GIFT OF 
 Walter Morris Hart 
 
SPECIMENS 
 
 OF 
 
 EXPOSITION AND ARGUMENT 
 
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK BOSTON CHICAGO 
 ATLANTA SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED 
 
 LONDON BOMBAY CALCUTTA 
 MELBOURNE 
 
 THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. 
 
 TORONTO 
 
SPECIMENS 
 
 OF 
 
 EXPOSITION AND ARGUMENT 
 
 COMPILED BY 
 fO 
 
 MILTON PERCIVAL, A.M. 
 
 AND 
 
 R. A. JELLIFFE, A.B. 
 
 INSTRUCTORS IN ENGLISH IN OBERLIN COLLEGE, 
 
 Nefo If 0rfe 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 1908 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
GIFT 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1908, 
 BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. 
 
 Set up and electrotyped, Published November, 1908. 
 
 J. S. Cushing Co. Berwick & Smith Co. 
 Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 ANY book that helps a student to write good English 
 need not apologize for its publication. The present 
 volume, while disclaiming any attempt on the part of 
 its editors to introduce new theories in a subject so old 
 as Composition, has in its make-up certain practical 
 features which should prove helpful to those studying 
 Exposition and Argument. These are of course the 
 practical forms of discourse, in which the student must 
 become proficient whether he practice the other forms 
 or not. 
 
 The selections are designedly varied in length, to 
 admit of different modes of treatment. And it is be- 
 lieved that the interest of the articles is sufficiently diver- 
 sified to make sure of an appeal to every class of readers. 
 It will be noted that many articles are the work of prac- 
 tical men of affairs rather than of men of letters. This 
 should be in the nature of encouragement to those who 
 do not expect to make letters their profession. Indeed, 
 many of the selections admit of imitation both as to 
 form and style. 
 
 One or two features of the book are, as far as the 
 editors know, new to a work of this kind. Included 
 among the arguments is an example of controversy, 
 
 M176252 
 
vi Preface 
 
 which is important as illustrating how opposite sides 
 of the same question may be handled. It is hoped 
 that the short treatises on Introductions and The 
 Brief will be found of sufficient assistance to the 
 student to justify their inclusion. They make no pre- 
 tense at bringing forward any new material on those 
 subjects; but a quite general haziness in the mind of 
 the student in regard to those very necessary features of 
 Composition, and the absence in the rhetorics of any 
 correlated material on these points, has made this brief 
 treatment of them seem advisable. 
 
 The order of the selections under Exposition begins 
 with those which, while essentially expository, have still 
 some narrative or descriptive features; proceeds with 
 the practical and more common types of Exposition, as 
 illustrated by the essays describing a process ; is followed 
 by examples of the distinction drawn in the rhetorics 
 between definition and analysis ; advances with some 
 special forms (the historical, and the informal essay), 
 which are adapted to class-room imitations ; and closes 
 with a particular type, criticism. 
 
 The order of the selections under Argument en- 
 deavors to proceed logically, from the more simple 
 to the more complex, and is one the student might well 
 observe in his own work in this subject. Beginning 
 with examples of the broader division of the subject, 
 Persuasion, there follows a specimen brief as indicat- 
 ing its relation to a complete argument. Examples of 
 introductions appear next, a feature of Argument so 
 
Preface vii 
 
 vital as to make necessary separate treatment here, and 
 to suggest the emphasis with which it might well be 
 treated by the student. There follow examples, of 
 complete arguments, arranged, so far as may be, in 
 the order of simplicity of structure and presentation. 
 Refutation is illustrated first by itself and then also in 
 the controversy which concludes the selections. 
 
 The punctuation of the selections has been un- 
 altered. 
 
 The editors acknowledge very gratefully their obli- 
 gations, equally to the authors who have consented to 
 this use of their work, and to the publishers who have 
 so graciously given permission to reprint. The in- 
 debtedness of the editors to the latter is indicated under 
 each selection. The authors to whom thanks are due 
 are Mr. John Corbin, Mr. John Burroughs, Pro- 
 fessor A. E. Kennelly, Mr. Edwin T. Stiger, Professor 
 George H. Palmer, President Arthur T. Hadley, Pro- 
 fessor William James, President Charles W. Eliot, Mr. 
 Frank A. Vanderlip, Mr. John La Farge, Mr. Arthur 
 C. Benson, Professor Albert B. Hart, Professor George 
 Santayana, Mr. Sidney Curtis, Mr. George E. Roberts, 
 President Woodrow Wilson, Professor Felix Adler, 
 
 Mr. Henry Arthur Jones. 
 
 M. P. 
 
 R. A. J. 
 NEW YORK, N.Y., 
 
 August, 1908. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 EXPOSITION 
 
 Expository Narration, PAGE 
 A Day in an Oxford College . . . John Corbin I 
 
 Expository Description. 
 
 Nature in England .... John Burroughs 12 
 
 Explanations of a Process. 
 
 How Books are Made .... Edwin T. Stiger 18 
 
 Wireless Telegraphy .... A. . Kennelly 34 
 
 EXPOSITION BY DEFINITION 
 
 Short Definitions. 
 
 Artist and Moralist . . . James Russell Lowell 47 
 
 Religion and Morality . . . George Herbert Palmer 49 
 
 "Value" Arthur Twining Hadley 52 
 
 Longer Definitions. 
 
 Pathos ..;.... Coventry Patmore 54 
 
 The Social Value of the College-bred . William James 60 
 
 A New Definition of the Cultivated Man Charles W. Eliot 72 
 
 EXPOSITION BY ANALYSIS 
 
 The Young Man's Future . . . Frank A. Vanderlip 90 
 
 The Character of the Indian . . . Francis Parkman 98 
 
 A Study of Thoreau .... Robert Louis Stevenson 104 
 
 The Descent from the Cross . . . .JohnLaFarge 109 
 
 The Informal Essay. 
 
 Habits Arthur C. Benson 1 12 
 
 Historical Exposition. 
 
 Social Life in America . . . Albert Bushnell Hart 122 
 Criticism. 
 
 Emerson George Santayana 134 
 
Contents 
 
 ARGUMENT 
 
 Persuasion. PAGft 
 
 On the Reading of Newspapers . Henry David Thoreau 150 
 
 The Spirit of Devotion . . . Arthur Twining Hadley 155 
 
 A Brief Sidney Curtis 166 
 
 Introductions. 
 
 The Currency Bill . . . Theodore Oilman 182 
 
 Race-track Gambling The Outlook 183 
 
 National Control of Interstate Railways . . Seth Low 189 
 
 Science and a Future Life . . . F. W. H. Myers 195 
 
 Arguments. 
 
 Assumptions are not Proof .... Lyman Abbott 200 
 
 Objections to a Postal Savings Bank . George E. Roberts 204 
 
 The Training of Intellect . . . Woodrow Wilson 215 
 
 Child Labor in the United States . . . Felix Adler 225 
 
 Corner Stones of Modern Drama . Henry Arthur Jones 245 
 
 Is Music the Type or Measure of All Art? . J. A. Symonds 267 
 
 Refutation. 
 
 From "The Public Duty of Educated Men " G. W. Curtis 281 
 
 From the Speech on Education . . T. B. Macaulay 285 
 
 From " Literary Essays " . . James Russell Lowell 288 
 
 From the Cooper Institute Speech . Abraham Lincoln 290 
 
 Controversy. 
 
 Science and Culture .... Thomas H. Huxley 294 
 
 Literature and Science . . . Matthew Arnold 311 
 
 NOTES 341 
 
SPECIMENS 
 
 OF 
 
 EXPOSITION AND ARGUMENT 
 
EXPOSITION 
 
 A DAY IN AN OXFORD COLLEGE 1 
 JOHN CORBIN 
 
 WHEN a freshman is once established in college, his 
 life falls into a pleasantly varied routine. The day is 
 ushered in by the scout, who bustles into the bedroom, 
 throws aside the curtain, pours out the bath, and shouts, 
 "Half past seven, sir," in a tone that makes it impossi- 5 
 ble to forget that chapel or if one chooses, roll-call 
 comes at eight. Unless one keeps his six chapels or 
 "rollers" a week, he is promptly "hauled" before the 
 dean, who perhaps "gates" him. To be gated is to be 
 forbidden to pass the college gate after dark, and fined 10 
 a shilling for each night of confinement. To an Ameri- 
 can all this brings recollections of the paternal roof, 
 where tardiness at breakfast meant, perhaps, the loss 
 of dessert, and bedtime an hour earlier. I remember 
 once, when out of training, deliberately cutting chapel 15 
 to see with what mien the good dean performed his 
 nursery duties. His calm was unruffled, his dignity 
 unsullied. I soon came to find that the rules about 
 rising were bowed to and indeed respected by all con- 
 
 1 Reprinted by permission from " An American at Oxford." 
 Copyright, 1902. Boston, Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 
 B I 
 
2 Exposition 
 
 cerned, even while they were broken. They are dis- 
 tinctly more lax than those the fellows have been accus- 
 tomed to in the public schools, and they are conceded 
 to be for the best welfare of the college. 
 
 Breakfast comes soon after chapel, or roll-call. If a 5 
 man has "kept a dirty roller," that is, has reported in 
 pyjamas, ulster, and boots, and has turned in again, 
 the scout puts the breakfast before the fire on a trestle 
 built of shovel, poker, and tongs, where it remains edi- 
 ble until noon. If a man has a breakfast party on, the 10 
 scout makes sure that he is stirring in season, and, 
 hurrying through the other rooms on the staircase, is 
 presently on hand for as long as he may be wanted. 
 The usual Oxford breakfast is a single course, which 
 not infrequently consists of some one of the excellent 15 
 English pork products, with an egg or kidneys. There 
 may be two courses, in which case the first is of the no 
 less excellent fresh fish. There are no vegetables. The 
 breakfast is ended with toast and jam or marmalade. 
 When one has fellows in to breakfast, and the Ox- 20 
 ford custom of rooming alone instead of chumming 
 makes such hospitality frequent, his usual meal is 
 increased by a course, say, of chicken. In any case it 
 leads to a morning cigarette, for tobacco aids digestion, 
 and helps fill the hour or so after meals which an Eng- 25 
 lishman gives to relaxation. 
 
 At ten o'clock the breakfast may be interrupted for a 
 moment by the exit of some one bent on attending a 
 lecture, though one apologizes for such an act as if it 
 
A Day in an Oxford College 3 
 
 were scarcely good form. An appointment with one's 
 tutor is a more legitimate excuse for leaving; but even 
 this is always an occasion for an applogy, in behalf of 
 the tutor of course, for one is certainly not himself re- 
 sponsible. If a quorum is left, they manage to sit com- 5 
 fortably by the fire, smoking and chatting in spite of 
 lectures and tutors, until by mutual consent they scatter 
 to glance at the Times and the Sportsman in the com- 
 mon-room, or even to get in a bit of reading. 
 
 Luncheon often consists of bread and cheese and jam 10 
 from the buttery, with perhaps a half pint of bitter beer ; 
 but it may, like the breakfast, come from the college 
 kitchen. In any case it is very light, for almost immedi- 
 ately after it everybody scatters to field and track and 
 river for the exercise that the English climate makes 15 
 necessary and the sport that the English temperament 
 demands. 
 
 By four o'clock every one is back in college tubbed 
 and dressed for tea, which a man serves himself in his 
 rooms to as many fellows as he has been able to gather 20 
 in on field or river. If he is eager to hear of the games 
 he has not been able to witness, he goes to the junior 
 common-room or to his club, where he is sure to find a 
 dozen or so of kindred spirits representing every sport 
 of importance. In this way he hears the minutest de- 25 
 tails of the games of the day from the players them- 
 selves ; and before nightfall such is the influence of 
 tea those bits of gossip which in America are known 
 chiefly among members of a team have ramified the 
 
4 Exposition 
 
 college. Thus the function of the "bleachers" on an 
 American field is performed with a vengeance by the 
 easy-chairs before a common-room fire; and a man 
 had better be kicked off the team by an American cap- 
 tain than have his shortcomings served up with com- 5 
 mon-room tea. 
 
 The two hours between tea and dinner may be, and 
 usually are, spent in reading. 
 
 At seven o'clock the college bell rings, and in two 
 minutes the fellows have thrown on their gowns and 10 
 are seated at table, where the scouts are in readiness 
 to serve them. As a rule a man may sit wherever he 
 chooses; this is one of the admirable arrangements for 
 breaking up such cliques as inevitably form in a college. 
 But in point of fact a man usually ends by sitting in 15 
 some certain quarter of the hall, where from day to 
 day he finds much the same set of fellows. Thus all 
 the advantages of friendly intercourse are attained with- 
 out any real exclusiveness. This may seem a small 
 point ; but an hour a day becomes an item in four 20 
 years, especially if it is the hour when men are most 
 disposed to be companionable. 
 
 In the evening, when the season permits, the fellows 
 sit out of doors after dinner, smoking and playing 
 bowls. There is no place in which the spring comes 25 
 more sweetly than in an Oxford garden. The high 
 walls are at once a trap for the first warm rays of the 
 sun and a barrier against the winds of March. The 
 daffodils and crocuses spring up with joy as the gar- 
 
A Day in an Oxford College 5 
 
 dener bids; and the apple and cherry trees coddle 
 against the warm north walls, spreading out their early 
 buds gratefully to the mild English sun. Eor long, 
 quiet hours after dinner they flaunt their beauty to the 
 fellows smoking, and breathe their sweetness to the fel- 5 
 lows playing bowls. "No man," exclaims the Ameri- 
 can visitor, " could live four years in those gardens of 
 delight and not be made gentler and nobler!" Per- 
 haps ! though not altogether in the way the visitor 
 imagines. When the flush of summer is on, the loi- 10 
 terers loll on the lawn full length; and as they watch 
 the insects crawl among the grass they make bets on 
 them, just as the gravest and most reverend seniors 
 have been known to do in America. 
 
 In the windows overlooking the quadrangle are boxes 15 
 of brilliant flowers, above which the smoke of a pipe 
 comes curling out. At Harvard some fellows have ge- 
 raniums in their windows, but only the very rich; and 
 when they began the custom an ancient graduate wrote 
 one of those communications to the Crimson, saying 20 
 that if men put unmanly boxes of flowers in the win- 
 dow, how can they expect to beat Yale ? Flower boxes, 
 no sand. At Oxford they manage things so that any- 
 body may have flower boxes ; and their associations are 
 by no means unmanly. This is the way they do it. 25 
 In the early summer a gardener's wagon from the coun- 
 try draws up by the college gate, and the driver cries, 
 "Flowers ! Flowers for a pair of old bags, sir." Bags 
 is of course the fitting term for English trousers 
 
6 Exposition 
 
 which don't fit; and I should like to inform that an- 
 cient graduate that the window boxes of Oxford sug- 
 gest the very badge of manhood. 
 
 As long as the English twilight lingers, the men will 
 sit and talk and sing to the mandolin; and I have 5 
 heard of fellows sitting and talking all night, not turn- 
 ing in until the porter appeared to take their names at 
 roll-call. On the eve of May day it is quite the cus- 
 tom to sit out, for at dawn one may go to see the pretty 
 ceremony of heralding the May on Magdalen Tower. 10 
 The Magdalen choir boys the sweetest songsters in 
 all Oxford mount to the top of that most beautiful of 
 Gothic towers, and, standing among the pinnacles, 
 pinnacles afire with the spirituality of the Middle Ages, 
 that warms all the senses with purity and beauty, 15 
 those boys, I say, on that tower and among those pinna- 
 cles, open their mouths and sing a Latin song to greet 
 the May. Meantime, the fellows who have come out to 
 listen in the street below make catcalls and blow fish 
 horns. The song above is the survival of a Romish, 20 
 perhaps a Druidical, custom; the racket below is the 
 survival of a Puritan protest. That is Oxford in sym- 
 bol ! Its dignity and mellowness are not so much a 
 matter of flowering gardens and crumbling walls as of 
 the traditions of the centuries in which the whole life 25 
 of the place has deep sources; and the noblest of its 
 institutions are fringed with survivals that run riot in 
 the grotesque. 
 
 If a man intends to spend the evening out of college, 
 
A Day in an Oxford College 7 
 
 he has to make a dash before nine o'clock ; for love or 
 for money the porter may not let an inmate out after 
 nine. One man I knew was able to escape by guile. 
 He had a brother in Trinity whom he very much re- 
 sembled, and whenever he wanted to go out, he would 5 
 tilt his mortarboard forward, wra^p his gown high about 
 his neck, as it is usually worn of an evening, and bid- 
 ding the porter a polite good-night, say, "Charge me to 
 my brother, Hancock, if you please." The charge is 
 the inconsiderable sum of one penny, and is the penalty 10 
 of having a late guest. Having profited by my experi- 
 ence with the similar charge for keeping my name on 
 the college books, I never asked its why and wherefore. 
 Both are no doubt survivals of some mediaeval custom, 
 the authority of which no college employee or don, 15 
 for the matter of that would question. Such matters 
 interest the Oxford man quite as little as the question 
 how he comes by a tonsil or a vermiform appendix. 
 They are there, and he makes the best of them. 
 
 If a fellow leaves college for an evening, it is for a 20 
 foregathering at some other college, or to go to the 
 theatre. As a rule he wears a cloth cap. A "billy- 
 cock" or "bowler," as the pot hat is called, is as thor- 
 oughly frowned on now in English colleges as it was 
 with us a dozen years ago. As for the mortarboard and 25 
 gown, undergraduate opinion rather requires that they 
 be left behind. This is largely, no doubt, because they 
 are required by law to be worn. So far as the under- 
 graduates are concerned, every operative statute of the 
 
8 Exposition 
 
 university, with the exception of those relating to ma- 
 triculation and graduation, refers to conduct in the 
 streets after nightfall, and almost without exception 
 they are honored in the breach. This is out of disre- 
 gard for the Vice-Chancellor of the university, who is 5 
 familiarly called the Vice, because he serves as a warn- 
 ing to others for the practice of virtue. The Vice makes 
 his power felt in characteristically dark and tortuous 
 ways. His factors are two proctors, college dons in 
 daytime, but skulkers after nightfall, each of whom has 10 
 his bulldogs, that is, scouts, employed literally to spy 
 upon the students. If these catch you without cap 
 or gown, they cause you to be proctorized or "progged," 
 as it is called, which involves a matter of five shillings 
 or so. As a rule there is little danger of progging, but 15 
 my first term fell in evil days. For some reason or other 
 the chest of the university showed a deficit of sundry 
 pounds, shillings, and pence ; and as it had long ceased 
 to need or receive regular bequests, the finance of 
 the institution being in the hands of the colleges, a 20 
 crisis was at hand. A more serious problem had doubt- 
 less never arisen since the great question was solved of 
 keeping undergraduates' names on the books. The 
 expedient of the Vice- Chancellor was to summon the 
 proctors, and bid them charge their bulldogs to prog 25 
 all freshmen caught at night without cap and gown. 
 The deficit in the university chest was made up at five 
 shillings a head. 
 
 One of the Vice -Chancellor's rules is that no under- 
 
A Day in an Oxford College g 
 
 graduate shall enter an Oxford "pub." Now the only 
 restaurant in town, Queen's, is run in conjunction with 
 a pub, and was once the favorite resort of all who were 
 bent on breaking the monotony* of an English Sunday. 
 The Vice- Chancellor resolved to destroy this den of 5 
 Sabbath-breaking, and the undergraduates resolved no 
 less firmly to defend their stronghold. The result was 
 a hand-to-hand fight with the bulldogs, which ended 
 so triumphantly for the undergraduates that a dozen or 
 more of them were sent down. In the articles of the 10 
 peace that followed, it was stipulated, I was told, that 
 so long as the restaurant was closed Sunday afternoons 
 and nights, it should never suffer from the visit of 
 proctor or bulldog. As a result, Queen's is a great 
 scene of undergraduate foregather ings. The dinners 15 
 are good enough and reasonably cheap; and as most 
 excellent champagne is to be had at twelve shillings the 
 bottle, the diners are not unlikely to get back to college 
 a trifle buffy, in the Oxford phrase. 
 
 By an interesting survival of mediaeval custom, the 20 
 Vice- Chancellor has supreme power over the morals of 
 the town, and any citizen who transgresses his laws is 
 visited with summary punishment. For a tradesman 
 or publican to assist in breaking university rules means 
 outlawry and ruin, and for certain offenses a citizen 25 
 may be punished by imprisonment. Over the Oxford 
 theatre the Vice-Chancellor's power is absolute. In 
 my time he was much more solicitous that the under- 
 graduate be kept from knowledge of the omnipresent 
 
IO Exposition 
 
 woman with a past than that dramatic art should 
 flourish, and forbade the town to more than one ex- 
 cellent play of the modern school of comedy that had 
 been seen and discussed in London by the younger 
 sisters of the undergraduates. The woman with a 5 
 present is virtually absent. 
 
 Time was when no Oxford play was quite successful 
 unless the undergraduates assisted at its first night, 
 though in a way very different from that which the 
 term denotes in France. The assistance was of the 10 
 kind so generously rendered in New York and Boston 
 on the evening of an athletic contest. Even to-day, 
 just for tradition's sake, the undergraduates sometimes 
 make a row. A lot of B. N. C. men, as the clanny sons 
 of Brazenose College call themselves, may insist that 15 
 an opera stop while the troupe listen to one of their own 
 excellent vocal performances; and I once saw a great 
 sprinter, not unknown to Yale men, rise from his seat, 
 face the audience, and, pointing with his thumb over 
 his shoulder at the soubrette, announce impressively, 20 
 "Do you know, I rather like that girl!" The show 
 is usually over just before eleven, and then occurs an 
 amusing, if unseemly, scramble to get back to college 
 before the hour strikes. A man who stays out after 
 ten is fined threepence, after eleven the fine is sixpence. 25 
 When all is said, why shouldn't one sprint for three- 
 pence ? 
 
 If you stay out of college after midnight, the dean 
 makes a star chamber offense of it, fines you a " quid" or 
 
A Day in an Oxford College n 
 
 two, and like as not sends you down. This sounds a 
 trifle worse than it is; for if you must be away, your 
 absence can usually be arranged for. If you find your- 
 self in the streets after twelve, you may rap on some 
 friend's bedroom window and tell him of your plight 5 
 through the iron grating. He will then spend the first 
 half of the night in your bed and wash his hands in 
 your bowl. With such evidence as this to support him, 
 the scout is not apt, if sufficiently retained, to report a 
 suspected absence. I have even known fellows to make 10 
 their arrangements in advance and spend the night in 
 town; but the ruse has its dangers, and the penalty 
 is to be sent down for good and all. 
 
 It is owing to such regulations as these that life in 
 the English college has the name of being cloistral. 15 
 Just how cloistral it is in spirit no one can know who 
 has not taken part in a rag in the quad; and this is 
 impossible to an outsider, for at midnight all visitors 
 are required to leave, under a heavy penalty to their 
 host. 20 
 
 
NATURE IN ENGLAND 1 
 JOHN BURROUGHS 
 
 THE dominant impression of the English landscape 
 is repose. Never was such a restful land to the eye, 
 especially to the American eye, sated as it is very apt 
 to be with the mingled squalor and splendor of its own 
 landscape, its violent contrasts, and general spirit of 5 
 unrest. But the completeness and composure of this 
 outdoor nature is like a dream. It is like the poise of 
 the tide at its full: every hurt of the world is healed, 
 every shore covered, every unsightly spot is hidden. 
 The circle of the horizon is brimming with the green 10 
 equable flood. (I did not see the fens of Lincolnshire 
 nor the wolds of York.) This look of repose is partly 
 the result of the maturity and ripeness brought about 
 by time and ages of patient and thorough husbandry, 
 and partly the result of the gentle, continent spirit of 15 
 Nature herself. She is contented, she is happily 
 wedded, she is well clothed and fed. Her offspring 
 swarm about her, her paths have fallen in pleasant 
 places. The foliage of the trees, how dense and 
 massive! The turf of the fields, how thick and uni- 20 
 form ! The streams and rivers, how placid and full, 
 
 1 Reprinted by permission from " Fresh Fields." Boston, 
 Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 
 
Nature in England 13 
 
 showing no devastated margins, no widespread sandy 
 wastes and unsightly heaps of drift bowlders ! To the 
 returned traveler the foliage of the trees and groves of 
 New England and New York looks thin and disheveled 
 when compared with the foliage he has just left. This 5 
 effect is probably owing to our cruder soil and sharper 
 climate. The aspect of our trees in midsummer is as 
 if the hair of their heads stood on end ; the woods have 
 a wild, frightened look, or as if they were just recovering 
 from a debauch. In our intense light and heat, the 10 
 leaves, instead of spreading themselves full to the sun 
 and crowding out upon the ends of the branches as they 
 do in England, retreat, as it were, hide behind each 
 other, stand edgewise, perpendicular, or at any angle, 
 to avoid the direct rays. In Britain, from the slow, drip- 15 
 ping rains and the excessive moisture, the leaves of the 
 trees droop more, and the branches are more pendent. 
 The rays of light are fewer and feebler, and the foliage 
 disposes itself so as to catch them all, and thus presents 
 a fuller and broader surface to the eye of the benolder. 20 
 The leaves are massed upon the outer ends of the 
 branches, while the interior of the tree is comparatively 
 leafless. The European plane tree is like a tent. The 
 foliage is all on the outside. The bird voices in it 
 reverberate as in a chamber. 25 
 
 The pillar'd dusk of sounding sycamores, 
 says Tennyson. At a little distance, it has the mass 
 and solidity of a rock. The same is true of the Euro- 
 pean maple, and when this tree is grown on our side of 
 
14 Exposition 
 
 the Atlantic it keeps up its Old World habits. I have 
 for several years taken note of a few of them growing in 
 a park near my home. They have less grace and deli- 
 cacy of outline than our native maple, but present a 
 darker and more solid mass of foliage. The leaves are 5 
 larger and less feathery, and are crowded to the periph- 
 ery of the tree. Nearly every summer one of the trees, 
 which is most exposed, gets the leaves on one side badly 
 scorched. When the foliage begins to turn in the fall, 
 the trees appear as if they had been lightly and hastily 10 
 brushed with gold. The outer edges of the branches 
 become a light yellow, while, a little deeper, the body 
 of the foliage is still green. It is this solid and sculp- 
 turesque character of the English foliage that so fills the 
 eye of the artist. The feathery, formless, indefinite, not 15 
 to say thin, aspect of our leafage is much less easy to 
 paint, and much less pleasing when painted. 
 
 The same is true of the turf in the fields and upon 
 the hills. The sward with us, even in the oldest mead- 
 ows, will wear more or less a ragged, uneven aspect. 20 
 The frost heaves it, the sun parches it ; it is thin here 
 and thick there, crabbed in one spot and fine and soft 
 in another. Only by the frequent use of a heavy roller, 
 copious waterings, and top dressings, can we produce 
 sod that approaches in beauty even that of the elevated 25 
 sheep ranges in England and Scotland. 
 
 The greater activity and abundance of the earth- 
 worm, as disclosed by Darwin, probably has much to 
 do with the smoothness and fatness of those fields when 
 
Nature in England 15 
 
 contrasted with our own. This little yet mighty 
 engine is much less instrumental in leavening and 
 leveling the soil in New England than in Old. The 
 gj-eater humidity of the mother country, the deep clayey 
 soil, its fattening for ages by human occupancy, the 5 
 abundance of food, the milder climate, etc., are all 
 favorable to the life and activity of the earthworm. 
 Indeed, according to Darwin, the gardener that has 
 made England a garden is none other than this little 
 obscure creature. It plows, drains, airs, pulverizes, 10 
 fertilizes, and levels. It cannot transport rocks and 
 stone, but it can bury them; it cannot remove the 
 ancient walls and pavements, but it can undermine them 
 and deposit its rich castings above them. On each 
 acre of land, he says, "in many parts of England, a 15 
 weight of more than ten tons of dry earth annually passes 
 through their bodies and is brought to the surface." 
 "When we behold a wide, turf-covered expanse/' he 
 further observes, "we should remember that its smooth- 
 ness, on which so much of its beauty depends, is mainly 20 
 due to all the inequalities having been slowly leveled 
 by worms." 
 
 The small part which worms play in this direction 
 in our landscape is, I am convinced, more than neu- 
 tralized by our violent or disrupting climate; but 25 
 England looks like the product of some such gentle, 
 tireless, and beneficent agent. I have referred to that 
 effect in the face of the landscape as if the soil had 
 snowed down ; it seems the snow came from the other 
 
1 6 Exposition 
 
 direction, namely, from below, but was deposited with 
 equal gentleness and uniformity. 
 
 The repose and equipoise of nature of which I have 
 spoken appears in the fields of grain no less than in the 
 turf and foliage. One may see vast stretches of wheat, 5 
 oats, barley, beans, etc., as uniform as the surface of a 
 lake, every stalk of grain or bean the size and height of 
 every other stalk. This, of course, means good hus- 
 bandry; it means a mild, even-tempered nature back 
 of it, also. Then the repose of the English landscape 10 
 is enhanced, rather than marred, by the part man has 
 played in it. How those old arched bridges rest above 
 the placid streams; how easily they conduct the trim, 
 perfect highways over them ! Where the foot finds an 
 easy way, the eye finds the same; where the body finds 15 
 harmony, the mind finds harmony. Those ivy-covered 
 walls and ruins, those finished fields, those rounded 
 hedgerows, those embowered cottages, and that gray, 
 massive architecture, all contribute to the harmony and 
 to the repose of the landscape. Perhaps in no other 20 
 country are the grazing herds so much at ease. One's 
 first impression, on seeing British fields in spring or 
 summer, is that the cattle and sheep have all broken into 
 the meadow and have not yet been discovered by the 
 farmer ; they have taken their fill, and are now reposing 25 
 upon the grass or dreaming under the trees. But you 
 presently perceive that it is all meadow or meadow-like ; 
 that there are no wild, weedy, or barren pastures about 
 which the herds toil; but that they are in grass up to 
 
Nature in England 17 
 
 their eyes everywhere. Hence their contentment; 
 hence another element of repose in the landscape. 
 
 The softness and humidity of the English climate 
 aci; in two ways in promoting that marvelous greenness 
 of the land, namely, by growth and by decay. As the 5 
 grass springs quickly, so its matured stalk or dry leaf 
 decays quickly. No field growths are desiccated and 
 preserved as with us; there are no dried stubble and 
 seared leaves remaining over the winter to mar and 
 obscure the verdancy of spring. Every dead thing is 10 
 quickly converted back to vegetable mold. In the 
 woods, in May, it is difficult to find any of the dry 
 leaves of the previous autumn ; in the fields and copses 
 and along the highways, no stalk of weed or grass 
 remains; while our wild, uplying pastures and moun- 15 
 tain tops always present a more or less brown and 
 seared appearance from the dried and bleached stalks 
 of the growth of the previous year, through which the 
 fresh-springing grass is scarcely visible. Where rain 
 falls on nearly three hundred days in the year, as in the 20 
 British islands, the conversion of the mold into grass, 
 and vice versa, takes place very rapidly. 
 
HOW BOOKS ARE MADE 1 
 EDWIN T. STIGER 
 
 EACH year the American publishers place on the 
 market something over eight thousand new publica- 
 tions, the editions of which range from the aristocratic 
 few of the expensive limited editions to the hundreds 
 of thousands of the "best sellers." Each one of these 5 
 new books represents an individual effort on the part 
 of the author and the publisher to place something 
 new in a new way before the public, to turn out a book 
 which some appreciable portion of the millions of book- 
 buying inhabitants of this country can be made to think 10 
 that it wants. 
 
 Did it ever occur to you as a reader of a portion of 
 this great output that the laying out and manufacture 
 of this mass of reading matter calls for the employment 
 of an immense force of professionally trained minds 15 
 outside of the thousands who labor in the carrying out 
 of the details arranged for them ; that every new book 
 which appears means the study and application of ideas 
 stored away in the brain of some one man or some little 
 group of men who are spending their lives in the work 20 
 of producing books attractive to the purchaser, and 
 
 1 Reprinted by permission from The Independent, 
 18 
 
How Books are Made 19 
 
 that each of these men must have a general knowledge, 
 at least, of all branches of work that enter into the 
 making of a book, not only of the idiosyncrasies of the 
 English language, with its shading of punctuation, of 
 types and typographical eccentricities, of the technicali- 5 
 ties of electrotyping, paper-making, photo -engraving, 
 printing and bookbinding, but of every one of these and 
 its related branches? 
 
 Here, then, is the story of the making of a book. 
 
 When a publisher receives a manuscript from an 10 
 author he gives it out to one of his readers, one of a 
 force upon which he relies for opinions as to the advisa- 
 bility of publishing or probable salability after pub- 
 lishing. These readers are generally persons who have 
 been well trained in the merits or demerits of popularity 15 
 or authority, and in spite of occasional errors of judg- 
 ment inseparable from work of this nature, have 
 developed exceptional ability in this line. If the 
 manuscript appears hopeless for this particular pub- 
 lisher's use it will probably pass through the hands of 20 
 but one or two readers. If, however, it shows prospects 
 of success, it will be placed before several of these 
 experts, each of whom will deliver an opinion, and it 
 will go for final consideration to the head of the editorial 
 force or a member of the publishing firm. Let us 25 
 consider that the manuscript has been accepted and 
 the contract drawn up and signed by the author and 
 the publisher. The next step is the sending of the 
 manuscript to the head of the manufacturing depart- 
 
2o Exposition 
 
 ment of the publishing house. This gentleman gener- 
 ally tries to talk the book over with the author, in an 
 effort to include as many of his ideas in the production 
 as may be possible considering the limits and the cost 
 of manufacture. He is then ready to begin the building 5 
 of the book. 
 
 Of course, if a new volume is to be added to a series 
 which has already been begun, or if it is to be patterned 
 after some book which has already been made, the plan 
 of procedure is simple, the work to a great extent 10 
 merely mechanical. If the book, however, must be con- 
 structed on lines of its own, the first thing to be done 
 is to obtain a count of the number of words the manu- 
 script contains. This is necessary as giving a gauge 
 from which to determine the size of type and of the type 15 
 page, and to arrive approximately at the number of 
 pages the book will make. This counting is not as 
 easy as it sounds, and it is quite an art to do it accu- 
 rately, since manuscript will vary considerably in 
 different parts, and often the "copy," as the manuscript 20 
 now becomes called, is made up of writing by different 
 hands, or of magazine or newspaper extracts of varying 
 sizes pasted or laid in. Then, too, the different sizes 
 of types to be used must be considered, for long quota- 
 tions or correspondence must be set in a different size 25 
 from the text, and the estimator will also find that 
 portions of the same manuscript will vary materially, 
 according to the nature of the subject. For instance, 
 in a novel, a part given up to broken or short conversa- 
 
How Books are Made 21 
 
 tion will carry more words to a page than a similar 
 amount of longer worded description. The words 
 having been counted,*the next proceeding is to decide 
 on the type and type page. 
 
 While in the selection of type there are many fonts 5 
 from which to choose, most of them, except for the more 
 ornamental styles often used for booklets and special 
 gift books, narrow themselves down to adaptations of 
 three or four faces, their variations being due to pecul- 
 iarities in the cut of the letters belonging to one or the 10 
 other of these few standard styles. Some of these ad- 
 aptations will get more letters on a line of a given length, 
 and some less, than others set in the same size of type. 
 In addition to the changes of types the manufacturing 
 man is allowed some leeway by the " leading/' or blanks 15 
 between the lines of type. Having decided whether 
 the book is to be of approximately the size known by 
 the book-buying public as "octavo" or "i2mo," or 
 some such designation, it is his work to settle upon a 
 type and type page which will not run the book to such 20 
 a length as to make its publishing too expensive, or, on 
 the other hand, to make a book so small that the buyer 
 will feel that he is not getting the worth of his money. 
 In all of this he is bound down by the fact that his type 
 page, whatever it is, must not be laid out contrary to 25 
 certain proportions which the good taste of the past has 
 made definite. After getting these matters worked out 
 he sends the manuscript to the printer with instructions 
 for a sample page to be set to confirm him in his deci- 
 
22 Exposition 
 
 sion, and often with a request to the printer to count 
 the words and verify his estimate of the number of pages. 
 Very often this sample page must be juggled, a line 
 added, a fraction of an inch taken off, a page number 
 put at the foot, a running head changed in style, or even 5 
 an entirely new start made on an entirely different basis 
 before an O. K. can be given. It might be said here 
 that unless a manuscript offers unusual features a pub- 
 lisher does not necessarily ask the printer for an estimate 
 of cost, for the manufacturing man has a schedule of 10 
 the printer's prices and can figure this out for himself 
 as closely as the printer himself could do it. 
 
 The sample page having finally been approved, the 
 order is given to begin the work, the printer is told how 
 many proofs will be required and where they are to be 15 
 sent, and the last details about any irregularities to be 
 met in the work are put in his hands. The printer starts 
 his compositors to work, or, if the book is to be set 
 by machine, arranges for the machines and operators 
 who are to begin the composition, and the kind of prog- 20 
 ress that can be seen commences. Then follows the 
 period of proofs and proof reading. The first proof, 
 which is a galley proof, or one "pulled" (printed) on 
 long slips of paper without any division into pages, is 
 read and corrected several times before it leaves the 25 
 printer's hands and is then read and marked for correc- 
 tion by the author and by some of the publisher's edi- 
 torial force before its return to the printer. If the cor- 
 rections required are many, it is customary to have 
 
How Books are Made 23 
 
 further galley proofs, or "galley revises," sent out, so 
 that the changes may be reduced to a minimum before 
 the matter is made up into pages, when all corrections 
 are apt to be more expensive to the publisher or author 
 than if made in the galleys. Then, all the palpable 5 
 errors having been corrected, and all the additions and 
 excisions made which have up to that time been dis- 
 covered by the author, the type is put into page form, 
 the running heads and the page numbers added, and 
 the proper sinkage allowed for the beginnings of chap- 10 
 ters. More proofs follow, and perhaps page revises, 
 before the final word is given that everything is correct 
 and that electrotypes of the pages may now be made. 
 Even then a plate proof is often required and oftentimes 
 late corrections are sent to be made in the plates them- 15 
 selves an expensive proceeding, and one avoided 
 whenever possible. 
 
 A word should here be said about this matter of cor- 
 rections, for there is probably no one thing which causes 
 as much friction between the author and the publisher, 20 
 and the publisher and printer, as alterations from copy. 
 The author, when he sees his work in type, naturally 
 sees many things which escaped his notice in manuscript 
 form. Moreover, there are often new developments of 
 his subject or suggestions from friends brought to his 25 
 notice, all of which he is anxious to include in his first 
 edition. He cannot understand why just a few words 
 added here or a line taken out there should, when re- 
 peated now and then, make such a seemingly excessive 
 
24 Exposition 
 
 bill of errors. Such changes, however, which appear 
 to him to be very slight, and which are so judging by 
 their length, may require the changing of words and 
 spaces throughout several lines, or, after paging, the re- 
 adjustment of a number of pages. All of this takes a 5 
 compositor's time, the printer has to pay the compositor 
 for this time, and at the end of the work a considerable 
 bill is rendered. If the author or editor will only remem- 
 ber that where a word or a sentence is taken out, another 
 word or sentence as near the same length as possible 10 
 should be inserted whenever it can be done, or if he can 
 cut out enough old matter to allow space for new he 
 may wish to add, much wear and tear of feelings might 
 be saved. 
 
 The making of the electrotype plates, although an 15 
 intensely interesting process, need not be taken up in 
 this article. It is enough to say of it that the type is 
 pressed in page form into a waxen mold, that the mold 
 is placed in a bath having copper in solution, that this 
 copper is deposited on the mold by an electric current 20 
 and chemical action, taking an exact impression of 
 it, and that this copper shell, when backed with metal 
 and trimmed to the required size, is ready for the print- 
 ing press. 
 
 All this time, while the proofs are going back and forth, 25 
 while the corrections are being made, and while the elec- 
 trotypes are being produced, the manufacturing man 
 is busily arranging the later details of the book. He is 
 ordering the paper, seeing that it is delivered in time, 
 
How Books are Made 25 
 
 arranging with the artist for illustrations if the book 
 is to be embellished in that way, deciding upon the cover 
 ' decoration and the binding, and perhaps even getting 
 out partially finished books showing the binding and a 
 few pages of printed matter from which the salesmen 5 
 can take orders. 
 
 As soon as enough of the book is in type to insure 
 accuracy as to the number of pages, or often merely 
 taking the original estimate as a basis for the order, 
 steps must be taken to have the paper on hand as soon 10 
 as the electrotyping has been finished. When the size 
 of the edition will permit it, the paper is generally made 
 to order, a process requiring from two weeks up, ac- 
 cording to the amount of business the paper mills are 
 handling at the time. If the edition is small, or if such 15 
 a paper is to be used as may readily be found in the 
 stock regularly carried by a paper dealer, the paper is 
 ordered from this stock, cutting it down to the proper 
 size if the sheet required is smaller than the sizes ordi- 
 narily sold. The manufacturing man must decide upon 20 
 the quality of the paper to be used, its size, weight and 
 finish, where it is to be obtained, how much is to be paid 
 'for it, and how large a quantity is to be used. He must 
 obtain samples from different mills, consider these in 
 relation to the price asked, make his decision and place 25 
 his order, and then, often the hardest work of all, follow 
 up the paper men incessantly to make sure that it is on 
 the spot when it is wanted. The type page being fixed, 
 he allows for the proper margins, considers whether he 
 
26 Exposition 
 
 will print eight, sixteen, thirty-two or sixty-four pages 
 at one impression, and then figures the quantity by a 
 scale which allows enough extra sheets for spoilage in 
 the printing and binding. While all of this work may 
 sound as a simple proposition, it is often far from that, 5 
 for the paper must be chosen with some regard for the 
 face of type which is to be used upon it, and it must 
 very often be selected with a view toward making a too 
 fat book thin and easy to hold, or toward padding out a 
 small, insignificant book into something worth while 10 
 to a prospective purchaser. 
 
 While the proofs are shuttling back and forth and 
 while the paper is being made, it is also time for the 
 supervisor of the work to be closing in any of the illus- 
 trative and decorative portions of the book. If cuts are 15 
 to print with the text, the drawings and the cuts must 
 be made in advance, in order not to hold back the pag- 
 ing ; if, however, the cuts are to print separately and are 
 to be pasted in by the binder, the work may be carried 
 on while the composition is being done, the manuscript 20 
 having been given the artist to read in advance of its 
 being sent to the printer, or an early set of proofs sent 
 him, that he may choose the situations that appeal to him 
 for illustration. In a general way it may be said that 
 the illustrative processes are two in number, although 25 
 these branch out into infinity in their variations, and 
 although there are more than these two and their varia- 
 tions required in special work. The two in question, 
 used in the general run of books sold at retail, are the 
 
How Books are Made 27 
 
 line cut, or zinc etching, made from line drawings and 
 drawings with solid blacks and whites, and the half 
 tone, made from photographs and wash drawings. 
 Both of these cuts, or engravings, are made by photog- 
 raphy and chemical action, both may be reduced, or 5 
 even enlarged to a certain degree, to any size propor- 
 tional to the original subject, and both may be printed 
 at the same time as the text pages, except for the fact that 
 the finish of the paper must be adapted to the cuts. 
 The line cut may be used on any paper whose surface 10 
 is smooth enough to print without breaking the printed 
 line, but the half tone, on account of its delicacy of line, 
 may be used only on a coated paper or a paper of high 
 finish. The printing of colored illustrations is simply 
 the adaptation of one or the other of these two processes, 15 
 breaking up the colors of a picture in such a way as to 
 produce practically any of the colors of the spectrum 
 a complete art in itself and often carried out by printers 
 who do no other kind of work, or else the arbitrary divi- 
 sion of a picture into two or three colors and the printing 20 
 of portions in each color, without regard to the fact that 
 the combination of two certain colors will produce a 
 third. Unless a book is so filled with cuts as to require 
 a highly finished or a coated paper throughout, it is 
 customary to print the cuts separately from the text. 25 
 
 Another of the artistic features to be looked after 
 before the presswork has been completed is the design- 
 ing of the cover and the making of the brass dies from 
 which the binder stamps the design on the outside of 
 
28 Exposition 
 
 the book. The artist to whom is delegated the work of 
 making the cover design submits a scheme in its colors, 
 usually painted on cloth or paper of the color suggested 
 for use, so that an idea may be had of the general effect 
 and a tentative estimate made of the cost. In general, 5 
 the artist is held down to as few colors as possible, and 
 is restricted in the use of gold and silver, on account of 
 the extra cost of dies and stamping in the former case, 
 and of precious gold and silver leaf in the latter. When 
 the design is finally accepted it is given into the hands 10 
 of the manufacturing man, who, determining the size 
 of the cover and the thickness of the book, passes it 
 along to the die cutter in order that the design or letter- 
 ing may be cut in hard brass, from which any quantity 
 of covers may be stamped or printed without showing 15 
 any evidence of wear on the part of the die itself. Of 
 late the cover inset has come into much vogue, this 
 inset being generally an illustration printed on paper 
 in one* or more colors and pasted on the cover in rela- 
 tion to some part of the stamped design, thus giving an 20 
 added attraction to the cover and making it more in 
 keeping with the book, while at the same time holding 
 down the cost. 
 
 Let us consider, then, that the electrotype plates are 
 now ready for the press and that the paper is in the 25 
 printer's hands. The book is ready to be printed. The 
 publisher therefore tells the printer how large an edition 
 he requires and the signal is given to begin the printing. 
 Any one unacquainted with the work and going into a 
 
How Books are Made 29 
 
 pressroom for the first time must be struck by the large 
 number of presses seemingly lying idle when he has been 
 given to understand that a pressroom is always a scene 
 of whirring activity. This seeming quiet is on account 
 of what is known as the "make ready" the principal 5 
 cause for expense in printing and the work which brings 
 out the pressman's art and skill. This is the labor re- 
 quired to get the eight, or sixteen, or thirty-two, or sixty- 
 four pages ready to be printed. The pressman lays out 
 his form on the bed of his press, using a large block upon 10 
 which the electrotypes may be placed and fastened, or 
 else a number of small blocks, one to a page, arranged 
 in their proper positions by wooden or metal strips laid 
 between the blocks "furniture," as these are called. 
 As type matter or plates can never be absolutely even 15 
 on the top, it is necessary for the pressman to build up 
 the low spots and cut down the impression where it is 
 too black. After placing the form on press, therefore, 
 he runs a trial sheet of paper through the press, from 
 which he is able to know where in the form his work 20 
 of evening the impression is required. Then he starts 
 this work, which is known as the " make ready," a labor 
 which may require an hour or even two or three days, 
 according to the character of the form or the quality 
 of the work desired. Pieces of thin paper are pasted 25 
 on the cylinder of the press in such positions as to touch 
 certain spots in the form at the point where the cylin- 
 der carrying the sheet of paper to be printed meets the 
 plates, thus increasing the strength of the impression at 
 
30 Exposition 
 
 that point, while other pieces are cut in the right size 
 and shape and pasted under the plate, between it and 
 the block, to gain a similar end. The former method 
 is known as "over laying " and the latter as "underlay- 
 ing." This same process is carried out in printing the 5 
 illustrations, only to a greater degree and generally with 
 more care. When the "make ready" has been fin- 
 ished, the sheets of blank paper are lifted up on the 
 press and fed one by one on to the cylinder, which car- 
 ries them in its revolution against the plates, after 10 
 which they are deposited in a pile to be removed, printed 
 again on the other side, counted and packed for ship- 
 ment to the binder. Similar work to this is carried out 
 for every form of the book until it is all printed, when 
 the scene is shifted to the bindery. 15 
 
 The first step in the binding is the folding of the 
 sheets. While this was generally done in the past by 
 hand by girls working with a flat piece of smooth ivory 
 or similar substance, it is now almost universally exe- 
 cuted by ingenious machines which take the sheet of 20 
 paper, cut it, fold it accurately, insert one folded sheet 
 within another if necessary, and deliver the folded 
 signatures, as each single folded sheet is called, ready 
 for the next process. These signatures are next "gath- 
 ered," either by hand or machinery, in the order in which 25 
 they are to appear in the finished book, and they are 
 then "collated," that is, verified, the collator making 
 sure that all signatures are arranged in proper order 
 and that none is missing. They are then sent to the 
 
How Books are Made 31 
 
 sewing machines, which stitch the signatures together 
 in one continuous row, making no division between 
 'the volumes, which have to be cut apart by hand. If 
 the books are to have gilt tops it is here that this work 
 comes in, the gilder placing a number of books in his 5 
 press, squeezing them up very tightly, with the edge to 
 be gilded uppermost, scraping this edge very smooth, 
 painting on it a thin albumen size, and then laying on 
 the thin gold leaf, which is burnished down to smooth 
 brilliancy by a tool worked by the hand of the gilder. 10 
 The sewed and gilded book then moves along to be 
 rounded and backed; that is, to be given the circular 
 effect shown on the back of the book and to have the 
 edge of the back, where the sewing is, forced out by 
 pressure to make a groove in which the covers may have 15 
 play. A piece of coarse, tough cloth, reenforced by a 
 pasted strip of paper, is glued on the back, the edges 
 of the cloth overhanging the edges by an inch or so on 
 each side, a flexible glue is smeared on the back to 
 strengthen it and to hold the signatures more closely 20 
 together, and the book is ready for the cover, which in 
 "all probability has been made while this other work was 
 going on in order to save time at the end. 
 
 Although machines are now generally used for the 
 making of the cover itself, or "case," as it is called in 25 
 the trade, they have simply adopted the method of the 
 hand worker with more uniformity and speed. The 
 plan of this work begins with the cutting of the stiff 
 pasteboard into pieces of the proper size for each side, 
 
32 Exposition 
 
 a similar cutting of the book cloth for the entire cover, 
 the gluing of the inner surface of the cloth, the plac- 
 ing of the pieces of board in their proper positions and 
 of a strip of paper down the back, and the turning 
 over of the edges of the cloth upon the board to 5 
 give a finished edge and strengthen the case. The 
 case then goes to the stamper, who places the brass 
 dies the publisher has supplied for the lettering and the 
 design on a metal block, inks them with colored ink, or, 
 if gold or some other foil is to be used, has this foil 10 
 stuck on with a size to the cover, and prints the design 
 or lettering on it with his stamping press. If foil is 
 used the dies are hot stamped against the foil, and 
 the waste foil which has not received the impression is 
 rubbed off, collected and remelted. The book is then 15 
 fitted into the case or cover, the blank pages at each end 
 of the book which have been pasted on for this purpose 
 are pasted back on the cover, and the book is finished. 
 These pasted leaves, together with the reenforcing 
 cloth, are all that hold the book to the cover in ordinary 20 
 "edition work," as this style of binding is called, but 
 that they are sufficient for all customary use is shown 
 by the amount of hard usage one of these volumes will 
 stand. 
 
 The books are now placed in a press and subjected 25 
 to heavy pressure for a day or a night or more in order 
 to set the mold, as one might say, and give them a proper 
 chance to dry, after which they are packed in cases and 
 shipped away to the market. In the selling of the 
 
How Books are Made 33 
 
 product another department of the publishing house 
 begins its work, while the manufacturing man gives a 
 sigh of relief, comments perhaps to himself, perhaps 
 to the printer or binder, on some details which had not 
 worked out in just the way he had intended, and devotes 
 his attention to the finishing of the next book on the 
 publication list. 
 
A SIMPLE EXPLANATION OF WIRELESS 
 TELEGRAPHY 1 
 
 A. E. KENNELLY 
 
 WIRELESS telegraphy is one of the most recent won- 
 ders of our wonder -revealing age. The public has not 
 yet had time to grasp the principles of this latest achieve- 
 ment. It is commonly supposed that the subject of 
 wireless telegraphy is too intricate for any one except ' 5 
 a specially trained scientist to grasp. Nevertheless, 
 the fundamental principles of wireless telegraphy are 
 simple, and may be readily apprehended by all who are 
 interested in this fascinating inquiry, however abstruse 
 and difficult the details may be. 10 
 
 Wireless telegraphy employs electric waves which 
 are invisible to the eye, but which run over the surface 
 of the sea and land at an immense speed. 
 
 A fair analogy to wireless telegraph waves is pre- 
 sented, on a small scale, in the waves artificially created 15 
 on the surface of a pond by throwing in a stone. We 
 are all familiar with the series of events following the 
 fall of a stone into the middle of a previously smooth 
 sheet of water. First we have a big disturbance or 
 splash where the stone falls. Then we see one or more 20 
 ring waves spreading out in all directions from the 
 
 1 Reprinted by permission from The Independent. 
 34 
 
Explanation of Wireless Telegraphy 35 
 
 splash over the surface of the pond. These waves con- 
 tinue to advance radially in every direction north, 
 -south, east and west at a steady rate, and if atten- 
 tively watched they may be seen to go on, getting fainter 
 and weaker as they run, until finally they strike the 5 
 banks of the pond, or any prominent obstacle, such as 
 a stake stuck in the mud and projecting above the 
 water. Where the wave strikes either one of the banks, 
 or the stake, it raises a little splash or disturbance of the 
 water. This little splash, on the arrival of the wave, 10 
 is much feebler than the original splash due to the im- 
 pact of the stone in falling on the water, because the 
 wave spreads out into such a long contour that only 
 a small portion of the original disturbance can be im- 
 parted to an obstacle in its path. In fact, if the pond 15 
 is sufficiently large, the wave may be so feeble by the 
 time that it approaches the banks that no splash on 
 arrival can be discerned. In other words, if the wave 
 on reaching the bank is to be capable of producing a 
 discernible disturbance, it must have an appreciable 20 
 strength and not be reduced by expansion to micro- 
 scopic dimensions. 
 
 From the standpoint of wireless telegraphy, the im- 
 pact splash of the falling stone corresponds to an elec- 
 tric signal sent out from the mast of a sending station, 25 
 and the faint little splash on the arrival of the wave at 
 a bank, or an obstacle, corresponds to the faint electric 
 disturbance or signal detected at a distant receiving 
 station as soon as the electric wave arrives there. 
 
36 Exposition 
 
 If we suppose that two boats are quietly anchored in 
 the pond at a suitable distance apart, it might be feasible 
 for a man in one boat to send signals to a friend in the 
 other by striking a succession of short and long blows 
 on the water, in conformity with the telegraph Morse 5 
 alphabet. The letter a would be formed by a short 
 blow followed by a long one, the letter b by a long blow 
 followed by three short ones, and so on. Each blow 
 on the water at the sending boat would send out a new 
 wave in all directions over the pond, and the letters 10 
 of the message would lie in successive expanding rings 
 on the surface of the water. The man in the receiving 
 boat would intercept these expanding ring waves at 
 some point of their circle. He might be able to watch 
 the little splashes they formed on his anchor chain, or 15 
 other obstacle, and so might be able to read the 
 message, each letter being received a few seconds later 
 than it was hammered out by the sender. Practically, 
 of course, this plan would have little chance of success, 
 if only because the least ruffle of breeze would prevent 20 
 the wave signals from being discerned. Moreover, 
 the range of water wave signaling would be very small, 
 even in calm weather. 
 
 In the case of pond-wave telegraphy, as above sug- 
 gested, the waves would be emitted from a sending sta- 25 
 tion by producing there a relatively powerful disturb- 
 ance of the pond or liquid medium. The disturbances 
 would move off as waves in all directions, with a defi- 
 nite speed. At any point, within the working range, 
 
Explanation of Wireless Telegraphy 37 
 
 a receiving station could intercept and perceive the dis- 
 turbances caused by the waves on their arrival, and 
 could thus spell out messages. The receiving boat 
 might be north, south, east or west of the sending boat, 
 but if its distance away was the same it should be able 5 
 to decipher the water waves equally well. 
 
 Electric wave telegraphy, or wireless telegraphy, 
 operates in a somewhat similar way. Instead of using 
 water waves it uses electric waves traveling through 
 the ether over the earth's surface. The electric splash 10 
 or disturbance is created at the sending station by the 
 sudden electric charge or discharge of a wire or wires 
 on a tall mast, while the expanding waves, being invis- 
 ible, have to be detected by a delicate electric respon- 
 sive device connected to a tall receiving mast placed at 15 
 any point within the working range. The advancing 
 electric waves strike the receiving mast and produce 
 feeble electric splashes, or disturbances, in the wire 
 or wires suspended there. 
 
 It is necessary to regard the wireless telegraphy 20 
 waves as running through the ether, rather than 
 through the air, even though they appear to be carried 
 by the air. If the waves were carried by the air, they 
 would be sound waves, which have quite different prop- 
 erties, and which, moreover, are only capable of being 25 
 detected ordinarily at relatively short distances. There 
 is every reason to believe that if the air which surrounds 
 the globe could somehow be completely removed, so as 
 to leave only so-called empty space on its surface, the 
 
38 Exposition 
 
 electric waves would still be able to run over it, sub- 
 stantially as they do now with the air present. It is 
 universally admitted that so-called empty space, or in- 
 terstellar space, must be occupied by something invisible, 
 which is called the ether, and which transmits light, heat 5 
 and electric disturbances generally. This ether perme- 
 ates all matter, and the atmosphere is permeated by 
 it. Consequently, the wireless telegraph waves run 
 through the atmosphere, but are borne by the under- 
 lying invisible ether. 10 
 
 Those who have witnessed that magnificent spectacle, 
 a total eclipse of the sun, from a favorably placed view- 
 point, say the top of a mountain, will remember that 
 as the sun's disk becomes obscured gradually by the 
 moon, the sunlight on the landscape steadily dwindled, 15 
 but without any sudden changes, until the first instant 
 of totality, when the sun was completely hidden be- 
 hind the moon. The observer watching for this moment 
 discerns a black shadow on the horizon, like a dark veil 
 or curtain, spreading from earth to sky and running to- 20 
 ward him at great speed. The wall of shadow sweeps 
 over the landscape in a stealthy, majestic rush and 
 passes by the observer, leaving him in the semi-obscurity 
 of the total eclipse. This is perhaps the nearest ap- 
 proach that nature gives to our senses of the phenomenon 25 
 of electric wave movement. It conveys only a weak 
 image of that phenomenon, because the speed of the 
 moon's shadow, which the eye sees running over the 
 landscape, is only a few thousand miles per hour, while 
 
Explanation of Wireless Telegraphy 39 
 
 the speed of the electric waves is known with practical 
 certainty to be almost the same as that of light in free 
 , space, i.e., 186,000 miles per second, or sufficient to 
 run seven and one half times round the world in one 
 second by the clock. 5 
 
 If, however, we assume that our eyes could see an 
 electric wave of wireless telegraphy running over the 
 earth, just as we actually see the waves running over 
 a pond, or the shadow of a cloud running over a land- 
 scape, we should expect to see a hemispherical wave 10 
 thrown out from the sending mast every time an electric 
 spark discharge was produced there. The hemisphere 
 would cover the land like an inverted bowl, and would 
 expand in all directions like the upper half of a gigantic 
 swelling soap bubble, at the speed of 186,000 miles a 15 
 second. At the upper portions of the hemisphere, and 
 particularly at the top, the wave would be very thin and 
 weak. It would be denser and stronger in the lower 
 portions, and especially in the lowest portion that 
 spreads over the ground like a ring. 20 
 
 In the celebrated Marienfeld-Zossen railroad experi- 
 ments, made in Germany a few years ago, the highest 
 attainable train speeds were striven for, and speeds of 
 120 miles per hour were reached over portions of the 
 road. An observer stationed near the straight track 25 
 and on the lookout for the car with his unaided eyes 
 would see it coming on the horizon, would watch it 
 approach, pass and vanish on the opposite horizon all 
 within thirty seconds, or half a minute of time. This 
 
4O Exposition 
 
 assumes that he would lose sight of the car half a mile 
 away from him. But if the speed of a passing wave, 
 instead of being 120 miles an hour, were 670 millions of 
 miles per hour, how small would be our chance of get- 
 ting a look at the passing wave, even though it reached 5 
 from the earth to the sky? A twinkling of an eye 
 would be a relatively long and dreary delay in com- 
 parison with the time of passage. 
 
 By way of example, suppose the sending mast were 
 located in the Brooklyn Navy Yard just off Manhattan 10 
 Island, and suppose a single spark discharge, or electric 
 splash, were made at this mast, corresponding to a "dot " 
 signal in wireless telegraphy. Immediately we should 
 see, if we possessed the imagined powers of vision, a 
 hemispherical wave rush off from the mast in all direc- 15 
 tions over the earth. Strictly speaking, there would 
 not be just one wave. A stone thrown into a pond 
 generally produces one principal wave followed imme- 
 diately by a train of successively smaller waves. So 
 an electric splash, or spark discharge from the sending- 20 
 mast wire, usually produces a train of waves, of which 
 the first is strongest and the rest are successively weaker. 
 But ignoring this detail, if we confined attention to the 
 first or leading wave, we should expect to see a nearly 
 vertical wall running over the sea and land, north, south, 25 
 east and west with the speed of light. The wave 
 would, indeed, be made up of two successive walls, say 
 first a "positive" wall and then a "negative" wall, 
 with a clear space between, just as a water wave is made 
 
Explanation of Wireless Telegraphy 41 
 
 up of a positive wall, or crest, and then a negative wall, 
 or trough, immediately behind, with a mean-level space 
 .between them. The length of the wave would depend 
 upon the height of the sending-mast wire, and with a 
 plain vertical wire, the wave, including both positive 5 
 and negative walls, would stretch over, or cover, a dis- 
 tance on the ground about four times the height of the 
 wire. Consequently a mast 150 feet high would throw 
 off a wave about 600 feet long, the positive wall being 
 300 feet thick, and the negative wall also 300 feet thick. 10 
 In practice, however, coils of wire are included in the 
 discharge path of sending-mast wires, and these arti- 
 ficially increase the virtual height of those wires, so that 
 a iso-foot mast may act as though it were much higher, 
 say even a mile high. In the latter case, the outgoing 15 
 wave would cover four miles of ground, or its wave 
 length would be four miles. 
 
 If we transported ourselves somehow in a flying 
 machine over the earth's surface at the speed of light, 
 Jules Verne's celebrated flying projectile being hope- 20 
 lessly too slow for our imagination in this respect, we 
 could keep up with the outgoing wave and watch what 
 happened to it as it ran. What happens far up above 
 the earth would lie beyond our ken, and we need not 
 attempt to follow the wave upward. But along and 25 
 near the earth's surface we should expect to see the 
 wave bend over the globe, so as to keep advancing over 
 it like a nearly vertical wall. The wave in its westward 
 progress would be expected, after starting, to reach the 
 
42 Exposition 
 
 Great Lakes in i-2yoth of a second, and the Pacific Coast 
 in the i-goth of a second. If we followed it in our air- 
 ship eastward, we should expect to reach Europe in about 
 i-5oth of a second, and the distant shores of the Le- 
 vant in about i-3Sth of a second. If we took our 5 
 imaginary aerial automobile northward with the wave, 
 we should expect to see the wave pass the north pole 
 in about i~5oth of a second. If, on the other hand, we 
 selected the southerly direction of flight, we should 
 expect to see the wave pass the south pole in about 10 
 i-2oth of a second. 
 
 One naturally inquires how long could the imaginary 
 aerial chase be kept up. If it could be kept going for a 
 single second of time, the wave would have passed New 
 York on the seventh time around the world. The 15 
 answer is that possibly in theory the chase of an ultra- 
 microscopic ripple might be kept up as long as one 
 pleased, but that, in practice, the waves have not yet 
 been detected at distances exceeding a few thousand 
 miles from their source. The reason is that they weaken 20 
 so much as they expand. Just as the wave expanding 
 over a pond spreads and weakens until it is rapidly lost 
 to sight, so the wireless telegraph waves, being spread 
 over such immense distances, become diluted to inap- 
 preciable residuals. Not only do they suffer in intensity 25 
 by spreading over a continually widening area, but they 
 are also weakened by absorption into the surface of 
 the ground. If the ground were a perfect electric 
 conductor, the electric waves, or the vertical walls that 
 
Explanation of Wireless Telegraphy 43 
 
 our imagination depicts them, would skim over the 
 ground or ocean without being absorbed therein. But 
 the earth's superficial layers are far from being a per- 
 fect conductor, and so the earth is always swallowing 
 up or absorbing the wave, to some extent, at the ground 5 
 surface, and the upper portions of the wave feed down 
 energy into the lower portions to try to make good the 
 defect as the wave runs along; but the result is to 
 make the wave disappear so much the sooner. The 
 salt water ocean conducts electrically much better 10 
 than the dry land and also presents a smoother general 
 contour. On this account wireless telegraph signals 
 can ordinarily be detected much farther over the sea 
 than over the land. For a given electric splashing 
 power, or discharging disturbance power, at the sending 15 
 mast, there is a certain range over the sea and over the 
 land at which high receiving masts can pick up the 
 disturbance of the passing waves and make them 
 appreciable to our senses by the aid of a very delicate 
 electric apparatus. The bigger the sending splashing, 20 
 the higher the masts at both sending and receiving 
 stations, and the more delicate the electric receiving 
 apparatus, the greater is this range. At present the 
 range extends right across the Atlantic Ocean. 
 
 Wherever a vertical wire is placed in the path of an 25 
 electric wave an electric disturbance will be created up 
 and down this wire during the passage of the wave, 
 and this disturbance, if strong enough, can act on 
 suitable electric apparatus so as to register a signal. A 
 
44 Exposition 
 
 single wave may pass by a mast in, say, one millionth 
 of a second, according to the length of the wave. But 
 this brief disturbance suffices. In sending a wireless 
 message, every dot and dash involves a succession of 
 waves, or an individual wave train. This train is short 5 
 for a dot and long for a dash. Dots and dashes, in 
 proper sequence, spell out the message. 
 
 What is the nature of the wave, or of these vertical 
 walls, that we imagine to fly across the landscape at such 
 an enormous speed ? If we carried our imaginary aerial 10 
 automobile into one, so as to travel in the wall and ex- 
 amine it leisurely before it dwindled away to insignificant 
 remains, we should expect to find that in the advancing 
 wave there was a feeble vertical electric force, so that 
 an electrically charged pithball suspended from the 15 
 aerial automobile would be attracted either vertically 
 upward or downward, according as we examined the 
 positive or negative wall. Moreover, there would be 
 an accompanying feeble horizontal magnetic force, so 
 that a delicately poised compass needle on board our fly- 20 
 ing car would be deflected either to the right or to the 
 left, according to whether we traveled in the positive or 
 negative wall. Such are the warp and the woof of the 
 electro-magnetic fabric which constitutes these waves. 
 They are not tissued of matter, but of electricity and 25 
 of magnetism. 
 
 But how are we to distinguish at any receiving station 
 between waves coming simultaneously from New York, 
 Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, San Francisco, London, 
 
Explanation of Wireless Telegraphy 45 
 
 Paris, Vienna, Bombay and Pekin without invidious 
 disregard of other places and ships at sea ? The more 
 remote places take care of themselves at present, because 
 their waves are too feeble and exhausted to reach us. 
 The nearer places might well conflict, but by tuning the 5 
 apparatus at our receiving mast to respond only to 
 waves say 500 yards long, all waves save those of the 
 particular station or stations which emit that length of 
 wave will not be audible. Besides, there are other 
 modes of securing artificial selection of signals, other- 10 
 wise a modern tower of Babel would be erected in the 
 circumambient air. 
 
 Manifestly, wireless telegraphy is destined to be- 
 come a great civilizing and socializing agency, because 
 the firmament of the world is the common property 15 
 of all nations, and those who use it for signaling in- 
 habit it, in a certain sense. When all nations come 
 to inhabit the firmament collectively they will be 
 brought into closer communion for their mutual ad- 
 vantage. A new upper geography dawns upon us, in 20 
 which there is no more sea, neither are there any 
 boundaries between the peoples. 
 
 Now that wireless telegraphy has entered the com- 
 mercial field of transoceanic telegraphy, it becomes 
 of interest to inquire whether it is likely to supplant 25 
 the submarine telegraph cables, some 250,000 miles of 
 which engirdle the oceans of &e world. Wireless 
 telegraphy has an undisputed territory on the ocean 
 in maintaining telegraph communication with mov- 
 
46 Exposition 
 
 ing vessels, where submarine cables cannot reach 
 them. Now wireless telegraphy proposes to compete 
 with cables for messages from continent to continent. 
 It may be safely said that, up to the present time, 
 wireless telegraphy has helped the ocean cables, by 5 
 bringing messages to them from ships at sea, much 
 more than it has hurt them by robbing them of mes- 
 sages. If wireless telegraphy were to remain station- 
 ary, and make no further technical progress, it is very 
 doubtful whether, with its present capabilities, it could 10 
 reduce materially the traffic over submarine cables. 
 On the other hand, however, wireless telegraphy is 
 still very young, and its limitations have by no means 
 been determined. It is, therefore, conceivable that at 
 some distant date it may attain such a degree of devel- 15 
 opment as to render ocean cables no longer necessary. 
 
ARTIST AND MORALIST 1 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 
 
 WE may admit, with proper limitations, the modern 
 distinction between the Artist and the Moralist. With 
 the one, Form is all in all, with the other Tendency. 
 The aim of the one is to delight, of the other to con- 
 vince. The one is master of his purpose, the other 5 
 mastered by it. The whole range of perception and 
 thought is valuable to the one as it will minister to 
 imagination; to the other only as it is available for 
 argument. With the moralist use is beauty, good 
 only as it serves an ulterior purpose; with the artist 10 
 beauty is use, good in and for itself. In the fine arts 
 the vehicle makes part of the thought, coalesces with 
 it. The living conception shapes itself a body in 
 marble, color, or modulated sound, and henceforth 
 the two are inseparable. The results of the moralist 15 
 pass into the intellectual atmosphere of mankind, it 
 matters little by what mode of conveyance. But 
 where, as in Dante, the religious sentiment and the 
 imagination are both organic, something interfused 
 with the whole being of the man, so that they work 20 
 in kindly sympathy, the moral will insensibly suffuse 
 
 1 Reprinted by permission from " Literary Essays." Boston, 
 Hough ton, Mifflin & Co. 
 
 47 
 
48 Exposition 
 
 itself with beauty as a cloud with light. Then that 
 fine sense of remote analogies, awake to the asso- 
 nance between facts seemingly remote and unrelated, 
 between the outward and inward worlds, though con- 
 vinced that the things of this life are shadows, will be 
 persuaded also that they are not fantastic merely, but 
 imply a substance somewhere, and will love to set 
 forth the beauty of the visible image because it 
 suggests the iiieffably higher charm of the unseen 
 original. 
 
RELIGION AND MORALITY 1 
 
 * 
 
 GEORGE HERBERT PALMER 
 
 THESE considerations seem to show that however 
 close the two fields are, religion and morality, they are 
 still distinct. But I feel that here, far more than in 
 any preceding case, it is difficult to mark the separa- 
 tion. As a fact, we have seen they differ. Why, and 5 
 in what respects, we must now try to discover. 
 
 The points of difference come out most obviously 
 when we set a great religious cry side by side with a 
 great moral one; and by a cry I mean the utterance 
 of a distressed and aspiring soul yearning for moral 10 
 or religious power. Take, for example, the cry of the 
 Psalmist, "Against Thee, Thee only, have I sinned !" 
 and the cry of Wordsworth in the "Ode to Duty," 
 "Oh, let my weakness have an end!" The two 
 refer to the same matter. Each person feels his im- 15 
 perfection. Each mourns a departure from right- 
 eousness. In each a finite person is recognized as 
 connected with what is infinite, a connection felt to 
 be not accidental but essential. As we have already 
 seen, neither in religion nor morality can the finite 20 
 detach itself from the infinite. In both cases the 
 
 1 Reprinted by permission from " The Field of Ethics." Boston, 
 
 Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 
 
 E 49 
 
50 Exposition 
 
 finite person, perceiving his imperfection, seeks refuge 
 in the perfect one. 
 
 But if the substance of the two cries is the same, 
 if they refer to similar spiritual conditions, wherein 
 do they differ? The point of view is different, that 5 
 is all. While each expresses the essential union of 
 the finite or imperfect being with the infinite or 
 perfect one, yet in the religious case the stand is taken 
 at the point of view of the perfect one; while the 
 moral man looks at it from the opposite end, the 10 
 point of view of the imperfect one. To the mind of 
 the Psalmist the horror of his sin consists in this, 
 that he the little imperfect creature has at- 
 tempted a blow against the all-perfect One. He 
 cannot think of his sin as damaging his brother man, 15 
 nor even as damaging himself. He himself, his fel- 
 low-men, all imperfect existences, are beings of no 
 account. The only being of worth whom he con- 
 templates is the Most High. And the sin is wrought 
 against Him. He, the one being of worth, has been 20 
 by the Psalmist's deed declared unworthy. That is 
 the shocking thing, that he has raised his imperfect 
 hand against perfection. 
 
 Plainly there is nothing of this in the cry of Words- 
 worth. On the contrary, he is conceiving of himself 25 
 as so important as to require additional strength. 
 "Oh, let my weakness have an end!" The being 
 in whom he is specially interested is himself, the im- 
 perfect one, the finite. He longs to have a full con- 
 
Religion and Morality 51 
 
 nection established between himself and the perfect 
 one not for the sake of the perfect, but of himself, 
 the imperfect. No less than the Psalmist he recog- 
 nizes the need of being interlocked with the eternal. 
 But he starts from his own side. His view is man- 5 
 ward ; the religious view is Godward. There is, 
 accordingly, a sharp contrast while each still acknowl- 
 edges the same two elements essentially conjoined. 
 Neither finds one of these elements of any account 
 parted from the other. But the conjunction is reck- 10 
 oned of consequence by the religious mind because 
 of the Most High; by the moral mind, because of us 
 struggling, needy, imperfect, finite creatures. And 
 this contrast is fundamental. Everywhere the reli- 
 gious soul seeks after God as all in all. We are of no 15 
 consequence. "What is man, that Thou art mind- 
 ful of him?" To lose ourselves in Him, to abolish 
 separation, this has been the aspiration of religion in 
 every age and under every type of religious belief. 
 It is that o/AO&wt* r<S 0e<, or absorption into God, 20 
 for which Plato and the mystics long. 
 
"VALUE" 1 
 ARTHUR TWINING HADLEY 
 
 THE word " value " is used in a number of wholly 
 different meanings, but this idea of a permanent stand- 
 ard or cause of price, as distinguished from a tem- 
 porary or accidental phenomenon, lies at the basis of 
 them all. Sometimes value is used in the sense of 5 
 utility for instance, when I say that an article has 
 a value to me out of all proportion to the amount for 
 which I could sell it. Sometimes it means purchasing 
 power in the abstract, as distinct from concrete meas- 
 ures of this power; for instance, when I say that an 10 
 article has value, though I do not know just what its 
 price may be. Sometimes it means purchasing power 
 measured in commodities instead of in money. In 
 countries with a paper currency there is frequent oc- 
 casion for using the word in this sense. If the cur- 15 
 rency is doubled by act of the legislature, the prices of 
 goods measured in this currency will tend to double 
 also; but we are justified in saying that there is no 
 increase of real value corresponding to this change 
 in nominal price. Sometimes the term " value " means 20 
 average probable price. If I say that a certain rail- 
 
 1 Reprinted by permission from " Economics. " Copyright, 1896, 
 by G. P. Putnam's Sons. 
 
" Value " 53 
 
 road stock is selling below its true value, I simply 
 mean that in the long run it is, in my opinion, likely 
 to command a higher price than it does now. Fi- 
 nally, the word " value " often means a proper and 
 legitimate price, as distinct from an unfair or extortion- 5 
 ate one. The last is much the commonest and most 
 important sense of the word in commercial usage, and 
 there seems to be no good reason against our adopting 
 it. In this sense, the substantive value corresponds 
 exactly to the adjective worth. If we say that a man 10 
 is charging a higher price for an article than it is 
 worth, we mean that he is putting the buyer on an 
 unfair disadvantage. 
 
 The price of an article or service, in the ordinary 
 commercial sense, is the amount of money which is 15 
 paid, asked, or offered for it. The value of an article 
 or service is the amount of money which may properly 
 be paid, asked, or offered for it. A theory of price 
 puts us in a position to explain the transactions 
 of commercial life. A theory of value undertakes 20 
 to pass judgment upon their advisability or their 
 morality. 
 
PATHOS 1 
 COVENTRY PATMORE 
 
 NEITHER Aristotle nor Hegel, the two great exposi- 
 tors of the relation of the emotions to art, has discussed 
 the nature of that which is understood by moderns as 
 "pathos." Aristotle has described in his "Rhetoric," 
 with the greatest acuteness and sensibility, the condi- 5 
 tions and modes of exciting pity. But pity includes 
 much that is excluded by pathos; and it may be use- 
 ful to endeavor to ascertain what the limitations of the 
 latter are, and what are its conditions in relation more 
 particularly to art, in which it plays so important a 10 
 part. 
 
 Pity, then, differs from pathos in this: the latter is 
 simply emotional, and reaches no higher than the 
 sensitive nature; though the sensitive nature, being 
 dependent for its power and delicacy very much upon 15 
 the cultivation of will and intellect, may be indefinitely 
 developed by these active factors of the soul. Pity is 
 helpful, and is not deadened or repelled by circum- 
 stances which disgust the simply sensitive nature; and 
 its ardor so far consumes such obstacles to merely 20 
 emotional sympathy, that the person who truly pities 
 
 1 Reprinted from " Principle in Art." Lond<5h, George Bell & Sons. 
 
 54 
 
Pathos 55 
 
 finds the field of pathos extended far beyond the ordi- 
 nary limits of the dainty passion which gives tears to 
 the eyes of the selfish as well as the self-sacrificing. 
 In an ideally perfect nature, indeed, pity and pathos, 
 'which is the feeling of pity, would be coextensive; 5 
 and the latter would demand for its condition the 
 existence of the former, with some ground of actual 
 reality to work beneficially upon. On the other 
 hand, entire selfishness would destroy even the faint- 
 est capacity for discerning pathos in art or circum- 10 
 stance. In the great mass of men and women there 
 is sufficient virtue of pity pity that would act if it 
 had the opportunity to extend in them the feeling 
 of pity, that is, pathos, to a far larger range of cir- 
 cumstances than their active virtue would be compe- 15 
 tent to encounter, even if it had the chance. 
 
 Suffering is of itself enough to stir pity; for abso- 
 lute wickedness, with the torment of which all whole- 
 some -minds would be quite content, cannot be cer- 
 tainly predicated of any individual sufferer; but 20 
 pathos, whether in a drawing-room tale of delicate 
 distress or in a tragedy of ^Eschylus or Shakespeare, 
 requires that some obvious goodness, or beauty, or 
 innocence, or heroism should be the subject of suffer- 
 ing, and that the circumstance or narration of it 25 
 should have certain conditions of repose, contrast, 
 and form. The range of pathos is immense, extend- 
 ing from the immolation of an Isaac or an Iphigenia 
 to the death of a kitten that purrs and licks the hand 
 
56 Exposition 
 
 about to drown it. Next to the fact of goodness, 
 beauty, innocence, or heroism in the sufferer, contrast 
 is the chief factor in artistic pathos. The celestial 
 sadness of Desdemona's death is immensely height- 
 ened by the black shadow of lago; and perhaps the 5 
 most intense touch of pathos in all history is that of 
 Gordon murdered at Khartoum, while his betrayer 
 occupies himself, between the acts of a comedy at the 
 Criterion, in devising how best he may excuse his 
 presence there by denying that he was aware of the 10 
 contretemps Or by representing his news of it as non- 
 official. The singer of Fair Rosamond's sorrows 
 knew the value of contrast when he sang : 
 
 Hard was the heart that gave the blow, 
 
 Soft were the lips that bled. 15 
 
 Every one knows how irresistible are a pretty woman's 
 tears. 
 
 Nought is there under heav'n's wide hollowness 
 
 That moves more dear compassion of mind 
 
 Than beauty brought to unworthy wretchedness. 20 
 
 It is partly the contrast of beauty, which is the natu- 
 ral appanage of happiness, that renders her tears so 
 pathetic; but it is still more the way in which she is 
 given to smiling through them. The author of the 
 " Rhetoric " shows his usual incomparable subtilty of 25 
 observation when he notes that a little good coming 
 upon or in the midst of extremity of evil is a source 
 of the sharpest pathos; and when the shaft of a pas- 
 sionate female sorrow is feathered with beauty and 
 
Pathos 57 
 
 pointed with a smile, there is no heart that can refuse 
 her her will. In absolute and uncontrolled suffer- 
 ing there is no pathos. Nothing in the " Inferno " has 
 this quality except the passage of Paolo and Fran- 
 cesca, still embracing, through the fiery drift. It is the 5 
 embrace that makes the pathos, "tempering extremi- 
 ties with extreme sweet," or at least with the memory 
 of it. Our present sorrows generally owe their grace 
 of pathos to their " crown," which is "remember- 
 ing happier things." No one weeps in sympathy with 10 
 the "base self -pitying tears" of Thersites, or with those 
 of any whose grief is without some contrasting dignity 
 of curb. Even a little child does not move us by its 
 sorrow, when expressed by tears and cries, a tenth 
 part so much as by the quivering lip of attempted 15 
 self-control. A great and present evil, coupled with a 
 distant and uncertain hope, is also a source of pathos; 
 if indeed it be not the same with that which Aristotle 
 describes as arising from the sequence of exceeding 
 ill and a little good. There is pathos in a departing 20 
 pleasure, however small. It is the fact of sunset, not 
 its colors which are the same as those of sunrise 
 that constitutes its sadness; and in mere darkness 
 there may be fear and distress, but not pathos. There 
 are few things so pathetic in literature as the story of 25 
 the supper which Amelia, in Fielding's novel, had pre- 
 pared for her husband, and to which he did not come, 
 and that of Colonel Newcome becoming a Charter- 
 house pensioner. In each of these cases, the pathos 
 
58 Exposition 
 
 arises wholly from the contrast of noble reticence with 
 a sorrow which has no direct expression. The same 
 necessity for contrast renders reconciliations far more 
 pathetic than quarrels, and the march to battle of an 
 army to the sound of cheerful military music more able 5 
 to draw tears than the spectacle of the battle itself. 
 
 The soul of pathos, like that of wit, is brevity. Very 
 few writers are sufficiently aware of this. Humor 
 is cumulative and diffusive, as Shakespeare, Rabelais, 
 and Dickens well knew ; but how many a good piece of 10 
 pathos has been spoiled by the historian of Little 
 Nell by an attempt to make too much of it ! A drop 
 of citric acid will give poignancy to a feast; but a 
 draught of it ! Hence it is doubtful whether an 
 English eye ever shed a tear over the " Vita Nuova," 15 
 whatever an Italian may have done. Next to the 
 patient endurance of heroism, the bewilderment of 
 weakness is the most fruitful source of pathos. Hence 
 the exquisitely touching points in " A Pair of Blue 
 Eyes," " Two on a Tower," " The Trumpet- Major," 20 
 and other of Hardy's novels. 
 
 Pathos is the luxury of grief, and when it ceases to 
 be other than a keen-edged pleasure it ceases to be 
 pathos. Hence Tennyson's question in "Love and 
 Duty," "Shall sharpest pathos blight us?" involves 25 
 a misunderstanding of the word; although his un- 
 derstanding of the thing is well proved by such lyrics 
 as "Tears, idle tears," and "O well for the fisher- 
 man's boy." Pleasure and beauty which may be 
 
PatfiQs 59 
 
 said to be pleasure visible are without their highest 
 perfection if they are without a touch of pathos. This 
 touch, indeed, accrues naturally to profound pleasure 
 and to great beauty by the mere fact of the incongru- 
 ity of their earthly surroundings and the sense of iso- 5 
 lation, peril, and impermanence caused thereby. It 
 is a doctrine of that inexhaustible and (except by 
 Dante) almost unworked mine of poetry, Catholic 
 theology, that the felicity of the angels and glorified 
 saints and of God Himself would not be perfect without 10 
 the edge of pathos, which it receives from the fall 
 
 I and reconciliation of man. Hence, on Holy Saturday 
 the Church exclaims, "O felix culpa!" and hence 
 " there is more joy in heaven over one sinner that re- 
 penteth than over ninety and nine righteous who need 15 
 no repentance." Sin, says St. Augustine, is the nec- 
 essary shadow of heaven; and pardon, says some 
 other, is the highest light of its beatitude. 
 
THE SOCIAL VALUE OF THE COLLEGE- 
 BRED 1 
 
 WILLIAM JAMES 
 
 OF what use is a college training? We who have 
 had it seldom hear the question raised we might 
 be a little nonplussed to answer it offhand. A certain 
 amount of meditation has brought me to this as the 
 pithiest reply which I myself can give : The best claim 5 
 that a college education can possibly make on your 
 respect, the best thing it can aspire to accomplish for 
 you, is this : that it should help you to know a good man 
 when you see him. This is as true of women's as of 
 men's colleges ; but that it is neither a joke nor a one- 10 
 sided abstraction I shall now endeavor to show. 
 
 What talk do we commonly hear about the contrast 
 between college education and the education which 
 business or technical or professional schools confer? 
 The college education is called higher because it is 15 
 supposed to be so general and so disinterested. At 
 the "schools" you get a relatively narrow practical 
 skill, you are told, whereas the " colleges" give you the 
 more liberal culture, the broader outlook, the histori- 
 cal perspective, the philosophic atmosphere, or some- 20 
 
 1 Reprinted by permission from McClure's Magazine for February, 
 1908, 
 
 60 
 

 The Social Value of the College-bred 61 
 
 thing which phrases of that sort try to express. You 
 are made into an efficient instrument for doing a defi- 
 nite thing, you hear, at the schools; but, apart from 
 that, you may remain a crude and smoky kind of 
 petroleum, incapable of spreading light. The uni- 5 
 versities and colleges, on the other hand, although 
 they may leave you less efficient for this or that prac- 
 tical task, suffuse your whole mentality with something 
 more important than skill. They redeem you, make 
 you well-bred; they make "good company" of you 10 
 mentally. If they find you with a naturally boorish 
 or caddish mind, they cannot leave you so, as a tech- 
 nical school may leave you. This, at least, is pre- 
 tended; this is what we hear among college-trained 
 people when they compare their education with every 15 
 other sort. Now, exactly how much does this signify ? 
 It is certain, to begin with, that the narrowest trade 
 or professional training does something more for a 
 man than to make a skillful practical tool of him it 
 makes him also a judge of other men's skill. Whether 20 
 his trade be pleading at the bar or surgery or plaster- 
 ing or plumbing, it develops a critical sense in him 
 for that sort of occupation. He understands the differ- 
 ence between second-rate and first-rate work in his whole 
 branch of industry ; he gets to know a good job in his 25 
 own line as soon as he sees it; and getting to know 
 this in his own line, he gets a faint sense of what good 
 work may mean anyhow, that may, if circumstances 
 favor, spread into his judgments elsewhere. Sound 
 
62 Exposition 
 
 work, clean work, finished work: feeble work, slack 
 work, sham work these words express an identical 
 contrast in many different departments of activity. 
 In so far forth, then, even the humblest manual trade 
 may beget in one a certain small degree of power to 5 
 judge of good work generally. 
 
 Now, what is supposed to be the line of us who have 
 the higher college training? Is there any broader line 
 since our education claims primarily not to be 
 " narrow " in which we also are made good judges 10 
 between what is first-rate and what is second-rate 
 only? What is especially taught in the colleges has 
 long been known by the name of the " humani- 
 ties," and these are often identified with Greek and 
 Latin. But it is only as literatures, not as languages, 15 
 that Greek and Latin have any general humanity- value ; 
 so that in a broad sense the humanities mean litera- 
 ture primarily, and in a still broader sense the study 
 of masterpieces in almost any field of human endeavor. 
 Literature keeps the primacy; for it not only con- 20 
 sists of masterpieces, but is largely about masterpieces, 
 being little more than an appreciative chronicle of 
 human master-strokes, so far as it takes the form of 
 criticism and history. You can give humanistic value 
 to almost anything by teaching it historically. Geol- 25 
 ogy, economics, mechanics, are humanities when 
 taught with reference to the successive achievements 
 of the geniuses to which these sciences owe their being. 
 Not taught thus, literature remains -grammar, art a 
 
The Social Value of the College-bred 63 
 
 catalogue, history a list of dates, and natural science 
 a sheet of formulas and weights and measures. 
 
 The sifting of human creations ! nothing less 
 than this is what we ought to mean by the humani- 
 ties. Essentially this means biography; what our 5 
 colleges should teach is, therefore, biographical his- 
 tory, not that of politics merely, but of anything and 
 everything so far as human efforts and conquests are 
 factors that have played their part. Studying in this 
 way, we learn what types of activity have stood the test 10 
 of time; we acquire standards of the excellent and 
 durable. All our arts and sciences and institutions 
 are but so many quests of perfection on the part of 
 men ; and when we see how diverse the types of excel- 
 lence may be, how various the tests, how flexible the 15 
 adaptations, we gain a richer sense of what the terms 
 " better " and " worse 7 ' may signify in general. Our 
 critical sensibilities grow both more acute and less 
 fanatical. We sympathize with men's mistakes even 
 in the act of penetrating them; we feel the pathos of 20 
 lost causes and misguided epochs even while we ap- 
 plaud what overcame them. 
 
 Such words are vague and such ideas are inade- 
 quate, but their meaning is unmistakable. What the 
 colleges teaching humanities by examples which 25 
 may be special, but which must be typical and preg- 
 nant should at least try to give us, is a general 
 sense of what, under various disguises, superiority has 
 always signified and may still signify. The feeling 
 
64 Exposition 
 
 for a good human job anywhere, the admiration of 
 the really admirable, the disesteem of what is cheap 
 and trashy and impermanent this is what we call the 
 critical sense, the sense for ideal values. It is the 
 better part of what men know as wisdom. Some of us 5 
 are wise in this way naturally and by genius; some 
 of us never become so. But to have spent one's youth 
 at college, in contact with the choice and rare and 
 precious, and yet still to be a blind prig or vulgarian, 
 unable to scent out human excellence or to divine it 10 
 amid its accidents, to know it only when ticketed and 
 labeled and forced on us by others, this indeed should 
 be accounted the very calamity and shipwreck of a 
 higher education. 
 
 The sense for human superiority ought, then, to be 15 
 considered our line, as boring subways is the engi- 
 neer's line and the surgeon's is appendicitis. Our 
 colleges ought to have lit up in us a lasting relish for 
 the better kind of man, a loss of appetite for medi- 
 ocrities, and a disgust for cheap] acks. We ought to 20 
 smell, as it were, the difference of quality in men and 
 their proposals when we enter the world of affairs about 
 us. Expertness in this might well atone for some of 
 our awkwardness at accounts, for some of our igno- 
 rance of dynamos. The best claim we can make for 25 
 the higher education, the best single phrase in which 
 we can tell what it ought to do for us, is, then, exactly 
 what I said : it should enable us to know a good man 
 when we see him. 
 
The Social Value of the College-bred 65 
 
 That the phrase is anything but an empty epigram 
 follows from the fact that if you ask in what line it is 
 most important that a democracy like ours should 
 have its sons and daughters skillful, you see that it is 
 this line more than any other. "The people in their 5 
 wisdom " this is the kind of wisdom most needed by 
 the people. Democracy is on its trial, and no one 
 knows how it will stand the ordeal. Abounding 
 about us are pessimistic prophets. Fickleness and vio- 
 lence used to be, but are no longer, the vices which 10 
 they charge to democracy. What its critics now af- 
 firm is that its preferences are inveterately for the 
 inferior. So it was in the beginning, they say, and 
 so it will be world without end. Vulgarity enthroned 
 and institutionalized, elbowing everything superior 15 
 from the highway, this, they tell us, is our irremedi- 
 able destiny ; and the picture papers of the European 
 continent are already drawing Uncle Sam with the 
 hog instead of the eagle for his heraldic emblem. The 
 privileged aristocracies of the foretime, with all their 20 
 iniquities, did at least preserve some taste for higher 
 human quality and honor certain forms of refinement by 
 their enduring traditions. But when democracy is sov- 
 ereign, its doubters say, nobility will form a sort of in- 
 visible church, and sincerity and refinement, stripped 25 
 of honor, precedence, and favor, will have to vege- 
 tate on sufferance in private corners. They will 
 have no general influence. They will be harmless 
 eccentricities. 
 
66 Exposition 
 
 Now, who can be absolutely certain that this may 
 not be the career of democracy? Nothing future is 
 quite secure; states enough have inwardly rotted; 
 and democracy as a whole may undergo self-poison- 
 ing. But, on the other hand, democracy is a kind of 5 
 religion, and we are bound not to admit its failure. 
 Faiths and Utopias are the noblest exercise of human 
 reason, and no one with a spark of reason in him will 
 sit down fatalistically before the croaker's picture. 
 The best of us are filled with the contrary vision of a 10 
 democracy stumbling through every error till its insti- 
 tutions glow with justice and its customs shine with 
 beauty. Our better men shall show the way and we 
 shall follow them; so we are brought round again to 
 the mission of the higher education in helping us to 15 
 know the better kind of man whenever we see him. 
 
 The notion that a people can run itself and its 
 affairs anonymously is now well known to be the silli- 
 est of absurdities. Mankind does nothing save through 
 initiatives on the part of inventors, great or small, 20 
 and imitation by the rest of us these are the sole 
 factors active in human progress. Individuals of 
 genius show the way, and set the patterns, which 
 common people then adopt and follow. The rivalry 
 of the patterns is the history of the world. Our demo- 25 
 cratic problem thus is statable in ultra-simple terms: 
 Who are the kind of men from whom our majorities 
 shall take their cue? Whom shall they treat as right- 
 ful leaders? We and our leaders are the x and the y 
 
The Social Value of the College-bred 67 
 
 of the equation here; all other historic circumstances, 
 be they economical, political, or intellectual, are only 
 the background of occasion on which the living drama 
 works itself out between us. 
 
 In this, very simple way does the value of our edu- 5 
 cated class define itself: we more than others should 
 be able to divine the worthier and better leaders. The 
 terms here are monstrously simplified, of course, but 
 such a bird's-eye view lets us immediately take our 
 bearings. In our democracy, where everything else is 10 
 so shifting, we alumni and alumnae of the colleges 
 are the only permanent presence that corresponds to 
 the aristocracy in older countries. We have continu- 
 ous traditions, as they have; our motto, too, is noblesse 
 oblige ; and, unlike them, we stand for ideal inter- 15 
 ests solely, for we have no corporate selfishness and 
 wield no powers of corruption. We ought to have our 
 own class-consciousness. "Les intellectuels !" What 
 prouder club name could there be than this one, used 
 ironically by the party of "red blood," the party of 20 
 every stupid prejudice and passion, during the anti- 
 Dreyfus craze, to satirize the men in France who still 
 retained some critical sense and judgment ! Critical 
 sense, it has to be confessed, is not an exciting term, 
 hardly a banner to carry in processions. Affections 25 
 for old habit, currents of self-interest, and gales of pas- 
 sion are the forces that keep the human ship moving ; 
 and the pressure of the judicious pilot's hand upon the 
 tiller is a relatively insignificant energy. But the 
 
68 Exposition 
 
 affections, passions, and interests are shifting, suc- 
 cessive, and distraught; they blow in alternation 
 while the pilot's hand is steadfast. He knows the com- 
 pass, and, with all the leeways he is obliged to tack to- 
 ward, he always makes some headway. A small force, 5 
 if it never lets up, will accumulate effects more consider- 
 able than those of much greater forces if these work 
 inconsistently. The ceaseless whisper of the more per- 
 manent ideals, the steady tug of truth and justice, 
 give them but time, must warp the world in their direc- 10 
 tion. 
 
 This bird's-eye view of the general steering func- 
 tion of the college-bred amid the driftings of democ- 
 racy ought to help us to a wider vision of what our 
 colleges themselves should aim at. If we are to be the 15 
 yeast cake for democracy's dough, if we are to make 
 it rise with culture's preferences, we must see to it that 
 culture spreads broad sails. We must shake the old 
 double reefs out of the canvas into the wind and sun- 
 shine, and let in every modern subject, sure that any 20 
 subject will prove humanistic, if its setting be kept only 
 wide enough. 
 
 Stevenson says somewhere to his reader: "You 
 think you are just making this bargain, but you are really 
 laying down a link in the policy of mankind." Well, 25 
 your technical school should enable you to make your 
 bargain splendidly; but your college should show 
 you just the place of that kind of bargain a pretty 
 poor place, possibly in the whole policy of man- 
 
The Social Value of the College-bred 69 
 
 kind. That is the kind of liberal outlook, of perspec- 
 tive, of atmosphere, which should surround every 
 subject as a college deals with it. 
 
 We of the colleges must eradicate a curious notion 
 which numbers of good people have about such an- 5 
 cient seats of learning as Harvard. To many ignorant 
 outsiders, that name suggests little more than a kind 
 of sterilized conceit and incapacity for being pleased. 
 In Edith Wyatt's exquisite book of Chicago sketches 
 called "Every One his Own Way," there is a couple 10 
 who stand for culture in the sense of exclusiveness, 
 Richard Elliot and his feminine counterpart feeble 
 caricatures of mankind, unable to know any good thing 
 when they see it, incapable of enjoyment unless a 
 printed label gives them leave. Possibly this type of 15 
 culture may exist near Cambridge and Boston, there 
 may be specimens there, for priggishness is just like 
 painter's colic or any other trade disease. But every 
 good college makes its students immune against this 
 malady, of which the microbe haunts the neighbor- 20 
 hood-printed pages. It does so by its general tone 
 being too hearty for the microbe's life. Real culture 
 lives by sympathies and admirations, not by dislikes 
 and disdains under all misleading wrappings it 
 pounces unerringly upon the human core. If a col- 2$ 
 lege, through the inferior human influences that have 
 grown regnant there, fails to catch the robuster tone, 
 its failure is colossal, for its social function stops : de- 
 mocracy gives it a wide berth, turns toward it a deaf ear. 
 
yo Exposition 
 
 "Tone," to be sure, is a terribly vague word to use, 
 but there is no other, and this whole meditation is over 
 questions of tone. By their tone are all things hu- 
 man either lost or saved. If democracy is to be saved 
 it must catch the higher, healthier tone. If we are to 5 
 impress it with our preferences, we ourselves must 
 use the proper tone, which we, in turn, must have 
 caught from our own teachers. It all reverts in the 
 end to the action of innumerable imitative individuals 
 upon each other and to the question of whose tone has 10 
 the highest spreading power. As a class, we college 
 graduates should look to it that ours has spreading 
 power. It ought to have the highest spreading power. 
 
 In our essential function of indicating the better 
 men, we now have formidable competitors outside. 15 
 McClure's Magazine, the American Magazine, Collier's 
 Weekly, and, in its fashion, the World's Work, con- 
 stitute together a real popular university along this 
 very line. It would be a pity if any future historian 
 were to have to write words like these : " By the middle 20 
 of the twentieth century the higher institutions of 
 learning had lost all influence over public opinion 
 in the United States. But the mission of raising the 
 tone of democracy, which they had proved themselves 
 so lamentably unfitted to exert, was assumed with 25 
 rare enthusiasm and prosecuted with extraordinary 
 skill and success by a new educational power; and 
 for the clarification of their human sympathies and 
 elevation of their human preferences, the people at 
 
The Social Value of the College-bred 71 
 
 large acquired the habit of resorting exclusively to 
 the guidance of certain private literary adventures, 
 commonly designated in the market by the affection- 
 ate name of ten-cent magazines." 
 
 Must not we of the colleges see to it that no histo- 5 
 rian shall ever say anything like this? Vague as the 
 phrase of knowing a good man when you see him 
 may be, diffuse and indefinite as one must leave its 
 application, is there any other formula that describes 
 so well the result at which our institutions ought to 10 
 aim? If they do that, they do the best thing con- 
 ceivable. If they fail to do it, they fail in very deed. 
 It surely is a fine synthetic formula. If our faculties 
 and graduates could once collectively come to realize 
 it as the great underlying purpose toward which they 15 
 have always been more or less obscurely groping, 
 great clearness would be shed over many of their 
 problems ; and, as for their influence in the midst of our 
 social system, it would embark upon a new career of 
 strength. 20 
 
A NEW DEFINITION OF THE CULTI- 
 VATED MAN 1 
 
 CHARLES WILLIAM ELIOT 
 
 To produce the cultivated man, or at least the man 
 capable of becoming cultivated in after life, has long 
 been supposed to be one of the fundamental objects of 
 systematic and thorough education. The ideal of 
 general cultivation has been one of the standards of 5 
 education. It is often asked: Will the education 
 which a given institution is supplying produce the 
 cultivated man? Or, can cultivation be the result of 
 a given course of study ? In such questions there is an 
 implication that the education which does not produce 10 
 the cultivated man is a failure, or has been miscon- 
 ceived or misdirected. Now if cultivation were an un- 
 changing ideal, the steady use of the conception as a 
 permanent test of educational processes might be justi- 
 fied; but if the cultivated man of to-day is, or ought 15 
 to be, a distinctly different creature from the cultivated 
 man of a century ago, the ideal of cultivation cannot 
 be appealed to as a standard without preliminary 
 explanations and interpretations. It is the object of 
 
 1 Reprinted from " Present College Questions," by special permis- 
 sion of D. Appleton & Co. 
 
 72 
 
A New Definition of the Cultivated Man 73 
 
 this paper to show that the idea of cultivation in the 
 highly trained human being has undergone substan- 
 tial changes during the nineteenth century. 
 
 I ought to say at once that I propose to use the term 
 "Cultivated man" in only its good sense in Emer- 5 
 son's sense. In this paper he is not to be a weak, 
 critical, fastidious creature, vain of a little exclusive 
 information or of an uncommon knack in Latin verse 
 or mathematical logic: he is to be a man of quick 
 perceptions, broad sympathies, and wide affinities, re- 10 
 sponsive but independent, self-reliant but deferential, 
 loving truth and candor but also moderation and pro- 
 portion, courageous but gentle, not finished but per- 
 fecting. All authorities agree that true culture is not 
 exclusive, sectarian, or partisan, but the very opposite; 15 
 that it is not to be attained in solitude, but in society; 
 and that the best atmosphere for culture is that of a 
 school, university, academy, or church, where many 
 pursue together the ideals of truth, righteousness, 
 and love. 20 
 
 Here some one may think this process of cultivation 
 is evidently a long, slow, artificial process. I prefer 
 the genius, the man of native power or skill, the man 
 whose judgment is sound and influence strong, though 
 he cannot read or write the born inventor, orator, 25 
 or poet. So do we all. Men have always reverenced 
 prodigious inborn gifts, and always will. Indeed, bar- 
 barous men always say of the possessors of such gifts 
 these are not men ; they are gods. But we teachers, 
 
74 Exposition 
 
 who carry on a system of popular education, which 
 is by far the most complex . and valuable invention 
 of the nineteenth century, know that we have to do, 
 not with the highly gifted units, but with the millions 
 who are more or less capable of being cultivated by 5 
 the long, patient, artificial training called education. 
 For us and our system the genius is no standard, but 
 the cultivated man is. To his stature we and many of 
 our pupils may in time attain. 
 
 There are two principal differences between the 10 
 present ideal and that which prevailed at the begin- 
 ning of the nineteenth century. All thinkers agree 
 that the horizon of the human intellect has widened 
 wonderfully during the past hundred years, and that 
 the scientific method of inquiry, which was known 15 
 to but very few when the nineteenth century began, 
 has been the means of that widening. This method 
 has become indispensable in all fields of inquiry, 
 including psychology, philanthropy, and religion, 
 and, therefore, intimate acquaintance with it has be- 20 
 come an indispensable element in culture. As Mat- 
 thew Arnold pointed out more than a generation ago, 
 educated mankind is governed by two passions one 
 the passion for pure knowledge, the other the passion 
 for being of service or doing good. Now, the passion 25 
 for pure knowledge is only to be gratified through 
 the scientific method of inquiry. In Arnold's phrases, 
 the first step for every aspirant to culture is to en- 
 deavor to see things as they are, or " to learn, in short, 
 
A New Definition of the Cultivated Man 75 
 
 the Will of God." The second step is to make that 
 Will prevail, each in his own sphere of action and 
 influence. This recognition of science as pure knowl- 
 edge, and of the scientific method as the universal 
 method of inquiry, is the great addition made by the 5 
 nineteenth century to the idea of culture. I need not 
 say that within that century what we call science, 
 pure and applied, has transformed the world as the 
 scene of the human drama; and that it is this trans- 
 formation which has compelled the recognition of 10 
 natural science as a fundamental necessity in liberal 
 education. The most convinced exponents and ad- 
 vocates of humanism now recognize that science is 
 the "paramount force of the modern as distinguished 
 from the antique and the mediaeval spirit" (John Ad- 15 
 dington Symonds "Culture") and that "an interpen- 
 etration of humanism with science and of science with 
 humanism is the condition of the highest culture." 
 
 A second modification of the earlier idea of culti- 
 vation was advocated by Ralph Waldo Emerson more 20 
 than two generations ago. He taught that the ac- 
 quisition of some form of manual skill and the prac- 
 tice of some form of manual labor were essential ele- 
 ments of culture. This idea has more and more become 
 accepted in the systematic education of youth ; and if 25 
 we include athletic sports among the desirable forms 
 of manual skill and labor, we may say that during 
 the last thirty years this element of excellence of body 
 in the ideal of education has had a rapid, even an 
 
76 Exposition 
 
 exaggerated, development. The idea of some sort of 
 bodily excellence was, to be sure, not absent in the 
 old conception of the cultivated man. The gentle- 
 man could ride well, dance gracefully, and fence with 
 skill; but the modern conception of bodily skill as an 5 
 element in cultivation is more comprehensive, and 
 includes that habitual contact with the external world 
 which Emerson deemed essential to real culture. We 
 have lately become convinced that accurate work 
 with carpenters' tools, or lathe, or hammer and anvil, 10 
 or violin, or piano, or pencil, or crayon, or camePs- 
 hair brush, trains well the same nerves and ganglia 
 with which we do what is ordinarily called thinking. 
 We have also become convinced that some intimate, 
 sympathetic acquaintance with the natural objects of 15 
 the earth and sky adds greatly to the happiness of life, 
 and that this acquaintance should be begun in child- 
 hood and be developed all through adolescence and 
 maturity. A brook, a hedgerow, or a garden is an 
 inexhaustible teacher of wonder, reverence, and love. 20 
 The scientists insist to-day on nature study for chil- 
 dren; but we teachers ought long ago to have learned 
 from the poets the value of this element in education. 
 They are the best advocates of nature study. If any 
 here are not convinced of its worth, let them go to 25 
 Theocritus, Virgil, Wordsworth, Tennyson, or Lowell 
 for the needed demonstration. Let them observe, too, 
 that a great need of modern industrial society is in- 
 tellectual pleasures, or pleasures which, like music, 
 
A New Definition of the Cultivated Man 77 
 
 combine delightful sensations with the gratifications 
 of observation, association, memory, and sympathy. 
 The idea of culture has always included a quick and 
 wide sympathy with men; it should hereafter include 
 sympathy with Nature, and particularly with its liv- 5 
 ing forms a sympathy based on some accurate 
 observation of Nature. The bookworm, the monk, 
 the isolated student, has never been the type of the 
 cultivated man. Society has seemed the natural set- 
 ting for the cultivated person, man or woman; but 10 
 the present conception of real culture contains not 
 only a large development of this social element, but also 
 an extension of interest and reverence to the animate 
 creation and to those immense forces that set the earthly 
 stage for man and all related beings. 15 
 
 Let us now proceed to examine some of the changes 
 in the idea of culture, or in the available means of cul- 
 ture, which the last hundred years have brought about. 
 
 i. The moral sense of the modern world makes 
 character a more important element than it used to be 20 
 in the ideal of a cultivated man. Now character is 
 formed, as Goethe said, in the "stream of the world" 
 not in stillness or isolation, but in the quick-flowing 
 tides of the busy world, the world of nature and the 
 world of mankind. At the end of the nineteenth century 25 
 the world was wonderfully different from the world at 
 the beginning of that eventful period; and, moreover, 
 men's means of making acquaintance with the world 
 were vastly more ample than they were a hundred 
 
78 Exposition 
 
 years earlier. To the old idea of culture some knowl- 
 edge of history was indispensable. Now history is a 
 representation of the stream of the world, or of some 
 little portion of that stream, one hundred, five hundred, 
 two thousand years ago. Acquaintance with some part 5 
 of the present stream ought to be more formative of 
 character, and more instructive as regards external 
 nature and the nature of man, than any partial sur- 
 vey of the stream that was flowing centuries ago. We 
 have, then, through the present means of reporting the 10 
 stream of the world from day to day, material for cul- 
 ture such as no preceding generation of men has pos- 
 sessed. The cultivated man or woman must use the 
 means which steam and electricity have provided for 
 reporting the play of physical forces and of human 15 
 volitions which make the world of to-day; for the 
 world of to-day supplies in its immense variety a pic- 
 ture of all stages of human progress, from the Stone 
 Age, through savagery, barbarism, and medievalism, 
 to what we now call civilization. The rising generation 20 
 should think hard and feel keenly, just where the men 
 and women who constitute the actual human world 
 are thinking and feeling most to-day. The panorama 
 of to-day's events is not an accurate or complete picture, 
 for history will supply posterity with much evidence 25 
 which is hidden from the eyes of contemporaries; 
 but it is nevertheless an invaluable and a new means 
 of developing good judgment, good feeling, and the 
 passion for social service, or, in other "words, of secur- 
 
A New Definition of the Cultivated Man 79 
 
 ing cultivation. But some one will say the stream of 
 the world is foul. True in part. The stream is, what 
 it has been, a mixture of foulness and purity, of mean- 
 ness and majesty ; but it has nourished individual virtue 
 and race civilization. Literature and history are a 5 
 similar mixture, and yet are the traditional means of 
 culture. Are not the Greek tragedies means of cul- 
 ture? Yet they are full of incest, murder, and human 
 sacrifices to lustful and revengeful gods. 
 
 2. A cultivated man should express himself by 10 
 tongue or pen with some accuracy and elegance; 
 therefore linguistic training has had great importance 
 in the idea of cultivation. The conditions of the edu- 
 cated world have, however, changed so profoundly 
 since the revival of learning in Italy that our inherited 15 
 ideas concerning training in language and literature 
 have required large modifications. In the year 1400 
 it might have been said with truth that there was but 
 one language of scholars, the Latin, and but two great 
 literatures, the Hebrew and the Greek. Since that 20 
 time, however, other great literatures have arisen, the 
 Italian, Spanish, French, German, and above all the 
 English, which has become incomparably the most 
 extensive and various and the noblest of literatures. 
 Under these circumstances it is impossible to maintain 25 
 that a knowledge of any particular literature is indis- 
 pensable to culture. Yet we cannot but feel that the 
 cultivated man ought to possess a considerable ac- 
 quaintance with the literature of some great language, 
 
80 Exposition 
 
 and the power to use the native language in a pure 
 and interesting way. Thus, we are not sure that 
 Robert Burns could be properly described as a cul- 
 tivated man, moving poet though he was. We do not 
 think of Abraham Lincoln as a cultivated man, master 5 
 of English speech and writing though he was. These 
 men do not correspond to the type represented by the 
 word " cultivated/ 7 but belong in the class of geniuses. 
 When we ask ourselves why a knowledge of literature 
 seems indispensable to the ordinary idea of cultiva- 10 
 tion, we find no answer except this : that in literature 
 are portrayed all human passions, desires, and aspira- 
 tions, and that acquaintance with these human feel- 
 ings, and with the means of portraying them, seems to 
 us essential to culture. These human qualities and 15 
 powers are also the commonest ground of interesting 
 human intercourse, and therefore literary knowledge 
 exalts the quality and enhances the enjoyment of 
 human intercourse. It is in conversation that cultiva- 
 tion tells as much as anywhere, and this rapid exchange 20 
 of thoughts is by far the commonest manifestation 
 of its power. Combine the knowledge of literature 
 with knowledge of the "stream of the world" and you 
 have united two large sources of the influence of the 
 cultivated person. The linguistic and literary element 25 
 in cultivation therefore abides, but has become vastly 
 broader than formerly so broad, indeed, that selec- 
 tion among its various fields is forced upon every edu- 
 cated youth. 
 
A New Definition of the Cultivated Man 81 
 
 3. The next great element in cultivation to which I 
 ask your attention is acquaintance with some parts of 
 the store of knowledge which humanity in its progress 
 from barbarism has acquired and laid up. This is 
 the prodigious store of recorded, rationalized, and sys- 5 
 'tematized discoveries, experiences, and ideas. This 
 is the store which we teachers try to pass on to 
 the rising generation. The capacity to assimilate this 
 store and improve it in each successive generation is 
 the distinction of the human race over other animals. 10 
 It is too vast for any man to master, though he had 
 a hundred lives instead of one; and its growth in the 
 nineteenth century was greater than in all the thirty 
 preceding centuries put together. In the eighteenth 
 century a diligent student with strong memory and 15 
 quick powers of apprehension need not have de- 
 spaired of mastering a large fraction of this store of 
 knowledge. Long before the end of the nineteenth 
 century such a task had become impossible. Culture, 
 therefore, can no longer imply a knowledge of every- 20 
 thing not even a little knowledge of everything. 
 It must be content with general knowledge of some 
 things, and a real mastery of some small portion of 
 the human store. Here is a profound modification of 
 the idea of cultivation, which the nineteenth century 25 
 has brought about. What portion or portions of the 
 infinite human store are most proper to the cultivated 
 man? The answer must be, those which enable him, 
 with his individual personal qualities, to deal best and 
 
82 Exposition 
 
 sympathize most with Nature and with other human 
 beings. It is here that the passion for service must 
 fuse with the passion for knowledge. It is natural to 
 imagine that the young man who has acquainted 
 himself with economics, the science of government, so- 5 
 ciology, and the history of civilization in its motives, 
 objects, and methods has a better chance of fusing the 
 passion for knowledge with the passion for doing 
 good than the man whose passion for pure knowledge 
 leads him to the study of chemical or physical phe- 10 
 nomena, or of the habits and climatic distribution of 
 plants or animals. Yet, so intricate are the relations 
 of human beings to the animate and inanimate creation 
 that it is impossible to foresee with what realms of 
 nature intense human interests may prove to be identi- 15 
 fied. Thus the generation now on the stage has sud- 
 denly learned that some of the most sensitive and 
 exquisite human interests, such as health or disease 
 and life or death for those we love, are bound up with 
 the life histories of parasites on the blood corpuscles 20 
 or of certain varieties of mosquitoes and ticks. When 
 the spectra of the sun, stars, and other lights began to 
 be studied, there was not the slightest anticipation 
 that a cure for one of the most horrible diseases to 
 which mankind is liable might be found in the X-rays. 25 
 While, then, we can still see that certain subjects afford 
 more obvious or frequent access to means of doing 
 good and to fortunate intercourse with our fellows 
 than other subjects, we have learned irom nineteenth- 
 
A New Definition of the Cultivated Man 83 
 
 century experience that there is no field of real knowl- 
 edge which may not suddenly prove contributory in a 
 high degree to human happiness and the progress of 
 civilization, and therefore acceptable as a worthy 
 element in the truest culture. 5 
 
 4. The only other element in cultivation which 
 time will permit me to treat is the training of the con- 
 structive imagination. The imagination is the greatest 
 of human powers, no matter in what field it works 
 in art or literature, in mechanical invention, in science, 10 
 government, commerce, or religion; and the training 
 of the imagination is, therefore, far the most impor- 
 tant part of education. I use the term " constructive 
 imagination" because that implies the creation or 
 building of a new thing. The sculptor, for example, 15 
 imagines or conceives the perfect form of a child ten 
 years of age; he has never seen such a thing, for a 
 child perfect in form is never produced; he has only 
 seen in different children the elements of perfection, 
 here one element and there another. In his imagi- 20 
 nation he combines these elements of the perfect form, 
 which he has only seen separated, and from this pic- 
 ture in his mind he carves the stone, and in the exe- 
 cution invariably loses his ideal that is, falls short 
 of it or fails to express it. Sir Joshua Reynolds points 25 
 out that the painter can picture only what he has some- 
 where seen; but that the more he has seen and noted 
 the surer he is to be original in his painting, because 
 his imaginary combinations will be original. Con- 
 
84 Exposition 
 
 structive imagination is the great power of the poet as 
 well as of the artist; and the nineteenth century has 
 convinced us that it is also the great power of the man 
 of science, the investigator, and the natural philoso- 
 pher. What gives every great naturalist or physicist 5 
 his epoch-making results is precisely the imaginative 
 power by which he deduces from the masses of fact 
 the guiding hypothesis or principle. 
 
 The educated world needs to recognize the new vari- 
 eties of constructive imagination. Dante gave painful 10 
 years to picturing on many pages of his immortal 
 Comedy of Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise the most 
 horrible monsters and tortures and the most loath- 
 some and noisome abominations that his fervid imagi- 
 nation could concoct out of his own bitter experiences 15 
 and the manners and customs of his cruel times. Sir 
 Charles Lyell spent many laborious years in search- 
 ing for and patting together the scattered evidences 
 that the geologic processes by which the crust of the 
 earth has been made ready for the use of man have 20 
 been, in the main, not catastrophic, but gradual and 
 gentle, and that the forces which have been in action 
 through past ages are, for the most part, similar to 
 those we may see to-day eroding hills, cutting canons, 
 making placers, marshes, and meadows, and form- 25 
 ing prairies and ocean floors. He first imagined, and 
 then demonstrated, that the geologic agencies are not 
 explosive and cataclysmal, but steady and patient. 
 These two kinds of imagination Dante's and LyelPs 
 
A New Definition of the Cultivated Man 85 
 
 - are not comparable, but both are manifestations 
 of great human power. Zola, in " La Bete Humaine," 
 contrives that ten persons, all connected with the rail- 
 road from Paris to Havre, shall be either murderers or 
 murdered, or both, within eighteen months; and he 5 
 adds two railroad slaughters criminally procured. The 
 conditions of time and place are ingeniously imag- 
 ined, and no detail is omitted which can heighten the 
 effect of this homicidal fiction. Contrast this kind of 
 constructive imagination with the kind which con- 10 
 ceived the great wells sunk in the solid rock below 
 Niagara that contain the turbines that drive the dyna- 
 mos that generate the electric force that turns thou- 
 sands of wheels and lights thousands of lamps over 
 hundreds of square miles of adjoining territory ; or with 15 
 the kind which conceives the sending of human thoughts 
 across three thousand miles of stormy sea instantane- 
 ously on nothing more substantial than ethereal waves. 
 There is no crime, cruelty, or lust about these last two 
 sorts of imagining. No lurid fire of hell or human pas- 20 
 sion illumines their scenes. They are calm, accurate, 
 just, and responsible, and nothing but beneficence 
 and increased human well-being results from them. 
 There is going to be room in the hearts of twentieth- 
 century men for a high admiration of these kinds of 25 
 imagination, as well as for that of the poet, artist, or 
 dramatist. 
 
 Another kind of imagination deserves a moment's 
 consideration the receptive imagination which 
 
86 Exposition 
 
 entertains and holds fast the visions which genius 
 creates or the analogies of nature suggest. A young 
 woman is absorbed for hours in conning the squalid 
 scenes and situations through which Thackeray por- 
 trays the malign motives and unclean soul of Becky 5 
 Sharp. Another young woman watches for days the 
 pairing, nesting, brooding, and foraging of two robins 
 that have established home and family in the notch 
 of a maple near her window. She notes the unselfish 
 labors of the father and mother for each other and 10 
 for their little ones, and weaves into the simple drama 
 all sorts of protective instincts and human affections. 
 Here are two employments for the receptive imagina- 
 tion. Shall systematic education compel the first but 
 make no room for the second? The increasing atten- 15 
 tion to nature study suggests the hope that the imagi- 
 native study of human ills and woes is not to be allowed 
 to exclude the imaginative study of Nature, and that 
 both studies may count toward culture. 
 
 It is one lesson of the nineteenth century, then, that 20 
 in every field of human knowledge the constructive 
 imagination finds play in literature, in history, in 
 theology, in anthropology, and in the whole field of 
 physical and biological research. That great century 
 has taught us that, on the whole, the scientific imagi- 25 
 nation is quite as productive for human service as the 
 literary or poetic imagination. The imagination of 
 Darwin or Pasteur, for example, is as high and pro- 
 ductive a form of imagination as that of Dante, or 
 
A New Definition of the Cultivated Man 87 
 
 Goethe, or even Shakespeare, if we regard the human 
 uses which result from the exercise of imaginative 
 powers, and mean by human uses not merely meat 
 and drink, clothes and shelter, but also the satisfaction 
 of mental and spiritual needs. We must, therefore, 5 
 allow in our contemplation of the cultivated man a 
 large expansion of the fields in which the cultivated 
 imagination may be exercised. We must extend our 
 training of the imagination beyond literature and the 
 fine arts, to history, philosophy, science, government, 10 
 and sociology. We must recognize the prodigious 
 variety of fruits of the imagination that the nineteenth 
 century has given to our race. 
 
 It results from this brief survey that the elements 
 and means of cultivation are much more numerous 15 
 than they used to be ; so that it is not wise to say of any 
 one acquisition or faculty with it cultivation becomes 
 possible, without it impossible. The one acquisition 
 or faculty may be immense, and yet cultivation may not 
 have been attained. Thus it is obvious that a man 20 
 may have a wide acquaintance with music, and possess 
 great musical skill and that wonderful imaginative 
 power which conceives delicious melodies and harmo- 
 nies for the delight of mankind through centuries, and 
 yet not be a cultivated man in the ordinary acceptation 25 
 of the words. We have met artists who were rude and 
 uncouth, yet possessed a high degree of technical skill 
 and strong powers of imagination. We have seen phi- 
 lanthropists and statesmen whose minds have played 
 
88 Exposition 
 
 on great causes and great affairs, and yet who lacked a 
 correct use of their native language, and had no his- 
 torical perspective or background of historical knowl- 
 edge. 
 
 On the other hand, is there any single acquisition or 5 
 faculty which is essential to culture, except indeed a 
 reasonably accurate and refined use of the mother 
 tongue ? 
 
 Again, though we can discern in different individuals 
 different elements of the perfect type of cultivated man, 10 
 we seldom find combined in any human being all the 
 elements of the type. Here, as in painting or sculpture, 
 we make up our ideal from traits picked out from 
 many imperfect individuals and put together. We 
 must not, therefore, expect systematic education to 15 
 produce multitudes of highly cultivated and symmet- 
 rically developed persons ; the multitudinous product 
 will always be imperfect, just as there are no perfect 
 trees, animals, flowers, or crystals. 
 
 It has been my object to point out that our concep- 20 
 tion of the type of cultivated man has been greatly 
 enlarged, and on the whole exalted, by observation of 
 the experiences of mankind during the last hundred 
 years. Let us as teachers accept no single element 
 or kind of culture as the one essential ; let us remem- 25 
 ber that the best fruits of real culture are an open mind, 
 broad sympathies, and respect for all the diverse 
 achievements of the human intellect at whatever stage 
 of development they may actually be' the stage of 
 
A New Definition of the Cultivated Man 89 
 
 fresh discovery, or bold exploration, or complete 
 conquest. Let us remember that the moral elements 
 of the new education are individual choice of studies 
 and career among a great, new variety of studies and 
 careers, early responsibility accompanying this freedom 5 
 of choice, love of truth now that truth may be directly 
 sought through rational inquiry, and an omnipresent 
 sense of social obligation. These moral elements are 
 so strong that the new forms of culture are likely to 
 prove themselves quite as productive of morality, high- 10 
 mindedness, and idealism as the old. 
 
THE YOUNG MAN'S FUTURE 1 
 FRANK A. VANDERLIP 
 
 BANKERS are more or less given to prediction, to 
 the making of forecasts and prophecies. They must 
 form opinions in regard to the future. It is a part of 
 their business to have definite ideas as to whether 
 money is to be easy or close, whether business will 5 
 be active or dull, whether collections will be good or 
 otherwise. 
 
 Financial prophecy, however, is full of difficulties. 
 There are many currents and cross currents to be 
 reckoned with. The whole field of action is so much 10 
 larger than any man's vision that inadvertently he may 
 leave out of consideration matters of vital importance. 
 The course of affairs may be completely altered by 
 psychological conditions which cannot be weighed in 
 the most carefully prepared tables of statistics. At 15 
 best the keenest and wisest observers must write "E. 
 & O. E." in large letters after their attempts to divine 
 the financial future. These distinguished bank offi- 
 cers who have dined with you this evening are un- 
 doubtedly skilled in such a correct grouping of facts as 20 
 
 1 Reprinted by permission from " Business and Education." 
 Copyright, 1907, by Duffield & Company. 
 
 90 
 
The Young Man's Future 91 
 
 enables them to draw accurate conclusions in regard 
 to the financial future. 
 
 There is another line of prophecy, however, which 
 is, I believe, quite as interesting, and far easier. If I 
 were forced to turn seer and to undertake to forecast 5 
 future events, and could I have my choice of fields, I 
 would keep quite clear of any attempt at forecasting- 
 future financial affairs, and would adopt the easier 
 course of attempting to predict the measure of suc- 
 cess or of failure that is likely, with added years, to 10 
 come to a young man. Men o'ught to be as interesting 
 as markets. I am certain that a prediction can be 
 made regarding the future of a young man, if we have 
 at hand the necessary data, with as much accuracy as 
 we can predict the future of the market. There are 15 
 many bank officers here who could, I have no doubt, 
 predict, with correctness, the future course of money 
 rates, of bank reserves or of gold imports, but with 
 still greater chances of accuracy, I believe, they could 
 predict the future careers of some of the members of 20 
 this chapter of the American Institute of Bank Clerks. 
 
 I believe it is possible to formulate certain rules and 
 principles which, applied to the data in regard to a 
 young man's capacity, character, and tendencies, will 
 enable one to make an accurate estimate of his chances 25 
 of success or his dangers of failure. If it is possible to 
 lay down such rules, then some knowledge of those 
 rules ought to be of value to young men. That is so 
 because it is within the power of each young man to 
 
9 2 Exposition 
 
 change in a large measure the character of the data 
 in his case. Young men are not foreordained to fail- 
 ure or success. Their future is, in the main, of their 
 own making. If they comprehend that certain char- 
 acteristics or tendencies which they are forming will 5 
 have an enormous influence upon their future, if they 
 clearly see that their career is in but small measure a 
 matter of chance, and is in large measure the result 
 of those early formed habits, characteristics, and tend- 
 encies, they will be less likely to feel that they must wait 10 
 for some brilliant opportunity to prove themselves; 
 they will be more likely to understand that success must 
 be won by sincere effort applied to each day's work. 
 
 Without doubt there is among the young men who 
 are members of this chapter of the American Insti- 15 
 tute of Bank Clerks the future president of a great 
 bank. I believe I can pick out the man. I shall not 
 name him; you can do that better than I; but I am 
 going to tell you exactly who he is. This young man 
 has, of course, certain fundamental qualities which 20 
 are and must be common to every successful man. He 
 started out with good physique, and he has not abused 
 that heritage, for no man can be permanently success- 
 ful without having an extraordinary capacity for work, 
 and health and working capacity are one. He 25 
 has been naturally endowed with a personality which 
 will permit him to work cooperatively with his fellows, 
 a personality which will permit him to win their re- 
 gard, as well as lead him to recognize- merit in others. 
 
The Young Man's Future 93 
 
 Then, as a matter of course, he has at least a fair 
 education ; he is diligent, capable, and has already a 
 character so well formed that there is every reason 
 to believe that he will have integrity, uprightness, and 
 honor So ingrained in him that men who know him 5 
 will come to recognize that he is worthy of a trust. 
 
 But all those characteristics, necessary as they are, 
 by no means serve to designate the man. Those 
 characteristics are general, and ought to be possessed 
 by every young man. 10 
 
 There are additional characteristics possessed by 
 the young man I am picking out, and they are the ones 
 which will enable me more definitely to designate him. 
 
 Given first those sound fundamentals, good 
 health, good character, at least a fair education, in- 15 
 dustry, and capacity, we have then only deter- 
 mined the general class from which we will pick our 
 man. This man I am indicating does his regular 
 work well, but he has recognized that he must, as a 
 matter of course, make his ordinary day's work a 20 
 matter of constant good records. He sees that he is not 
 entitled to special credit, and is not likely to receive 
 extraordinary rewards for merely a record of ordinary 
 good work, and so he has to come to recognize that 
 those lines which mark the limits of his daily task are 25 
 not barriers to his further effort. Those lines merely 
 mark the work he has first to do. He has learned 
 that every occasion that is offered, every opening 
 that he could himself make, which would permit him 
 
94 Exposition 
 
 to break through those lines which mark his special 
 daily duty and give him a chance to do other work, 
 is an opportunity of the greatest importance. That 
 statement is no platitude; data bearing on that phase 
 of a young man's character form one of the most illumi- 5 
 nating guides we have in forecasting a career. It tells 
 the measure of the man's coming usefulness; it tells 
 how quickly he will learn the whole detail of his busi- 
 ness; it tells whether he has that invaluable spirit of 
 cooperation without which great success cannot be 10 
 built. The man we are picking out has learned that 
 lesson. He knows that of all things necessary for his 
 development opportunity is one of the most essential, 
 opportunity to work, opportunity to learn. He has 
 found that doing some other man's work in addition to 15 
 his own, when occasion offered, has made him master of 
 some other man's knowledge, and has added greatly to 
 his own capabilities and his value. He has found that his 
 true salary is made up of two parts ; that the money he 
 receives is but one part of it, the opportunity to learn is 20 
 the other. He has not feared he would work too much 
 for the salary he was getting, because he has found that 
 working is learning, and that what he is learning is 
 after all by far the more valuable part of his salary. 
 
 When a young man has learned that an added duty 25 
 is a new opportunity of great value, when he has learned 
 that an added task is something to be welcomed with 
 enthusiasm, he has marked himself for promotion, he 
 has separated himself from those of his fellows who 
 
The Young Marts Future 95 
 
 believe in making their services just balance their 
 salaries ; he has opened the door of opportunity and 
 his progress is likely to be rapid toward a complete 
 mastery of the details of his business. 
 
 I wish I had the eloquence fully to emphasize the 5 
 strength of my belief in the practical, hard-headed 
 sense of these assertions to emphasize my faith in the 
 result of an everyday application of them. If I un- 
 derstand correctly any single principle on which suc- 
 cess is based, I know that a true one is this : Do more 10 
 than you have to do that you may learn more than 
 you need to know for doing your own simple daily 
 task, and with this broader doing and wider learning 
 you will be laying the substantial foundation that is 
 required for any career of eminence. 15 
 
 There is another lesson of great value which has 
 been learned by this young man whom I am designat- 
 ing to you as a future bank president. He has learned 
 systematically to use the time which is available out- 
 side of his regular work. You will find that this young 20 
 man whom I am singling out has not been satisfied 
 with the progress he has made in the course of his 
 regular work. He may have started with a broad, 
 sound education ; but even so, he soon found he would 
 need a more specialized education if he were thor- 25 
 oughly to master the principles of his business. He 
 attacked this problem of a specialized education with 
 the same energy and enthusiasm which he has brought 
 to his daily work at the bank. There has been noth- 
 
96 Exposition 
 
 ing desultory and intermittent about his method. The 
 work has been systematically planned and constantly 
 carried on. The work in itself has been a pleasure in 
 the doing ; in its result it has given to this young man 
 a specialized knowledge and a grasp of principles 5 
 which in the future will be of a value to him greater 
 than he now can comprehend. 
 
 There is one more characteristic which the young 
 man possesses and to which I want to call your atten- 
 tion. It is a characteristic which might lead some 10 
 of you to doubt that he was marked for large success. 
 You may perhaps have thought that he lacked a cer- 
 tain shrewdness, that his ambition for personal advance- 
 ment was not keen enough, that he was a little slow- 
 going when it came to forcing recognition of his own 15 
 abilities and hard work. Just there is where you may 
 be wrong. This man's interest in the work has been 
 greater than his interest in himself. To get the thing 
 rightly done has been his thought rather than merely 
 to get the credit for doing it. In traveling along the 20 
 road leading to success a man should not have his 
 eyes solely on the milestones; in straining to see the 
 milestone, which is too far ahead, one may fail to 
 avoid the obstacle directly in the path. That advice 
 does not alone apply to the progress of the young 25 
 man. It is a truth that he may well heed, even after 
 he has reached a position of much influence and power. 
 The great man in commerce to-day is the cooperative 
 man, the man who sees clearly the right thing to be 
 
The Young Man's Future 97 
 
 accomplished and is willing to sink his individuality 
 to accomplish it; the man who is more interested in 
 getting the thing done than he is in getting credit for 
 doing it: We must give great prominence to that qual- 
 ity of patience which our future bank president pos- 5 
 sesses. Patience to wait for personal reward, patience 
 to work cooperatively with others, a patience which 
 rises to self-abnegation before a great work to be done 
 a self-abnegation which sees only the one thing, and 
 that is the thing to be accomplished, and is willing 10 
 to sink for the time the gratification of ambition, per- 
 sonal pride, and personal reward. 
 
 Here then is the man: He has health, character, 
 ability, industry. More than that, he has learned to 
 welcome new work as new opportunity, and he has 15 
 learned systematically to use his time outside of his 
 regular work in gaining a specialized knowledge which 
 will give him a thorough grasp of the principles of his 
 business ; and then above all that, he has taken greater 
 interest in his work than in himself. He has cared 20 
 more for getting the thing done right than he has for 
 getting the personal credit of doing it. 
 
 I have laid before you the data which will enable 
 you, with almost unerring accuracy, to name the man. 
 Unless there is some defect of personality or some acci- 25 
 dent of opportunity, the man who best fits this outline 
 will in a decade stand out from among his fellows 
 a leader ; he will be wearing the honors of distinc- 
 tion and carrying the burdens of responsibility. 
 
THE CHARACTER OF THE INDIAN 1 
 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 OF the Indian character, much has been written 
 foolishly, and credulously believed. By the rhap- 
 sodies of poets, the cant of sentimentalists, and the 
 extravagance of some who should have known better, 
 a counterfeit image has been tricked out, which might 5 
 seek in vain for its likeness through every corner of the 
 habitable earth ; an image bearing no more resemblance 
 to its original than the monarch of the tragedy and the 
 hero of the epic poem bear to their living prototypes in 
 the palace and the camp. The shadows of his wilder- 10 
 ness home, and the darker mantle of his own inscru- 
 table reserve, have made the Indian warrior a wonder 
 and a mystery. Yet to the eye of rational observation 
 there is nothing unintelligible in him. He is full, it is 
 true, of contradiction. He deems himself the center of 15 
 greatness and renown; his pride is proof against the 
 fiercest torments of fire and steel; and yet the same 
 man would beg for a dram of whisky, or pick up a 
 crust of bread thrown to him like a dog, from the tent 
 door of the traveler. At one moment, he is wary and 20 
 cautious to the verge of cowardice; at the next, he 
 abandons himself to a very insanity of recklessness; 
 
 1 Copyrighted by Little, Brown, & Company; reproduced by per- 
 mission of the publishers. 
 
The Character of the Indian 99 
 
 and the habitual self-restraint which throws an impene- 
 trable veil over emotion is joined to the unbridled 
 passions of a beast or a madman. 
 
 Such inconsistencies, strange as they seem in our 
 eyes, when viewed under a novel aspect, are but the 5 
 ordinary incidents of humanity. The qualities of the 
 mind are not uniform in their action through all the 
 relations of life. With different men, and different 
 races of men, pride, valor, prudence, have different 
 forms of manifestation, and where in one instance they 10 
 lie dormant, in another they are keenly awake. The 
 conjunction of greatness and littleness, meanness and 
 pride, is older than the days of the patriarchs; and 
 such antiquated phenomena, displayed under a new 
 form in the unreflecting, undisciplined mind of a 15 
 savage, call for no special wonder, but should rather 
 be classed with the other enigmas of the fathomless 
 human heart. The dissecting knife of a Rochefou- 
 cault might lay bare matters of no less curious obser- 
 vation in the breast of every man. 20 
 
 Nature has stamped the Indian with a hard and stern 
 physiognomy. Ambition, revenge, envy, jealousy, are 
 his ruling passions ; and his cold temperament is little 
 exposed to those effeminate vices ^which are the bane 
 of milder races. With him revenge is an overpowering 25 
 instinct; nay, more, it is a point of honor and a duty. 
 His pride sets all language at defiance. He loathes the 
 thought of coercion; and few of his race have ever 
 stooped to discharge a menial office. A wild love of 
 
ioo Exposition 
 
 liberty, an utter intolerance of control, lie at the basis 
 of his character, and fire his whole existence. Yet, 
 in spite of this haughty independence, he is a devout 
 hero-worshiper; and high achievement in war or 
 policy touches a chord to which his nature never fails 5 
 to respond. He looks up with admiring reverence to 
 the sages and heroes of his tribe ; and it is this princi- 
 ple, joined to the respect for age springing from the 
 patriarchal element in his social system, which, beyond 
 all others, contributes union and harmony to the erratic 10 
 members of an Indian community. With him the love 
 of glory kindles into a burning passion; and to allay 
 its cravings, he will dare cold and famine, fire, tem- 
 pest, torture, and death itself. 
 
 These generous traits are overcast by much that 15 
 is dark, cold, and sinister, by sleepless distrust, and 
 rankling jealousy. Treacherous himself, he is always 
 suspicious of treachery in others. Brave as he is, 
 and few of mankind are braver, he will vent his 
 passion by a secret stab rather than an open blow. 20 
 His warfare is full of ambuscade and stratagem ; and 
 he never rushes into battle with that joyous self-aban- 
 donment with which the warriors of the Gothic races 
 flung themselves into the ranks of their enemies. In 
 his feasts and his drinking-bouts we find none of that 25 
 robust and full-toned mirth which reigned at the rude 
 carousals of our barbaric ancestry. He is never jo- 
 vial in his cups, and maudlin sorrow or maniacal rage 
 is the sole result of his potations. 
 
The Character of the Indian 101 
 
 Over all emotion he throws the veil of an iron self- 
 control, originating in a peculiar form of pride, and 
 fostered by rigorous discipline from childhood upward. 
 He is trained to conceal passion, and not to subdue it. 
 The jnscrutable warrior is aptly imaged by the hack- 5 
 neyed figure of a volcano covered with snow; and no 
 man can say when or where the wildfire will burst 
 forth. This shallow self-mastery serves to give dignity 
 to public deliberation, and harmony to social life. 
 Wrangling and quarrel are strangers to an Indian 10 
 dwelling ; and while an assembly of the ancient Gauls 
 was garrulous as a convocation of magpies, a Roman 
 senate might have taken a lesson from the grave solem- 
 nity of an Indian council. In the midst of his family 
 and friends, he hides affections, by nature none of the 15 
 most tender, under a mask of icy coldness ; and in the 
 torturing fires of his enemy, the haughty sufferer main- 
 tains to the last his look of grim defiance. 
 
 His intellect is as peculiar as his moral organization. 
 Among all savages, the powers of perception prepon- 20 
 derate over those of reason and analysis; but this is 
 more especially the case with the Indian. An acute 
 judge of character, at least of such parts of it as his 
 experience enables him to comprehend; keen to a 
 proverb in all exercises of war and the chase, he sel- 25 
 dom traces effects to their causes, or follows out ac- 
 tions to their remote results. Though a close observer 
 of external nature, he no sooner attempts to account 
 for her phenomena than he involves himself in the most 
 
IO2 Exposition 
 
 ridiculous absurdities; and quite content with these 
 puerilities, he has not the least desire to push his 
 inquiries further. His curiosity, abundantly active 
 within its own narrow circle, is dead to all things else ; 
 and to attempt rousing it from its torpor is but a boot- 5 
 less task. He seldom takes cognizance of general or 
 abstract ideas ; and his language has scarcely the power 
 to express them, except through the medium of figures 
 drawn from the external world, and often highly pic- 
 turesque and forcible. The absence of reflection makes 10 
 him grossly improvident, and unfits him for pursuing 
 any complicated scheme of war or policy. 
 
 Some races of men seem molded in wax, soft and 
 melting, at once plastic and feeble. Some races, like 
 some metals, combine the greatest flexibility with the 15 
 greatest strength. But the Indian is hewn out of a 
 rock. You can rarely change the form without de- 
 struction of the substance. Such, at least, has too 
 often proved the case. Races of inferior energy have 
 possessed a power of expansion and assimilation to 20 
 which he is a stranger; and it is this fixed and rigid 
 quality which has proved his ruin. He will not learn 
 the arts of civilization, and he and his forest must 
 perish together. The stern, unchanging features of 
 his mind excite our admiration, from their very immu- 25 
 tability; and we look with deep interest on the fate of 
 this irreclaimable son of the wilderness, the child who 
 will not be weaned from the breast of his rugged mother. 
 And our interest increases when we discern in the 
 
The Character of the Indian 103 
 
 unhappy wanderer, mingled among his vices, the germs 
 of heroic virtues a hand bountiful to bestow, as it is 
 rapacious to seize, and, even in extremest famine, im- 
 parting its last morsel to a fellow-sufferer; a heart 
 which, strong in friendship as in hate, thinks it not too 5 
 much to lay down life for its chosen comrade; a soul 
 true to its own idea of honor, and burning with an un- 
 quenchable thirst for greatness and renown. 
 
 The imprisoned lion in the showman's cage differs 
 not more widely from the lord of the desert than the 10 
 beggarly frequenter of frontier garrisons and dram- 
 shops differs from the proud denizen of the woods. 
 It is in his native wilds alone that the Indian must be 
 seen and studied. Thus to depict him is the aim of the 
 ensuing History; and if, from the shades of rock and 15 
 forest, the savage features should look too grimly forth, 
 it is because the clouds of a tempestuous war have 
 cast upon the picture their murky shadows and lurid 
 fires. 
 
HENRY DAVID THOREAU: HIS CHARAC- 
 TER AND OPINIONS 1 
 
 ROBERT Louis STEVENSON 
 
 THOREAU'S thin, penetrating, big-nosed face, even 
 in a bad woodcut, conveys some hint of the limita- 
 tions of his mind and character. With his almost acid 
 sharpness of insight, with his almost animal dexterity 
 in act, there went none of that large, unconscious 5 
 geniality of the world's heroes. He was not easy, not 
 ample, not urbane, not even kind; his enjoyment was 
 hardly smiling, or the smile was not broad enough 
 to be convincing; he had no waste lands nor kitchen- 
 midden in his nature, but was all improved and sharp- 10 
 ened to a point. "He was bred to no profession," 
 says Emerson; "he never married; he lived alone; 
 he never went to church; he never voted; he refused 
 to pay a tax to the State ; he ate no flesh, he drank no 
 wine, he never knew the use of tobacco; and, though 15 
 a naturalist, he used neither trap nor gun. When asked 
 at dinner what dish he preferred, he answered, 'the 
 nearest. ' " So many negative superiorities begin to 
 smack a little of the prig. From his later works he 
 was in the habit of cutting out the humorous pas- 20 
 
 1 From " Familiar Studies of Men and Books," New York, 
 Charles Scribner's Sons. 
 
 104 
 
Henry David Thoreau 105 
 
 sages, under the impression that they were beneath 
 the dignity of his moral muse ; and there we see the 
 prig stand public and confessed. It was "much 
 easier," says Emerson acutely, much easier for Tho- 
 reau to say no than yes; and that is a characteristic 5 
 which depicts the man. It is a useful accomplish- 
 ment to be able to say no, but surely it is the essence 
 of amiability to prefer to say yes where it is possible. 
 There is something wanting in the man who does 
 not hate himself whenever he is constrained to say no. 10 
 And there was a great deal wanting in this born dis- 
 senter. He was almost shockingly devoid of weak- 
 nesses; he had not enough of them to be truly polar 
 with humanity; whether you call him demi-god or 
 demi-man, he was at least not altogether one of us, for 15 
 he was not touched with a feeling of our infirmities. 
 The world's heroes have room for all positive qualities, 
 even those which are disreputable, in the capacious 
 theater of their dispositions. Such can live many 
 lives ; while a Thoreau can live but one, and that only 20 
 with perpetual foresight. 
 
 He was no ascetic, rather an Epicurean of the nobler 
 sort ; and he had this one great merit, that he succeeded 
 so far as to be happy. "I love my fate to the core and 
 rind," he wrote once; and even while he lay dying, 25 
 here is what he dictated (for it seems he was already 
 too feeble to control the pen): "You ask particularly 
 after my health. I suppose that I have not many 
 months to live, but of course know nothing about it. 
 
io6 Exposition 
 
 I may say that I am enjoying existence as much as 
 ever, and regret nothing." It is not given to all to 
 bear so clear a testimony to the sweetness of their 
 fate, nor to any without courage and wisdom; for 
 this world in itself is but a painful and uneasy place 5 
 of residence, and lasting happiness, at least to the 
 self-conscious, comes only from within. Now Tho- 
 reau's content and ecstasy in living was, we may say, 
 like a plant that he had watered and tended with 
 womanish solicitude; for there is apt to be something 10 
 unmanly, something almost dastardly, in a life that 
 does not move with dash and freedom, and that fears 
 the bracing contact of the world. In one word, Tho- 
 reau was a skulker. He did not wish virtue to go out of 
 him among his fellow-men, but slunk into a corner to 15 
 hoard it for himself. He left all for the sake of cer- 
 tain virtuous self-indulgences. It is true that his 
 tastes were noble; that his ruling passion was to 
 keep himself unspotted from the world; and that his 
 luxuries were all of the same healthy order as cold 20 
 tubs and early rising. But a man may be both coldly 
 cruel in the pursuit of goodness, and morbid even in 
 the pursuit of health. I cannot lay my hands on the 
 passage in which he explains his abstinence from 
 tea and coffee, but I am sure I have the meaning 25 
 correctly. It is this: He thought it bad economy 
 and worthy of no true virtuoso to spoil the natural 
 rapture of the morning with such muddy stimulants; 
 let him but see the sun rise, and he was already sum- 
 
Henry David Thoreau 107 
 
 ciently inspirited for the labors of the day. That 
 may be reason good enough to abstain from tea; but 
 when we go on to find the same man, on the same or 
 similar grounds, abstain from nearly everything that his 
 neighbors innocently and pleasurably use, and from 5 
 the rubs and trials of human society itself into the 
 bargain, we recognize that valetudinarian healthful- 
 ness which is more delicate than sickness itself. We 
 need have no respect for a state of artificial training. 
 True health is to be able to do without it. Shake- 10 
 speare, we can imagine, might begin the day upon a 
 quart of ale, and yet enjoy the sunrise to the full as 
 much as Thoreau, and commemorate his enjoyment in 
 vastly better verses. A man who must separate him- 
 self from his neighbors' habits in order to be happy, 15 
 is in much the same case with one who requires to take 
 opium for the same purpose. What we want to see 
 is one who can breast into the world, do a man's work, 
 and still preserve his first and pure enjoyment of 
 existence. 20 
 
 Thoreau's faculties were of a piece with his moral 
 shyness; for they were all delicacies. He could guide 
 himself about the woods on the darkest night by the 
 touch of his feet. He could pick up at once an exact 
 dozen of pencils by the feeling, pace distances with 25 
 accuracy, and gauge cubic contents by the eye. His 
 smell was so dainty that he could perceive the fcetor 
 of dwelling houses as he passed them by at night ; his 
 palate so unsophisticated that, like a child ; he dis- 
 
io8 Exposition 
 
 liked the taste of wine or perhaps, living in America, 
 had never tasted any that was good; and his knowl- 
 edge of nature was so complete and curious that he 
 could have told the time of year, within a day or so, by 
 the aspect of the plants. In his dealings with ani- 5 
 mals, he was the original of Hawthorne's Donatello. 
 He pulled the woodchuck out of its hole by the tail; 
 the hunted fox came to him for protection ; wild squir- 
 rels have been seen to nestle in his waistcoat ; he would 
 thrust his arm into a pool and bring forth a bright, 10 
 panting fish, lying undismayed in the palm of his 
 hand. There were few things that he could not do. 
 He could make a house, a boat, a pencil, or a book. 
 He was a surveyor, a scholar, a natural historian. He 
 could run, walk, climb, skate, swim, and manage a 15 
 boat. The smallest occasion served to display his 
 physical accomplishment; and a manufacturer, from 
 merely observing his dexterity with the window of a 
 railway carriage, offered him a situation on the spot. 
 "The only fruit of much living, " he observes, "is the 20 
 ability to do some slight thing better." But such was 
 the exactitude of his senses, so alive was he in every 
 fiber, that it seems as if the maxim should be changed 
 in his case, for he could do most things with unusual 
 perfection. And perhaps he had an approving eye to 25 
 himself when he wrote: "Though the youth at last 
 grows indifferent, the laws of the universe are not in- 
 different, but are forever on the side of the most 
 sensitive" 
 
THE DESCENT FROM THE CROSS 1 
 JOHN LA FARGE 
 
 THUS, then, for the Corporation of the Church of 
 St. Walburga, and for the Guild of the Arquebusiers 
 of Antwerp, he painted, between 1610 and 1612, the 
 great paintings of the "Raising of the Cross" and the 
 "Descent from the Cross." The latter is the more 5 
 famous picture perhaps one of the few best-known 
 paintings in the world. In it Rubens fixed the type 
 of the subject, absorbing in his work the impressions 
 received from earlier masters; so that, whatever the 
 merits of others, however touching, however beautiful, 10 
 however great, one feels in his extraordinary achieve- 
 ment a result which can never be dispensed with. 
 The reminiscence of the big painting placed with 
 almost no separation on the high, cold wall is that of a 
 large, dark space, almost black, down which slips a 15 
 column of white the sheet that carries the body of 
 the Christ into the arms of loving friends. All their 
 grief is contained : they are attending to those last physi- 
 cal duties we pay to the departed ; and in the dramatic 
 expression of their feeling this exact balance is most 20 
 beautifully and truthfully observed. The fear of a 
 
 1 Reprinted by permission from McClure's Magazine, for June, 
 1902. 
 
 109 
 
1 10 Exposition 
 
 fall that would shock the sense of reverence to the 
 dead animates all the figures, each one in a different 
 degree. Thus, according to the part they play in the 
 simplest of all dramas, the care for our dead, even 
 the workmen who detach the body have in their busi- 5 
 ness just the proportionate sympathy. It is this feeling 
 of contained emotion, difficult and rare in the work of 
 a man of exuberant feelings, that distinguishes this 
 painting of Rubens, unless we should except that other 
 last scene, the "Death Communion of St. Francis," 10 
 where again one feels the contained struggle against 
 outward emotion that fills the attendants who help 
 the dying saint in a last homage to his Redeemer. 
 "The Descent from the Cross" is, then, a wise and 
 balanced work, composed of marvelous adjustments 15 
 of planes and lines, so that each motion, each fold, 
 even the outbalanced foot of the man at the arms of the 
 cross, who has just let slip from his shoulder the body 
 of the Christ, helps to form a pattern as ingeniously 
 combined as that of any ornamentation or brocade, 20 
 meant merely for the soothing of the eye. But none 
 of these subtleties is insisted upon to the detriment 
 of the dramatic story, and, as in most of Rubens's 
 paintings, we are unaware of the subtlety and com- 
 binations of lines and surfaces which make the artis- 25 
 tic structure of what seems to us a mere rendering of 
 nature, or the sweep of exuberant and poetic passion. 
 For Rubens is really calm when he executes: he is 
 Jike the conductor of a great orchestratiori, who directs 
 
The Descent from the Cross iii 
 
 the expression of stormy or gentle emotion according 
 to a scheme, carefully devised and elaborated by a 
 mind that reduces all necessities to a single effect. 
 The deep religious feeling animating the great paint- 
 ing is not that of a mystical or of a self-inquiring or 5 
 sentimental mind; it is that of the Rubens we know 
 in all the diversity of his likings, but here contained in 
 manly obedience to the simple probabilities of such a 
 scene, and in their expression is a single type. Hence 
 the great standing of the painting and the permanence 10 
 of its fame. It is built to last forever. 
 
HABITS ' 
 A. C. BENSON 
 
 WALTER PATER says, in his most oracular mood, in 
 that fine manifesto of a lofty Epicureanism which is 
 known as the Conclusion to the Renaissance essays, 
 that to form habits is failure in life. The difficulty in 
 uttering oracles is that one is obliged for the sake of 5 
 being forcible to reduce a statement to its simplest 
 terms; and when one does that, there are generally a 
 whole group of cases, which appear to be covered by 
 the statement, which contradict it. It is nearly impos- 
 sible to make any general statement both simple enough 10 
 and large enough. In the case of Pater's pronounce- 
 ment, he had fixed his mental gaze so firmly on a par- 
 ticular phenomenon that he forgot that his words 
 might prove misleading when applied to the facts of 
 life. What he meant, no doubt, was that one of the 15 
 commonest of mental dangers is to form intellectual 
 and moral prejudices early in life, and so to stereotype 
 them that we are unable to look round them, or to 
 give anything that we instinctively dislike a fair trial. 
 Most people in fact, in matters of opinion, tend to get 20 
 infected with a species of Toryism by the time that 
 
 1 Reprinted by permission from " From a College Window." 
 Copyright, 1906, by G. Putnam's Sons, New York and London. 
 
Habits 113 
 
 they reach middle age, until they get into the frame of 
 mind which Montaigne describes, of thinking so highly 
 of their own conjectures as to be prepared to burn 
 other people for not regarding them as certainties. 
 This frame of mind is much to be reprobated, but it 5 
 is unhappily common. How often does one meet sen- 
 sible, shrewd, and intelligent men, who say frankly 
 that they are not prepared to listen to any evidence 
 which tells against their beliefs. How rare it is to 
 meet a man who in the course of an argument will say, 10 
 "Well, I had never thought of that before; it must 
 be taken into account, and it modifies my view." 
 Such an attitude is looked upon by active-minded and 
 energetic men as having something weak and even 
 sentimental about it. How common it is to hear 15 
 people say that a man ought to have the courage of his 
 opinions ; how rare it is to find a man who will say that 
 one ought to have the courage to change one's opinions. 
 Indeed, in public life it is generally considered a kind 
 of treachery to change, because people value what they 20 
 call loyalty above truth. Pater no doubt meant that 
 the duty and privilege of the philosopher is to keep his 
 inner eye open to new impressions, to be ready to see 
 beauty in new forms, not to love comfortable and 
 settled ways, but to bring the same fresh apprehen- 25 
 sion that youth brings to art and to life. 
 
 He is merely speaking of a mental process in these 
 words; what he is condemning is the dulling and 
 encrusting of the mind with prejudices and habits, 
 
114 Exposition 
 
 the tendency, as Charles Lamb wittily said, whenever 
 a new book comes out, to read an old one, to get into 
 the fireside-and-slippers frame of mind, to grumble 
 at novelty, to complain that the young men are vio- 
 lating all the sacred canons of faith and art. 5 
 
 This is not at all the same thing as knowing one's 
 own limitations; every one, whether he be artist or 
 writer, critic or practitioner, ought to take the measure 
 of his forces, and to determine in what regions he can 
 be effective; indeed it is often necessary for a man of 10 
 artistic impulses to confine his energies to one specific 
 department, although he may be attracted by several. 
 Pater was himself an instance of this. He knew, for 
 instance, that his dramatic sense was weak, and he 
 wisely let drama alone; he found that certain vigorous 15 
 writers exercised a contagious influence over his own 
 style, and therefore he gave up reading them. But 
 within his own region he endeavored to be catholic 
 and sympathetic; he never tied up the contents of 
 his mind into packets and labeled them, a task 20 
 which most men between thirty and forty find highly 
 congenial. 
 
 But I desire here to go into the larger question of 
 forming habits; and as a general rule it may be said 
 that Pater's dictum is entirely untrue, and that success 25 
 in life depends more upon forming habits than upon 
 anything else, except good health. Indeed, Pater him- 
 self is an excellent instance in point. He achieved 
 his large output of beautiful literary work, the amaz- 
 
Habits 115 
 
 ing amount of perfectly finished and exquisitely ex- 
 pressed writing that he gave to the world, by an ex- 
 treme and patient regularity of labor. He did not, 
 as some writers do, have periods of energetic creation, 
 interrupted by periods of fallow idleness. Perhaps 5 
 his work might have been more spontaneous if he 
 could, like Milton's friend, have been wise enough 
 "of such delights to judge, and interpose them oft." 
 But the achievement of Pater was to realize and to 
 carry out his own individual method, and it is upon 10 
 doing this that successful productivity depends. 
 
 I could name, if I chose, two or three friends of my 
 own, men of high and subtle intelligence, admirable 
 humor, undiminished zest, who have failed, and 
 will fail, to realize their possibilities, simply by a lack 15 
 of method. Who does not know the men whom Mr. 
 Mallock so wittily describes, of whom, up to the age of 
 forty, their friends say that they could do anything 
 if they only chose, and after the age of forty that they 
 could have done anything if they had chosen ? I have 20 
 one particular friend in my eye at this moment, the 
 possessor of wealth and leisure, who is a born writer 
 if any man ever was. He has no particular duties, 
 except the duties of a small landowner and the father 
 of a family ; he is a wide reader, and a critic of delicate 25 
 and sympathetic acuteness. He is bent on writing; 
 and he has written a single book crammed from end 
 to end with good and beautiful things, the stuff of 
 which would have sufficed, in the hands of a facile 
 
n6 Exposition 
 
 writer, for half a dozen excellent books. He is, 
 moreover, sincerely anxious to write, but he does noth- 
 ing. If you ask him and I conceive it to be my 
 duty at intervals to chide him for not producing more 
 what he does with his time, hfc says with a melan- 5 
 choly smile: "Oh, I hardly know: it goes!" I trace 
 his failure to produce simply to the fact that he has 
 never set apart any particular portion of the day for 
 writing ; he allows himself to be interrupted ; he enter- 
 tains many guests whom he has no particular wish to 10 
 see; he "sets around and looks ornery," like the frog; 
 he talks delightfully ; an industrious Boswell could, 
 by asking him questions and taking careful notes of 
 his talk, fill a charming volume in a month out of his 
 shrewd and suggestive conversation; of course it is 15 
 possible to say that he practices the art of living, to talk 
 of "gems of purest ray serene" and flowers "born to 
 blush unseen" and all the rest of it. But his talk 
 streams to waste among guests who do not as a rule 
 appreciate it ; and if there is any duty or responsibility 20 
 in the world at all, it is a duty for men of great en- 
 dowments, admirable humor, and poetical suggestive- 
 ness, to sow the seed of the mind freely and lavishly. 
 We English are of course the chosen race; but we 
 should be none the worse for a little more intellectual 25 
 apprehension, a little more amiable charm. If my 
 friend had been a professional man, obliged to earn a 
 living by his pen, he would, I do not doubt, have given 
 to the world a series of great books, which would have 
 
Habits 117 
 
 done something to spread the influence of the king- 
 dom of heaven. 
 
 Of course there is a sense in which it is a mistake 
 to let habits become too tyrannical ; one ought not to 
 find one's self hopelessly distracted and irritated if 5 
 one's daily programme is interfered with at any point ; 
 one ought to be able to enjoy leisure, to pay visits, to 
 converse volubly. Like Dr. Johnson, one ought to be 
 ready for a frolic. But, on the other hand, if a man 
 takes himself seriously and I am here not speak- 10 
 ing of people with definite engagements, but of people, 
 like writers and artists, who may choose their own 
 times to do their work he ought to have a regular 
 though not an invariable programme. If he is pos- 
 sessed of such superabundant energy as Walter Scott 15 
 possessed, he may rise at five, and write ten immortal 
 octavo pages before he appears at breakfast. But 
 as a rule the vitality of ordinary people is more lim- 
 ited, and they are bound to husband it, if they mean 
 to do anything that is worth the name ; an artist then 20 
 ought to have his sacred hours, secure from interrup- 
 tion; and then let him fill the rest of the day with 
 any amusement that he finds to be congenial. 
 
 Of course the thing is easy enough if one's work 
 is really the thing in which one is most interested. 25 
 There is very little danger, in the case of a man who 
 likes and relishes the work he is doing more than he 
 relishes any form of amusement; but we many of us 
 have the unhappy feeling that we enjoy our work very 
 
n8 Exposition 
 
 much, if we can once sit down to it, only we do not care 
 about beginning it. We read the paper, we write a 
 few letters, we look out an address in Who's Who, and 
 we become absorbed in the biographies of our fellow- 
 men; very soon it is time for luncheon, and then we 5 
 think that we shall feel fresher if we take a little exer- 
 cise ; after tea, the weather is so beautiful that we think 
 it would be a pity not to enjoy the long sunset lights ; 
 we come in; the piano stands invitingly open, and 
 we must strike a few chords ; then the bell rings for 10 
 dressing, and the day is gone, because we mistrust the 
 work that we do late at night, and so we go to bed in 
 good time. Not so does a big book get written ! 
 
 We ought rather to find out all about ourselves 
 when we can work our best, how long we can work 15 
 continuously with full vigor; and then round these 
 fixed points we should group our sociability, or lei- 
 sure, our amusement. If we are altruistically inclined, 
 we probably say that it is a duty to see something of 
 our fellow- creatures, that we ought not to grow morose 20 
 and solitary; there is an abundance of excuses that 
 can be made ; but the artist and the writer ought to 
 realize that their duty to the world is to perceive what 
 is beautiful and to express it as resolutely, as attract- 
 ively as they can ; if a writer can write a good book, 25 
 he can talk in its pages to a numerous audience; and 
 he is right to save up his best thoughts for his readers, 
 rather than to let them flow away in diffuse conversa- 
 tion. Of course a writer of fiction is bound to make 
 
Habits 119 
 
 the observation of varieties of temperament a duty; 
 it is his material; if he becomes isolated and self- 
 absorbed, his work becomes narrow and mannerized ; 
 and it is true, too, that, with most writers, the colli- 
 sion of mind with mind is what produces the bright- 5 
 est sparks. 
 
 And then to step into a still wider field, there is no 
 sort of doubt that the formation of reasonable habits, 
 of method, of punctuality, is a duty, not from an ex- 
 alted point of view, but because it makes enormously 10 
 for the happiness and convenience of every one about 
 us. In the old-fashioned story-books a prodigious 
 value, perhaps an exaggerated value, was set upon 
 time; one was told to redeem the time, whatever 
 that might mean. The ideal mother of the family, 15 
 in the little books which I used to read in my child- 
 hood, was a lady who appeared punctually at break- 
 fast, and had a bunch of keys hanging at her girdle. 
 Breakfast over, she paid a series of visits, looked into 
 the larder, weighed out stores, and then settled down 20 
 to some solid reading or embroidered a fire screen; 
 the afternoon would be spent in visits of benevolence, 
 carrying portions of the midday dinner to her poorer 
 neighbors; the evening would be given to working 
 at the fire screen again, while some one read aloud. 25 
 Somehow it is not an attractive picture, though it 
 need not have been so dull as it appears. The point 
 is whether the solid reading had a useful effect or not. 
 In the books I have in view, it generally led the mater- 
 
1 20 Exposition 
 
 familias into having an undue respect for correct in- 
 formation, and a pharisaical contempt for people who 
 indulged their fancy. In " Harry and Lucy," for in- 
 stance, Lucy, who is the only human figure in the book, 
 is perpetually being snubbed by the terrible hard-headed 5 
 Harry, with his desperate interest in machinery, by 
 the repellent father who delights to explain the laws of 
 gravity and the parabola described by the stone which 
 Harry throws. What was undervalued in those old, 
 dry, high-principled books was the charm of vivid 10 
 apprehension, of fanciful imagination, of simple, 
 neighborly kindliness. The aim was too much to im- 
 prove everybody and everything, to impart and retain 
 correct information. Nowadays the pendulum has 
 swung a little too far the other way, and children are 15 
 too much encouraged, if anything, to be childish; 
 but there is a certain austere charm in the old, simple, 
 high-minded household life for all that. 
 
 The point is that habit should be there, like the hem 
 of a handkerchief, to keep the fabric together, but 20 
 that it should not be relentlessly and oppressively 
 paraded; the triumph is to have habits and to con- 
 ceal them, just as in Ruskin's celebrated dictum, that the 
 artist's aim should be to be fit for the best society, and 
 then that he should renounce it. One ought to be reli- 25 
 able, to perform the work that one undertakes with- 
 out ceaseless reminders, to discharge duties easily and 
 satisfactorily; and then, if to this one can add the 
 grace of apparent leisureliness, the power of never ap- 
 
Habits i2i 
 
 pearing to be interrupted, the good-humored readi- 
 ness to amuse and to be amused, one is high upon 
 the ladder of perfection. It is absolutely necessary, 
 if one is to play a satisfactory part in the world, to be in 
 earnest, to be serious ; and it is no less necessary to ab- 5 
 stain from ostentatiously parading that seriousness. 
 One has to take for granted that others are serious too ; 
 and far more is effected by example than by precept, 
 in this, as in most matters. But if one cannot do both, 
 it is better to be serious and to show it than to make a 10 
 show of despising seriousness and decrying it. It is 
 better to have habits and to let others know it than to 
 lose one's soul by endeavoring to escape the reproach 
 of priggishness, a quality which in these easy-going 
 days incurs an excessive degree of odium. 15 
 
SOCIAL LIFE IN AMERICA 1 
 ALBERT BUSHNELL HART 
 
 OUTSIDE of the contrast between the native and the 
 immigrant, the Eastern man and the Western, the farmer 
 and the city man, lies the question of American ideals 
 of conduct. Social life is a part of history, both because 
 "the short and simple annals of the poor" make up the 5 
 record of the great majority of mankind ; and because 
 the way we live affects and deflects political happenings. 
 People eat and drink, and have very decided opinions 
 as to taxes on breadstuffs and the excise on beer. Peo- 
 ple like to be in the fashion ; yet in a spirit of patriotic 10 
 self-denial our revolutionary ancestors boycotted English 
 goods. People half a century ago fed the hungry and 
 protected the oppressed; and therefore saw no reason 
 why they should be held back by a fugitive-slave law. 
 People came to understand the importance of educa- 15 
 tion ; and statutes against child labor sprang into exist- 
 ence. In a thousand different ways social and domestic 
 life, especially of the common people, finds its expres- 
 
 1 From " National Ideals Historically Traced," by Albert Bush- 
 nell Hart. Vol. 26 of The American Nation. 'Copyright, 1907, by 
 Harper & Brothers. 
 
 122 
 
Social Life in America 123 
 
 sion in the legislation and the government of the 
 country. 
 
 So it has ever been. The daily life of the seventeenth 
 century in the colonies helps to make the history of that 
 time picturesque. Who would not have hobnobbed 5 
 with Judge Samuel Sewall, to be entered in his diary 
 'as "an entertaining gentleman "? Who would hot 
 have liked to discuss with Colonel William Byrd the 
 points of a good negro field hand ? Who would not 
 have enjoyed sitting with William Penn over his pro- 10 
 posed constitution for Pennsylvania? The colonies 
 had their agreeable side. Notwithstanding the dis- 
 eases of the New World, it was a cleaner and healthier 
 place than the court of King James I, who never washed 
 his hands, but sometimes wiped them on a damp nap- 15 
 kin. Yet the fathers lived in poverty and hardship, 
 with few houses which people would nowadays think 
 even comfortable; with hand-wrought nails, hinges, 
 arid locks ; with clothes of homespun, eked out with 
 small importations of foreign linen and cloth; with 20 
 scanty amusements of any kind, except cockfighting 
 and similar sports for the coarser sort. Yet people had 
 their courtings and weddings and christenings and 
 comely funerals, with abundant store of drinkables. 
 They even joked in a stately way, and boys called after 25 
 a famous divine, " John Cotton, thou art an old fool." 
 If social life was thin and eventless, people were the 
 more interested in the affairs of Church and State, and 
 liked to complain of "novelties, oppression, atheism, 
 
124 Exposition 
 
 excess, superfluity, idleness, contempt of authority, and 
 troubles in other parts to be remembered. " l 
 
 Against the narrowness of social life, the South al- 
 ways protested, and in the eighteenth century all the 
 colonies got away from it. The few rich men lived 5 
 handsomely in houses like the Vassall mansion in Cam- 
 bridge, later the Longfellow House, and always the most 
 beautiful place of residence in America. They had 
 velvet suits, which they carefully bequeathed by will 
 to their sons; they had coaches and four; they had 10 
 silver services like that of John Hancock, and proper 
 glasses and no lack of Madeira to fill them; they wore 
 the crimson smallclothes which still adorn the por- 
 traits of colonial worthies. Alongside these magnates 
 were the professional men, of whom none but the minis- 15 
 ters were well educated or much respected. The doc- 
 tors, to judge by the account of one of them, 2 were a 
 rude and untutored set, much given to uproarious 
 quarrels over the merits of schools of medicine of which 
 they understood little; the lawyers in New England 20 
 were still under suspicion down to the Revolution, as a 
 useless set of fellows. 
 
 Professional men lived much like the well-to-do far- 
 mers, in comfortable houses, surrounded with those fam- 
 ilies of ten and twelve children which put far into the 25 
 future the shadow of race suicide. Life was simple and 
 easy because there was little to do. Servants were few, 
 
 1 Eliot, " American Contributions to Civilization," 357-359. 
 
 2 Hamilton's " Itinarium," passim. 
 
Social Life in America 125 
 
 because the older children brought up the younger. 
 The men of the eighteenth century lived in a world 
 rapidly enlarging, with every year more commerce, 
 more travel, more ships, more imports, more contact 
 with the world, and a corresponding rise of discontent. 5 
 It was in its way an artistic period ; many of the public 
 tmildings of that time still stand to show the excellent 
 taste of our ancestors in architecture, and the skill of the 
 workman in reproducing English types of the Georgian 
 period. The architecture like the people was for the 10 
 most part plain, practical, and infused with common 
 sense; there are no majestic buildings or stately public 
 monuments out of that period. The woodwork and 
 furniture of the houses show the same influence of good 
 English taste; and the eighteenth-century portrait 15 
 artists, Smibert, Stuart in his successive brandy-and- 
 water style and claret-and-water style, and Copley, if 
 they created no school, with credit carried out their 
 function as painters in the prevailing English style. 
 
 It would be a mistake to suppose that colonial life was 20 
 simply a small copy of the English social life of that 
 time. America had no capital, no baths and frequented 
 resorts, no cities, and little of the bustle, gayety, and 
 fashion of even the English county towns. America was 
 provincial, and differed widely from provincial England 25 
 because there was no titled aristocracy ; considering the 
 part played in other English colonies by men of rank, it 
 is surprising how few ever found their way to America, 
 and that only one hereditary title even of baronet was 
 
126 Exposition 
 
 held there. With that sheet anchor gone, the galley of 
 fashion could be boarded by anybody who raised him- 
 self above his fellows; and the governors, the repre- 
 sentatives of official dignity, had to make terms with 
 parvenus by creating them councilors. The colonies 5 
 contained few owners of landed estates living on their 
 rents ; and in no communities of the world have the poor 
 been so well off and the well-to-do so little encumbered 
 with prosperity. Morally it was a rude and boisterous 
 community, with a great deal of hard drinking. 1 Even 10 
 in Puritan communities there was much sexual im- 
 morality, and quarrels and riots were frequent ; but the 
 drunkard was pardoned, the libertine felt sorry when he 
 went to church, and the trend of society was towards 
 honesty, thrift, and godliness. 15 
 
 The status of colonial women was much like that of 
 their English sisters, respected, free, safe, good-humored, 
 but painfully ignorant. Occasionally arose a woman 
 like the poetess Anne Bradstreet, the traveler Madame 
 Knight, or that most delightful of new women, Eliza 20 
 Lucas, of South Carolina, to prove by their pens that 
 women could think. To the great majority of colonial 
 women, however, life was as a later descendant of the 
 Puritans has described it : " Generations of them cooked, 
 carried water, washed and made clothes, bore children 25 
 in lonely peril, and tried to bring them up safely through 
 all sorts of physical exposures without medical or surgi- 
 cal help, lived themselves in terror of savages, in terror 
 
 1 Goelet, in Hart's " Contemporaries," II, No. 84. 
 
Social Life in America 127 
 
 of the wilderness, and under the burden of a sad and 
 cruel creed, and sank at last into nameless graves, with- 
 out any vision of the grateful days when millions of their 
 descendants should rise up and call them blessed." * 
 
 American social life after the Revolution was subject 5 
 tp several new influences which modified it. A few 
 frontier and isolated communities like the eastern shore 
 of Virginia and Cape Cod remained in the colonial con- 
 dition. Where the population thickened up, city life 
 began and two currents of foreign influence were felt. 10 
 The first, from 1778 to 1793, was the French, which 
 much affected the American habits of life: the lively 
 French officer with his admiration for the American 
 pretty girl, and the French merchant with his tasteful 
 goods, for a time held the market; then, when the 15 
 Napoleonic wars began, Great Britain resumed her 
 intellectual and commercial sway. It was impossible 
 that the old social forms should continue ; and the first 
 evidence of a great change was the sudden growth of 
 associations of every kind : the churches received a na- 20 
 tional organization; secret orders, especially the Free 
 Masons, began to flourish, and societies for social re- 
 form multiplied, such as the Colonization Society and 
 the Washingtonian temperance societies. 2 
 
 As the country developed, people started new indus- 25 
 tries, wealth accumulated, labor was cheap, lumber and 
 brick abundant; and throughout the United States, 
 
 1 Eliot, "American Contributions to Civilization," 358. 
 
 2 Cf. Tocqueville, "Democracy in America " (Spencer ed.), II, in. 
 
128 Exposition 
 
 especially in the northern sections, building went for- 
 ward rapidly and the cities began to widen out. This 
 was the Greek temple period when the marble portico 
 of the Acropolis was imitated in sandstone and stucco 
 throughout the United States ; and Bulfinch's combina- 5 
 tion of the classic and the romanesque in the Capitol at 
 Washington produced the first monumental building in 
 the United States. After 1815 house architecture began 
 to run down, and the plastic arts down to 1860 were at a 
 very low ebb. TrumbulPs exaggerated historical pic- 10 
 tures and a few portraits are almost the only artistic 
 memorials of that time which are valued by posterity. 
 
 In social life the most noteworthy thing was the sud- 
 den growth of domestic conveniences. Up to 1800 
 people lived much like their ancestors three hundred 15 
 years before, in houses many of which had but a single 
 great fireplace. Now came a series of improvements 
 which put household life on an entirely different footing. 
 The common use of friction matches after 1830 saved an 
 infinitude of pains to the cook, the workman, and the 20 
 smoker ; instead of the iron pots and Dutch ovens came 
 the air-tight cook stove, an unspeakably good friend to 
 the housewife; for the open fire was substituted the 
 wood stove, and then the coal stove, which leaked gas 
 but saved toil and trouble ; for the labor of the needle, 25 
 which has kept feminine fingers employed from the time 
 of Penelope, came the sewing machine, rude enough at 
 first, which revolutionized the making of clothing. The 
 term "Yankee notion " became known in trade, and 
 
Social Life in America 129 
 
 included patent sausage mills, apple parers, flatirons, 
 and a hundred other household labor savers, which 
 relieved the cares of life and helped to prolong for an- 
 other generation the era of large families. 
 
 In deeper respects the sixty years in which 1830 5 
 is the mid-point are significant ; and Tocqueville mi- 
 nutely photographed and fixed the characteristics of this 
 time. He finds the American remarkably grave, taking 
 thought for the future life and government of his people. 
 American manners seem to him easy and sincere: 10 
 " They form, as it were, a light and loosely woven veil, 
 through which the real feelings and private opinions 
 of each individual are easily discernible." He is struck 
 by an inborn feeling of social equality, such that the 
 American does not easily suppose that his company is 15 
 declined. Society is "animated because men and 
 things are always changing : but it is monotonous, be- 
 cause all these changes are alike." People move about 
 little, and European travel is uncommon. Young 
 people are treated with confidence and freedom, and 20 
 early strike out their own course of life. The American 
 girl fascinates the Frenchman, and the philosopher sums 
 up his deliberations by saying: "I have nowhere seen 
 women occupying a loftier position ; and if I were asked 
 ... to what the singular prosperity and growing strength 25 
 of that people ought mainly to be attributed, I should 
 reply to the superiority of their women." The 
 picture painted by this competent observer is of a busy, 
 thoughtful folk, among whom all aptitudes have their 
 
1 30 Exposition 
 
 part, and who give free scope to the individual, yet are 
 somehow oppressed by their own spirit, and know not 
 how to get out of a monotonous and not very wide or 
 interesting life. 1 
 
 The social changes of the earlier nineteenth century 5 
 were accented after the Civil War, and caused a larger 
 feeling of national life. The war threw several million 
 men into new combinations, widened their horizons, 
 taught them to know one another, broke up bar- 
 riers. The West, still farther extending, carried 10 
 people across the mountains and to the Pacific. A 
 flood of immigration brought new ideas, and travel on 
 a large scale took people of American birth to Europe. 
 The South, while distinctly American, had kept up a 
 stricter social system with caste distinctions, but was 15 
 now opened up for the commercial traveler and the 
 health-seeker; so that the parts of the Union were as 
 never before interfused with one another. 2 
 
 As in the previous era, the "American passion for 
 physical well-being " brought about refinements of 20 
 domestic life. Cheap transportation distributed fuel, 
 and that made possible a variety of new forms of heat- 
 ing hotels, private houses, and public and office build- 
 ings. The hard coal base burner, the hot-air furnace, 
 steam coils, hot-water pipes, and electric radiators, 25 
 
 1 Tocqueville, " Democracy in America" (Spencer ed.), II, 182, 
 202-211,224-236, 242; cf. MacDonald, " Jacksonian Democracy," 
 Chap. I; Smith, "Parties and Slavery," Chap. XIX (American 
 Nation, XV, XVIII). 
 
 2 Shaler, "United States," II, 310. 
 
Social Life in America 131 
 
 each in turn seemed the summit of human convenience 
 and comfort. So it was with lights : for the old-fash- 
 ioned tallow candle was substituted the whale-oil 
 lamp and the gas burner, then the kerosene lamp, then 
 incandescent gas and the various forms of electric 5 
 lighting. In colonial days people communicated by 
 express riders; then came mails carried by men on 
 horseback ; in the thirties the mail train ; in the forties 
 the electric telegraph; in the seventies the telephone; 
 in the nineties wireless telegraphy. It was the same in 10 
 household supplies: time was when very respectable 
 people, before they killed a steer, notified their neigh- 
 bors and sold pieces all round, so that everybody 
 might have fresh beef. The parallel inventions of the 
 sealed provision can, which came in after the Civil War, 15 
 and of transportation and storage on ice, brought 
 perishable goods and delicacies within everybody's 
 reach; while the old-fashioned country store, where 
 everything is sold, was developed on a great scale in 
 the city department stores. The foreign system of snug 20 
 and cramped quarters was introduced into buildings 
 called tenements, flats, or apartments, according to 
 their cost and comfort. The Philadelphia World's 
 Fair of 1876 waked Americans up to a knowledge 
 of the possibilities in table service, silver, glass, and ?s 
 furniture, so that luxuries long enjoyed by the favored 
 few and nurtured by foreign travel were suddenly 
 multiplied and sometimes vulgarized. Poor indeed 
 is the American family which does not every day 
 
132 Exposition 
 
 gaze upon its own antique rug (possibly made in Phil- 
 adelphia), its stained-glass window, and its hand- 
 painted oil picture! Remote the hamlet from which 
 at least one person has not gone forth during the last 
 ten years to stay overnight at the Waldorf-Astoria ! 5 
 
 The amusements of the people have undergone a 
 similar transformation: before the war the theater to 
 many good people was a forbidden thing, like a pagan 
 sacrifice to an early Christian; and those who went 
 were drawn, not by the decorations, but by the act- 10 
 ing, while orchestral concerts were the esoteric delight 
 of the few. Nowadays amusements are distributed 
 wholesale. The old stock companies which could play 
 anything from "King Lear" to "Bombastes Furioso" 
 have disappeared, and their place is taken by musical 15 
 performances on a descending scale from grand opera 
 to light opera, from light opera to opera bouffe, from 
 opera bouffe to musical farce, from musical farce to 
 vaudeville. Americans are far from being an artistic 
 people, but there has developed an interest in and 20 
 knowledge of the arts which the country never knew 
 before, due to an impetus which has come from foreign 
 schools and scenes; and distinct American schools of 
 painting, sculpture, and architecture have grown up. 
 Perhaps the three most distinguished exhibitors in Eng- 25 
 land of late years have been the Americans Abbey, 
 Sargent, and Whistler; in sculpture, MacMonnies and 
 Saint- Gaudens stand in the front rank of the world's 
 artists; in architecture, people ceased to imitate feebly 
 
Social Life in America 133 
 
 the Capitol at Washington ; and the weak Gothic of 
 Vaux and the pseudo-classic Greek Temple gave place 
 to the broad and simple plans of Richardson and 
 McKim, who struck out styles of their own admirably 
 fitted to the American conditions of climate. The 5 
 Americans have also developed a grandiose tower 
 architecture which makes the spine of New York 
 bristle like that of San Gemignano. Such temples as 
 Trinity Church in Boston and the Cathedral of St. John 
 the Divine in New York; such groups of academic 10 
 structures as those of Stanford University and the Har- 
 vard Medical School ; such railway stations as the Broad 
 Street in Philadelphia; such public buildings as the 
 Boston and New York public libraries, the Chicago 
 post-office and the Texas state capitol these show 15 
 what the New World has power to do. 
 
EMERSON 1 
 GEORGE SANTAYANA 
 
 THOSE who knew Emerson, or who stood so near to 
 his time and to his circle that they caught some echo 
 of his personal influence, did not judge him merely 
 as a poet or philosopher, nor identify his efficacy with 
 that of his writings. His friends and neighbors, the 5 
 congregations he preached to in his younger days, the 
 audiences that afterward listened to his lectures, all 
 agreed in a veneration for his person which had nothing 
 to do with their understanding or acceptance of his 
 opinions. They flocked to him and listened to his 10 
 word, not so much for the sake of its absolute mean- 
 ing as for the atmosphere of candor, purity, and 
 serenity that hung about it, as about a sort of sacred 
 music. They felt themselves in the presence of a rare 
 and beautiful spirit, who was in communion with a 15 
 higher world. More than the truth his teaching 
 might express, they valued the sense it gave them of 
 a truth that was inexpressible. They became aware, 
 if we may say so, of the ultra-violet rays of his spec- 
 trum, of the inaudible highest notes of his gamut, too 20 
 pure and thin for common ears. 
 
 1 Reprinted by permission from " Poetry and Religion." Copyright, 
 1900, by Charles Scribner's Sons. 
 
 134 
 
Emerson 
 
 This effect was by no means due to the possession 
 on the part of Emerson of the secret of the universe, 
 or even of a definite conception of ultimate truth. 
 He was not a prophet who had once for all climbed 
 his Sinai or his Tabor, and having there beheld the 5 
 transfigured reality, descended again to make authori- 
 tative report of it to the world. Far from it. At 
 bottom he had no doctrine at all. The deeper he 
 went and the more he tried to grapple with funda- 
 mental conceptions, the vaguer and more elusive they 10 
 became in his hands. Did he know what he meant 
 by Spirit or the "Over-Soul"? Could he say what 
 he understoo'd by the terms, so constantly on his lips, 
 Nature, Law, God, Benefit, or Beauty? He could 
 not, and the consciousness of that incapacity was so 15 
 lively within him that he never attempted to give artic- 
 ulation to his philosophy. His finer instinct kept him 
 from doing that violence to his inspiration. 
 
 The source of his power lay not in his doctrine, 
 but in his temperament, and the rare quality of his 20 
 wisdom was due less to his reason than to his im- 
 agination. Reality eluded him; he had neither dili- 
 gence nor constancy enough to master and possess 
 it; but his mind was open to all philosophic influ- 
 ences, from whatever quarter they might blow; the 25 
 lessons of science and the hints of poetry worked 
 themselves out in him to a free and personal religion. 
 He differed from the plodding many, not in knowing 
 things better, but in having more ways of knowing 
 
136 Exposition 
 
 them. His grasp was not particularly firm, he was 
 far from being, like a Plato or an Aristotle, past 
 master in the art and the science of life. But his 
 mind was endowed with unusual plasticity, with un- 
 usual spontaneity and liberty of movement it was 5 
 a fairyland of thoughts and fancies. He was like a 
 young god making experiments in creation : he blotched 
 the work, and always began again on a new and better 
 plan. Every day he said, "Let there be light, " and 
 every day the light was new. His sun, like that of 10 
 Heraclitus, was different every morning. 
 
 What seemed, then, to the more earnest and less 
 critical of his hearers a revelation from above was in 
 truth rather an insurrection from beneath, a shak- 
 ing loose from convention, a disintegration of the 15 
 normal categories of reason in favor of various im- 
 aginative principles, on which the world might have 
 been built, if it had been built differently. This gift 
 of revolutionary thinking allowed new aspects, hints 
 of wider laws, premonitions of unthought-of funda- 20 
 mental unities to spring constantly into view. But 
 such visions were necessarily fleeting, because the 
 human mind had long before settled its grammar, 
 and discovered, after much groping and many de- 
 feats, the general forms in which experience will al- 25 
 low itself to be stated. These general forms are the 
 principles of common sense and positive science, no 
 less imaginative in their origin than those notions 
 which we now call transcendental, but grown prosaic, 
 
Emerson 137 
 
 like the metaphors of common speech, by dint of 
 repetition. 
 
 Yet authority, even of this rational kind, sat lightly 
 upon Emerson. To reject tradition and think as one 
 might have thought if no man had ever existed before 5 
 \yas indeed the aspiration of the Transcendentalists, 
 and although Emerson hardly regarded himself as a 
 member of that school, he largely shared its tendency 
 and passed for its spokesman. Without protesting 
 against tradition, he smilingly eluded it in his thoughts, 10 
 untamable in their quiet irresponsibility. He fled to his 
 woods or to his "pleachfed garden," to be the crea- 
 tor of his own worlds in solitude and freedom. No 
 wonder that he brought thence to the tightly con- 
 ventional minds of his contemporaries a breath as if 15 
 from paradise. His simplicity in novelty, his pro- 
 fundity, his ingenuous ardor must have seemed to 
 them something heavenly, and they may be excused 
 if they thought they detected inspiration even in his 
 occasional thin paradoxes and guileless whims. They 20 
 were stifled with conscience and he brought them a 
 breath of Nature; they were surfeited with shallow 
 controversies and he gave them poetic truth. 
 
 Imagination, indeed, is his single theme. As a 
 preacher might under every text enforce the same les- 25 
 sons of the Gospel, so Emerson traces in every sphere 
 the same spiritual laws of experience compensa- 
 tion, continuity, the self-expression of the Soul in the 
 forms of Nature and of society, until she finally recog- 
 
138 Exposition 
 
 nizes herself in her own work and sees its beneficence 
 and beauty. His constant refrain is the omnipotence 
 of imaginative thought; its power first to make the 
 world, then to understand it, and finally to rise above 
 it. All Nature is an embodiment of our native fancy, 5 
 all history a drama in which the innate possibilities 
 of the spirit are enacted and realized. While the con- 
 flict of life and the shocks of experience seem to bring 
 us face to face with an alien and overwhelming power, 
 reflection can humanize and rationalize that power 10 
 by conceiving its laws; and with this recognition of 
 the rationality of all things comes the sense of their 
 beauty and order. The destruction which Nature 
 seems to prepare for our special hopes is thus seen 
 to be the victory of our impersonal interests. To 15 
 awaken in us this spiritual insight, an elevation of 
 mind which is at once an act of comprehension and 
 of worship, to substitute it for lower passions and 
 more servile forms of intelligence that is Emer- 
 son's constant effort. All his resources of illustra- 20 
 tion, observation, and rhetoric are used to deepen 
 and clarify this sort of wisdom. 
 
 Such thought is essentially the same that is found 
 in the German romantic or idealistic philosophers, 
 with whom Emerson's affinity is remarkable, all the 25 
 more as he seems to have borrowed little or nothing 
 from their works. The critics of human nature, in 
 the eighteenth century, had shown how much men's 
 ideas depend on their predispositions, on the charac- 
 
Emerson 139 
 
 ter of their senses and the habits of their intelligence. 
 Seizing upon this thought and exaggerating it, the ro- 
 mantic philosophers attributed to the spirit of man the 
 omnipotence which had belonged to God, and felt 
 that in this way they were reasserting the supremacy 5 
 of mind over matter and establishing it upon a safe 
 and rational basis. 
 
 The Germans were great system-makers, and Emer- 
 son cannot rival them in the sustained effort of thought 
 by which they sought to reinterpret every sphere of be- 10 
 ing according to their chosen principles. But he sur- 
 passed them in an instinctive sense of what he was 
 doing. He never represented his poetry as science, 
 nor countenanced the formation of a new sect that 
 should nurse the sense of a private and mysterious illu- 15 
 mination, and relight the fagots of passion and preju- 
 dice. He never tried to seek out and defend the uni- 
 versal implications of his ideas, and never wrote the 
 book he had once planned on the law of compensa- 
 tion, foreseeing, we may well believe, the sophistries 20 
 in which he would have been directly involved. He 
 fortunately preferred a fresh statement on a fresh 
 subject. A suggestion once given, the spirit once 
 aroused to speculation, a glimpse once gained of 
 some ideal harmony, he chose to descend again to 25 
 common sense and to touch the earth for a moment 
 before another flight. The faculty of idealization was 
 itself what he valued. Philosophy for him was rather 
 a moral energy flowering into sprightliness of thought 
 
140 Exposition 
 
 than a body of serious and defensible doctrines. In 
 practicing transcendental speculation only in this 
 poetic and sporadic fashion, Emerson retained its true 
 value and avoided its greatest danger. He secured 
 the freedom and fertility of his thought and did not 5 
 allow one conception of law or one hint of harmony 
 to sterilize the mind and prevent the subsequent birth 
 within it of other ideas, no less just and imposing than 
 their predecessors. For we are not dealing at all in 
 such a philosophy with matters of fact or with such 10 
 verifiable truths as exclude their opposites. We are 
 dealing only with imagination, with the art of con- 
 ception, and with the various forms in which reflec- 
 tion, like a poet, may compose and recompose human 
 experience. 15 
 
 A certain disquiet mingled, however, in the minds 
 of Emerson's contemporaries with the admiration 
 they felt for his purity and genius. They saw that he 
 had forsaken the doctrines of the Church; and they 
 were not sure whether he held quite unequivocally 20 
 any doctrine whatever. We may not all of us share 
 the concern for orthodoxy which usually caused this 
 puzzled alarm: we may understand that it was not 
 Emerson's vocation to be definite and dogmatic in 
 religion any more than in philosophy. Yet that dis- 25 
 quiet will not, even for us, wholly disappear. It is 
 produced by a defect which naturally accompanies 
 imagination in all but the greatest minds. I mean 
 disorganization. Emerson not only conceived things 
 
Emerson 141 
 
 in new ways, but he seemed to think the new ways 
 might cancel and supersede the old. His imagination 
 was to invalidate the understanding. That inspira- 
 tion which should come to fulfil seemed too often 
 to come to destroy. If he was able so constantly to 5 
 stimulate us to fresh thoughts,,, was it not because 
 he demolished the labor of long ages of reflection? 
 Was not the startling effect of much of his writing 
 due to its contradiction to tradition and to common 
 sense ? 10 
 
 So long as he is a poet and in the enjoyment of 
 his poetic license, we can blame this play of mind 
 only by a misunderstanding. It is possible to think 
 otherwise than as common sense thinks; there are 
 other categories besides those of science. When we 15 
 employ them we enlarge our lives. We add to the 
 world of fact any number of worlds of the imagina- 
 tion in which human nature and the eternal relations 
 of ideas may be nobly expressed. So far our imagina- 
 tive fertility is only a benefit: it surrounds us with 20 
 the congenial and necessary radiation of art and reli- 
 gion. It manifests our moral vitality in the bosom of 
 Nature. 
 
 But sometimes imagination invades the sphere of 
 understanding and seems to discredit its indispensable 25 
 work. Common sense, we are allowed to infer, is a 
 shallow affair: true insight changes all that. When 
 so applied, poetic activity is not an unmixed good. 
 It loosens our hold on fact and confuses our intelli- 
 
142 Exposition 
 
 gence, so that we forget that intelligence has itself 
 every prerogative of imagination, and has besides the 
 sanction of practical validity. We are made to believe 
 that since the understanding is something human and 
 conditioned, something which might have been differ- 5 
 ent, as the senses might have been different, and 
 which we may yet, so to speak, get behind there- 
 fore the understanding ought to be abandoned. We 
 long for higher faculties, neglecting those we have, we 
 yearn for intuition, closing our eyes upon experience. 10 
 We become mystical. 
 
 Mysticism, as we have said, is the surrender of a 
 category of thought because we divine its relativity. 
 As every new category, however, must share this re- 
 proach, the mystic is obliged in the end to give them 15 
 all up, the poetic and moral categories no less than 
 the physical, so that the end of his purification is the 
 atrophy of his whole nature, the emptying of his whole 
 heart and mind to make room, as he thinks, for God. 
 By attacking the authority of the understanding as the 20 
 organon of knowledge, by substituting itself for it as 
 the herald of a deeper truth, the imagination thus pre- 
 pares its own destruction. For if the understanding 
 is rejected because it cannot grasp the absolute, the 
 imagination and all its works art, dogma, worship 25 
 must presently be rejected for the same reason. 
 Common sense and poetry must both go by the board, 
 and conscience must follow after: for all these are 
 human and relative. Mysticism will be satisfied only 
 
Emerson 143 
 
 with the absolute, and as the absolute, by its very 
 definition, is not representable by any specific faculty, 
 it must be approached through the abandonment of all. 
 The lights of life must be extinguished that the light of 
 the absolute may shine, and the possession of every- 5 
 thing in general must be secured by the surrender of 
 everything in particular. 
 
 The same diffidence, however, the same constant 
 renewal of sincerity which kept Emerson's flights of 
 imagination near to experience, kept his mysticism 10 
 also within bounds. A certain mystical tendency 
 is pervasive with him, but there are only one or two 
 subjects on which he dwells with enough constancy 
 and energy of attention to make his mystical treat- 
 ment of them pronounced. One of these is the ques- 15 
 tion of the unity of all minds in the single soul of the 
 universe, which is the same in all creatures; another 
 is the question of evil and of its evaporation in the 
 universal harmony of things. Both these ideas suggest 
 themselves at certain turns in every man's experience, 20 
 and might receive a rational formulation. But they are 
 intricate subjects, obscured by many emotional preju- 
 dices, so that the labor, impartiality, and precision 
 which would be needed to elucidate them are to be 
 looked for in scholastic rather than in inspired thinkers, 25 
 and in Emerson least of all. Before these problems 
 he is alternately ingenuous and rhapsodical, and in 
 both moods equally helpless. Individuals no doubt 
 exist, he says to himself. But, ah! Napoleon is in 
 
144 Exposition 
 
 every schoolboy. In every squatter in the Western 
 prairies we shall find an owner 
 
 Of Caesar's hand and Plato's brain, 
 
 Of Lord Christ's heart, and Shakespeare's strain. 
 
 But how? we may ask. Potentially? Is it because 5 
 any mind, were it given the right body and the right 
 experience, were it made over, in a word, into another 
 mind, would resemble that other mind to the point of 
 identity ? Or is it that our souls are already so largely 
 similar that we are subject to many kindred prompt- 10 
 ings and share many ideals unrealizable in our par- 
 ticular circumstances? But then we should simply be 
 saying that if what makes men different were removed, 
 men would be indistinguishable, or that, in so far as they 
 are now alike, they can understand one another by sum- 15 
 moning up their respective experiences in the fancy. 
 There would be no mysticism in that, but at the same 
 time, alas, no eloquence, no paradox, and, if we must 
 say the word, no nonsense. 
 
 On the question of evil, Emerson's position is of 20 
 the same kind. There is evil, of course, he tells us. 
 Experience is sad. There is a crack in everything 
 that God has made. But, ah! the kws of the 
 universe are sacred and beneficent. Without them 
 nothing good could arise. All things, then, are in 25 
 their right places and the universe is perfect above 
 our querulous tears. Perfect? we may ask. But 
 perfect from what point of view, in reference to what 
 ideal ? To its own ? To that of a man who renounc- 
 
Emerson 145 
 
 ing himself and all naturally dear to him, ignoring 
 the injustice, suffering! and impotence in the world, 
 allows his will and his conscience to be hypnotized 
 by the spectacle of a necessary evolution, and lulled 
 into cruelty by the pomp and music of a tragic show? 5 
 In that case the evil is not explained, it is forgotten; 
 it* is not cured, but condoned. We have surrendered 
 the category of the better and the worse, the deepest 
 foundation of life and reason ; we have become mystics 
 on the one subject on which, above all others, we ought 10 
 to be men. 
 
 Two forces may be said to have carried Emerson in 
 this mystical direction; one, that freedom of his im- 
 agination which we have already noted, and which kept 
 him from the fear of self-contradiction ; the other the 15 
 habit of worship inherited from his clerical ancestors and 
 enforced by his religious education. The spirit of con- 
 formity, the unction, the loyalty even unto death inspired 
 by the religion of Jehovah, were dispositions acquired 
 by too long a discipline and rooted in too many forms of 20 
 speech, of thought, and of worship for a man like Emer- 
 son, who had felt their full force, ever to be able to lose 
 them. The evolutions of his abstract opinions left that 
 habit unchanged. Unless we keep this circumstance in 
 mind, we shall not be able to understand the kind of 25 
 elation and sacred joy, so characteristic of his eloquence, 
 with which he propounds laws of Nature and aspects of 
 experience which, viewed in themselves, afford but an 
 equivocal support to moral enthusiasm. An optimism 
 
146 Exposition 
 
 so persistent and unclouded as his will seem at variance 
 with the description he himself * gives of human life, a 
 description colored by a poetic idealism, but hardly by 
 an optimistic bias. 
 
 We must remember, therefore, that this optimism is 5 
 a pious tradition, originally justified by the belief in a 
 personal God and in a providential government of affairs 
 for the ultimate and positive good of the elect, and that 
 the habit of worship survived in Emerson as an instinct 
 after those positive beliefs had faded into a recognition 10 
 of "spiritual laws." We must remember that Calvin- 
 ism had known how to combine an awestruck devotion 
 to the Supreme Being with no very roseate picture of 
 the destinies of mankind, and for more than two hun- 
 dred years had been breeding in the stock from which 15 
 Emerson came a willingness to be, as the phrase is, 
 "damned for the glory of God." 
 
 What wonder, then, that when, for the former in- 
 exorable dispensation of Providence, Emerson sub- 
 stituted his general spiritual and natural laws, he should 20 
 not have felt the spirit of worship fail within him ? On 
 the contrary, his thought moved in the presence of moral 
 harmonies which seemed to him truer, more beautiful, 
 and more beneficent than those of the old theology. An 
 independent philosopher would not have seen in those 25 
 harmonies an object of worship or a sufficient basis for 
 optimism. But he was not an independent philosopher, 
 in spite of his belief in independence. _. He inherited the 
 problems and the preoccupations of the theology from 
 
Emerson 147 
 
 which he started, being in this respect like the German 
 idealists, who, with all their pretense of absolute meta- 
 physics, were in reality only giving elusive and abstract 
 forms to traditional theology. Emerson, too, was not 
 primarily a philosopher, but a Puritan mystic with a 5 
 poetic fancy and a gift for observation and epigram, and 
 ha saw in the laws of Nature, idealized by his imagina- 
 tion, only a more intelligible form of the divinity he had 
 always recognized and adored. His was not a philoso- 
 phy passing into a religion, but a religion expressing 10 
 itself as a philosophy and veiled, as at its setting it de- 
 scended the heavens, in various tints of poetry and 
 science. 
 
 If we ask ourselves what was Emerson's relation to 
 the scientific and religious movements of his time, and 15 
 what place he may claim in the history of opinion, we 
 must answer that he belonged very little to the past, very 
 little to the present, and almost wholly to that abstract 
 sphere into which mystical or philosophic aspiration has 
 carried a few men in all ages. The religious tradition 20 
 in which he was reared was that of Puritanism, but of a 
 Puritanism which, retaining its moral intensity and 
 metaphysical abstraction, had minimized its doctrinal 
 expression and become Unitarian. Emerson was in- 
 deed the Psyche of Puritanism, "the latest-born and 25 
 fairest vision far" of all that "faded hierarchy." A 
 Puritan whose religion was all poetry, a poet whose only 
 pleasure was thought, he showed in his life and person- 
 ality the meagreness, the constraint, the frigid and con- 
 
148 Exposition 
 
 scious consecration which belonged to his clerical ances- 
 tors, while his inmost impersonal spirit ranged abroad 
 over the fields of history and Nature, gathering what 
 ideas it might, and singing its little snatches of inspired 
 song. 5 
 
 The traditional element was thus rather an external 
 and unessential contribution to Emerson's mind ; he had 
 the professional tinge, the decorum, the distinction of an 
 old-fashioned divine; he had also the habit of writing 
 sermons, and he had the national pride and hope of a 10 
 religious people that felt itself providentially chosen to 
 establish a free and godly commonwealth in a new world. 
 For the rest, he separated himself from the ancient creed 
 of the community with a sense rather of relief than of 
 regret. A literal belief in Christian doctrines repelled 15 
 him as unspiritual, as manifesting no understanding of 
 the meaning which, as allegories, those doctrines might 
 have to a philosophic and poetical spirit. Although as 
 a clergyman he was at first in the habit of referring to 
 the Bible and its lessons as to a supreme authority, he 20 
 had no instinctive sympathy with the inspiration of 
 either the Old or the New Testament; in Hafiz or 
 Plutarch, in Plato or Shakespeare, he found more con- 
 genial stuff. 
 
 While he thus preferred to withdraw, without rancor 25 
 and without contempt, from the ancient fellowship of 
 the church, he assumed an attitude hardly less cool 
 and deprecatory toward the enthusiasms of the new era. 
 The national ideal of democracy and freedom had his 
 
Emerson 149 
 
 entire sympathy ; he allowed himself to be drawn into 
 the movement against slavery; he took a curious and 
 smiling interest in the discoveries of natural science and 
 in the material progress of the age. But he could go no 
 farther. His contemplative nature, his religious train- 5 
 ing, his dispersed reading, made him stand aside from 
 the life of the world, even while he studied it with benevo- 
 lent attention. His heart was fixed on eternal things 
 and he was in no sense a prophet for his age or country. 
 He belonged by nature to that mystical company of 10 
 devout souls that recognize no particular home and are 
 dispersed throughout history, although not without in- 
 tercommunication. He felt his affinity to the Hindoos 
 and the Persians, to the Platonists and the Stoics. Like 
 them he remains " a friend and aider of those who would 15 
 live in the spirit. " If not a star of the first magnitude, 
 he is certainly a fixed star in the firmament of philoso- 
 phy. Alone as yet among Americans, he may be said 
 to have won a place there, if not by the originality of 
 his thought, at least by the originality and beauty of the 20 
 expression he gave to thoughts that are old and im- 
 perishable. 
 
PERSUASION 
 
 ON THE READING OF NEWSPAPERS 1 
 HENRY DAVID THOREAU 
 
 I DO not know but it is too much to read one news- 
 paper a week. I have tried it recently, and for so long 
 it seems to me that I have not dwelt in my native region. 
 The sun, the clouds, the snow, the trees, say not so much 
 to me. You cannot serve two masters. It requires 5 
 more than a day's devotion to know and to possess the 
 wealth of a day. 
 
 We may well be ashamed to tell what things we have 
 read or heard in our day. I do not know why my news 
 should be so trivial, considering what one's dreams 10 
 and expectations are, why the developments should be 
 so paltry. The news we hear, for the most part, is 
 not news to our genius. It is the stalest repetition. 
 You are often tempted to ask why such stress is laid 
 on a particular experience which you have had, that, 15 
 after twenty-five years, you should meet Hobbins, Regis- 
 trar of Deeds, again on the sidewalk. Have you not 
 budged an inch, then? Such is the daily news. Its 
 facts appear to float in the atmosphere, insignificant as 
 
 1 Reprinted by permission from the " Miscellanies," pp. 274-280. 
 Boston, Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 
 
On the Reading of Newspapers 151 
 
 the sporules of fungi, and impinge on some neglected 
 thallus, or surface of our minds, which affords a basis 
 for them, and hence a parasitic growth. We should 
 wash ourselves clean of such news. Of what conse- 
 quence, though our planet explode, if there is no charac- 5 
 ter involved in the explosion ? In health we have not 
 the least curiosity about such events. We do not live 
 for idle amusement. I would not run round a corner 
 to see the world blow up. 
 
 Not without a slight shudder at the danger, -I often 10 
 perceive how near I had come to admitting into my mind 
 the details of some trivial affair, the news of the street, 
 and I am astonished to observe how willing men are 
 to lumber their minds with such rubbish, to permit 
 idle rumors and incidents of the most insignificant kind 15 
 to intrude on ground which should be sacred to thought. 
 Shall the mind be a public arena, where the affairs of the 
 street and the gossip of the tea table chiefly are dis- 
 cussed ? Or shall it be a quarter of heaven itself, an 
 hypaethral temple, consecrated to the service of the 20 
 gods ? I find it so difficult to dispose of the few facts 
 which to me are significant, that I hesitate to burden 
 my attention with those which are insignificant, which 
 only a divine mind could illustrate. Such is for the most 
 part the news in newspapers and conversation. It is 25 
 important to preserve the mind's chastity in this respect. 
 Think of admitting the details of a single case of the 
 criminal court into our thoughts, to stalk profanely 
 through their very sanctum sanctorum for an hour, ay, for 
 
152 Persuasion 
 
 many hours ! to make a very bar-room of the mind's in- 
 most apartment, as if for so long the dust of the street 
 had occupied us, the very street itself, with all its travel, 
 its bustle and filth, had passed through our thoughts' 
 shrine! Would it not be an intellectual and moral 5 
 suicide ? When I have been compelled to sit spectator 
 and auditor in a court room for some hours, and have 
 seen my neighbors, who were not compelled, stealing in 
 from time to time, and tiptoeing about with washed 
 hands and faces, it has appeared to my mind's eye that, 10 
 when they took off their hats, their ears suddenly ex- 
 panded into vast hoppers for sound, between which even 
 their narrow heads were crowded. Like the vanes of 
 windmills, they caught the broad but shallow stream of 
 sound, which, after a few titillating gyrations in their 15 
 coggy brains, passed out the other side. I wondered 
 if, when they got home, they were as careful to wash 
 their ears as before their hands and faces. It has 
 seemed to me at such a time that the auditors and the 
 witnesses, the jury and the counsel, the judge and the 20 
 criminal at the bar, if I may presume him guilty be- 
 fore he is convicted, were all equally criminal, and a 
 thunderbolt might be expected to descend and consume 
 them all together. 
 
 By all kinds of traps and signboards, threatening 25 
 the extreme penalty of the divine law, exclude such 
 trespassers from the only ground which can be sacred 
 to you. It is so hard to forget what it is worse than use- 
 less to remember ! If I am to be a thoroughfare, I pre- 
 
On the Reading of Newspapers 153 
 
 fer that it be of the mountain brooks, the Parnassian 
 streams, and not the town sewers. There is inspira- 
 tion, that gossip which comes to the ear of the attentive 
 mind from the courts of heaven. There is the profane 
 and stale revelation of the barroom and the police court. 5 
 ,The same ear is fitted to receive both communications. 
 Only the character of the hearer determines to which 
 it shall be open, and to which closed. I believe that 
 the mind can be permanently profaned by the habit of 
 attending to trivial things, so that all our thoughts shall 10 
 be tinged with triviality. Our very intellect shall be 
 macadamized, as it were, its foundation broken into 
 fragments for the wheels of travel to roll over ; and if 
 you would know what will make the most durable 
 pavement, surpassing rolled stones, spruce blocks, and 15 
 asphaltum, you have only to look into some of our minds 
 which have been subjected to this treatment so long. 
 
 If we have thus desecrated ourselves, as who has 
 not? the remedy will be by wariness and devotion to 
 reconsecrate ourselves, and make once more a fane of 20 
 the mind. We should treat our minds, that is, our- 
 selves, as innocent and ingenuous children, whose guar- 
 dians we are, and be careful what objects and what 
 subjects we thrust on their attention. Read not the 
 Times. Read the Eternities. Conventionalities are at 25 
 length as bad as impurities. Even the facts of sci- 
 ence may dust the mind by their dryness, unless they 
 are in a sense effaced each morning, or rather rendered 
 fertile by the dews of fresh and living truth. Knowledge 
 
154 Persuasion 
 
 does not come to us by details, but in flashes of light 
 from heaven. Yes, every thought that passes through 
 the mind helps to wear and tear it, and to deepen the 
 ruts, which, as in the streets of Pompeii, evince how 
 much it has been used. How many things there are 5 
 concerning which we might well deliberate whether 
 we had better know them, had better let their ped- 
 dling carts be driven, even at the slowest trot or walk, 
 over that bridge of glorious span by which we trust to 
 pass at last from the farthest brink of time to the near- 10 
 est shore of eternity ! Have we no culture, no refine- 
 ment, but skill only to live coarsely and serve the 
 Devil ? to acquire a little worldly wealth, or fame, or 
 liberty, and make a false show with it, as if we were all 
 husk and shell, with no tender and living kernel to us ? 15 
 Shall our institutions be like those chestnut burs which 
 contain abortive nuts, perfect only to prick the ringers ? 
 
THE SPIRIT OF DEVOTION * 
 ARTHUR TWINING HADLEY 
 
 And David longed, and said, Oh that one would give me to 
 drink of the water of the well of Bethlehem, which is by the gate ! 
 
 And the three mighty men brake through the host of the Philis- 
 tines and drew water out of the well of Bethlehem, that was by 
 the gate, and brought it to David: nevertheless he would not 
 drink thereof, but poured it out unto the Lord. 
 
 And he said, Be it far from me, O Lord, that I should do this : 
 is not this the blood of men that went in jeopardy of their lives ? 
 Therefore he would not drink it. 
 
 JUDGED by material standards, this is a tale of folly 
 from beginning to end. It was foolish for David to 
 utter his wish; it was doubly foolish for his captains 
 to risk their lives to compass it ; it was trebly foolish for 
 him to waste the gift which had been won at so much 5 
 risk. 
 
 I do not mean that all who read the story would 
 criticise it in this way. In an episode like this, we 
 instinctively feel that there is something which makes 
 such criticism inadequate and impertinent. But when 10 
 we are dealing, not with some exceptional matter of 
 ancient history, but with this everyday world of the 
 twentieth century, and are valuing little deeds of heroism 
 
 1 Reprinted by permission from " Baccalaureate Addresses." 
 Copyright, 1907, by Arthur Twining Hadley. Published by Charles 
 Scribner's Sons. 
 
156 Persuasion 
 
 instead of great ones, we are prone to use material stand- 
 ards, and call them by the specious name of common sense. 
 We are apt to judge work by its definite and measurable 
 results ; to make these results the motive of service and 
 the criterion of success ; and to condemn as misplaced 5 
 sentiment anything which sacrifices or risks a tangible 
 chance of physical comfort and security for an intangible 
 manifestation of loyalty or devotion. Amid much that 
 is good in our twentieth-century spirit, this overvalua- 
 tion of material enjoyment and of tangible success con- 10 
 stitutes a grave danger. All the achievements of mod- 
 ern science and of modern democracy will be worth 
 little if, in the long run, they teach people to regard 
 knowledge for the sake of the return which it will bring, 
 and to measure success in life by the concrete results 15 
 with which men can credit themselves. 
 
 I am not going to make this material view of life the 
 subject of argument or criticism. I am going to call 
 your attention to the fact that we do not really hold it ; 
 and that when we allow ourselves to be carried on with 20 
 the current of popular judgment so as to pretend that 
 we hold it, we are letting the best side of our own nature 
 be suppressed, and our best possibilities of personal 
 growth and public service be stunted and withered. 
 
 I do not believe that there is a single man in this 25 
 audience who values life primarily as a means of secur- 
 ing comfort. We value it as a field of action. We care 
 for the doing of things. Signal achievement in itself 
 appeals to our imagination and interest. We admire 
 
The Spirit of Devotion 157 
 
 Nansen because he succeeded in getting so much 
 nearer the North Pole than anybody ever did before 
 him; we do not admire him in the least for his weak 
 efforts to justify his expedition on the basis of its 
 scientific results. A man who tries to go to the North 5 
 JPole is engaged in a glorious play, which justifies more 
 risk and more expenditure of life than would be war- 
 ranted for a few miserable entomological specimens, 
 however remote from the place where they had been 
 previously found. It is of far less material use to go to 10 
 the North Pole than to raise a hundred thousand bushels 
 of wheat ; but every man of you, if he had the choice 
 between going to the North Pole and raising a hun- 
 dred thousand bushels of wheat, would take the former. 
 
 Turn back over the pages of history to the stories 15 
 which have most moved men's hearts, and what are 
 they? They are stories of action, deeds of daring, 
 where the risk habitually outweighed the chance of 
 practical results. Nay, the most inspiring of them all 
 are often manifestations of hopeless bravery, where 20 
 the likelihood of success was absolutely nothing. When 
 we read of the soldiers of Gustavus Adolphus's regi- 
 ment at Liitzen, who after the loss of their king stood 
 firm in the ranks until the line of dead was as straight 
 and complete as had been the line of the living on 25 
 dress parade; when we hear of the Cumberland at 
 Hampton Roads, waging the hopeless fight of wood 
 against iron, and keeping the flag afloat at the main- 
 mast head when the vessel and all who remained in her 
 
158 Persuasion 
 
 had sunk ; when we remember the tale of the Alamo, 
 in whose courtyard and hospital a handful of American 
 frontiersmen fought against the army of Mexico, with- 
 out hope of victory, but without thought of retreat or 
 surrender, till they earned by the very completeness of 5 
 their annihilation the glory of that monumental in- 
 scription: "Thermopylae had its messenger of defeat; 
 the Alamo had none"; then do we see how hollow is 
 our pretense of valuing things by results when we are 
 brought face to face with the really heroic struggles of 10 
 life. It is the doing that makes the deed worthy of 
 record, not the material outcome. 
 
 This is my first point : that we value life as a field of 
 action. The second point that I want to make is that 
 we value those lives highest which are marked by the 15 
 habit of unselfish action. Doing makes the deed ; un- 
 selfish doing makes the man. Even for those who are 
 cast in heroic mold, and start with the habit and the 
 power of accomplishing great things, there is something 
 about selfishness which seems to deaden the power 20 
 and deface the model. Napoleon had a character 
 which gave the promise of heroism; but its climax is 
 at the beginning, not at the end. To the student of the 
 heroic in history, he shines brightest in his Italian cam- 
 paign. From Rivoli to the Pyramids, from the Pyra- 25 
 mids to Austerlitz, from Austerlitz to Moscow, and from 
 Moscow to Waterloo, we find successive stages of a 
 decadence poorly concealed even when widening ma- 
 terial prosperity was most splendid. But with a man 
 
The Spirit of Devotion 159 
 
 like Washington or Lincoln, who worked for others and 
 not for himself, you will find in each stage of his career a 
 growth of mind and heart which made his followers love 
 him more and which makes history yield him a larger 
 meed of admiration. The successes of Napoleon left him 5 
 each year smaller. The failures of Washington or Lincoln 
 left them larger. 
 
 In the verdict of history the question whether a man 
 possessed this unselfishness counts for more than any 
 peculiarities of his intellect or character, or than any 10 
 arguments as to the rightfulness of the cause he advo- 
 cated. Never were there two men more utterly and 
 radically different in character, in intellect, and in posi- 
 tion, than the great Civil War leaders, Grant and Lee. 
 But as we are passing somewhat from the heat of pas- 15 
 sion and narrowness of vision engendered by war, we 
 see that the dominant trait of each of these men was that 
 he counted his cause for everything and himself for 
 nothing. It was this trait which gave them their great- 
 est power as commanders of their respective armies, 20 
 and which distinguished them from many other gen- 
 erals, perhaps equally able, in securing them a common 
 tribute of personal respect from the children of friend 
 and foe. Nor is it in war alone that the power of un- 
 selfishness to make the man comes conspicuously to the 25 
 front. In every line of life work, whether commercial 
 or political, professional or charitable, we see and feel 
 the distinction between the man who is looking out for 
 himself and the man who forgets himself in looking out 
 
160 Persuasion 
 
 for others. We suspect the man of the former type, 
 even when he is doing things which seem desirable. 
 We honor the man of the latter type, even when we 
 regard his methods as mistaken and his aims as chi- 
 merical. 5 
 
 But really unselfish action in peace or war does some- 
 thing more than make a man himself great. It helps 
 others to be like him. Where the leader is tainted with 
 selfishness, the followers will be selfish too. Where 
 the leader works for other men, each of those other men, 10 
 according to the measure of his power, will be stimu- 
 lated to go outside of himself and work for a common 
 cause. The fact that Washington could bear his bur- 
 dens so patiently in dealing with Congress and with 
 commissioners, was a powerful influence in helping the 15 
 soldiers of his army to bear their totally different bur- 
 dens of hunger and cold in the winter at Valley Forge. 
 Unselfish leadership gives an inspiration which people 
 sometimes catch with surprising quickness, and habit- 
 ually hold with yet more surprising tenacity. There 20 
 is in the human heart a capacity for hero-worship which 
 is the chief thing that makes political progress possible. 
 People will not hazard their comfort for a new theory. 
 They are suspicious of philosophic argument. But 
 once let them see a man who is living for something 25 
 better than that which they have seen before, and they 
 will follow him to the ends of the earth. 
 
 The really great leader, we may say with all reverence, 
 is the revelation of God to his followers. If he, with 
 
The Spirit of Devotion 161 
 
 his wide vision and large powers, subordinates himself 
 to an unselfish purpose be it the alleviation of the 
 sufferings of his fellow-men, or the emancipation of a 
 downtrodden race from its conquerors, or the develop- 
 ment of a new social order others are ready to accept 5 
 his leadership and to regard his sayings and doings as 
 revelations of the divine purpose. When David poured 
 out upon the rocks the water which had been brought 
 through so much peril, it was the token that he was 
 working for the Lord, and not for himself. It was just 10 
 because his soldiers' blood was destined by him for 
 the Lord's service and not for his own that they were 
 ready to shed that blood in the fulfillment of his slight- 
 est wish. It was his devotion which made their devo- 
 tion, and which enabled him and his soldiers together 15 
 to establish the glorious kingdom of Judah. And when, 
 centuries later, the Christ who might have made himself 
 king of the Jews and surrounded his disciples with all 
 the pleasures of kingly authority, offered himself as a 
 sacrifice for his work, it was the pouring out of his blood 20 
 which made possible among those disciples that new 
 understanding of religion which founded a kingdom that 
 was not of this world, but was greater far than anything 
 which the fishermen of Galilee or the populace of Jerusa- 
 lem had ever conceived. 25 
 
 The revelation of God in the life of Jesus Christ 
 meant more to the world in teaching the possibilities 
 of religion than all the theology that was ever written. 
 And in the measure that our life is like his, we have the 
 
1 62 Persuasion 
 
 same power to reveal God to others. None of us lives 
 to himself. Every act of self-subordination, however 
 small; every sacrifice of convenience and interest to 
 the comfort of those about us; every renunciation of 
 personal ambition in order to promote ideals which 5 
 shall remain when we have passed away is, in ways 
 often unseen, a lesson and a help to others to go and do 
 likewise. Not in large things only, but in small things, 
 is it true that the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the 
 church. We are sometimes tempted to wonder, in the 10 
 midst of the fatigues and perplexities of trying to do right, 
 what all this struggle may be worth. No man is free 
 from these moments of doubt and weariness. Jesus 
 himself in the garden of Gethsemane prayed that the 
 cup might pass from him. But if through trial and 15 
 weakness a- man preserves his steadiness of purpose, 
 content to leave to others the selfish gains and visible 
 results of achievement, he will oftentimes find per- 
 haps as a ray of light at the moment, or perhaps not till 
 years afterward that some one who saw his perplexi- 20 
 ties and discouragements has been thereby led to a new 
 conception of duty and a new ideal of life which he never 
 could have learned by seeing him in prosperity. It is 
 harder to keep a straight course in the nighttime than in 
 the daytime, and it shows less ; but it means more. 25 
 
 Gentlemen of the graduating class : You are ambitious, 
 and justly ambitious, to be leaders of men. There are 
 two ways in which you can prove your right to exercise 
 that leadership : by good judgment, or by heroism. 
 
The Spirit of Devotion 163 
 
 The opportunities for the exercise of judgment are 
 obvious to every man. The development of civil liberty 
 and industrial organization has made them larger than 
 they ever were before. It is a good thing that it should 
 be so. It is a good thing that men should be free to 5 
 seek happiness in their own way; and that you, if you 
 can calculate more accurately where their political and 
 industrial advantage lies, should be allowed to guide 
 them. Just as long as your calculations are right, you 
 may be certain that every selfish man will follow you 10 
 with the same fidelity with which the gambler stakes 
 his money on the success of him whom he believes to be 
 the shrewdest card player. Success and fidelity of this 
 kind are so conspicuous and so widely heralded that 
 some people seem to think there is no other success or 15 
 fidelity worth considering. 
 
 But they are wrong. The world is more than a game 
 of cards. History is more than a record of gambling 
 operations. Fidelity is more than selfish belief in the 
 accuracy of another man's predictions. To a commu- 20 
 nity which has no higher ideals than these, destruction 
 is approaching rapidly. If it were true, as some meta- 
 physicians tell us, that all action is necessarily selfish, 
 the only difference being that some people admit their 
 selfishness, others try to conceal it from the rest of the 25 
 world, and a few go so far as to conceal it from them- 
 selves the whole social order would centuries ago have 
 gone to pieces. If it were true, as a large section of 
 the community seems to believe, that a man's success is 
 
164 Persuasion 
 
 measured by the money and the offices which he can 
 command, or that the test of a good education is to be 
 found in the fact that it fits a man to make money and 
 to get offices, the American republic would be fast ap- 
 proaching its end. 5 
 
 In the face of conditions like these, we need to insist 
 more than ever before on the possibility nay, on the 
 absolute duty of that devotion to ideals which under- 
 lies social order and social progress. You will have 
 failed to learn the best lesson of your college life unless 10 
 you have caught that spirit which teaches you to value 
 money and offices and other symbols of success for the 
 sake of the possibilities of service which they repre- 
 sent, and to despise the man who thinks of the money 
 or offices rather than of the use he can make of them. 15 
 It is this way of estimating success which makes a man 
 a gentleman in his dealings with others, which makes 
 him a patriot when his country calls for his services, 
 which makes him a Christian in his conception of life 
 and his ideals of daily living. These are the things 20 
 which count in the long run. If you value the world 
 simply for what you can get out of it, be assured that 
 the world will in turn estimate your value to it by what 
 it can get out of you. A man who sets his ambition in 
 such a narrow frame may have followers in prosperity, 25 
 but not in adversity. He can secure plenty of syco- 
 phants, but no friends. That man, on the other hand, 
 who values the world for what he can put into it ; who 
 deals courteously with his associates, patriotically with 
 
The Spirit of Devotion 165 
 
 his country, and who, under whatsoever creed or form, 
 has that spirit of devotion to an ideal which is the es- 
 sential thing in religion that man makes himself part 
 of a world which is bound together by higher motives 
 than the hope of material success. If you pursue truth, 5 
 people will be true to you, and you will help to make 
 them truer to all their ideals. If you love others, others 
 will love you, and you will help to teach them a wider 
 charity in all their dealings with the world. If you take 
 the honors and emoluments of your leadership, not as a 10 
 privilege of your own, but as a trust to be consecrated 
 to the Lord, even as David poured out upon the rocks 
 the water that represented the lifeblood of his followers, 
 then may you be sure that each man who was devoted 
 before will be doubly devoted thereafter, and will find, 15 
 brought home to his heart, the true meaning of success 
 in life, as no material prosperity or intellectual argu- 
 ment could bring it. "The Jews require a sign, and 
 the Greeks seek after wisdom: but we preach Christ 
 crucified, unto the Jews a stumbling-block, and unto 20 
 the Greeks foolishness ; but unto them that are called, 
 both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the 
 wisdom of God." Such it has proved itself for nearly 
 two thousand years. May it be our privilege still to 
 preach this gospel of self-sacrificing action, and still to 25 
 share in revealing the meaning of this gospel to the 
 generations which are to come. 
 
BRIEF 1 
 
 SIDNEY CURTIS 
 
 Resolved: That within a year the United States 
 should turn the Philippine Islands over to the Filipinos 
 for independent self-government. 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 I. Last June the Philippine Independence Com- 
 mission appealed to both political parties to 5 
 make, in the national conventions, a promise 
 of Independence to the Filipinos. 
 II. The appeal thus made was based upon a peti- 
 tion signed by leaders in the college world, 
 eminent clergymen, business men, by judges 10 
 and philanthropists. 
 
 III. Mr. Taft and other prominent men feel that 
 
 we should hold to the present policy of indefi- 
 nite retention of the Islands until the Filipinos 
 have reached a condition in which they can 15 
 safely be trusted with their own government. 
 
 IV. Mr. Taft has stated that though the traditions 
 
 of the American policy originally justified the 
 
 1 It should be noted that this brief was originally drawn in Decem- 
 ber, 1904. 
 
 166 
 
Brief 167 
 
 anticipation that the United States would 
 refuse to govern the Islands as a dependency, 
 yet to withdraw now would be to subject them 
 to a much worse fate than to have turned 
 them over to Spain. 5 
 
 V. Since 1898, therefore, the discussion has been 
 as follows : 
 
 A. One side to this discussion has stood for 
 
 the theory that we are a superior people, 
 that the Filipinos are inferior; that it 10 
 is our duty to keep absolute control 
 over them, teach them our language, 
 our religion, our science, and bring 
 them to our level, giving them, from 
 time to. time, such rights as we think 15 
 them fitted to use wisely. 
 
 B. The other side has stood for the freedom 
 
 of the Filipinos on the basis of their 
 record in the war with Spain, on the 
 theory that they have for some time 20 
 been able to govern themselves, and on 
 the strength of President McKinley's 
 remark that "Forcible annexation, ac- 
 cording to our American code of morals, 
 would be Criminal Aggression." 25 
 
 VI. The question then arises, How soon ought the 
 United States grant the Filipinos their inde- 
 pendence and withdraw from the Philippine 
 Islands ? 
 
1 68 Brief 
 
 VII. The affirmative contends 
 
 A. That the Filipinos are a civilized people. 
 
 B. That in 1898 the Filipinos were capable 
 
 of satisfactory self-government. 
 
 C. That within a year they could get back 5 
 
 the conditions of their self-government 
 of 1898, or could obtain a better govern- 
 ment than that of 1898. 
 VIII. The negative contends 
 
 A. That a large percentage of the Filipinos 10 
 
 are uncivilized. 
 
 B. That the Filipinos arenot capable of admin- 
 
 istering independent self-government. 
 
 C. That the present form of government, 
 
 extended indefinitely, is more to the 15 
 advantage of the Filipinos in their en- 
 deavor to establish independent self- 
 government than any form that could 
 be established within a year. 
 
 IX. The term "one year" is used merely to indicate 20 
 the difference between immediate indepen- 
 dence (allowing a little time for details) and 
 an independence granted after a longer period 
 of United States' sovereignty. 
 
 X. Independent self-government is complete gov- 25 
 ernment by the Filipinos without the exer- 
 cise of a protectorate by the United States 
 except in so far as to prevent deliberate land 
 grabbing by outside nations without just cause. 
 
Brief 169 
 
 XI. By satisfactory government, we mean a govern- 
 ment, like the government of civilized nations, 
 which will 
 
 (a) Establish law and order. 
 
 (b) Protect private rights. 5 
 
 (c) Provide for general education. 
 
 (d) Promote necessary internal improve- 
 
 ments. 
 
 (e) Guard commercial interests. 
 
 XII. It is admitted 10 
 
 A. That the United States is, at this time, 
 
 responsible for the internal and exter- 
 nal affairs of the Islands. 
 
 B. That in or out of the Islands the United 
 
 States could protect them against foreign 15 
 aggression. 
 
 C. That independence should be granted to 
 
 the Filipinos if they are capable of 
 exercising it wisely. 
 
 XIII. Moral and international questions concerning 20 
 
 the assumption of the Islands by the United 
 States are waived. 
 
 XIV. The commercial value of the Islands to the 
 
 United States shall not enter this discussion. 
 XV. In the light of the definition of "satisfactory 25 
 self -government" (XI) and of the admitted 
 matter (XII) which places the responsibility 
 of the United States and fixes the basis upon 
 which independence ought to be granted, 
 
1 70 Brief 
 
 the contentions of both sides can be settled 
 by 
 XVI. The following special issues : 
 
 A. Will the Filipinos, in a year, be capable 
 
 of exercising a satisfactory government, 5 
 
 in that 
 
 (1) Can they establish law and order? 
 
 (2) Can they protect private rights? 
 
 (3) Can they provide for education of 
 
 the people? 10 
 
 (4) Can they provide satisfactory inter- 
 
 nal improvements? 
 
 (5) Can they guard their commercial 
 
 interests ? 
 
 PROOF 
 
 I. The Filipinos can establish law and order, for 15 
 
 A. "They are naturally a law-abiding people." 
 
 (The Schurman Commission.) 
 
 B. "These people are far superior in their in- 
 
 telligence and more capable of self-gov- 
 ernment than the natives of Cuba, and I 20 
 am familiar with both races." 
 
 (Admiral Dewey to Secretary of 
 Navy, June 27, 1898.) 
 
 C. In 1898 they were capable of satisfactory 
 
 self-government, for 25 
 
 i. "They devised an excellent constitu- 
 tion, they had a congress, they had 
 
Brief 171 
 
 courts, they had a president, they 
 
 had a cabinet. " 
 
 (Senator Hoar before the Senate, 
 April, 1900. Constitution sub- 
 mitted in evidence.) 5 
 
 2. An active, representative government 
 
 was exercised at Malolos, in which 
 (a) There was a constitution. 
 (Constitution published, Sen. 
 
 Doc. 208, p. 107.) 10 
 
 (6) All the provinces were repre- 
 sented. 
 
 (Sixto Lopez, "Tribes in the 
 Philippines.") 
 
 3. Under the Philippine Constitution the 15 
 
 people throughout Luzon and the 
 Visayas were in the enjoyment of a 
 quiet and orderly government. 
 (Senator Hoar, supra.} 
 
 4. Though it is said that Americans fill 20 
 
 highest offices, yet "the fact is that 
 the Philippine Commissioners have 
 always been able to find natives ca- 
 pable of filling any position from 
 justice of the Supreme Court down 25 
 to policemen. It was their boast 
 that so many natives filled positions 
 high and low. 
 (Hoar, supra.) 
 
172 Brief 
 
 II. The Filipinos can protect private rights, for 
 
 A. "The Philippine government has (1898) an 
 
 organized military force in every province 
 we have visited." 
 
 (Report of Wilcox and Sargent filed with 5 
 War Department.) 
 
 B. "There are no Spaniards here (Cayagan and 
 
 Isabella provinces) with the exception of 
 two or three merchants. One of these we 
 have met. He is pursuing his business 10 
 entirely unmolested." 
 (Report of W. and S., supra.) 
 
 C. Governor Taft's testimony before the Senate 
 
 Committee on the Philippines shows that 
 the Malolos Constitution was made up by 15 
 a reference to the Mexican and Argentine 
 Republican Constitutions, and by a com- 
 parison with that of the United States. 
 (pp. 386-387.) 
 
 D. John Barrett, our Minister to Siam, said : 20 
 
 "It" (the Filipino government) "has a 
 properly formed cabinet and congress; 
 the members compare favorably with 
 Japanese statesmen. They show a knowl- 
 edge of debate and parliamentary law that 25 
 would not compare unfavorably with the 
 Japanese parliament." 
 (Extract from Moorfield Storey's speech be- 
 fore North Carolina Bar, Jan. 16, 1903.) 
 
Brief 173 
 
 III. They can provide for education of the people, for 
 
 A. "The Filipinos opened elementary schools 
 
 in almost every village. They also 
 founded high schools and university col- 
 leges throughout the archipelago ; also a 5 
 university, two large normal schools for 
 male and female teachers, and five large 
 schools for women in Manila." 
 (Sixto Lopez, evidence presented to the 
 Senate, June 3, 1902.) 10 
 
 B. "Education in this country is very far ad- 
 
 vanced both in the primary grades and 
 
 the university grades." 
 
 (Testimony of the President of the Royal 
 
 University of Manila before the Schur- 15 
 
 man Commission.) 
 
 C. "At the Manila University 5000 students 
 
 are in attendance" (Congressman Sha- 
 froth in his account of his visit to the 
 Islands), "and there were 2100 schools 20 
 in the Islands." 
 
 D. There are 112 Filipinos in 31 universities or 
 
 colleges in the United States, including 
 Georgetown, Holy Cross, M. I. T., and 
 Cornell University. 25 
 
 (New York Evening Post, Nov. 17, 1904.) 
 
 E. "You will find quite a number of Filipinos 
 
 who have studied and hold degrees from 
 the most celebrated of the German Uni- 
 
1 74 Brief 
 
 versities, Berlin, Leipzig, Heidelberg, 
 and Gottingen." 
 
 Congressman Greene in the House of 
 Representatives, Mar. 12, 1902. He 
 visited the Islands.) 5 
 
 F'. Although it may be argued by the negative 
 that the civilized portion is small, yet " the 
 provincial people, who constitute more 
 than nineteen twentieths of the entire pop- 
 ulation of the archipelago, belong to one 10 
 race and all of them are Christian people 
 practicing the morals and arts of civiliza- 
 tion, and speaking dialects which are as 
 similar to each other as the dialects of the 
 different provinces in England." 15 
 
 (Sixto Lopez, "Tribes in the Philip- 
 pines.") (Senator Hoar before the 
 Senate, April 17, 1900.) (President 
 Schurman of the first Philippine Com- 
 mission.) 20 
 F". The one twentieth can be taken care of by 
 
 those who are civilized. 
 
 F'". Governor Taft before the Senate Com- 
 mittee said, "The Christian persons 
 amount to something over 5,000,000, per- 25 
 haps 6,000,000." (There were then 
 7,000,000 people in the Islands.) 
 (Moorfield Storey in his address to South 
 Carolina Bar, p. 19.) 
 
Brief 175 
 
 G. Notwithstanding Spanish indifference and 
 monastic opposition, the Filipinos have 
 opened elementary schools in almost every 
 village. They have also founded high 
 schools and university colleges through- 5 
 out the archipelago, and a university and 
 two large normal schools for male and 
 female teachers, and five large schools for 
 women in Manila. 
 
 (Hon. Edw. W. Carmack, United States 10 
 Senate June 3, 1902.) 
 
 H. Though Mr. Atkinson, Superintendent of 
 Instruction in the Philippines, in a recent 
 number of the Outlook, states that "since 
 the coming of Americans, private schools 15 
 have sprung up like mushrooms," yet this 
 impression of American activity is wrong ; 
 in most cases these schools formerly 
 existed but had been closed by the war. 
 (Hon. Edw. W. Carmack, United States 20 
 Senate, June 3, 1902.) 
 
 I. Schurman Commission declares : A system of 
 free schools for the people has been an 
 important element in every Filipino pro- 
 gramme of reforms. 25 
 
 J. Congressman Shafroth testified that on his 
 visit to the Islands he found "Filipinos 
 compounding medicines taken from bot- 
 tles labeled in Latin, natives acting as 
 
176 Brief 
 
 bookkeepers in large banks, Filipino clerks 
 in almost all lines of business, engineers 
 on railroads, musicians rendering high- 
 class music ; he found them making ob- 
 servations and intricate experiments at 5 
 the Manila Observatory, and he was told 
 that prior to the instruction there were 
 2100 schools in the Island and 5000 stu- 
 dents in attendance at the Manila Uni- 
 versity." 10 
 IV. The Filipinos can provide for satisfactory inter- 
 nal improvements, for 
 
 A. They had before American rule "a cable 
 
 connecting the capital with Hongkong, an 
 internal telegraph system extending to all 15 
 the important towns of the Islands of Lu- 
 zon, a railroad 125 miles in length, tram- 
 ways, electric lights, and, in the capital 
 city, a well-constructed water plant." 
 (Congressman Greene to the House of 20 
 Representatives, Mar. 12, 1902.) 
 
 B. "The Visayas raise their own food, consist- 
 
 ing mainly of rice, fish, and fruit. . . . The 
 women of many of the islands are expert 
 weavers, using the hand loom entirely and 25 
 making the celebrated pina and hoosic 
 cloth; also mats and cotton and hemp 
 cloth." 
 (Greene, supra.) 
 
Brief 177 
 
 V. The Filipinos can guard commercial interests, for 
 
 A. The War Correspondence of 1898 shows 
 
 them a capable people. 
 
 (Sen. Doc. 375, 57th Cong, ist Sess.) 
 
 B. They have had courts. 5 
 
 C. The recent conflicts with Spain and the 
 
 United States show that power to enforce 
 decrees would be possible. 
 
 D. The Filipino army was 30,000 strong and 
 
 constantly increasing. 10 
 
 (Senator Hoar, Sen. Rep. 53.) 
 
 E. Though Admiral Dewey once felt that a 
 
 force of 5000 men was all that was nec- 
 essary to reduce the Islands to our com- 
 plete control, at present 36 war vessels, 15 
 2051 officers, and 63,483 men are found 
 necessary. 
 
 (Senator Hoar, supra.) 
 VI. The contention of the Negative "that the present 
 
 form of government extended indefinitely is 20 
 more to the advantage of the Filipinos'' is absurd, 
 for 
 
 A. No ruler will stay there and no white families 
 
 will be founded there. (Standing Order 
 of Army and Navy for relays for soldiers 25 
 every two years on account of climate.) 
 (Mr. Townsend, "Asia and Europe," p. 86. ) 
 
 B. Our policy does not lead to Filipino inde- 
 
 pendence, for 
 
178 Brief 
 
 1. If Americans invest in the Islands 
 
 under * United States sovereignty, 
 acquire mines, forests, great tracts 
 of land and public franchises, the 
 strongest possible barrier against 5 
 Filipino independence is established, 
 because 
 
 (a) Our citizens may well say : "You 
 invited us to the Islands; you 
 told us capital was needed; 10 
 we accepted your invitation; 
 you must stay here as guardian 
 of our property. 
 
 2. Beet-sugar producers control our pol- 
 
 icy in Cuba. 15 
 
 3. The alliance between financial and 
 
 political interests stirred up the Boer 
 War. 
 C. Americans and Filipinos have no mutual 
 
 sympathy, for 20 
 
 1. Secretary Taft told the Chamber of 
 
 Commerce that "the American mer- 
 chants" there "easily caught the 
 feeling of hostility and contempt felt 
 by many of the soldiers for the Fili- 25 
 pinos." 
 
 2. An urgent petition was mailed, Oct. 
 
 10, 1901, from a committee of Fili- 
 pinos at Hongkong to the President 
 
Brief 1 79 
 
 of the United States, praying for 
 immediate independence. 
 
 3. Twenty Filipinos in London joined in a 
 
 petition to express confidence in the 
 sincerity of the Filipino movement 5 
 for independence. 
 
 4. As far back as Sept. 24, 1898, the 
 
 London Times printed the account 
 of the Filipino struggle for freedom 
 and a request by the Filipino National 10 
 Assembly to recognize the independ- 
 ence of the Philippines. 
 
 D. The Islands are for American capital. (Taf t. ) 
 
 E. "We make no hypocritical pretense of being 
 
 interested in the Philippines solely on 15 
 , t account of others. " 
 
 (Senator Lodge, Republican Convention 
 in Philadelphia.) 
 
 F. The form of government given is not suited 
 
 to the needs of the Filipinos. 20 
 
 (Mr. Ireland, Atlantic Monthly, Novem- 
 . her, 1904.) 
 
 G. G. F. Seward, N. Y., Professor Henry Van 
 
 Dyke, N. J., Charles F. Adams, Mass., 
 and President Charles W. Eliot of Har- 25 
 vard University, signing the petition to the 
 national conventions said, "Neither do we 
 indulge in the delusion that their (Filipino) 
 government will be all that we might de- 
 
180 Brief 
 
 sire, but the Cubans have done well since 
 they were left to themselves, and Mex- 
 ico, Argentina, Chili, and Brazil after 
 years of turmoil and confusion have at 5 
 last succeeded in establishing govern- 
 ments commanding the esteem of the 
 world." 
 H. The policy will sap the resources of the 
 
 dependency, since 10 
 
 1. India is sapped by the English. 
 
 (J. S. Mill, History of India." ) 
 
 2. American capitalists will have no regard 
 
 for the welfare of the native popula- 
 tion. 15 
 (The case of Porto Rico. Testimony 
 
 of a senior in the Cornell Law 
 
 School.) 
 
 I. The present position of the negative, re- 
 
 garding ignorance of the people governed, 20 
 was urged in 1822 against Henry Clay 
 when he advocated the recognition of the 
 South American republics. 
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 Since the Filipinos 
 
 I. Can establish law and order ; 25 
 
 II. Can protect private rights-j- 
 
 III. Can provide for education of the people ; 
 
Brief 181 
 
 IV. Can provide satisfactory internal improve- 
 ments; and 
 
 V. Can guard their commercial interests ; 
 Therefore, within a year the United States 
 should turn the Philippine Islands over to the 
 Filipinos for independent self-government. 
 
INTRODUCTIONS 
 
 THE CURRENCY BILL 1 
 THEODORE OILMAN 
 
 Now that the method of issuing bank currency through 
 voluntary corporations composed of associated national 
 banks has been made part of the banking laws of the 
 United States, by the enactment of the Aldrich-Vree- 
 land bill, with the object of preventing monetary panics, 5 
 it devolves upon those who approve of the principle of 
 the measure to show its place in republican banking 
 legislation, and to establish its claim to be wise, safe, 
 and efficient. This law is without precedent, because 
 never before in the history of the financial world has 10 
 there been an attempt to construct a banking system of, 
 by, and for the people. A departure from precedents, 
 especially in banking methods, is so unusual as to con- 
 stitute an era in banking; and it is well to pause at the 
 threshold of the subject to inquire into the reasons for 15 
 this radical change. Does it stand the test of the prin- 
 ciples laid down by the authorities ? Is it in the nature 
 of an experiment, and, above all, can it be justified by 
 experience ? 
 
 1 Reprinted by permission from The North American Review. 
 182 
 
 
RACE-TRACK GAMBLING 
 THE OUTLOOK 
 
 NEXT week the New York Legislature will meet in 
 extra session to consider, primarily, the bills aiming to 
 abolish race-track gambling. These bills, at the regu- 
 lar session, passed the Assembly by an almost unani- 
 mous vote, but were defeated in the Senate on a vote of 5 
 25 to 25. What is the issue presented by these meas- 
 ures? In 1895 an amendment to the State Constitution 
 was adopted which read as follows: 
 
 Nor shall any lottery or the sale of lottery tickets, pool-selling, 
 book-making, or any other kind of gambling hereafter be author- 10 
 ized or allowed within this State ; and the Legislature shall pass 
 appropriate laws to prevent offences against any of the provisions 
 of this section. 
 
 In the same year the Legislature amended the Penal 
 Code so as to make it a felony to engage in pool-selling 15 
 or bookmaking, at any time or place, or to record bets 
 or to keep or occupy any place or stand for such purpose. 
 This provision would have operated to put an end to all 
 gambling on horse races anywhere in the State, if a 
 provision had not been added that this classification as a 20 
 felony should not apply in any case where an exclusive 
 penalty was provided in some other law. At the same 
 time the so-called Percy-Gray Law was passed, which 
 
 183 
 
1 84 Introductions 
 
 provided that the exclusive penalty for bookmaking 
 and pool-selling on authorized race tracks, provided no 
 memorandum or token of the bet was delivered, should 
 be the forfeiture of the amount wagered, to be recovered 
 in a civil action. The action of the Legislature created 5 
 an anomalous condition in the State. The man who 
 manages a pool room in New York City, for instance, 
 and accepts wagers on the races to be run at Sheepshead 
 Bay, is guilty of a felony, and may be punished by a fine 
 of not more than $2000, or by imprisonment in a State 10 
 prison for not more than two years; while the man 
 within the inclosure of a race track, who does precisely 
 the same act as his fellow-bookmaker in New York 
 City, is liable to have the loser of a bet sue him and 
 recover the amount of his wager, and he is liable to no 15 
 other penalty. Gambling on horse races outside a race- 
 track fence is a felony, for which a man may go to prison ; 
 identically the same kind of gambling on the same 
 horse races within the charmed circle of the race-track 
 fence is practically permitted under the protection of 20 
 the law, for the penalty imposed is so inadequate that it 
 is never invoked. The bills which were introduced, at 
 the recommendation of Governor Hughes, place gam- 
 bling in and out of the race tracks on the same footing. 
 They make bookmaking and pool-selling everywhere 25 
 in the State a misdemeanor, punishable by imprison- 
 ment for not more than one year. 
 
 The arguments in favor of the continuation of the 
 existing state of affairs and the permitting of book- 
 
Race-Track Gambling 185 
 
 making within face-track inclosures are, as far as we 
 apprehend them, as follows : 
 
 1. The Court of Appeals has decided that the Percy- 
 Gray Law is Constitutional. It has declared that the 
 Constitution has clothed the Legislature with the right 5 
 to determine what laws are " appropriate " for carrying 
 into effect the provision of the Constitution in regard 
 to gambling; that the Percy-Gray Law is "in a sense 
 appropriate to accomplish the purpose of that pro- 
 vision"; and that, "it being in a degree appropriate," 10 
 there is no principle of Constitutional law which 
 would authorize the Court to condemn it as invalid or 
 unconstitutional. Since the Legislature, by passing 
 laws which in its judgment are "appropriate" to pre- 
 vent offenses against the provision of the Constitution 15 
 quoted above, has complied with the Constitutional 
 mandate, it has no duty now to reverse its action. 
 
 2. Gambling is an evil which cannot be entirely done 
 away with. Men will gamble. Since we cannot abol- 
 ish it, let us regulate it by confining it to race tracks 20 
 where conditions are healthful, and where the sport is 
 carried on in an orderly, honest fashion. By so doing 
 we will diminish the number of pool rooms in the cities, 
 for the Jockey Club does everything in its power to keep 
 the news of the results of the races from the outside 25 
 gambling establishments. 
 
 3. Without gambling the sport of horse-racing can- 
 not be continued. Without horse-racing the breed of 
 horses cannot so rapidly and so surely be improved. 
 
1 86 Introductions 
 
 In addition to these general arguments certain specific 
 objections are made to the present bills : 
 
 4. To make bookmaking outside of race tracks a 
 misdemeanor where it is now a felony is to encourage 
 the increase of pool rooms. 5 
 
 5. To make the penalty for gambling imprisonment 
 only, without the alternative of a fine, is too drastic. 
 The offense is not such a serious one as to call for such 
 a penalty. 
 
 6. The bills are unfair because they go into effect 10 
 immediately on their passage. It is the usual custom 
 for amendments to the Penal Code to become operative 
 on September i. Many contracts have been entered into 
 for the present racing season in reliance upon the pres- 
 ent law. It would entail great loss on owners of racing 15 
 stables and would be practically confiscation to close 
 the race tracks before the season is over. 
 
 To these arguments, which are the strongest that have 
 been offered, we would reply as follows : 
 
 i. There may be a wide difference between a law 20 
 which does not violate the Constitution, and one which 
 in good faith carries out a provision of the Constitution. 
 The Court decided that it found no reason to declare 
 the law unconstitutional, not that it found that the law 
 sincerely complied with the Constitutional mandate. 25 
 Since it found the law "in a degree appropriate, " it was 
 not called upon to pronounce on the question whether 
 it was appropriate to the point of efficiency. The 
 Legislature, under the clever guidance of astute law- 
 
Race-Track Gambling 187 
 
 yers, complied with the letter of the Constitution with 
 the narrowest possible margin between their action and 
 non-compliance. That it utterly failed to comply with 
 the spirit of the Constitution is proved by the fact that 
 the provision was inserted in the Constitution for the 5 
 express purpose of making impossible the allowing of 
 race-track gambling, which had been going on for seven 
 years under the Ives Law, and by the fact that the Percy- 
 Gray Law has not in the slightest degree incommoded 
 gamblers in the practices which the framers of the Con- 10 
 stitution sought to suppress. 
 
 2. Those who believe that gambling should be regu- 
 lated have a right to their opinion, but when they suggest 
 that the regulation be done under the pretense of pro- 
 hibition, by a trick, an evasion of the intent of the 15 
 fundamental law of the State, they ostracize themselves 
 from the company of law-abiding men. The Percy- 
 Gray Law is not a regulating act. It does not pretend 
 
 to be. If it purported to regulate gambling by permit- 
 ting it under certain conditions, it would be unconstitu- 20 
 tional on its face. Let those who want to regulate 
 gambling, and by so doing minimize its evils, try to 
 secure an amendment to the Constitution to that end. 
 If the abolition of race-track gambling increases the 
 number of pool rooms, so be it. It is better to have 25 
 pool rooms in violation of the law, than race-track 
 gambling by legislative evasion and nullification of the 
 Constitution. 
 
 3. If to improve the horse we must deteriorate men by 
 
1 88 Introductions 
 
 making vice easy and pleasant for them, and must de- 
 grade our ideals of respect for law and the sovereign 
 will of the people, let the horse go to destruction. The 
 price is too high to pay. 
 
 4. Experience would indicate that to make book- 5 
 making a misdeameanor will not encourage the increase 
 
 of pool rooms, but rather the contrary. With gam- 
 bling a felony, juries will not convict. Laws without 
 convictions under them are worse than none. 
 
 5. A penalty, to be adequate, must be heavy enough 10 
 to act as a deterrent. The gambler does not fear a fine. 
 He counts it in as an expense of his business, and goes 
 on gambling. 
 
 6. The duty of carrying out the intent of the Consti- 
 tution admits of no postponement. Contracts which 15 
 depend for their profitable carrying out on the continu- 
 ance of illegal practice (illegal even under the present 
 law) have no right to consideration. As Governor 
 Hughes has said, " Under what provision of the Con- 
 stitution or the laws is there any vested right in main- 20 
 taining gambling privileges? Are we to recognize 
 vested rights in the profits of lawbreaking ? " 
 
 Stripped of the sophistries and side issues with which 
 those who profit from the protection of race-track gam- 
 bling seek to confuse the question, it is a very simple issue 25 
 which confronts the State of New York. Are the people 
 and their Constitution supreme in the State, or are the 
 gamblers and their associates to defy them in maintain- 
 ing their special privilege in vice? 
 
NATIONAL CONTROL OF INTERSTATE 
 RAILWAYS 
 
 SETH Low 
 
 THE railway situation in the United States at the 
 present time deserves the most earnest consideration. 
 The movement of merchandise has outstripped present 
 facilities, and the railways would like to enlarge; but 
 they find it difficult to get the necessary money. The 5 
 public wants the railways to enlarge; but it will not 
 furnish the money. Ordinarily, the promise of a good 
 return on the investment would secure ample funds. 
 Why is it that, in a time of great commercial activity, 
 the funds are not forthcoming? Doubtless there are 10 
 many reasons, and ODC of the most evident is that so 
 much money is needed that it is hard to get enough. 
 But, back of all that, there lie two influences which cer- 
 tainly have to be reckoned with. The plain man under- 
 stands that business enterprises and good service are 15 
 entitled to fair earnings. What he does not understand 
 is, in what respect railway business so far differs from 
 any other business that those upon the inside can hon- 
 estly and honorably become multi-millionaires, while 
 those upon the outside so often find themselves the 20 
 owners of worthless stock. He observes that the direc- 
 
 1 Reprinted by permission from The Outlook. 
 
i go Introductions 
 
 tors of savings banks do not become rich in that way. 
 He suspects, therefore, that the many millions of 
 the few have, in many cases, been made at the ex- 
 pense of those for whom these few have been trustees. 
 He thinks that there has been in railway boards of 5 
 direction a widespread loss of the sense of trusteeship; 
 and he is more and more coming to demand of railway 
 directors the same sort of self-abnegation that the law 
 demands of a private trustee as towards his ward. The 
 law allows a trustee reasonable compensation ; but it 10 
 does not allow the personal enrichment of the trustee at 
 the expense of the ward. It is true that railway direc- 
 tors and railway stockholders buy and sell upon an open 
 market. But whenever a director buys upon private 
 information obtained by him as a director, the question 15 
 must arise in the domain of conscience, Would his 
 stockholder sell if he had the same information ? That, 
 in my judgment, is the sort of feeling that underlies a 
 great deal of criticism of high finance; the feeling that 
 the investment public, not the inside few but the outside 20 
 many, are entitled to the same sort of protection from 
 the law that the law gives as towards trustees for in- 
 dividuals. Hence the demand for Government control 
 on the side of railway financiering. 
 
 The same demand for Government control comes, 25 
 also, from those who use the railways that is to say, 
 from the general public. But this demand, I think, and 
 the troubles that confront the railways because of it, 
 spring largely from different considerations. A radical 
 
National Control of Interstate Railways 191 
 
 change is taking place in the public conception of what 
 a railway is. Up to recent times it has been taken for 
 granted that railroading is a branch of private business. 
 That has been substantially the conception embodied 
 in law; and that has certainly been the conception of 5 
 those building and operating railways. But, if that is 
 the correct conception of railroading, what is the objec- 
 tion to rebating ? It is a well-established characteristic 
 of commercial business that goods can be moved in a 
 wholesale way more cheaply than at retail. If, then, 10 
 railroading is a private business, why should it not be all 
 right for the largest shipper to be given the lowest rates ? 
 Experience, on the other hand, has made it clear that the 
 railways, upon whom everybody is dependent, by prac- 
 ticing rebating make it possible for the favored shipper 15 
 to drive all competitors out of the market. Hence the 
 belief is becoming general, outside perhaps of railway 
 and investment circles, that railways are not to be looked 
 upon as conducting a private business ; they are rather 
 to be thought of as private agents conducting a part of 20 
 the business of the state. In other words, what the 
 public wants in railway management is the public qual- 
 ity, as distinguished from the business quality. That is 
 to say, it wants equality of treatment for all alike, large 
 shippers and small, instead of the discriminations that 25 
 are usual and to be expected in private business. The 
 importance of the distinction can be well illustrated by 
 the tariff. An importer who brings into the country 
 $1,000,000 worth of silk goods must pay exactly the 
 
1 92 Introductions 
 
 same rate of duty as the importer who brings in only 
 $1000 worth. That equality of treatment indicates 
 the public quality of the tariff. Suppose, on the 
 other hand, that, after the manner of business, the tariff 
 charged the large importers only 40 per cent, and made 5 
 the little ones pay 60 per cent, is it not clear that the large 
 importers could drive all the little ones out of business ? 
 But that is precisely what the railways have been doing 
 with their rebates; and that is why the public are no 
 longer willing to admit that railroading is a private busi- 10 
 ness. That is why the people demand that the railways 
 themselves should recognize that they are only private 
 agents doing a part of the public business ; and that is 
 why the public demand that the law henceforth shall 
 proceed upon this new view of what railways are. The 15 
 demand heard in some quarters that railways shall be- 
 long to the Government and be operated by the Gov- 
 ernment, presumably does not spring from any special 
 desire to have the Government do this business directly 
 instead of through private agencies ; but it springs prin- 20 
 cipally from the notion that in no other way can rail- 
 way service be stamped with the public quality that 
 means absolute equality of treatment of big and little 
 shippers and big and little places; in a word, that all 
 shall be treated alike. Personally, I do not believe that 25 
 public ownership or public operation are either the only 
 ways or the best ways to obtain the desired results. Two 
 things, however, remain to be said. The first is that it 
 rests very largely with railway directors and managers 
 
National Control of Interstate Railways 193 
 
 themselves whether the country is driven into public 
 ownership and operation of the railways, or whether the 
 country can continue to avail of private initiative, pri- 
 vate enterprise, and private capital in this department 
 of the public service. The second is that, if the private 5 
 management of railways is to be indefinitely continued, 
 Government regulation both of railway finances and of 
 railway service is absolutely essential. It may be taken 
 for granted that the public will insist, unceasingly, on 
 having the public quality of equal treatment for all pre- 10 
 dominate in all the relations of the railways to the public, 
 as distinguished from the business quality of discrimina- 
 tion on the basis of the volume of business. Govern- 
 ment regulation may indeed lead to the non-production 
 of multi-millionaires as a by-product of railroading, but 15 
 it ought also to mean, to investors, increasingly safe 
 returns. 
 
 But regulation by law in the United States raises an- 
 other question. Shall it be regulation by the States or 
 by the United States, or by both ? For the most part, 20 
 this question is argued from the constitutional point of 
 view. It is easy to say that the jurisdiction of the United 
 States is limited to inter-State commerce, and the juris- 
 diction of each State to commerce within itself. But 
 that leaves open the question, What are the limits of 25 
 inter-State commerce? To answer that question one 
 must consider both history and present fact. There are 
 two clauses in the Constitution of the United States, as 
 Judge Amidon recently pointed out, and not one only, 
 
1 94 Introductions 
 
 that bear upon the subject. The first is the clause for- 
 bidding any State to levy duties on imported merchan- 
 dise; and the second is the clause placing inter-State 
 commerce under the control of the General Government. 
 In other words, the framers of the Constitution, having 5 
 seen how ready each State was, in the days preceding 
 our present Union, to advantage itself by laying bur- 
 dens upon its neighbors, inserted these two clauses to 
 obviate this danger. They forbade, explicitly, direct 
 attacks by one State on the commerce of another, in the 10 
 form of duties; and then, recognizing that what the 
 States could do directly they could also do indirectly, 
 the whole subject of inter-State commerce was placed 
 under the general control, in order to make it impos- 
 sible for any one State to injure another. 15 
 So much for history. Now for the present fact. . . . 
 
SCIENCE AND A FUTURE LIFE 1 
 F. W. H. MYERS 
 
 To the question, "What has science to say as to man's 
 survival of death ?" the chief spokesmen of modern 
 science are inclined to answer, "Nothing at all." The 
 affirmative answer she holds as unproved, and the nega- 
 tive answer as unprovable. 5 
 
 Nevertheless, in spite of, and by reason of, her 
 studied neutrality, the influence of science is every year 
 telling more strongly against a belief in a future life. 
 Inevitably so; since whatever science does not tend to 
 prove, she in some sort tends to disprove; beliefs die 10 
 out, without formal refutation, if they find no place 
 among the copious store of verified and systematized 
 facts and inferences which are supplanting the traditions 
 and speculations of prescientific days as the main mental 
 pabulum of mankind. 15 
 
 And the very magnitude of the special belief in ques- 
 tion renders it, in one sense, the more easily starved. 
 Men feel that, if it were true, there would surely be far 
 more to be said for it than they have ever heard. The 
 silence which surrounds the topic is almost more dis- 20 
 couraging than overt attack. At first, indeed, in the 
 early days of the scientific dominion, savants were wont 
 
 Reprinted by permission from "Science and a Future Life." 
 New York, The Macmillan Company. 
 
 195 
 
196 Introductions 
 
 to make some sort of apology, or disclaimer of compe- 
 tence, when their doctrines seemed too obviously to 
 ignore man's hope of a future. Then came open as- 
 saults from audacious and confident savants to whom 
 the apologetic and optimistic savants seemed to have 5 
 nothing particular to reply. And gradually the edu- 
 cated world that part of it, at least, which science 
 leads is waking up to find that no mere trifles or 
 traditions only, but the great hope which inspired their 
 fathers aforetime, is insensibly vanishing away. 10 
 
 Now it is important that a question so momentous 
 should not thus be suffered to go by default. There 
 should be an occasional stock-taking of evidence, an 
 occasional inquiry whether, among the multifarious 
 advances of science, any evidence has been discovered 15 
 bearing on a question which, after all, is to science a 
 question of evidence alone. 
 
 It seems to me that, even during this generation 
 even during the last few years discoveries have, in 
 fact, been made which must gradually revolutionize our 20 
 whole attitude towards the question of an unseen world, 
 and of our own past, present, or future existence therein. 
 
 Some of the discoveries of which I speak in the 
 realm of automatism and of human personality have 
 already commanded wide scientific assent, although 25 
 their drift and meaning have, as I hold, been as yet very 
 imperfectly understood. Other discoveries, which I 
 regard as equally valid, are as yet disputed or ignored; 
 but they are, in fact, so closely linked with what is 
 
Science and a Future Life 197 
 
 already admitted, that all analogy (I think) leads us to 
 suppose that, in some form or other, these newer views 
 also are destined profoundly to modify scientific thought. 
 
 The discoveries of which I speak are not the result 
 of any startling novelties of method. Rather, they are 5 
 examples of the fruitful results which will often follow 
 from the simple application of well-known methods of 
 research to a group of phenomena which, for some 
 special historical reason, has hitherto been left outside 
 the steady current of experiment and observation. 10 
 
 Now, the whole inquiry into man's survival has thus 
 far, if I may so say, fallen between two stools. Neither 
 those who support the thesis, nor those who impugn it, 
 have thus far made any serious attempt to approach it 
 by scientific method. 15 
 
 On the one hand, materialistic science has, naturally 
 
 
 
 enough, preferred to treat the subject as hardly capable 
 of argument. There is the obvious fact that, when a 
 man dies, you hear nothing more from him. And 
 there is the fact less obvious, indeed, but more and 20 
 more fully established that to every mental change 
 some cerebral change corresponds; with the inference 
 that, when the brain decays, the mind is extinct as well. 
 This strong negative argument forms the basis of the 
 popular treatises Blichner's " Kraft und Stoff " and 25 
 " Das Kiinftige Leben " may serve as examples which 
 urge mankind definitely to set aside all thought of a life 
 to come. The argument is, necessarily, a purely nega- 
 tive one ; it rests on the absence of positive testimony to 
 
198 Introductions 
 
 any mental energy with which some cerebral change is 
 not directly concomitant. The negative presumption 
 will, therefore, be shaken if accepted notions as to man's 
 personality are shown to be gravely defective, while it 
 will be at once overthrown if positive evidence to man's 5 
 survival of bodily death can in any way be acquired. 
 
 To the arguments of Materialism, Philosophy and 
 Religion have replied in ways of their own. As regards 
 the nature of human personality, philosophy has had 
 much to say ; and man's immortality has been the very 10 
 corner stone of the Christian faith. But, with rare 
 exceptions, neither philosophy nor religion has dis- 
 covered, or even sought for, facts and arguments which 
 could meet materialistic science on its own ground. 
 The spokesmen of religion, indeed, have generally pre- 15 
 f erred, for ecclesiastical or for moral reasons, to leave the 
 question of man's survival, or, as they have termed it, 
 man's immortality, to the domain of faith. On ecclesi- 
 astical grounds, they have naturally desired to retain the 
 monopoly of spiritual teaching; they have been less 20 
 concerned to prove by carnal methods that an unseen 
 world exists, than to impress their own crowning mes- 
 sage or revelation upon men who already believed in 
 that world as a reality. On moral grounds, also, they 
 have felt it dangerous to allow a dogma so essential as 25 
 man's future life to be thrown into the caldron of 
 speculation. So long, indeed, as the earthly prosperity 
 of the righteous was held sufficient to prove the moral 
 government of the world, man's destiny after death 
 
Science and a Future Life 199 
 
 might remain an open field for primitive questionings. 
 But when earthly justice was too plainly seen to fail, then 
 the doctrine of future reward and punishment became 
 necessary in order to justify the ways of God to men. 
 
 Since, then, the thesis of man's survival has been far 5 
 oftener defended with an ethical than with a merely 
 scientific interest, it is no wonder that the moral and 
 emotional arguments should have assumed almost com- 
 plete predominance. 
 
 With those arguments I have in this essay nothing to 10 
 do. I am expressly laying aside all support which the 
 belief in a future life receives either from "natural 
 religion," from philosophy, or from revelation. I wish 
 to debate the matter on the ground of experiments and 
 observations such as are appealed to in other inquiries 15 
 for definite objective proof. 
 
ARGUMENTS 
 
 ASSUMPTIONS ARE NOT PROOF 1 
 LYMAN ABBOTT 
 
 BEFORE the Legislature of New York there are two 
 bills "To prevent cruelty, by regulating experiments on 
 animals." Though one is more drastic than the other, 
 both undertake to prescribe conditions under which such 
 experiments shall be conducted. These measures con- 5 
 cern the whole Nation. If either of them was to be 
 passed, the researches conducted by some of the most 
 eminent medical and surgical men in the country would 
 be seriously affected. 
 
 A correspondent, who announces his dissatisfaction 10 
 with the present laws on the subject, gives, from a non- 
 medical point of view, on another page, a resume of some 
 of the incalculable benefits that have flowed from vivi- 
 section. Those who question these benefits are either 
 not informed or are beyond the reach of argument. The 15 
 real question is not as to the merits of vivisection, but 
 as to the proper safeguards with which the law should 
 surround it. 
 
 At present the law of New York State applies to 
 experiments upon animals the sama principle that it 20 
 applies to surgical operations upon men, women, and 
 
 1 Reprinted by permission from The Outlook. 
 
Assumptions are not Proof 201 
 
 children. It does not attempt to prescribe the conditions 
 under which either experiments or operations should be 
 conducted ; but it does prescribe the standards of fitness 
 which every person who may lawfully engage in surgery 
 and which every person who may lawfully engage in 5 
 animal experimentation must meet. It penalizes with 
 fine or imprisonment or both the unjustifiable injuring, 
 mutilating, or killing of animals; and it confines to 
 regularly incorporated medical colleges and universi- 
 ties of the State the authority under which animal ex- 10 
 perimentation may be conducted. 
 
 The burden of proof rests upon those who would have 
 the State abandon this principle and substitute for it the 
 principle of prescribing the conditions of scientific in- 
 vestigation. It rests upon them to prove, in the first 15 
 place, that the present law is inadequate. It is not suffi- 
 cient for them to produce lawyers who give opinions 
 that the law is not efficient. There are lawyers of the 
 highest standing in the State who declare that it is effi- 
 cient. The only adequate mode of proof would be by 20 
 the prosecution of an actual abuse. So far as we have 
 been able to learn, only one authentic case of alleged 
 unjustifiable experimentation has been brought forward 
 by the supporters of the bills. This is certainly not 
 proof that the present law is inadequate. 25 
 
 In the second place, the burden of proof rests upon 
 them to show that legal restrictions on the methods of 
 science would not vitiate investigations, and would not 
 therefore entail upon human beings greater suffering 
 
2O2 Arguments 
 
 than would otherwise be inflicted upon animals. Our 
 correspondent is, we are sure, in error when he implies 
 that an attitude of lofty disdain characterizes the men of 
 the medical profession. The patient and painstaking 
 public arguments presented in the newspapers and 5 
 before the Legislature by medical men should save any 
 one from implying anything of this sort. A letter signed 
 by forty-one of the most eminent physicians and surgeons 
 and two authorities in physiology in New York City (a list 
 of names that for standing in the profession could prob- 10 
 ably not be duplicated in the city) has been published in 
 the metropolitan press; it states affirmatively that the 
 present law is adequate. Medical authority of the high- 
 est rank has pointed out that the prescribing in advance 
 of the class of cases in which anaesthetics must be used, 15 
 the class of cases in which animals must be killed after 
 operations, and the formal publication of reports, would 
 frustrate the purposes of important experiments fraught 
 with untold benefit to humanity. Dr. Curtis, as Secre- 
 tary of the Committee on Experimental Medicine of the 20 
 Medical Society of the State of New York, declares that 
 one of these bills "would abolish, in three lines of print, 
 the sciences of physiology, pathology, pharmacology, 
 and much of practical medicine and surgery, within the 
 State of New York," and that even according to the less 25 
 drastic of the two bills, if it had been law, " certain fun- 
 damental physiological facts, which form part of the 
 scientific basis of medicine, could not lawfully have been 
 discovered." Of the two measures to which our corre- 
 
Assumptions are not Proof 203 
 
 spondent refers, the English law, according to so emi- 
 nent and humane a leader as Sir Lauder Brunton, "has 
 interfered to an enormous extent with physiologic work," 
 so that investigators have had to go to Paris and else- 
 where to perform important experiments and with 5 
 this testimony that of such men as Lord Lister and Sir 
 Michael Foster agrees; and the bill introduced into 
 Congress somewhat over five years ago by Senator Gal- 
 linger would have had, if it had passed, a very harmful 
 effect. 10 
 
 The cruel man, callous to the suffering of either his 
 fellow human beings or his fellow-creatures of the brute 
 creation, belongs to the lowest orders of humanity. 
 Around such a man the law should put inflexible bands 
 of restraint. The Outlook honors those who desire to 15 
 alleviate the sufferings of animals as well as of men. 
 But there are times when the infliction of suffering is 
 not cruelty but mercy. It is because the Outlook is 
 convinced by overwhelming evidence that the practice 
 of vivisection has not increased suffering but has rather 20 
 widened immeasurably the merciful ministrations of 
 medicine and surgery that it regards as dangerous unin- 
 telligent interference with vivisection, and urges the 
 maintenance of the principle underlying the present 
 New York law. 25 
 
 Altogether apart from the motives of those who are 
 pressing for new legislation, the two anti- vivisection bills 
 now before the New York Legislature are contrary to 
 public policy and ought to be decisively defeated. 
 
OBJECTIONS TO A POSTAL SAVINGS 
 BANK 1 
 
 GEORGE E. ROBERTS 
 
 THE sentiment in favor of a Postal Savings system is 
 prompted by a most commendable desire to furnish ab- 
 solute security for the small depositor, who, by resolution 
 and self-denial, has laid up something against old age 
 or a rainy day. The interest of the State and com- 5 
 munity in such accumulations is perfectly apparent, and 
 the importance of having in every locality convenient 
 and absolutely safe depositaries for them is too evident 
 to require lengthy argument. There is scarcely any 
 experience through which a community can pass that is 10 
 more distressing and disheartening than the failure of a 
 bank which involves wiping out the painfully won sav- 
 ings upon which hundreds of men and Women are rely- 
 ing for the needs of old age. There is scarcely another 
 service which modern society can render to the masses 15 
 that is more helpful and stimulating than this of 
 encouraging and safeguarding small savings. 
 
 It does not, however, follow that, in the United States, 
 the Federal Government is the agency best qualified to 
 
 1 Reprinted by permission from The North American Review. 
 204 
 
Objections to a Postal Savings Bank 205 
 
 assume this task. The idea of a savings bank in the 
 Post Office Department comes to us from Europe, and 
 it has not been closely scrutinized as to its adaptability 
 to conditions here. It has three features which com- 
 mend it to wit : cheapness of administration, the con- 5 
 venience to the public of an office in each post office 
 and the security of the Government obligation. For 
 European countries there is another consideration, viz. : 
 it furnishes a large market for Government loans. 
 There are reasons why the Postal Savings Bank is not 10 
 as suitable an institution for the United States as for 
 Great Britain, or for the other countries where it has 
 worked successfully. These reasons have their basis 
 mainly in the territorial extent of this country and the 
 differences that exist in the wealth and industrial devel- 15 
 opment of its various sections. The injury that would 
 result to this country from having a considerable portion 
 of its capital drained from the outlying districts to a cen- 
 ter, for investment in a limited line of securities, is de- 
 serving of very serious consideration. Great Britain is a 20 
 small country compared with the United States, and every 
 part of it, besides being reasonably well supplied with 
 local capital, is not far distant from the financial me- 
 tropolis; but the disadvantage of the withdrawal of 
 savings deposits from local use is observed even there. 25 
 The London Bankers' Magazine for February, 1899, 
 discussing the comparative services in a community of 
 a branch office of the postal bank and a branch office 
 of one of the great commercial banks, says : 
 
206 Arguments 
 
 The branches of the Post Office Savings Bank convey all the 
 savings of the district which they receive straight up to the cen- 
 tral office in London. This money is employed there in purchases 
 of the public funds of the country; it is thus removed from the 
 district in which it originates, and incidentally assists in raising 5 
 the price of the funds to so high a point that the Postmaster-Gen- 
 eral is unable to invest the amount collected on such terms as to 
 obtain back the interest which he covenants to allow his deposi- 
 tors, and to obtain also a sufficient margin to meet the working 
 expenses. 10 
 
 The deposits in the Post Office Savings Banks thus eventually 
 cause an expense to the country. There was a deficiency in the 
 Savings Bank Funds last year which had to be made up out of 
 the public taxation. The deposits in the branch of a bank in a 
 small town or village are, on the other hand, a source of gain to 15 
 the country; they are of great service in developing the trade of 
 the place in which the bank exists, and in assisting the inhabitants 
 in their business. The habit of keeping an account with a bank 
 is now general even among very small traders, and in very remote 
 districts. This habit could scarcely exist were it not for the exist- 20 
 ence of branch banking offices. Any one engaged in business 
 can scarcely keep his account at a place very distant from the lo- 
 cality in which his business is carried on. There are so many 
 occasions on which any one carrying on a really active business 
 has to refer to his banker, and when a personal interview is con- 25 
 venient if not essential, that proximity is most desirable. Other 
 results, also affecting the economic development of the country, 
 follow. The advantages of the use of ' credit/ that most powerful 
 factor in the growth of trade and industry, are extended to dwell- 
 ers in the most remote districts. With proper precautions and 30 
 care in making advances, great advantages to the country districts 
 result. Minor, but not unimportant, advantages follow; the use 
 of specie and of notes is economized, while the trade of the country 
 is increasingly carried on by means of checks. None of these 
 
Objections to a Postal Savings Bank 207 
 
 advantages take place in the case of the opening of a new branch 
 of the Post Office Savings Bank. They are mentioned here as 
 they sometimes escape the attention of our public men, even of 
 those acquainted with other descriptions of business. They 
 think merely of the savings banks as showing the power of the 5 
 country to put by and save, and they do not think of the other 
 side of the picture. 
 
 The Postal Savings deposits, at all offices throughout 
 the British system, are sent up to the central office in 
 London and invested in British consols ; and complaint 10 
 is above made that the constant purchases for the Postal 
 Bank had, in 1899, forced up the price of the consols and 
 made the return on the investment so low that the Bank 
 was running behind. Since then the British Govern- 
 ment has been forced to issue many millions of new 15 
 obligations, and the price of consols has fallen so that 
 the situation of the Bank, as respects income on recent 
 purchases, has improved. Nevertheless, the state- 
 ment is instructive as showing the natural effect of 
 gathering funds from all over a country for investment 20 
 in a restricted class of securities. 
 
 Below is an extract from the London Statist of 
 December 22, 1906, in which are described the ill effects 
 upon the industries of Ireland resulting from the con- 
 stant drain of Postal Savings deposits to London. If 25 
 these deposits had been made in local savings banks, 
 and invested locally, they would have contributed to the 
 development of Ireland's resources and the employ- 
 ment of the Irish people, instead of being tied up in 
 consols. The Statist says : 30 
 
208 Arguments 
 
 Ireland is a very poor country. Her resources are quite un- 
 developed. Practically, it is hardly an exaggeration to say that 
 she has not yet entered upon an economic life. . . . Naturally, 
 therefore, she requires abundant capital and abundant labor. . . . 
 In June of the present year the Irish deposits in the Savings Banks 5 
 were in round numbers, 13 millions sterling, and this (for Ireland) 
 very large sum is employed not in developing any Irish industry, 
 but in bolstering up the credit of the United Kingdom. . . . No- 
 body will dispute that the Irishman of enterprise is seriously handi- 
 capped by the fact that so much Irish money is drawn away from 10 
 Irish to Imperial purposes. Just as Ireland has been laying out 
 large sums annually for sixty-five years in rearing young men and 
 women to export them, without getting any return, to the United 
 States and the Colonies, to create there vast wealth, so in finance 
 Ireland is pinching and saving about 13 millions of money to ex- 15 
 port it to London for the purpose of bolstering up an amateurish 
 system of finance, which has brought the national credit to the 
 pitch at which we see it. 
 
 What would be the result of opening a savings bank 
 in connection with every post office in the United States, 20 
 and of remitting all the deposits to Washington for 
 investment in a limited list of securities? In the first 
 place, what would be the effect upon the communities 
 from which these moneys were withdrawn? The last 
 report of the Comptroller of the Currency shows the 25 
 amount of deposits in savings banks at that time to have 
 been over $3,000,000,000. Of course there is no proba- 
 bility that all of this money would be transferred to the 
 Postal Savings Banks; but, on the other hand, there 
 are many deposits in national and State banks, and with 30 
 trust companies and other institutions, which might 
 
Objections to a Postal Savings Bank 209 
 
 be attracted to the Government's strong box. The 
 extent of the displacement would, doubtless, depend 
 somewhat upon the rate of interest paid, and there would 
 be some danger of that being more or less involved in 
 politics, reluctance to reduce the rate being shown in 5 
 England where the system has an annual deficit. If we 
 believe that the system would meet a general need, we 
 must assume that it would draw a large sum in the ag- 
 gregate. This money is now invested locally. It is an 
 important part of the capital upon which each commu- 10 
 nity is doing business. It is loaned largely upon real 
 estate mortgages, partly upon personal security, it is 
 partly invested in local bonds or real estate. It is being 
 used in the locality where it is owned and contributing 
 to the development of that locality, the support of its 15 
 industries and the employment of its people. If this 
 capital is removed to Washington for investment, what 
 will be the effect upon the communities from which it is 
 taken ? 
 
 The authorities at Washington cannot redistribute 20 
 this capital by investments to the same sections from 
 which it came. The discretion allowed any board of 
 managers in the investment of such funds would un- 
 doubtedly be quite restricted. Government bonds, 
 State bonds and municipal bonds would probably con- 25 
 stitute the list. Perhaps railway bonds would have to 
 be included; but the making up of a list of eligible 
 railway bonds would be a delicate task. In brief, the 
 investments of the Postal Savings Bank would be in 
 
2io Arguments 
 
 securities of a high class, which yield a low return, and 
 which now find a market only in the wealthier sections 
 of the country, among people who are not so much in- 
 terested in the interest rate as in the security of the 
 principal. It is not likely that any savings bank in a 5 
 State like Iowa has to-day a dollar of investments that 
 would be accepted by a Postal Savings Bank. There 
 are bond issues in Iowa that the latter institution might 
 accept, but they are of such a high class, the competition 
 for them from outside the State is so keen and the re- 10 
 turns from them so low that banks within the State can 
 do better in investments of a more local character. 
 Capital owned in Iowa is not at present invested in low 
 interest-bearing securities. It is likely, therefore, that 
 all the deposits diverted from Iowa banks to the Postal 15 
 Savings Bank would be so much capital lost to that 
 State while on deposit. It would be brought down to 
 the already congested money markets of the East, to 
 multiply the demand for the limited supply of choice 
 securities that have a national and international market. 20 
 The result must be an economic loss to the country ; for 
 capital is transferred from where it is most needed to 
 where it is least needed. To the extent in which this 
 transfer occurred that is, to the extent in which the 
 system became popular and effective its influence 25 
 would be to reduce the earnings of these savings, widen 
 the difference in interest rates between different sections 
 of the country, retard the distribution of industries and 
 population and check the development of the country. 
 
Objections to a Postal Savings Bank 211 
 
 The question is, Is it necessary to bring about these 
 undesirable effects in order to accomplish the end sought, 
 viz. : the security of the small depositor ? Let it be agreed 
 that he should have complete protection. Can it not be 
 provided without the forced removal of this capital from 5 
 the locality to which it belongs, where perhaps it is 
 affording employment to its owners, and where it can 
 be utilized most advantageously to all concerned ? 
 
 There are industries and lines of enterprise which can 
 be advantageously centralized, but the investment of 10 
 great sums of popular deposits cannot. These invest- 
 ments should follow natural channels, with only such 
 restrictions as are necessary to obtain safety. There 
 should be no enforced removal of funds that can be 
 avoided. With capable managers who are familiar with 15 
 the values of real estate in their own neighborhoods and 
 with all local conditions, local institutions can invest 
 these deposits safely, and much more serviceably to the 
 whole country than any central board at Washington can 
 do it. Granted that reform in banking laws and methods 20 
 is needed, let financiers and social reformers direct 
 their aims to securing a reform that is consistent with 
 the most effective use of our capital, and that will pro- 
 mote rather than retard the harmonious development 
 of all sections of the country. 25 
 
 It will be a very weak and unscientific treatment of 
 the problem in hand to consider only the sentimental 
 phase and dispose of the whole matter by unloading it on 
 the Federal Government, the one political organization 
 
212 Arguments 
 
 of all least qualified to deal with it. This is one of 
 our problems, and not the only one, which our people 
 should deal with at home, instead of petitioning for relief 
 from afar. 
 
 Several States have already shown how the subject 5 
 may be dealt with successfully. New York, Massa- 
 chusetts and Connecticut have mutual savings banks, 
 conducted wholly for the benefit of depositors, and so 
 well safeguarded that no serious losses have occurred for 
 many years. All of the earnings, after expenses are 10 
 paid and a surplus fund has been accumulated, are dis- 
 tributed in dividends to the depositors. Most of these 
 banks are now earning 4 per cent for the depositors. 
 On July i, 1906, there were 134 savings banks in the 
 State of New York, holding $1,335,093,053.62. The 15 
 only losses that have been suffered by savings-bank 
 depositors in that State in the twenty-eight years since 
 January, 1879, have been due to the scaling of deposits 
 in five banks, by order of the Courts, to make good 
 losses that had been sustained in two cases by the dis- 20 
 honesty of employees, in two cases by the failure of na- 
 tional banks in which funds were on deposit and in one 
 case by bad loans. The cases in which losses occurred 
 were as follows : 
 
 i. Ulster County Savings Institution. Defalcation discovered 25 
 in 1891. Deposits were scaled 15 per cent. The bank is still in 
 business and prosperous; on July i, 1906, it held deposits aggre- 
 gating $3,284,554.92, had a surplus of $138,672. 39, and it paid 
 dividends to depositors in 1906 at the rate of 3j per cent. 
 
Objections to a Postal Savings Bank 213 
 
 2. National Savings Bank, Buffalo. Defalcation in 1892. 
 Deposits were scaled 22 per cent and bank reorganized as Em- 
 pire State Savings Bank. Went out of business in 1902, and the 
 Superintendent of Banks reports that there may be a further loss 
 
 of 2 or 3 per cent. 5 
 
 3. Southern Tier Savings Bank, a small institution (afterwards 
 Elmira Savings Bank). Suffered a loss in 1893 by the closing of 
 a national bank in which it had a deposit of $42,704.67. Deposits 
 were scaled 20 per cent. The business after that date was kept 
 separate from the old, and the bank is now prosperous, paying 10 
 dividends in 1906 at the rate of 3^ per cent. Some further dis- 
 tribution will be made on the old loss. 
 
 4. Chenango Valley Savings Bank. Found to be insolvent 
 in 1895. Deposits were scaled about 15 per cent. The bank 
 continues in business and paid dividends in 1906 of 3 per 15 
 cent. 
 
 5. Carthage Savings Bank. Dragged down in 1898 by failure 
 of a national bank with which it had a deposit. Has paid 95 per 
 cent of its deposits. 
 
 It will be seen that the Carthage case, in which there 20 
 was a loss of 5 per cent, is the only one which oc- 
 curred within the last ten years. The entire showing for 
 the system under the present law is an encouraging one. 
 
 The Massachusetts and Connecticut systems are 
 similar to that of New York. The savings banks in 25 
 these three States, to use the language of Mr. Jay, of 
 Massachusetts, describing those of his own State, "have 
 no paid-up capital ; they are not banks at all, but mutual 
 investment associations, the depositors paying their 
 deposits to the trustees, who invest the money and de- 30 
 clare in dividends to the depositors substantially all that 
 
214 Arguments 
 
 they are able to earn on the money. The balance goes 
 to form a surplus or guaranty fund." 
 
 No system can be pronounced perfect so long as losses 
 occur; but, when the advantages of higher returns to 
 depositors and employment of the moneys at home are 5 
 considered, there is no reason why the people of either 
 of these States should want to exchange their system for 
 a Postal Savings Bank. They will do better by holding 
 to what they have and remedying existing defects. Not 
 only will it be better for depositors and the communities 10 
 financially, but it is not to be forgotten that self-help is 
 always to be preferred to outside aid or control. What 
 a State or local community can do for itself it should 
 not want the United States Government to meddle with. 
 Those functions of organized society which may be per- 15 
 formed by local associations are part of the social life of 
 the people, and they ought to participate in them. The 
 experience thus acquired has an educational value, help- 
 ing to qualify the body of the people for other and larger 
 undertakings of a cooperative character. 20 
 
THE TRAINING OF INTELLECT 1 
 WOODROW WILSON 
 
 MR. TOASTMASTER, MR. PRESIDENT, AND GENTLE- 
 MEN : I must confess to you that I came here with 
 very serious thoughts this evening, because I have 
 been laboring under the conviction for a long time that 
 the object of a university is to educate, and I have not 5 
 seen the universities of this country achieving any re- 
 markable or disturbing success in that direction. I have 
 found everywhere the note which I must say I have 
 heard sounded once or twice to-night a note of apology 
 for the intellectual side of the university. You hear it 10 
 at all universities. Learning is on the defensive, is 
 actually on the defensive, among college men, and they 
 are being asked by way of concession to bring that also 
 into the circle of their interests. Is it not time we 
 stopped asking indulgence for learning and proclaimed 15 
 its sovereignty ? Is it not time we reminded the college 
 men of this country that they have no right to any dis- 
 tinctive place in any community, unless they can show 
 it by intellectual achievement? that if a university is 
 a place for distinction at all it must be distinguished by 20 
 the conquests of the mind? I for my part tell you 
 plainly that that is my motto, that I have entered the 
 
 1 An address before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Yale University. 
 
 215 
 
216 Arguments 
 
 field to fight for that thesis, and that for that thesis only 
 do I care to fight. 
 
 The toastmaster of the evening said, and said truly, 
 that this is the season when, for me, it was most difficult 
 to break away from regular engagements in which I am 5 
 involved at home. But when I was invited to a Phi 
 Beta Kappa banquet it had an unusual sound, and I felt 
 that that was the particular kind of invitation which it 
 was my duty and privilege to accept. One of the prob- 
 lems of the American university now is how, among a 10 
 great many other competing interests, to give places of 
 distinction to men who win distinction in the class room. 
 Why don't we give you men the Y here and the P at 
 Princeton, because, after all, you have done the par- 
 ticular thing which distinguishes Yale or Princeton? 15 
 Not that these other things are not worth doing, but they 
 may be done anywhere. They may be done in athletic 
 clubs where there is no study, but this thing can be done 
 only here. This is the distinctive mark of the place. 
 
 A good many year? ago, just two weeks before the mid- 20 
 year examinations, the faculty of Princeton was foolish 
 enough to permit a very unwise evangelist to come to 
 the place and to upset the town. And while an assisting 
 undergraduate was going from room to room one under- 
 graduate secured his door and put this notice out, "I am 25 
 a Christian and am studying for examinations." Now 
 I want to say that that is exactly .what a Christian under- 
 graduate would be doing at that time of the year. He 
 would not be attending religious meetings, no matter 
 
 
The Training of Intellect 217 
 
 how beneficial it would be to him. He would be study- 
 ing for examinations, not merely for the purpose of 
 passing them, but from his sense of duty. 
 
 We get a good many men at Princeton from certain 
 secondary schools which say a great deal about their 5 
 earnest desire to cultivate character among their students, 
 and I hear a great deal about character being the object 
 of education. I take leave to believe that a man who 
 cultivates his character consciously will cultivate nothing 
 except what will make him intolerable to his fellow-men. 10 
 If your object in life is to make a fine fellow of yourself, 
 you will not succeed, and you will not be acceptable to 
 really fine fellows. Character, gentlemen, is a by-prod- 
 duct. It comes, whether you will or not, as a conse- 
 quence of a life devoted to the nearest duty, and the 15 
 place in which character would be cultivated, if it be a 
 place of study, is a place where study is the object and 
 character the result. 
 
 Not long ago a gentleman approached me in great 
 excitement just after the entrance examinations. He 20 
 said we had made a great mistake in not taking so and 
 so from a certain school which he named. "But/' I 
 said, "he did not pass the entrance examinations." He 
 went over the boy's moral excellencies again. " Pardon 
 me," I said, "you do not understand. He did not pass 25 
 the entrance examinations. "Now," I said, "I want 
 you to understand that if the Angel Gabriel applied for 
 admission to Princeton University and could not pass 
 the entrance examinations, he would not be admitted. 
 
2i8 Arguments 
 
 He would be wasting his time." It seemed a new idea 
 to him. This boy had come from a school which culti- 
 vated character, and he was a nice, lovable fellow with a 
 presentable character. Therefore, he ought to be ad- 
 mitted to any university. I fail to see it from this point of 5 
 view, for a university is an institution of purpose. We 
 have in some previous years had pity for young gentle- 
 men who were not sufficiently acquainted with the ele- 
 ments of a preparatory course. They have been dropped 
 at the examinations, and I have always felt that we have 10 
 been guilty of an offense, and have made their parents 
 spend money to no avail and the youngsters spend their 
 time to no avail. And so I think that all university men 
 ought to rouse themselves now and understand what is 
 the object of a university. The object of a university 15 
 is intellect; as a university its only object is intellect. 
 As a body of young men there ought to be other things, 
 there ought to be diversions to release them from the 
 constant strain of effort, there ought to be things that 
 gladden the heart and moments of leisure, but as a uni- 20 
 versity the only object is intellect. 
 
 The reason why I chose the subject that I am per- 
 mitted to speak upon to-night the function of scholar- 
 ship was that I wanted to point out the function of 
 scholarship not merely in the university but in the nation. 25 
 In a country constituted as ours is the relation in which 
 education stands is a very important one. Our whole 
 theory has been based upon an enltghtened citizenship 
 and therefore the function of scholarship must be for the 
 
The Training of Intellect 219 
 
 nation as well as for the university itself. I mean the 
 function of such scholarship as undergraduates get. 
 That is not a violent amount in any case. You cannot 
 make a scholar of a man, except by some largess of 
 Providence in his make-up, by the time he is twenty- 5 
 one or twenty-two years of age. There have been 
 gentlemen who have made a reputation by twenty-one 
 or twenty-two, but it is generally in some little province 
 of knowledge, so small that a small effort can conquer it. 
 You do not make scholars by that time, you do not often 10 
 make scholars by seventy that are worth boasting of. 
 The process of scholarship, so far as the real scholar is con- 
 cerned, is an unending process, and knowledge is pushed 
 forward only a very little by his best efforts. It is evi- 
 dent, of course, that the most you can contribute to a 15 
 man in his undergraduate years is not equipment in the 
 exact knowledge which is characteristic of the scholar, 
 but the inspiration of the spirit of scholarship. The 
 most that you can give a youngster is the spirit of the 
 scholar. 20 
 
 Now the spirit of the scholar in a country like ours 
 must be a spirit related to the national life. It cannot, 
 therefore, be a spirit of pedantry. I suppose that it is a 
 sufficient working conception of pedantry to say that it is 
 knowledge divorced from life. It is knowledge so closeted, 25 
 so desecrated, so stripped of the significances of life itself, 
 that it is a thing apart and not connected with the vital 
 processes in the world about us. 
 
 There is a great place in every nation for the spirit of 
 
22O Arguments 
 
 scholarship, and it seems to me that there never was a 
 time when the spirit of scholarship was more needed in 
 affairs than it is in this country at this time. 
 
 We are thinking just now with our emotions and not 
 with our minds, we are moved by impulse and not by 5 
 judgment. We are drawing away from things with 
 blind antipathy. The spirit of knowledge is that you 
 must base your conclusions on adequate grounds. 
 Make sure that you are going to the real sources of 
 knowledge, discovering what the real facts are before you 10 
 move forward to the next process, which is the process 
 of clear thinking. By clear thinking I do not mean 
 logical thinking. I do not mean that life is based 
 upon any logical system whatever. Life is essentially 
 illogical. The world is governed now by a tumultuous 15 
 house of commons made up of the passions, and we 
 should pray God that the good passions should outvote 
 the bad passions. But the movement of impulse, of 
 motive, is the stuff of passion, and therefore clear think- 
 ing about life is not logical, symmetrical thinking, but 20 
 it is interpretative thinking, thinking that sees the secret 
 motive of things, thinking that penetrates deep places 
 where are the pulses of life. 
 
 Now scholarship ought to lay these impulses bare 
 just as the physician can lay bare the seat of life in our 25 
 bodies. That is not scholarship which goes to work 
 upon the mere formal pedantry of logical reasoning, but 
 that is scholarship which searches forthe heart of a man. 
 The spirit of scholarship gives us catholicity of thinking, 
 
The Training of Intellect 221 
 
 the readiness to understand that there will constantly 
 swing into our ken new items not dreamed of in our 
 philosophy; not simply to draw our conclusions from 
 the data that we have had, but that all this is under 
 constant mutation, and that therefore new phases of 5 
 life will come upon us and a new adjustment of our con- 
 clusions will be necessary. Our thinking must be de- 
 tached and disinterested thinking. 
 
 The particular objection that I have to the under- 
 graduate forming his course of study on his future pro- 10 
 fession is this that from start to finish, from the time 
 he enters the university until he finishes his career, his 
 thought will be centered upon particular interests. He 
 will be immersed in the things that touch his profit and 
 loss, and a man is not free to think inside that territory. 15 
 If his bread and butter is going to be affected, if he is 
 always thinking in the terms of his own profession ; he 
 is not thinking for the nation. He is thinking of himself, 
 and whether he be conscious of it or not, he can never 
 throw these trammels off. He will only think as a doc- 20 
 tor, or a lawyer, or a banker. He will not be free in the 
 world of knowledge and in the circle of interests which 
 make up the great citizenship of the country. It is 
 necessary that the spirit of scholarship should be a 
 detached, disinterested spirit, not immersed in a par- 25 
 ticular interest. That is the function of scholarship in 
 a country like ours, to supply, not heat, but light, to 
 suffuse things with the calm radiance of reason, to see 
 to it that men do not act hastily, but that they act con- 
 
222 Arguments 
 
 siderately, that they obey the truth. The fault of our 
 age is the fault of hasty action, of premature judgments, 
 of a preference for ill-considered action over no action 
 at all. Men who insist upon standing still and doing a 
 little thinking before they do any acting are called re- 5 
 actionaries. They want actually to react to a state in 
 which they can be allowed to think. They want for a 
 little while to withdraw from the turmoil of party con- 
 troversy and see where they stand before they commit 
 themselves and their country to action from which it 10 
 may not be possible to withdraw. 
 
 The whole fault of the modern age is that it applies 
 to everything a false standard of efficiency. Efficiency 
 with us is accomplishment, whether the accomplish- 
 ment be by just and well-considered means or not ; and 15 
 this standard of achievement it is that is debasing the 
 morals of our age, the intellectual morals of our age. 
 We do not stop to do things thoroughly ; we do not stop 
 to know why we do things. We see an error and we 
 hastily correct it by a greater error ; and then go on to 20 
 cry that the age is corrupt. 
 
 And so it is, gentlemen, that I try to join the function 
 of the university with the great function of the national 
 life. The life of this country is going to be revolution- 
 ized and purified only when the universities of this 25 
 country wake up to the fact that their only reason for 
 existing is intellectual, that the objects that I have set 
 forth, so far as undergraduate life is~concerned, are the 
 only legitimate objects. And every man should crave 
 
The Training of Intellect 223! 
 
 for his university primacy in these things, primacy in 
 other things also if they may be brought in without 
 enmity to it, but the sacrifice of everything that stands 
 in the way of these. 
 
 For my part, I do not believe that it is athleticism 5 
 which stands in the way. Athletics have been associ- 
 ated with the achievements of the mind in many a suc- 
 cessful civilization. There is no difficulty in uniting 
 vigor of body with achievement of mind, but there is 
 a good deal of difficulty in uniting the achievement of 10 
 the mind with a thousand distracting social influences, 
 which take up all our ambitions, which absorb all our 
 thoughts, which lead to all our arrangements of life, and 
 then leave the university authorities the residuum of our 
 attention, after we are through with the things that we 15 
 are interested in. We absolutely changed the whole 
 course of study at Princeton and revolutionized the 
 methods of instruction without rousing a ripple on the 
 surface of the alumni. They said those things were 
 intellectual, they were our business. But just as soon 20 
 as we thought to touch the social part of the university, 
 there was not only a ripple, but the whole body was torn 
 to its depths. We had touched the real things. These 
 lay in triumphal competition with the province of the 
 mind, and men's attention was so absolutely absorbed in 25 
 these things that it was impossible for us to get their 
 interest enlisted on the real undertakings of the univer- 
 sity itself. 
 
 Now that is true of every university that I know any- 
 
224 Arguments 
 
 thing about in this country, and if the Faculties in this 
 country want to recapture the ground that they have 
 lost, they must begin pretty soon, and they must go into 
 the battle with their bridges burned behind them so that 
 it will be of no avail to retreat. If I had a voice to which 5 
 the university men of this country might listen, that is 
 the endeavor to which my ambition would lead me to 
 call. 
 
CHILD LABOR IN THE UNITED STATES 
 AND ITS GREAT ATTENDANT EVILS 1 
 
 FELIX ADLER 
 
 THERE are many centenaries that have received 
 attention of late ; there is one that has been almost ig- 
 nored, and yet it well deserved to be remembered. Two 
 years ago a hundred years had elapsed since the first 
 act was passed by the British Parliament to abate the 5 
 evils of child labor. England industrially is the most 
 advanced country in the world, and English economic 
 history shows the good and evil sides of industrial civili- 
 zation writ large. A momentary glance at the condi- 
 tions which called forth the Factory Act of 1802 and 10 
 the legislation that followed will serve as a useful intro- 
 duction to our subject. Briefly, the facts were these : 
 
 The pauper children of London workhouses were 
 being fed to the machine, almost as the children in the 
 ancient idolatry were fed to Moloch. Pauper children 15 
 whom nobody owned, deserted waifs, orphans left on the 
 parish a burden on the ratepayers were sent by 
 hundreds and thousands to supply the demand for cheap 
 labor on the part of the factories, which at this time 
 were everywhere springing up. These puny laborers 20 
 many of them not over seven years of age were 
 
 1 Reprinted by permission of the National Child Labor Association. 
 Q 225 
 
226 Arguments 
 
 worked to death. But that hardly mattered, because 
 the workhouse supply was sufficient to fill up the de- 
 pleted ranks. The workhouses at first even paid a small 
 premium to the manufacturers for taking their wards 
 off their hands. The children were lodged in rough 5 
 barracks, were cruelly driven by their taskmasters while 
 at work, their food was of the worst description, they were 
 forced to labor often fourteen hours, and they were deci- 
 mated by disease. It was this stage of things that pro- 
 voked the law of 1802, but this law was the barest be- 10 
 ginning. The law applied only to pauper children, and 
 it was soon found necessary to protect children also 
 against the pitiless egotism or the desperation of their 
 own parents. The law applied only to certain industries, 
 and it was found necessary to extend it to others. With 15 
 the substitution of steam for water power, manufactories 
 were transferred to cities, and the demand for cheap 
 labor grew apace. It was felt that an age limit of some 
 kind below which children might not be employed 
 must be set. The efforts to do so were strangely hesi- 20 
 tant and inadequate, but at least the principle of an age 
 limit came to be recognized. In 1833 it was estimated 
 that 56,000 children between nine and thirteen were 
 employed in factories, a whole army of child workers ; 
 but nine was a high limit compared with what in many 25 
 branches had been customary. Before the Children's 
 Employment Committee a man named Apsden testified. 
 Pointing to his boy, he said: "This boy when he was 
 seven years old, in winter I carried on my shoulders 
 
Child Labor in the United States 227 
 
 across the snow to his place of work, and he would work 
 for sixteen hours." What a picture; the man rousing 
 a child of seven from his sleep, forcing him out of bed 
 in the dark winter morning, trudging with him on his 
 back across the snow, and depositing the little fellow, 5 
 seven years old, to work for sixteen hours. And then 
 another picture, for he adds : "I have often knelt at his 
 side and given him food while he was working because 
 he was not allowed to leave the machine." If you wish 
 to realize what child labor means, think of the inmates 10 
 of London workhouses systematically done to death 
 in the Yorkshire factories. Think of Apsden and his 
 seven-year-old boy, and then think if you can bear 
 to do so of another picture ! For till now only the 
 factories and not the mines had been touched. In the 15 
 year 1842 evidence was taken as to the state of things in 
 the coal mines. Children began their work in the mines 
 sometimes as early as at five years of age. Little girls 
 were found to make ten or twelve trips a day up steep 
 ladders to the surface, carrying heavy loads of coal in 20 
 wooden buckets on their shoulders. For the develop- 
 ment of little girls into womanhood, what an admirable 
 device ! Women and girls, half nude, worked side by 
 side with boys and men wholly so ; every consideration 
 of human decency was flung to the winds. And in Mr. 25 
 Cheyney's book on "The Industrial History of Eng- 
 land," which usefully summarizes these facts, you will 
 find a picture representing a woman crawling on all 
 fours, dragging through a passageway about two feet 
 
228 Arguments 
 
 high a car containing three or four hundredweight of 
 coal by a chain attached to a girdle around her waist. 
 And this is described as a common form of labor. This 
 is the third picture which I would ask you to bear in 
 mind. Progress has been made since then ; the regula- 5 
 tion of the labor of women and children with the 
 latter alone we are concerned now has been more 
 and more extended, though the task is not yet completed. 
 The problem of production in the sweating trades has 
 not yet been solved, and there are still other problems 10 
 to be met. 
 
 And now I wish to pause a moment to ask a question, 
 for it is not my purpose at this time to dwell on the hor- 
 rors that prevailed in the past, and as you will presently 
 learn prevail amongst us to-day to no inconsiderable 15 
 extent, any more than I can help for the purposes of the 
 argument and the plea which I want to submit to you. 
 But I do want to ask a question which constantly ob- 
 trudes itself on my mind: How is it that members of 
 the human species can behave with such cruelty as did 20 
 the mine owners who employed women to drag coal 
 cars, creeping on hands and knees with a chain attached 
 around their waist, and how is it that manufacturers 
 can be so merciless I suppose many of them had chil- 
 dren of their own, and must have known what a tender 25 
 thing a child of seven years is as to drive the little 
 Apsden boy and his fellows for sixteen mortal hours in 
 the mill; or so lost to all respect for human life as those 
 employers who fed the workhouse children to their 
 
Child Labor in the United States 229 
 
 machines ? I take no comfort in denouncing such men, 
 or those who follow in their footsteps at the present day. 
 There is a vulgar proverb that he who cuts off his nose 
 disfigures his own face. These persons are men of the 
 same human species as ourselves ; their conduct reflects 5 
 dishonor upon us all. Are we then still so brutal? is 
 the belief that there is a better nature latent in us 
 merely a pleasant fiction? 
 
 Perhaps an explanation is possible which will leave 
 us a margin of hope for the future. It appears to me 10 
 that periods of sudden expansion are the times in which 
 the greatest moral recklessness is exhibited and the 
 ordinary moral scruples are most apt to be set aside. 
 This thought might be illustrated by the history of 
 colonial expansion, of military expansion, even of artis- 15 
 tic expansion as at the time of the Renaissance; but 
 especially by the history of industrial expansion. New 
 machines are invented, the forces of nature, such as 
 steam and electricity, are drafted into the service of eco- 
 nomic ends ; new markets are opened, and as a conse- 20 
 quence tens of thousands of energetic men see opening 
 before them the opportunity of securing riches. In the 
 previous comparatively stationary state of society their 
 energies had been repressed; small gains, slowly accu- 
 mulated by much labor and self-denial, had been the 25 
 rule; the number of very wealthy persons before the 
 industrial revolution set in was relatively small. But 
 now, as a result of the new conditions, the gates of oppor- 
 tunity are thrown wide open, the glittering prize dangles 
 
230 Arguments 
 
 before every eye, and every active forward-pressing 
 person may hope to secure it. He who looks steadfastly 
 and continuously at some burnished object like a metallic 
 doorknob will presently find himself hypnotized. The 
 same is true in the case of brilliant objects of endeavor 5 
 that stand out before the imagination. And the essence 
 of this hypnotic effect is that it excludes all other ob- 
 jects or ideas from the mental viewpoint, and this it 
 seems to me explains the conduct of the class of em- 
 ployers and mine owners to whom I have referred. It 10 
 was gold, the unexpected chance of securing Aladdin's 
 treasure, that riveted their attention, that hypnotized 
 them. The cry of the children they did not hear, the 
 degradation of women they did not see, or if they saw 
 it, it made no impression on their impervious minds; 15 
 the social evils consequent upon their predatory conduct 
 were excluded from their sphere of vision; a kind of 
 monomania took possession of them, they were the vic- 
 tims of a fixed idea. The periods of industrial expan- 
 sion are peculiarly fruitful of such fixed ideas, and they 20 
 are therefore the danger points in the development of 
 human society. But what is the hope? The hope is 
 that the results of such a reckless course of action will 
 appear to the eye too plainly to be ignored; that the 
 morally sound elements in the community, if the com- 25 
 munity be still sound at core, will take alarm; that a 
 powerful reaction will set in, and that as a result certain 
 forms of industrial iniquity which fed previously been 
 overlooked or had remained unrecognized will be stig- 
 
Child Labor in the United States 231 
 
 matized and forbidden; and that the general moral 
 standard with respect to the evils that have appeared 
 will be definitely raised to a higher point than it had 
 reached before those evils had set in. This is the hope ; 
 it is founded on the morally sound elements in the com- 5 
 munity and on their reaction ; I believe that in Ameri- 
 can communities such elements still abundantly exist. 
 
 But it is of child labor in the United States that I am 
 to speak, and here again I shall restrict myself to a few 
 outstanding facts sufficient to establish that we are not 10 
 fighting windmills, but that the evils which so earnestly 
 challenge a remedy are widespread. 
 
 At the beginning of 1903 it is estimated that there 
 were in the factories of the South chiefly cotton fac- 
 tories about 20,000 children under the age of twelve. 15 
 Twelve is a very early age at which to begin work ; but 
 under the age of twelve, and 20,000, and in the United 
 States of America who would have credited it ? And 
 these children, too, not the children of foreign immi- 
 grants, but for the most part the offspring of the purest 20 
 American stock of this continent; and some of these 
 children, as eye witnesses attest, were at their work even 
 more than twelve hours, as much as thirteen and four- 
 teen hours a day. Where are our instincts of mercy, 
 where is the motherliness of the women of this country, 25 
 whither is the chivalry of our men that should seek 
 a glory in protecting the defenseless and the weak ? 
 Within the last two years child-labor laws have been 
 passed which have doubtless reduced the number of 
 
232 Arguments 
 
 children under twelve years of age in the factories ; how 
 great the reduction is, it is impossible to say. But the 
 South is by no means singular, though it has of late been 
 more conspicuous in its employment of child labor than 
 other sections of the country. And there is no excuse for 5 
 adopting a pharasaical attitude toward the southern com- 
 munities and saying : " We are glad that we are not like 
 these." For, in the first place, in not a few instances it 
 is northern capital invested in southern mills that shares 
 the responsibility for the conditions named; and then 10 
 again, while the proportion of child to adult labor in the 
 South is greater than anywhere else in the country, the 
 absolute number of children employed is greater in 
 the industrial centers of the North. 
 
 The lack of adequate statistical inquiries makes it 15 
 impossible to express in figures the extent of the evil of 
 child labor. But wherever investigation is undertaken, 
 wherever the surface is even scratched, we are shocked 
 to find to what an extent the disease is eating its way 
 underneath, even in those states in which legislation 20 
 on the subject is almost ideal. The laws are admirable, 
 but the enforcement is defective. Thus, glancing over 
 the reports recently transmitted to the National Child 
 Labor Committee by its agents, I find that in New 
 Jersey, in one of the woolen mills, 200 children under 25 
 the legal age are at work. In the glass industry of Ohio, 
 Pennsylvania, and West Virginia, the evils of premature 
 work and of night work are combined. A boy, Willie 
 Davis, for instance, thirteen years old, works on alter- 
 
Child Labor in the United States 233 
 
 nate nights from 6.30 P.M. to 4.30 A.M., earning ninety 
 cents a day. In one of the glasshouses of Wheeling, 
 W. Va., forty boys were seen by the agent, apparently 
 from ten to twelve years of age; one child looked not 
 over nine years old, "but was too busy to be inter- 5 
 viewed." In this place 3000 children of the school 
 age were found to be out of school. In this town there 
 are also many cigar factories that employ children. And 
 speaking of the tobacco industry reminds me of the case 
 of a child worker just reported from Pittsburgh. The 10 
 boy is employed in a toby factory "tobies" being a 
 cheap kind of cigar in rolling tobies. He is twelve 
 years of age; he has already been at work for seven 
 months; the hours of labor are from 6 A. M. to 8 P. M., 
 intermission for lunch fifteen minutes, for supper twenty 15 
 minutes, in all thirty-five minutes in fourteen hours. 
 He works Saturday nights from seven until midnight, 
 and sometimes until two Sunday morning; does not 
 work Saturdays, but works Sundays. The room in 
 which he rolls his "tobies" is described as dark and 20 
 poorly ventilated; the atmosphere is charged with to- 
 bacco dust. The boy seems gentle and uncomplaining, 
 but he coughs ; and when he was asked whether he was 
 well, he pointed to his chest and to his back and said : 
 "I have a pain here and there." 25 
 
 And in our own State of New York, which in point of 
 legislation is in advance of all the rest, the infractions 
 of the law that occur are frightful enough, as the petition 
 for the removal of the present factory inspector sent 
 
234 Arguments 
 
 to the governor by the Child Labor Committee of 
 New York plainly proves. In a single one of the canning 
 factories where abuses are particularly flagrant, the fore- 
 man himself estimated the number of children at work 
 in violation of the law to be 300. Children as young as 5 
 ten, nine, and seven were found to be at work side by 
 side with their mothers, from 9 A.M. to 9 P.M. In the 
 Chelsea jute mills of Brooklyn, an establishment which 
 acquired an unenviable notoriety in connection with the 
 Annie Ventre case some months ago, there are reported 10 
 to be at the present time 85 children at work under the 
 legal age. In the sweated trades the evils are the same, 
 or if possible worse. The report further states that the 
 number of violations, not of the child labor laws in par- 
 ticular but of the factory laws in general, is alarmingly 15 
 on the increase : 33,000 reported in 1901, 50,000 in 1903. 
 I must again repeat that the number of law-defy- 
 ing employers cannot be estimated with any exactness. 
 Sweeping arraignments, sensational generalizations, are 
 unjust in this as in other cases. There are employers, 20 
 not a few, who on their own initiative endeavor to en- 
 hance the safety, the comfort and the well-being of their 
 employees beyond anything that the law requires of them. 
 But the mischief wrought by the lawless minority, af- 
 fecting as it does so many thousands of human lives, is 25 
 intolerable ; and there is always the danger that in a 
 competitive system the lowering of the standard by the 
 unscrupulous will tend to undermine and to drag down 
 the higher standard which those whose intentions are 
 
Child Labor in the United States 235 
 
 honorable are attempting to maintain. There is need 
 of efforts gradually to raise the age limit of employment 
 where that limit is too low ; and it has been found also 
 that there is need of a kind of national steering com- 
 mittee to promote the movement on behalf of child pro- 5 
 tection in view of the fact that states hitherto agri- 
 cultural are more and more entering the column of 
 the industrial states for the purpose of guiding as far 
 as possible this transition, and enabling the newer in- 
 dustrial communities to profit by the lessons of experi- 10 
 ence, and preventing in their case the needless repeti- 
 tion of the evils which have marked the initial stages of 
 industrial development in the older countries and com- 
 monwealths. Such a committee has now been created. 
 But in addition to good laws, there is need of a vigorous 15 
 and imperative public sentiment in favor of the enforce- 
 ment of the laws, for without the pressure of public 
 sentiment the best laws remain dead letters, as the ex- 
 ample of New York State demonstrates. But public 
 sentiment cannot be maintained without public interest 20 
 in the question ; and it is to aid in developing such in- 
 terest with a view to maintaining such a sentiment that 
 I have brought the matter before you in this address. 
 
 And now let us briefly consider some of the arguments 
 that are advanced in favor of child labor, and the 25 
 grounds upon which they are to be rejected. The first 
 argument is, that necessity knows no compunction; 
 that however undesirable it may seem to harness young 
 children to the yoke of toil, it is impossible to do without 
 
236 Arguments 
 
 them, because if child labor laws are enforced certain 
 important branches of industry will cease to be profit- 
 able. For instance, in the glass industry. It is said 
 that this industry cannot be carried on without the aid 
 of young boys, and of the textile industries in the South 5 
 the same has been averred. This argument is as old as 
 human avarice, and it appears again and again in mod- 
 ern economic history. It is fallacious, for the reason 
 that cheap labor is not really cheap, and that higher paid 
 labor in this case the labor of adults as compared 10 
 with that of children is not really more expensive. 
 The prohibition of the cheap labor of the child is favor- 
 able to the invention and use of labor-saving devices ; it 
 challenges and promotes a more efficient organization 
 of the business; and it imparts a higher value to the 15 
 product, because of the greater skill, vigor and interest 
 of the labor that enters into the product. As a matter 
 of fact, at the time when the two principal industries of 
 England the textile and the coal-mining industries 
 were prohibited from employing children, there was 20 
 a tremendous outcry, and it was freely predicted that 
 those branches would cease to be profitable, and espe- 
 cially that England would cease to be able to compete 
 in the matter of textiles and coal with foreign countries. 
 But what has been the event? That England is 25 
 stronger to-day not in spite of, but because she has 
 forbidden, child labor in just those two branches of in- 
 dustry than she was at the time when* those sinister pre- 
 dictions were uttered. And so if it is said that the glass 
 
Child Labor in the United States 237 
 
 industry cannot be carried on without child labor there 
 is the fact to be noted that the largest glasshouse in the 
 State of Ohio is carried on without child labor, and does 
 not appear to be conducted at a loss. 
 
 A second argument is the attempt to block a humani- 5 
 tarian movement for a seemingly humanitarian reason, 
 the reason being that the labor of these little hands is 
 necessary to relieve the poverty of their families, and 
 that it is cruel to deprive the poor of that increase of their 
 weekly earnings even if it be only two or three dol- 10 
 lars which little children are able to supply. In an- 
 swer to this plea it must be said that the actual state of 
 the case is sometimes quite different from what is sup- 
 posed. For instance, I have in mind the case of a 
 boy who, though fifteen years of age, was sadly over- 15 
 worked, his hours being from 6 A.M. to 10 P.M. The 
 father of this boy earns from six to seven dollars a day. 
 Surely this is not a case in which the necessity of the 
 parent excuses the overtaxing of the strength of a young 
 boy. In other cases parents are found to lead a para- 20 
 sitic life, reversing the order of nature, the adults liv- 
 ing at the expense of the children. Economically it is 
 brought home to us, that the wage earned by children 
 is not really an increase of the family earnings; that 
 where there is competition between children and men 25 
 the wages of the men are thereby reduced; so that .a 
 family in which man, woman, and child are breadwin- 
 ners may not earn more sometimes earn less 
 than the income gained by the man when the man alone 
 
238 Arguments 
 
 was the breadwinner. And again, in those cases of 
 genuine hardship which undoubtedly occur, especially 
 where women have been left widowed with the care of 
 a family upon their hands, and where the small earnings 
 of children ten and eleven years of age do make an 5 
 appreciable difference (cases have occurred of loyal 
 little men under the age limit coming to the mills with 
 tears in their eyes and begging to be allowed to labor 
 for their mothers' sake) ; I say in such cases it is wiser 
 for society to commend indeed the loyalty of these little 10 
 fellows, but to send them to school, and to follow the 
 example of Ohio, which has spread a law upon its stat- 
 ute books looking to the public relief of destitute families 
 of this kind. It is better for the State to furnish out- 
 right relief than to see the standard of living of whole 15 
 sections of the population lowered by child competi- 
 tion. 
 
 These are the two main arguments. There is one 
 other argument, so un-American and so inhuman that 
 I am almost ashamed to quote it, and yet it has been 20 
 used, and I fear is secretly in the minds of some who 
 would not openly stand for it. A manufacturer standing 
 near the furnace of a glasshouse and pointing to a pro- 
 cession of young Slav boys who were carrying the glass 
 on trays, remarked : " Look at their faces, and you will 25 
 see that it is idle to take them from the glasshouse in 
 order to give them an education; they are what they 
 are, and will always remain what they are." He meant 
 that there are some human beings and these Slavs 
 
Child Labor in the United States 239 
 
 of the number who are mentally irredeemable, so 
 fast asleep intellectually that they cannot be awakened ; 
 designed by nature, therefore, to be hewers of wood 
 and drawers of water. This cruel and wicked thing 
 was said of Slavs ; it is the same thing which has been 5 
 said from time immemorial by the slave owners of their 
 slaves. First they degrade human beings by denying 
 them the opportunity to develop their better nature; 
 no schools, no teaching, no freedom, no outlook; and 
 then, as if in mockery, they point to the degraded con- 10 
 dition of their victims as a reason why they should 
 never be allowed to escape from it. 
 
 These are the arguments advanced for child labor. 
 What I have summarily said may suffice for their refu- 
 tation ; but I shall not content myself merely with the 15 
 negative attitude of meeting our opponents, and I should 
 like, in approaching the close of my address, to present 
 the grand positive reason why child servitude should 
 be abolished throughout the length and breadth of this 
 land. The battle is sometimes put on what are called 20 
 sentimental grounds. Any one who has children of his 
 own cannot help enduring a certain anguish in thinking 
 of such cases as those of the little children treading up 
 and down those stairs of the inferno of the English coal 
 mines with buckets of coal on their backs, or of the little 25 
 children in the mills returning to their squalid homes 
 at 2.30 in the morning, or of the little boy rolling "to- 
 bies" in the dark and ill- ventilated room for fourteen 
 mortal hours, coughing, with a pain "here and there." 
 
240 Arguments 
 
 And when we picture these things and realize what they 
 mean we are apt to cry out in a sort of wild indignation, 
 saying: "These things must stop; we will not permit 
 them to go on." In other words, we think of the indi- 
 vidual children ; and as we are men and women capable 5 
 of sympathetic feeling, our hearts bleed for them. 
 
 But in addition we must never forget that beyond 
 the individual interest there is a vast social interest at 
 stake, the interest of American civilization, of human 
 civilization, of all those generations that are to succeed 10 
 us. The reason why child labor must be abolished, 
 apart from the sufferings of individuals, is one which 
 biology and ethics combine to enforce upon us. The 
 higher the type of living being, the finer the organism, 
 the longer the period of time required for its maturing. 15 
 The young of birds and of the lower animals are full 
 grown after a few days or a few weeks. They acquire 
 with incredible rapidity the use of inherited instincts, 
 and after the shortest infancy are ready to take up the 
 struggle for existence after the fashion of their species. 20 
 The human being requires a period of preparation 
 extending over years before he is ready to take up the 
 struggle for existence after the human fashion. First 
 infancy, then childhood, then early youth ; and during 
 all that period he must remain dependent on the pro- 25 
 tection and the nurture of adult kinsfolk. If that pe- 
 riod is curtailed, the end of Naturejn this highest type 
 of living being man is thwarted. It is for this 
 reason that premature toil is such a curse. The child 
 
Child Labor in the United States 241 
 
 must develop physically, and to do so it must play ; the 
 child must develop mentally, and to do so it must be sent 
 to school ; the child must develop morally, and to do so 
 it must be kept within the guarded precincts of the home. 
 
 The physical effects of precocious childhood are arrest 5 
 of growth, puny, stunted stature, anaemia, thin, ema- 
 ciated limbs, sunken cheeks and hollow eyes ; and dis- 
 eases of all kinds of the lungs, of the joints, of the 
 spine for arrest of development does not mean mere 
 arrest, but means malformation. 10 
 
 The mental effects of precocity labor are likewise 
 arrest of mental development ; and this, too, means not 
 only a stopping short but a development in the wrong 
 direction. The brilliant but short-lived intelligence 
 of many newsboys, their high-strung excitability, their 15 
 sinister anticipation of world knowledge, followed often 
 by torpor and mental exhaustion later on, are an instance 
 in point. We laugh at and applaud their sallies of wit, 
 their quick repartee, their seeming ability to play the 
 game of life on a par with adults ; we do not look be- 20 
 yond the moment, nor count the cost they pay. 
 
 And the moral effects, as is to be expected, are of 
 the same sort ; loosening of family ties, roving the streets, 
 familiarity with vice and the haunts of vice, a startling 
 independence before the moral nature is fit to maintain 25 
 independence, a process of selection so trying that 
 while sometimes it leads those subjected to it to distin- 
 guished achievement, more often it leads to ruin. 
 
 The finer the type the longer the period needed for 
 
242 Arguments 
 
 the maturing of it. In the case of youths dedicated to 
 the professions, the period of preparation at present 
 extends far into the twenties. In the case of all who 
 are to be component members of this American nation, 
 to carry on its great traditions and help in solving its 5 
 tremendous problems, the period of preparation should 
 not be cut short below the sixteenth year. This is 
 the standard toward which we are working, toward 
 which we hope to approximate more rapidly in the 
 older communities, more patiently and with a due re- 10 
 gard to all the interests involved in the less advanced 
 communities. But we look forward to the day when 
 the standard shall be adopted in all the American com- 
 monwealths, and the total abolition of child labor in 
 every form shall be the honorable achievement of the 15 
 entire American people. 
 
 The emancipation of childhood from economic serv- 
 itude is a social reform of the first magnitude. It is 
 also one upon which we can all unite. There are so 
 many proposed reforms upon which it is impossible to 20 
 secure agreement, different minds, though alike honest, 
 inevitably differing with regard to them. But here is 
 a reform upon which we can agree, which must appeal 
 to every right-thinking person, and which is urgent. 
 And one particular advantage of it I should like to point 25 
 out, namely, that it is calculated to be the best induction 
 into the right spirit of social reform, that it will attune 
 the community in which it is achieved to a favorable 
 reception of sane and sound social reforms generally. 
 
Child Labor in the United States 243 
 
 Because if once it comes to be an understood thing that 
 a certain sacredness "doth hedge around " a child, that 
 a child is industrially taboo, that to violate its rights 
 is to touch profanely a holy thing, that it has a soul 
 which must not be blighted for the prospect of mere 5 
 gain; if this be once generally conceded with regard 
 to the child the same essential reasoning will be found 
 to apply also to the adult workers; they, too, will not be 
 looked upon as mere commodities, as mere instruments 
 for the accumulation of riches; to them also a certain 10 
 sacredness will be seen to attach, and certain human 
 rights to belong, which may not be infringed. I have 
 great hopes for the adjustment of our labor difficulties 
 on a higher plane, if once we can gain the initial victory 
 of inculcating regard for the higher human nature that 15 
 is present potentially in the child. 
 
 And there is one additional word which, if I may so 
 far encroach upon your patience, I should like to say: 
 It is not enough to shut the children out of the factory, 
 we must also bring them into the school, and compel 20 
 parents, if necessary, to send them to school ; the move- 
 ment for compulsory education everywhere goes hand 
 in hand, and must go hand in hand, with the child- 
 labor movement. 
 
 The child-labor movement has for its object to fence 25 
 off an open space within which the educational institu- 
 tions of the country may do their perfect work. The 
 school has for its object to win from the human beings 
 confided to it the human qualities latent in them, im- 
 
244 Arguments 
 
 agination, taste, skill, appreciation, vigorous reasoning, 
 will power, character; to fulfill the ends of Nature in 
 the finest organism, the highest type of living being 
 which she has yet produced. A more convincing appeal 
 than comes to us from these two movements jointly, 5 
 the child labor and the educational movements, in my 
 judgment, cannot be conceived of. And without the 
 former the latter cannot succeed. 
 
THE CORNER STONES OF MODERN 
 DRAMA 1 
 
 HENRY ARTHUR JONES 
 
 IF we throw one sweeping glance over the whole past 
 history of the drama, we are deeply impressed by two 
 main, commanding features. The first of these is the 
 perennial and universal existence of the dramatic instinct, 
 always and everywhere seeking expression, always and 5 
 everywhere pushing up its shoots into the national life. 
 Often repressed, often debased, often childish, often 
 vulgar, often obscene, often the emptiest, silliest bauble ; 
 formless ; ribald ; violent ; grotesque ; a feast of inde- 
 cencies, or a feast of horrors, there has yet rarely been a 10 
 time, or a country, where some kind of drama has not 
 been fitfully and precariously struggling into existence. 
 That is the first main feature in the world's dramatic 
 history. The second main feature is inverse and com- 
 plementary. Twice in the past the drama has splen- 15 
 didly emerged, has seized, possessed, inflamed and in- 
 terpreted the whole spirit of the nation, has become the 
 supreme artistic achievement of the age and people. 
 Twice it has thus emerged once in Greece, and once in 
 Elizabethan England. But a Frenchman would say 20 
 that three times, and a Spaniard would claim that four 
 
 1 An address delivered at Harvard University, October 31, 1906. 
 
 245 
 
246 Arguments 
 
 times in the world's history have there been great 
 creative outbursts of drama. Well, we who possess 
 Shakespeare will generously allow that there have been 
 four such great creative outbursts which have left stand- 
 ing these towering mountain ranges of drama for us to 5 
 wonder at. France, in the seventeenth century, was the 
 scene of the last of these great creative outbursts, and 
 the incomparable Moliere was the head and front of its 
 glory. 
 
 This brings me to the purpose of my lecture, which is, 10 
 indeed, to ask this practical question, " By what means 
 can a worthy art of the drama be fostered and developed 
 in America and England to-day ? " I think we may best 
 get an answer to this question by comparing the history 
 and status of the drama in France and in England from 15 
 the time of Moliere down to the twentieth century 
 down to the modern drama of the day before yesterday. 
 
 Let us look at England first. Immediately after 
 Moliere we have Dryden, and the brilliant and corrupt 
 Restoration Comedy, largely drawing its inspiration 20 
 from France and Moliere. But our leading Restoration 
 dramatists had not the immense advantage of Moliere's 
 practical acquaintance with the theater ; and their plays, 
 compared with Moliere's, are badly and loosely con- 
 structed. Further, there is a profound, instinctive, all- 25 
 pervasive morality in Moliere. Moliere's morality is 
 sure, intrinsic, inevitable ; like Dante's, like Ibsen's, like 
 Nature's morality. Our English Restoration Comedy is 
 arid, heartless, degrading ; essentially mischievous, cor- 
 
The Corner Stones of Modern Drama 247 
 
 rupt and depraved. Our love for Charles Lamb must 
 not tempt us for a moment to accept his ingenious and 
 audacious excuse for Restoration Comedy. We will not 
 withdraw our censure from these Restoration heroes and 
 heroines on the curious plea that they are fairy rakes and 5 
 harlots living in a fairy land of cuckoldry ; in spite of 
 Charles Lamb we will, if you please, very heartily and 
 wholesomely condemn them, and feel all the better and 
 more self-righteous for having done it. 
 
 Our Restoration Comedy, then, has vanished from our 10 
 stage, on the score of bad construction and bad morality ; 
 more, I fear, because of its bad construction than of its 
 bad morality. But though the Restoration Comedy no 
 longer holds our stage, the splendor of its wit, and the 
 vividness of its portraiture of town life insure it a lasting 15 
 place in English literature. 
 
 Since the Restoration Comedy, what place has the 
 English drama held in English literature? 
 
 I was dining the other night with a book-collecting 
 friend. He brought out first editions of "The Rivals," 20 
 "The School for Scandal," and "She Stoops to Con- 
 quer." "There!" he exclaimed, "that's all the har- 
 vest of your English drama for the last two hundred 
 years." Those three little volumes were all that a 
 wealthy collector thought worthy to preserve of the 25 
 dramatic art of the Anglo-Saxon race in the past two 
 hundred years that Anglo-Saxon race which during 
 that same two hundred years has held sovereign sway and 
 masterdom in literature, in science, and in arms ; which 
 
248 Arguments 
 
 once held the sovereignty of the world in drama ; a race 
 of restless and inexhaustible achievement in almost every 
 field ; a race of action, and therefore essentially a dra- 
 matic race ; a race whose artistic instincts would irre- 
 sistibly find their natural and triumphant outlet on the 5 
 stage. And in two hundred years all that the Anglo- 
 Saxon race has produced of drama worthy to be pre- 
 served as literature is contained in those three tiny vol- 
 umes. Why have we made such a beggarly mess of our 
 drama ? 10 
 
 Now if we turn from England to France, and survey 
 the French theater and the French drama, we shall find 
 that there has been an almost continuous stream of great 
 writers for the stage from Moliere onwards to the present 
 time. In the seventeenth century, Moliere stands not 15 
 only at the head of the French drama, but also at the 
 head of French literature; holding the same relative 
 place as did Shakespeare in England half a century 
 earlier. If France were asked, " Who of your sons since 
 Moliere dare claim the garland of eternal and universal 20 
 renown ? Who in your later days is fit to stand in the 
 circle of Homer, Virgil, Dante, Shakespeare, Milton, and 
 Goethe ?" if France were asked that question, I sup- 
 pose she could only send in the names of two candidates 
 
 - Voltaire and Victor Hugo. But these, her two most 25 
 famous men of letters in the eighteenth and in the nine- 
 teenth centuries, are also her leading playwrights. As 
 Moliere in his century headed both literature and 
 drama, so do Voltaire and Victor Hugo in theirs. But 
 
The Corner Stones of Modern Drama 249 
 
 what a crowd of illustrious companions swarm round 
 these great men. Look down the long list of them 
 Regnard, Marivaux, Beaumarchais, Dumas, Alfred de 
 Musset, Casimir Delavigne, Dumas fils, Augier, Labiche, 
 not to mention half a dozen living writers who are yearly 5 
 throwing out powerful dramas dealing faithfully, sin- 
 cerely, and searchingly with the vital characters, scenes, 
 and issues of our modern social life. Take the long list of 
 French writers of the first rank, and you will scarcely find 
 one who has not been more or less successful on the stage. 10 
 The French theater has not been merely in constant touch 
 with French literature ; the French theater and French 
 literature have been wedded to each other for the last 
 two hundred years, bone of one bone and flesh of one 
 flesh. Every play by a leading French playwright is 15 
 not only eagerly discussed and judged in the theater; it 
 is immediately published and eagerly discussed and 
 judged as literature. A year or two ago, I remember 
 taking up at a little wayside French bookstall a copy of 
 the two hundred and eightieth thousand of Cyrano de 20 
 Bergerac. 
 
 Further, during those two centuries there has been 
 a constant method of training actors and actresses. 
 Acting is known to be a great art in France. The all- 
 round performance of a strong emotional play in Paris 25 
 is immeasurably above the all-round performance of a 
 strong emotional play in London ; while the exhibition 
 of quite amateur performers in leading parts, such as is 
 not rarely seen on the London stage, would be a thing 
 
250 Arguments 
 
 disgraceful or impossible in any leading city of France, 
 to say nothing of Paris. 
 
 Again, in France the drama is reckoned as a fine art, 
 and is judged on that level ; that is, as a means of pro- 
 viding amusement by the representation and interpre- 5 
 tation of life. The French are a nation of cultivated 
 playgoers, alert to seize the finest shades of the actor's 
 and the author's meaning. In England, the great mass 
 of playgoers have lost all sense that the drama is the art 
 of representing life, and go to the theater mainly to be 10 
 awed by scenery, or to be tickled by funny antics and 
 songs and dances that have no relation to life, and 
 merely provide a means of wasting the evening in enter- 
 tainments not far removed from idiocy. 
 
 If the English drama for two hundred years makes a 15 
 beggarly show when looked at by itself, how abject and 
 meager and utterly despicable does it appear when com- 
 pared with the drama of France in the same period! 
 Once more we are brought round to the same question, 
 "What are the causes of the present pitiable condition 20 
 of the Anglo-American drama to-day ?" Again I claim 
 that the Anglo-American race is naturally and instinct- 
 ively a dramatic race ; a race of action ; a race fitted for 
 great exploits on the outer and larger stage of the world's 
 history, and also for great exploits on the inner and 25 
 smaller stage of the theater. We have proved our mettle 
 on both stages. We hold the world's prize for drama. 
 Why then are we so far to seek ? Why are we lagging 
 behindhand in this our own native art of the drama, 
 
The Corner Stones of Modern Drama 251 
 
 where by right we should lead the other nations at our 
 heels ? How is it that these three poor thin volumes of 
 plays are all that we have to show for two hundred 
 years ; while of living, serious, operative, modern drama 
 to-day America and England have barely a fragment 5 
 that will stand the final test of a quiet hour in the study ? 
 
 The fundamental reason is to be found in the charac- 
 ter of our race. We are a dramatic race : we are also a 
 deeply religious race. Religion easily runs riot to fear 
 and meanness and madness, and creates abominable 10 
 hells in its panic. After the mellow pomp of the Eliza- 
 bethan age, religion ran riot in England. We owe the 
 imbecility and paralysis of our drama to-day to the insane 
 rage of Puritanism that would see nothing in the theater 
 but a horrible, unholy thing to be crushed and stamped 15 
 out of existence. Let our Puritan friends ask them- 
 selves how far their creed is responsible, by the natural 
 and inevitable law of reaction, for the corruption of the 
 national drama at the Restoration, and for its pitiable 
 condition ever since. The feeling of horror and fright of 20 
 the theater, engendered at the Restoration, is even to-day 
 widely prevalent and operative among religious classes 
 in England and America. It muddles and stupefies 
 our drama, and degrades it from the rank of a fine art to 
 the rank of a somewhat disreputable form of popular 25 
 entertainment. 
 
 I have pointed out what I believe to be the underly- 
 ing cause of the intellectual degradation of the Anglo- 
 American drama to-day. But, attendant on this 
 
252 Arguments 
 
 primary cause, are those other secondary and resultant 
 causes and signs of degradation which we have glanced 
 at in comparing the English and French drama. I will 
 repeat them in the order of their importance. 
 
 (1) The divorce of the English drama from English 5 
 literature, of which it is indeed the highest and most 
 difficult form, and of which it should be chief ornament. 
 Accompanying this divorce of literature and the drama 
 
 is the contempt of English men of letters and literary 
 critics for the theater; their utter ignorance of the 10 
 difficulties of the dramatist; their refusal to recognize 
 the modern drama as literature, which refusal again 
 reacts upon the dramatist, and tends to lower the 
 quality of his work, inasmuch as he is left without 
 encouragement, and without any appeal to high stand- 15 
 ards of literature and good taste. 
 
 (2) The general absence from the English theater 
 and from modern English plays of any sane, consistent, 
 or intelligible ideas about morality; so that, while the 
 inanities and indecencies of musical comedy are snig- 20 
 gered at and applauded, the deepest permanent pas- 
 sions of men and women are tabooed, and the serious 
 dramatist is bidden to keep his characters well within 
 the compass of that system of morality which is prac- 
 ticed amongst wax dolls. 25 
 
 (3 ) The divorce of the English drama from its sister 
 arts; its deposition from any assured place in the in- 
 tellectual and artistic life of the nalion. 
 
 (4) The absorption of the English drama into popular 
 
The Corner Stones of Modern Drama 253, 
 
 amusement ; the absence of any high standard whereby 
 to judge acting or plays; the absence of all great tradi- 
 tions ; the absence of all pride in the drama as a fine, 
 and humane, and dignified art. 
 
 (5 ) The want of a training school for actors the 5 
 want of any means for giving promising novices a con- 
 stant practice in varied roles, that they may gradually 
 acquire a sure grip of their art, and make the best of 
 their natural gifts; and that the author may have a 
 sufficient supply of competent actors to interpret his 10 
 characters in such a way that his play may be seen to 
 good advantage. 
 
 (6) The elevation of incompetent actors and actresses 
 into false positions as stars, whereby, in the dearth of 
 any general level of experienced and competent all- 15 
 round acting, the possessor of a pretty face or a fine 
 physique is able to dominate the situation, and to rule 
 what plays shall be produced, and how they shall be 
 cast and mounted ; the general lack of all interest in the 
 play, or in the author's study of life and character, apa* t 20 
 from their being the vehicle for some star actor to put 
 or keep himself in a leading position, with his actor 
 brothers and sisters as his satellites. 
 
 (7) A widely spread dependence "upon translations 
 and adaptions of foreign plays, inasmuch as they can be 25 
 bought at a cheap rate, and, in the absence of any gen- 
 eral care or knowledge as to what a natural drama should 
 be, are just as likely to provide the actor with a personal 
 and pecuniary success, while they also largely set him 
 
254 Arguments 
 
 free from all obligations to that objectionable and inter- 
 fering person, the author. 
 
 Now all these discouraging symptoms and conditions 
 of our modern drama which I have glanced at are in- 
 extricably related to each other ; many of them are, in- 5 
 deed, only different aspects of the same facts ; they are 
 woven all of a piece with each other, and with that 
 Puritan horror of the theater which I believe to be the 
 cardinal reason, that neither America nor England has 
 to-day an art of the drama at all worthy the dignity, the 10 
 resources, and the self-respect of a great nation. Many 
 of these discouraging symptoms and conditions are 
 perhaps more widely prevalent, and more pronounced, 
 in England than in America. But I hope you will not 
 think I have given an ill-natured or exaggerated sketch 15 
 of the present condition of the Anglo-American drama. 
 If I have wounded your susceptibilities, I have done it 
 with the good intention of rendering you some small 
 help in your noble design of building up a great national 
 school of American drama. And, as an Englishman, I 20 
 must regretfully own that I see a great chance of your 
 having a national theater and a national drama, while 
 we are left fumbling about amongst the grotesque 
 futilities of French adaptations, and the imbecilities of 
 musical farce. 25 
 
 Now, if I have struck my finger on the place in point- 
 ing to the religious dread of the theater, and the conse- 
 quent abstention from it of the best and soundest ele- 
 ments of our nations if I have traced our difficulties 
 
The' Corner Stones of Modern Drama 255- 
 
 and shortcomings to their true source, it 'is clear that 
 before we can hope for any signal advance in dramatic 
 art, we must win over a large body of public opinion to 
 our views. 
 
 In their attitude towards the theater and the drama, 5 
 we may, I think, make a rough division of the Anglo- 
 American public into three classes. Both in England 
 and in America we have large masses, who may be 
 counted by millions, of mere amusement seekers, newly 
 enfranchised from the prison house of Puritanism, eager 10 
 to enjoy themselves at the theater in the easiest way, 
 without traditions, without any real judgment of plays 
 or acting; mere children, with no care or thought be- 
 yond the delight of the moment in finding themselves 
 in a wonder house where impossibly heroic and self- 15 
 sacrificing persons make love and do prodigious deeds, 
 and marry and live happily ever afterwards; or in a 
 funny house where funny people do all sorts of funny 
 things. These form the great bulk, I think, of Ameri- 
 can and English playgoers. Then we have a very large 20 
 class of moderate, reasonable, respectable people, who 
 go to the theater occasionally, but with some feeling 
 of discomfort at having done a frivolous, if not a 
 wicked thing ; who are not actively hostile to the drama, 
 perhaps, but who are quite indifferent to its higher 25 
 development and to its elevation into a fine art. This 
 class contains many refined, cultivated people that 
 is, they seem to be cultivated and refined in all subjects 
 except the drama. It is a constant puzzle to me why 
 
256 Arguments 
 
 men and women who are thoroughly educated and 
 developed in every other respect should suddenly drop 
 to the mental range of children of five the moment they 
 think and speak about the drama. 
 
 Again, we have a third class, a very large class, which 5 
 contains some of the soundest and best elements of the 
 Anglo-Saxon race: very influential, very respectable, 
 very much to be regarded, and consulted, and feared. 
 And this large, influential, religious class is in more or 
 less active hostility to the theater, and to the drama, 10 
 and to everything and everybody connected therewith. 
 We may call these three classes respectively the amuse- 
 ment-seeking class; the moderate, reasonable, indif- 
 ferent class; the hostile, religious class. This is the 
 very roughest and loosest division, and of course all 15 
 these classes blend and shade into each other without 
 any rigid line of distinction. I do not know how actively 
 hostile to the drama are the religious elements in Ameri- 
 can society. I am told that while the religious preju- 
 dice against the theater is dying away in the eastern 20 
 sea-board states, it is still most potent and aggressive 
 in the West. But a story that was told me before leav- 
 ing England will, I think, convince you that this reli- 
 gious prejudice is still a terrible hindrance to the highest 
 development of your drama. There is nothing in which 25 
 Americans can more legitimately take pride than in 
 the magnificent public spirit shown by their wealthy 
 citizens. Englishmen stand agape "and envious at the 
 large sums given by your millionaires to advance and 
 
The Corner Stones of Modern Drama 257 
 
 endow all kinds of scientific, artistic and social enter- 
 prises. I am told that a very large amount was designed 
 by a wealthy American to found and endow a national 
 American theater on a most lavish scale; but he was 
 persuaded by a religious friend to hold his hand and 5 
 shut his pocket, because of the evil that a national theater 
 might work in your midst. Consider what mischief 
 was done to the whole American community by the 
 frustration of that most wise, most humane, most benev- 
 olent scheme ! Consider how many hundreds of thou- 10 
 sands of your fellow-citizens will in consequence waste 
 their evenings in empty frivolity when they might have 
 been drawn to Shakespeare or Goethe. Therefore we 
 must still count that the hostile, religious spirit is very 
 active and potent on your side of the Atlantic, as upon 15 
 ours. It everywhere sets up a current of ill-will and ill- 
 nature towards the drama throughout the two entire 
 nations: it everywhere stimulates opposition to the 
 theater: it keeps alive prejudices that would otherwise 
 have died down two hundred years ago : and it is, in my 20 
 opinion, the one great obstacle to the rise and develop- 
 ment of a serious, dignified, national art of the drama. 
 I fear there will always be a crew of unwholesome, 
 religious fanatics in America and England who will 
 be doomed at their birth to be hostile to the drama. 25 
 It is useless to argue with them. You cannot argue 
 the jaundice out of a man, and advise him that it is 
 foolish to have a sickly green complexion. He needs 
 something far more drastic than advice and argument. 
 
258 Arguments 
 
 We must leave the fanatics to rave against the theater, 
 and against all art and beauty. 
 
 But among this actively hostile religious class, and 
 also among the moderate, reasonable, indifferent class, 
 there must be thousands who, having been nurtured to 5 
 regard the theater as frivolous and empty and evil, have 
 adopted the ideas current around them, and have never 
 taken the trouble to examine their stock prejudices 
 against the drama, and to inquire whether there is any 
 ground for them. To this large body of American and 10 
 English citizens ; to the heads and leaders of all those 
 religious sects in America and England who are now 
 hostile to the drama; and especially to that large allied 
 class of influential, educated men in both countries, 
 who, if not actively hostile, are supercilious, and cold, 15 
 and indifferent, and blind to the aims and possibilities 
 of this fine art to all these citizens representing the 
 best and soundest elements in the Anglo-American 
 race, we may make a strong and friendly appeal. I 
 propose that we shall say to them: 20 
 
 " Brother Puritans, Brother Pharisees, the dramatic 
 instinct is ineradicable, inexhaustible; it is entwined 
 with all the roots of our nature; you may watch its in- 
 cessant activity in your own children; almost every 
 moment of the day they are acting some little play; 25 
 as we grow up and strengthen, this dramatic instinct 
 grows up and strengthens in us ; as our shadow, it clings 
 to us ; we cannot escape from it f we cannot help pic- 
 turing back to ourselves some copy of this strange, event- 
 
The Corner Stones of Modern Drama 259 
 
 ful history of ours; this strange, earthly life of ours 
 throws everywhere around us and within us reflections 
 and re-reflections of itself; we act it over and over again 
 in the chambers of imagery, and in dreams, and on the 
 silent secret stage of our own soul. When some master 5 
 dramatist takes these reflections, and combines them, 
 and shapes them into a play for us, very Nature herself 
 is behind him, working through him for our welfare. 
 So rigidly economical, so zealously frugal is she, that 
 what is at first a mere impulse to play, a mere impulse 10 
 to masquerade and escape from life this idle pastime 
 she transforms and glorifies into a masterpiece of wis- 
 dom and beauty; it becomes our sweet and lovable guide 
 in the great business and conduct of life. This is what 
 she did for us in Shakespeare and Moliere. Consider 15 
 the utility of the theater, you practical Americans and 
 Englishmen! You have noticed cats teaching their 
 kittens to play at catching mice. But this is their great 
 business and duty in after life. You have noticed 
 puppies pretending to hunt, and shake, and kill game. 20 
 But this is their great business and duty in after life. 
 That is what all children and young things do. They 
 play at their father's business. So that their play time 
 is not wasted, but is indeed a wise, amusing way of pre- 
 paring for life. So Nature teaches us, her children, to 25 
 play at life in the theater, that we may carelessly and 
 easily learn the great rules of conduct; that we may 
 become insensibly instructed in the great art of living 
 well; insensibly infected with a hatred for things base 
 
260 Arguments 
 
 and ungentle and foul; insensibly infected with a pas- 
 sion for whatsoever things are true, and honest, and 
 just, and pure, and lovely, and of good report. 
 
 "This, then, is the use of the theater, that men may 
 learn the great rules of life and conduct in the guise of 5 
 a play; learn them, not formally, didactically, as they 
 learn in school and in church, but pleasantly, insensibly, 
 spontaneously, and oftentimes, believe me, with a more 
 assured and lasting result in manners and conduct. Is 
 not that a wise form of amusement ? 10 
 
 "Look at the vast population of our great cities crowd- 
 ing more an'd more into our theaters, demanding there 
 to be given some kind of representation of life, some 
 form of play. You cannot quench that demand. Dur- 
 ing the next generation, hundreds of theaters will be 15 
 opened all over America and England. If you abstain 
 from visiting those theaters, you will not close them. 
 Millions of your countrymen, the vast masses, will still 
 frequent them. The effect of your absence, and of your 
 discountenance, will merely be to lower the moral and 20 
 intellectual standard of the plays that will then be given. 
 Will you never learn the lesson of the English Restora- 
 tion, that when the best and most serious classes of the 
 nation detest and defame their theater, it instantly 
 justifies their abuse and becomes indeed a scandal and 25 
 a source of corruption? Many of you already put 
 Shakespeare next to the Bible, as the guide and inspirer 
 of our race. Why then do you despise his calling, and 
 vilify his disciples, and misunderstand his art? Do 
 
The Corner Stones of Modern Drama 261 
 
 you not see that this amusement which you neglect 
 and flout and decry is more than an amusement: is 
 indeed at once the finest and the most popular of all 
 the arts, with an immense influence on the daily lives 
 of our fellow-citizens? Help us, then, to organize and 5 
 endow this fine art in all the cities of our Anglo-Ameri- 
 can race, wherever our common tongue is spoken, from 
 London to San Francisco. Help us to establish it in 
 the esteem and affections of our fellow-countrymen, as 
 the measure of our advance in humanity and civiliza- 10 
 tion, and in that knowledge of ourselves which is the end 
 and flower of all education !" 
 
 Some such appeal may, I think, be made to the more 
 seriously minded of our countrymen qn both sides the 
 Atlantic. I have given it great prominence in these 15 
 lectures, because I feel that before we begin to build, we 
 need to clear the ground of the rank growths of preju- 
 dice and Puritan hatred which still choke the drama. 
 Both in England and America we seem to be waiting 
 for some great national impulse, some word of command, 20 
 for a general forward movement towards a creative 
 school of drama. In spite of many discouragements 
 and humiliations during the last ten or twelve years ; in 
 spite of the hatred of the religious world, the indifference 
 and contempt of the educated and artistic classes, the 25 
 debased frivolity of the multitude, the zealous envy and 
 rage of those whose ignoble trade and daily bread it is 
 to keep the drama on a degraded level in spite of all 
 these hindrances, I believe that word of command will 
 
262 Arguments 
 
 be spoken, and that we shall march to it. But if there 
 is to be any stability and permanence in the movement, 
 it must be a national one. We must engage the sym- 
 pathies and cooperation of all classes. We have many 
 schisms and sects in religion: let us have none in the 5 
 drama. I have taken much time, and, I fear, I have 
 taxed your patience in thus clearing the ground. But 
 having cleared the ground, we can begin to lay the cor- 
 ner stones. I have already told you what seem to me 
 to be the corner stones of any school of drama, worthy 10 
 to be called national in such countries as America and 
 England. Perhaps I may here repeat them in the order 
 of their importance. They are these: 
 
 (1) The recognition of the drama as the highest and 
 most difficult form of literature: the establishment of 15 
 definite and continuous relations between the drama 
 and literature. 
 
 (2) The acknowledged right of the dramatist to deal 
 with the serious problems of life, with the passions of 
 men and women in the spirit of the broad, wise, sane, 20 
 searching morality of the Bible and Shakespeare: his 
 release from the hypocritical fiction that his fellow- 
 creatures are large wax dolls, stuffed with the saw- 
 dust of sentimentality and impossible self-sacrifice. To 
 sum up, the establishment of definite and continuous 25 
 relations between the drama and morality. 
 
 (3) The severance of the drama from popular enter- 
 tainment: the recognition of it as a fine art which, 
 though its lower ranges must always compound with 
 
The Corner Stones of Modern Drama 263 
 
 mere popular entertainment, and be confused with it, 
 is yet essentially something different from popular 
 entertainment, transcends it, and in its higher ranges 
 is in marked and eternal antagonism to popular enter- 
 tainment. To sum up, the establishment of definite 5 
 and continuous relations between the drama and her 
 sister arts. 
 
 (4) The establishment of those relations between 
 actor and author which shall best aid the development 
 of the drama : the recognition by the public that there 10 
 is an art of the drama as well as an art of acting : the 
 assignment of their due place, and functions, and op- 
 portunities to each : the breaking down, so far as may 
 be possible, of the present deadening system of long 
 runs : the provision of training schools for actors so that 15 
 they may get constant practice and experience in varied 
 roles, so that the auxiliary arts of the drama and the 
 theater may keep pace and tune with each other, so that 
 the art of acting may not languish for lack of new plays, 
 and that the art of the drama may not languish from the 20 
 lack of competent and serious actors. To sum up, the 
 establishment of rigidly definite relations and well- 
 marked boundaries between the art of the drama, and 
 the art of acting, to the benefit and advancement of 
 both actor and author. 25 
 
 These seem to me to be the four corner stones upon 
 which we must build, if we are ever to raise, in England 
 and America, an art of the drama with any real influence, 
 and import, and dignity in Anglo-American civilization. 
 
264 Arguments 
 
 When I was in America last autumn after an ab- 
 sence of twenty years, I could not help feeling myself 
 in the presence of immense forces that are gradually 
 shifting the foundations, and changing the drift of Anglo- 
 American civilization. I could not help feeling that 5 
 the scepter of material prosperity is slipping from our 
 hands into your vigorous, remorseless grasp. I could 
 not avoid the uneasy presentiment that in a few genera- 
 tions the center and seat of whatever system of Anglo- 
 American civilization may then be current, will be 10 
 irrevocably fixed on this side the Atlantic. That cannot 
 be other than a saddening, chilling thought to an Eng- 
 lishman who loves his country. I cannot but think 
 it will bring some sympathetic regret to many Ameri- 
 cans. Yet, after all, your chief feeling must be one 15 
 of pride and triumph in your young nation, and you will 
 chant over us your Emerson's ringing notes; 
 
 The lord is the peasant that was, 
 
 The peasant the lord that shall be: 
 
 The lord is hay, the peasant grass, 20 
 
 One dry, one the living tree. 
 
 But the Empire of Mammon sucks after it other 
 empires ; perhaps in our modern commercial world it 
 will suck after it all other empires, all arts, all inter- 
 ests, all responsibilities, all leaderships. Yet we must 25 
 still trust that in days to come, as in days of old, it will 
 not be the scepter of material prosperity that will finally 
 hold sway over the earth. Granted that, in a short 
 time as reckoned by the life of nations, we shall have 
 
The Corner Stones of Modern Drama 265 
 
 to hand over to you, with what grace we may, the scepter 
 of material prosperity, shall we not still hold that other 
 magic wand, shadowy, invisible, but more compulsive 
 than scepters of gold or iron the scepter of literary, 
 intellectual and artistic dominion? Or will you wrest 5 
 that also from us? May we not rather hope to see both 
 nations united in a great assay to build one common 
 monument of graceful, wise, beautiful, dignified, human 
 existence on both sides the Atlantic? Your nation 
 has, what all young nations have, what England is 10 
 losing, the power to be moved by ideas, and that divine 
 resilient quality of youth, the power to be stirred and 
 frenzied by ideals. If a guest whom you have honored 
 so much, if your most fervent well-wisher may presume 
 to whisper his most fervent wishes for a country to whom 15 
 he is so deeply indebted, he would say, " As you vie with 
 us in friendly games and contests of boclily strength, 
 may you more resolutely vie with us for the mastership 
 in art and in the ornament of life ; build statelier homes, 
 nobler cities, and more aspiring temples than we have 20 
 built ; let your lives be fuller of meaning and purpose 
 than ours have lately been; have the wisdom richly 
 to endow and unceasingly to foster all the arts, and all 
 that makes for majesty of life and character rather than 
 for material prosperity and comfort. Especially foster 25 
 and honor this supreme art of Shakespeare's, so much 
 neglected and misunderstood in both countries : endow 
 it in all your cities ; build handsome, spacious theaters : 
 train your actors: reward your dramatists, sparingly 
 
266 Arguments 
 
 with fees, but lavishly with laurels; bid them dare to 
 paint American life sanely, truthfully, searchingly, for 
 you. Dare to see your life thus painted. Dare to let 
 your drama ridicule and reprove your follies and vices 
 and deformities. Dare to let it mock and whip, as 5 
 well as amuse, you. Dare to let it be a faithful mirror. 
 Make it one of your chief counsellors. Set it on the 
 summit of your national esteem, for it will draw upwards 
 all your national life and character ; upwards to higher 
 and more worthy levels, to starry heights of wisdom 10 
 and beauty and resolve and aspiration." 
 
IS MUSIC THE TYPE OR MEASURE OF ALL 
 ART? 1 
 
 JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS 
 
 MR. MATTHEW ARNOLD'S definition of poetry as " at 
 bottom a Criticism of Life," insisted somewhat too 
 strenuously on the purely intellectual and moral aspects 
 of art. There is a widely different way of regarding 
 the same subject-matter, which finds acceptance with 5 
 many able thinkers of the present time. This ignores 
 the criticism of life altogether, and dwells with empha- 
 sis upon sensuous presentation, emotional suggestion, 
 and technical perfection, as the central and essential 
 qualities of art. In order to steer a safe course between 10 
 the Scylla of excessive intellectuality and the Charyb- 
 dis of excessive sensuousness, it will be well to examine 
 what a delicate and philosophical critic has published 
 on this second theory of the arts. With this object in 
 view, I choose a paper by Mr. Walter Pater on "The 15 
 School of Giorgione." 2 The opinion that art has a 
 sphere independent of intellectual or ethical intention 
 is here advocated with lucidity, singular charm of style, 
 and characteristic reserve. 
 
 1 From "Essays Speculative and Suggestive." London, Smith, 
 Elder & Co. New York, Charles Scribner's Sons. 
 2 Fortnightly Review, October, 1877. 
 267 
 
268 Arguments 
 
 Mr. Pater opens the discussion by very justly con- 
 demning the tendency of popular critics "to regard all 
 products of art as various forms of poetry." "For 
 this criticism," he says, "poetry, music, and painting 
 are but translations into different languages of one and 5 
 the same fixed quantity of imaginative thought, supple- 
 mented by certain technical qualities of color in paint- 
 ing, of sound in music, of rhythmical words in poetry." 
 "In this way," he adds, "the sensuous element in art, 
 and with it almost everything in art that is essentially 10 
 artistic, is made a matter of indifference." He then 
 proceeds to point out that each of the fine arts has its 
 own sphere, its own untranslatable mode of expres- 
 sion, its own way of reaching the imaginative reason 
 through the senses, its own special responsibilities to its 15 
 material. 
 
 So far, every intelligent student of the subject will 
 agree with him. Nor will there be any substantial dif- 
 ference of opinion as to the second point on which he 
 insists namely, that each of the arts, while pursuing 20 
 its own object, and obeying its own laws, may some- 
 times assimilate the quality of a sister-art. This, adopt- 
 ing German phraseology, Mr. Pater terms the Anders- 
 streben of an art, or the reaching forward from its own 
 sphere into the sphere of another art. We are familiar 25 
 with the thought that Greek dramatic poetry borrowed 
 something of its form from sculpture, and that the Italian 
 romantic epic was determined to a' great extent by the 
 analogy of painting. Nor is it by any means an inno- 
 
Is Music the Type of Art? 269 
 
 vation in criticism to refer all the artistic products of a 
 nation to some dominant fine art, for which that nation 
 possessed a special aptitude, and which consequently 
 gave color and complexion to its whole aesthetical ac- 
 tivity. Accordingly, Mr. Pater, both in the doctrine of 5 
 the independence of each art, and also in the doctrine 
 of the Anders-streben of one art toward another, advances 
 nothing which excites opposition. 
 
 At this point, however, he passes into a region of 
 more questionable speculation. Having rebuked popu- 10 
 lar criticism for using poetry as the standard whereby 
 to judge the arts, he proceeds to make a similar use of 
 music ; for he lays it down that all the arts in common 
 aspire " towards the principle of music, music being the 
 typical, or ideally consummate art, the object of the 15 
 great Anders-streben of all art, of all that is artistic, or 
 partakes of artistic qualities." 
 
 The reason for this assertion is stated with precision: 1 
 
 All art constantly aspires towards the condition of music. For 
 while in all other works of art it is possible to distinguish the 20 
 matter from the form, and the understanding can always make 
 this distinction, yet it is the constant effort of art to obliterate it. 
 That the mere matter of a poem, for instance, its subject, its given 
 incidents or situation ; that the mere matter of a picture, the actual 
 circumstances of an event, the actual topography of a landscape, 25 
 should be nothing without the form, the spirit of the handling; 
 that this form, this mode of handling, should become an end in 
 itself, should penetrate every part of the matter; this is what all 
 art constantly strives after, and achieves in different degrees. 
 
 1 Fortnightly Review, p. 528. The italics are Mr. Pater's. 
 
270 Arguments 
 
 Having illustrated the meaning of this paragraph by 
 references to painting, poetry, furniture, dress, and the 
 details of daily intercourse, Mr. Pater proceeds as 
 follows : l 
 
 Art, then, is thus always striving to be independent of the mere 5 
 intelligence, to become a matter of pure perception, to get rid of 
 its responsibilities to its subject or material; the ideal examples 
 of poetry and painting being those in which the constituent ele- 
 ments of the composition are so welded together that the material 
 or subject no longer strikes the intellect only; nor the form, the 10 
 eye or ear only; but form and matter, in their union or identity, 
 present one single effect to the imaginative reason, that complex 
 faculty for which every thought and feeling is twin-born with its 
 sensible analogue or symbol. 
 
 It is the art of music which most completely realises this artistic 15 
 ideal, this perfect identification of form and matter, this strange 
 chemistry, uniting, in the integrity of pure light, contrasted ele- 
 ments. In its ideal, consummate moments, the end is not distinct 
 from the means, the form from the matter, the subject from the 
 expression; they inhere in and completely saturate each other; 20 
 and to it, therefore, to the condition of its perfect moments, all the 
 arts may be supposed constantly to tend and aspire. Music, then, 
 not poetry, as is so often supposed, is the true type or measure of 
 consummate art. Therefore, although each art has its incom- 
 municable element, its untranslatable order of impressions, its 25 
 unique mode of reaching the imaginative reason, yet the arts may 
 be represented as continually struggling after the law or principle 
 of music, to a condition which music alone completely realises; 
 and one of the chief functions of aesthetic criticism, dealing with 
 the concrete products of art, new or old, is to estimate the degree 30 
 in which each of those products approaches in this sense to musi- 
 cal law. 
 
 1 Fortnightly Review, p. 530. 
 
Is Music the Type of Art? 271 
 
 If this means that art, as art, aspires toward a com- 
 plete absorption of the matter into the form toward 
 such a blending of the animative thought or emotion 
 with the embodying vehicle that the shape produced 
 shall be the only right and perfect manifestation of a 5 
 spiritual content to the senses, so that, while we con- 
 template the work, we cannot conceive their separa- 
 tion then in this view there is nothing either new 
 or perilous. It was precisely this which constituted 
 the consummate excellence of Greek sculpture. The 10 
 sculptor found so apt a shape for the expression of ideal 
 personality, that his marble became an apocalypse of 
 godhood. It was precisely this, again, which made 
 the poetry of Virgil artistically perfect. In the words 
 of the most eloquent of VirgiPs panegyrists: "What 15 
 is meant by the vague praise bestowed on VirgiPs un- 
 equalled style is practically this, that he has been, per- 
 haps, more successful than any other poet in fusing 
 together the expressed and the suggested emotion ; that 
 he has discovered the hidden music which can give to 20 
 every shade of feeling its distinction, its permanence, 
 and its charm ; that his thoughts seem to come to us on 
 wings of melodies prepared for them from the founda- 
 tion of the world." l 
 
 But it does not seem that Mr. Pater means this 25 
 only. We have the right to conclude from passages 
 which may be emphasised, that he has in view the more 
 questionable notion that the fine arts in their most con- 
 
 l " Essays, Classical," by F. W. H. Myers, p. 115. 
 
272 Arguments 
 
 summate moments all aspire toward vagueness of intel- 
 lectual intention that a well-defined subject in poetry 
 and painting and sculpture is a hindrance to artistic 
 quality that the delight of the eye or of the ear is of 
 more moment than the thought of the brain. Art, he 5 
 says, is " always striving to be independent of the mere 
 intelligence, to become a matter of pure perception, to 
 get rid of its responsibilities to its subject or material." 
 "Lyrical poetry/' he says, "just because in it you are 
 least able to detach the matter from the form without 10 
 a deduction of something from that matter itself, is, at 
 least artistically, the highest and most complete form 
 of poetry. And the very perfection of such poetry often 
 seems to depend in part on a certain suppression or 
 vagueness of mere subject, so that the definite meaning 15 
 almost expires, or reaches us through ways not distinctly 
 traceable by the understanding." * 
 
 This is ingenious; and it cannot be denied that the 
 theory has a plausible appearance. Yet, were we to 
 carry Mr. Pater's principles to their logical extremity, 20 
 we should have to prefer Pope's "Verses by a Person 
 of Quality" to the peroration of the "Dunciad," and a 
 noble specimen of Japanese screen painting to Turner's 
 Temeraire or Raphael's School of Athens. 
 
 So far as the art of poetry goes, he seems to over- 25 
 state a truth which is finely and exactly expressed by 
 Mr. Myers in the essay on Virgil from which I have al- 
 
 1 Fortnightly Review, p. 529. Here the italics are not Mr. Pater's 
 but mine. 
 
Is Music the Type of Art? 273 
 
 ready quoted. The passage is long ; but it puts so well 
 the point which Mr. Pater has perhaps exaggerated, 
 regarding the importance of the sensuous and sug- 
 gestive elements in poetry, that I venture to think my 
 readers will be glad to be reminded of it : * 5 
 
 The range of human thoughts and emotions greatly transcends 
 the range of such symbols as man has invented to express them; 
 and it becomes, therefore, the business of Art to use these symbols 
 in a double way. They must be used for the direct representa- 
 tion of thought and feeling; but they must also be combined by 10 
 so subtle an imagination as to suggest much which there is no 
 means of directly expressing. And this can be done; for experi- 
 ence shows that it is possible so to arrange forms, colors, and 
 sounds as to stimulate the imagination in a new and inexplicable 
 way. This power makes the painter's art an imaginative as well 15 
 as an imitative one; and gives birth to the art of the musician, 
 whose symbols are hardly imitative at all, but express emotions 
 which, till music suggests them, have been not only unknown, but 
 unimaginable. Poetry is both an imitative and an imaginative 
 art. As a choice and condensed form of emotional speech, it pos- 20 
 sesses the reality which depends on its directly recalling our pre- 
 vious thoughts and feelings. But as a system of rhythmical and 
 melodious effects not indebted for their potency to their asso- 
 ciated idea alone it appeals also to that mysterious power by 
 which mere arrangements of sound can convey an emotion which 25 
 no one could have predicted beforehand, and which no known 
 laws can explain. 
 
 And, indeed, in poetry of the first order, almost every word 
 (to use a mathematical metaphor) is raised to a higher power. 
 It continues to be an articulate sound and a logical step in the 30 
 argument; but it becomes also a musical sound and a center of 
 
 l " Essays, Classical," pp. 113-115. 
 
274 Arguments 
 
 emotional force. It becomes a musical sound that is to say, 
 its consonants and vowels are arranged to bear a relation to the 
 consonants and vowels near it a relation of which accent, quan- 
 tity, rhyme, assonance, and alliteration are specialized forms, 
 but which may be of a character more subtle than any of these. 5 
 And it becomes a center of emotional force; that is to say, the 
 complex associations which it evokes modify the associations 
 evoked by other words in the same passage in a way quite distinct 
 from grammatical or logical connection. The poet, therefore, 
 must avoid two opposite dangers. If he thinks too exclusively of 10 
 the music and the coloring of his verses of the imaginative 
 means of suggesting thought and feeling what he writes will 
 lack reality and sense. But if he cares only to communicate 
 definite thought and feeling according to the ordinary laws of 
 eloquent speech, his verse is likely to be deficient in magical and 15 
 suggestive power. 
 
 This is right. This makes equitable allowance for 
 the claims alike of the material and the form of art 
 the intellectual and emotional content, the sensuous and 
 artificial embodiment. 20 
 
 But to return to Mr. Pater. His doctrine that art is 
 " always striving to be independent of the mere intelli- 
 gence," his assertion that the perfection of lyrical poetry 
 " of ten seems to depend in part on a certain suppression 
 or vagueness of mere subject," contradict the utterances 25 
 of the greatest craftsmen in the several arts Milton's 
 sublime passages on the function of Poetry; Sidney's 
 and Shelley's Defences of Poesy; Goethe's doctrine 
 of "the motive"; Rossetti's canon that "fundamental 
 brain work" is the characteristic of all great art ; Michael 30 
 Angelo's and Beethoven's observations upon their own 
 
Is Music the Type of Art? 275 
 
 employment of sculpture and music. Rigidly applied, 
 his principles would tend to withdraw art from the 
 sphere of spirituality altogether. Yet, considered as 
 paradoxes, they have real value, inasmuch as they re- 
 call attention to the sensuous side of art, and direct 5 
 the mind from such antagonistic paradoxes as the one 
 propounded by Mr. Matthew Arnold in his preface to 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 It is difficult to see in what way Mr. Pater can evade 
 the strictures he has passed upon his brethren, the pop- 10 
 ular critics. Whether a man selects poetry or selects 
 music as the "true type or measure of consummate art/' 
 to which "in common all the arts aspire/' will depend 
 doubtless partly upon personal susceptibilities, and 
 partly upon the theory he has formed of art in general. 15 
 Both the popular critics and Mr. Pater take up their 
 position upon equally debatable ground. The case 
 stands thus. Mr. Pater is of opinion that the best 
 poetry is that in which there is the least appeal to " mere 
 intelligence/' in which the verbal melody and the sug- 20 
 gestive way of handling it are more important than the 
 intellectual content. He thinks that the best pictures 
 are those in which the "mere subject " is brought into 
 the least prominence. Holding these views, he selects 
 music as the "true type and measure of consummate 25 
 art." Herein he is consistent ; for music, by reason of 
 its limitations, is the least adapted of all arts for the ex- 
 pression of an intellectual content. The popular critic, 
 on the other hand, is of opinion that the best poetry is 
 
276 Arguments 
 
 that which has the clearest, the most human, and the 
 most impressive motive. He thinks that the best pic- 
 tures are those which, besides being delightful by their 
 drawing and color, give food for meditation and appeal 
 to mental faculty. Holding these views, he selects 5 
 poetry as the "true type and measure of consummate 
 art." Herein he too is consistent ; for poetry, by reason 
 of its limitations, is the best adapted of all arts for ap- ' 
 pealing to intelligence and embodying motives with 
 lucidity. 10 
 
 Mr. Pater and the popular critic are equally right or 
 equally wrong. We are, in fact, confronting two differ- 
 ent conceptions of art, each of which is partial and 
 one-sided, because the one insists too strongly on the 
 sensuous form, the other on the mental stuff, of art. 15 
 
 Suppose a man does not accept Mr. Pater's doctrine ; 
 supposing he starts from another point of view, and 
 demands some defined conception in a work of art as 
 well as a sensuous appeal to our imaginative reason; 
 supposing he regards art in its highest manifestation as 20 
 a mode of utterance for what is spiritual in man, as a 
 language for communicating the ideal world of thought 
 and feeling in sensible form ; then he will be tempted 
 to select not music but poetry as his type and measure. 
 Thus it is manifest that critics who refer to the standard 25 
 of poetry, and critics who refer to the standard of music, 
 differ in this mainly that they hold divergent theories 
 regarding the function of art in general. 
 
 The debatable point for consideration is whether 
 
Is Music the Type of Art? 277 
 
 either the popular critic rebuked by Mr. Pater or Mr. 
 Pater himself can legitimately choose one of the arts 
 as the "type and measure" for the rest. I maintain 
 that both are expressing certain personal predilections, 
 whereby the abiding relations of the arts run some 5 
 risk of being overlooked. What the matter really comes 
 to is this : while the one proclaims his preference for 
 sensuous results, the other proclaims a preference for 
 defined intelligible content. Each does violence by his 
 selection to one or other of the arts. The critic who de- 10 
 mands a meaning at any cost, will find it hard to account 
 for his appreciation of music or architecture. Mr. 
 Pater, in order to complete his theory, is forced to de- 
 preciate the most sublime and powerful masterpieces 
 of poetry. In his view drama and epic doff their caps 15 
 before a song, in which verbal melody and the communi- 
 cation of a mood usurp upon invention, passion, cere- 
 bration, definite meaning. 
 
 Just as the subjectivity of any age or nation erects 
 one art into the measure of the rest, so the subjectivity 20 
 of a particular critic will induce him to choose poetry 
 or music, or it may be sculpture, as his standard. The 
 fact remains that each art possesses its own strength 
 and its own weakness, and that no one of the arts, singly 
 and by itself, achieves the whole purpose of art. That 25 
 purpose is to express the content of human thought and 
 feeling in sensuously beautiful form by means of various 
 vehicles, imposing various restrictions, and implying 
 various methods of employment. If we seek the maxi- 
 
278 Arguments 
 
 mum of intelligibility, we find it in poetry; but at the 
 same time we have here the minimum of immediate 
 effect upon the senses. If we seek the maximum of sen- 
 suous effect, we find it in music ; but at the same time 
 we have here the minimum of appeal to intelligence. 5 
 Architecture, in its inability to express definite ideas, 
 stands next to music; but its sensuous influence upon 
 the mind is feebler. As a compensation, it possesses 
 the privilege of permanence, of solidity, of impressive 
 magnitude, of undefinable but wonder-waking symbol- 10 
 ism. Sculpture owes its power to the complete and 
 concrete presentation of human form, to the perfect 
 incarnation of ideas in substantial shapes of bronze or 
 stone, on which light and shadows from the skies can 
 fall; this it alone of all the arts displays. It has affin- 15 
 ities with architecture on the one hand, owing to the 
 material it uses, and to poetry on the other, owing to 
 the intelligibility of its motives. Painting is remote 
 from architecture; but it holds a place where sculp- 
 ture, poetry, and music let their powers be felt. Though 20 
 dependent on design, it can tell a story better than 
 sculpture and in this respect painting more nearly ap- 
 proaches poetry. It can communicate a mood without 
 relying upon definite or strictly intelligible motives ; in 
 this respect it borders upon music. Of all the arts, 25 
 painting is the most flexible, the most mimetic, the most 
 illusory. It cannot satisfy our understanding like 
 poetry; it cannot flood our souls with the same noble 
 sensuous joy as music; it cannot present such perfect 
 
 
Is Music the Type of Art? 279 
 
 and full shapes as sculpture ; it cannot affect us with the 
 sense of stability or with the mysterious suggestions 
 which belong to architecture. But it partakes of all the 
 other arts through its speciality of surface-delineation, 
 and adds its own delightful gift of color, second in sen- 5 
 suous potency only to sound. 
 
 Such is the prism of the arts ; each distinct, but homo- 
 geneous, and tinctured at therr edges with hues bor- 
 rowed from the sister-arts. Their differences derive 
 from the several vehicles they are bound to employ. 10 
 Their unity is the spiritual substance which they ex- 
 press in common. Abstract beauty, the ISea rov /eaXoO, 
 is one and indivisible. But the concrete shapes which 
 manifest this beauty, decompose it, just as the prism 
 analyzes white light into colors. "Multae terricolis 15 
 linguae coelestibus una." 
 
 It is by virtue of this separateness and by virtue of 
 these sympathies that we are justified in calling the 
 poetry of Sophocles or Landor, the painting of Michel 
 Angelo or Mantegna, the music of Gluck or Cherubini, 20 
 sculpturesque ; Lorenzetti's frescoes and Dante's " Para- 
 diso," architectural; Tintoretto's Crucifixion and the 
 Genius of the Vatican, poetical ; Shelley's lyrics in " Pro- 
 metheus Unbound " and Titian's Three Ages, musical; 
 the facade of the Certosa at Pavia, pictorial ; and so 25 
 forth, as suggestion and association lead us. 
 
 But let it be remembered that this discrimination of an 
 Anders-streben in the arts, is after all but fanciful. It is 
 at best a way of expressing our sense of somethingsubjec- 
 
280 Arguments 
 
 tive in the styles of artists or of epochs, not of something 
 in the arts themselves. Let it be still more deeply re- 
 membered that if we fix upon any one art as the type 
 and measure for the rest, we are either indulging a per- 
 sonal partiality, or else uttering an arbitrary, and there- 5 
 fore inconclusive, aesthetical hypothesis. The main 
 fact to bear steadily in mind is that beauty is the sen- 
 suous manifestation of the idea that is, of the spiritual 
 element in man and in the world and that the arts, 
 each in its own way, convey this beauty to our per- 10 
 cipient self. We have to abstain on the one hand 
 from any theory which emphasizes the didactic func- 
 tion of art, and on the other from any theory, however 
 plausible, which diverts attention from the one cardi- 
 nal truth : namely, that fine and liberal art, as dis- 15 
 tinguished from mechanical art or the arts of the 
 kitchen and millinery, exists for the embodiment of 
 thought and emotion in forms of various delightfulness, 
 appealing to what has been called the imaginative rea- 
 son, that complex faculty which is neither mere under- 20 
 standing nor mere sense, by means of divers sensuous 
 suggestions, and several modes of concrete presentation. 
 
REFUTATION 
 
 GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS 
 
 BUT, gentlemen, when you come to address your- 
 selves to these primary public duties, your first surprise 
 and dismay will be the discovery that, in a country 
 where education is declared to be the hope of its institu- 
 tions, the higher education is often practically held to be 5 
 almost a disadvantage. You will go from these halls 
 to hear a very common sneer at college-bred men 
 to encounter a jealousy of education as making men 
 visionary and pedantic and impracticable to confront 
 a belief that there is something enfeebling in the higher 10 
 education, and that self-made men, as they are called, 
 are the sure stay of the State. But what is really meant 
 by a self-made man ? It is a man of native sagacity and 
 strong character, who was taught, it is proudly said, 
 only at the plow or the anvil or the bench. He was 15 
 schooled by adversity, and was polished by hard at- 
 trition with men. He is Benjamin Franklin, the printer's 
 boy, or Abraham Lincoln, the rail-splitter. They never 
 went to college, but nevertheless, like Agamemnon, they 
 were kings of men, and the world blesses their memory. 20 
 
 281 
 
282 Refutation 
 
 So it does; but the sophistry here is plain enough, 
 although it is not always detected. Great genius and 
 force of character undoubtedly make their own career. 
 But because Walter Scott was dull at school, is a parent 
 to see with joy that his son is a dunce? Because Lord 5 
 Chatham was of a towering conceit, must we infer that 
 pompous vanity portends a comprehensive statesman- 
 ship that will fill the world with the splendor of its 
 triumphs? Because Sir Robert Walpole gambled and 
 swore and boozed at Houghton, are we to suppose that 10 
 gross sensuality and coarse contempt of human nature 
 are the essential secrets of a power that defended liberty 
 against tory intrigue and priestly politics? Was it be- 
 cause Benjamin Franklin was not college-bred that he 
 drew the lightning from heaven and tore the scepter 15 
 from the tyrant ? Was it because Abraham Lincoln had 
 little schooling that his great heart beat true to God and 
 man, lifting him to free a race and die for his country? 
 Because men naturally great have done great service in 
 the world without advantages, does it follow that lack of 20 
 advantage is the secret of success ? Was Pericles a less 
 sagacious leader of the State, during forty years of Athe- 
 nian glory, because he was thoroughly accomplished in 
 every grace of learning? Or, swiftly passing from the 
 Athenian agora to the Boston town meeting, behold 25 
 Samuel Adams, tribune of New England against Old 
 England of America against Europe of liberty 
 against despotism. Was his power-enfeebled, his fervor 
 chilled, his patriotism relaxed, by his college education ? 
 
Refutation 283 
 
 No, no; they were strengthened, kindled, confirmed. 
 Taking his Master's Degree one hundred and thirty- 
 four years ago, thirty-three years before the Dec- 
 laration of Independence, Samuel Adams, then 
 twenty-one years old, declared in a Latin discourse 5 
 the first flashes of the fire that blazed afterward 
 in Faneuil Hall and kindled America that it is 
 lawful to resist the supreme magistrate if the common- 
 wealth cannot otherwise be preserved. In the very year 
 that Jefferson was born, the college boy, Samuel Adams, 10 
 on a Commencement day like this, on an academical 
 platform like this on which we stand, struck the key-note 
 of American independence, which still stirs the heart of 
 man with its music. 
 
 Or, within our own century, look at the great modern 15 
 statesmen who have shaped the politics of the world. 
 They were educated men ; were they therefore visionary, 
 pedantic, impracticable? Cavour, whose monument is 
 United Italy one from the Alps to Tarentum, from the 
 lagunes of Venice to the gulf of Salerno : Bismarck, who 20 
 has raised the German empire from a name to a fact : 
 Gladstone, to-day the incarnate heart and conscience of 
 England : they are the perpetual refutation of the sneer 
 that high education weakens men for practical affairs. 
 Trained themselves, such men know the value of train- 25 
 ing. All countries, all ages, all men, are their teachers. 
 The broader their education, the wider the horizon of 
 their thought and observation, the more affluent their 
 resources, the more humane their policy. Would Samuel 
 
284 Refutation 
 
 Adams have been a truer popular leader had he been less 
 an educated man ? Would Walpole the less truly have 
 served his country had he been, with all his capacities, 
 a man whom England could have revered and loved ? 
 Could Gladstone so sway England with his serene elo- 5 
 quence, as the moon the tides, were he a gambling, 
 swearing, boozing squire like Walpole? There is no 
 sophistry more poisonous to the State, no folly more 
 stupendous and demoralizing, than the notion that the 
 purest character and the highest education are in- 10 
 compatible with the most commanding mastery of men 
 and the most efficient administration of affairs. 
 
 "The Public Duly of Educated Men." 
 
 
II 
 
 MACAULAY 
 
 I BELIEVE, sir, that it is the right and the duty of the 
 State to provide means of education for the common 
 people. This proposition seems to me to be implied in 
 every definition that has ever yet been given of the 
 functions of a government. About the extent of those 5 
 functions there has been much difference of opinion 
 among ingenious men. There are some who hold that it 
 is the business of a government to meddle with every 
 part of the system of human life, to regulate trade by 
 bounties and prohibitions, to regulate expenditure by 10 
 sumptuary laws, to regulate literature by a censorship, 
 to regulate religion by an inquisition. Others go to 
 the opposite extreme, and assign to Government a very 
 narrow sphere of action. But the very narrowest sphere 
 that ever was assigned to governments by any school of 15 
 political philosophy is quite wide enough for my purpose. 
 On one point all the disputants are agreed. They 
 unanimously acknowledge that it is the duty of every 
 government to take order for giving security to the per- 
 sons and property of the members of the community. 20 
 
 285 
 
286 Refutation 
 
 This then is my argument. It is the duty of Gov- 
 ernment to protect our persons and property from 
 danger. The gross ignorance of the common people 
 is a principal cause of danger to our persons and 
 property. Therefore, it is the duty of the Government 5 
 to take care that the common people shall not be 
 grossly ignorant. 
 
 And what is the alternative? It is universally 
 allowed that, by some means, Government must pro- 
 tect our persons and property. If you take away educa- 10 
 tion, what means do you leave ? You leave means such 
 as only necessity can justify, means which inflict a fearful 
 amount of pain, not only on the guilty, but on the in- 
 nocent who are connected with the guilty. You leave 
 guns and bayonets, stocks and whipping posts, tread- 15 
 mills, solitary cells, penal colonies, gibbets. See then 
 how the case stands. Here is an end which, as we all 
 agree, governments are bound to attain. There are 
 only two ways of attaining it. One of those ways is by 
 making men better and wiser and happier. The other 20 
 way is by making them infamous and miserable. Can it 
 be doubted which we ought to prefer ? Is it not strange, 
 is it not almost incredible, that pious and benevolent men 
 should gravely propound the doctrine that the magis- 
 trate is bound to punish and at the same time bound 25 
 not to teach ? To me it seems quite clear that who- 
 ever has a right to hang has a right to educate. Can 
 we think without shame and remorse that more than 
 half of those wretches who have been tied up at 
 
Refutation 287 
 
 Newgate in our time might have been living happily, 
 that more than half of those who are now in our gaols 
 might have been enjoying liberty and using that liberty 
 well, that such a hell on earth as Norfolk Island need 
 never have existed, if we had expended in training 
 honest men but a small part of what we have expended 
 in hunting and torturing rogues ? 
 
 Speech on Education. 
 
Ill 1 
 
 LOWELL 
 
 WE cannot but think that there is something like a 
 fallacy in Mr. Buckle's theory that the advance of man- 
 kind is necessarily in the direction of science, and not 
 in that of morals. No doubt the laws of morals existed 
 from the beginning, but so also did those of science, and 5 
 it is by the application, not the mere recognition, of 
 both that the race is benefited. No one questions how 
 much science has done for our physical comfort and 
 convenience, and with the mass of men these perhaps 
 must of necessity precede the quickening of their moral 10 
 instincts; but such material gains are illusory, unless 
 they go hand in hand with a corresponding ethical ad- 
 vance. The man who gives his life for a principle has 
 done more for his kind than he who discovers a new 
 metal or names a new gas, for the great motors of the 15 
 race are moral, not intellectual, and their force lies 
 ready to the use of the poorest and weakest of us all. 
 We accept a truth of science so soon as it is demon- 
 strated, are perfectly willing to take it on authority, 
 can appropriate whatever use there may be in it without 20 
 the least understanding of its processes, as men send 
 messages by the electric telegraph ; t>ut every truth of 
 
 1 Reprinted by permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Company. 
 288 
 
Refutation 289 
 
 morals must be redemonstrated in the experience of the 
 individual man before he is capable of utilizing it as a 
 constituent of character or a guide in action. A man 
 does not receive the statements that "two and two 
 make four," and that "the pure in heart shall see 5 
 God," on the same terms. The one can be proved to 
 him with four grains of corn; he can never arrive at 
 a belief in the other till he realize it in the intimate 
 persuasion of his whole being. This is typified in the 
 mystery of the incarnation. The divine reason must 10 
 forever manifest itself anew in the lives of men, and 
 that as individuals. This atonement with God, this 
 identification of the man with the truth, so that right 
 action shall not result from the lower reason of utility, 
 but from the higher of a will so purified of self as to. 15 
 sympathize by instinct with the eternal laws, is not some- 
 thing that can be done once for all, that can become 
 historic and traditional, a dead flower pressed between 
 the leaves of the family Bible, but must be renewed 
 in every generation, and in the soul of every man, that 20 
 it may be valid. 
 
 " Literary Essays." 
 
IV 1 
 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN 
 
 AND now, if they would listen as I suppose they 
 will not I would address a few words to the Southern 
 people. 
 
 You say we are sectional. We deny it. That makes 
 an issue; and the burden of proof is upon you. You 5 
 produce your proof; and what is it? Why, that our 
 party has no existence in your section gets no votes 
 in your section. The fact is substantially true; but 
 does it prove the issue? If it does, then in case we 
 should, without change of principle, begin to get votes 10 
 in your section, we should thereby cease to be sectional. 
 You cannot escape this conclusion; and yet, are you 
 willing to abide by it? If you are, you will probably 
 soon find that we have ceased to be sectional, for we 
 shall get votes in your section this very year. You will 15 
 then begin to discover, as the truth plainly is, that your 
 proof does not touch the issue. The fact that we get no 
 votes in your section is a fact of your making, and not 
 of ours. And if there be fault in that fact, that fault is 
 primarily yours, and remains so until you show that we 20 
 repel you by some wrong principle or practice. If we 
 do repel you by any wrong principle or practice, the 
 
 1 Reprinted by permission from the Hay and Nicolay edition of 
 Lincoln's Works. New York, The Century Company. 
 
 290 
 
 
Refutation 291 
 
 fault is ours; but this brings you to where you ought 
 to have started to a discussion of the right or wrong 
 of our principle. If our principle, put in practice, 
 would wrong your section for the benefit of ours, or for 
 any other object, then our principle, and we with it, 5 
 are sectional, and are justly opposed and denounced 
 as such. Meet us, then, on the question of whether 
 our principle, put in practice, would wrong your sec- 
 tion ; and so meet us as if it were possible that some- 
 thing may be said on our side. Do you accept the 10 
 challenge ? No ! Then you really believe that the 
 principle which "our fathers who framed the govern- 
 ment under which we live" thought so clearly right as 
 to adopt it, and indorse it again and again, upon their 
 official oaths, is in fact so clearly wrong as to demand 15 
 your condemnation without a moment's consideration. 
 Some of you delight to flaunt in our faces the warning 
 against sectional parties given by Washington in his 
 Farewell Address. Less than eight years before Wash- 
 ington gave that warning, he had, as President of the 20 
 United States, approved and signed an act of Congress 
 enforcing the prohibition of slavery in the Northwest- 
 ern Territory, which act embodied the policy of the 
 government upon that subject up to and at the very 
 moment he penned that warning ; and about one year 25 
 after he penned it, he wrote Lafayette that he con- 
 sidered that prohibition a wise measure, expressing in 
 the same connection his hope that we should at some 
 time have a confederacy of free States. 
 
2g 2 Refutation 
 
 Bearing this in mind, and seeing that sectionalism 
 has since arisen upon this same subject, is that warn- 
 ing a weapon in your hands against us, or in our 
 hands against you ? Could Washington himself speak, 
 would he cast the blame of that sectionalism upon us, 5 
 who sustain his policy, or upon you, who repudiate it ? 
 We respect that warning of Washington, and we com- 
 mend it to you, together with his example pointing to 
 the right application of it. 
 
 But you say you are conservative eminently con- 10 
 servative while we are revolutionary, destructive, 
 or something of the sort. What is conservatism? Is 
 it not adherence to the old and tried, against the new 
 and untried? We stick to, contend for, the identical 
 old policy on the point in controversy which was adopted 15 
 by "our fathers who framed the government under 
 which we live"; while you with one accord reject, and 
 scout, and spit upon that old policy, and insist upon 
 substituting something new. True, you disagree among 
 yourselves as to what that substitute shall be. You 20 
 are divided on new propositions and plans, but you are 
 unanimous in rejecting and denouncing the old policy 
 of the fathers. Some of you are for reviving the foreign 
 slave trade ; some for a congressional slave code for the 
 Territories; some for Congress forbidding the Terri- 25 
 tories to prohibit slavery within their limits ; some for 
 maintaining slavery in the Territories through the ju- 
 diciary; some for the "gur-reat pur-rinciple " that "if 
 one man would enslave another, no third man should 
 
 
Refutation 293 
 
 object," fantastically called "popular sovereignty"; 
 but never a man among you is in favor of Federal pro- 
 hibition of slavery in Federal Territories, according to 
 the practice of "our fathers who framed the govern- 
 ment under which we live." Not one of all your vari- 
 ous plans can show a precedent or an advocate in the 
 century within which our government originated. Con- 
 sider, then, whether your claim of conservatism for your- 
 selves, and your charge of destructiveness against us, 
 are based on the most clear and stable foundations. 
 
 Speech at Cooper Institute. 
 
CONTROVERSY 
 
 SCIENCE AND CULTURE 1 
 THOMAS H. HUXLEY 
 
 FROM the time that the first suggestion to introduce 
 physical science into ordinary education was timidly 
 whispered, until now, the advocates of scientific educa- 
 tion have met with opposition of two kinds. On the one 
 hand, they have been pooh-poohed by the men of busi- 5 
 ness who pride themselves on being the representa- 
 tives of practicality ; while, on the other hand, they have 
 been excommunicated by the classical scholars, in 
 their capacity of Levites in charge of the ark of culture 
 and monopolists of liberal education. 10 
 
 The practial men believed that the idol whom they 
 worship rule of thumb has been the source of the 
 past prosperity, and will suffice for the future welfare 
 of the arts and manufactures. They were of opinion 
 that science is speculative rubbish; that theory and 15 
 practice have nothing to do with one another; and 
 that the scientific habit of mind is an impediment, rather 
 than an aid, in the conduct of ordinary affairs. 
 
 I have used the past tense in speaking of the practical 
 
 1 Reprinted from Huxley's " Science and Education,'* by special 
 permission of D. Appleton & Company. 
 
 294 
 
Science and Culture 295 
 
 men for although they were very formidable thirty 
 years ago, I am not sure that the pure species has not 
 been extirpated. In fact, so far as mere argument goes, 
 they have been subjected to such a, feu d'enferth&t it is a 
 miracle if any have escaped. But I have remarked that 5 
 your typical practical man has an unexpected resem- 
 blance to one of Milton's angels. His spiritual wounds, 
 such as are inflicted by logical weapons, may be as deep 
 as a well and as wide as a church door, but beyond shed- 
 ding a few drops of ichor, celestial or otherwise, he is 10 
 no whit the worse. So, if any of these opponents be 
 left, I will not waste time in vain repetition of the 
 demonstrative evidence of the practical value of science ; 
 but knowing that a parable will sometimes penetrate 
 where syllogisms fail to effect an entrance, I will 15 
 offer a story for their consideration. 
 
 Once upon a time, a boy, with nothing to depend 
 upon but his own vigorous nature, was thrown into the 
 thick of the struggle for existence in the midst of a great 
 manufacturing population. He seems to have had a 20 
 hard fight, inasmuch as, by the time he was thirty years 
 of age, his total disposable funds amounted to twenty 
 pounds. Nevertheless, middle life found him giving 
 proof of his comprehension of the practical problems he 
 had been roughly called upon to solve, by a career of 25 
 remarkable prosperity. 
 
 Finally, having reached old age with its well-earned 
 surroundings of "honor, troops of friends," the hero of 
 my story bethought himself of those who were making 
 
296 Controversy 
 
 a like start in life, and how he could stretch out a help- 
 ing hand to them. 
 
 After long and anxious reflection this successful 
 practical man of business could devise nothing better 
 than to provide them with the means of obtaining 5 
 " sound, extensive, and practical scientific knowledge." 
 And he devoted a large part of his wealth and five years 
 of incessant work to this end. 
 
 I need not point the moral of a tale which, as the 
 solid and spacious fabric of the Scientific College assures 10 
 us, is no fable, nor can anything which I could say in- 
 tensify the force of this practical answer to practical 
 objections. 
 
 We may take it for granted, then, that, in the opinion 
 of those best qualified to judge, the diffusion of thorough 15 
 scientific education is an absolutely essential condition 
 of industrial progress; and that the College which has 
 been opened to-day will confer an inestimable boon 
 upon those whose livelihood is to be gained by the prac- 
 tice of the arts and manufactures of the district. 20 
 
 The only question worth discussion is, whether the 
 conditions, under which the work of the College is to be 
 carried out, are such as to give it the best possible chance 
 of achieving permanent success. 
 
 Sir Josiah Mason, without doubt most wisely, has left 25 
 very large freedom of action to the trustees, to whom he 
 proposes ultimately to commit the administration of the 
 College, so that they may be able to adjust its arrange-: 
 
Science and Culture 297 
 
 ments in accordance with the changing conditions of the 
 future. But, with respect to three points, he has laid 
 most explicit injunctions upon both administrators and 
 teachers. 
 
 Party politics are forbidden to enter into the minds of 5 
 either, so far as the work of the College is concerned ; 
 theology is as sternly banished from its precincts ; and 
 finally, it is especially declared* that the College shall 
 make no provision for "mere literary instruction and 
 education." 10 
 
 It does not concern me at present to dwell upon the 
 first two injunctions any longer than may be needful to 
 express my full conviction of their wisdom. But the 
 third prohibition brings us face to face with those other 
 opponents of scientific education, who are by no 15 
 means in the moribund condition of the practical man, 
 but alive, alert, and formidable. 
 
 It is not impossible that we shall hear this express 
 exclusion of " literary instruction and education" from 
 a College which, nevertheless, professes to give a high 20 
 and efficient education, sharply criticised. Certainly 
 the time was that the Levites of culture would have 
 sounded their trumpets against its walls as against an 
 educational Jericho. 
 
 How often have we not been told that the study of 25 
 physical science is incompetent to confer culture ; that it 
 touches none of the higher problems of life ; and, what 
 is worse, that the continual devotion to scientific studies 
 tends to generate a narrow and bigoted belief in the 
 
298 Controversy 
 
 applicability of scientific methods to the search after 
 truth of all kinds ? How frequently one has reason to 
 observe that no reply to a troublesome argument tells 
 so well as calling its author a " mere scientific specialist." 
 And, as I am afraid it is not permissible to speak of this 5 
 form of opposition to scientific education in the past 
 tense, may we not expect to be told that this, not only 
 omission, but prohibition, of "mere literary instruction 
 and education " is a patent example of scientific nar- 
 row-mindedness ? 10 
 
 I am not acquainted with Sir Josiah Mason's reasons 
 for the action which he has taken ; but if, as I apprehend 
 is the case, he refers to the ordinary classical course of 
 our schools and universities by the name of "mere 
 literary instruction and education," I venture to offer 15 
 sundry reasons of my own in support of that action. 
 
 For I hold very strongly by two convictions The 
 first is, that neither the discipline nor the subject-matter 
 of classical education is of such direct value to the stu- 
 dent of physical science as to justify the expenditure of 20 
 valuable time upon either ; and the second is, that for 
 the purpose of attaining real culture, an exclusively 
 scientific education is at least as effectual as an exclu- 
 sively literary education. 
 
 I need hardly point out to you that these opinions, 25 
 especially the latter, are diametrically opposed to those 
 of the great majority of educated Englishmen, influ- 
 enced as they are by school and university traditions. 
 In their belief, culture is obtainable only by a liberal 
 
Science and Culture 299 
 
 education ; and a liberal education is synonymous, not 
 merely with education and instruction in literature, but 
 in one particular form of literature, namely, that of 
 Greek and Roman antiquity. They hold that the man 
 who has learned Latin and Greek, however little, is 5 
 educated ; while he who is versed in other branches of 
 knowledge, however deeply, is a more or less respectable 
 specialist, not admissible into the cultured caste. The 
 stamp of the educated man, the University degree, is not 
 for him. 10 
 
 I am too well acquainted with the generous catholic- 
 ity of spirit which pervades the writings of our chief 
 apostle of culture to identify him with these opinions ; 
 and yet one may cull from one and another of those 
 epistles to the Philistines, which so much delight all who 15 
 do not answer to that name, sentences which lend them 
 some support. 
 
 Mr. Arnold tells us that the meaning of culture is "to 
 know the best that has been thought and said in the 
 world." It is the criticism of life contained in literature. 20 
 That criticism regards " Europe as being, for intellectual 
 and spiritual purposes, one great confederation, bound 
 to a joint action and working to a common result ; and 
 whose members have, for their common outfit, a knowl- 
 edge of Greek, Roman, and Eastern antiquity, and of 25 
 one another. Special, local, and temporary advantages 
 being put out of account, that modern nation will in 
 the intellectual and spiritual sphere make most progress, 
 which most thoroughly carries out this programme. 
 
300 Controversy 
 
 And what is that but saying that we too, all of us, as 
 individuals, the more thoroughly we carry it out, shall 
 make the more progress ?" * 
 
 We have here to deal with two distinct propositions. 
 The first, that a criticism of life is the essence of culture ; 5 
 the second, that literature contains the materials which 
 suffice for the construction of such criticism. 
 
 I think that we must all assent to the first proposition. 
 For culture certainly means something quite different 
 from learning or technical skill. It implies the posses- 10 
 sion of an ideal, and the habit of critically estimating the 
 value of things by comparison with a theoretic standard. 
 Perfect culture should supply a complete theory of life, 
 based upon a clear knowledge alike of its possibilities 
 and of its limitations. 15 
 
 But we may agree to all this, and yet strongly dissent 
 from the assumption that literature alone is competent 
 to supply this knowledge. After having learned all that 
 Greek, Roman, and Eastern antiquity have thought and 
 said, and all that modern literatures have to tell us, it is 20 
 not self-evident that we have laid a sufficiently broad 
 and deep foundation for that criticism of life, which 
 constitutes culture. 
 
 Indeed, to any one acquainted with the scope of physi- 
 cal science, it is not at all evident. Considering progress 25 
 only in the "intellectual and spiritual sphere," I find 
 myself wholly unable to admit that either nations or 
 individuals will really advance, if their common outfit 
 
 1 " Essays in Criticism," p. 37. 
 
Science and Culture 301 
 
 draws nothing from the stores of physical science. I 
 should say that an army, without weapons of precision 
 and with no particular base of operations, might more 
 hopefully enter upon a campaign on the Rhine, than a 
 man, devoid of a knowledge of what physical science 5 
 has done in the last century, upon a criticism of life. 
 
 When a biologist meets with an anomaly, he in- 
 stinctively turns to the study of development to clear it 
 up. The rationale of contradictory opinions may with 
 equal confidence be sought in history. 10 
 
 It is, happily, no new thing that Englishmen should 
 employ their wealth in building and endowing institu- 
 tions for educational purposes. But, five or six hun- 
 dred years ago, deeds of foundation expressed or im- 
 plied conditions as nearly as possible contrary to those 15 
 which have been thought expedient by Sir Josiah 
 Mason. That is to say, physical science was practically 
 ignored, while a certain literary training was enjoined 
 as a means to the acquirement of knowledge which was 
 essentially theological. 20 
 
 The reason of this singular contradiction between the 
 actions of men alike animated by a strong and dis- 
 interested desire to promote the welfare of their fellows, 
 is easily discovered. 
 
 At that time, in fact, if any one desired knowledge 25 
 beyond such as could be obtained by his own observation, 
 or by common conversation, his first necessity was to 
 learn the Latin language, inasmuch as all the higher 
 
302 Controversy 
 
 knowledge of the Western world was contained in works 
 written in that language. Hence, Latin grammar, with 
 logic and rhetoric, studied through Latin, were the 
 fundamentals of education. With respect to the sub- 
 stance of the knowledge imparted through this chan- 5 
 nel, the Jewish and Christian Scriptures, as interpreted 
 and supplemented by the Romish Church, were held 
 to contain a complete and infallibly true body of 
 information. 
 
 Theological dicta were, to the thinkers of those days, 10 
 that which the axioms and definitions of Euclid are to 
 the geometers of these. The business of the philoso- 
 phers of the middle ages was to deduce from the data 
 furnished by the theologians, conclusions in accordance 
 with ecclesiastical decrees. They were allowed the 15 
 high privilege of showing, by logical process, how and 
 why that which the Church said was true, must be true. 
 And if their demonstrations fell short of or exceeded this 
 limit, the Church was maternally ready to check their 
 aberrations; if need were, by the help of the secular 20 
 arm. 
 
 Between the two, our ancestors were furnished with 
 a compact and complete criticism of life. They were 
 told how the world began and how it would end; they 
 learned that all material existence was but a base and 25 
 insignificant blot upon the fair face of the spiritual world, 
 and that nature was, to all intents and purposes, the 
 playground of the devil; they learned that the earth is 
 the center of the visible universe, and that man is the 
 
Science and Culture 303 
 
 cynosure of things terrestrial, and more especially was it 
 inculcated that the course of nature had no fixed order, 
 but that it could be, and constantly was, altered by the 
 agency of innumerable spiritual beings, good and bad, 
 according as they were moved by the deeds and prayers 5 
 of men. The sum and substance of the whole doctrine 
 was to produce the conviction that the only thing really 
 worth knowing in this world was how to secure that 
 place in a better which, under certain conditions, the 
 Church promised. 10 
 
 Our ancestors had a living belief in this theory of life, 
 and acted upon it in their dealings with education, as 
 in all other matters. Culture meant saintliness after 
 the fashion of the saints of those days ; the education 
 that led to it was, of necessity, theological; and the way 15 
 to theology lay through Latin. 
 
 That the study of nature further than was requisite 
 for the satisfaction of everyday wants should have 
 any bearing on human life was far from the thoughts of 
 men thus trained. Indeed, as nature had been cursed 20 
 for man's sake, it was an obvious conclusion that those 
 who meddled with nature were likely to come into pretty 
 close contact with Satan. And, if any born scientific 
 investigator followed his instincts, he might safely reckon 
 upon earning the reputation, and probably upon suffer- 25 
 ing the fate, of a sorcerer. 
 
 Had the Western world been left to itself in Chinese 
 isolation, there is no saying how long this state of 
 things might have endured. But, happily, it was not 
 
304 Controversy 
 
 left to itself. Even earlier than the thirteenth century, 
 the development of Moorish civilization in Spain and 
 the great movement of the Crusades had introduced the 
 leaven which, from that day to this, has never ceased to 
 work. At first, through the intermediation of Arabic 5 
 translations, afterwards by the study of the originals, 
 the western nations of Europe became acquainted with 
 the writings of the ancient philosophers and poets, and, 
 in time, with the whole of the vast literature of antiquity. 
 
 Whatever there was of high intellectual aspiration 10 
 or dominant capacity in Italy, France, Germany, and 
 England, spent itself for centuries in taking possession 
 of the rich inheritance left by the dead civilizations of 
 Greece and Rome. Marvelously aided by the inven- 
 tion of printing, classical learning spread and flour- 15 
 ished. Those who possessed it prided themselves on 
 having attained the highest culture then within the 
 reach of mankind. 
 
 And justly. For, saving Dante on his solitary pin- 
 nacle, there was no figure in modern literature at the time 20 
 of the Renaissance to compare with the men of antiquity ; 
 there was no art to compete with their sculpture ; there 
 was no physical science but that which Greece had 
 created. Above all, there was no other example of 
 perfect intellectual freedom of the unhesitating ac- 25 
 ceptance of reason as the sole guide to truth and the 
 supreme arbiter of conduct. 
 
 The new learning necessarily soon exerted a pro- 
 found influence upon education. The language of the 
 
Science and Culture 305 
 
 monks and schoolmen seemed little better than gibberish 
 to scholars fresh from Virgil and Cicero, and the study of 
 Latin was placed upon a new foundation. Moreover, 
 Latin itself ceased to afford the sole key to knowledge. 
 The student who sought the highest thought of antiquity, 5 
 found only a second-hand reflection of it in Roman 
 literature, and turned his face to the full light of the 
 Greeks. And after a battle, not altogether dissimilar 
 to that which is at present being fought over the teaching 
 of physical science, the study of Greek was recognized as 10 
 an essential element of all higher education. 
 
 Then the Humanists, as they were called, won the 
 day; and the great reform which they effected was of 
 incalculable service to mankind. But the Nemesis of 
 all reformers is finality ; and the reformers of education, 15 
 like those of religion, fell into the profound, however 
 common, error of mistaking the beginning for the end 
 of the work of reformation. 
 
 The representatives of the Humanists, in the nine- 
 teenth century, take their stand upon classical education 20 
 as the sole avenue to culture, as firmly as if we were still 
 in the age of Renaissance. Yet, surely, the present 
 intellectual relations of the modern and the ancient 
 worlds are profoundly different from those which ob- 
 tained three centuries ago. Leaving aside the existence 25 
 of a great and characteristically modern literature, of 
 modern painting, and, especially, of modern music, 
 there is one feature of the present state of the civilized 
 world which separates it more widely from the Re- 
 
306 Controversy 
 
 naissance, than the Renaissance was separated from the 
 middle ages. 
 
 This distinctive character of our own times lies in the 
 vast and constantly increasing part which is played by 
 natural knowledge. Not only is our daily life shaped 5 
 by it, not only does the prosperity of millions of men 
 depend upon it, but our whole theory of life has long 
 been influenced, consciously or unconsciously, by the 
 general conceptions of the universe, which have been 
 forced upon us by physical science. 10 
 
 In fact, the most elementary acquaintance with the 
 results of scientific investigation shows us that they 
 offer a broad and striking contradiction to the opinion 
 so implicitly credited and taught in the middle ages. 
 
 The notions of the beginning and the end of the world 15 
 entertained by our forefathers are no longer credible. 
 It is very certain that the earth is not the chief body in 
 the material universe, and that the world is not subordi- 
 nated to man's use. It is even more certain that nature 
 is the expression of a definite order with which nothing 20 
 interferes, and that the chief business of mankind is to 
 learn that order and govern themselves accordingly. 
 Moreover this scientific "criticism of life" presents itself 
 to us with different credentials from any other. It ap- 
 peals not to authority, nor to what anybody may have 25 
 thought or said, but to nature. It admits that all our 
 interpretations of natural fact are more or less im-- 
 perfect and symbolic, and bids the learner seek for 
 truth not among words but among things. It warns 
 
Science and Culture 307 
 
 us that the assertion which outstrips evidence is not 
 only a blunder but a crime. 
 
 The purely classical education advocated by the 
 representatives of the Humanists in our day, gives no 
 inkling of all this. A man may be a better scholar than 5 
 Erasmus, and know no more of the chief causes of the 
 present intellectual fermentation than Erasmus did. 
 Scholarly and pious persons, worthy of all respect, 
 favor us with allocutions upon the sadness of the an- 
 tagonism of science to their mediaeval way of thinking, 10 
 which betray an ignorance of the first principles of 
 scientific investigation, an incapacity for understanding 
 what a man of science means by veracity, and an uncon- 
 sciousness of the weight of established scientific truths, 
 which is almost comical. 15 
 
 There is no great force in the tu quoque argument, 
 or else the advocates of scientific education might 
 fairly enough retort upon the modern Humanists that 
 they may be learned specialists, but that they possess 
 no such sound foundation for a criticism of life as de- 20 
 serves the name of culture. And, indeed, if we were 
 disposed to be cruel, we might urge that the Humanists 
 have brought this reproach upon themselves, not be- 
 cause they are too full of the spirit of the ancient Greek, 
 but because they lack it. 25 
 
 The period of the Renaissance is commonly called 
 that of the " Revival of Letters," as if the influences then 
 brought to bear upon the mind of Western Europe had 
 been wholly exhausted in the field of literature. I think 
 
308 Controversy 
 
 it is very commonly forgotten that the revival of science, 
 effected by the same agency, although less conspicuous, 
 was not less momentous. 
 
 In fact, the few and scattered students of nature of 
 that day picked up the clew to her secrets exactly as it fell 5 
 from the hands of the Greeks a thousand years before. 
 The foundations of mathematics were so well laid by 
 them, that our children learn their geometry from a 
 book written for the schools of Alexandria two thou- 
 sand years ago. Modern astronomy is the natural con- 10 
 tinuation and development of the work of Hipparchus 
 and of Ptolemy; modern physics of that of Democritus 
 and of Archimedes; it was long before modern biologi- 
 cal science outgrew the knowledge bequeathed to us by 
 Aristotle, by Theophrastus, and by Galen. 15 
 
 We cannot know all the best thoughts and sayings 
 of the Greeks unless we know what they thought about 
 natural phenomena. We cannot fully apprehend their 
 criticism of life unless we understand the extent to 
 which that criticism was affected by scientific concep- 20 
 tions. We falsely pretend to be the inheritors of their 
 culture, unless we are penetrated, as the best minds 
 among them were, with an unhesitating faith that the 
 free employment of reason, in accordance with scientific 
 method, is the sole method of reaching truth. 25 
 
 Thus I venture to think that the pretensions of our 
 modern Humanists to the possession of the monopoly 
 of culture and to the exclusive inheritance of the spirit 
 of antiquity must be abated, if not abandoned. But I 
 
Science and Culture 309 
 
 should be very sorry that anything I have said should 
 be taken to imply a desire on my part to depreciate the 
 value of classical education, as it might be and as it some- 
 times is. The native capacities of mankind vary no less 
 than their opportunities ; and while culture is one, the 5 
 road by which one man may best reach it is widely differ- 
 ent from that which is most advantageous to another. 
 Again, while scientific education is yet inchoate and 
 tentative, classical education is thoroughly well organ- 
 ized upon the practical experience of generations of 10 
 teachers. So that, given ample time for learning and 
 estimation for ordinary life, or for a literary career, I 
 do not think that a young Englishman in search of 
 culture can do better than follow the course usually 
 marked out for him, supplementing its deficiencies by 15 
 his own efforts. 
 
 But for those who mean to make science their serious 
 occupation; or who intend to follow the profession of 
 medicine ; or who have to enter early upon the business 
 of life ; for all these, in my opinion, classical education 20 
 is a mistake ; and it is for this reason that I am glad to 
 see "mere literary education and instruction " shut out 
 from the curriculum of Sir Josiah Mason's College, see- 
 ing that its inclusion would probably lead to the intro- 
 duction of the ordinary smattering of Latin and Greek. 25 
 
 Nevertheless, I am the last person to question the 
 importance of genuine literary education, or to suppose 
 that intellectual culture can be complete without it. An 
 exclusively scientific training will bring about a mental 
 
310 Controversy 
 
 twist as surely as an exclusively literary training. The 
 value of the cargo does not compensate for a ship's being 
 out of trim; and I should be very sorry to think that 
 the Scientific College would turn out none but lop-sided 
 men. 5 
 
 There is no need, however, that such a catastrophe 
 should happen. Instruction in English, French, and 
 German is provided, and thus the three greatest litera- 
 tures of the modern world are made accessible to the 
 student. 10 
 
 French and German, and especially the latter lan- 
 guage, are absolutely indispensable to those who desire 
 full knowledge in any department of science. But even 
 supposing that the knowledge of these languages ac- 
 quired is not more than sufficient for purely scientific 15 
 purposes, every Englishman has, in his native tongue, 
 an almost perfect instrument of literary expression ; and, 
 in his own literature, models of every kind of liter- 
 ary excellence. If an Englishman cannot get literary 
 culture out of his Bible, his Shakespeare, his Milton, 20 
 neither, in my belief, will the profoundest study of 
 Homer and Sophocles, Virgil and Horace give it to him. 
 
 Thus, since the constitution of the College makes 
 sufficient provision for literary as well as for scientific 
 education, and since artistic instruction is also con- 25 
 templated, it seems to me that a fairly complete culture 
 is offered to all who are willing to take advantage 
 of it. 
 
LITERATURE AND SCIENCE 1 
 MATTHEW ARNOLD 
 
 PRACTICAL people talk with a smile of Plato and of 
 his absolute ideas; and it is impossible to deny that 
 Plato's ideas do often seem unpractical and impracti- 
 cable, and especially when one views them in connec- 
 tion with the life of a great workaday world like 5 
 the United States. The necessary staple of the life 
 of such a world Plato regards with disdain; handi- 
 craft and trade and the working professions he regards 
 with disdain; but what becomes of the life of an in- 
 dustrial modern community if you take handicraft and 10 
 trade and the working professions out of it ? The base 
 mechanic arts and hardier afts, says Plato, bring about 
 a natural weakness in the principle of excellence in a 
 man, so that he cannot govern the ignoble growths in 
 him, but nurses them, and cannot understand foster- 15 
 ing any other. Those who exercise such arts and trades, 
 as they have their bodies, he says, marred by their vulgar 
 businesses, so they have their souls, too, bowed and 
 broken by them. And if one of these uncomely people 
 has a mind to seek self-culture and philosophy, Plato 20 
 compares him to a bald little tinker, who has scraped 
 together money, and has got his release from service, and 
 
 1 From " Discourses in America." 
 
312 Controversy 
 
 has had a bath, and bought a new coat, and is rigged out 
 like a bridegroom about to marry the daughter of his 
 master who has fallen into poor and helpless estate. 
 
 Nor do the working professions fare any better than 
 trade at the hands of Plato. He draws for us an 5 
 inimitable picture of the working lawyer, and of his 
 life of bondage; he shows how this bondage from his 
 youth up has stunted and warped him, and made him 
 small and crooked of soul, encompassing him with 
 difficulties which he is not man enough to rely on 10 
 justice and truth as means to encounter, but has re- 
 course, for help out of them, to falsehood and wrong. 
 And so, says Plato, this poor creature is bent and broken, 
 and grows up from boy to man without a particle of 
 soundness in him, although exceedingly smart and clever 15 
 in his own esteem. 
 
 One cannot refuse to admire the artist who draws 
 these pictures. But we say to ourselves that his ideas 
 show the influence of a primitive and obsolete order 
 of things, when the warrior caste and the priestly 20 
 caste were alone in honor, and the humble work of 
 the world was done by slaves. We have now changed 
 all that; the modern majority consists in work, as 
 Emerson declares; and in work, we may add, princi- 
 pally of such plain and dusty kind as the work of 25 
 cultivators of the ground, handicraftsmen, men of 
 trade and business, men of the working professions. 
 Above all is this true in a great industrious community 
 such as that of the United States. 
 
Literature and Science 313 
 
 Now education, many people go on to say, is still 
 mainly governed by the ideas of men like Plato, who 
 lived when the warrior caste and the priestly or philo- 
 sophical class were alone in honor, and the really useful 
 part of the community were slaves. It is an education 5 
 fitted for persons of leisure in such a community. This 
 education passed from Greece and Rome to the feudal 
 communities of Europe, where also the warrior caste 
 and the priestly caste were alone held in honor, and where 
 the really useful and working part of the community, 10 
 though not nominally slaves as in the pagan world, were 
 practically not much better off than slaves, and not 
 more seriously regarded. And how absurd it is, people 
 end by saying, to inflict this education upon an indus- 
 trious modern community, where very few indeed are 15 
 persons of leisure, and the mass to be considered has not 
 leisure, but is bound, for its own great good, and for the 
 great good of the world at large, to plain labor and to 
 industrial pursuits, and the education in question tends 
 necessarily to make men dissatisfied with these pursuits 20 
 and unfitted for them! 
 
 That is what is said. So far I must defend Plato, 
 as to plead that his view of education and studies is 
 in the general, as it seems to me, sound enough, and 
 fitted for all sorts and conditions of men, whatever 25 
 their pursuits may be. "An intelligent man," says 
 Plato, "will prize those studies which result in his 
 soul getting soberness, righteousness, and wisdom, 
 and will less value the others." I cannot consider 
 
314 Controversy 
 
 that a bad description of the aim of education, and of 
 the motives which should govern us in the choice of 
 studies, whether we are preparing ourselves for a 
 hereditary seat in the English House of Lords or for 
 the pork trade in Chicago. 5 
 
 Still I admit that Plato's world was not ours, that 
 his scorn of trade and handicraft is fantastic, that he 
 had no conception of a great industrial community such 
 as that of the United States, and that such a com- 
 munity must and will shape its education to suit its own 10 
 needs. If the usual education handed down to it from 
 the past does not suit it, it will certainly before long 
 drop this and try another. The usual education in the 
 past has been mainly literary. The question is whether 
 the studies which were long supposed to be the best for 15 
 all of us are practically the best now ; whether others are 
 not better. The tyranny of the past, many think, weighs 
 on us injuriously in the predominance given to letters in 
 education. The question is raised whether, to meet the 
 needs of our modern life, the predominance ought 20 
 not now to pass from letters to science; and naturally 
 the question is nowhere raised with more energy than 
 here in the United States. The design of abasing what 
 is called "mere literary instruction and education," and 
 of exalting what is called "sound, extensive, and practi- 25 
 cal scientific knowledge," is, in this intensely modern 
 world of the United States, even more perhaps than in 
 Europe, a very popular design, and' makes great and 
 rapid progress. 
 
Literature and Science 315 
 
 I am going to ask whether the present movement 
 for ousting letters from their old predominance in 
 education, and for transferring the predominance in 
 education to the natural sciences, whether this brisk 
 and flourishing movement ought to prevail, and whether 5 
 it is likely that in the end it really will prevail. An 
 objection may be raised which I will anticipate. My 
 own studies have been almost wholly in letters, and my 
 visits to the field of the natural sciences have been very 
 slight and inadequate, although those sciences have 10 
 always strongly moved my curiosity. A man of letters, 
 it will perhaps be said, is not competent to discuss the 
 comparative merits of letters and natural science as 
 means of education. To this objection I reply, first of 
 all, that his incompetence if he attempts the discussion 15 
 but is really incompetent for it, will be abundantly 
 visible; nobody will be taken in; he will have plenty 
 of sharp observers and critics to save mankind from 
 that danger. But the line I am going to follow is, as 
 you will soon discover, so extremely simple, that per- 20 
 haps it may be followed without failure even by one 
 who for a more ambitious line of discussion would be 
 quite incompetent. 
 
 Some of you may possibly remember a phrase of mine 
 
 which has been the object of a good deal of comment ; 25 
 
 * 
 
 an observation to the effect that in our culture, J;he aim 
 being to know ourselves and the world, we have, as the 
 means to this end, to know the best which has been thought 
 and said in the world. 1 A man of science, who is also an 
 
3i 6 Controversy 
 
 excellent writer and the very prince of debaters, Pro- 
 fessor Huxley, in a discourse at the opening of Sir Josiah 
 Mason's College at Birmingham, laying hold of this 
 phrase, expanded it by quoting some more words of mine, 
 which are these: "The civilized world is to be regarded 5 
 as now being, for intellectual and spiritual purposes, one 
 great confederation, bound to a joint action and working 
 to a common result ; and whose members have for their 
 proper outfit a knowledge of Greek, Roman, and East- 
 ern antiquity, and of one another. Special local and 10 
 temporary advantages being put out of account, that 
 modern nation will in the intellectual and spiritual 
 sphere make most progress, which most thoroughly 
 carries out this programme." 
 
 Now on my phrase, thus enlarged, Professor Hux- 15 
 ley remarks that when I speak of the above-mentioned 
 knowledge as enabling us to know ourselves and the 
 world, I assert literature to contain the materials which 
 suffice for thus making us know ourselves and the world. 
 But it is not by any means clear, says he, that after hav- 20 
 ing learned all which ancient and modern literatures have 
 to tell us, we have laid a sufficiently broad and deep 
 foundation for that criticism of life, that knowledge of 
 ourselves and the world, which constitutes culture. On 
 the contrary, Professor Huxley declares that he finds 25 
 himself "wholly unable to admit that either nations or 
 individuals will really advance, if their outfit draws 
 nothing from the stores of physical science. An army 
 without weapons of precision, and with no particular 
 
Literature and Science 317 
 
 base of operations, might more hopefully enter upon a 
 campaign on the Rhine, than a man, devoid of a knowl- 
 edge of what physical science has done in the last 
 century, upon a criticism of life." 
 
 This shows how needful it is for those who are to 5 
 discuss any matter together, to have a common under- 
 standing as to the sense of the terms they employ, 
 how needful, and how difficult. What Professor 
 Huxley says, implies just the reproach which is so often 
 brought against the study of belles lettres, as they are 10 
 called : that the study is an elegant one, but slight and 
 ineffectual ; a smattering of Greek and Latin and other 
 ornamental things, of little use for any one whose object 
 is to get at truth, and to be a practical man. So, too, M. 
 Renan talks of the "superficial humanism" of a school 15 
 course which treats us as if we were all going to be poets, 
 writers, preachers, orators, and he opposes this humanism 
 to positive science, or the critical search after truth. And 
 there is always a tendency in those who are remonstrat- 
 ing against the predominance of letters in education, to 20 
 understand by letters belles lettres, and by belles lettres 
 a superficial humanism, the opposite of science or true 
 knowledge. 
 
 TSut when we talk of knowing Greek and Roman 
 antiquity, for instance, which is the knowledge people 25 
 have called the humanities, I for my part mean a 
 knowledge which is something more than a super- 
 ficial humanism, mainly decorative. "I call all teach- 
 ing scientific" says Wolf, the critic of Homer, "which 
 
3i 8 Controversy 
 
 is systematically laid out and followed up to its origi- 
 nal sources. For example: a knowledge of classical 
 antiquity is scientific when the remains of classical 
 antiquity are correctly studied in the original languages." 
 There can be no doubt that Wolf is perfectly right ; that 5 
 all learning is scientific which is systematically laid out 
 and followed up to its original sources, and that a genu- 
 ine humanism is scientific. 
 
 When I speak of knowing Greek and Roman antiq- 
 uity, therefore, as a help to knowing ourselves and the 10 
 world,! mean more than a knowledge of so much vocab- 
 ulary, so much grammar, so many portions of authors 
 in the Greek and Latin languages ; I mean knowing the 
 Greeks and Romans, and their life and genius, and 
 what they were and did in the world ; what we get from 15 
 them, and what is its value. That, at least, is the ideal ; 
 and when we talk of endeavoring to know Greek and 
 Roman antiquity, as a help to knowing ourselves and 
 the world, we mean endeavoring so to know them as to 
 satisfy this ideal, however much we may still fall short 20 
 of it. 
 
 The same also as to knowing our own and other 
 modern nations, with the like aim of getting to under- 
 stand ourselves and the world. To know the best 
 that has been thought and said by the modern nations, 25 
 is to know, says Professor Huxley, "only what modern 
 literatures have to tell us; it is the criticism of life 
 contained in modern literature. " And yet "the dis- 
 tinctive character of our times," he urges, "lies in the 
 
 
Literature and Science 319 
 
 vast and constantly increasing part which is played 
 by natural knowledge." And how, therefore, can a 
 man, devoid of knowledge of what physical science has 
 done in the last century, enter hopefully upon a criticism 
 of modern life? 5 
 
 Let us, I say, be agreed about the meaning of the 
 terms we are using. I talk of knowing the best which 
 has been thought and uttered in the world ; Professor 
 Huxley says this means knowing literature. Litera- 
 ture is a large word; it may mean everything written 10 
 with letters or printed in a book. Euclid's Elements 
 and Newton's Principia are thus literature. All 
 knowledge that reaches us through books is literature. 
 But by literature Professor Huxley means belles lettres. 
 He means to make me say, that knowing the best 15 
 which has been thought and said by the modern nations 
 is knowing their belles lettres and no more. And this 
 is no sufficient equipment, he argues, for a criticism of 
 modern life. But as I do not mean, by knowing ancient 
 Rome, knowing merely more or less of Latin belles lettres, 20 
 and taking no account of Rome's military, and political, 
 and legal, and administrative work in the world ; and as, 
 j^by knowing ancient Greece,! understand knowing her as 
 the giver of Greek art, and the guide to a free and right 
 use of reason and to scientific method, and the founder 25 
 of our mathematics and physics and astronomy and 
 biology, I understand knowing her as all this, and not 
 merely knowing certain Greek poems, and histories, 
 and treatises, and speeches, so as to the knowledge 
 
320 Controversy 
 
 of modern nations also. By knowing modern nations, 
 I mean not merely knowing their belles lettres, but 
 knowing also what has been done by such men as 
 Copernicus, Galileo, Newton, Darwin. "Our ances- 
 tors learned," says Professor Huxley, "that the earth 5 
 is the center of the visible universe, and that man is 
 the cynosure of things terrestrial; and more especially 
 was it inculcated that the course of nature has no 
 fixed order, but that it could be, and constantly was, 
 altered." But for us now, continues Professor Hux- 10 
 ley, "the notions of the beginning and the end of the 
 world entertained by our forefathers are no longer 
 credible. It is very certain that the earth is not the 
 chief body in the material universe, and that the world 
 is not subordinated to man's use. It is even more cer- 15 
 tain that nature is the expression of a definite order, 
 with which nothing interferes." "And yet," he cries, 
 "the purely classical education advocated by the 
 representatives of the humanists in our day gives no 
 inkling of all this ! " 20 
 
 In due place and time I will just touch upon that 
 vexed question of classical education; but at present 
 the question is as to what is meant by knowing the 
 best which modern nations have thought and said. 
 It is not knowing their belles lettres merely which is 25 
 meant. To know Italian belles lettres is not to know 
 Italy, and to know English belles lettres is not to know 
 England. Into knowing Italy and England there comes 
 a great deal more, Galileo and Newton amongst it. The 
 
Literature and Science 321 
 
 reproach of being a superficial humanism, a tincture of 
 belles lettres, may attach rightly enough to some other 
 disciplines; but to the particular discipline recom- 
 mended when I proposed knowing the best that has 
 been thought and said in the world, it does not apply. 5 
 In that best I certainly include what in modern times 
 has been thought and said by the great observers and 
 knowers of nature. 
 
 There is, therefore, really no question between 
 Professor Huxley and me as to whether knowing the 10 
 great results of the modern scientific study of nature is 
 not required as a part of our culture, as well as know- 
 ing the products of literature and art. But to follow 
 the processes by which those results are reached, ought, 
 say the friends of physical science, to be made the staple 15 
 of education for the bulk of mankind. And here there 
 does arise a question between those whom Professor 
 Huxley calls with playful sarcasm "the Levites of 
 culture," and those whom the poor humanist is some- 
 times apt to regard as its Nebuchadnezzars. 20 
 
 The great results of the scientific investigation of 
 nature we are agreed upon knowing, but how much 
 of our study are we bound to give to the processes by 
 which those results are reached? The results have 
 their visible bearing on human life. But all the pro- 25 
 cesses, too, all the items of fact by which those results 
 are reached and established, are interesting. All knowl- 
 edge is interesting to a wise man, and the knowledge 
 of nature is interesting to all men. It is very interesting 
 Y 
 
322 Controversy 
 
 to know, that, from the albuminous white of the egg, 
 the chick in the egg gets the materials for its flesh, 
 bones, blood, and feathers ; while, from the fatty yolk 
 of the egg, it gets the heat and energy which enable it at 
 length to break its shell and begin the world. It is less 5 
 interesting, perhaps, but still it is interesting, to know 
 that when a taper burns, the wax is converted into car- 
 bonic acid and water. Moreover, it is quite true that the 
 habit of dealing with facts, which is given by the study of 
 nature, is, as the friends of physical science praise it for 10 
 being, an excellent discipline. The appeal, in the study 
 of nature, is constantly to observation and experiment ; 
 not only is it said that the thing is so, but we can be 
 made to see that it is so. Not only does a man tell us 
 that when a taper burns the wax is converted into 15 
 carbonic acid and water, as a man may tell us, if he 
 likes, that Charon is punting his ferry boat on the 
 river Styx, or that Victor Hugo is a sublime poet, or 
 Mr. Gladstone the most admirable of statesmen; but 
 we are made to see that the conversion into carbonic 20 
 acid and water does actually happen. This reality of 
 natural knowledge it is, which makes the friends of 
 physical science contrast it, as a knowledge of things, 
 with the humanist's knowledge, which is, they say, a 
 knowledge of words. And hence Professor Huxley is 25 
 moved to lay it down that, "for the purpose of attain- 
 ing real culture, an exclusively scientific education is at 
 least as effectual as an exclusively~literary education." 
 And a certain President of the Section for Mechanical 
 
Literature and Science 323 
 
 Science in the British Association is, in Scripture phrase, 
 "very bold," and declares that if a man, in his mental 
 training, "has substituted literature and history for 
 natural science, he has chosen the less useful alternative." 
 But whether we go these lengths or not, we must all 5 
 admit that in natural science the habit gained of dealing 
 with facts is a most valuable discipline, and that every 
 one should have some experience of it. 
 
 More than this, however, is demanded by the re- 
 formers. It is proposed to make the training in natural 10 
 science the main part of education, for the great ma- 
 jority of mankind at any rate. And here, I confess, 
 I part company with the friends of physical science, 
 with whom up to this point I have been agreeing. In 
 differing from them, however, I wish to proceed with 15 
 the utmost caution and diffidence. The smallness of 
 my own acquaintance with the disciplines of natural 
 science is ever before my mind, and I am fearful of 
 doing these disciplines an injustice. The ability and 
 pugnacity of the partisans of natural science make them 20 
 formidable persons to contradict. The tone of tentative 
 inquiry, which befits a being of dim faculties and 
 bounded knowledge, is the tone I would wish to take 
 and not to depart from. At present it seems to me, 
 that those who are for giving to natural knowledge, as 25 
 they call it, the chief place in the education of the 
 majority of mankind, leave one important thing out of 
 their account : the constitution of human nature. But 
 I put this forward on the strength of some facts not 
 
324 Controversy 
 
 at all recondite, very far from it ; facts capable of being 
 stated in the simplest possible fashion, and to which, 
 if I so state them, the man of science will, I am sure, 
 be willing to allow their due weight. 
 
 Deny the facts altogether, I think, he hardly can. 5 
 He can hardly deny, that when we set ourselves to 
 enumerate the powers which go to the building up of 
 human life, and say that they are the power of conduct, 
 the power of intellect and knowledge, the power of 
 beauty, and the power of social life and manners, he 10 
 can hardly deny that this scheme, though drawn in 
 rough and plain lines enough, and not pretending to 
 scientific exactness, does yet give a fairly true repre- 
 sentation of the matter. Human nature is built up by 
 these powers; we have the need for them all. When 15 
 we have rightly met and adjusted the claims of them 
 all, we shall then be in a fair way for getting sober- 
 ness and righteousness, with wisdom. This is evident 
 enough, and the friends of physical science would 
 admit it. 20 
 
 But perhaps they may not have sufficiently observed 
 another thing: namely, that the several powers just 
 mentioned are not isolated, but there is, in the gener- 
 ality of mankind, a perpetual tendency to relate them 
 one to another in divers ways. With one such way of 25 
 relating them I am particularly concerned now. Fol- 
 lowing our instinct for intellect and knowledge, we 
 acquire pieces of knowledge; and presently, in the 
 generality of men, there arises the desire to relate 
 
 
Literature and Science 325 
 
 these pieces of knowledge to our sense for conduct, to 
 our sense for beauty, and there is weariness and dis- 
 satisfaction if the desire is balked. Now in this desire ^ 
 lies, I think, the strength of that hold which letters have 
 upon us. 5 
 
 All knowledge is, as I said just now, interesting; 
 and even items of knowledge which from the nature of 
 the case cannot well be related, but must stand isolated 
 in our thoughts, have their interest. Even lists of ex- 
 ceptions have their interest. If we are studying Greek 10 
 accents, it is interesting to know that pais and pas, and 
 some other monosyllables of the same form of declen- 
 sion, do not take the circumflex upon the last syllable 
 of the genitive plural, but vary, in this respect, from 
 the common rule. If we are studying physiology, it is 15 
 interesting to know that the pulmonary artery carries 
 dark blood and the pulmonary vein carries bright 
 blood, departing in this respect from the common 
 rule for the division of labor between the veins and 
 the arteries. But every one knows how we seek natu- 20 
 rally to combine the pieces of our knowledge together, 
 to bring them under general rules, to relate them to 
 principles; and how unsatisfactory and tiresome it 
 would be to go on forever learning lists of exceptions, 
 or accumulating items of fact which must stand isolated. 25 
 
 Well, that same need of relating our knowledge, 
 which operates here within the sphere of our knowl- 
 edge itself, we shall find operating, also, outside that 
 sphere. We experience, as we go on learning and 
 
326 Controversy 
 
 knowing, the vast majority of us experience, the 
 need of relating what we have learned and known to the 
 sense which we have in us for conduct, to the sense 
 which we have in us for beauty. 
 
 A certain Greek prophetess of Mantineia in Area- 5 
 dia, Diotima by name, once explained to the philoso- 
 pher Socrates that love, and impulse, and bent of all 
 kinds, is, in fact, nothing else but the desire in men 
 that good should forever be present to them. This 
 desire for good, Diotima assured Socrates, is our fun- 10 
 damental desire, of which fundamental desire every 
 impulse in us is only some one particular form. And 
 therefore this fundamental desire it is, I suppose, this 
 desire in men that good should be forever present to 
 them, which acts in us when we feel the impulse for 15 
 relating our knowledge to our sense for conduct and 
 to our serise for beauty. At any rate, with men in 
 general the instinct exists. Such is human nature. 
 And the instinct, it will be admitted, is innocent, and 
 human nature is preserved by our following the lead 20 
 of its innocent instincts. Therefore, in seeking to 
 gratify this instinct in question, we are following the 
 instinct of self-preservation in humanity. 
 
 But, no doubt, some kinds of knowledge cannot be 
 made to directly serve the instinct in question, cannot 25 
 be directly related to the sense for beauty, to the sense 
 for conduct. These are instrument-knowledges; they 
 lead on to other knowledges, which can. A man who 
 passes his life in instrument-knowledges is a specialist. 
 
Literature and Science 327 
 
 They may be invaluable as instruments to something 
 beyond, for those who have the gift thus to employ them ; 
 and they may be disciplines in themselves wherein it is 
 useful for every one to have some schooling. But it is 
 inconceivable that the generality of men should pass all 5 
 their mental life with Greek accents or with formal logic. 
 My friend Professor Sylvester, who is one of the first 
 mathematicians in the world, holds transcendental 
 doctrines as to the virtue of mathematics, but those 
 doctrines are not for common men. In the very Sen- 10 
 ate House and heart of our English Cambridge I once 
 ventured, though not without an apology for my pro- 
 faneness, to hazard the opinion that for the majority 
 of mankind a little of mathematics, even, goes a long 
 way. Of course this is quite consistent with their 15 
 being of immense importance as an intrument to some- 
 thing else ; but it is the few who have the aptitude for 
 thus using them, not the bulk of mankind. 
 
 The natural sciences do not, however, stand on 
 the same footing with these instrument-knowledges. 20 
 Experience shows us that the generality of men will 
 find more interest in learning that, when a taper burns, 
 the wax is converted into carbonic acid and water, or 
 in learning the explanation of the phenomenon of dew, 
 or in learning how the circulation of the blood is carried 25 
 on, than they find in learning that the genitive plural 
 of pais and pas does not take the circumflex on the 
 termination. And one piece of natural knowledge is 
 added to another, and others are added to that, and at 
 
328 Controversy 
 
 last we come to propositions so interesting as Mr. Dar- 
 win's famous proposition that "our ancestor was a hairy 
 quadruped furnished with a tail and pointed ears, 
 probably arboreal in his habits/' Or we come to propo- 
 sitions of such reach and magnitude as those which 5 
 Professor Huxley delivers, when he says that the notions 
 of our forefathers about the beginning and the end of 
 the world were all wrong, and that nature is the expres- 
 sion of a definite order with which nothing interferes. 
 
 Interesting, indeed, these results of science are, 10 
 important they are, and we should all of us be ac- 
 quainted with them. But what I now wish you to mark 
 is, that we are still, when they are propounded to us 
 and we receive them, we are still in the sphere of intel- 
 lect and knowledge. And for the generality of men 15 
 there will be found, I say, to arise, when they have duly 
 taken in the proposition that their ancestor was "a 
 hairy quadruped furnished with a tail and pointed ears, 
 probably arboreal in his habits," there will be found to 
 arise an invincible desire to relate this proposition to 20 
 the sense in us for conduct, and to the sense in us for 
 beauty. But this the men of science will not do for us, 
 and will hardly even profess to do. They will give us 
 other pieces of knowledge, other facts, about other ani- 
 mals and their ancestors, or about plants, or about 25 
 stones, or about stars ; and they may finally bring us to 
 those great "general conceptions of the universe, which 
 are forced upon us all," says Professof Huxley, "by the 
 progress of physical science." But still it will be 
 
Literature and Science 329 
 
 knowledge only which they give us; knowledge not 
 put for us into relation with our sense for conduct, 
 our sense for beauty, and touched with emotion by 
 being so put ; not thus put for us, and therefore, to the 
 majority of mankind, after a certain while, unsatisfying, 5 
 wearying. 
 
 Not to the born naturalist, I admit. But what do 
 we mean by a born naturalist? We mean a man in 
 whom the zeal for observing nature is so uncom- 
 monly strong and eminent, that it marks him off from 10 
 the bulk of mankind. Such a man will pass his life 
 happily in collecting natural knowledge and reasoning 
 upon it, and will ask for nothing, or hardly anything, 
 more. I have heard it said that the sagacious and 
 admirable naturalist whom we lost not very long ago, 15 
 Mr. Darwin, once owned to a friend that for his part 
 he did not experience the necessity for two things which 
 most men find so necessary to them, religion and 
 poetry ; science and the domestic affections, he thought, 
 were enough. To a born naturalist, I can well under- 20 
 stand that this should seem so. So absorbing is his 
 occupation with nature, so strong his love for his occupa- 
 tion, that he goes on acquiring natural knowledge and 
 reasoning upon it, and has little time or inclination for 
 thinking about getting it related to the desire in man for 25 
 conduct, the desire in man for beauty. He relates it 
 to them for himself as he goes along, so far as he feels 
 the need; and he draws from the domestic affections 
 all the additional solace necessary. But then Darwins 
 
330 Controversy 
 
 are extremely rare. Another great and admirable 
 master of natural knowledge, Faraday, was a Sande- 
 manian. That is to say, he related his knowledge to 
 his instinct for conduct and to his instinct for beauty, 
 by the aid of that respectable Scottish sectary, Robert 5 
 Sandeman. And so strong, in general, is the demand 
 of religion and poetry to have their share in a man, to 
 associate themselves with his knowing, and to relieve and 
 rejoice it, that probably, for one man amongst us with 
 the disposition to do as Darwin did in this respect, 10 
 there are at least fifty with the disposition to do as 
 Faraday. 
 
 Education lays hold upon us, in fact, by satisfying 
 this demand. Professor Huxley holds up to scorn 
 mediaeval education, with its neglect of the knowledge 15 
 of nature, its poverty even of literary studies, its formal 
 logic devoted to " showing how and why that which 
 the Church said was true must be true." But the great 
 mediaeval universities were not brought into being, we 
 may be sure, by the zeal for giving a jejune and con- 20 
 temptible education. Kings have been their nursing 
 fathers, and queens have been their nursing mothers, 
 but not for this. The mediaeval universities came into 
 being, because the supposed knowledge, delivered by 
 Scripture and the Church, so deeply engaged men's 25 
 hearts, by so simply, easily, and powerfully relating it- 
 self to their desire for conduct, their desire for beauty. 
 All other knowledge was dominated i)y this supposed 
 knowledge and was subordinated to it, because of the 
 
Literature and Science 331 
 
 surpassing strength of the hold which it gained upon the 
 affections of men, by allying itself profoundly with their 
 sense for conduct, their sense for beauty. 
 
 But now, says Professor Huxley, conceptions of the 
 universe fatal to the notions held by our forefathers 5 
 have been forced upon us by physical science. Grant 
 to him that they are thus fatal, that the new conceptions 
 must and will soon become current everywhere, and 
 that every one will finally perceive them to be fatal 
 to the beliefs of our forefathers. The need of humane 10 
 letters, as they are truly called, because they serve the 
 paramount desire in men that good should be forever 
 present to them, the need of humane letters to estab- 
 lish a relation between the new conceptions, and our i" 
 instinct for beauty, our instinct for conduct, is only the 15 
 more visible. The middle age could do without hu- 
 mane letters, as it could do without the study of nature, 
 because its supposed knowledge was made to engage its 
 emotions so powerfully. Grant that the supposed knowl- 
 edge disappears, its power of being made to engage the 20 
 emotions will of course disappear along with it, but 
 the emotions themselves, and their claim to be engaged 
 and satisfied, will remain. Now if we find by experi- 
 ence that humane letters have an undeniable power of 
 engaging the emotions, the importance of humane letters 25 
 in a man's training becomes not less, but greater, in 
 proportion to the success of modern science in extirpat- 
 ing what it calls " mediaeval thinking." 
 
 Have humane letters, then, have poetry and elo- 
 
332 Controversy 
 
 quence, the power here attributed to them of engaging 
 the emotions, and do they exercise it? And if they 
 have it and exercise it, how do they exercise it, so as 
 to exert an influence upon man's sense for conduct, 
 his sense for beauty? Finally, even if they both can 5 
 and do exert an influence upon the senses in question, 
 how are they to relate to them the results, the 
 modern results, of natural science ? All these ques- 
 tions may be asked. First, have poetry and eloquence 
 the power of calling out the emotions? The appeal 10 
 is to experience. Experience shows that for the vast 
 majority of men, for mankind in general, they have the 
 power. Next, do they exercise it? They do. But 
 then, how do they exercise it so as to affect man's 
 sense for conduct, his sense for beauty? And this is 15 
 perhaps a case for applying the Preacher's words: 
 "Though a man labor to seek it out, yet he shall not 
 find it ; yea, further, though a wise man think to know 
 it, yet shall he not be able to find it." l Why should it 
 be one thing, in its effect upon the emotions, to say, 20 
 "Patience is a virtue," and quite another thing, in its 
 effect upon the emotions, to say with Homer, 
 
 T\i)T&v ykp Motpat ffvjj&v 0{<rav&v6p&Troi<Tiv 2 
 
 "for an enduring heart have the destinies appointed 
 to the children of men" ? Why should it be one thing, 25 
 in its effect upon the emotions, to say with philosopher 
 Spinoza, Felicitas in eo consistit quod homo suum esse 
 conservare potest "Man's happiness consists in his 
 : Ecclesiastes, viii. 17. 2 " Iliad," xxiv. 49. 
 
Literature and Science 
 
 333 
 
 being able to preserve his own essence," and quite an- 
 other thing, in its effect upon the emotions, to say with 
 the Gospel, "What is a man advantaged, if he gain 
 the whole world, and lose himself, forfeit himself ?" 
 How does this difference of effect arise? I cannot tell, 5 
 and I am not much concerned to know ; the important 
 thing is that it does arise, and that we can profit by it. 
 But how, finally, are poetry and eloquence to exercise 
 the power of relating the modern results of natural 
 science to man's instinct for conduct, his instinct for 10 
 beauty ? And here again I answer that I do not know 
 how they will exercise it, but that they can and will 
 exercise it I am sure. I do not mean that modern 
 philosophical poets and modern philosophical moralists 
 are to come and relate for us, in express terms, the results 15 
 of modern scientific research to our instinct for conduct, 
 our instinct for beauty. But I mean that we shall find, 
 as a matter of experience, if we know the best that has 
 been thought and uttered in the world, we shall find 
 that the art and poetry and eloquence of men who lived, 20 
 perhaps, long ago, who had the most limited natural 
 knowledge, who had the most erroneous conceptions 
 about many important matters, we shall find that this 
 art, and poetry, and eloquence, have in fact not only the 
 power of refreshing and delighting us, they have also 25 
 the power, such is the strength and worth, in essen- 
 tials, of their authors' criticism of life, they have a 
 fortifying, and elevating, and quickening, and suggest- 
 ive power, capable of wonderfully helping us to relate 
 
334 Controversy 
 
 the results of modern science to our need for conduct, 
 our need for beauty. Homer's conceptions of the 
 physical universe were, I imagine, grotesque; but 
 really, under the shock of hearing from modern science 
 that "the world is not subordinated to man's use, and 5 
 that man is not the cynosure of things terrestrial," I 
 could, for my own part, desire no better comfort than 
 Homer's line which I quoted just now, 
 
 T\v}TJ)v y&p Mot/mi Bvfjibv Ofoav avOpdiirowiv 
 
 "for an enduring heart have the destinies appointed to 10 
 the children of men !" 
 
 And the more that men's minds are cleared, the more 
 that the results of science are frankly accepted, the 
 more that poetry and eloquence come to be received 
 and studied as what in truth they really are, the 15 
 criticism of life by gifted men, alive and active with 
 extraordinary power at an unusual number of points ; 
 so much the more will the value of humane letters, and 
 of art also, which is an utterance having a like kind of 
 power with theirs, be felt and acknowledged, and their 20 
 place in education be secured. 
 
 Let us therefore, all of us, avoid indeed as much as 
 possible any invidious comparison between the merits 
 of humane letters, as means of education, and the 
 merits of the natural sciences. But when some Presi- 25 
 dent of a Section for Mechanical Science insists on 
 making the comparison, and tells us that "he who in 
 his training has substituted literature and history for 
 natural science has chosen the less useful alternative," 
 
 
Literature and Science 335 
 
 let us make answer to him that the student of humane 
 letters only, will, at least, know also the great general 
 conceptions brought in by modern physical science; 
 for science, as Professor Huxley says, forces them upon 
 us all. But the student of the natural sciences only, 5 
 will, by our very hypothesis, know nothing of humane 
 letters; not to mention that in setting himself to be 
 perpetually accumulating natural knowledge, he sets 
 himself to do what only specialists have in general 
 the gift for doing genially. And so he will probably 10 
 be unsatisfied, or at any rate incomplete, and even 
 more incomplete than the student of humane letters 
 only. 
 
 I once mentioned in a school report, how a young 
 man in one of our English training colleges having to 15 
 paraphrase the passage in Macbeth beginning, 
 
 Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased? 
 
 turned this line into, "Can you not wait upon the 
 lunatic ?" And I remarked what a curious state of 
 things it would be, if every pupil of our national schools 20 
 knew, let us say, that the moon is two thousand one 
 hundred and sixty miles in diameter, and thought at the 
 same time that a good paraphrase for 
 
 Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased? 
 
 was, "Can you not wait upon the lunatic ?" If one is 25 
 driven to choose, I think I would rather have a young 
 person ignorant about the moon's diameter, but aware 
 that " Can you not wait upon the lunatic ? " is bad, than 
 
336 Controversy 
 
 a young person whose education had been such as to 
 manage things the other way. 
 
 Or to go higher than the pupils of our national 
 schools. I have in my mind's eye a member of our 
 British Parliament who comes to travel here in America, 5 
 who afterwards relates his travels, and who shows a 
 really masterly knowledge of the geology of this great 
 country and of its mining capabilities, but who ends by 
 gravely suggesting that the United States should borrow 
 a prince from our Royal Family, and should make him 10 
 their king, and should create a House of Lords of great 
 landed proprietors after the pattern of ours; and then 
 America, he thinks, would have her future happily and 
 perfectly secured. Surely, in this case, the President of 
 the Section for Mechanical Science would himself hardly 15 
 say that our member of Parliament, by concentrating 
 himself upon geology and mineralogy, and so on, and 
 not attending to literature and history, had "chosen 
 the more useful alternative." 
 
 If then there is to be separation and option between 20 
 humane letters on the one hand, and the natural 
 sciences on the other, the great majority of mankind, 
 all who have not exceptional and overpowering apti- 
 tudes for the study of nature, would do well, I cannot 
 but think, to choose to be educated in humane letters 25 
 rather than in the natural sciences. Letters will call 
 out their being at more points, will make them live 
 more. 
 
 I said that before I ended I would just touch on 
 
Literature and Science 337 
 
 the question of classical education, and I will keep 
 my word. Even if literature is to retain a large place 
 in our education, yet Latin and Greek, say the friends 
 of progress, will certainly have to go. Greek is the 
 grand offender in the eyes of these gentlemen. The 5 
 attackers of the established course of study think that 
 against Greek, at any rate, they have irresistible argu- 
 ments. Literature may perhaps be needed in educa- 
 tion, they say; but why on earth should it be Greek 
 literature? Why not French or German? Nay, 10 
 "has not an Englishman models in his own literature 
 of every kind of excellence ?" As before, it is not on 
 any weak pleadings of my own that I rely for con- 
 vincing the gainsayers; it is on the constitution of 
 human nature itself, and on the instinct of self-preser- 15 
 vation in humanity. The instinct for beauty is set in 
 human nature, as surely as the instinct for knowledge 
 is set there, or the instinct for conduct. If the in- 
 stinct for beauty is served by Greek literature and art 
 as it is served by no other literature and art, we may 20 
 trust to the instinct of self-preservation in humanity 
 for keeping Greek as part of our culture. We may 
 trust to it for even making the study of Greek more 
 prevalent than it is now. Greek will come, I hope, 
 some day to be studied more rationally than at present ; 25 
 but it will be increasingly studied as men increasingly 
 feel the need in them for beauty, and how powerfully 
 Greek art and Greek literature can serve this need. 
 Women will again study Greek, as Lady Jane Grey did ; 
 
338 Controversy 
 
 I believe that in that chain of forts, with which the fair 
 host of the Amazons are now engirdling our English 
 universities, I find that here in America, in colleges like 
 Smith College in Massachusetts, and Vassar College in 
 the State of New York, and in the happy families of the 5 
 mixed universities out West, they are studying it already. 
 Defuit una mihi symmetric, prisca, "The antique 
 symmetry was the one thing wanting to me," said 
 Leonardo da Vinci; and he was an Italian. I will 
 not presume to speak for the Americans, but I am 10 
 sure that, in the Englishman, the want of this admirable 
 symmetry of the Greeks is a thousand times more great 
 and crying than in any Italian. The results of the want 
 show themselves most glaringly, perhaps, in our archi- 
 tecture, but they show themselves, also, in all our art. 15 
 Fit details strictly combined, in view of a large general 
 result nobly conceived; that is just the beautiful symmetria 
 prisca of the Greeks, and it is just where we English 
 fail, where all our art fails. Striking ideas we have, 
 and well-executed details we have; but that high sym- 20 
 metry which, with satisfying and delightful effect, com- 
 bines them, we seldom or never have. The glorious 
 beauty of the Acropolis at Athens did not come from 
 single fine things stuck about on that hill, a statue 
 here, a gateway there ; no, it arose from all things 25 
 being perfectly combined for a supreme total effect. 
 What must not an Englishman feel about our deficiencies 
 in this respect, as the sense for beauty, whereof this 
 symmetry is an essential element, awakens and strength- 
 
Literature and Science 339 
 
 ens within him ! what will not one day be his respect and 
 desire for Greece and its symmetria prisca, when the 
 scales drop from his eyes as he walks the London streets, 
 and he sees such a lesson in meanness as the Strand, for 
 instance, in its true deformity ! But here we are coming 5 
 to our friend Mr. Ruskin's province, and I will not in- 
 trude upon it, for he is its very sufficient guardian. 
 
 And so we at last find, it seems, we find flowing in 
 favor of the humanities the natural and necessary 
 stream of things, which seemed against them when we 10 
 started. The "hairy quadruped furnished with a tail 
 and pointed ears, probably arboreal in his habits," 
 this good fellow carried hidden in his nature, appar- 
 ently, something destined to develop into a necessity 
 for humane letters. Nay, more; we seem finally to 15 
 be even led to the further conclusion that our hairy 
 ancestor carried in his nature, also, a necessity for 
 Greek. 
 
 And therefore, to say the truth, I cannot really 
 think that humane letters are in much actual danger 20 
 of being thrust out from their leading place in educa- 
 tion, in spite of the array of authorities against them 
 at this moment. So long as human nature is what it 
 is, their attractions will remain irresistible. As with 
 Greek, so with letters generally: they will some day 25 
 come, we may hope, to be studied more rationally, 
 but they will not lose their place. What will happen 
 will rather be that there will be crowded into educa- 
 tion other matters besides, far too many; there will 
 
34O Controversy 
 
 be, perhaps, a period of unsettlement and confusion 
 and false tendency; but letters will not in the end lose 
 their leading place. If they lose it for a time, they 
 will get it back again. We shall be brought back to 
 them by our wants and aspirations. And a poor 5 
 humanist may possess his soul in patience, neither 
 strive nor cry, admit the energy and brilliancy of the 
 partisans of physical science, and their present favor 
 with the public, to be far greater than his own, and 
 still have a happy faith that the nature of things works 10 
 silently on behalf of the studies which he loves, and 
 that, while we shall all have to acquaint ourselves with 
 the great results reached by modern science, and to 
 give ourselves as much training in its disciplines as we 
 can conveniently carry, yet the majority of men will 15 
 always require humane letters ; and so much the more, 
 as they have the more and the greater results of science 
 to relate to the need in man for conduct, and to the 
 need in him for beauty. 
 
NOTES 
 
 A FEW words in explanation of the nature of the notes 
 may not be out of place. The aim throughout has been 
 to suggest how each selection may profitably be studied, 
 rather than to state didactically its essential character- 
 istics. Such a method obviates the student's tendency 
 to acquire a superficial knowledge of the passage with- 
 out reading it, which would entirely defeat the pur- 
 pose of the book; and it also enables the instructor to 
 supplement and adapt the treatment indicated, in any 
 manner he may wish. If a rhetoric is being studied in 
 conjunction with these specimens, the various principles 
 of Composition, both structural and stylistic, may well 
 be illustrated by reference to the separate selections. 
 The longer selections may perhaps best be studied 
 for principles of structure, paragraph transition, and 
 the other broader principles of Composition; while the 
 shorter passages will afford practice in analysis for the 
 various qualities of style, sentence structure, etc. 
 
 A DAY IN AN OXFORD COLLEGE 
 
 Narrative becomes expository when single occur- 
 rences of a similar kind are blended into a composite; 
 when, instead of a specific instance, there is reported 
 a generalized account of some incident or sequence of 
 
 341 
 
342 Notes 
 
 incidents. In this selection the narrative adapts itself 
 to a typical rather than to an actual day at Oxford. 
 The dinner in Hall, the evening on the lawn, are 
 described in terms which convey a general impression 
 of those occurrences, not with the specific accuracy 
 which would characterize the single event. The narra- 
 tive is not generalized, however, to the point of vague- 
 ness, but is made vivid and interesting by the occa- 
 sional use of concrete illustrations, e.g. the crafty brother 
 of the Trinity man, p. 7, 1. 4; the anxious Crimson 
 correspondent, p. 5, 1. 20. In expository narrative 
 such illustrations must of necessity be subordinated. 
 
 The selection will repay study for the way in which 
 the diction reflects the subject-matter. The author's 
 thorough sympathy with the Oxford spirit now shows 
 itself in humorous turns of phrase in dealing with the 
 lighter side of college life; and again approaches to 
 eloquence in its appreciation of the nobler traditions of 
 the university. The slang serves to enliven the nar- 
 rative. 
 
 The specimen lends itself readily to imitation by the 
 student. 
 
 NATURE IN ENGLAND 
 
 Description becomes expository under the same 
 general conditions that narrative does. This selec- 
 tion, for instance, instead of bringing before the mind a 
 sharply outlined impression from which a picture might 
 be drawn, portrays the features common to English 
 
Notes 343 
 
 landscape in general, as they presented themselves to 
 the author's accurate and appreciative observation. 
 
 The description begins with a general impression 
 whose component parts are taken up in turn and treated 
 in some detail. Is this the natural order in descrip- 
 tion ? The transitional sentences are worthy of notice. 
 
 This selection may profitably be studied for its style : 
 its figures (e.g. p. 12, 1. 7), its diction (p. 12, 1. 10), 
 and its sentence structure (p. 16, 1. 15). There are 
 many other examples of these qualities which the 
 student will do well to discover for himself. 
 
 The Tennyson quotation on p. 13 is from " Audley 
 Court." 
 
 HOW BOOKS ARE MADE 
 
 The opening paragraphs arouse the reader's inter- 
 est by appealing to his curiosity in regard to the various 
 processes of publication of which he previously had 
 little knowledge or interest. The order, as in most ex- 
 planations of a process, is chronological, thus making 
 smooth paragraph transition easy and natural. The 
 style is such as should be at the command of every 
 educated man, for this is just the kind of composition 
 he is likely to be called upon to write. 
 
 A SIMPLE EXPLANATION OF WIRELESS TELEGRAPHY 
 
 In this selection the author assumes a general inter- 
 est in his subject, and endeavors to overcome the 
 average reader's prejudice against the technicality of 
 most scientific exposition. The order is not, as in the 
 
344 Notes 
 
 previous selection, chronological, but advances from 
 the more simple to the more complex. The style is 
 admirable for its freedom from technicality in the 
 elucidation of an involved subject. The explanation 
 is aided by carefully elaborated analogies which de- 
 pend for their effectiveness on accuracy and ease of 
 comprehension. It should be noted that no difficulty 
 in the explanation has been shirked; even the details, 
 such as the nature of the electric wave, are made clear 
 by the same method. Such a method may well be used 
 as a model by the student attempting this very practical 
 form of Exposition. 
 
 The second paragraph, though it consists of but one 
 short sentence, is justifiable because it states an analogy 
 that is elaborated at considerable length in succeeding 
 paragraphs. It may be compared in its purpose with 
 the third paragraph of the preceding selection. 
 
 ARTIST AND MORALIST 
 
 The first half of the paragraph is chiefly notable for 
 its parallel construction, a form appropriate in draw- 
 ing distinctions. The student should note, moreover, 
 the varied emphasis given to this construction in order 
 to avoid monotony. Observe, for example, the recur- 
 rence of the one the other, but with varying degrees 
 of sentence emphasis. Can you find another example 
 of this construction in the paragraph? 
 
 The final sentence should be studied minutely for its 
 rhythm, diction, and the proportion of its parts. 
 
Notes 345 
 
 RELIGION AND MORALITY 
 
 The outline of the definition is this: first, the in- 
 herent unity of the terms is brought out; then, in a 
 single sentence, the distinction is indicated (p. 50 , 1. 5), 
 which is steadily developed until it can be concisely 
 summarized (p. 51, 1. 6); and finally, this summary 
 is enforced by further amplification. 
 
 The clearness of this distinction between abstract 
 terms is made possible by the effective use of aptly 
 chosen concrete illustrations. 
 
 VALUE 
 
 This definition is notable for its inclusion of the 
 various possible meanings of the term " value" and 
 the explanation of each by concrete illustration. The 
 clinching of the thought in a final paragraph illustrates 
 the principle of Emphasis. 
 
 PATHOS 
 
 The introductory paragraph should be studied and 
 imitated for its direct statement of the scope and em- 
 phasis of the theme. The last sentence indicates both 
 the division of the subject and the sequence of topics. 
 
 p. 54, 1. 12. This paragraph has two main divi- 
 sions : the definition in the abstract, and the relation of 
 the definition to the person. This second division has 
 three parts, which the student should discover for himself. 
 
 Though the sensitive nature, 1. 14. What is the 
 
346 Notes 
 
 purpose of the repetition of this phrase here and in the 
 following sentence ? Find also in the following sentence 
 a variant phrase for the same idea. 
 
 helpful, 1. 1 8. To what adjective in the preceding 
 sentence does this correspond? What rhetorical pur- 
 pose does the correspondence of position serve? 
 
 In an ideally perfect nature . . ., p. 55, 1. 4. Entire 
 selfishness . . ., 1. 9. In the great mass of men and 
 women . . ., 1. n. Note how the movement of thought 
 is made clear by the parallel construction. 
 
 that is, pathos, 1. 14. What effect has this phrase 
 on the unity and emphasis of the paragraph? 
 
 1. 17. This paragraph relates the abstract defini- 
 tion to the field of art, and secures, with many 
 illustrations from literature, the emphasis indicated 
 in the introduction. What effect have these illustra- 
 tions on the clearness and convincingness of the 
 definitions ? 
 
 Fair Rosamond's sorrows, p. 56, 1. 12. William 
 Warner: "Albion's England," Book 8, Chapter 41. 
 
 Nought is there, etc., 1. 18. Spenser's " Faery 
 Queene," Book I, Canto 3. 
 
 tempering extremities, etc., p. 57, 1. 6. "Romeo and 
 Juliet," Prologue to Act II. 
 
 crown, 1. 9. 
 
 Comfort ? comfort scorn'd of devils ! this is truth the poet sings, 
 That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things. 
 TENNYSON'S " Locksley Hall." 
 
Notes 347 
 
 p. 58, 1. 7. Do you notice any violation of unity 
 in this paragraph? 
 
 The final paragraph recalls the definitions of pathos, 
 and justifies its wide occurrence in art. 
 
 THE SOCIAL VALUE OF THE COLLEGE-BRED 
 
 The selection, after the introductory paragraph, falls 
 into three main divisions: first, the definition of the 
 function of college training ; second, the relation of that 
 training to democracy; finally, the importance of this 
 relationship. The address easily and naturally assumes 
 the persuasive tone in the closing division ; none of the 
 forms of composition needs wholly to exclude the others, 
 and the persuasive element is particularly appropriate 
 in public address. 
 
 How is the method of presentation adapted to the 
 occasion? Would the abrupt opening and the imme- 
 diate answer to the question therein propounded be so 
 appropriate in an essay not delivered orally? Would 
 the homely but striking metaphors be so likely to 
 abound in an essay intended for reading ? Is the inter- 
 rogative form used more frequently than would be 
 natural in written discourse? 
 
 A NEW DEFINITION OF THE CULTIVATED MAN 
 
 The clear and firm outlines of this selection are ob- 
 viously the result of cogent thinking before composi- 
 tion was undertaken. 
 
348 Notes 
 
 These outlines, although so apparent, should be 
 drawn up in detailed tabular form by the student, under 
 the general headings of Introduction (with its subdi- 
 visions), Body, and Conclusion. In longer composi- 
 tions this is the clearest method of making evident the 
 skillful coordination of parts. 
 
 THE YOUNG MAN'S FUTURE 
 
 The outlines are very clear. Are they too much 
 emphasized? How is the introduction adapted to the 
 occasion? Compare it with the introduction to Pro- 
 fessor James's article. Would the paragraphs p. 93, 
 1. 7 and 1. n, be better combined? Find a paragraph 
 which employs repetition for the sake of emphasis. 
 
 E. & O. E.j p. 90, 1. 16, signifying "Errors and 
 Omissions Excepted," are very old terms which are 
 used for the purpose of showing that the account ren- 
 dered is not binding and is subject to correction. 
 
 THE CHARACTER OF THE INDIAN 
 
 Observe the outlines of the selection. They are not 
 so obtrusive as those of the preceding specimen. Are 
 they as clear? 
 
 The essay should be studied especially for (i) co- 
 herence, (2) diction, and (3) the rhythmical balance 
 of its sentences. We give one or two examples of 
 each; the student should find others for himself. 
 
 (i) The sentence beginning, A mongjM savages . . ., 
 
 p. 101, 1.20. 
 
Notes 349, 
 
 (2) tricked outj p. 98, 1. 5. 
 
 (3) In the midst of his family . . ., p. n 
 Ambition, revenge . . ., p. 99, 1. 22. 
 
 101, 1. 14. 
 
 HENRY DAVID THOREAU 
 
 The somewhat biased attitude toward Thoreau in the 
 essay of which this is the beginning is modified in the 
 preface to the "Familiar Studies." 
 
 The brilliancy of style and the precision of phrase 
 should be observed. Let the student discover examples 
 of aptly chosen words and phrases. He might also 
 endeavor to find some dominant trait of Thoreau's 
 character in which all others blend, and which gives 
 rhetorical unity to the selection. 
 
 THE DESCENT FROM THE CROSS 
 
 This illustrates a kind of work which may be profit- 
 ably undertaken by students who find it congenial. 
 They should note that the painting is portrayed for the 
 eye, as well as interpreted to the mind. 
 
 HABITS 
 
 The danger in writing upon an abstract subject lies 
 in the tendency to become diffuse and vague. The 
 danger, moreover, in the informal style of writing is to 
 allow the conversational tone to lead one into digres- 
 sions from which there is no return to the main subject. 
 In this essay vagueness is avoided by relating the 
 
350 Notes 
 
 abstract subject to Mr. Pater's dictum, and then by em- 
 ploying concrete illustrations ; discursiveness is avoided 
 by such phrases as, the point is> by careful though 
 unobtrusive paragraph transitions, and by the summary 
 in the concluding paragraph. 
 
 Milton's friend, p. 115, 1. 7. Sonnet entitled " To 
 Mr. Lawrence." 
 
 SOCIAL LIFE IN AMERICA 
 
 This selection illustrates how ease of style may be 
 combined with accuracy and fullness of information. 
 This is partly the result of a thorough assimilation of 
 the material. The selection has a narrative basis which 
 the student should analyze. 
 
 Such students as may have had the requisite prepa- 
 ration might well undertake this kind of essay, noting 
 not only its structure and style but also its careful cita- 
 tion of references. 
 
 EMERSON 
 
 This essay is remarkable for its critical penetra- 
 tion, and for the exquisite harmony of its style. We 
 advise the student to read this selection aloud in 
 order to cultivate his appreciation of rhythm and 
 diction. 
 
 latest lorn, etc., p. 147, 1. 25. Keats's " Ode to 
 Psyche. " 
 
Notes 351 
 
 ON THE READING OF NEWSPAPERS 
 
 The eloquence of this selection, and the fact that it 
 appeals to the hearer's emotion rather than to his reason, 
 are among the qualities which make it Persuasion rather 
 than Argument. How would an argument on the same 
 subject differ? 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF DEVOTION 
 
 This passage contains a more substantial basis of 
 thought than the preceding; and yet it is Persuasion 
 because it is hortatory in tone, and appeals to the ideals 
 of its hearers. Even so, must it not be less effective in 
 print than when originally delivered ? 
 
 Can you summarize the thought of the address in 
 a sentence? Can you draw a brief from it? What 
 does this suggest as to a distinction between Per- 
 suasion and Argument ? 
 
 THE BRIEF 
 
 Introduction : The most important part of the intro- 
 duction is the finding of the special issues on which the 
 proof of the question is to rest. The question in its wider 
 aspect is thus resolved into its elements, and the writer 
 is enabled to see just what the points of contention are 
 and how they may best be arranged and proved. The 
 importance of thus defining the special issues is perhaps 
 exceeded, from the student's point of view, by its diffi- 
 
352 Notes 
 
 culty. He knows, of course, that they result from the 
 clash of the affirmative and negative contentions, yet he 
 rarely achieves a brief in which they are drawn simply 
 and logically from these contentions, without evasion 
 of some of them, or the introduction of material not duly 
 accounted for. We therefore suggest a method which, 
 if practiced with such flexibility as the conditions of dif- 
 ferent cases may determine, will result in a well-cor- 
 related introduction. It should be remembered that 
 we do not have in mind the preparation of a brief for 
 a debate in which the opposing parties have agreed on 
 the meaning of ambiguous terms and the scope of the 
 question, but for a written argument which is to be 
 an independent contribution to the discussion of the 
 question. 
 
 We will assume that the student, by careful reading 
 and thinking, has gained a reasonable mastery of his 
 subject, and has made note, in the progress of his study, 
 of the contentions on both sides, trying at the same time 
 to distinguish between those which may be called the 
 main contentions and those which are subordinate. 
 His problem now is to determine, by comparing and 
 combining the opposing arguments, the "special issues" 
 on which the discussion of the question is going to turn. 
 This may profitably be done in the following manner : 
 
 He should set down the main contentions on each 
 side in columns headed respectively Affirmative and 
 Negative, and then compare them in detail with a view 
 to combining those which correspond. The important 
 
Notes 353 
 
 fact to be remembered in this process is that no issue 
 can result from the conflict of unlike contentions, but 
 only from opposing statements on the same contention. 
 In this connection the student would do well to note 
 Lincoln's method, and even to memorize his words, 
 p. 290, 1.4: "You say we are sectional. We deny 
 it. That makes an issue; and the burden of proof is 
 upon you." Or, to take an example from the brief here 
 printed, the headings A, B, and C of Section VII exactly 
 oppose the corresponding headings in Section VIII. 
 The separate contentions stand in this case in unusually 
 close relations with one another, and yet heading A un- 
 der Section VII would not make an issue with heading B 
 of Section VIII. This principle will not, however, em- 
 barrass the student in his task of combining the con- 
 tentions in the opposing columns, but will really assist 
 him. Even though the columns show an unequal num- 
 ber of contentions, the task can readily be accomplished. 
 We will suppose, to illustrate the process, that the stu- 
 dent finds five contentions in the Affirmative column 
 and three in the Negative. He is pretty sure to find, on 
 comparison, that the three negative contentions will 
 squarely oppose, at least with some slight changes in 
 the phrasing, three of the affirmative contentions, and 
 resolve themselves into "special issues." The question 
 now is what to do with the two remaining affirmative 
 contentions. A number of solutions are to be consid- 
 ered. One or both of the contentions may be found 
 to deal with phases of the question which are to be 
 
 2A 
 
354 Notes 
 
 declared outside the present discussion, and should be 
 relegated to the section of the introduction devoted to 
 the questions waived. Or these contentions may be 
 found to be such as the negative will choose to concede, 
 and will accordingly be placed under the section of the 
 introduction devoted to concessions or mutual agree- 
 ments. Or it may be that these contentions will be 
 regarded by the negative as fallacious, in which case 
 they will be reserved for special refutation in the proof. 
 Finally, and perhaps most likely, the lack of opposing 
 statements for these contentions may be found to be 
 the result of an imperfect knowledge of the question, 
 and must be made the basis of further investigation, in 
 the pursuance of which the contrary evidence will be 
 discovered, the opposing contentions phrased, and 
 these two, like the others, will resolve themselves into 
 " special issues." These issues will then be arranged 
 in the order which seems most effective, ambiguous 
 terms will be defined, a topical history of the question 
 will be placed at the beginning, and the result will be a 
 logical and symmetrical introduction which will form a 
 secure basis for extended proof. 
 
 Proof: In the body of the brief the special issues 
 should be taken up in the order of their arrangement 
 in the introduction, and substantiated by appending the 
 evidence in concise and suggestive sentences which 
 stand in causal relation to the main headings. If the 
 special issues are at all complex, they must be broken 
 up into their component parts, each of which will be 
 
Notes 355 
 
 proved in turn. The purpose of such analysis is not to 
 make a more complex tabulation, but to reduce each 
 statement to its lowest terms, so that the student may 
 see just what it involves, and just how he may prove it 
 most effectively and avoid the many pitfalls of fallacious 
 reasoning. In the brief here printed, the special issues 
 are not subdivided, this having been already done in 
 the introduction, in the fivefold definition of a " satis- 
 factory government." 
 
 INTRODUCTIONS 
 
 Perhaps no part of a composition, whether it be ex- 
 pository or argumentative, presents more difficulty than 
 the opening paragraph or paragraphs. In Exposition 
 the function of the introduction is to state the subject- 
 matter, and indicate the method of treatment. As a 
 rule this can be done in a single paragraph, as it is done, 
 for example, in the essay on Pathos, and in the Explana- 
 tion of Wireless Telegraphy. At times, of course, special 
 conditions may call for a more extended introduction, 
 as did the circumstances under which Mr. Vanderlip's 
 address was delivered, and the argumentative element 
 of President Eliot's address. But the typical merits 
 of an expository introduction are naturalness, direct- 
 ness, and conciseness. Often, indeed, a formal intro- 
 duction may be dispensed with altogether. Mr. Ben- 
 son entered naturally and easily upon his theme by sim- 
 ple reference to Mr. Pater's pronouncement; Stevenson 
 and Parkman moved directly, yet not abruptly, into 
 
356 Notes 
 
 their subjects within the limits of a single sentence. 
 Varied in length as the introduction may be, the prob- 
 lem is, in Exposition, comparatively simple. It is 
 to state in as natural, concise, and direct a manner as 
 the subject and the relation of the subject to readers 
 or hearers will allow, the thing to be explained and 
 the method of explanation. 
 
 In Argument the introduction is a much more com- 
 plex matter. The student must not baldly state the 
 question and proceed at once to defend or to oppose 
 it, as he is wont to do. No debatable question can be 
 intelligently discussed until it has been adequately ex- 
 plained ; in short, the argument itself must be preceded 
 by an essay in exposition. How long this prefatory 
 matter shall become depends upon the question at issue 
 and the proposed manner of treatment. It may be 
 a relatively brief statement of why the question is to be 
 discussed, or it may be an elaborate explanation of the 
 question together with its past and present significance. 
 This range of material is illustrated both in the introduc- 
 tions to the arguments and in the special introductions, 
 and perhaps deserves a few words of comment here. 
 
 One of the simplest methods of introduction is to 
 state the timeliness of the subject, why it has been 
 chosen, or what makes it important. This serves as a 
 natural and easy entrance upon the question to be dis- 
 cussed, and to arouse interest a factor not to be dis- 
 regarded in any statement of opinion. Mr. Oilman 
 has done this in the first specimen. 
 
Notes 357 
 
 The Outlook article states the contentions of each 
 side. This method is valuable as a means of placing 
 before the reader or hearer sufficient information to 
 enable him to follow, with more interest and understand- 
 ing, the question in debate. It also makes clear the 
 writer's plan of refutation, should he employ any. Its 
 main importance consists in helping to define the issue. 
 Defining the issue is perhaps the most necessary func- 
 tion of the entire introduction. Everything that 
 has preceded will prove fruitless if there does not 
 follow a lucid statement of the exact point or points 
 upon which the proof is to be based. The issue is 
 derived from the conflicting opinions adduced by 
 both sides, and serves as a focus for the opposing 
 arguments. 
 
 When a question can best be understood in its present 
 significance by a knowledge of the attitude that has 
 previously been accorded it, a review of its history in as 
 concise and succinct a manner as possible is advisable. 
 This forms a logical and coherent sequence of thought 
 in which there naturally follows a statement of the at- 
 titude to be assumed by the present writer. He states 
 his position by excluding whatever may be extraneous, 
 and so limits the subject to serve his special purpose. 
 Mr. Low and Mr. Myers have done this admirably. 
 
 The introduction is often made the place for con- 
 cession. This helps to clear the ground of what the 
 writer considers unessential to the successful discus- 
 sion of the subject under debate. 
 
358 Notes 
 
 Of course any terms in the statement of the proposi- 
 tion which might be misleading or ambiguous must be 
 denned. Unless this is done, argument will prove futile, 
 for until the exact meaning of the terms of the proposi- 
 tion are agreed upon, no intelligent decision can be 
 reached. 
 
 There is no intention to imply that every introduc- 
 tion to an argument should include all these elements. 
 In every introduction, however, there should appear a 
 formal presentation of the subject to be treated; and 
 this can only be done by employing some one or more 
 of the elements here indicated. 
 
 ASSUMPTIONS ARE NOT PROOF 
 
 The effectiveness of this argument is largely depend- 
 ent on the careful construction, which should be mi- 
 nutely studied in a brief. The title of the argument, 
 and the method by which it is conducted, illustrate a 
 very important principle of argumentation. 
 
 OBJECTIONS TO A POSTAL SAVINGS BANK 
 
 This argument is admirably constructed, and the stu- 
 dent will gain proficiency in briefing by reducing it 
 to brief form. 
 
 The whole weight of the argument is thrown upon 
 one line of proof, that the proposed innovation is not 
 the wisest that could be adopted, supported positively 
 by analogies drawn from England and Ireland, and 
 negatively by the success of other methods in this coun- 
 
Notes 359 
 
 try. Both sides of this argument are enforced by the 
 introduction of evidence. Elaboration of one line of 
 evidence is more effective than a larger number of 
 undeveloped arguments. 
 
 Note the concession in the introductory paragraph 
 and at the close. Does this strengthen or weaken the 
 argument as a whole? 
 
 THE TRAINING OF INTELLECT 
 
 This passage has the vigor of phrasing which makes 
 a spoken address effective. Some students may wish 
 to refute the argument or to uphold it by original proof. 
 
 CHILD LABOR IN THE UNITED STATES 
 
 The restrained eloquence of the style of this argu- 
 ment is appropriate to the subject treated. 
 
 The nature of the question is such that refutation is 
 of more importance than adducing positive proof. 
 
 What is the purpose of the extended history of the 
 question ? 
 
 THE CORNER STONES OF MODERN DRAMA 
 
 The introduction supplies a full and elaborated his- 
 tory of the question on which the entire argument is 
 based. The body is notable for its analysis of the 
 "primary" and "secondary" causes of the weakness 
 and degradation of the drama, of the general public 
 and its relation to the theater, and of the " corner stones." 
 The conclusion is persuasive and enforces the preceding 
 
360 Notes 
 
 arguments by an eloquent emotional appeal. Here and 
 in the exhortation to those who are indifferent to the 
 theater is illustrated the frequent and effective union of 
 the appeal to the emotions and to the reason. 
 The quotation on p. 264 is from " Woodnotes," part II. 
 
 IS MUSIC THE TYPE OR MEASURE OF ALL ART? 
 
 The student might well imitate in his own refutation 
 the full and fair statement of the opposing view illus- 
 trated in this selection. 
 
 At the very beginning two opposing views of the pur- 
 pose of art are indicated, and this antithesis is carried on 
 until, each having been refuted in turn, a third view is 
 suggested and defended. 
 
 The paragraph beginning, Just as the subjectivity, 
 p. 277, 1. 19, is noteworthy for its nice distinctions. 
 
 REFUTATION 
 
 A few examples of refutation are included because it 
 is so often neglected by the student, and because it is in 
 itself a valuable mental exercise. Number I illustrates 
 the "reductio ad absurdum "; Number II, the "di- 
 lemma"; Number III, "exposing a fallacy." Number 
 IV so abounds in practical illustrations of argumen- 
 tative principles, that the student should be asked to 
 discover them for himself. 
 
 Our fathers who framed the government . . ., p. 291, 
 1. 12. The full significance of this_ phrase, which is 
 repeated for the sake of irony, may be appreciated by 
 
Notes 361 
 
 noting this excerpt from the beginning of the speech. 
 "In his speech last autumn at Columbus, Ohio, as 
 reported in the New York Times, Senator Douglas said : 
 1 Our fathers, when they framed the government under 
 which we live, understood this question just as well, 
 and even better, than we do now.' 
 
 " I fully indorse this, and I adopt it as a text for this 
 discourse. " 
 
 SCIENCE AND CULTURE 
 
 The unity and coherence of this argument are ob- 
 tained by logical analysis. The whole subject of 
 scientific education is first divided into the attitude 
 taken toward it by the practical man and by the hu- 
 manist. The first topic, as being of relatively less im- 
 portance, presently yields to the weightier arguments 
 of the humanist. His position, as typified by Mr. 
 Arnold, is again divided into two distinct propositions, 
 the first of which is conceded, and the second refuted 
 at length. The main argument, which is introduced by 
 the paragraph on p. 301, is supported by extended 
 and forceful proof, except for the loophole which Mr. 
 Arnold so ingeniously discovered. 
 
 LITERATURE AND SCIENCE 
 
 This argument, like Professor Huxley's, is also re- 
 markably unified and coherent. How are these quali- 
 ties obtained? The first division of the argument 
 turns on a definition of terms, which illustrates the 
 
362 Notes 
 
 practical value of making clear the exact meaning of 
 all ambiguous words or phrases. 
 
 We quote Mr. Gates' s admirable note on this selec- 
 tion. 1 " The lecture is a temperate but comprehensive 
 and vigorous plea for the humanities in education; to 
 many believers in ' the classics ' its arguments seem 
 still unanswered. The students should note particu- 
 larly its easy conversational tone, and its method of 
 ' winding into a subject/ its concreteness and close 
 adherence to life, its pleasant use of illustrations, its 
 delicately venomous irony, its mocking repetition of 
 catch words and quotations, and its fine sanity and sub- 
 limated worldly wisdom ; in all these respects it is a 
 thoroughly characteristic piece of Arnold's prose at 
 its best." 
 
 Diotima . . . once explained, p. 326, 1. 6. See the 
 "Symposium"; Jowett's "The Dialogues of Plato," 
 I. 451, etc. (Gates). 
 
 1 Selections from Matthew Arnold. Henry Holt & Co. 
 
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 HERBART, JOHN FREDERICK. Outlines of Educational Doctrine. By John 
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