavery and involved the possibility of its extinction. The apprehension of this fact by both North and South made war itself immi- nent. "Social justice" was by contrast a vague and indeterminate cause. Restated in terms of spe- cific reforms, it lost the effectiveness of a single and imperative issue. Most of the reforms demanded were matters for state legislation. Some States were far in advance of others in their reformatory work, notably Massachusetts among the older, and Wis- consin among the newer States. The carrying out of social reforms through legislation required much effort to overcome popular inertia, as also at times to overcome the secret opposition of private and corporate interests. But for the success of a reform party there was need of sharper and more exciting antagonism. In fact, it was soon found that there could be no political monopoly in the matter of reform. The unexpected moral renaissance of the Democratic Party, with its own progressive pro- gramme, greatly reduced the opportunity of a Progressive Party. In this political exigency it became necessary to revert more and more to the personal and political issues which had created 96 PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE and which maintained the feud in the Republican Party. In the second place, the assumed analogy between the leaders of the respective parties at their forma- tion was misleading. Mr. Lincoln became the rec- ognized leader of the Republican Party through a process of moral evolution. Other leaders gradu- ally gave place as his supreme qualifications were made clear. But his leadership was essentially moral rather than political. His rare political sagacity was seen to be the practical outcome of his wis- dom and rectitude. His moral insight, his intense sympathies, his enduring courage, his undaunted faith, and perhaps more than these, his humility and almost infinite patience, made him the leader he was. These characteristics may be said to have created a new type of leadership. Incapable of self-assertion, he had the far greater power of merging his whole personality in the cause for which he stood, and the equal power of identifying himself with all those with whom he was called upon to act and to suffer. He thus became the leader, because the representative, of the people in their hour of chastisement, of suffering, and of struggle. In the striking epitome of Mr. Emerson, "He was the true history of the American people in his time. Step by step he walked before them; slow with their slowness, quickening his march by PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE 97 theirs, the true representative of this continent; an entirely public man ; father of his country, the pulse of twenty millions throbbing in his heart, the thought of their minds articulated by his tongue." Mr. Roosevelt is at least different, and the differ- ence marks the contrast between the moral and the political leader. Mr. Roosevelt is not wanting in great moral qualities. He is broadly and genuinely human. His manifestations of regard for his fellow men are no affectation. He is incorruptibly hon- est, quite immune to the temptations of money. He has a true understanding of the elemental virtues. He has ideals, held fast to practical uses through a saving common sense. He has moral as well as physical courage. He can fling himself with conta- gious abandon into a political fight. The versa- tility of his personal power is remarkable. He can do almost anything with himself except subordinate himself. That exception marks his moral limitation. When men or causes come within his personal en- vironment he sees them primarily in their relation to himself. Loyalty or disloyalty to him defines their character. Hence his otherwise inexplicable discrimination between political bosses of the same type. Hence his lapses in the maintenance of per- sonal friendships. Hence his choice of the specific issues to be urged in a political campaign. Mr. Roosevelt is not to be characterized as a selfish 98 PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE man. I believe him to be as capable of sacrifice as of heroism. But his egoism to keep to the point in question put him at a wide remove from Mr. Lincoln as a moral leader. It made quite useless any comparison with a view to support from an assumed historic parallelism. Another characteristic of Mr. Roosevelt's leader- ship in contrast with that of Mr. Lincoln a char- acteristic which adds to his attractiveness as a polit- ical leader, but detracts from the seriousness of his moral leadership is his sporting instinct. He is the sportsman in politics. He follows the game. He plays the issue which has the immediate politi- cal effect. He has his eye constantly on his antago- nists, who for the time are his "enemies." These must never be lost sight of, though principles may be retired from view. Under Mr. Roosevelt's direc- tion, the New York Progressive platform in the last election treated of Republican bosses rather than of Progressive principles. He was evidently more than willing to stay the march into the Prom- ised Land for a return into Egypt to unseat the Pharaohs. This was good sport; it may have been good politics; it was not moral leadership. Grant that the corrupt or reactionary boss is a vital issue to-day in the political life of the Nation, as is cer- tainly true in some localities; then evidently the place to meet the issue is within the afflicted party. PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE 99 There it ceases to be a game and becomes a fight. When Mr. Roosevelt left the Republican Party he gave up his vantage-ground as a political in dis- tinction from a social reformer, a loss of which apparently no one is more conscious than himself. Had he remained in the party it is hardly presum- able that he would have been a negligible quantity in the election in New York, or that he would have failed of his contention in Pennsylvania. The progressive element which he took out of the party might have been employed to far greater advan- tage within. It is difficult to estimate the actual moral in- fluence of the Progressive Party because of the overshadowing interest or curiosity of the public regarding its effect on the political future of Mr. Roosevelt. The Progressive Party has also had to reckon with the fact, always to be reckoned with in the appeal to politics as in the appeal to arms, that the moral result is largely affected by success or failure. Had the party succeeded unmistak- ably as a political force, its power of moral impres- sion would have been greatly enhanced. To the degree in which it has failed politically, the whole moral movement in which it had a part has been prejudiced in the public mind, because of its in- sistent claim to be the exponent of the social con- science of the country. At present it seems hardly 100 PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE probable that both of the controlling parties will so far defy the moral sense of the Nation as to give occasion for a third party committed to the mainte- nance and furtherance of social justice. The an- tagonism of Mr. Roosevelt to Mr. Wilson, the dis- affection of the business interests of the country, the protracted uncertainty in regard to Mexican affairs, or unforeseen complications in the foreign policy of the Government, may lead Republicans and Progressives to unite on the sole issue of effect- ing a change in the administration; but even in this outcome of the political situation it may be fairly assumed, so great has been the advance in public opinion, that the genuine progressive voter, whatever his party affiliations, will continue the contest for social and economic reform, as the in- dependent voter of the earlier part of this genera- tion carried on the contest for civil-service reform, irrespective of party, till the battle was won. [The dissolution of the Progressive Party, follow- ing the attempt to revive it for aggressive serv- ice in the national campaign, has exposed very clearly the causes of internal weakness overcon- fidence in its leader and the undervaluation by the majority of the real cause at issue. The with- drawal of Mr. Roosevelt after the substitution of Americanism for social justice as the issue of the campaign, left the party without further reason PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE 101 or chance for political existence. The progressive movement, however, divested of its political lia- bilities and misuses, may continue to have a per- vasive and powerful influence in furthering the ends of social justice.] IV HUMANIZING INDUSTKIALISM In 1857 John Stuart Mill wrote, "Hitherto it is quite questionable if all the mechanical inven- tions yet made have lightened the day's toil of any human being. They have enabled a greater popu- lation to live the same life of drudgery and imprison- ment, and an increased number of manufacturers and others to make fortunes. They have increased the comforts of the middle classes. But they have not yet begun to effect those great changes in hu- man destiny which it is in their nature and in their futurity to accomplish." This sweeping indictment, though written a half-century after the inventions which gave rise to modern industrialism went into operation, must be accepted to-day with very large modifications. And yet the astonishing fact remains, in spite of the many reliefs of labor, and in spite of the great ad- vances in convenience and comfort brought about by mechanical inventions in which the industrial 102 PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE laborer shares, that industrialism is the prevailing and persistent cause of popular discontent in a democracy. The social curse of industrialism as it now exists lies in its effect upon the disposition and temper of industrial workers. It has taken away from them the zest for work, than which nothing is more neces- sary to social progress. This alienation in spirit of the man from his work is as evident in the higher ranks of industrial labor as in the lower ranks. The fact in itself ought to be allowed to make its due impression before considering the reasons for it. Whatever may be the causes which have given a distinct character and tone to "the mind of the wage-earner," the fact stands out that his "mind" is the most difficult mental factor to be brought into right relation to the common fellowship of work. On one side of the industrial worker is the pro- fessional or clerical worker, usually a wage-earner or salary-earner. On the other side is the farmer or independent mechanic, a manual worker. Among these, his neighbors and fellow workers, there may be complaints and grievances, but no common dis- satisfaction over the work in hand. On the whole the common characteristic of all workers outside industrialism is zest for their work. What makes the difference? Why has industrialism robbed the PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE 103 individual and society of this inestimable boon? If the social conscience is to act effectively, not only for the physical relief of the industrial worker, but also for a reform of the spirit of industrialism, the reasons for the existing state of mind must be un- derstood. It is absurd to assume that the industrial worker has an inborn aversion to work. The causes of this alienation of the man from his "job" must lie, not in him but in his environment. There are three definite if not altogether justi- fiable reasons for his attitude and spirit: industrial- ism has put him under the domination of the ma- chine; it has subjected him to various conditions not of his own choosing; and it has deprived him of the stimulus and incentive to private ownership. Much has been accomplished to modify the effect of the first two causes of discontent, and much more is in the process of accomplishment. The social conscience is growing extremely sensitive to the increasing wear and tear incident to employment under machinery, especially upon the physical life of women and children. On their own account and for the welfare of the race, it is seen to be necessary that the most careful safeguards be established and enforced by vigilant supervision. And in general it is seen that the protection of the worker must keep pace with the inventions which intensify the power of the machine. The record of protective 104 PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE legislation is encouraging, and it is also suggestive of the practical value of more humane conditions in the productive industries. I think that the humanizing of industrialism, so far as it can be expressed in ways of relief and pro- tection, is likely to be achieved by the common, though often unrelated, efforts of those most con- cerned: by the foresight of the wiser employers, private and corporate, by the steady pressure of trade-unions, and by the persistence of the social reformers. Among these agencies the most uncer- tain is the employer or manager of labor. At a recent meeting of the Society to Promote the Sci- ence of Management one speaker remarked: "The greatest grievance that any group of employees can have against their employers is lack of intelligence in the conduct of their business. The man who as- sumes industrial leadership is an industrial menace unless he makes or has made those studies which inform him as to the vital facts of his business." According to authoritative testimony given be- fore the Federal Industrial Commission it is not re- garded as the business of the directors of a corpora- tion to inform themselves as to the facts concerning the conditions of labor. Those facts are delegated to the manager. What if the manager, as is not in- frequently the case, reflects the mind of the direc- tor, a mind set to the task of increasing profits? PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE 105 Manifestly every corporation needs for its own in- telligent management an advocate of its employees, a kind of tribune of labor, unless it proposes to rely on the labor-unions to correct the faults of its ig- norance. But in the broadest sense all efforts for relief and protection are relatively negative in their effects. They do not reach far enough into human nature to touch those springs of desire and purpose which make the daily work a satisfaction and a possible joy. No man can be satisfied with his work who is not allowed a share in the responsibilities and re- wards of private ownership. Industrialism, under present conditions, deprives its workers of this satisfaction. It makes no provision for their indi- viduality. It swallows up the individual in the class, leaving him in just complaint over his un- satisfying lot. And the most disheartening fact is that those who suffer most from this lack in in- dustrialism have sought for compensating equiva- lents rather than for a reform of the system. Trade- unionism and socialism have their solutions of the problem, but neither finds a solution in the one consistent means of increasing satisfaction with work. Trade-unionism finds its solution in shorter hours and in higher wages. It looks primarily to the man outside his work, not to the man in his work, except for his necessary protection. It does 106 PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE not stimulate to the highest degree of excellence. In this respect it has not inherited the spirit of the guilds. It tolerates mediocrity. It leaves the question of standards to the "boss." I do not now recall any public mention of meetings of in- dustrial workers in any trade called for the dis- cussion of methods of bettering the product, like those which are frequently held by agricultural workers. The obvious reply may be made that under the system improvement is not the business of the union. The pertinence of this reply is the ground of my contention against the present working of the industrial system. For trade-unionism I have a profound respect, notwithstanding its shortcom- ings, and in some cases its unpardonable offenses. It has met the problem of industrialism from the side of the wage-earner as nothing else could have done, and has given him rights and compensations which could have been gained in no other way. But it has not met the problem of industrialism from the side of the wage-earner as a man who is entitled to the human reward of his work. Its solution is, simply, more money for the job and more time outside it. The work still remains drudgery. Something more may be said for the socialistic solution. The socialist demands public ownership. PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE 107 This solution gives the industrial worker an equal right in the common product, and it distributes the work over the whole body. The abolition of private property means, of course, the enforced equality of manual labor. But the redistribution of work will not foster the love of it. Work is still drudgery to be minimized only by its wider distribution. The dissatisfaction of the industrial worker is reduced supposedly in quantity, but his disposition is not thereby changed. Neither can public ownership satisfy or eradicate the instinct of acquisition. The right to private property, like the right to a home, is one of the halting-places where we stop in the surrender of our individuality to the collective good. Without doubt we yet have very much of our in- dividual holdings to surrender for the good of so- ciety, from which surrender every one will receive a return in the way of an investment. Socialism has made many justifiable gains at the expense of what had become an unjustifiable and unremuner- ative individualism, but there is an irreducible re- mainder to be accepted and honored if we are to preserve our individuality. We cannot as individ- uals give up the right to love and the right to work; and the right to work means, if anything, the right to the incentives and satisfactions which belong to work. I think, however, that socialism rather than 108 PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE trade-unionism holds the coming alternative re- garding industrial labor public ownership or the opening of industrialism in larger degree to private ownership. No one can overlook the relative in- crease of the industrial classes, stimulated alike by capital, by inventions, and by immigration, or their growing separateness in matters social and political. Socially we are coming nearer to one an- other through our recreations than through work. The automobile, for example, is bringing about a noticeable equality. The equality of the road counts for a good deal in the present state of phy- sical restlessness. But motoring, like baseball or any other recreation, has to do with us out of work hours. Our work may yield us the means of more out- side enjoyment without increasing in the least our satisfaction in the work itself. But it is the daily task, with its rigid requirements, with the condi- tions it imposes, and the spirit it creates, that de- termines the character of a democracy. If we are to become in increasing degree an industrial democ- racy, it will be the industrial factor rather than the democratic which will give the shaping touch. Hence the concern of the social conscience, far beyond questions of relief or protection, with the problems of industrialism. If the exclusion of the many industrial workers from the field of private PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE 109 property means the probable or possible shifting of society to the basis of collective ownership, it is none too soon to ask how far this exclusion is es- sential to the working of the system. Must the wage be accepted as the sole means of communi- cation between capital and labor, making labor accessible to capital, but leaving capital inacces- sible to labor? Or is the system capable of ad- mitting such supplementary relations as will allow to labor more direct access to management and ownership? The term "share" applied to the corporate ownership of many industries has a suggestive meaning at this point. Without doubt the wage was as great an advance for the convenience of industry as the introduction of money for purposes of trade in place of barter. The wage is a well- defined, clean-cut agency for fixing productive values in terms of labor. It has an educative power over the laborer, helping him to measure his rela- tive worth. It relieves him from certain annoying responsibilities, like taxes, incident to all private ownerships, even the least. And it furnishes him with a reasonably stable means of livelihood. But, as has been contended, it does not put him in the right attitude toward his job, chiefly because it does not appeal to the instinct of acquisition. An "interest" in the business, however small it may 110 PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE be, is always enough to change one's disposition toward it. From the nature of the case, holdings in so-called industrials are different from agricultural holdings. The industrial plant cannot be divided and sub- divided like landed properties. But as ownership in the industries is for the most part corporate, that is, collective, there is no inherent reason why it should not be made accessible to those who are otherwise necessary partners in all the produc- tive activities of a corporation. Some noteworthy experiments have shown the practicability of the principle, such as the rating of wages for a given period on the basis of stock and declaring a cor- responding dividend to the wage-earner, or the offering to employees of stock in small denomina- tions and at par, whatever may be the premium. The principle of allowing wages to earn an interest in the business, once accepted and duly provided for, would produce a direct moral effect upon the mind of the wage-earner. As has been suggested, any "interest," however small, would effect a change of disposition and temper. But the prin- ciple admits of a very considerable expansion in the more stable industries, where the wage-earner is reasonably sure of permanent work. The practi- cal result should keep pace with the growing intel- ligence, skill, and thrift of the wage-earner, above PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE 111 all with his more efficient attitude toward his job. The principle of scientific management may be so applied as to prove an incentive to the wage- earner. The fact that it meets with so much op- position from organized labor shows the difficulty either of making the principle clear or of operating it with scrupulous fairness. The method is gaining in favor especially in the larger corporations. In the smaller and more exclusive businesses the principle of cooperation is gaining a foothold in this country. The enormous growth of coopera- tive production in European countries shows how much room there is in industrialism for experi- ments in relief of the deadening effect of the wage- system. Industrialism in this country still lacks that courageous initiative on the human side, through which the mechanical inventions may be made to effect, in the prophetic words of Mill, "those great changes in human destiny which it is in their nature and in their futurity to accomplish." The time has come to expose and to meet in prac- tical ways the fallacy involved in the much-used distinction between human rights and property rights. Human rights are not furthered or ad- vantaged by the suppression of property rights. Human rights in property rights have yet to be recognized and satisfied. There lies the unfulfilled task of humanizing industrialism. 112 PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE THE REINFORCEMENT OF THE SOCIAL CONSCIENCE THROUGH THE ENTRANCE OF WOMAN INTO CIVIC LIFE The development of the social conscience has followed in the main the course of its activities, putting forth those qualities which from time to time have been called for. With a single exception, no new factor has entered into this process of devel- opment. That exception is worthy of note for its influence upon the character and efficiency of the social conscience. I refer to the entrance of woman into the responsibilities and opportunities of civic life. This entrance of woman into civic life has been effected quietly but rapidly, while society has been discussing her political status. In fact it may be said to have made suffrage an incident rather than the goal of her civic progress. Without doubt it has worked to the advantage of suffrage in that it has advanced the argument from the stage of rights to that of capabilities. So long as the movement was known as "woman's rights" it made comparatively little headway, in spite of the fact that the argument from rights, unvexed by questions of expediency, was really unanswerable. If suffrage is anybody's right, if, that is, the political obligation or privilege is of the PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE 113 nature of a right, it is not logical to make it a matter of sex. The final reference of the question to physical force the right to vote must rest on the ability to fight would, if insisted upon, withdraw the ballot from all men unable or unwilling to fight. The ballot should then rest on conscription. The compromise frequently suggested that women be allowed to vote when the majority declare them- selves in favor of suffrage has this to commend it: it seeks to guard against the danger to the State from the extension of unoccupied rights. But even this danger cannot fairly be said to invalidate the rights of the individual as such, whatever others of a given class may or may not care to do. It simply raises the question of expediency. The danger from unoccupied rights is far less than the danger from the denial of rights. And yet, as I have said, in spite of the unanswer- ableness of the argument from rights, the move- ment for suffrage made little headway from the force of the argument alone. Militancy would have brought it to a standstill. The acceleration of the movement for woman's suffrage has come from the demonstration of her capacity for civic life. This capacity has resulted in large degree from the educational and industrial training of women. A great many are seen to be fitted for doing, and many are seen to be doing, the very things for 114 PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE which it has been assumed that suffrage would prepare the way. Their example has had the two- fold effect of making suffrage seem at once less necessary and more logical; certainly it has made more evident the inconsistency of denying suffrage to those so well qualified to exercise it. Such has been the effect of the public services rendered by the residents of Hull House and of like settlement houses operated by women; such the effect of the influence of many women in official positions; such the effect of the executive ability displayed by cer- tain women in the management of estates. I re- call a remark of Judge Theodore W. Dwight, that the decline of Rome was marked by the transfer of great fortunes to the widows of wealthy men, who became thereby the prey of adventurers. The like transfer of fortunes in this country within re- cent years gives a striking proof of progress, dis- closing in many cases an equal if not superior com- petency on the part of women in dealing with the highest uses of money. A glance through the "Woman's Who 's Who" of America shows both suffragists and anti-suffragists to be in agreement in the estimate they place upon civic duties and in their willingness to assume them. Whenever and wherever suffrage comes it is quite sure to appear that it has been anticipated in many of the civic responsibilities, some of them official, at which it PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE 115 aims a fact which ought to reduce suffrage to its fit proportion in the general advance of woman, and likewise take away any fear of its assumed unnaturalness or impracticability. Although the entrance of women into civic life has been complicated by discussions about suffrage, it has had a most stimulating effect upon the social conscience. It has reinforced the social conscience at points where it needed strengthening. Moral reform is quite sure to suffer from the lack of single- ness of purpose and from the lack of persistence. The average citizen is willing to support a reform movement if it does not conflict too much with other interests, and if it does not take too much of his time. These limitations characterize the action of most men in business. The professional anti- reformers understand perfectly these elements of human weakness in reform, and simply give them time to produce their effect. There has been a noticeable change in the spirit of civic reforms since women became more directly concerned in them. They are kept to their purpose and held to their accomplishment. The charge is made that where women have the right to vote they seldom register in full numbers for general elections. Doubtless the charge is true. The compensating fact appears in the definiteness of their interests and in their tenacity of purpose when their interests are aroused. 116 PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE Any one who follows the course of legislation must take note of the vast increase of legislative action on subjects which invite especially the judg- ment, the intelligence, and the experimental knowl- edge of women. The widening of the field of in- vestigation for legislative purposes is largely in those directions in which women of trained minds can best act as experts. And many of the admin- istrative positions created within this widening field under legislative supervision can best be filled by women. I am well aware of the protest which may be made at this point in behalf of the home and its duties, and I am in sympathy with its intent. But there are two considerations to be kept in mind when this protest is unduly urged. In the first place it is unfair to the individual woman and to society to hold all women in reserve for duties which may never come to some of them. It is of no advantage to the home to keep up a large waiting-list of un- occupied women. Marriage has the acknowledged right of way. There are very few occupations which cannot be adjusted to its requirements, or which will not be surrendered on its demands. And in the second place, many civic duties are in no way in- compatible with those of the home. They are in fact simply an extension of these duties. The question of the use of time is very largely personal. In most PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE 117 families allowance is made for reading, recrea- tion, and the various social conventions. The vast amount of time consumed in "bridge," for exam- ple, has been taken from the home, rather than from the school, the office, the factory, or the store. There seems to be no sufficient reason for arrest- ing the progress of women at the line of civic duties. Doubtless here as elsewhere there is a good deal to be learned about wise economies of time through the incoming of new interests into the daily We. The statement was made at the beginning of this article that the actual progress of the social con- science is best reflected in the changes brought about in public opinion. In any candid review of its progress, even within the limits of those move- ments which have been under discussion, it will ap- pear, I think, that the social conscience has done very much to refurnish the public mind with ideas and principles, and with conceptions of duty, fit and adequate to the new demands of society. In particular it may be claimed that it has reinstated the conception of justice above that of charity in the ethics of philanthropy; that it has recalled lib- erty to a service in behalf of economic freedom sim- ilar to that rendered in behalf of political freedom; that it has awakened a "sense of the State" cor- responding to the increase of political responsi- 118 PROGRESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE bilities; that it has made society sensitive to the inhumanities of industrialism, and is teaching so- ciety how to estimate the property rights which are involved in human rights; and that it is creating an open mind toward the entrance of woman into civic life. This retrospect, bringing to mind the changes in public opinion effected by the social conscience, may have a timely significance if it shall give us any ground to hope that, when the con- science of the nations has been fully aroused, changes may be effected in the public opinion of the world which shall guarantee the restoration of peace and the renewal of civilization. V THE ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR THE moral policy of Germany is as well defined and as aggressive as its military policy. They are in fact one and the same thing. Germany at once projected into the war its own political morality, the morality of power. Both in diplomacy and on the field the nation has acted with entire moral con- sistency. It may be a debatable question whether the political morality of Germany was or was not the direct cause of the war, but without dispute it has given to the war its very marked and peculiar ethical significance. It has caused it to assume the character of an ethical challenge. Militarism, the distinctive term of the present war, means in the last analysis not so much the assertion or over- assertion of military force as the assumption of moral prerogative. Beneath armaments and or- ganization lies the political theory on which mil- itarism rests and from which it draws its life: the State is power. In order to measure the full force of this ethical 120 ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR challenge of the war, as it reaches us, we need to revert to the state of mind out of which it springs. The actual justification of the war on the part of Germany, that underlying justification of it which sustains and supports the German people as the war proceeds, is to be found in the sincerity and in the assumed validity of the claim to a superior type of civilization, culminating in the State. The obligation which this claim is supposed to carry with it has been accepted in the mood of exalted passion. The destiny of the nation prescribes its duty. This can be nothing less than to supplant Anglo-Saxon civilization as no longer entitled to leadership, no longer equal to the burdens or to the tasks of the modern world. It lacks virility and it lacks vision. It is incapable of solving the new prob- lems of civilization. The time has come for it to give way before Teutonic methods and ideals. War only hastens the inevitable, and saves the world the wastes of delay. Those who are familiar with Chamberlain's "Foundations of the Nineteenth Century" (which, after passing through eight editions in Germany, was presented in 1909 to English readers) will re- call the author's extraordinary exploitation of the Teutonic race as the essential force in human prog- ress. The claim to superiority which was then set forth in broad and inclusive terms, with pliilosoph- ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR 121 ical temper, was at the same time being urged by a group of intellectual leaders in Germany with ve- hemence and with exclusive application to the Ger- man people. What seemed at first to be the doctrine of a cult became in due time the accepted truth of a whole people. I am aware that certain German apologists minimize the influence of this school of thought. Some of them assert that the names of its leaders are practically unknown in Germany. This might well be, though in fact it is doubtful, and yet the leaven of their thought might pervade the nation. Judging from the formal, and still more from the almost unconscious utterances of the peo- ple, such at least appears to be the fact. When Germany speaks her mind officially or unofficially, she speaks in the language and with the accent of superiority. As we pass out of the range of purely diplomatic explanations regarding the causes of the war, the plea of self -defense quickly disappears, lost in its own inconsistency; and the plea of na- tional necessity with a view to expansion is soon merged in the claim to supremacy. It is indeed singular that the clearest and ablest writers, who contend for a place of equality with England in world-relations, should so generally weaken their argument by their insistence in the end, not upon equality, but upon supremacy. Nearly every pres- entation of the case of Germany reverts soon or 122 ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR late to the claim to superiority, which through the stimulus of militarism has been converted into the terms of actual warfare. As no one can doubt the absolute sincerity with which the claim to superiority is put forward, few, I think, will be disposed to deny that it has a cer- tain justice when tested by the standards of our modern material civilization. I know of no nation that would be willing to subject itself to a compari- son with the Germany of the last forty years in re- spect to organization, industrial progress, economic efficiency, and the practical applications of the sciences. These advances stand to the credit of Germany apart from their relation to militarism; apart, that is, from what they have done toward making war the grand science, the magnificent in- dustry, under the guise of armed peace. But it is through militarism that the claim to superiority passes over into the right of superiority, and the right of superiority becomes the right of dominion. This is not the bald reassertion of the ancient dogma that might makes right. The injection of the idea of superiority tempers the original dogma, but it brings it again into service without essen- tially changing its ethical character. It would be unfair to say that this modified form of the doctrine is new. It was in fact introduced through Anglo- Saxon civilization. It has done its duty faithfully ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR 123 in the interest of British imperialism. True, its language has been evasive and apologetic. We are familiar with its characteristic phraseology "benevolent assimilation," "the white man's bur- den," and the like. But the fact is not to be denied that the doctrine has been held and practiced by those now in contention against the present asser- tion of it. Be that, however, as it may, our con- cern with the present assertion of it lies in the fact that it comes to us as a challenge, a challenge de- signed to unmask the hypocrisy of opposing na- tions, but also intended to set before all nations the ethical authority of a new and higher type of civili- zation which finds its normal expression in the power of the State. Evidently it is the challenge of the half-truth, but for that reason all the more ef- fective as a challenge. The half-truth is capable of an audacity which is denied the truth in its fullness. It can urge its demands without qualification and with little regard to consequences. This contention of the half-truth that superiority gives the right to dominion, a right to be incorpo- rated into the State, has become in a very distinct way the ethical challenge of the war. Whatever the war may or may not declare in regard to other mat- ters, it calls the attention of the civilized world to the new moral valuation which it puts upon the power of the State. Tracing the war back to the 124 ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR teachings in which it had its origin, we find in them the constant idealization of power, at times almost the deification of it. The most authoritative teach- ings have been only an ampler statement of the Machiavellian axiom that the State is power. "The highest moral duty of the State is to increase its power." "War is the mighty continuation of politics." "Of all political sins that of weakness is the most reprehensible and the most contemptible; it is in politics the sin against the Holy Ghost." It will give a proper background to these teachings to have in mind Milton's conception of the State: "A nation ought to be but as one huge Christian per- sonage, one mighty growth or stature of an honest man, as big and compact in virtue as in body, for look, what the ground and causes are of single happiness to one man, the same ye shall find them to be to a whole State." The question of the essential morality of power when ^embodied in the State, which is thrust upon us as the ethical challenge of the war, is the most serious public question which we have to face. Coming before us as a challenge, it calls us back to things fundamental, both in politics and in religion. To reverse in part Mr. Cleveland's saying, we find ourselves confronted, not so much by a condition, appalling as that is in which all nations are now involved, as by a theory which is likely to outlive ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR 125 the war, whatever may be its fortune, and to pre- sent itself to each nation for definition. It is a theory which has a most insidious fascination. There is no allurement so great when the mind turns to af- fairs of state as the allurement of power. Clothe the bare conception of power with the moral sanc- tities and it becomes not only alluring but com- manding. In this form it presents itself to us, and at a time of great doubt and perplexity in regard to subjects but lately in the category of common- place realities, democracy, patriotism, and re- ligion. Speaking with the assurance, if not with the audacity, of the half-truth, it says to us, Your democracy, your patriotism, your religion are ob- solete. They are all guilty of inadequacy. If you would keep your place in the modern world, you must recast your fundamental conceptions of the State, and of the things which belong to it, in terms of power, and reinvigorate them with its spirit. ii What is the state of the case in regard to democ- racy? Has it ceased to be a necessary factor in the social and political order of the world? Is it no longer adequate in theory, or has it gone so far wrong in practice as to be useless? Let us see how it appears to an observer who looks upon present conditions from the new point of view. I quote 126 ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR from Professor Francke in a recent number of the "Harvard Monthly." "The German conception of the State and its mission, and of the service due to it, is something which to members of other nation- alities, especially to Anglo-Saxons and Americans, cannot help appearing as extravagant and over- strained. To the Anglo-Saxon and American the State is an institution for the protection and safe- guarding of the happiness of individuals. To the German it is a spiritual collective personality, lead- ing a life of its own beyond and above that of indi- viduals, and its aim is not the protection of the happiness of individuals, but their elevation to a nobler type of manhood, and their training for the achievement of great common tasks in all the higher concerns of life in popular education, in military service, in commercial and industrial or- ganization, in scientific inquiry, in artistic cul- ture." This is not the language of challenge, or even of criticism, but of courteous comparison. The impli- cation, however, is equally plain, that democracy does not require that surrender of the individual to the State which can enable the State in turn to perform the various functions in his behalf which Professor Francke enumerates. The implication is true, but it is the half-truth. We reach the truth as we ask why democracy does not require or even ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR 127 allow that surrender of the individual to the State which is here demanded. But before we ask this question, let us take the full rebuke of the half-truth. Democracy, in this country at least, has not trained its citizens in the proper conception of their personal relation to the State. We are at fault in our political manners and in our political morals. We have not learned to pay that respect to the State which ought to differ only in degree from reverence. We lack the imagina- tion to clothe the State with personality. We fail to recognize at their full value its symbols of au- thority. We do not instantly and reverently rec- ognize its essential majesty as embodied in law. In a word, our political manners are as yet un- formed. More serious still is the undeveloped state of our political morals, as evidenced in the tendency to regard the State as a legitimate source of privi- lege and monopoly. There is not the same moral sensitiveness in the dealings of individuals with the State as in the conduct of business between individuals. The attempt is not infrequently made to put the State to corrupt and shameless uses. Democracy may fairly be held responsible for this moral crudeness in so far as it has failed to bring the individual into morally sensitive relations to the State. We have been paying the penalty for the lack of this training in our struggle with 128 ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR monopoly for the past decade. It is due in good part to this deficiency that we have had to resort to the transfer, to so considerable an extent, of the State from an individualistic to a socialistic basis. The transfer has come about in the process of protecting the State itself, as well as the people at large, from the thoughtlessness and greed of un- trained individualism. It is useless to deny that some of our social and political ills are due to the laxity or the selfishness of our democratic conception of the State. We do well to heed the challenge of absolutism to democ- racy, as it uncovers faults both in theory and prac- tice; but we may not hesitate for a moment to accept the challenge in behalf of democracy. The sin of democracy is laxity; the sin of absolutism is tyranny. The remedy for the one is reform; the only remedy for the other is revolution. The sub- jection of the individual to the State may indeed come about through self-surrender. That was the method by which the mediaeval Church absorbed the rights of the individual in the realm of faith. Self -surrender secured the guaranty of the Church for salvation. The State under absolutism assumes to guarantee, on like conditions, political security, economic gains, cultural development everything, in fact, save liberty. And for the satisfactions of liberty it offers, through the spirit of militarism, ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR 129 the intoxication of power. So a nation may be- come self -intoxicated. "Not against our will and as a nation taken by surprise did we hurl ourselves into this adventure. We willed it. It is Germany that strikes. When she has conquered new domains for her genius, then the priesthood of all the gods will praise the God of War." It may have required such an illustration of the outworking of the theory the State is power as is afforded by the present exhibition of milita- rism, to enable some minds to understand the real significance of the contrasted theory of the State expressed in the cardinal maxim of democracy the State is freedom. Without doubt there has been a decline in the enthusiasm for democracy. Democracy has suffered in proportion to the growth of economic inequality. Many have been disap- pointed that it has not produced results in the economic world equivalent to those which it pro- duced in the political world. The war has brought us back to a revaluation of political freedom. We are forced by it to the conclusion that though it may be difficult to provide for the securities of free- dom under democracy, it is impossible to guaran- tee its existence under absolutism. Democracy may be lax in the use of the power of self-defense en- trusted to the State, but the full power is always in reserve. There is no reasonable excuse for "un- 130 ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR preparedness." The safeguard against militarism does not lie in our indifference to the means of na- tional security. On the contrary, any sudden sense of insecurity, such as is often created by interna- tional emergencies, is quite sure to evoke the most extreme and foolish type of militarism. Prepared- ness is simply a common-sense adjustment of a nation to its environment. It is in no sense incom- patible with the spirit of democracy. Switzer- land, notwithstanding the apparently impregnable guaranties of its neutrality, has a complete and almost perfect system of national defense in which every able-bodied man from twenty to sixty bears his part. Nowhere is the spirit of anti-militarism more assured. The danger from national pre- paredness lies in the national temptations, or in the national ambitions. The danger is moral, not physical. The means of defense cannot be changed into the means of aggression except through a change in the spirit of a people. Such a change is quite possible, but the possibilities of it are best calculated as we try to measure that play of national impulses to which we accord the name of patriotism. in If we find in the war a direct challenge to democ- racy on the ground of political inadequacy, we can see that it compels attention with almost equal ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR 131 directness to the moral liabilities of patriotism. Among moral forces related to the State, patriot- ism must be regarded as the most inconsistent in its action, now the watchful servant of liberty and now the blind instrument of power. It is therefore liable to become at any time a disturbing factor in international morality. The ordinary traditions of patriotism are so great and inspiring that these alone occupy our minds. Some of the greatest and most inspiring of those belonging to western Europe and Amer- ica have not passed out of the personal remem- brances of men now living. The period from 1859 to 1871 was distinctly an era of patriotism. Almost within the limits of a decade three events took place which mightily stirred the peoples immediately con- cerned, and awakened the sympathetic interest of all peoples bred in the traditions of liberty the Restoration of Italy, the Reunion of the United States, and the Unification of Germany. The names inseparably connected with these events, Cavour, Lincoln, and Bismarck, illustrate, with due allow- ance for the personal variant, the type of patriotism exemplified in the historic struggles for freedom and nationality. And yet, with these examples uppermost in our minds, we have but to turn to the battlefields of Belgium to see how diverse are the deeds possible 132 ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR under the common incentives of patriotism the heroic resistance of the Belgians, the chivalrous support of their allies, and the ruthless ravages of the Germans. It was in the assertion of German pa- triotism that Chancellor von Bethmann-Hollweg uttered the words, impossible to recall, impos- sible to forget: "Necessity knows no law. Our troops have occupied Luxemburg, and have pos- sibly already entered on Belgian soil. That is a breach of international law. . . . We were forced to ignore the rightful protests of the Governments of Luxemburg and Belgium, and the injustice I speak openly the injustice we thereby commit, we will try to make good as soon as our military aims have been attained. Anybody who is threat- ened as we are threatened and is fighting for his highest possessions can have only one thought how he is to hack his way through." Is the moral control of patriotism possible? Can a nation train itself to go beyond resistance to the allurements of conquest and aggrandizement, and withstand also the incitements of national pride, national prejudice, and so-called national neces- sity, in the interest of international morality? The hope of the development of an authoritative in- ternational morality must rest upon this possi- bility. It is implied in the ethical challenge of the war that such a result is impossible. It is implied ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR 133 further that the claim to respect an international authority in national emergencies would be hypoc- risy. In the language already quoted, "Necessity knows no law. . . . Anybody who is threatened as we are threatened and is fighting for his highest possessions can have only one thought how he is to hack his way through." Or to quote the saner language of Treitschke, "The evolution of an inter- national court of arbitration as a permanent insti- tution is incompatible with the nature of the State. To the end of history arms will maintain their rights; and in that very point lies the sacredness of war." In this insistence upon the moral supremacy of the nation in national emergencies we have again the challenge of the half-truth. The challenge rests upon the assumed impotence of international morality to provide against national emergencies or to lessen their stringency. That great progress has been made in the development of international morality is evident. The principles of international justice have been set forth with increasing clearness and cogency, and are steadily gaining recognition. The greatest stumbling-block to further progress lies in the lack of self-control on the part of indi- vidual nations. Before we can anticipate any gen- eral practice of international morality the nations must go to school, each to itself, in this severe art of self-control. 134 ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR I think that this is the discipline which awaits the people of this country. There seems to be little danger from the spirit of conquest. The acquisition of the Philippines, if that is the proper term to apply to our possession of the islands, has not developed the desire for further expansion of that kind. I doubt if anybody regards their retention in any other light than that of an obligation. And though territory lying near at hand may be a source of temptation, it is probable that the great majority of our people, certainly in their saner moments, would be willing to subscribe to Presi- dent Wilson's Mobile pledge, that our Government would "never seek a foot of territory by conquest." The discipline awaiting us as a nation in the control of patriotism grows out of the indefinite- ness and at the same time the sensitiveness of cer- tain foreign relations which are peculiar to our sit- uation. The United States made its distinctive entrance into diplomacy through the enunciation of the Monroe Doctrine. It was the most sensational entrance which a nation ever made into world- diplomacy. One cannot tell even now whether to be the more amazed at its sublimity or at its au- dacity. The Monroe Doctrine preempted a whole continent for undisturbed experimentation in de- mocracy, the experiments to be carried on in re- gions remote from one another, and by races as ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR 135 unlike as those trained under English and Spanish traditions. What greater claim to political superi- ority could have been advanced than that involved in the official assertion of the principle "that the American continents, by the free and independent conditions they have assumed and maintain, are henceforth not to be considered subjects for further colonization by any European Powers"; and, further, that "it is impossible that the Allied Powers [the Powers of the Holy Alliance] should extend their political system to any portion of either continent without endangering our peace and happiness: nor can any one believe that our southern [South American] brothers, if left to them- selves, would adopt it of their own accord. It is equally impossible therefore that we should behold such interposition with indifference." Fortunately, through the interested cooperation of Great Britain, the original occasion for the Doc- trine passed by without any demand for its enforce- ment, and subsequent occasions have not been of sufficient importance to test the force of the Doc- trine. It by no means follows, however, that the Doctrine has become obsolete. Certainly it sur- vives as a sentiment which can be easily aroused, as was shown in the response of the country to President Cleveland's Venezuelan Message. Oc- casions may revive the Doctrine and give it a new 136 ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR application. The South American republics have outgrown the danger of European interference, but who can foresee what interpretation would be put upon the Doctrine, or what [expression would be given to the sentiment, if any of the republics should enter into alliances with European Powers? Of much more immediate concern is the relation of the Central American States to the European Powers through concessions granted to private capital; and closer still, our necessary concern with the internal affairs of Mexico. Other complica- tions of a more delicate nature will at once suggest themselves in view of the liability of a State to in- volve the Federal Government in very grave diffi- culties. For years to come, if not for the indefinite future, our foreign relations must increase in rela- tive importance and in the demands which they must make upon the intelligent consideration of the country. This means, of course, the development of a dip- lomatic service suitable to the strain which will fall upon it. Our "unpreparedness" in diplomacy is far greater than our unpreparedness in war, and it is far more dangerous. It is the office of diplomacy to make an unjustifiable war impossible. It is the office of diplomacy to make a nation intelligent and responsible in the uses of patriotism. It is the office of diplomacy to school the State in the principles ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR 137 of international morality. Under the guidance of wise and consistent diplomacy, the citizens of a State ought never to be placed in the dilemma of apparent disloyalty or of supporting the Govern- ment when in the wrong. The dilemma ought to be anticipated and provided against. I believe that the profession of diplomacy has the greatest opportu- nity, among all the professions in this country, for advanced ethical instruction and leadership. And if the ethical challenge of the war arouses the Nation to a sense of its deficiency in this regard, and to a determination to meet its obligations, we may justly hope that the Nation will in due time assume a place of commanding influence in the sphere of international morals. IV It is highly significant of the ethical reach of the war that it has brought religion into the field of controversy: not contending religious faiths, but religion. The war itself is absolutely free from re- ligious bias. Christians of all faiths, Moslems, and Buddhists are fighting side by side, while Protes- tant is fighting against Protestant, Catholic against Catholic, Moslem against Moslem. Not even Rus- sia or Turkey has been able to make it a Holy War. And yet no religious war ever stirred deeper ques- tionings about religion. As it originated entirely 138 ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR among the Christian nations, it was to be expected that the mocking cry would go up from without Christendom, "Where is now thy God?" On the whole, the Oriental nations have shown surprising restraint in their religious attitude toward the war, due in part possibly to their more fatalistic con- ception of religion. Within Christendom the im- mediate result was a suspension, almost a paraly- sis, of faith. Some Christian publicists were moved to give over Christianity altogether as of no further service in any endeavor to establish international peace. What have we the right to expect of religion in particular of Christianity in restraint of war? In what sense is Christianity the religion of peace? Without doubt the present war is a more direct challenge to the Christian religion to define its own militant spirit than it has ever before received. The contention that religion needs the stimulus of war to maintain its virility is not only less than the half-truth, but in respect to Christianity it is a perversion of the truth. Militarism has nothing to teach Christianity regarding the practice of the heroic virtues. A religion which was born in the supreme act of sacrificial courage, which defied the centuries of persecution, which mastered in turn the virile races of Europe, which conquered despot- ism and cast out slavery, which has subdued sav- ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR 139 age tribes and now holds its outposts in all dark and cruel parts of the habitable earth, is not a religion to be asked to sit at the feet of modern militarism. On the contrary, it ought to be made a duty of modern Christianity to expose the mock heroics of militarism its affectations, its cheap swagger, its intolerable insolence, its scorn of all knightly quali- ties. The present war has its heroes in all ranks, but they are such, not because of militarism, but in spite of it. A system which produced and justified the Zabern incident can lay no claim to the finer qualities of heroism. The German army, trained in the school of militarism, has shown no superiority in courage to compensate for the char- acter of its discipline. The terrorizing of non-com- batant communities is a natural sequence of the de- basement of heroism. And both are prophetic of the inevitable effect upon a nation which allows its civil life to be subordinated to the demands of militarism. Whatever may be the revenges of time in atonement for the present war, the heaviest re- venge must ultimately fall upon the spirit of the German people. But while from every point of view militarism is an offense to Christianity, to be resisted in the name of religion as well as in the name of liberty, it by no means follows that the militant spirit of Christian- ity is contrary to its essential object in this world. 140 ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR That object is the furtherance of righteousness. Righteousness as compared with peace is an abso- lute term. It has a definite and well-nigh unchange- able meaning. Peace, as applied to the relation of states, is a term of uncertain ethical force. It is no guaranty of righteousness. For example, in the Hague Conferences our Government joined in set- ting forth certain definite principles concerning the treatment of neutral states. Nearly every one of those principles was violated by Germany in the treatment of Belgium. We have refrained from official protest on the ground that the action of the Conference still awaits complete ratification, con- tenting ourselves with whatever of protest is in- volved in our attempt to feed the starving popu- lation of that devastated country. Suppose that by the terms of settlement following the close of the war the sovereignty of Belgium should be de- stroyed; ought we to support the settlement, in the interest of peace? How far may the militant spirit of Christianity be held in check by the claims of neutrality? When does peace forfeit the sanctions of religion? Evidently peace has no moral signifi- cance except as it is an exponent of justice. History bears constant witness to the fact that the most disturbing factor in international relations is an unjust peace. Treaties really belong to the estate of war. They are intrenchments cast up to defend ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR 141 the status quo. International conventions usually have no other object. The balance of power was fitly characterized by John Bright as the "foul idol" of England. The so-called concert of Europe has seldom prevented war except at the cost of freedom and justice. The various international devices which have been entered into in the name of peace show how difficult it is for the nations to understand that the making of peace is as serious a business as the mak- ing of war. It seems to be equally difficult for some of the most ardent and devoted peacemakers to understand the tremendous seriousness of their business. I think that this inability explains the lack of popular support for the peace movement in this country. There is a well-grounded suspicion that it has been overcapitalized, and that it is being overargued. In spite of its able promoters and its eloquent advocates, it has not greatly stirred the popular heart. It has yet to enter the "strait gate" and the "narrow way" through which all the great reform movements of history have passed. When the nations are willing to make sacrifices for peace in any degree commensurate with those which are made for war, we shall have peace. Is it reasonable to suppose that we shall have it on easier conditions ? But this means at least the readjustment of many "existing rights," concessions in respect to trade 142 ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR and commerce, the restraint of racial pride, in a word, it means sacrifice. Disarmament would be futile if the occasions and incentives of war were to remain in force. If we are to advance the cause of universal and permanent peace, there are two points at which we must turn for support and guidance to the mili- tant spirit of Christianity. First, we must look to that source for sufficiency of moral courage. Chris- tianity never underestimates its tasks. The obdu- racy of human nature and its powers of resistance have never been so accurately measured as by the founder of the Christian religion. Christ based his hopes and expectations upon moral conflict. He made moral courage the indispensable requisite for those who proposed to do his work among men. The exercise of moral courage involves as many consequences as does the exercise of physical cour- age; sometimes the same consequences. When the peace movement passes into the stage of moral militancy it will develop its own type of heroism. This will be especially true among statesmen who may have the opportunity to emulate their pred- ecessors in the anti-slavery struggle. Every oc- casion for the display of moral courage offers a counter-attraction to war. And second, we must turn to militant Christian- ity to furnish us with its spirit of hospitality to the ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR 143 emerging races. The chief characteristic of civili- zation is its exclusiveness. It means to-day more than ever the aristocracy of culture, wealth, and power. In this aspect civilization and progress are not synonymous terms. Civilization boasts of the developed race and sets forth its accomplishments and achievements. Progress takes account also of the undeveloped race and estimates its value by the depth and richness of its humanity. The mili- tant spirit of Christianity is always to be found in the ranks of progress whenever progress conies into conflict with civilization. It demands place and room for each advancing race in the name of "the God of the whole earth." It is impossible to think that any exclusive peace devised by civilization can satisfy what may be termed the militant hospi- tality of Christianity. What guaranty of perma- nent peace could Christianity offer if the outcome of the present war should be the exclusion of the Slav from partnership in European civilization? I have singled out that phase of the war which compels attention to the ethics of political power because of its bearing upon the political future of this country. Modern nations do not yield to the allurements of power without seeking to put their conduct upon an ethical basis. There is no longer danger from open and undisguised schemes of national aggrandizement. The danger lies in those 144 ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR political half -truths and sophistries through which nations are able to persuade themselves that their action in cases of aggression is rightful, rightful because considered necessary to the welfare or the destiny of the State. No other persuasion can carry a nation so far, or become so easily the ob- session of a whole people. Of this fact we have the supreme illustration in the present behavior of Germany. It is not safe to assume that a democracy is proof against the allurements of power, or that it will not seek to find justification for yielding to temptation. In some respects democracies are more suscepti- ble to outward temptations than peoples under the rule of absolutism. The chief security of a democracy must be looked for in those satisfactions of liberty for which there can be no equivalent. But even these satisfactions must be supported by a true understanding of the ethical meaning of democracy. What does it really mean to live under the conception of the State as freedom rather than as power? What does loyalty to that conception require? How shall we maintain and defend the ethical life of a democracy? Apart from the clear understanding of its ethical life, I assume that the two great requisites are self-control and moral courage: self-control to guard the Nation against the wrong uses of patriotism, and moral courage to ETHICAL CHALLENGE OF THE WAR 145 enable it to make such genuine sacrifices as may be necessary for the advancement of international morality and international peace. In this convic- tion I have endeavored to interpret the ethical challenge of the war as a matter of direct concern to us in our theory and practice of democracy, in our command of the patriotic impulses of the Na- tion, and in our application of the ethical forces of religion to the conduct of the State. VI THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM THE revulsion of feeling against war itself, en- gendered by the present war, is beyond question the most powerful stimulus to the cause of univer- sal peace the world has yet known. It has created in many minds the conviction that war must end, and it has stirred in some minds the determination to strive without ceasing to bring about this result. The feeling is manifestly acquiring a strength and consistency of purpose sufficient to carry it beyond the generation in which it has been developed, and to give it the cumulative power of time. And yet it cannot be claimed that the progress of the peace movement is proportionate to the stim- ulus which is constantly acting upon it. The cur- rent of feeling which sets so strongly away from war does not run with equal force toward peace. It seems to be increasingly difficult to organize the anti-war sentiment into the peace movement. The reason commonly given is the confirmed unbelief of men in the practicability of universal peace. I ;THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM 147 question the sufficiency of the explanation. When men are stirred by tremendous convictions they are not daunted by the fear of impracticability. I believe that we are as clearly justified in commit- ting the cause of universal peace to "the opinion of mankind" as were our forefathers in committing their new doctrine of universal liberty and equality to the same accessible and sufficient authority. True, we thereby ask for nothing less than a reversal of the habit of thought of the world. They in their time asked for nothing less. The great generations have always asked in one way or another for the same thing. Though in itself something new and strange, it is not without historic warrant, that men who have inherited the habit of thinking in terms of war should be expected to acquire the habit of thinking in terms of peace. We must go much deeper for the explanation of the increasing hesitancy in the acceptance of the doctrine of universal peace. The problem of peace, for such the peace movement has now become, does not lie in the conviction of its impracticability, unless it be deemed morally impracticable. The sug- gestion of the moral impracticability of peace seems like a contradiction of terms. Nevertheless, if we follow it but a little way, it will lead to the disquiet- ing discovery of a very strong suspicion in the pop- ular mind of a latent selfishness in peace; and fur- 148 THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM ther, after due observation and reflection, we shall be brought, I think, to see that the very crux of the problem of peace lies in the difficulty of eradicating this suspicion. The awful immoralities of war, .so terribly obvious, are offset in part by the counter- acting effect of the impressive displays of unselfish- ness. We are all conscious of a grievous inconsistency in our feelings about war. As the horrors of the present war press steadily upon us, and as the menace of militarism becomes more threatening, there are times when the argument against war seems to be complete and final. But when the moral aspects of our own Civil War are brought before us in vivid retrospect, as in the recent gath- ering of so many survivors of the conflict in their enfeebled but exultant comradeship; and when the moral result of that war is set forth in the words of a peace-loving President as "a miracle of the spirit, in that, instead of destroying, it has healed"; and when, after the lapse of the half-century, we can see no other way than that then taken through which we could have reached our present state of unity and peace, we are not so sure that the present war has closed the case against war. War, in itself essentially evil, may acquire moral character as the instrumentality for serving a righteous cause. Peace, in itself essentially good, THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM 149 may lose moral character from the failure to identify itself with a righteous cause in the time of its ex- tremity. I trace the popular suspicion of a latent selfishness in peace to its undefined and indeter- minate attitude in so many cases toward ends out- side and beyond itself. The constant insistence upon peace as an end in itself is to be deprecated. If we are to create confidence in the trustworthiness of peace to render that sacrificial service which is at times rendered so effectively through war, it must be made to wear a different aspect from that which it now presents to the world. We cannot afford to overlook the very marked distrust of its moral re- liability for the more serious business of the nations. We cannot afford to ignore the hesitancy of men in the lower ranks of rights and privileges, power- less except for numbers, to employ a new and un- certain agency to secure broader rights and higher privileges. Neither can we afford to make light of the questionings in our own hearts as to our ability, under such conditions of peace as we have known, to awaken and satisfy those nobler instincts of hu- man nature which have at times found stimulating if not satisfying employment in war. Certainly the ordinary routine of peace would not be satisfying. Its luxuries would be debasing. Human nature would send up its continual challenge for some moral equivalent of war. I note with careful at- 150 THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM tention this sentence, quoted by the reviewer of a recent book, "The Unmaking of Europe": "Eu- rope will never cease from war till she finds some better thing to do; that better business is neither trade nor philosophy, nor even art : it is in one word sacrifice." I am convinced that it will be to the ultimate advancement of the cause of universal peace if we inquire with sufficient concern into the moral effect of our present insistence upon peace as an end in itself, rather than as an instrumentality for effect- ing greater ends outside and beyond itself. The maintenance of the so-called arts of peace is not a sufficient justification for peace under all condi- tions. To the degree in which we fail to clothe peace with moral power, to identify it with ob- jects of moral concern, to make it the incentive and opportunity for sacrifice and heroism, we leave it under the popular imputation of selfishness. I follow out the danger from this defect in our advo- cacy of peace into sufficient detail to indicate the extent of the popular distrust, and to show the grounds of it. ii The most evident, and in some respects the most justifiable, ground of popular distrust of the peace movement is the fear that it may effect a change in THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM 151 the relative moral value of things which have thus far held the first place in the estimation of men. These first things are justice, liberty, and, more recently, equality. Of these there is probably the greatest sensitiveness in regard to liberty. But loyalty to some one of these moral constants, as the given circumstances may direct, has been regarded as the primary duty. Will this distinction be main- tained under peace, or will there be a tendency to raise the relative value of those secondary duties which are incident to some supreme struggle in behalf of liberty or justice ? We are gaining an understanding of the relative significance of the primary duty of defending liberty as we are called upon to meet one of the secondary duties thrust upon us by the war. We have ac- cepted neutrality as our national duty in the pres- ent crisis. We have accepted it as prescribed by our position, rendering physical participation in the war relatively impracticable; as most consistent with our traditions, warning us against foreign alliances; and as necessitated apparently by the composite character of the nation, made up as it is out of the nations at war. It has been accepted, un- der the high leadership of the President, as a duty which carries with it the distinction of making us the "mediating nation of the world." "We are," to use his words, "compounded of the nations of 152 THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM the world; we mediate their bloods; we medi- ate their traditions; we mediate their sentiments, their tastes, their passions; we are ourselves com- pounded of those things. Therefore we are able to understand all nations. In that sense America is a mediating nation." This is a noble and commanding conception of the duty attending the increase and expansion of the nation, but it inevitably suggests Mr. Lincoln's conception of the duty attending its origin and the cause of its existence, in the familiar words of the Gettysburg Speech. It was the conception there set forth, realized in the sight of the world, which brought hither the peoples out of all nations who have made this a composite nation. It is this con- ception, not the increase of numbers which it has effected, which is the reason of our continuance as a nation. It is this conception which is entitled to undisputed precedence as the generations pass and as still newer peoples and races enter our gates. These two conceptions, that of a composite and mediating nation, and that of a nation conceived in liberty and dedicated to the maintenance of it, are in no sense incompatible if they are held in true proportion the one to the other. If in the final settlement of the issues of the present war this Na- tion shall be able, because of its neutrality, to cast the vote which shall reinstate Belgium in its sover- THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM 153 eignty and restore to France its ravished provinces, we shall have achieved a great victory for the new policy of making neutrality tributary to liberty. If we fail in our endeavor, the endeavor will stand to our credit in the account with peace, but not to our credit in the account with liberty. The liberty- loving and sacrificing nations, though they may in that event have suffered defeat, will necessarily as- sume the moral leadership among kindred nations, leaving to us the place of leadership in the cause of neutrality. Just what this may signify in the long future will depend upon the part which neu- trality is to play in international affairs. But at present there are those among us who cannot per- suade themselves that the cause of neutrality in its widest reach is comparable with the cause of liberty. While we follow with approval the course of the Administration in the vindication of our rights as a neutral nation, our hearts are in the contest across the sea. We are conscious that the great issues are being settled there. Our unofficial neutrality is charged with sympathies which find their only relief and satisfaction in the fact that our official neu- trality can be legitimately used to the advantage of those with whom we sympathize. Our present position, however, as related to the supreme issue of the war, is calculated to awaken, and has awakened in many minds, serious forebod- 154 THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM ings. In the event of the final victory of Germany we have the definite prospect of the consolidation of the Teutonic nations, with the inclusion of the tributary races of southeastern Europe, and with the incorporation of the Turk, giving a combina- tion for the support of militarism such as the world has not seen since the days of the Roman Empire. No one can fail to understand the part which this combination would play in the continued struggle between absolutism and democracy, a struggle in which there will be lessening room for the opera- tion of neutrality, and a straitening of place for the neutral nations. The forecast gives significance to the words of Lord Cromer: "If Germany should be vanquished in the present contest, all will fortu- nately be well for nations which have been able to preserve their neutrality. The triumph of the Al- lies will incidentally involve their triumph. But if the contrary should prove to be the case, and if Germany should emerge victorious from the strug- gle, neutrals will eventually have to ask themselves whether a more timely and active interference on their part might not have obviated the disastrous results which must inevitably ensue both to them- selves and to the world in general." In this view of the situation national prepared- ness assumes a new meaning. It means self-defense in all contingencies, but it means in certain con- THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM 155 tingencies the wider defense of liberty. I doubt if the more extreme pacifists have ever contem- plated the defeat of the Allies, at least their disas- trous defeat. It is one thing to hold the more abso- lute views of peace unvexed by any thought of the actual danger to liberty, and another thing to en- tertain the same views in quietness of mind if the securities of liberty are evidently endangered. But the advocacy of peace may be carried to the point of "moral temerity" through a fatal lack of per- spective, as in the present untimely effort to arrest the war while militarism is still in the ascendant, and when the party of aggression has the most to gain and the least to lose. The whole circumstance of the war as it proceeds makes the problem of peace terribly urgent, but it makes the problem also terribly searching in its questionings. What kind of peace are we willing to accept as the out- come of the war? What unexpiated crimes against liberty are we willing to forget? What securities of liberty are we willing to forego? The German Chancellor has announced that it is Germany's aim "to be the shield of freedom and peace for the small and the big nations of Europe." When we think of universal peace, do we or do we not tolerate the thought of a peace established in militarism and guaranteed by mili- tarism? 156 THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM in The problem of universal peace cannot be re- stricted to wars induced by national ambitions or by national antagonisms: it must take due ac- count of the social strife. The social strife repre- sents a possible transition, not only in the incite- ments to war, but also in the means of war, from the nation to the class as the unit of organized power. On the ethical side it represents that wide- spread struggle for equality which may supersede the struggle for liberty as the chief cause of revo- lution. The comparative unconcern regarding this phase of warfare has produced in not a few minds a dis- trust of what may be termed the democracy of peace. The movement for universal peace did not enter upon the crusade against war with that popu- lar sympathy which might have been gained by some earnest endeavor to compose the social strife. The opportunity had been for a long time present, and it had become increasingly urgent. The war, it must be remembered, did not come upon us simply as an interruption of peaceful pursuits. It caused rather an instant and complete diversion from con- tentions which had filled the minds of peoples and of rulers with anxieties and forebodings. With the exception of Germany the reasons for this ex- THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM 157 ception have since become evident every nation was profoundly agitated by the threatenings of the social strife. But this state of affairs received little attention from the advocates of peace. Doubtless the danger was underestimated, but the impression often produced was that of indifference to the is- sues involved. It was noted that the sympathies of men could be enlisted for the crusade against war who were themselves interested parties in the social strife. In what form, and with what energy, the social strife may be renewed at the close of the war by the nations more immediately involved in it, no one may predict. We can, however, foresee the possibility that in some nations, perhaps in Eng- land, the war may avert a social revolution by hav- ing virtually effected a social revolution. Such a reduction of economic inequality may have been brought about, and such a redistribution of politi- cal power may have been made, that the tension of the social strife may prove to have been greatly relieved. In this country the conditions will cer- tainly be different, creating the tendency to in- crease rather than to diminish the social strife. Very much of the spirit of sacrifice which has sup- ported the nations at war may be expected to go over into the economic struggle to recover the mar^ kets of the world. This willingness to endure eco- 158 THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM nomic sacrifice must cause a cheapening of the market, which in turn must affect the wages of the American workman. Dr. David Jayne Hill goes so far as to predict that America will be made the dumping-ground for the cheaply made goods of Germany, owing to the continued hostility of the opposing nations as expressed in restrictions upon trade. It is doubtful if a like protective restric- tion in this country would maintain wages at the present standard. Incidentally, and yet very seriously, the disturbance of the labor market caused by the manufacture of war munitions may affect the whole labor situation when the collapse of that stimulated industry shall occur. No one who believes in the legitimacy of this industry, or sympathizes with the intent of it, can blind his eyes to the economic danger which lurks in its development. In fact, at the time when the rup- ture of diplomatic relations between this country and Germany seemed imminent, it was a partial relief of the strain to reflect that, in that event, this industry might come under the control of the Government for the regulation of its profits, as well as for the direction of its uses. It has long been evident, though the fact has not yet made its due impression, that industrial- ism is the modern training-school for war'or peace. It is there that men are actually thinking of one THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM 159 another in terms of war or peace. It is there that they learn to organize for or against one another. The lockout and the strike are distinctly warlike measures. Arbitration is a term of war, the most advanced term looking toward peace, but still pre- supposing a state of warfare. Cooperation, in some one of its manifold forms, is the only distinctive term of peace. It is such, not simply because it im- plies sympathetic action, but because it educates all concerned in "those sobrieties on which democ- racy must at last rest." As we recall how many persons are in the training-school of industrialism, how early they enter it and how long they remain in it, and how various and how influential are the experiences through which they pass, we can see how far back the peace movement must reach in its educative work. What can we hope to accomplish in the training of our diplomats for carrying out the policy of universal peace, if we cannot train our captains of industry, in the ranks both of capital and of labor, to think and to act in the terms of peace? The inconsistency is greater than a nation can maintain, and at the same time aspire to the place of leadership in the cause of universal peace. Peace is not a contrivance for the settle- ment of disputes between nations. Peace is a state of mind in peoples themselves, developed, if at all, out of the ordinary experiences of associated 160 THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM life. The social strife creates a state of mind which makes peace in any large sense seem impracticable. If we cannot do business according to the prin- ciples and methods of peace, how can we expect that such a course of action will be successful in the conduct of the Government? Nothing would refute so quickly or so effectively the charge that peacemakers are theorists as the application of the principles and methods of peace to industrialism. So long as it is necessary to employ the Federal Army to keep the peace in Colorado, or for like emergencies in other States, it is very difficult to persuade the average man of the moral con- sistency of efforts for general disarmament. IV In accounting for the lack of popular response to the present claims of peace, we must recall the pessimistic views which pervaded society, during the years of peace immediately preceding the war, regarding the spiritual outcome of our modern material civilization. Now that war has come and wakened men to the larger issues of life, they do not care simply to revert to former conditions. I think that the pessimism which preceded the war was overwrought; but no one can deny its existence, or doubt that we are now feeling the effect of it in our endeavor to justify the demands THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM 161 of peace. In view of this past experience, which is still fresh in the minds of men, it is manifestly harder for them to believe in the satisfaction, within the restrictions of peace, of some of those higher instincts which have free play in the tumult of war. Certainly it gives an added pertinency to the questions, where is the moral stimulus of peace, and what is its moral equipment for the tasks, the conflicts, and the adventures of life? When we turn from our past unsatisfying ex- periences to observe more carefully the range of ordinary moral incentives and opportunities, we are impressed by two conditions. On the one hand we see the lessening of what may be termed the heroic opportunity for the average man. The outer world seems to be closing in upon him. Once, and in days not far remote, this outer world gave him freedom, incitement, adventure. It created heroic types out of common men. The seafaring man made England. The pioneer made America, as one may see in reading, for example, Winston Churchill's " The Crossing," worthy of a permanent place in American literature as an epic of early American life. To-day it is the task, the "job," which confronts the average man, not the adventure. When we think of the splendid possi- bilities in industrialism to arouse the energies, to quicken the imagination, to multiply the power of 162 THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM each man by that of his fellows, we might assume an increase rather than a lessening of the oppor- tunity for the strenuous life. But the fact is other- wise. Industrialism has not yet realized its pos- sibilities of incentive and opportunity. For the present the raw immigrant is more in the line of succession to the pioneer than any man amongst us. He may be disappointed, disillusioned, but not before he has bequeathed to his children de- sires and ambitions which he may have failed to realize. On the other hand, passing from the average to the exceptional man, the man with the full op- portunities of the intellectual life before him, we see how easy it is for him to detach himself from the incentives of the spiritual life. It would not be charitable or true to say that the expansion of the intellectual life has produced merely intel- lectualism. It has produced great moral results, as notably through many of the sacrifices attend- ing the progress of science. But it has also pro- duced a class, corresponding to that of the newly rich in social life, which has not found its place in the intellectual world. With many of this class the mark of intellectual superiority is a certain disdain of any of the recognized sources of the spiritual incentive. As a result of this intellectual contempt, the inner world of spiritual motive is THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM 163 closed to the man of this type as effectually as is the outer world of adventure to the average man. War brings the heroic opportunity to the door of the average man, and the heroic incentive to the mind of the exceptional man. We deplore this kind of opportunity and this kind of incentive. The cost is fearful, to be reckoned largely in the price which others must pay; but men recognize the opportunity and feel the incentive. It would be worse than idle for us to ignore the quick transi- tion which war may effect in responsive natures from the commonplace or the cynical to the sacri- ficial and the sublime. No one of us can deny, nor can we read unmoved, the testimony of those who have passed or are now passing through this ex- perience. A poet, of the quality of Rupert Brooke, reborn out of the experience of the present war and at the cost of his life, has the right to be heard. " Now, God be thanked who has matched us with his hour, And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping, With hand made sure, clear eye, and sharpened power, To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping, Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary, Leave the sick hearts that honor could not move, And half-men, and their dirty songs and dreary, And all the little emptiness of love!" The demoralization attending the present war is as appalling as the physical ruin that it has wrought, but we are none the less awed and 164 THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM abashed in the presence of the spiritual transforma- tions which it is effecting in the lives of individual men, and even of nations. Probably no phenom- enon connected with the war has been so impres- sive as the spiritualization of France. Whenever a moral movement has reached the stage at which it becomes a problem the fact may be accepted as evidence of its vitality. Problems do not vex declining causes. It is the function of a problem to deepen and strengthen the move- ment which it arrests, provided it is understood and treated as a problem. It is not well to try to force the issue which it raises by the stress of moral passion, or to attempt to smother it by sentiment. A problem is not solved in that way. The prob- lem of peace cannot be solved by intensifying the crusade against war. What very many wish to know before enlisting in the cause of universal peace is the full moral purport of the peace move- ment: what is its attitude toward the supreme issues of the present war; what its relation to the causes of the social strife; what its provision for the satisfaction of things fundamental in human nature. The popular distrust of the peace move- ment, growing out of the present uncertainty, con- stitutes, as it seems to me, the immediate problem THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM 165 of peace; and my contention is that the only prac- tical way of solving this problem is by removing, so far as possible, the causes which have created it. My further contention is that the attempt to solve the problem of peace in this practical way will deepen and strengthen the peace movement at the point where it most needs depth and strength. The peace movement cannot be said to be lacking in respect of means for the accomplish- ment of its purpose, many of which bear the marks of constructive statesmanship. What it most lacks is motive power, due to its failure to reach down into those deep undercurrents of popular convic- tion, which, when once reached, carry a movement on to its conclusion. Evidently the most effective step that can be taken toward removing the causes of distrust is to define peace: to put forward, to begin with, a definition which shall declare unmistakably its full moral bearing upon present conditions. Such a definition should attempt to show, not simply how peace may be achieved, but what kind of peace is to be striven for, what to be accepted, what to be rejected. It is confessedly difficult to define peace apart from its relations at any given time to existing conditions. The sentiment of peace lends itself to vague generalizations, or to aphorisms which crumble before specific moral 166 THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM tests. The familiar aphorism of Franklin, "There never was a good war or a bad peace," has been passed along the peaceful generations on the strength of Franklin's reputation for political sagacity. It was quickly forgotten, if indeed it was ever generally known, how vehemently the saying was repudiated by its author when he was confronted by the possible application of it to a treaty of peace between the colonies and Great Britain which might impugn their loyalty to their allies. Writing to his English friend, David Hart- ley, under date of February 2, 1780, he said, "If the Congress have entrusted to others, rather than to me, the negotiations for peace, when such shall be set on foot, as has been reported, it is per- haps because they may have heard of a very singu- lar opinion of mine, that there hardly ever existed such a thing as a bad peace, or a good war, and that I might therefore be easily induced to make improper concessions. But at the same time they and you may be assured, that 7 should think the destruction of our whole country, and the extirpation of our whole people, preferable to the infamy of abandoning our allies." * 1 Bigelow's Franklin, vol. n, p. 498. Exception has been taken to the above reference to Franklin as implying that he renounced his aphorism on peace. The implication does not follow from the lan- guage used, or from the point of contention in the paragraph. It is not denied that Franklin continued the use of the aphorism after the THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM 167 The creed of peace should be aggressive; it should also be defensible aggressively defensi- ble. It should anticipate and challenge all doubts and suspicions. With this intent the creed of peace for to-day should start out of the reaffirmation of the great loyalties. If justice and liberty are to be transferred from the guardianship of war to the guardianship of peace, the acceptance of the trust should be announced in no uncertain terms. It is quite useless to evade or even to defer the announcement, for the time is at hand when the attitude of the peace movement to the issues of the war must be made evident by its attitude to the terms of settlement. The present ambiguity must soon end. Whenever it ends, the position then taken will determine the fortune of the cause of universal peace in the mind of this generation. I can conceive of no greater setback to the cause than the acceptance, in the name of peace, of a "peace" which should celebrate the triumphs of militarism. I can conceive of no greater betrayal of the cause than the acceptance, in the name of peace, of a "peace" which should make the viola- tion of Belgium the tragedy of the twentieth cen- tury, as the partition of Poland became the tragedy date of this letter. What is here affirmed is that Frankliii " vehemently repudiated the saying" when confronted by a certain possible appli- cation of it, the instance having been cited to show that "such apho- risms are liable to crumble before specific moral tests." 168 THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM of the eighteenth century. The time may come when the long-delayed protest in behalf of Bel- gium must be made to save the cause of peace, if it cannot save Belgium. How much more signifi- cant and how much more effective than a protest, the timely avowal in the creed of peace of the su- preme allegiance of peace to liberty! Next to a clear definition of peace in its rela- tion to the moral issues of the war, as an aid in removing popular indifference to the peace move- ment, I put the expression of active sympathy with efforts to abate the social strife. This does not imply a diversion of purpose or a dissipation of energy. Sympathy between related moral causes is always to be expected. It is to be ex- pected that sympathy will be active where causes are closely identified. The relation of the social strife to war is evident. No less evident is the reason for sympathetic if not mutual struggle for the suppression of each. The advocates of peace, as has been suggested, may well regard industrial- ism as an elementary school for the practice of the methods of peace. Insistence upon the use of this opportunity at the present time may be deemed inopportune, but it cannot be regarded as inop- portune for the peace movement to come into far closer sympathy than is now apparent with what is known distinctively as the social movement. THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM 169 And further still, if a radical change is to be effected in the popular attitude toward the peace movement, peace itself must be made more repre- sentative of the positive elements of human na- ture. War is the perversion of a very great and a very noble instinct, the desire to conquer. A great deal that is best in human endeavor takes that form. The instinct for conquest is latent in all strenuous work, in the closest investigation and re- search, and in the struggle for moral reform. To- day it has an unlimited range for activity in the sphere of industry, of science, and of religion. It is an instinct which must be recognized to the full if we are to continue the struggle for the conquest either of nature or of human nature. Whatever may be the apparent claims of consistency in our advocacy of peace, I believe that we must make it clear above all dispute that we hold fast to one great reservation the reservation of the right and of the duty of moral conflict, including the liabilities which conflict may involve. So far as we can look into the future, the permanency of peace must rest upon the courageous exercise of this reserved right and duty. At the beginning of this article I avowed my belief in the practicability of universal peace. In full view of what has been written I renew the 170 THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM avowal of my faith. But the peace to which I sub- scribe is not merely the cessation of war. A vari- ety of causes may operate to bring about the ces- sation of the present war, not one of which may be to the honor of peace. The cessation from war may be prolonged for a century through causes not one of which may be to the honor of peace. The time is past, in the interest of peace, for bal- ances of power and concerts of nations. The peace for which the world waits will rest upon the securi- ties which peace has to offer in its own right, under its own name, guaranteed by its loyalties to the inalienable rights of men, and enforced, if need be, by the powers under its authority. The signifi- cant and encouraging fact about peace is that the higher its aim and the broader its scope, the more practicable it seems. The one reason for its present claim to practicality lies in its claim to universality. Put this claim aside, and the ques- tion may be asked of the men of peace in this gen- eration, " What do ye more than others? " Hav- ing made this daring advance, it behooves us to see to it that we do not weaken it by those unreasonable demands for quick results which characterize the spirit of our generation. The es- sential part of our task in this great business of peace-making seems to me to lie in the attempt to give peace the requisite moral standing in the THE CRUX OF THE PEACE PROBLEM 171 eyes of the world. It is beyond our power to give those assurances that must have the sanction of time, but we may at least hope to remove those suspicions and distrusts which embarrass us in our work, and which, if not removed, must em- barrass all future workers for peace. VII ON THE CONTROL OF MODERN CIVILIZATION A QUESTION of far-reaching significance has been raised by the war, though lying outside its im- mediate issues; namely, that of the responsibility of a given generation for the course of civilization within its limits. Except for the war this ques- tion would have passed over our generation. We should have been concerned simply with the con- ventional question, What response can we best make to the stimulus of the current civilization how completely can we absorb its culture? The question which is actually forcing itself upon us is altogether different; not at all a question of re- sponse, but rather of control. Can we conserve the strength of modern civilization, and at the same time restrain those tendencies which have reached such startling but not illogical results in the war? Probably no generation was ever before confronted so directly with the danger of an uncontrolled civilization. Modern civilization has been by distinction a civilization of power. Its cultural effects, though CONTROL OF MODERN CIVILIZATION 173 clear and distinct, have been secondary. It has been a civilization of natural forces, of physical laws, of mechanical devices, of organization. The exponent of its power, and of its beneficence, is the machine. The progress of mechanical inven- tion measures the advance of material welfare. We are all conscious that we have become the passive beneficiaries, or the passive instruments, of the civilization which dominates our lives. In what has thus come to be the habitual reli- ance upon material power we have, I think, the explanation of the otherwise strange contradic- tion in the experiences of the modern man; on the one hand, a sense of power rising at times to arrogance, and on the other hand, a sense of help- lessness involving at times an abject surrender to the environment. In our more confident moods we vaunt our alliance with the forces of nature, but not infrequently we are made to feel that we have to do with things which are irresist- ible and inevitable. Something of this sense of the irresistible and the inevitable has come over us in the retrospect of the causes, the agencies, and the instrumentalities which worked together toward the war. We see the steady, cumulative power of the material forces which were in opera- tion. The retrospect discloses no counteracting human agencies at work equal to the task. 174 CONTROL OF MODERN CIVILIZATION For the same reason many entertain a like feel- ing regarding the outcome of the war. Only let the horrible struggle cease, let such readjustments be made as may measurably satisfy conflicting interests, let the channels of trade be reopened, let the arts of peace be revived what more can be expected? The answer to such pessimism, however widespread, is that it gives a painfully insufficient outcome to the war. The war has ploughed deep into the life of individuals as well as of nations. Many of the questions which it has started are out of reach of diplomacy and statesmanship. The complete question is not the reconstruction of Europe, nor yet that of absolut- ism or democracy. There is, I believe, a growing sense that we do not reach the essential issues involved till we come into conscious and respon- sible relation to the civilization which allowed the war and brought it to so great magnitude. Any result, commensurate with the war, must consist in some corresponding change effected in the spirit and temper of the civilization which gave it its vitality and scope. When we ask how so great a result is to be ef- fected we are not left entirely to faith. Civiliza- tion is open at any time to the influence of great popular movements, or to the influence of con- vincing ideas. No one can predict the source of CONTROL OF MODERN CIVILIZATION 175 these renewing or controlling influences, but it is not the mark of a visionary temperament to an- ticipate them. History justifies the spirit of sane expectancy. Some "renaissance," some "refor- mation," some "revolution," some unheralded or some carefully organized movement may occur to change the course of civilization, quite as effectually as a great discovery or a great inven- tion. But in respect to the hope of a change in the controlling tendencies of modern civilization the chief reason must be found in the necessity for the awakening of our generation to its re- sponsibility. I have referred to that passive ac- quiescence which has characterized our relation to the material forces which have controlled our present civilization. But over against the easy and seemingly helpless continuance of this passive attitude on the part of our generation looms the overshadowing danger of our continued irre- sponsibility. Modern civilization, if left to those tendencies which have brought us to present con- ditions, seems more and more a moral impossi- bility. Evidently the immediate and most urgent re- sponsibility of our generation toward the civili- zation which dominates it is to effect the transfer 176 CONTROL OF MODERN CIVILIZATION of authority from war to peace, to establish, that is, the moral authority of peace. There are condi- tions under which war is not an uncivilizing force. On the contrary, it has played an important part in civilization, when it has been invoked in the interest of liberty or justice. But when, as at present, war takes possession of the nations, and sits astride civilization, the first concern must be to throw off the unnatural bondage. War as a state of national existence is not according to civilization. It has its justification as a permanent and ready resort only to insure security and order. When provision can otherwise be made for these ends, and made effectively, there can be no longer legitimate occasion for resort to war, except under the stress of revolution. But all this implies an authoritative substitute for war. Any thought of peace that lacks the ele- ment of authority is futile. The term "moral" simply solidifies and strengthens the conception of authority: for the authority of peace, in dis- tinction from that of war, must rest upon the moral sense of the civilized world, thoroughly educated and thoroughly organized. Of these two requisites for the sufficient moral authority of peace, education and organization, the former represents the long, persistent process of train- ing, and in many cases of transforming, the mind CONTROL OF MODERN CIVILIZATION 177 of the nations. We are indebted to an unexpected source for a definition of peace of refreshing sim- plicity. "Peace," said Juarez, Mexican patriot and jurist, "peace is respect for the rights of others." This definition at once diverts the mind from all thoughts of the enjoyments and luxuries of peace and fixes it upon the most self-denying and altruistic of its duties. The training of any nation, even the most advanced, in respect for the rights of other nations is an arduous task. The acknowledgment of the rights of other nations seems often incompatible with the full assertion of the rights of one's own nation. And not infre- quently the difficulty is aggravated by the asser- tion of very questionable rights on the part of an opposing nation. This is liable to be the embar- rassment to fair dealing between a strong and a weak nation, as we are finding in our present dealings with Mexico. But the principle stands as the great educative principle in the process of training a nation for peace. And until the prin- ciple has been mastered we have no right to ex- pect that peace can supplant war in effecting any suitable guaranty of order or justice. The education of a people, therefore, in the responsibilities of peace must attend, if not pre- cede, all efforts to give to peace any compelling authority. From the nature of the case the main- 178 CONTROL OF MODERN CIVILIZATION tenance of peace cannot rest primarily upon force. But granting that the authority of peace must be essentially moral, it does not follow that there can be any lack in the fundamental means of enforcing peace. Organized peace is the only peace which stands for authority: and organiza- tion must include all the elements of authority public opinion, law, economic control, and, in re- serve, the force of consenting states. The heart and substance of organized peace is international law. There is the seat of authority. Law does not cease in any respect to be law when it becomes international. "The civilized world," says Mr. Root, "will have to determine whether what we call international law is to be continued as a mere code of etiquette or is to be a real body of laws imposing obligations much more definite and in- evitable than they have been heretofore. It must be one thing or the other." But before this deci- sion can be made clear and effective, there lies the slow and painstaking process of the reconstruc- tion of international law: and when the necessary reconstruction has been made and accepted, then there lies the problem of enforcement. The out- look might seem disheartening, were it not that the arduous and protracted work involved is pre- cisely the work needed to give the requisite moral character to peace. Peace needs to borrow from CONTROL OF MODERN CIVILIZATION 179 war most of the qualities which have made war a persistent force determination, invention, cour- age, and assurance. The struggle impending is for nothing less than the mastery of the nations. Without doubt the struggle will necessitate at some point the use of force. It is almost impossible to conceive of law as reaching the stage of control without meeting with occasion for the use of the practical means of control. Force is far less to be feared in the interest of peace than the failure to use it when demanded by the authority of inter- national law. Whenever the occasion for national preparedness passes, it may be reasonably ex- pected that much of the spirit of preparedness will go over into the defense of the new agree- ments and obligations assumed. I think that we cannot overestimate, however, the determined state of mind necessary for gaining control of civilization in the interest of peace. The peace- making required will supplant war only by assum- ing and using many of those characteristics which have made war honorable as well as effective, and which are capable of rendering peace no less honorable and effective. If the transfer of author- ity from war to peace is to be effected, peace must be considered primarily, not as an instrumental- ity for securing and maintaining peace, but as an instrumentality for securing and maintaining 180 CONTROL OF MODERN CIVILIZATION order, justice, and liberty, and for accomplishing these results, if need be, at the price of peace. As I have already intimated in these discussions of war and peace our chief reliance in the attempt to transfer authority from war to peace must be on diplomacy. Other things being equal the nation which has the strongest diplomatic service will be the surest safeguard of peace. But there are auxil- iary peace-makers which every nation ought to have in training. I refer especially to the use of that increasing class of persons possessed of a reli- able and sympathetic knowledge of the people and affairs of some other one nation. If such persons could be sufficiently organized to act promptly in times of international emergency by giving pub- licity to the influences which are at work for peace, much peril might be averted on the first intima- tions of danger. Something has been accomplished in this way in the endeavor to interpret the recip- rocal relations of the United States and Japan. ii The unsuspected aptitude of modern civiliza- tion for the uses of war has brought more clearly to light its tendency to develop the mechanical above the human. It is only as we see the mean- ing of wide contrasts that we can take the measure of those contradictions and antagonisms which CONTROL OF MODERN CIVILIZATION 181 pass under our daily notice. The greatest con- trast under modern civilization lies in the field of industrialism the contrast between the cease- less output of mechanical invention and the strug- gle for social existence. Within the limits of this contrast fall the organized contentions between capital and labor, and the endless variations of the social unrest. It is impossible to estimate these conditions fairly, or even to understand them, ex- cept by reverting to the point of view at either extreme. Take, for example, the following opinion of a labor expert as to the ground of difference between organized labor and scientific manage- ment: "Superficially it is apparent that organ- ized labor has taken a stand for restriction of output, and for reversion to mediaeval industrial conditions. A careful examination of the underly- ing causes of this opposition will reveal that such is not necessarily the case. The fundamental difference between the point of view of the w r orker and the employer lies in the definition of effi- ciency, and the methods and devices used in achieving it. ... The fundamental objection of organized labor to scientific management is that it lacks the spirit of democracy. Organized labor is a social ideal, not an industrial ideal, and de- fines efficiency in terms which are not confined to the shop or to the amount of work which a laborer 182 CONTROL OF MODERN CIVILIZATION can turn out. To organized labor efficiency means the efficiency of a man as a citizen, and not as a working unit. If a worker is used so that at the end of the day he is exhausted, does not eat his meal with relish, cannot read his newspaper in ease, pushes the baby away from him with an- noyance, he is not an efficient citizen." By con- trast the attitude of scientific management is fa- vorable to the individual worker, giving him the chance to earn according to his individual ability and desire, but it takes little account of the "so- cial ideals" of labor. Its aim is to increase the output. It strives to make the human factor as efficiently productive as the machine which the man tends. The ideal of capital is the advance of social welfare through the increase of produc- tion. In estimating the social value of the capi- talist the fact must not be overlooked or minimized that capital represents in large degree the energiz- ing mind of the country. It is difficult to understand how much of the stimulus of modern civilization has gone into mechanical invention, and into the organizations necessary to give it effect. The vast system of in- dustrialism is the omnipresent sign of it, but even that fails to represent the absorption of mind in the mechanism of modern life. In our attempts to solve the intricate problem of wealth we assign CONTROL OF MODERN CIVILIZATION 183 the proportion due to labor very much according to our sympathies. Labor is by comparison with mechanical invention a definite quantity. It has a cash value. The value due to mechanical inven- tion is relatively a matter of conjecture, but it must be almost immeasurable. It has not only multiplied many-fold the product of each laborer, it has created a considerable part of the popula- tion which it employs. What we have termed the proletariat is in no small degree the product of the machine. The essential fact, however, is not that mod- ern wealth has its origin so largely in mechanical invention, but that modern civilization finds its chief interest in the mechanical rather than in the human. Modern civilization has shown no absorbing passion for humanity, such as charac- terized the great epochs of civil and religious progress. In place of this it has shown an absorb- ing interest in physical discoveries and inventions. That these discoveries and inventions have min- istered greatly to human welfare is beyond dis- pute, but it can hardly be assumed that an impel- ling human impulse has been the chief intention. Modern science has little of the lofty scorn of Cuvier for the utilities and practicalities which are open to it, but neither can it be said that the inventor has the zeal of the reformer. Modern 184 CONTROL OF MODERN CIVILIZATION science is far from being mercenary, but it is not human. Its primary interests are not in men, but in things. Its great values lie in forces: they are not human values. With all respect and even reverence for the values introduced and maintained by science, it is not too soon to strive, and to strive with inten- sity and with expectation for the readjustment and enlargement of those values which are inher- ent in humanity itself, inherent, that is, in men and women, many of whom are below the aver- age in attainment and power. We are accus- tomed to speak of the present as a humanitarian age; and such it is when measured by its acts of charity, by its sensitiveness to cruelty, and es- pecially by the fruits of medical service. But when measured by the actual value which it puts upon whatever is simply human, the age can lay little claim to a reverent, to a wise, or to an economical valuation of humanity. The very struggle to secure some of the most necessary social and economic reforms shows the reluctance of the public mind to part with its low and sordid valuations. The slow passage of bills for the relief of child labor in many of the state legislatures, and in the Congress, is evidence of the niggardli- ness of public opinion in so primitive a matter as that of rights, and of its gross ignorance or un- CONTROL OF MODERN CIVILIZATION 185 concern in respect to the higher matter of human values. I think that the time has come when the idea of social and economic human values must be made to take its place among the ruling ideas of civilization. At present it does not hold the place which the religious and the political conceptions of human nature have held in the civilizations under their control. It is now largely a question of reform, making its appeal from manifest neg- lects or abuses, but nowhere asserting itself with the commanding force of a ruling idea. On the con- trary, it is overshadowed by the new estimates placed upon matter and force. The revaluation of the human factor in the social and economic world must be regarded strictly as an intellec- tual process, as much so as any process of science. It cannot be relegated to sentiment, or even to morality. It belongs, where all questions of values belong, within the range of intellectual appreciation and authority. Such an intellectual revaluation of human life, as it exists under present social and economic conditions, is necessary because of the diminishing values fixed by conventions and organizations. No one can fail to see, for example, that the more advanced working man has outgrown the trades- unions; not that they have ceased to be effective 186 CONTROL OF MODERN CIVILIZATION for certain uses, but that they are no longer ade- quate for the higher uses. Within the field of economic progress it is becoming evident that we have not reached the final result in collective bar- gaining. Further progress waits upon more and better education. To recall the labor expert from whom I have quoted: "Industrial democracy will be gained through an adequate system of indus- trial education. . . . The worker must be taught the intricate relationship between operation and operation, between cost and values, between effi- ciency and profits. Industrial education must teach the worker the principles of efficient man- agement. ... In order to bring this about I be- lieve that organized labor should avail itself of the same expert counsel, in the problems of indus- trial management, as that retained and utilized by the employer; that organized labor should study its own problems with the same scientific attitude that prevails in the methods of capital and engineering; that contentions, complaints, and grievances of labor should be the subject of scientific research in the hands of competent ex- perts, and the data, with the attending opinions of counsel attached, turned over to labor as a basis of action." Here is the hope and promise of an increasing industrial equality through educa- tion, which means the elevation of the human CONTROL OF MODERN CIVILIZATION 187 factor in industry. Is it not at last apparent that the so-called question of capital and labor has become, because of its human implications, not merely a question of business or of reform, but a question of civilization? HI Another aspect of modern civilization suggests the need of control in the way of expansion. I refer to its spiritual provincialism. It has nar- rowed and otherwise restricted the range of the spiritual life. Modern civilization brought in the religion of agnosticism, the religion, that is, of verifiable knowledge. Faith was eliminated. Mr. Huxley, the author of the term "agnostic in its modern application," has given in personal terms its religious significance. Writing to his friend Charles Kingsley, he said: "It is no use to talk to me of analogies and probabilities. I know what I mean when I say that I believe in the law of the hi verse squares, and I will not rest my life and my hopes upon weaker convic- tions." And again: "I cannot see one shadow or tittle of evidence that the great unknown underlying the phenomena of the universe stands to us in the relation of a Father loves us and cares for us as Christianity asserts. So with re- gard to the other great Christian dogmas, immor- 188 CONTROL OF MODERN CIVILIZATION tality of soul and future state of rewards and punishments, what possible objection can I who am compelled perforce to believe in the immor- tality of what we call Matter and Force, and in a very unmistakable present state of rewards and punishments for our debts have to these doc- trines? Give me a scintilla of evidence and I am ready to jump at them." Of course a religion without faith is no more a religion than air is air without oxygen. Agnos- ticism, however, produced two distinct religious effects: it compelled the verification of all verifi- able data of the Christian faith, and it with- drew attention from the other-worldly aspects of Christianity to those duties and opportunities which abound in this world. Indirectly it gave to Christianity its very marked humanitarian tendencies. But agnosticism is the chief cause of the present spiritual provincialism. It broke the close religious connection between the mod- ern and the preceding ages. It did more than to introduce the critical spirit into the thought of the age, it introduced the spirit of intellectual con- tempt: and nowhere was this spirit so clearly and so bitterly manifested as against the religious faith of the past. And yet nowhere was the resid- uum of inherited truth so great as within the realm of religion. In common with science and CONTROL OF MODERN CIVILIZATION 189 history religion was dispossessed of much which had been held as fact, but religion was still pos- sessed of vast deposits of human experience which criticism could not disturb. The present age can afford to be more self-contained in respect to any or all other matters than in respect to religion. The greatest possible loss which can come to us in our inheritances is the loss of connection with the great ages of faith, a loss of which we are at times ap- prised through our sense of spiritual provincialism. I believe that nothing can bring back to us that repose of mind, as essential as is intellectual ad- venture or struggle to the assurance of progress, except the restoration of the sense of historical continuity. In spite of our seeming dislocation from the order of the world we are still a part of the world that has been and of the world that is to be. The supreme office of faith in our generation is to help us to replace ourselves in the Divine order. The effect of agnosticism is still more marked in the detachment, to so large an extent, of the religious life from the realization of the future. The religious problem of the modern man has been said to consist in "the distance of God and in the indifference of Nature." To these factors in the problem should be added a third the dimness of the future world. True, immortality remains an irrepressible hope. But it would be 190 CONTROL OF MODERN CIVILIZATION far too much to say that it is an ever-present and urgent reality. And yet the assurance of immor- tality, reaching to some clear and energizing sense of it, was meant to be the great endowment by Christianity of the human race, its chief aid to man in his endeavor "to be not only himself, but more than himself." The attainment of this end is not effected through "thinking but the thoughts of time." To the degree in which agnosticism shuts down the spiritual horizon it reduces the spiritual power of the age. The control of civilization in the interest of religion is not to be considered. The two are dis- tinct. But civilization, now as always the com- prehensive term, must have due regard to all vitalizing forces which it includes. These must never lack for room, for freedom, for atmosphere. If there is lack in any of these regards, there should be positive and effective action in their behalf. Protest is not sufficient. The duty of assertion is manifest. I believe that the time is at hand for the larger assertion of the spiritual life, meaning thereby the life of faith. All that can be asked of civilization at this point is room, a sufficient ex- pansion to include the results of spiritual develop- ment. All else must come through the pressure of the spiritual life itself. But this will be sufficient. It is wonderful how the spirit of man gains its CONTROL OF MODERN CIVILIZATION 191 ground when it is quickened and enlarged to its normal capacity. Is it too much to expect that faith, as expressing the aspirations and demands of the human spirit, is yet to acquire a firmer foot- ing and larger holdings, amid the crowded and resisting forces of a material civilization? Rather is it not unbelievable that a generation which has been brought face to face with the everlasting realities, and held so long in their presence, should allow itself to remain the easy subject, or the pas- sive instrument, of an uncontrolled civilization? A civilization of power cannot be shared with- out due regard to its liabilities. These, however, are discernible. In this respect it has a moral ad- vantage over most civilizations of culture or of faith. Its dangers are less insidious. They are never disguised. At times they challenge atten- tion. The distinction of living under a civilization of power is heightened by the acceptance of the responsibility involved. When this responsibility takes the form of control, whether by restraint or by direction, the generation entrusted with the task may find itself accorded an unusual place in the records of civilization. THE END APPENDIX APPENDIX THE NEW MOVEMENT IN HUMANITY (1892) I FIND the sufficient motive for speaking to you to-day in the consciousness, which I assume is as clear in your minds as in my own, that we are in the midst of one of those greater movements in humanity which I can best characterize, according to my sense of it, by say- ing that it is a movement from liberty to unity. It is the result largely, I believe, of the intellectual advance of the last generation, bringing in new principles and methods and another ruling idea. Without dwelling, however, at very much length upon the causes which are producing the change, I desire to attempt an esti- mate of its practical meaning and value, and to note especially the effect of it upon some of those interests with which we have most to do, and upon which the effect is now beginning to be appreciable. Virtually this movement from liberty to unity has already brought us into the presence of a new humanity. The effect of such a movement is like that of the old migration of races. Change of thought produces new characteristics in a race, like change of place. That which makes a new humanity is another conception of it, great enough to change its aspect, and to modify, in some respects at least, its condition. Humanity is at any given time what the ruling conception of it is. Not that the fact ever corresponds exactly to the idea, but that the fact is always other than it would be if the idea had not come, or had come in a different form. 196 APPENDIX The monotony of human existence, the living and dy- ing of the generations, is thus broken at long intervals by the incoming of ideas directed toward and laying hold upon the developed mind of the race, reopening, it may be, the questions of origin and destiny, and changing the measurements and valuations of human life. I speak of the thought which lays immediate hold upon the mind of the race, affecting the estimate of it- self, for the first direction of intellectual movements is quite as often away from as toward humanity. Other objects control the imagination or conscience, some- thing pertaining to God or to the outer universe. True, there is always an attendant and reflex influence from thought upon these subjects, with the after result, as I hope soon to illustrate, of a positive enlargement and enrichment of all human interests ; but it is of the direct and intentioned and applied thought as related to these interests of which I am now speaking, and in which I find peculiar value. The return of the intellectual life to humanity as the object of its thought, after its searchings after God, or its wanderings in the outer universe, is always hailed with an enthusiasm which cannot be misunderstood. The absence of the intellect at any time on other busi- ness, leaving human affairs to the sense of obligation or to the play of the sympathies, creates a veritable homesickness in many minds. Here and there a soli- tary thinker seems to find supreme repose and content at the farthest remove from all that is human, freedom from its limitation, relief from its transitoriness ; but the mood of most thinkers finds expression, does it not? in the pathetic words of one of your own number, who wrote in the preface to a volume through which he committed himself to the remembrance of his fellow- men, " To me the firelight on the hearthstone of home APPENDIX 197 is more attractive than the brightest star in the far-off heavens." Now there is, as I believe (the assumption is the premise of my argument), there is a return to-day of the intellectual life to humanity as one of the chief objects of its interest; and not only this, but in the return it has brought with it a new working conception of hu- manity. The growing sign of the social bond is not sentiment, hardly sympathy, but intellectual concern. It could not well have been otherwise. Our inheritance from the immediate past is not passion, but method, mental processes, the habit of critical and speculative thought. There have been epochs of passion which have made history, but it cannot be said that the epoch from which we are emerging has been, in any large sense, an epoch of passion. It has, indeed, held the great wars for national unity, the unity of Italy and Germany, and the reunification of America; but no one, I think, would find in these wars the depths of that passion which raged in the French Revolution, or which exulted in the American and English Revolu- tions. These burned into their age, and illumined it with the flame of liberty. No, our direct inheritance is of a different sort, and necessarily determines our approach to the human questions which are beginning to vex and alarm us. The great business of our immediate predecessors, which will mark their time in history, was not to arouse sentiment or passion to high uses, but rather to stimu- late investigation, to increase knowledge, to invent hypotheses, to get at the method of the universe. Of no period, compared with that which has just gone be- fore us, can the claim be made of such careful or varied research, or of such resolute and courageous reason- ing. What age ever invaded to a like extent the known 198 APPENDIX realms of nature, or challenged with a like audacity the mystery of existence? By the logic of events, there- fore, we are committed to the intellectual rather than to the emotional, or even to the purely sympathetic method of accomplishing the tasks which have fallen to us. Our predecessors have been trying to think out the problems of the physical world; they have left to us the endeavor to think out the problems of the human world. The stream of the intellectual life along which we are borne has broken, part flowing through worn channels into the physical world, part making new channels through which it may enter into all the re- gions of the human world. There can be no incon- sistency between the parts, but rather a constant inter- change of methods and principles. And the fact which I now wish to emphasize is this: that the great constructive force which we are taking over from the results of physical science, and which we are trying to apply to the current problems of hu- manity, is the sense of the organic, which, as we transfer it to things human, becomes the consciousness of a vital unity. Man has found a new place for himself in the physical world, with new partnerships, alliances, affini- ties. By the same method and under the same impulse he is now beginning to discover and realize new rela- tionships to himself, each man to every other man, the individual to the whole. It is this sense of the organic, the inheritance of the last results of thought, and now permeating all our thinking, which is giving us the new conception of humanity; which, as I have said, is vir- tually giving us a new humanity. It marks the move- ment from liberty to unity. Let me then go on to note, according to my pur- pose, some of the effects of this conception or sense of the organic, that we may get an estimate of its value, APPENDIX 199 as we are beginning to act under the motive of it in mat- ters of human interest and concern. Naturally our first inquiry is in regard to its educa- tional effect. What is its value in the development of personality? Personality, as we are accustomed to ac- count for its higher developments, seems to us to be almost entirely the outgrowth of individual freedom. Possibly we overlook the moral effect of that earlier stage of authority and discipline which, in contrast with the free and mobile conditions of the present, we call status; but allowing that personal development has been coincident and coextensive with individual free- dom, the question can no longer be delayed, How much more has the individual to gain from a continued and protracted individualism? I do not ask whether indi- vidualism is a spent force. There are no spent forces of this vital sort. Positive and constructive forces change places, overlap one another, act and react by antago- nisms, but never seek to destroy one another. Subor- dination, not annihilation, is the law of their mutual action. So they cooperate. When, therefore, I ask how much more the individual may hope to gain from a continued and protracted in- dividualism, I am really asking whether individualism may rightly project itself, according to the scope of its traditions, into the new domain of thought and action. As against its ancient foe, despotism of every kind, intellectual, political, religious, individualism holds good for all time. But if it is attempted to maintain in its behalf a supremacy based upon these conquests, serious inquiry must be made into the nature of the new antagonisms which it is sure to arouse. And if it shall be found that the rigid insistence upon this prin- ciple of personal development brings it now into con- flict, not with that which is arbitrary and artificial, 200 APPENDIX but with that which is vital and organic, not with that superimposed upon, but with that at work within society, it will at once be seen that the contention is unseemly and wasteful. It must be carried on at the expense of the individual. I must continue to resist with all my nature the forces from without which are seeking to enslave me, be they many, be they great, be they of men, or of institutions, or of philosophies and beliefs; but the personal forces which are seeking to en- ter in and become a part of my being, entering through inheritance, through friendship, through the mutual toil and struggle and mystery and faith, through the thousand ways in which I am open to the common hu- manity, these I must learn to recognize and under- stand, to treat with a wise discrimination and with a generous hospitality, else I shall certainly be less than I might be: my liberty will bring me only the narrow- ness of my own self; my individualism will end in iso- lation. I confess to you that I anticipate with a profound faith the advantage to character from the larger edu- cation of the individual in his relations to others, pro- vided these relations are taught according to the reality and breadth of the underlying fact. The training of the schools in this direction has already begun. The number of text-books inculcating the social duty, is- sued within the past years, is surprising, some of them of very great merit. Indeed, it may be said that we are beginning to work toward the social, in distinction from the individualistic ideal. As a careful observer has recently remarked, "The individualistic ideal is still the one which is actually dominant; but it can scarcely be doubted that it has ceased to be that which governs the thought of those who are under five-and- twenty; and there is some danger now that we may be- APPENDIX 201 gin to forget the element of truth which was contained in it. Enthusiasm is on the other side." We cannot forget the truth which lies at the heart of individualism, any more than we can forget the joy of liberty, but we may fail to reach the full truth which lies at the other pole. The understanding of the organic in humanity is far more than the knowledge of social rights and duties. In a very true sense it lies below the ethical. It is the apprehension of the fact from which the ethical is an inference. As St. Paul says in enforc- ing the organic element in Christianity, " We are mem- bers one of another"; that is the new Christian fact, " wherefore, putting away falsehood, speak ye truth, each one with his neighbor. Let him that stole steal no more : but rather let him labor, working with his hands the thing that is good, that he may have whereof to give to him that hath need. Let no corrupt speech proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good for edifying, that it may give grace to them that hear"; and so on, step by step, rising from the fact, inference by inference, till he reaches the sublime duty of for- giveness. In like manner we need to go down in all our social teachings to the broad underlying fact of the or- ganic in humanity, to uncover, expound, illustrate, vivify the fact. So shall we get strength and vitality for every legitimate inference, in the way of a duty, which can be drawn from it. We shall give to our general social duties something of the imperativeness and urgency of nature, qualities which have as yet been developed and honored only in the life of the family. Of course there is a danger, which any one may em- phasize, to the development of personality on this side, from the present stimulus of the social want. It is hard to generalize in the presence of the concrete, hard to think to any purpose abouL poverty when the beggar 202 APPENDIX is knocking at your door. We are apt to take refuge in hasty and ill-advised action, and get the sure result of it in an enfeebled social character. Sympathy, which acts without reference to principles, makes it more difficult to establish principles. The philanthropy which is content to relieve the sufferer from wrong social conditions postpones the philanthropy which is determined at any cost to right those conditions. Let us not, however, bewail overmuch our circumstances, nor ignore the advantage of them. Mere contact with the world may tend to superficiality, but we can, if we will, go deeper into the world. Men may distract us with their hurrying to and fro, but there is always a point of equilibrium somewhere in the mass. Our social environment has its use in the development of person- ality, as it has its necessity. Say what we will of the desert and wilderness, whence came of old the voice of the prophet, we are in and of the city, and our only way to escape men is to get nearer to them, to press through the outer confusion to the common and inner life, which understood, all else becomes intelligible. And I may add that here, too, lies the only way of escaping the commonplace. The charge is frequently made that if we subordinate the individualistic ideal, the commonplace is our ultimate goal. Two excep- tions to this sweeping charge are evident. Genius knows no ideals, nor, as far as we can discover, condi- tions. As we have not been able to produce it, it is not likely that we shall be able to prevent it. And the heroic belongs in like degree to the unexpected and in- calculable. When you open your morning paper, you do not know from what source the tidings of the unself- ish act will come to you, which will help you to keep faith in your kind and in yourself. But these aside, is it not true true not only now, but permanently APPENDIX 203 that the ascending path to individual greatness lies through the thick of humanity rather than along the outskirts of it? We allow that the average man profits by the general experience. Is it not more evident that the exceptional man profits by that experience? Does he not become exceptional by the very power to inter- pret and incorporate, to lay hold, as Mr. Emerson says, of the "unsearched might of man"? Certainly the scholar who is now able to read with a new intelligence the volume of humanity may hope to outgrow himself, and gradually learn to live in the vaster regions of his being. I turn from the question of the educational value of the new conception or sense of the organic in humanity to ask about its influence upon the social order, to see what is the strength of its impulse towards the social unity. We are just beginning to speak in a popular way of the social order. Until of late, the dominant order has been the political, with its doctrine of natural rights. History gives us no example of an idea put to more effective uses than this doctrine of natural rights. We cannot conceive how the battles of modern liberty could have been fought without it. The "glittering generalities" of the Declaration of Independence were no rhetorical device to the men of the eighteenth cen- tury, but a principle to which they " pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor." And as long as the political order remained in the ascendant, as long, that is, as the essential need was personal liberty, the appeal to this principle never failed to carry a popu- lar assembly. I have recently been reminded through the public prints of an incident possibly some of you may recall it which illustrated the last serious and effective appeal made to ,the doctrine of natural rights. At the 204 APPENDIX convention which nominated Mr. Lincoln to the presi- dency, Joshua R. Giddings endeavored to amend the reported platform of the Republican Party by "sol- emnly reasserting" the words of the Declaration, that "all men are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, among which are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." The mood of the convention was conservative. It wanted above all things to take advantage of the division of the Democratic Party, and to conciliate and harmonize its own constituency. Mr. Giddings's amendment was rejected. At this juncture George William Curtis arose, and in a speech of splen- did directness and courage challenged the men of the convention, if they dared, to put themselves on record against the men of 1776, "to vote down the Declara- tion of Independence." The challenge was well made. No political assembly could afford to justify that im- putation. The motion to reject was reconsidered, the amendment adopted, and the words of the Declara- tion, as was befitting a party born to the struggle with slavery, inserted in its platform. Nothing shows in so striking a way the rapid changes which have since taken place in social conditions and necessities as the fact that there is hardly a conceiv- able situation in this country in which such an appeal would have to-day any considerable force. Practically we have exhausted the power of liberty to win any further legitimate rights, or to gain for us a larger happiness. To whom amongst us would more liberty be a greater good? What conditions of present suffer- ing or distress would it satisfy? Who could arise in the midst of our social confusion and get a hearing by in- voking the name of liberty? The real worth of liberty, its inestimable value, is in danger of being underesti- mated. Our attention has been called by publicists APPENDIX 205 like fimile de Laveleye and James Bryce to the grow- ing dissatisfaction and discontent over the final results of its work, as if it had not made good its promises, as if it had not kept faith with men who had trusted to it with all their heart. No one can mistake the feeling of disappointment and sadness on the part of some of our own better citizens, that liberty is taking no safer care of the republic. On the other hand, many amongst us whose tradi- tions do not reach back into the old contests for free- dom, and some whose traditions do reach back into these contests, are making no more mention of liberty, but are raising another watchword. The new cry is equality. Let us stop and interpret it. It is not to be assumed that classes, any more than individuals, say what they mean or mean what they say. Equality is not the thing we want, for, in the nature of things, we cannot have it. We want the possible and real. What we mean, when we say equality, is unity. That is neces- sary and that is possible. Equality is a vain, unmean- ing cry. 1 You cannot analyze it and apply it to the affairs of men. It has no practical synonyms. But unity shapes itself to a thousand ends, and covers the wide vocabulary of practical and vital means. Cooperation, partnership, sympathy, fellowship, are terms which merely indicate the working of the principle as it seeks to adjust industrial relations and to ennoble social relations. And the principle is working. Its workings are evident from the very antagonisms which it is cre- ating in the industrial world. Capital and labor are coming together through combinations and trades unions, through lockouts and strikes, as well as through profit-sharing and partnerships. The principle is enter- 1 The term has gained a new meaning since these words were written. See " Goal of Equality." 206 APPENDIX ing upon its first stage of victory. It requires organ- ized resistance to thwart it. Its workings are equally evident in the increased sensitiveness of society to contrasts in condition. Out- wardly the extremes are pushing farther and farther apart, but really and personally they are nearer than ever before. The subtle consciousness of suffering is becoming pervasive. The rich man knows that Lazarus is without among the dogs. We take life as a whole more seriously because we see more clearly the diverse ingredients of which it is composed. We have no longer any eye for the picturesque under the garb of poverty. The artistic gives way to the sympathetic. The under side of social life does not appeal to our sense of humor. We do not caricature our social contrasts. The typical tenement-house with its dense, monotonous popula- tion has nothing whatever to contribute to the relief of society, but only additional friction, irritation, and social despair. And this increased sensitiveness is not merely a mat- ter of feeling. There is beginning to be a genuine move- ment toward fellowship. The old idea of working for men is being modified by the larger principle of identi- fication with them. The college settlement will not supersede the mission, but it will put beside it the broader conception of social unity. As far as it is reli- gious in its aim it will include all which Christianity, as we know it and enjoy it, has to offer. It will make service mean, not what we are able to do for others, but what we are willing to share with others. And all this which I have been saying shows us how far away we are from the old doctrine of natural rights. I do not stop now to question its truth. It is enough to say that it is no longer at the front and in service. The deepest consciousness of men is not of inborn and in- APPENDIX 207 alienable rights, but of a common inheritance, common interests, and a common destiny. Their deepest crav- ings are not for independence, but for oneness, for a social order which shall correspond in some measure to the organic unity of the race. It remains to consider the effect of the new concep- tion of humanity upon religion. Is it in any sense an- tagonistic to the Christian idea, or has it here also a timely value? What is the worth to Christianity of the movement from liberty to unity? Christianity, when it came into the world, struck the note of universality. There was no restriction upon its message. It was the "good tidings of great joy to all the people." But the history of Christianity has proved to be one long struggle, more frequently unsuc- cessful than successful, to maintain its original scope. It has seemed impossible to protect Christianity from falling into bondage to some form of partialism. Now it has been the partialism of doctrine wrought out in the exclusive creed; now the partialism of administra- tion embodied in the exclusive organization. But in one way and another the Christian Church has been continually losing its connection with the universal. And the significance of every recovery of Christianity is that it has been the recovery of this connection, as when Luther restored it to the individual by giving him immediate contact with God. Let no one think that I have forgotten those appar- ent forms of partialism which in their times were iden- tified with religious liberty. I do not forget, as I speak, the names which are to some of us among the most precious of our inheritance Protestant, Separatist, Independent. But I deny that they stood for partial- ism. They represented really the revolt against it. They were paths, some of them, I grant, obscure, but 208 APPENDIX which surely led back into the great highway of univer- sality. And to-day the Christian Church, with one accord, is more inclined than ever before, in some of its parts more anxious than ever before, to walk that way. It is really our historic past which stands between us and unity. But even that does not prevent the grow- ing spirit, the growing yearning, the growing conscious- ness. There are also signs, which no one I think can fail to see, of the coming fact, the fact of a real and sub- stantial unity, if not of a prescribed uniformity. Let me delay long enough to enumerate them: One sign is the struggle going on in almost every separate part of the Church to make its doctrines correspond with the faith of Christendom. Divisive and separating dogmas are being eliminated. One large body of Christian believers in the midst of us is now convulsed with the endeavor to cast out of its creed the demon of partialism and bring itself back into the universal faith. Another sign is the present power of resistance to further division, and that, too, under great provocation. Questions are arising in our time, and passing into heated discussion, of the most fundamental and vital kind, which in other times would have split the most compact body, but thus far they have not divided a single communion. The one ecclesiastical sin of our age is schism. Of that alone we are intolerant. Another sign is the comparative ease of cooperation throughout the Church. Cooperation has not become easy, but things are being done, large public ends are being reached by united action, which would not have been attempted under other conditions. And still another sign, perhaps the most significant of all, is the discontent of each and every body in itself; every one, no matter how large it may be, seeking, like APPENDIX 209 Russia in the political world, to get an outlet. The real interest of the sects to-day is not in themselves, but in Christianity. The great questions, which engage and agitate their councils, are not how to administer their own affairs, but how to administer the common inher- itance of which they have been put in trust. It really seems at times as if we were working our way back into the original fellowship. The words of a far-sighted teacher, which impressed themselves upon my youth, frequently recur to me with increasing significance: "I teach," he said, " that Independency is a transient form of Puritanism, that Puritanism is a transient form of Protestantism, that Protestantism is a transient form of Christianity." And now if the question be asked, whence comes this fresh and wide impulse toward religious unity? I an- swer, partly from the historic forces w r ithin Christianity which are always working toward it, but also from the incoming into the religious consciousness of our time of the sense of the organic in humanity. Nothing, as it seems to me, has ever come into Christianity from without, bringing with it such support and reinforce- ment to the Christian idea. If it were right to speak of the indebtedness of religion to science, if, that is, one could properly conceive of one part of God's revela- tion and providence as owing anything to another part, I should certainly say that this conception was the most positive contribution which science had yet made to religion. I grant that the process through which the result was reached was such as to awaken the doubts and fears of religious men. No one would deny that. Without question, the first results of modern physical science were materialistic. They not only contributed to the argument for materialism, they gave tone and spirit to its advocates. But as the process went on, 210 APPENDIX spiritual elements began to assert themselves, chiefly through the idea of force, for force must be spirit; the method was seen to be of general ethical application and service; and principles were set forth which gave a new meaning and dignity to religious faith. The principle which I have been emphasizing was remark- able, in its religious bearings, for its timeliness. It had a providential value. Wrought out under suspicion, if not under open antagonism, it came to the help of Christianity, as Christian men were beginning to feel the seriousness of their contention for unity and uni- versality. And for one, acknowledging its aid in the providence of God, I am ready to accord it an honor- able and rightful place in the larger Christianity of the future. And I am also convinced that, as this sense of the organic in humanity becomes more real, it will bring back to religion something of that deeper solemnity the awe, the fear which seems for the time to have escaped it, but which is a necessary part of all true religion. It shows us the tremendous cost of the uni- verse, of that part, at least, of which we can take cognizance. It uncovers " the whole creation groaning and travailing together in pain until now." It opens unread chapters in the history of the race, chapters of struggle and suffering and sin. And then, as if in com- pensation for the terrible vision, it gives us a glimpse of the sacrificial element which works at the heart of nature, and which must work eternally in the heart of God. I have thus taken the opportunity which your gener- ous invitation afforded me, to remind you, in some ways of suggestion and possibly of stimulus, of the meaning and value of that present movement in humanity which APPENDIX 211 none of us can fully realize, but to which none of us can be indifferent. Opinions may vary as to the rela- tive place to be assigned to causes which are producing it, whether it is chiefly the outcome in natural succes- sion of the ordinary historic forces, or whether, as I have intimated, it has been hastened and intensified by the intellectual development of the last generation. But of the movement itself and its direction there can be no question between us. Manifestly, consciously, it is a movement from liberty to unity. The great heroic forces which gave us freedom are now passing with us, or by us, into the broad, constructive, unify- ing work of the future. At such a time as this who can overestimate the joy, not only of the active, but also of the reflective life? To live consciously, intelligently, expectantly, with the seeing eye, the open heart, the loyal faith, this is life indeed. We are not " Wandering between two worlds, one dead, The other powerless to be born." The world we are leaving behind us is still vital with the divine impulse. The world which lies about us is beginning to reveal and execute the larger plans of God. No, we are not " wandering," nor simply under directed motion. The significance of our time is that in and through it there is ;i change of movement. It is as if one could now see the workings of the unseen power shifting the forces that make history, that shape the destiny of men and nations. Such, in part, is the advantage of the intellectual life in an age of transition. But deeper than the knowledge we may gain at such a time of the transfer or exchange of ruling principles and ideas is the satisfaction of watching the application of the new ideas to the new needs of the world. \Ve are 212 APPENDIX apt to place too much dependence upon men in times of need. We say that the emergency calls for the man, and must wait his coming. Not so. It is the sufficient idea which delivers and saves. It is great working ideas which make great men possible, which may make them unnecessary. What man is the equivalent of the new conception of humanity which is now at work recon- structing society, governments, the Church? And as one extends his view, watching the applica- tion of new ideas to the needs of the world, he may see the somewhat singular phenomenon of the old serving under the new. We have been speaking of the transfer of working power from liberty to unity. But the change is after all local, confined as yet to the few advanced peoples. There are those for whom liberty has not yet wrought her necessary work. How shall this be done? As it has been done? Not at all. No other nation can repeat the experience of the Republic. The days of solitary struggle for liberty are over. The nation which fights to-day for freedom fights in the fellowship of the nations which are free. The spirit of unity is abroad, everywhere supporting, guiding, cheering the belated spirit of liberty. But why should one at such a time content himself, in the joy of the intellectual life, with the reflective, or even, expectant attitude? In this movement from lib- erty to unity, who would not surrender himself to it, and become a part of it? The appeal of liberty was to men of action. The appeal of unity is to men of thought. The figure of the scholar on the field of battle was al- ways inspiring, but he was seldom a leader there. In the new fields of service the scholar leads the way. The spirit of unity cannot be served as the spirit of liberty was served, except in regard to a like consecration. The new kingdom of heaven may riot suffer violence; APPENDIX 213 the violent will not take it by force. The social unity must come through patient study, wise invention, iden- tification with men, sympathy, and sacrifice; force will have no part in its accomplishment. The immediate future in the service of humanity belongs to those who are best able to discern its real wants, who feel most its deepest yearnings, and who, above all, believe sublimely in that conception of hu- manity which can alone satisfy and help. The path of human progress is marked by the succession of saving principles and ideas, and each generation treads that path with certain step, as it hails its own idea, then summons its chosen ones, and bids them guard and serve it in loyalty and faith. CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS U . S . A This book is DUE on the last date stamped below JUL 161957 -, R] DEC C EC 151973 Form L-9-lf>i-7,':il 70 1970 UC SOUTHERN REG ONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A A 000044655 9