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diff --git a/old/68385-0.txt b/old/68385-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8fe9636..0000000 --- a/old/68385-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,23633 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Civilization in the United States, by -Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Civilization in the United States - An inquiry by thirty Americans - -Author: Various - -Editor: Harold E. Stearns - -Release Date: June 23, 2022 [eBook #68385] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Emmanuel Ackerman, Charlie Howard, and the Online - Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This - file was produced from images generously made available by - The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CIVILIZATION IN THE UNITED -STATES *** - - - - - -Transcriber’s Note: Italic text is enclosed in _underscores_; boldface -text is enclosed in =equals signs=; Small-Caps text is shown as -ALL-CAPS. Other notes will be found following the Index. - - - - - CIVILIZATION IN THE - UNITED STATES - - _AN INQUIRY BY THIRTY AMERICANS_ - - - EDITED BY HAROLD E. STEARNS - - - [Illustration] - - - NEW YORK - HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY - HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, INC - - - PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. BY - THE QUINN & BODEN COMPANY - RAHWAY, N. J. - - - - -PREFACE - - -This book has been an adventure in intellectual co-operation. If it -were a mere collection of haphazard essays, gathered together to make -the conventional symposium, it would have only slight significance. -But it has been the deliberate and organized outgrowth of the common -efforts of like-minded men and women to see the problem of modern -American civilization as a whole, and to illuminate by careful -criticism the special aspect of that civilization with which the -individual is most familiar. Personal contact has served to correct -overemphasis, and slow and careful selection of the members of a group -which has now grown to some thirty-odd has given to this work a unity -of approach and attack which it otherwise could not possibly have had. - -The nucleus of this group was brought together by common work, -common interests, and more or less common assumptions. As long ago -as the autumn of last year Mr. Van Wyck Brooks and I discussed the -possibility of several of us, who were engaged in much the same kind -of critical examination of our civilization, coming together to -exchange ideas, to clarify our individual fields, and to discover -wherein they coincided, overlapped, or diverged. The original desire -was the modest one of making it possible for us to avoid working at -cross-purposes. I suggested that we meet at my home, which a few of -us did, and since that time until the delivery of this volume to the -publishers we have met every fortnight. Even at our first meeting we -discovered our points of view to have so much in common that our desire -for informal and pleasant discussions became the more serious wish to -contribute a definite and tangible piece of work towards the advance -of intellectual life in America. We wished to speak the truth about -American civilization as we saw it, in order to do our share in making -a real civilization possible--for I think with all of us there was a -common assumption that a field cannot be ploughed until it has first -been cleared of rocks, and that constructive criticism can hardly exist -until there is something on which to construct. - -Naturally the first problem to arise was the one of ways and means. If -the spirit and temper of the French encyclopædists of the 18th century -appealed strongly to us, certainly their method for the advancement of -knowledge was inapplicable in our own century. The cultural phenomena -we proposed to survey were too complicated and extensive; besides, we -wished to make a definite contribution of some kind or another while, -so to speak, there was yet time. For the cohesiveness of the group, -the good-humoured tolerance and cheerful sacrifice of time, were to -some extent the consequence of the intellectual collapse that came -with the hysterical post-armistice days, when it was easier than in -normal times to get together intelligent and civilized men and women -in common defence against the common enemy of reaction. We wished to -take advantage of this strategic situation for the furtherance of our -co-operative enterprise, and decided, finally, that the simplest plan -would be the best. Each of us was to write a single short essay on the -special topic we knew most thoroughly; we were to continue our meetings -in order to keep informed of the progress of our work and to see that -there was no duplication; we were to extend the list of subjects to -whatever legitimately bore upon our cultural life and to select the -authors by common agreement; we were to keep in touch with each other -so that the volume might have that inner consistency which could come -only from direct acquaintance with what each of us was planning. - -There were a few other simple rules which we laid down in the -beginning. Desirous of avoiding merely irrelevant criticism and of -keeping attention upon our actual treatment of our subjects rather -than upon our personalities, we provided that all contributors -to the volume must be American citizens. For the same reason, we -likewise provided that in the list there should be no professional -propagandists--except as one is a propagandist for one’s own ideas--no -martyrs, and no one who was merely disgruntled. Since our object was to -give an uncompromising, and consequently at some points necessarily -harsh, analysis, we desired the tone to be good-natured and the temper -urbane. At first, these larger points of policy were decided by common -agreement or, on occasion, by majority vote, and to the end I settled -no important question without consultation with as many members of the -group as I could approach within the limited time we had agreed to have -this volume in the hands of the publisher. But with the extension of -the scope of the book, the negotiations with the publisher, and the -mass of complexities and details that are inevitable in so difficult an -enterprise, the authority to decide specific questions and the usual -editorial powers were delegated as a matter of convenience to me, aided -by a committee of three. Hence I was in a position constantly to see -the book as a whole, and to make suggestions for differentiation, where -repetition appeared to impend, or for unity, where the divergence was -sharp enough to be construed by some as contradictory. In view both of -the fact that every contributor has full liberty of opinion and that -the personalities and points of view finding expression in the essays -are all highly individualistic, the underlying unity which binds the -volume together is really surprising. - -It may seem strange that a volume on civilization in the United States -does not include a specific article on religion, and the omission is -worth a paragraph of explanation. Outside the bigger cities, certainly -no one can understand the social structure of contemporary American -life without careful study of the organization and power of the church. -Speaking generally, we are a church-going people, and at least on the -surface the multiplicity of sects and creeds, the sheer immensity of -the physical apparatus by which the religious impulse is articulated, -would seem to prove that our interest in and emotional craving for -religious experience are enormous. But the omission has not been due -to any superciliousness on our part towards the subject itself; on the -contrary, I suppose I have put more thought and energy into this essay, -which has not been written, than into any other problem connected with -the book. The bald truth is, it has been next to impossible to get any -one to write on the subject; most of the people I approached shied -off--it was really difficult to get them to talk about it at all. -Almost unanimously, when I did manage to procure an opinion from them, -they said that real religious feeling in America had disappeared, that -the church had become a purely social and political institution, that -the country is in the grip of what Anatole France has aptly called -Protestant clericalism, and that, finally, they weren’t interested -in the topic. The accuracy of these observations (except the last) I -cannot, of course, vouch for, but it is rather striking that they were -identical. In any event, the topic as a topic has had to be omitted; -but it is not neglected, for in several essays directly--in particular, -“Philosophy” and “Nerves”--and in many by implication the subject is -discussed. At one time Mr. James Harvey Robinson consented to write -the article--and it would have been an illuminating piece of work--but -unfortunately ill health and the pressure of official duties made the -task impossible for him within the most generous time limit that might -be arranged. - -I have spoken already of the unity which underlies the volume. When -I remember all these essays, and try to summon together the chief -themes that run through them, either by explicit statement or as a -kind of underlying rhythm to all, in order to justify the strong -impression of unity, I find three major contentions that may be said to -be basic--contentions all the more significant inasmuch as they were -unpremeditated and were arrived at, as it were, by accident rather than -design. They are: - -First, That in almost every branch of American life there is a sharp -dichotomy between preaching and practice; we let not our right hand -know what our left hand doeth. Curiously enough, no one regards -this, and in fact no one consciously feels this as hypocrisy--there -are certain abstractions and dogmas which are sacred to us, and if -we fall short of these external standards in our private life, that -is no reason for submitting them to a fresh examination; rather are -we to worship them the more vociferously to show our sense of sin. -Regardless, then, of the theoretical excellence or stupidity of these -standards, in actual practice the moral code resolves itself into -the one cardinal heresy of being found out, with the chief sanction -enforcing it, the fear of what people will say. - -Second, That whatever else American civilization is, it is not -Anglo-Saxon, and that we shall never achieve any genuine nationalistic -self-consciousness as long as we allow certain financial and social -minorities to persuade us that we are still an English Colony. Until -we begin seriously to appraise and warmly to cherish the heterogeneous -elements which make up our life, and to see the common element running -through all of them, we shall make not even a step towards true -unity; we shall remain, in Roosevelt’s class-conscious and bitter but -illuminating phrase, a polyglot boarding-house. It is curious how a -book on American civilization actually leads one back to the conviction -that we are, after all, Americans. - -Third, That the most moving and pathetic fact in the social life of -America to-day is emotional and æsthetic starvation, of which the -mania for petty regulation, the driving, regimentating, and drilling, -the secret society and its grotesque regalia, the firm grasp on the -unessentials of material organization of our pleasures and gaieties are -all eloquent stigmata. We have no heritages or traditions to which to -cling except those that have already withered in our hands and turned -to dust. One can feel the whole industrial and economic situation -as so maladjusted to the primary and simple needs of men and women -that the futility of a rationalistic attack on these infantilisms of -compensation becomes obvious. There must be an entirely new deal of -the cards in one sense; we must change our hearts. For only so, unless -through the humbling of calamity or scourge, can true art and true -religion and true personality, with their native warmth and caprice and -gaiety, grow up in America to exorcise these painted devils we have -created to frighten us away from the acknowledgment of our spiritual -poverty. - -If these main contentions seem severe or pessimistic, the answer must -be: we do not write to please; we strive only to understand and to -state as clearly as we can. For American civilization is still in the -embryonic stage, with rich and with disastrous possibilities of growth. -But the first step in growing up is self-conscious and deliberately -critical examination of ourselves, without sentimentality and without -fear. We cannot even devise, much less control, the principles -which are to guide our future development until that preliminary -understanding has come home with telling force to the consciousness -of the ordinary man. To this self-understanding, this book is, in -our belief, a genuine and valuable contribution. We may not always -have been wise; we have tried always to be honest. And if our attempt -will help to embolden others to an equally frank expression of their -beliefs, perhaps in time wisdom will come. - -I am glad that, however serious, we are never solemn in these essays. -Often, in fact, we are quite gay, and it would be a humourless person -indeed who could not read many of them, even when the thrusts are at -himself, with that laughter which Rabelais tells us is proper to the -man. For whatever our defects, we Americans, we have one virtue and -perhaps a saving virtue--we still know how to laugh at ourselves. - - H. E. S. - -New York City, July Fourth, 1921. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - PREFACE _The Editor_ iii - - THE CITY _Lewis Mumford_ 3 - - POLITICS _H. L. Mencken_ 21 - - JOURNALISM _John Macy_ 35 - - THE LAW _Zechariah Chafee, Jr._ 53 - - EDUCATION _Robert Morss Lovett_ 77 - - SCHOLARSHIP AND CRITICISM _J. E. Spingarn_ 93 - - SCHOOL AND COLLEGE LIFE _Clarence Britten_ 109 - - THE INTELLECTUAL LIFE _Harold E. Stearns_ 135 - - SCIENCE _Robert H. Lowie_ 151 - - PHILOSOPHY _Harold Chapman Brown_ 163 - - THE LITERARY LIFE _Van Wyck Brooks_ 179 - - MUSIC _Deems Taylor_ 199 - - POETRY _Conrad Aiken_ 215 - - ART _Walter Pach_ 227 - - THE THEATRE _George Jean Nathan_ 243 - - ECONOMIC OPINION _Walter H. Hamilton_ 255 - - RADICALISM _George Soule_ 271 - - THE SMALL TOWN _Louis Raymond Reid_ 285 - - HISTORY _H. W. Van Loon_ 297 - - SEX _Elsie Clews Parsons_ 309 - - THE FAMILY _Katharine Anthony_ 319 - - THE ALIEN _Frederic C. Howe_ 337 - - RACIAL MINORITIES _Geroid Tanquary Robinson_ 351 - - ADVERTISING _J. Thorne Smith_ 381 - - BUSINESS _Garet Garrett_ 397 - - ENGINEERING _O. S. Beyer, Jr._ 417 - - NERVES _Alfred B. Kuttner_ 427 - - MEDICINE _Anonymous_ 443 - - SPORT AND PLAY _Ring W. Lardner_ 457 - - HUMOUR _Frank M. Colby_ 463 - - - AMERICAN CIVILIZATION FROM THE FOREIGN POINT OF VIEW - - I AS AN ENGLISHMAN SEES IT _Henry L. Stuart_ 469 - - II AS AN IRISHMAN SEES IT _Ernest Boyd_ 489 - - III AS AN ITALIAN SEES IT _Raffaello Piccoli_ 508 - - - BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 527 - - WHO’S WHO OF THE CONTRIBUTORS 557 - - INDEX 565 - - - - -CIVILIZATION IN THE UNITED STATES - - - - -THE CITY - - -Around us, in the city, each epoch in America has been concentrated -and crystallized. In building our cities we deflowered a wilderness. -To-day more than one-half the population of the United States lives in -an environment which the jerry-builder, the real estate speculator, the -paving contractor, and the industrialist have largely created. Have -we begotten a civilization? That is a question which a survey of the -American city will help us to answer. - -If American history is viewed from the standpoint of the student of -cities, it divides itself roughly into three parts. The first was -a provincial period, which lasted from the foundation of Manhattan -down to the opening up of ocean commerce after the War of 1812. This -was followed by a commercial period, which began with the cutting of -canals and ended with the extension of the railroad system across -the continent, and an industrial period, that gathered force on the -Atlantic seaboard in the ’thirties and is still the dominant economic -phase of our civilization. These periods must not be looked upon as -strictly successive or exclusive: the names merely express in a crude -way the main aspect of each era. It is possible to telescope the -story of America’s colonial expansion and industrial exploitation by -following the material growth and the cultural impoverishment of the -American city during its transformations. - -The momentum of the provincial city lasted well on to the Civil War. -The economic basis of this period was agriculture and petty trade: its -civic expression was, typically, the small New England town, with a -central common around which were grouped a church--appropriately called -a meeting-house--a school, and perhaps a town hall. Its main street -would be lined with tall suave elms and bordered by reticent white -houses of much the same design as those that dotted the countryside. In -the growing towns of the seaboard this culture was overthrown, before -it had a chance to express itself adequately in either institutions -or men, and it bloomed rather tardily, therefore, in the little towns -of Concord and Cambridge, between 1820 and the Civil War. We know -it to-day through a largely anonymous architecture, and through a -literature created by the school of writers that bears the name of the -chief city. Unfortunately for the further development of what we might -call the Concord culture, the agricultural basis of this civilization -shifted to the wheat-growing West; and therewith channels of trade -were diverted from Boston to ports that tapped a richer, more imperial -hinterland. What remained of the provincial town in New England was a -mummy-case. - -The civilization of the New England town spent itself in the settlement -of the Ohio Valley and the great tracts beyond. None of the new centres -had, _qua_ provincial towns, any fresh contribution to make. It had -taken the culture of New England more than three centuries before it -had borne its Concord fruit, and the story of the Western movement -is somehow summed up in the legend of Johnny Appleseed, who planted -dry apple seeds, instead of slips from the living tree, and hedged -the roads he travelled with wild apples, harsh and puny and inedible. -Cincinnati and Pittsburgh jumped from a frustrate provincialism into -the midst of the machine era; and so for a long time they remained -destitute of the institutions that are necessary to carry on the -processes of civilization. - -West of the Alleghanies, the common, with its church and school, was -not destined to dominate the urban landscape: the railroad station and -the commercial hotel had come to take their place. This was indeed the -universal mark of the new industrialism, as obvious in 19th-century -Oxford as in Hoboken. The pioneer American city, however, had none of -the cultural institutions that had been accumulated in Europe during -the great outbursts of the Middle Age and the Renaissance, and as a -result its destitution was naked and apparent. It is true that every -town which was developed mainly during the 19th century--Manchester as -well as Milwaukee--suffered from the absence of civic institutes. The -peculiarity of the New World was that the facilities for borrowing -from the older centres were considerably more limited. London could -export Madox Brown to Manchester to do the murals in the Town Hall: New -York had still to create its schools of art before it had any Madox -Browns that could be exported. - -With the beginning of the 19th century, market centres which had at -first tapped only their immediate region began to reach further back -into the hinterland, and to stretch outward, not merely for freight -but for immigrants, across the ocean. The silly game of counting -heads became the fashion, and in the literature of the ’thirties one -discovers that every commercial city had its statistical lawyer who -was bold enough to predict its leadership in “population and wealth” -before the century was out. The chief boast of the American city was -its prospective size. - -Now the New England town was a genuine community. In so far as the -New England community had a common social and political and religious -life, the town expressed it. The city which was representative of the -second period, on the other hand, was in origin a trading fort, and -the supreme occupation of its founders was with the goods life rather -than the good life. New York, Pittsburgh, Chicago, and St. Louis have -this common basis. They were not composed of corporate organizations -on the march, as it were, towards a New Jerusalem: they were simply a -rabble of individuals “on the make.” With such a tradition to give it -momentum it is small wonder that the adventurousness of the commercial -period was exhausted on the fortuities and temptations of trade. A -state of intellectual anæsthesia prevailed. One has only to compare -Cist’s _Cincinnati Miscellany_ with Emerson’s _Dial_ to see at what a -low level the towns of the Middle West were carrying on. - -Since there was neither fellowship nor social stability nor security -in the scramble of the inchoate commercial city, it remained for a -particular institution to devote itself to the gospel of the “glad -hand.” Thus an historian of Pittsburgh records the foundation of a -Masonic lodge as early as 1785, shortly after the building of the -church, and in every American city, small or big, Odd Fellows, Mystic -Shriners, Woodmen, Elks, Knights of Columbus, and other orders without -number in the course of time found for themselves a prominent place. -(Their feminine counterparts were the D.A.R. and the W.C.T.U., their -juniors, the college Greek letter fraternities.) Whereas one will -search American cities in vain for the labour temples one discovers -to-day in Europe from Belgium to Italy, one finds that the fraternal -lodge generally occupies a site of dignity and importance. There -were doubtless many excellent reasons for the strange proliferation -of professional fraternity in the American city, but perhaps the -strongest reason was the absence of any other kind of fraternity. The -social centre and the community centre, which in a singularly hard and -consciously beatific way have sought to organize fellowship and mutual -aid on different terms, are products of the last decade. - -Perhaps the only other civic institution of importance that the -commercial towns fostered was the lyceum: forerunner of the elephantine -Chautauqua. The lyceum lecture, however, was taken as a soporific -rather than a stimulant, and if it aroused any appetite for art, -philosophy, or science there was nothing in the environment of the -commercial city that could satisfy it. Just as church-going became -a substitute for religion, so automatic lyceum attendance became a -substitute for thought. These were the prayer wheels of a preoccupied -commercialism. - -The contrast between the provincial and the commercial city in America -was well summed up in their plans. Consider the differences between -Cambridge and New York. Up to the beginning of the 19th century New -York, at the tip of Manhattan Island, had the same diffident, rambling -town plan that characterizes Cambridge. In this old type of city layout -the streets lead nowhere, except to the buildings that give onto them: -outside the main roads the provisions for traffic are so inadequate as -to seem almost a provision against traffic. Quiet streets, a pleasant -aspect, ample domestic facilities were the desiderata of the provincial -town; traffic, realty speculation, and expansion were those of the -newer era. This became evident as soon as the Empire City started to -realize its “manifest destiny” by laying down, in 1808, a plan for its -future development. - -New York’s city plan commissioners went about their work with a -scarcely concealed purpose to increase traffic and raise realty values. -The amenities of city life counted for little in their scheme of -things: debating “whether they should confine themselves to rectilinear -and rectangular streets, or whether they should adopt some of those -supposed improvements, by circles, ovals, and stars,” they decided, on -grounds of economy, against any departure from the gridiron design. It -was under the same stimulus that these admirable philistines had the -complacency to plan the city’s development up to 155th Street. Here we -are concerned, however, with the results of the rectangular plan rather -than with the motives that lay behind its adoption throughout the -country. - -The principal effect of the gridiron plan is that every street becomes -a thoroughfare, and that every thoroughfare is potentially a commercial -street. The tendency towards movement in such a city vastly outweighs -the tendency towards settlement. As a result of progressive shifts in -population, due to the changes to which commercial competition subjects -the use of land, the main institutions of the city, instead of cohering -naturally--as the museums, galleries, theatres, clubs, and public -offices group themselves in the heart of Westminster--are dispersed -in every direction. Neither Columbia University, New York University, -the Astor Library, nor the National Academy of Design--to seize but -a few examples--is on its original site. Yet had Columbia remained -at Fiftieth Street it might have had some effective working relation -with the great storehouse of books that now occupies part of Bryant -Park at Forty-second Street; or, alternatively, had the Astor Library -remained on its old site it might have had some connection with New -York University--had that institution not in turn moved! - -What was called the growth of the commercial city was really a -manifestation of the absence of design in the gridiron plan. The -rectangular parcelling of ground promoted speculation in land-units -and the ready interchange of real property: it had no relation -whatever to the essential purposes for which a city exists. It is not -a little significant that Chicago, Cincinnati, and St. Louis, each -of which had space set aside for public purposes in their original -plans, had given up these civic holdings to the realty gambler before -half of the 19th century was over. The common was not the centre of -a well-rounded community life, as in New England, but the centre of -land-speculation--which was at once the business, the recreation, and -the religion of the commercial city. Under the influence of New York -the Scadders whom Martin Chuzzlewit encountered were laying down their -New Edens throughout the country. - - * * * * * - -It was during the commercial period that the evolution of the -Promenade, such as existed in New York at Battery Park, took place. -The new promenade was no longer a park but a shop-lined thoroughfare, -Broadway. Shopping became for the more domesticated half of the -community an exciting, bewildering amusement; and out of a combination -of Yankee “notions,” Barnum-like advertisement, and magisterial -organization arose that _omnium gatherum_ of commerce, the department -store. It is scarcely possible to exaggerate the part that Broadway--I -use the term generically--has played in the American town. It is not -merely the Agora but the Acropolis. When the factory whistle closes the -week, and the factory hands of Camden, or Pittsburgh, or Bridgeport -pour out of the buildings and stockades in which they spend the more -exhausting half of their lives, it is through Broadway that the greater -part of their repressions seek an outlet. Both the name and the -institution extend across the continent from New York to Los Angeles. -Up and down these second-hand Broadways, from one in the afternoon -until past ten at night, drifts a more or less aimless mass of human -beings, bent upon extracting such joy as is possible from the sights in -the windows, the contacts with other human beings, the occasional or -systematic flirtations, and the risks and adventures of purchase. - -In the early development of Broadway the amusements were adventitious. -Even at present, in spite of the ubiquitous movie, the crowded street -itself, at least in the smaller communities, is the main source of -entertainment. Now, under normal conditions, for a great part of -the population in a factory town one of the chief instincts to be -repressed is that of acquisition (collection). It is not merely that -the average factory worker cannot afford the luxuries of life: the -worst is that he must think twice before purchasing the necessities. -Out of this situation one of Broadway’s happiest achievements has -arisen: the five and ten cent store. In the five and ten cent store -it is possible for the circumscribed factory operative to obtain the -illusion of unmoderated expenditure--and even extravagance--without -actually inflicting any irreparable rent in his purse. Broadway is -thus, in more than one sense, the great compensatory device of the -American city. The dazzle of white lights, the colour of electric -signs, the alabaster architecture of the moving-picture palaces, the -æsthetic appeals of the shop windows--these stand for elements that are -left out of the drab perspectives of the industrial city. People who -do not know how to spend their time must take what satisfaction they -can in spending their money. That is why, although the five and ten -cent store itself is perhaps mainly an institution for the proletariat, -the habits and dispositions it encourages are universal. The chief -amusement of Atlantic City, that opulent hostelry-annex of New York -and Philadelphia, lies not in the beach and the ocean but in the shops -which line the interminable Broadway known as the Boardwalk. - -Broadway, in sum, is the façade of the American city: a false front. -The highest achievements of our material civilization--and at their -best our hotels, our department stores, and our Woolworth towers are -achievements--count as so many symptoms of its spiritual failure. In -order to cover up the vacancy of getting and spending in our cities, -we have invented a thousand fresh devices for getting and spending. As -a consequence our life is externalized. The principal institutions of -the American city are merely distractions that take our eyes off the -environment, instead of instruments which would help us to mould it -creatively a little nearer to humane hopes and desires. - -The birth of industrialism in America is announced in the opening of -the Crystal Palace in Bryant Park, Manhattan, in 1853. Between the -Crystal Palace Exhibition and the Chicago World’s Fair in 1893 lies a -period whose defects were partly accentuated by the exhaustion that -followed the Civil War. The debasement of the American city during -this period can be read in almost every building that was erected. -The influence of colonial architecture had waned to extinction during -the first half of the century. There followed a period of eclectic -experiment, in which all sorts of Egyptian, Byzantine, Gothic, and -Arabesque ineptitudes were committed--a period whose absurdities we -have only in recent years begun to escape. The domestic style, as -the century progressed, became more limited. Little touches about -the doors, mouldings, fanlights, and balustrades disappeared, and -finally craftsmanship went out of style altogether and a pretentious -architectural puffery took its place. The “era of good feeling” was an -era of bad taste. - -Pittsburgh, St. Louis, and Chicago give perhaps the most naked -revelation of the industrial city’s characteristics. There were two -institutions that set their mark upon the early part of this period. -One of them was the Mechanics’ Hall. This was usually a building of red -brick, structural iron, and glass, whose unique hideousness marks it as -a typical product of the age of coal-industrialism, to be put alongside -the “smoke-halls” of the railroad termini. The other institution was -the German beer-garden--the one bright spot on the edge of an urban -landscape that was steadily becoming more dingy, more dull, and more -depressing. The cities that came to life in this period had scarcely -any other civic apparatus to boast of. Conceive of Pittsburgh without -Schenley Park, without the Carnegie Institute, without the Library or -the Museum or the Concert Hall, and without the institutions that have -grown up during the last generation around its sub-Acropolis--and one -has a picture of Progress and Poverty that Henry George might have -drawn on for illustration. The industrial city did not represent the -creative values in civilization: it stood for a new form of human -barbarism. In the coal towns of Pennsylvania, the steel towns of the -Ohio and its tributaries, and the factory towns of Long Island Sound -and Narragansett Bay was an environment much more harsh, antagonistic, -and brutal than anything the pioneers had encountered. Even the fake -exhilaration of the commercial city was lacking. - -The reaction against the industrial city was expressed in various ways. -The defect of these reactions was that they were formulated in terms -of an escape from the environment rather than in a reconstruction of -it. Symptomatic of this escape, along one particular alley, was the -architecture of Richardson, and of his apprentices, McKim and White. -No one who has an eye for the fine incidence of beautiful architecture -can avoid a shock at discovering a monumental Romanesque building at -the foot of Pittsburgh’s dingy “Hump,” or the hardly less monstrous -beauty of Trinity Church, Boston, as one approaches it from a waste -of railroad yards that lie on one side of it. It was no accident, one -is inclined to believe, that Richardson should have returned to the -Romanesque only a little time before Henry Adams was exploring Mont St. -Michel and Chartres. Both men were searching for a specific against -the fever of industrialism, and architects like Richardson were taking -to archaic beauty as a man who was vaguely ill might have recourse to -quinine, in the hope that his disease had sufficient similarity to -malaria to be cured by it. - -The truth is that the doses of exotic architecture which Richardson and -his school sought to inject into the American city were anodynes rather -than specifics. The Latin Renaissance models of McKim and White--the -Boston Public Library and Madison Square Garden, for example--were -perhaps a little better suited to the concrete demands of the new -age; but they were still a long way from that perfect congruence -with contemporary habits and modes of thought which was recorded in -buildings like Independence Hall. Almost down to the last decade the -best buildings of the industrial period have been anonymous, and -scarcely ever recognized for their beauty. A grain elevator here, a -warehouse there, an office building, a garage--there has been the -promise of a stripped, athletic, classical style of architecture in -these buildings which shall embody all that is good in the Machine -Age: its precision, its cleanliness, its hard illuminations, its -unflinching logic. Dickens once poked fun at the architecture of -Coketown because its infirmary looked like its jail and its jail like -its town hall. But the joke had a sting to it only because these -buildings were all plaintively destitute of æsthetic inspiration. -In a place and an age that had achieved a well-rounded and balanced -culture, we should expect to find the same spirit expressed in the -simplest cottage and the grandest public building. So we find it, for -instance, in the humble market towns of the Middle Age: there is not -one type of architecture for 15th-century Shaftesbury and another for -London; neither is there one style for public London and quite another -for domestic London. Our architects in America have only just begun -to cease regarding the Gothic style as especially fit for churches -and schools, whilst they favour the Roman mode for courts, and the -Byzantine, perhaps, for offices. Even the unique beauty of the Bush -Terminal Tower is compromised by an antiquely “stylized” interior. - -With the beginning of the second decade of this century there -is some evidence of an attempt to make a genuine culture out of -industrialism--instead of attempting to escape from industrialism into -a culture which, though doubtless genuine enough, has the misfortune -to be dead. The schoolhouses in Gary, Indiana, have some of the better -qualities of a Gary steel plant. That symptom is all to the good. It -points perhaps to a time when the Gary steel plant may have some of -the educational virtues of a Gary school. One of the things that has -made the industrial age a horror in America is the notion that there is -something shameful in its manifestations. The idea that nobody would -ever go near an industrial plant except under stress of starvation -is in part responsible for the heaps of rubbish and rusty metal, for -the general disorder and vileness, that still characterize broad -acres of our factory districts. There is nothing short of the Alkali -Desert that compares with the desolateness of the common American -industrial town. These qualities are indicative of the fact that we -have centred attention not upon the process but upon the return; not -upon the task but the emoluments: not upon what we can get out of our -work but upon what we can achieve when we get away from our work. Our -industrialism has been in the grip of business, and our industrial -cities, and their institutions, have exhibited a major preoccupation -with business. The coercive repression of an impersonal, mechanical -technique was compensated by the pervasive will-to-power--or at least -will-to-comfort--of commercialism. - -We have shirked the problem of trying to live well in a régime that is -devoted to the production of T-beams and toothbrushes and TNT. As a -result, we have failed to react creatively upon the environment with -anything like the inspiration that one might have found in a group of -mediæval peasants building a cathedral. The urban worker escapes the -mechanical routine of his daily job only to find an equally mechanical -substitute for life and growth and experience in his amusements. The -Gay White Way with its stupendous blaze of lights, and Coney Island, -with its fear-stimulating roller coasters and chute-the-chutes, are -characteristic by-products of an age that has renounced the task of -actively humanizing the machine, and of creating an environment in -which all the fruitful impulses of the community may be expressed. -The movies, the White Ways, and the Coney Islands, which almost every -American city boasts in some form or other, are means of giving jaded -and throttled people the sensations of living without the direct -experience of life--a sort of spiritual masturbation. In short, we have -had the alternative of humanizing the industrial city or de-humanizing -the population. So far we have de-humanized the population. - - * * * * * - -The external reactions against the industrial city came to a head in -the World’s Fair at Chicago. In that strange and giddy mixture of -Parnassus and Coney Island was born a new conception of the city--a -White City, spaciously designed, lighted by electricity, replete with -monuments, crowned with public buildings, and dignified by a radiant -architecture. The men who planned the exposition knew something about -the better side of the spacious perspectives that Haussmann had -designed for Napoleon III. Without taking into account the fundamental -conditions of industrialism, or the salient facts of economics, -they initiated what shortly came to be known as the City Beautiful -movement. For a couple of decades Municipal Art societies were rampant. -Their programme had the defects of the régime it attempted to combat. -Its capital effort was to put on a front--to embellish Main Street and -make it a more attractive thoroughfare. Here in æsthetics, as elsewhere -in education, persisted the brahminical view of culture: the idea that -beauty was something that could be acquired by any one who was willing -to put up the cash; that it did not arise naturally out of the good -life but was something which could be plastered on impoverished life; -in short, that it was a cosmetic. - -Until the Pittsburgh Survey of 1908 pricked a pin through superficial -attempts at municipal improvement, those who sought to remake the -American city overlooked the necessity for rectifying its economic -basis. The meanness, the spotty development, and the congestion of the -American city was at least in some degree an index of that deep disease -of realty speculation which had, as already noted, caused cities like -Chicago to forfeit land originally laid aside for public uses. Because -facts like these were ignored for the sake of some small, immediate -result, the developments that the early reformers were bold enough to -outline still lie in the realms of hopeless fantasy--a fine play of the -imagination, like Scadder’s prospectus of Eden. Here as elsewhere there -have been numerous signs of promise during the last decade; but it is -doubtful whether they are yet numerous enough or profound enough to -alter the general picture. - -At best, the improvements that have been effected in the American city -have not been central but subsidiary. They have been improvements, as -Aristotle would have said, in the material bases of the good life: they -have not been improvements in the art of living. The growth of the -American city during the past century has meant the extension of paved -streets and sewers and gas mains, and progressive heightening of office -buildings and tenements. The outlay on pavements, sewers, electric -lighting systems, and plumbing has been stupendous; but no matter what -the Rotary Clubs and Chambers of Commerce may think of them, these -mechanical ingenuities are not the indices of a civilization. There is -a curious confusion in America between growth and improvement. We use -the phrase “bigger and better” as if the conjunction were inevitable. -As a matter of fact, there is little evidence to show that the vast -increase of population in every urban area has been accompanied -by anything like the necessary increase of schools, universities, -theatres, meeting places, parks, and so forth. The fact that in -1920 we had sixty-four cities with more than 100,000 population, -thirty-three with more than 200,000, and twelve with more than 500,000 -does not mean that the resources of polity, culture, and art have been -correspondingly on the increase. The growth of the American city has -resulted less in the establishment of civilized standards of life than -in the extension of Suburbia. - -“Suburbia” is used here in both the accepted and in a more literal -sense. On one hand I refer to the fact that the growth of the -metropolis throws vast numbers of people into distant dormitories -where, by and large, life is carried on without the discipline of -rural occupations and without the cultural resources that the Central -District of the city still retains in its art exhibitions, theatres, -concerts, and the like. But our metropolises produce Suburbia not -merely by reason of the fact that the people who work in the offices, -bureaus, and factories live as citizens in a distant territory, perhaps -in another state: they likewise foster Suburbia in another sense. I -mean that the quality of life for the great mass of people who live -within the political boundaries of the metropolis itself is inferior to -that which a city with an adequate equipment and a thorough realization -of the creative needs of the community is capable of producing. In -this sense, the “suburb” called Brookline is a genuine city; while the -greater part of the “city of Boston” is a suburb. We have scarcely -begun to make an adequate distribution of libraries, meeting places, -parks, gymnasia, and similar equipment, without which life in the -city tends to be carried on at a low level of routine--physically -as well as mentally. (The blatantly confidential advertisements of -constipation remedies on all the hoardings tell a significant story.) -At any reasonable allotment of park space, the Committee on Congestion -in New York pointed out in 1911, a greater number of acres was needed -for parks on the lower East Side than was occupied by the entire -population. This case is extreme but representative. - -It is the peculiarity of our metropolitan civilization, then, that in -spite of vast resources drawn from the ends of the earth, it has an -insufficient civic equipment, and what it does possess it uses only -transiently. Those cities that have the beginnings of an adequate -equipment, like New York--to choose no more invidious example--offer -them chiefly to those engaged in travelling. As a traveller’s city -New York is near perfection. An association of cigar salesmen or an -international congress of social scientists, meeting in one of the -auditoriums of a big hotel, dining together, mixing in the lounge, and -finding recreation in the theatres hard by, discovers an environment -that is ordered, within its limits, to a nicety. It is this hotel and -theatre district that we must charitably think of when we are tempted -to speak about the triumphs of the American city. Despite manifold -defects that arise from want of planning, this is the real civic centre -of America’s Metropolis. What we must overlook in this characterization -are the long miles of slum that stretch in front and behind and -on each side of this district--neighbourhoods where, in spite of -the redoubtable efforts of settlement workers, block organizers, -and neighbourhood associations, there is no permanent institution, -other than the public school or the sectarian church, to remind the -inhabitants that they have a common life and a common destiny. - -Civic life, in fine, the life of intelligent association and common -action, a life whose faded pattern still lingers in the old New England -town, is not something that we daily enjoy, as we work in an office or -a factory. It is rather a temporary state that we occasionally achieve -with a great deal of time, bother, and expense. The city is not around -us, in our little town, suburb, or neighbourhood: it lies beyond us, -at the end of a subway ride or a railway journey. We are citizens -occasionally: we are suburbanites (_denizens_, _idiots_) by regular -routine. Small wonder that bathtubs and heating systems and similar -apparatus play such a large part in our conception of the good life. - -Metropolitanism in America represents, from the cultural angle, -a reaction against the uncouth and barren countryside that was -skinned, rather than cultivated, by the restless, individualistic, -self-assertive American pioneer. The perpetual drag to New York, and -the endeavour of less favourably situated cities to imitate the virtues -and defects of New York, is explicable as nothing other than the -desire to participate in some measure in the benefits of city life. -Since we have failed up to the present to develop genuine regional -cultures, those who do not wish to remain barbarians must become -metropolitans. That means they must come to New York, or ape the ways -that are fashionable in New York. Here opens the breach that has begun -to widen between the metropolis and the countryside in America. The -countryman, who cannot enjoy the advantages of the metropolis, who has -no centre of his own to which he can point with pride, resents the -privileges that the metropolitan enjoys. Hence the periodical crusades -of our State Legislatures, largely packed with rural representatives, -against the vices, corruptions, and follies which the countryman -enviously looks upon as the peculiar property of the big city. -Perhaps the envy and resentment of the farming population is due to a -genuine economic grievance against the big cities--especially against -their banks, insurance companies, and speculative middlemen. Should -the concentration of power, glory, and privilege in the metropolis -continue, it is possible that the city will find itself subject to an -economic siege. If our cities cannot justify their existence by their -creative achievements, by their demonstration of the efficacy and grace -of corporate life, it is doubtful whether they will be able to persuade -the country to support them, once the purely conventional arrangements -by means of which the city browbeats the countryside are upset. This, -however, brings us to the realm of social speculation; and he who would -enter it must abandon everything but hope. - - * * * * * - -Metropolitanism is of two orders. At its partial best it is exhibited -in New York, the literal mother city of America. In its worst aspect -it shows itself in the sub-metropolises which have been spawning -so prolifically since the ’eighties. If we are to understand the -capacities and limitations of the other great cities in America, we -must first weigh the significance of New York. - -The forces that have made New York dominant are inherent in our -financial and industrial system; elsewhere those same forces, working -in slightly different ways, created London, Rome, Paris, Berlin, -Vienna, Petrograd, and Moscow. What happened in the industrial towns -of America was that the increments derived from land, capital, and -association went, not to the enrichment of the local community, but to -those who had a legal title to the land and the productive machinery. -In other words, the gains that were made in Pittsburgh, Springfield, -Dayton, and a score of other towns that became important in the -industrial era were realized largely in New York, whose position -had been established, before the turn of the century, as the locus -of trade and finance. (New York passed the 500,000 mark in the 1850 -census.) This is why, perhaps, during the ’seventies and ’eighties, -decades of miserable depression throughout the industrial centres, -there were signs of hope and promise in New York: the Museums of Art -and Natural History were built: _Life_ and _Puck_ and a batch of -newspapers were founded: the Metropolitan Opera House and Carnegie Hall -were established: and a dozen other evidences of a vigorous civic life -appeared. In a short time New York became the glass of fashion and -the mould of form, and through the standardization, specialization, -and centralization which accompany the machine process the Metropolis -became at length the centre of advertising, the lender of farm -mortgages, the distributor of boiler-plate news, the headquarters of -the popular magazine, the publishing centre, and finally the chief -disseminator of plays and motion pictures in America. The educational -foundations which the exploiter of the Kodak has established at -Rochester were not characteristic of the early part of the industrial -period--otherwise New York’s eminence might have been briskly -challenged before it had become, after its fashion, unchallengeable. -The increment from Mr. Carnegie’s steel works built a hall of music for -New York long before it created the Carnegie Institute in Pittsburgh. -In other words, the widespread effort of the American provincial to -leave his industrial city for New York comes to something like an -attempt to get back from New York what had been previously filched from -the industrial city. - -The future of our cities depends upon how permanent are the forces -which drain money, energy, and brains from the various regions in -America into the twelve great cities that now dominate the countryside, -and in turn drain the best that is in these sub-metropolises to New -York. To-day our cities are at a crossing of the ways. Since the 1910 -census a new tendency has begun to manifest itself, and the cities -that have grown the fastest are those of a population from 25,000 to -100,000. Quantitatively, that is perhaps a good sign. It may indicate -the drift to Suburbia is on the wane. One finds it much harder, -however, to gauge the qualitative capacities of the new régime; much -more difficult to estimate the likelihood of building up, within the -next generation or two, genuine regional cultures to take the place -of pseudo-national culture which now mechanically emanates from New -York. So far our provincial culture has been inbred and sterile: -our provincial cities have substituted boosting for achievement, -fanciful speculation for intelligent planning, and a zaniacal optimism -for constructive thought. These habits have made them an easy prey -to the metropolis, for at its lowest ebb there has always been a -certain amount of organized intelligence and cultivated imagination -in New York--if only because it is the chief point of contact between -Europe and America. Gopher Prairie has yet to take to heart the fable -about the frog that tried to inflate himself to the size of a bull. -When Gopher Prairie learns its lessons from Bergen and Augsburg and -Montpellier and Grenoble, the question of “metropolitanism versus -regionalism” may become as active in America as it is now in Europe. - -Those of us who are metropolitans may be tempted to think that the -hope for civilization in America is bound up with the continuance -of metropolitanism. That is essentially a cockney view of culture -and society, however, and our survey of the development of the city -in America should have done something to weaken its self-confident -complacence. Our metropolitan civilization is not a success. It is a -different kind of wilderness from that which we have deflowered--but -the feral rather than the humane quality is dominant: it is still a -wilderness. The cities of America must learn to remould our mechanical -and financial régime, for if metropolitanism continues they are -probably destined to fall by its weight. - - LEWIS MUMFORD - - - - -POLITICS - - No person shall be a Representative who ... shall not, when - elected, be an inhabitant of that State in which he shall be - chosen.... No person shall be a Senator who ... shall not, when - elected, be an inhabitant of that State for which he shall be - chosen. - - -Specialists in political archæology will recognize these sentences: -they are from Article I, Sections 2 and 3, of the constitution of the -United States. I have heard and forgotten how they got there; no doubt -the cause lay in the fierce jealousy of the States. But whatever the -fact, I have a notion that there are few provisions of the constitution -that have had a more profound effect upon the character of practical -politics in the Republic, or, indirectly, upon the general colour of -American thinking in the political department. They have made steadily -for parochialism in legislation, for the security and prosperity of -petty local bosses and machines, for the multiplication of pocket and -rotten boroughs of the worst sort, and, above all, for the progressive -degeneration of the honesty and honour of representatives. They have -greased the ways for the trashy and ignoble fellow who aspires to -get into Congress, and they have blocked them for the man of sense, -dignity, and self-respect. More, perhaps, than any other single -influence they have been responsible for the present debauched and -degraded condition of the two houses, and particularly of the lower -one. Find me the worst ass in Congress, and I’ll show you a man they -have helped to get there and to stay there. Find me the most shameless -scoundrel, and I’ll show you another. - -No such centripedal mandate, as far as I have been able to discover, -is in the fundamental law of any other country practising the -representative system. An Englishman, if ambition heads him toward -St. Stephen’s, may go hunting for a willing constituency wherever the -hunting looks best, and if he fails in the Midlands he may try again -in the South, or in the North, or in Scotland or Wales. A Frenchman of -like dreams has the same privilege; the only condition, added after -nineteen years of the Third Republic, is that he may not be a candidate -in two or more _arrondissements_ at once. And so with a German, an -Italian, or a Spaniard. But not so with an American. He must be an -actual inhabitant of the State he aspires to represent at Washington. -More, he must be, in all save extraordinary cases, an actual inhabitant -of the congressional district--for here, by a characteristic American -process, the fundamental law is sharpened by custom. True enough, -this last requirement is not laid down by the constitution. It would -be perfectly legal for the thirty-fifth New York district, centring -at Syracuse, to seek its congressman in Manhattan, or even at Sing -Sing. In various iconoclastic States, in fact, the thing has been -occasionally done. But not often; not often enough to produce any -appreciable effect. The typical congressman remains a purely local -magnifico, the gaudy cock of some small and usually far from appetizing -barnyard. His rank and dignity as a man are measured by provincial -standards of the most puerile sort, and his capacity to discharge the -various and onerous duties of his office is reckoned almost exclusively -in terms of his ability to hold his grip upon the local party machine. - -If he has genuine ability, it is a sort of accident. If he is -thoroughly honest, it is next door to a miracle. Of the 430-odd -representatives who carry on so diligently and obscenely at Washington, -making laws and determining policies for the largest free nation ever -seen in the world, there are not two dozen whose views upon any subject -under the sun carry any weight whatsoever outside their own bailiwicks, -and there are not a dozen who rise to anything approaching unmistakable -force and originality. They are, in the overwhelming main, shallow -fellows, ignorant of the grave matters they deal with and too stupid -to learn. If, as is often proposed, the United States should adopt -the plan of parliamentary responsibility and the ministry should be -recruited from the lower house, then it would be difficult, without a -radical change in election methods, to fetch up even such pale talents -and modest decencies as were assembled for their cabinets by Messrs. -Wilson and Harding. The better sort of congressmen, to be sure, acquire -after long service a good deal of technical proficiency. They know the -traditions and precedents of the two houses; they can find their way in -and out of every rathole in the Capitol; they may be trusted to carry -on the legislative routine in a more or less shipshape manner. Of such -sort are the specialists paraded in the newspapers--on the tariff, on -military affairs, on foreign relations, and so on. They come to know, -in time, almost as much as a Washington correspondent, or one of their -own committee clerks. But the average congressman lifts himself to -no such heights of sagacity. He is content to be led by the fugelmen -and bellwethers. Examine him at leisure, and you will find that he is -incompetent and imbecile, and not only incompetent and imbecile, but -also incurably dishonest. The first principles of civilized law-making -are quite beyond him; he ends, as he began, a local politician, -interested only in jobs. His knowledge is that of a third-rate country -lawyer--which he often is in fact. His intelligence is that of a -country newspaper editor, or evangelical divine. His standards of -honour are those of a country banker--which he also often is. To demand -sense of such a man, or wide and accurate information, or a delicate -feeling for the public and private proprieties, is to strain his parts -beyond endurance. - -The constitution, of course, stops with Congress, but its influence -is naturally powerful within the States, and one finds proofs of the -fact on all sides. It is taking an herculean effort everywhere to break -down even the worst effects of this influence; the prevailing tendency -is still to discover a mysterious virtue in the office-holder who was -born and raised in the State, or county, or city, or ward. The judge -must come from the bar of the court he is to adorn; the mayor must be -part and parcel of the local machine; even technical officers, such -as engineers and health commissioners, lie under the constitutional -blight. The thing began as a belief in local self-government, the -oldest of all the sure cures for despotism. But it has gradually taken -on the character of government by local politicians, which is to say, -by persons quite unable to comprehend the most elemental problems of -State and nation, and unfitted by nature to deal with them honestly -and patriotically, even if they could comprehend them. Just as -prohibition was forced upon the civilized minorities collected in the -great cities against their most vigorous and persistent opposition, -so the same minorities, when it comes to intra-state affairs, are -constantly at the mercy of predatory bands of rural politicians. If -there is any large American city whose peculiar problems are dealt -with competently and justly by its State legislature, then I must -confess that twenty years in journalism have left me ignorant of it. An -unending struggle for fairer dealing goes on in every State that has -large cities, and every concession to their welfare is won only at the -cost of gigantic effort. The State legislature is never intelligent; -it represents only the average mind of the county bosses, whose sole -concern is with jobs. The machines that they represent are wholly -political, but they have no political principles in any rational sense. -Their one purpose and function is to maintain their adherents in the -public offices, or to obtain for them in some other way a share of -the State funds. They are quite willing to embrace any new doctrine, -however fantastic, or to abandon any old one, however long supported, -if only the business will promote their trade and so secure their power. - -This concentration of the ultimate governmental authority in the hands -of small groups of narrow, ignorant, and unconscionable manipulators -tends inevitably to degrade the actual office-holder, or, what is -the same thing, to make office-holding prohibitive to all men not -already degraded. It is almost impossible to imagine a man of genuine -self-respect and dignity offering himself as a candidate for the lower -house--or, since the direct primary and direct elections brought it -down to the common level, for the upper house--in the average American -constituency. His necessary dealings with the electors themselves, -and with the idiots who try more or less honestly to lead them, would -be revolting enough, but even worse would be his need of making terms -with the professional politicians of his party--the bosses of the local -machine. These bosses naturally make the most of the constitutional -limitation; it works powerfully in their favour. A local notable, in -open revolt against them, may occasionally beat them by appealing -directly to the voters, but nine times out of ten, when there is any -sign of such a catastrophe, they are prompt to perfume the ticket by -bringing forth another local notable who is safe and sane, which is -to say, subservient and reliable. The thing is done constantly; it -is a matter of routine; it accounts for most of the country bankers, -newspaper owners, railroad lawyers, proprietors of cement works, and -other such village bigwigs in the lower house. Here everything runs -to the advantage of the bosses. It is not often that the notable in -rebellion is gaudy enough to blind the plain people to the high merits -of his more docile opponent. They see him too closely and know him too -well. He shows none of that exotic charm which accounts, on a different -plane, for exogamy. There is no strangeness, no mysteriousness, above -all, no novelty about him. - -It is my contention that this strangle-hold of the local machines -would be vastly less firm if it could be challenged, not only by -rebels within the constituency, but also by salient men from outside. -The presidential campaigns, indeed, offer plenty of direct proof of -it. In these campaigns it is a commonplace for strange doctrines and -strange men to force themselves upon the practical politicians in -whole sections of the country, despite their constant effort to keep -their followers faithful to the known. All changes, of whatever sort, -whether in leaders or in ideas, are opposed by such politicians at -the start, but time after time they are compelled to acquiesce and to -hurrah. Bryan, as every one knows, forced himself upon the Democratic -party by appealing directly to the people; the politicians, in the -main, were bitterly against him until further resistance was seen to -be useless, and they attacked him again the moment he began to weaken, -and finally disposed of him. So with Wilson. It would be absurd to say -that the politicians of his party--and especially the bosses of the -old machines in the congressional districts--were in favour of him in -1912. They were actually against him almost unanimously. He got past -their guard and broke down their resolution to nominate some more -trustworthy candidate by operating directly upon the emotions of the -voters. For some reason never sufficiently explained he became the heir -of the spirit of rebellion raised by Bryan sixteen years before, and -was given direct and very effective aid by Bryan himself. Roosevelt -saddled himself upon the Republican party in exactly the same way. The -bosses made heroic efforts to sidetrack him, to shelve him, to get rid -of him by any means short of homicide, but his bold enterprises and -picturesque personality enchanted the people, and if it had not been -for the extravagant liberties that he took with his popularity in later -years he might have retained it until his death. - -The same possibility of unhorsing the machine politicians, I believe, -exists in even the smallest electoral unit. All that is needed is -the chance to bring in the man. Podunk cannot produce him herself, -save by a sort of miracle. If she has actually hatched him, he is far -away by the time he has come to his full stature and glitter--in the -nearest big city, in Chicago or New York. Podunk is proud of him, and -many other Podunks, perhaps, are stirred by his ideas, his attitudes, -his fine phrases--but he lives, say, in some Manhattan congressional -district which has the Hon. Patrick Googan as its representative by -divine right, and so there is no way to get him into the halls of -Congress. In his place goes the Hon. John P. Balderdash, State’s -attorney for five years, State senator for two terms, and county judge -for a brief space--and always a snide and petty fellow, always on the -best of terms with the local bosses, always eager for a job on any -terms they lay down. The yokels vote for the Hon. Mr. Balderdash, not -because they admire him, but because their only choice is between -him and the Hon. James Bosh. If anything even remotely resembling a -first-rate man could come into the contest, if it were lawful for them -to rid themselves of their recurrent dilemma by soliciting the interest -of such a man, then they would often enough rise in their might and -compel their parish overlords, as the English put it, to adopt him. -But the constitution protects these overlords in their business, and -in the long run the voters resign all thought of deliverance. Thus the -combat remains one between small men, and interest in it dies out. Most -of the men who go to the lower house are third-raters, even in their -own narrow bailiwicks. In my own congressional district, part of a -large city, there has never been a candidate of any party, during the -twenty years that I have voted, who was above the intellectual level -of a corner grocer. No successful candidate of that district has ever -made a speech in Congress (or out of it) worth hearing, or contributed -a single sound idea otherwise to the solution of any public problem. -One and all, they have confined themselves exclusively to the trade in -jobs. One and all, they have been ciphers in the house and before the -country. - -Well, perhaps I labour my point too much. It is, after all, not -important. The main thing is the simple fact that the average -representative from my district is typical of Congress--that, if -anything, he is superior to the normal congressman of these, our days. -That normal congressman, as year chases year, tends to descend to -such depths of puerility, to such abysses of petty shysterism, that -he becomes offensive alike to the intelligence and to the nose. His -outlook, when it is honest, is commonly childish--and it is very seldom -honest. The product of a political system which puts all stress upon -the rewards of public office, he is willing to make any sacrifice, of -dignity, of principle, of honour, to hold and have those rewards. He -has no courage, no intellectual _amour propre_, no ardent belief in -anything save his job, and the jobs of his friends. It was easy for -Wilson to beat him into line on the war issue; it was easy for the -prohibitionists to intimidate and stampede him; it is easy for any -resolute man or group of men to do likewise. I read the _Congressional -Record_ faithfully, and have done so for years. In the Senate debates, -amid oceans of tosh, I occasionally encounter a flash of wit or a gleam -of sense; direct elections have not yet done their work. But in the -lower house there is seldom anything save a garrulous and intolerable -imbecility. The discussion of measures of the utmost importance--bills -upon which the security and prosperity of the whole nation depend--is -carried on in the manner of the Chautauqua and the rural stump. Entire -days go by without a single congressman saying anything as intelligent, -say, as the gleams that one sometimes finds in the New York _Herald_, -or even in the New York _Times_. The newspapers, unfortunately, give no -adequate picture of the business. No American journal reports the daily -debates comprehensively, as the debates in the House of Commons are -reported by the London _Times_, _Daily Telegraph_, and _Morning Post_. -All one hears of, as a rule, is the action taken, and only too often -the action taken, even when it is reported fairly, is unintelligible -without the antecedent discussion. If any one who reads this wants to -know what such a discussion is like, then I counsel him to go to the -nearest public library, ask for the _Record_ for 1918, and read the -debate in the lower house on the Volstead Act. It was, I believe, an -average debate, and on a subject of capital importance. It was, from -first to last, almost fabulous in its evasion of the plain issue, -its incredible timorousness and stupidity, its gross mountebankery -and dishonesty. Not twenty men spoke in it as men of honour and -self-respect. Not ten brought any idea into it that was not a silly -idea and a stale one. - -That debate deserves a great deal more study than it will ever get -from the historians of American politics, nearly all of whom, whether -they lean to the right or to the left, are bedazzled by the economic -interpretation of history, and so seek to account for all political -phenomena in terms of crop movements, wage scales, and panics in Wall -Street. It seems to me that that obsession blinds them to a fact of -the first importance, to wit, the fact that political ideas, under a -democracy as under a monarchy, originate above quite as often as they -originate below, and that their popularity depends quite as much upon -the special class interests of professional politicians as it depends -upon the underlying economic interests of the actual voters. It is, -of course, true, as I have argued, that the people can force ideas -upon the politicians, given powerful leaders of a non-political (or, -at all events, non-machine) sort, but it is equally true that there -are serious impediments to the process, and that it is not successful -very often. As a matter of everyday practice the rise and fall of -political notions is determined by the self-interest of the practical -politicians of the country, and though they naturally try to bring the -business into harmony with any great popular movements that may be in -progress spontaneously, they by no means wait and beg for mandates when -none are vociferously forthcoming, but go ahead bravely on their own -account, hoping to drag public opinion with them and so safeguard their -jobs. Such is the origin of many affecting issues, later held dear by -millions of the plain people. Such was the process whereby prohibition -was foisted upon the nation by constitutional amendment, to the dismay -of the solid majority opposed to it and to the surprise of the minority -in favour of it. - -What lay under the sudden and melodramatic success of the -prohibitionist agitators was simply their discovery of the incurable -cowardice and venality of the normal American politician--their shrewd -abandonment of logical and evidential propaganda for direct political -action. For years their cause had languished. Now and then a State -or part of a State went dry, but often it went wet again a few years -later. Those were the placid days of white-ribbon rallies, of wholesale -pledge-signings, of lectures by converted drunkards, of orgiastic -meetings in remote Baptist and Methodist churches, of a childish -reliance upon arguments that fetched only drunken men and their wives, -and so grew progressively feebler as the country became more sober. -The thing was scarcely even a nuisance; it tended steadily to descend -to the level of a joke. The prohibitionist vote for President hung -around a quarter of a million; it seemed impossible to pull it up to -a formidable figure, despite the stupendous labours of thousands of -eloquent dervishes, lay and clerical, male and female. But then, out -of nowhere, came the Anti-Saloon League, and--sis! boom! ah! Then came -the sudden shift of the fire from the people to the politicians--and -at once there was rapid progress. The people could only be wooed and -bamboozled, but the politicians could be threatened; their hold upon -their jobs could be shaken; they could be converted at wholesale and -by _force majeure_. The old prohibition weepers and gurglers were -quite incapable of this enterprise, but the new janissaries of the -Anti-Saloon League--sharp lawyers, ecclesiastics too ambitious to pound -mere pulpits, outlaw politicians seeking a way back to the trough--were -experts at every trick and dodge it demanded. They understood the -soul of the American politician. To him they applied the economic -interpretation of history, resolutely and with a great deal of genial -humour. They knew that his whole politics, his whole philosophy, his -whole concept of honesty and honour, was embraced in his single and -insatiable yearning for a job, and they showed him how, by playing -with them, he could get it and keep it, and how, by standing against -them, he could lose it. Prohibition was rammed into the constitution by -conquering the politicians; the people in general were amazed when the -thing was accomplished; it may take years to reconcile them to it. - -It was the party system that gave the Anti-Saloon League manipulators -their chance, and they took advantage of it with great boldness and -cleverness. The two great parties divide the country almost equally; -it is difficult to predict, in a given year, whether the one or -the other musters the most votes. This division goes down into the -lowest electoral units; even in those backward areas where one party -has divine grace and the other is of the devil there are factional -differences that amount to the same thing. In other words, the average -American politician is never quite sure of his job. An election (and, -if not an election, then a primary) always exposes him to a definite -hazard, and he is eager to diminish it by getting help from outside -his own following, at whatever cost to the principles he commonly -professes. Here lies the opportunity for minorities willing to trade -on a realistic political basis. In the old days the prohibitionists -refused to trade, and in consequence they were disregarded, for their -fidelity to their own grotesque candidates protected the candidates -of both the regular parties. But with the coming of the Anti-Saloon -League they abandoned this fidelity and began to dicker in a forthright -and unashamed manner, quickly comprehensible to all professional -politicians. That is, they asked for a pledge on one specific issue, -and were willing to swallow any commitment on other issues. If -Beelzebub, running on one ticket, agreed to support prohibition, and -the Archangel Gabriel, running on another, found himself entertaining -conscientious doubts, they were instantly and solidly for Beelzebub, -and they not only gave him the votes that they directly controlled, but -they also gave him the benefit of a campaign support that was ruthless, -pertinacious, extraordinarily ingenious, and overwhelmingly effective. -Beelzebub, whatever his swinishness otherwise, was bathed in holy oils; -Gabriel’s name became a thing to scare children. - -Obviously, the support thus offered was particularly tempting to -a politician who found himself facing public suspicion for his -general political practices--in brief, to the worst type of machine -professional. Such a politician is always acutely aware that it is -not positive merit that commonly gets a man into public office in the -United States, but simply disvulnerability. Even when they come to -nominate a President, the qualities the two great parties seek are -chiefly the negative ones; they want, not a candidate of forceful and -immovable ideas, but one whose ideas are vague and not too tenaciously -held, and in whose personality there is nothing to alarm or affront the -populace. Of two candidates, that one usually wins who least arouses -the distrusts and suspicions of the great masses of undifferentiated -men. This advantage of the safe and sane, the colourless and -unprovocative, the apparently stodgy and commonplace man extends to the -most trivial contests, and politicians are keen to make use of it. Thus -the job-seeker with an aura of past political misdemeanour about him -was eager to get the Christian immunity bath that the prohibitionists -offered him so generously, and in the first years of their fight they -dealt almost exclusively with such fellows. He, on his side, promised -simply to vote for prohibition--not even, in most cases, to pretend to -any personal belief in it. The prohibitionists, on their side, promised -to deliver the votes of their followers to him on election day, to cry -him up as one saved by a shining light, and, most important of all, -to denounce his opponent as an agent of hell. He was free, by this -agreement, to carry on his regular political business as usual. The -prohibitionists asked no patronage of him. They didn’t afflict him with -projects for other reforms. All they demanded was that he cast his vote -as agreed upon when the signal was given to him. - -At the start, of course, such scoundrels frequently violated their -agreements. In the South, in particular, dry legislature after dry -legislature sold out to the liquor lobby, which, in those days, still -had plenty of money. An assemblyman would be elected with the aid of -the prohibitionists, make a few maudlin speeches against the curse -of drink, and then, at the last minute, vote wet for some thin and -specious reason, or for no avowed reason at all. But the prohibition -manipulators, as I have said, were excellent politicians, and so they -knew how to put down that sort of treason. At the next election they -transferred their favour to the opposition candidate, and inasmuch as -he had seen the traitor elected at the last election he was commonly -very eager to do business. The punishment for the treason was condign -and merciless. The dry rabble-rousers, lay and clerical, trumpeted -news of it from end to end of the constituency. What was a new and -gratifying disvulnerability was transformed into a vulnerability of the -worst sort; the recreant one became the county Harry Thaw, Oscar Wilde, -Captain Boy-Ed, and Debs. A few such salutary examples, and treason -became rare. The prohibitionists, indeed, came to prefer dealing with -such victims of their reprisals. They could trust them perfectly, -once the lesson had been learned; they were actually more trustworthy -than honest believers, for the latter usually had ideas of their own -and interfered with the official plans of campaign. Thus, in the end, -the professional politicians of both parties came under the yoke. The -final battle in Congress transcended all party lines; democrats and -republicans fought alike for places on the band-wagon. The spectacle -offered a searching and not unhumorous commentary on the party system, -and on the honour of American politicians no less. Two-thirds, at -least, of the votes for the amendment were cast by men who did not -believe in it, and who cherished a hearty hope, to the last moment, -that some act of God would bring about its defeat. - -Such holocausts of frankness and decency are certainly not rare in -American politics; on the contrary, they glow with normalcy. The -typical legislative situation among us--and the typical administrative -situation as well--is one in which men wholly devoid of inner -integrity, facing a minority that is resolutely determined to get -its will, yield up their ideas, their freedom, and their honour -in order to save their jobs. I say administrative situation as -well; what I mean is that in these later days the pusillanimity of -the actual law-maker is fully matched by the pusillanimity of the -enforcing officer, whether humble assistant district attorney or -powerful judge. The war, with its obliteration of customary pretences -and loosening of fundamental forces, threw up the whole process -into high relief. For nearly two long years there was a complete -abandonment of sense and self-respect. Rowelled and intimidated by -minorities that finally coalesced into a frantic majority, legislators -allowed themselves to be forced into imbecility after imbecility, and -administrative officers, including some of the highest judges in the -land, followed them helter-skelter. In the lower house of Congress -there was one man--already forgotten--who showed the stature of a -man. He resigned his seat and went home to his self-respect. The rest -had no self-respect to go home to. Eager beyond all to hold their -places, at whatever cost to principle, and uneasily conscious of their -vulnerability to attack, however frenzied and unjust, they surrendered -abjectly and repeatedly--to the White House, to the newspapers, to -any group enterprising enough to issue orders to them and resolute -enough to flourish weapons before them. It was a spectacle full of -indecency--there are even congressmen who blush when they think of -it to-day--but it was nevertheless a spectacle that was typical. The -fortunes of politics, as they now run, make it overwhelmingly probable -that every new recruit to public office will be just such a poltroon. -The odds are enormously in favour of him, and enormously against the -man of honour. Such a man of honour may occasionally drift in, taken -almost unawares by some political accident, but it is the pushing, -bumptious, unconscionable bounder who is constantly _fighting_ to get -in, and only too often he succeeds. The rules of the game are made to -fit his taste and his talents. He can survive as a hog can survive in -the swill-yard. - -Go to the Congressional Directory and investigate the origins and -past performances of the present members of the lower house--our -typical assemblage of typical politicians, the cornerstone of our -whole representative system, the symbol of our democracy. You will -find that well over half of them are obscure lawyers, school-teachers, -and mortgage-sharks out of almost anonymous towns--men of common -traditions, sordid aspirations, and no attainments at all. One and -all, the members of this majority--and it is constant, no matter what -party is in power--are plastered with the brass ornaments of the -more brummagem fraternal orders. One and all, they are devoid of any -contact with what passes for culture, even in their remote bailiwicks. -One and all their careers are bare of civilizing influences.... Such -is the American _Witenagemot_ in this 146th year of the Republic. Such -are the men who make the laws that all of us must obey, and who carry -on our dealings with the world. Go to their debates, and you will -discover what equipment they bring to their high business. What they -know of sound literature is what one may get out of McGuffey’s Fifth -Reader. What they know of political science is the nonsense preached -in the chautauquas and on the stump. What they know of history is the -childish stuff taught in grammar-schools. What they know of the arts -and sciences--of all the great body of knowledge that is the chief -intellectual baggage of modern man--is absolutely nothing. - - H. L. MENCKEN - - - - -JOURNALISM - - -According to the _World Almanac_ for 1921 the daily circulation of -newspapers in the big cities of the United States in 1914 (evidently -the most recent year for which the figures have been compiled) was -more than forty million. For the six months ending April 1, 1920, -the average daily circulation of five morning newspapers and eleven -evening newspapers in Greater New York City was, as shown by sworn -statements, more than three and a third million. These statistics cover -only daily newspapers, not weekly or monthly journals; and the figures -for New York do not include papers in languages other than English. -The American certainly buys newspapers. To what extent he reads them -it is impossible to determine. But we may fairly assume that the great -majority of literate inhabitants of the United States of all ages are -every day subjected in some measure to the influence of the newspaper. -No other institution approaches the newspaper in universality, -persistence, continuity of influence. Not the public school, with all -other schools added to it, has such power over the national mind; for -in the lives of most people formal schooling is of relatively short -duration, ceasing with adolescence or earlier. The church? Millions of -people never go to church, and the day when the clergy dominated human -thought is gone for ever. If we add to the daily press the weekly and -monthly periodicals, with a total circulation per issue of two hundred -million (for the year 1914), we shall not be far wrong in saying that -the journalist, with the powers behind him, has more to do, for good -or for evil, than the member of any other profession, in creating and -shaping the thoughts of the multitude. Compared with him the teacher, -the preacher, the artist, the politician, the man of science, are -restricted, interrupted, indirect in reaching the minds of their -fellow-men. - -So that in estimating the capacities and contents of the American -mind, which we have no means of lining up in its hundred million -individual manifestations and examining directly, an analysis of the -American newspaper is a fair rough-and-ready method. What everybody -reads does not tell the whole story of what everybody is, but it tells -a good deal. Moreover, it is not necessary to analyze any one newspaper -or to separate its clientèle from that of any other newspaper. For -though everybody knows that the New York _Tribune_ and the New York -_World_ have distinct qualities which differentiate them from each -other, that some papers are better and some are worse, yet on the whole -the American newspaper is amazingly uniform from Portland, Maine, to -Portland, Oregon. It is, indeed, a more or less unified institution fed -by the same news services and dominated by kindred financial interests. -If you travel much, as actors do, without interest in local affairs, -when you go to the hotel news-stand in the morning, you cannot tell -from the general aspect of the newspaper you pick up what city you -are in; and in a small city it is likely to be a metropolitan paper -that has come a hundred miles or more during the night. Indeed, this -is the first thing to be learned about the American from a study of -his newspapers, that he lacks individuality, is tediously uniform, and -cut according to one intellectual pattern. He may have his “favourite” -newspaper, and with no sense that his confession of habitude is -shameful he may write the editor that he has read it constantly for -forty years. But if it goes out of existence, like his favourite brand -of chewing-gum or cigarettes, there is no aching void which cannot be -comfortably filled by a surviving competitor. Editors, except those in -charge of local news, move with perfect ease from one city to another; -it is the same old job at a different desk. - -The standardization of the newspaper reader and the standardization -of the journalist are two aspects of the same thing. As a citizen, a -workman, a human being, the journalist is simply one of us, a victim of -the conformity which has overwhelmed the American. When we speak of the -influence of the journalist, we are not speaking of an individual, but -of “the powers behind him,” of which he is nothing but the wage-earning -servant, as impotent and unimportant, considered as an individual, as -a mill-hand. Journalism in America is no longer a profession, through -which a man can win to a place of real dignity among his neighbours. If -we had a Horace Greeley to-day, he would not be editor of a newspaper. -He would not wish to be, and he would not be allowed to be. Certainly -his vigorous integrity would not be tolerated in the modern unworthy -successor of the newspaper which he founded. The editor of a newspaper -is no doubt often a man of intelligence and experience and he may be -well paid, like the manager of a department store; but he is usually -submerged in anonymity except that from time to time the law requires -the newspaper to publish his name. His subordinates, assistant editors, -newswriters, reporters, and the rest, are as nameless as floor-walkers, -shipping clerks, salesladies, and ladies engaged in more ancient forms -of commerce. - -It is true that during the last generation there has been a tendency in -the newspaper to “feature” individuals, such as cartoonists, conductors -of columns, writers on sport, dramatic critics, and so on. But these -men are artists, some of them very clever, who have nothing to do with -the news but contribute to the paper its vaudeville entertainment. -During the war there was a great increase in the amount of signed -cable matter and correspondence. This was due to the necessity of the -prosperous newspaper to show its enterprise and to cajole its readers -into believing that it had men of special ability in close touch with -diplomats and major-generals collecting and cabling at great expense -intimate information and expert opinion. The circumstances were so -difficult that the wisest and most honest man could not do much, except -lose his position, and nobody will blame the correspondents. But it -is significant that not a single American correspondent emerged from -the conflict who is memorable, from the point of view of a more or -less careful reader, as having been different from the rest. If from a -miscellaneous collection of clippings we should cut off the dates, the -alleged place of origin and the names of the correspondents, nobody -but an editor with a long and detailed memory could tell t’other from -which, or be sure whether the despatch was from Mr. Jones, the special -correspondent of the _Christian Science Monitor_ (copyright by the -Chicago _News_) or an anonymous cable from the London office of the -Associated Press. And even the editor, who may be assumed to know the -names of hundreds of his colleagues and competitors, would begin his -attempt at identification by examining the style of type to see if it -looked like a column from the _Sun_ or from the _World_. Almost all the -war news was a hopeless confusion of impressions, of reports of what -somebody said somebody else, “of unquestionable authority,” had heard -from reliable sources, and of sheer mendacity adapted to the momentary -prejudices of the individual managing editor, the American press as -a whole, and the American people. And this is a rough recipe for all -the news even in times of peace, for the war merely aggravated the -prevalent diseases of the newspapers. - -Since the purpose of this book is to discuss peculiarly American -characteristics, it should be said at once that the tendency of -the newspaper to obliterate the journalist as a person immediately -responsible to the public is not confined to America. Economic -conditions in Europe and America are fundamentally alike, and the -modern newspaper in every country must be a business institution, -heavily capitalized, and conducted for profit. In England the decline -of journalism as a profession and the rise of the “stunt” press has -been noted and deplored by Englishmen. Years ago it meant something -to be editor of the London _Times_, and the appointment of a new man -to the position was an event not less important than a change in the -cabinet. Who is editor of the _Times_ now is a matter of no consequence -except to the man who receives the salary check. English journalism -is in almost as bad a case as American. In England, however, there -is at least one exception which has no counterpart in America, the -Manchester Guardian; this admirable newspaper has the good fortune to -be owned by people who are so rich that they are not obliged, and so -honest that they are not willing, to sell out. It is this fact which -has afforded Mr. Scott, the editor-in-chief for nearly half a century, -an opportunity adequate to his courage and ability. There are few such -opportunities in England, and none in America. Even the Springfield -_Republican_ has largely lost its old character. - -As for the continental papers, one who does not read any of them -regularly is in no position to judge. In 1900 William James, a shrewd -observer, wrote in a letter: “The Continental papers of course are -‘nowhere.’ As for our yellow papers--every country has its criminal -classes, and with us and in France, they have simply got into -journalism as part of their professional evolution, and they must be -got out. Mr. Bosanquet somewhere says that so far from the ‘dark ages’ -being over, we are just at the beginning of a new dark-age period. He -means that ignorance and unculture, which then were merely brutal, -are now articulate and possessed of a literary voice, and the fight -is transferred from fields and castles and town walls to ‘organs of -publicity.’” This is only a passing remark in an informal letter. But -it is a partial explanation of American yellow journalism which in -twenty years has swamped the whole press, including papers that pretend -to be respectable, and it suggests what the state of things was, and -is, in France. - -It should be noted, however, that personal journalism has not entirely -disappeared in France, that the editor can still be brought to account, -sometimes at the point of a pistol, for lies and slander, and that a -young French _littérateur_, before he has won his spurs in poetry, -drama, or fiction, can regard journalism as an honourable occupation in -which it is worth while to make a name. - -With the decadence in all countries, certainly in America, of the -journalist as a professional man in an honourable craft, there might -conceivably have been a gain in objectivity, in the right sort of -impersonality. Anonymity might have ensured a dispassionate fidelity -to facts. But there has been no such gain. Responsibility has been -transferred from the journalist to his employers, and he is on his -mettle to please his employers, to cultivate whatever virtues are -possible to journalism, accuracy, clearness of expression, zeal in -searching out and interpreting facts, only in so far forth as his -employers demand them, only as his livelihood and chances of promotion -depend on them. The ordinary journalist, being an ordinary human -being, must prefer to do honest work; for there is no pleasure in -lying, though there is a temptation to fill space with unfounded or -unverified statements. And if his manager orders him to find a story -where there is no story, or to find a story of a certain kind where -the facts lead to a story of another kind, he will not come back -empty-handed lest he go away empty-handed on pay-day. Any one who has -worked in a newspaper office knows that the older men are likely to be -weary and cynical and that the younger men fall into two classes, those -who are too stupid to be discontented with any aspect of their position -except the size of their salaries, and those who hope either to rise to -the better paid positions, or to “graduate,” as they put it, from daily -journalism to other kinds of literary work. - -The journalist, then, should be acquitted of most of the faults of -journalism. Mr. Walter Lippmann says in his sane little book, “Liberty -and the News”: “Resistance to the inertias of the profession, heresy -to the institution, and willingness to be fired rather than write what -you do not believe, these wait on nothing but personal courage.” That -is a little like saying that the harlot can stop harlotry by refusing -to ply her trade--which is indeed the attitude of some people in -comfortable circumstances. I doubt if Mr. Lippmann would have written -just as he did if he had ever had to depend for his dinner on pleasing -a managing editor, if he had not been from very early in his brilliant -career editor of a liberal endowed journal in which he is free to -express his beliefs. Most newspaper men are poor and not brilliant. The -correspondents whom Mr. Lippmann mentions as “eminences on a rather -flat plateau” are nearly all men who have succeeded in other work -than newspaper correspondence, and if not a newspaper in the world -would hire them, most of them could afford to thumb their noses at the -Ochses, Reids, and Harmsworths. Personal courage is surely a personal -matter, and it can seldom be effective in correcting the abuses of an -institution, especially when the institution can hire plenty of men of -adequate if not equal ability to take the place of the man of stubborn -integrity. I know one journalist who lost his position as managing -editor of two wealthy newspapers, one in Boston, the other in New York, -in the first instance because he refused to print a false and cowardly -retraction dictated by a stockholder whom the editor-in-chief desired -to serve, in the second instance because he refused to distort war -news. But what good did his single-handed rebellion do, except to make -a few friends proud of him? Did either newspaper lose even one mournful -subscriber? Did the advertising department suffer? Far from it. Another -man took his place, a man not necessarily less honest, but of more -conformable temperament. The muddy waters of journalism did not show a -ripple. Paradoxically, the journalist is the one man who can do little -or nothing to improve journalism. Mr. Lippmann’s suggestion that our -salvation lies “ultimately in the infusion of the news-structure by -men with a new training and outlook,” is, as he knows, the expression -of a vague hope, too remotely ultimate to have practical bearing on -the actual situation. The man of training and outlook, especially -of outlook, is the unhappiest man in the employ of a newspaper. His -salvation, if not ours, lies in getting out of newspaper work and -applying his ability and vision in some occupation which does not -discourage precisely the merits which an honest institution should -foster. This is not merely the opinion of a critical layman but -represents accurately if not literally the advice given to me by a -successful editor and writer of special articles. “In this game,” he -said, “you lose your soul.” - -The stories of individuals who have tried to be decent in newspaper -work and have been fired might be valuable if they were collated and -if the better journalists would unite to lay the foundation in fact of -more such stories. But a profession, a trade, which has so little sense -of its own interest that it does not even make an effective union (to -be sure, the organization of newspaper writers met with some success, -especially in Boston, but to-day the organization has practically -disappeared) to keep its wages up can never be expected to unite in the -impersonal interests of truth and intellectual dignity. The individual -who charges against an enormous unshakable institution with the weapons -of his personal experience is too easily disposed of as a sore-head and -is likely to be laughed at even by his fellow-journalists who know that -in the main he is right. - -This has happened to Mr. Upton Sinclair. I have studied “The Brass -Check” carefully for the selfish purpose of getting enough material -so that the writing of this chapter should be nothing but a lazy man’s -task of transcription, not to speak of the noble ethical purpose of -reforming the newspaper by exposing its iniquities. I confess I am -disappointed. “The Brass Check” is a mixture of autobiography, valuable -in its way to those who admire Mr. Sinclair, as I do most sincerely, -and of evidence which, though properly personal, ought to be handled -in an objective manner. I am puzzled that a man of “training and -outlook,” who has shown in at least one of his novels an excellent -sense of construction, could throw together such a hodge-podge of valid -testimony, utterly damning to his opponents, and naïve trivialities, -assertions insecurely founded and not important if they were well -founded. I am so sure that Mr. Sinclair is on the whole right that I am -reluctant to criticize him adversely, to lend a shadow of encouragement -to the real adversary, who is unscrupulous and securely entrenched. -But as a journalist of “training and outlook” I lament that another -journalist of vastly more ability, experience, and information should -not have done better work in selecting and constructing his material. -As a lawyer said to his client, “You are a saint and you are right, -but a court-room is no place for a saint and you are a damn bad -witness.” Mr. Sinclair’s evidence, however, is all there to be dug out -by whoever has the will and the patience. If one-tenth of it is valid -and nine-tenths of doubtful value, the one-tenth is sufficient to show -the sinister forces behind the newspapers and to explain some of the -reasons why the newspapers are untrustworthy, cowardly, and dishonest. - -Though Mr. Sinclair tells some damaging stories about the sins of -anonymous reporters and of the prostitution of writers like the late -Elbert Hubbard, who had no excuse for being anything but honest and -independent, yet Mr. Sinclair on the whole would agree with me that the -chief responsibility for the evils of journalism does not rest upon -the journalist. He tries to place it squarely where it belongs on the -owners of the press and the owners of the owners. But it is difficult -to determine how the weight of guilt is distributed, for the press is a -monster with more than two legs. - -Part of the responsibility rests upon the reader, if indeed the -reader is to blame for being a gullible fool and for buying shoddy -goods. Mr. Lippmann says: “There is everywhere an increasingly angry -disillusionment about the press, a growing sense of being baffled and -misled.” And Mr. Sinclair says: “The people want the news; the people -clamour for the news.” Both these statements may be true. But where -do the learned doctors find the symptoms? A few of us who have some -special interest in the press, in publicity, in political problems, -are disillusioned and resentful. Probably everybody has said or heard -somebody else say: “That’s only a newspaper story,” or “You cannot -believe everything you read.” But such mild scepticism shows no promise -of swelling to an angry demand on the part of that vague aggregate, the -People, for better, more honest newspapers, to such an angry demand as -you can actually hear in any house you enter for cheaper clothes and -lower taxes. - -If we make a rough calculation of the number of papers sold and of -the number of people in the main economic classes, it is evident -that papers of large circulation must go by the million to the -working-people. Well, is there any sign of growing wrath in the breasts -of the honest toilers against the newspapers, against Mr. Hearst’s -papers, which throw them sops of hypocritical sympathy, not to speak of -papers which are openly unfair in handling labour news? Or consider the -more prosperous classes. In the smoking-car of any suburban train bound -for New York some morning after eight o’clock, look at the men about -you, business men, the kind that work, or do something, in offices. -They are reading the _Times_ and the _Tribune_. There may be some -growls about something in the day’s news, something that has happened -on the stock-market, or a stupid throw to third base in yesterday’s -game. But is there any murmur of discontent with the newspaper itself? -I fail to find any evidence of widespread disgust with the newspaper as -it is and a concomitant hunger for something better. The Reader, the -Public is mute, if not inglorious, and accepts uncritically what the -daily press provides. The reader has not much opportunity to choose -the better from the worse. If he gives up one paper he must take -another that is just as bad. He is between the devil and the deep sea, -as when he casts his ballot for Democrat or Republican. And if he -votes Socialist he gets the admirable New York _Call_, which is less -a newspaper than a vehicle of propaganda. When one paper is slightly -more honest and intelligent than its rivals, the difference is so -slight that only those especially interested in the problems of the -press are aware of it. For example, in discussing these problems with -newspaper men, with critical readers of the press, persons for any -reason intelligently interested in the problems, I have never found -one who did not have a good word to say for the New York _Globe_. It -is so appreciably more decent than the other New York papers that I -can almost forgive it for thrusting Dr. Frank Crane under my nose -when I am looking at the amusing pictures of Mr. Fontaine Fox--the -newspaper vaudeville has to supply stunts for all juvenile tastes. -Yet the _Globe_ does not find a clamorous multitude willing to reward -it for its superiority to its neighbours, which I grant is too slight -for duffers to discern. The American reader of newspapers, that is, -almost everybody, is a duffer, so far as the newspaper is concerned, -uncritical, docile, only meekly incredulous. It may be that “the -people” get as good newspapers as they wish and deserve, just as they -are said to get as good government as they wish and deserve. Certainly -if the readers of newspapers seem to demand nothing better, the -manufacturers of newspapers have no inducement to give them anything -better. But this does not get us any nearer a solution of the problem -or do more than indicate that some vaguely indeterminate part of the -responsibility for the evils of the newspapers must rest on the people -who buy them. - -From the buyer to the seller is the shortest step. The newspaper is -a manufacturing concern producing goods to sell at a profit; it is -also a department store, and it has some characteristics that suggest -the variety show and the brothel. But the newspaper differs from all -other commodities in that it does not live by what it receives from -the consumer who buys it. Three cents multiplied a million times does -not support a newspaper. The valuable part of a newspaper from the -manufacturer’s point of view, and also to a great extent from the -reader’s point of view, is the advertisements. The columns of “reading -matter,” so called, are little more than bait to attract enough readers -to make the paper worth while as a vehicle for advertisements. It is -of no importance to the management whether a given column contain news -from Washington or Moscow, true or false, or a scandal or a funny -story, as long as it leads some thousands of human eyes to look at it -and so to look at adjacent columns in which are set forth the merits of -a safety razor or an automobile tire or a fifty-dollar suit of clothes -at thirty-nine dollars and a half. There has to be a good variety and a -certain balance of interest in the columns of reading matter to secure -the attention of all kinds of people. This accounts for two things, the -great development in the newspaper of pure, or impure, entertainment, -of more or less clever features, at the expense of space that might be -devoted to news, and also the tendency to accentuate narrative interest -above all other kinds of interest. A reporter is never sent out by his -chief to get information, but always, in the lingo of the office, to -get a “story.” This is sound psychology. Everybody likes a story, and -there are only a few souls in the world who yearn at breakfast for -information. To attack the newspaper for being sensational is to forget -that all the great stories of the world, from the amatory exploits -of Helen of Troy and Cleopatra to the scandalous adventures of Mrs. -Black, the banker’s wife, are sensational and should be so treated. The -newspaper manager is indifferent to every quality in his news columns -except their power to attract the reader and so secure circulation -and so please the advertiser. And the advertiser has as his primary -interest only that of bringing to the attention of a certain number of -people the virtues of his suspenders, shoes, and soothing syrup. - -But the advertiser has a secondary interest. The newspaper willy-nilly -deals with ideas, such as they are. No idea inimical to the -advertiser’s business or in general to the business system of which -he is a dependent part must be allowed in the paper. Therefore all -newspapers are controlled by the advertising department, that is, the -counting-room. They are controlled negatively and positively. We are -discussing general characteristics and have not space for detailed -evidence. But one or two cases will suffice. - -An example of the coercion of the newspaper by the advertiser was -recently afforded by the Philadelphia press. The Gimbel Brothers, -owners of a department store, were charged by United States Government -officials with profiteering. The only Philadelphia paper that made -anything of the story was the _Press_, which was owned by Mr. Wanamaker -of the rival department store. The other papers ignored the story or -put it in one edition and then withdrew it. If there is an elevator -accident in a general office building, it is reported. If there is a -similar accident in a department store, it is usually not reported. -When the New York _Times_ (April 25, 1921) prints a short account -of the experience of four Wellesley college students who disguised -their intellectual superiority and got jobs in department stores, the -head-line tells us that they “Find They Can Live on Earnings,” though -the matter under the head-line does not bear this out. Perhaps it does -no harm to suppress, or fail to publish, news of accidents and to make -out a good case for the living and working conditions of shop-girls. -These are minor matters in the news of the world and their importance -would appear only if they were accumulated in their tediously -voluminous mass. - -The positive corruption of the newspaper by the advertiser goes deeper -and proceeds from larger economic powers than individual merchants. -There is all over the world a terrific economic contest between -the employing classes and the wage-earning classes. The dramatic -manifestation of this contest is the strike. Almost invariably the -news of a strike is, if not falsified, so shaped as to be unfavourable -to the workers. In the New York _Nation_ of January 5, 1921, Mr. -Charles G. Miller, formerly editor of the Cleveland _Plain Dealer_, -exposes the lies of the Pittsburgh papers during the steel strike. -In two weeks the Pittsburgh papers published more than thirty pages -of paid advertisements denouncing the leadership of the strike and -invoking “Americanism” against radicalism and syndicalism. The news -and editorial attitude of the papers coincided with the advertisements -and gave the impression that the strikers were disloyal, un-American, -bolshevik. They were silent on the real questions at issue, hours, pay, -working conditions. And not only the Pittsburgh press but the press of -the entire country was poisoned. For the Associated Press and other -news services are not independent organizations feeding news to their -clients but simply interrelated newspapers swapping each other’s lies. -The Denver newspapers control all the news that is read in Boston about -the Colorado coal mines. The Boston newspapers control all the news -that is read in San Francisco about the New England textile mills. The -head of a local bureau of the Associated Press is not a reporter; he is -merely a more or less skilful compiler and extracter who sends to the -nation, to the whole world, matter which is furnished him by the papers -of his district. So that he can usually hold up his hand and swear to -the honesty of his service; he is like an express agent who ships a -case of what he thinks is canned corn, and it is not his fault if there -is opium concealed in the case. - -The power of the advertiser to make the newspaper servile and right -in its opinions is not confined to the local department store or the -special industry operating through a district press. Nor is it confined -to the negative punishment of withdrawing advertising of commodities -like hosiery, chewing gum, and banking service from papers that offend -their masters. There is another method of exerting this power, and that -is to buy advertising space in which to set forth ideas calculated -to influence public opinion. Here is a full page from a New York -paper containing a cartoon and text, the main idea of which is that -Labour and Capital should pull together. It is signed by “‘America -First’ Publicity Association” and is Bulletin No. 115 in a series--“be -sure to read them all.” This full-page bulletin, of which there have -already been more than a hundred, appeared in many newspapers--I do -not know how many; and a full page costs a good deal of money. What -is the object of this patriotic association? The prevailing theme of -the bulletins which I have seen is “Labour be good! Fight Bolshevism! -Beware the Agitator!” Who is going to be influenced by these bulletins? -Not the workingman. He knows what he wants, and if he is the dupe of -agitators and false theories, these sermons can never rescue him. -Not the capitalist. He knows what he wants, and gets it. Perhaps the -little middle-class fellow may swallow such buncombe on his daily -journey between his office and his home in the suburbs. But he is -already an intellectually depraved servant of the employing classes, -and it is not worth hundreds of thousands of dollars to complete and -confirm his corruption. The primary object of the advertisement is to -keep the newspaper “good,” to encourage its editorial departments, -through the advertising department, not to fall below 99 and 44/100% -pure Americanism or admit ideas inimical to the general interests of -chambers of commerce, manufacturers’ associations, and other custodians -of the commonweal. I suspect that some clever advertising man has stung -the gentlemen who supply the money for this campaign of education, but -what is a few million to them? The man who can best afford to laugh is -the business manager of the newspaper when he looks at the check and -meditates on the easy money of some of his advertising clients and the -easy credulity of some of his reading clients. - -It may be argued that the newspaper, which is a business, ought to -be controlled, directly and indirectly, by business interests; and -certainly if we allow the commercial powers to manage our food supply, -transportation, and housing, it is a relatively minor matter if the -same powers dominate our press. In like manner if we tolerate dishonest -governments, we are only dealing with an epiphenomenon when we consider -the dishonest and inefficient treatment by the press of public affairs, -national and international. All the news of politics, diplomacy, war, -world-trade emanates from government officials or from those who are -interested in turning to their own advantage the actions of officials. -Business is behind government, and government is behind business; -which comes first is unimportant like the problem of the chicken and -the egg. It is a partnership of swindle, and though the details of -the relation are infinitely complicated, the relation in itself is -easy to understand and accounts quite simply for the fact that world -news is the most viciously polluted of all the many kinds of news. -The efforts of a merchant to keep up the good name of his department -store, or of a group of manufacturers to break a strike are feeble and -even reasonable, so far as they use the newspapers, compared to the -audacious perversion of truth by the combination of arch criminals, -government and international business. - -The star example in modern times is the current newspaper history of -Russia. The New York _Nation_ of March 6, 1920, published an article -showing that in the columns of the New York Times Lenin had died once, -been almost killed three times, and had fallen and fled innumerable -times. The _New Republic_ published August 4, 1920, a supplement by -Lippmann and Merz summarizing the news which the _Times_ printed about -Russia during the three years preceding March 1920. The analysis shows -an almost unbroken daily misrepresentation of the programme, purposes -and strength of the Russian government and continuous false “optimism,” -as the writers gently call it, about the military exploits of Russia’s -enemies, the “white hopes,” Kolchak and Denekin. The writers expressly -state that they did not select the _Times_ because it is worse than -other papers but, on the contrary, because it “is one of the really -great newspapers of the world.” “Rich” or “powerful” would have been a -better word than “great.” The sources of error in the Times were the -Associated Press, the special correspondents of the Times, government -officials and political factions hostile to the present Russian -régime. Among the offenders was the United States Government or the -journalistic fake-factory in or adjacent to the Department of State. At -this writing the article in the _New Republic_ has been out nearly a -year, that in the _Nation_ more than a year. It is fair to assume that -they have been seen by the managers of the _Times_ and other powerful -journalists, that if there was any misstatement the weekly journals -would have been forced to recant, which they have not done, and that if -the Ochses of the newspaper world had any conscience they would have -been at least more careful after such devastating exposures. But the -game of “Lying about Lenin” goes merrily on. - -The American government and the American press have not been more -mendacious in their treatment of Russia than the governments and the -press of other nations, but they have been more persistently stupid -and unteachable in the face of facts. The British government has been -engaged in an agile zigzag retreat from its first position of no -intercourse with Russia, and when the London _Labour Herald_ exposed -the trick of Lloyd George which consisted of printing and sending out -_from Russia_ propaganda against the Soviet government, the prince of -political liars was obliged to stop that fraud. On the other hand one -of the first acts of our new administration was Mr. Hughes’s idiotic -confirmation of the attitude held by the old administration, and he -furnished the newspapers real news, since the Secretary’s opinions, -however stupid, are real news, to add to their previous accumulation -of ignorance and lies, and thereby encouraged them in their evil ways. -If a government is composed of noodles and rogues, the press which -reports the activities of the government and the opinions of its -officials is only secondarily responsible for deceiving the public. -The editors might be more critical in sifting the true from the false. -But the newspaper has no motive for trying to correct the inherent -vices of business and government; it does not originate those vices but -merely concurs in them and reflects them. The newspaper is primarily -responsible only for the stupidity and mendacity of its correspondents -and editors. It is not an independent institution with its own ethic, -with either will or full opportunity to serve the truth, but is only -the symptom and expression of the vast corruption that lies behind it -and of the dense popular ignorance that stands gaping before it. - -The _Dunciad_ of the Press does not end in quite universal darkness. -There is a little light over the horizon. A new organization called -The Federated Press, which endeavours to “get the news in spite of -the newspapers and the great news agencies,” announces that already -two hundred editors all over the world are using its service. It is -too soon to tell how successful this enterprise will be, but it is a -ray of promise, because it is an association of working journalists -and not a vague aspiration of reformers and uplifters. Until some -such organization does become powerful and by practical labour -make an impression on the daily paper, we shall have to depend for -enlightenment on a few weekly and monthly periodicals of relatively -small circulation. Most of the popular weeklies and monthlies are -as bad in their way as the newspapers, but they aim chiefly at -entertainment; their treatment of the news in special articles -and editorials is a subordinate matter, and their chief sin is not -dishonesty but banality. The periodicals which do handle the news, -always honestly, usually with intelligence, the _Nation_, the _New -Republic_, the _Freeman_ and one or two others, must have an influence -greater than can be measured by their circulation; for though the -giant press laughs at the cranky little Davids with their vicious -radical ideas, and though it is too strong to be slain or even severely -wounded, yet it cannot be quite insensible to the stones that fly from -those valorous slings. It is, however, an indication of the low mental -level of America that the combined circulation of these journals, which -are, moreover, largely subscribed for by the same readers, is less than -that of a newspaper in a second-rate city. Two of them are endowed -or subsidized by liberal men of means and none of them is shiningly -prosperous. An intelligent populace would buy them by the million. So -we leave the responsibility where, after all, it belongs. The American -press is an accurate gauge of the American mind. - - JOHN MACY - - - - -THE LAW - - -“The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.” This outcry of -Jack Cade’s followers that the disappearance of the whole profession -was the initial step in man’s progress toward a better world would be -echoed in the United States by the revolutionists of to-day, and also -by not a few solid business men who have nothing else in common with -the mediæval agitator except perhaps the desire to see the fountains -run wine and make it a felony to drink near-beer. Indeed almost every -one takes his fling at the law. Doctors and ministers can be avoided if -we dislike them, but the judge has a sure grip upon us all. He drags -us before him against our will; no power in the land can overturn -his decision, but defeated litigants, disappointed sociologists, and -unsuccessful primary candidates all join in a prolonged yell, “Kill the -umpire.” - -Where there is smoke, there is fire. Underneath all this agitation -is a deep-seated suspicion and dissatisfaction aroused by the legal -profession and the whole machinery of justice. It exists despite the -fact observed by Bryce, that our system of written constitutions has -created a strongly marked legal spirit in the people and accustomed -them to look at all questions in a legal way--a characteristic -exemplified when other peoples judged the Covenant of the League of -Nations as an expression of broad policies and the aspirations of a -hundred years, while we went at it word by word with a dissecting knife -and a microscope as if it had been a millionaire’s will or an Income -Tax Act. Moreover, although lawyers as a class are unpopular, they are -elected to half the seats in the legislatures and in Congress. The -profession which cannot boast a single English Prime Minister in the -century between Perceval and Asquith, has trained every President who -was not a general, except Harding. Perhaps this very fact that lawyers -receive public positions out of all proportion to their numbers -partially accounts for the prejudice felt against them by men in other -professions and occupations. - -Hostility to lawyers and case-law is no new phenomenon in this country. -Puritans and Quakers arrived with unpleasant memories of the English -bench and bar, who had harried them out of their homes. To them, law -meant heresy trials, and the impression that these left on the minds of -their victims has been set down forever by Bunyan in the prosecution -of Faithful at Vanity Fair. The Colonists were no more anxious to -transplant some Lord Hate-good, his counsellors, and his law books to -our shores, than Eugene V. Debs would strive to set up injunctions and -sedition statutes if he were founding a socialistic commonwealth in -the South Seas. The popular attitude toward lawyers was re-inforced -by the clergy who were naturally reluctant to have their great moral -and intellectual influence disputed by men who would hire themselves -out to argue either side of any question. The ministers who ruled -Massachusetts and Connecticut by the Law of Moses, wanted no rivals to -challenge their decisions upon the authority of Bracton and Coke. And -everywhere, except perhaps on the Southern plantations, the complicated -structure of feudal doctrines, which constituted such a large part of -English law well into the 18th century, was as unsuited to Colonial -ways and needs as a Gothic cathedral in the wilderness. Life was so -pressing, time was so short, labour so scarce, that the only law -which could receive acceptance must be so simple that the settlers -could apply it themselves. Although Justice Story has spread wide the -belief that our ancestors brought the Common Law to New England on -the _Mayflower_, the truth is that only a few fragments got across. -These were rapidly supplemented by rules based on pioneer conditions. -Much the same phenomenon occurred as in the California of 1849, where -the miners ignored the water-law of the Atlantic seaboard which gave -each person bordering on a stream some share of the water, and adopted -instead the custom better suited to a new country of first come, first -served. Almost the earliest task of the founders of a Colony was the -regulation of the disputes which arise in a primitive civilization by -a brief legislative code concerning crimes, torts, and the simplest -contracts, in many ways like the dooms of the Anglo-Saxon kings. -Gaps in these codes were not filled from the Common Law, as would be -the case to-day, but by the discretion of the magistrate, or in some -Colonies, in the early days, from the Bible. Land laws and conveyances -were simple,--the underlying English principle of primogeniture was -abolished outright by several Colonial charters, and disputes of title -were lessened by the admirable system of registering deeds. Such -law did not require lawyers, and it is not surprising that even the -magistrates were usually laymen. The chief justice of Rhode Island as -late as 1818 was a blacksmith. Oftentimes a controversy was taken away -from the court by the legislature and settled by a special statute. -Thus, instead of the English and modern American judge-made law, the -Colonists received for the most part executive and legislative justice, -and lived under a protoplasmic popular law, with the Common Law only -one of its many ingredients. - -The training of the few Colonists who did become lawyers may be judged -from that of an early attorney general of Rhode Island: - -“When he made up his mind to study law, he went into the garden -to exercise his talents in addressing the court and jury. He then -selected five cabbages in one row for judges, and twelve in another -row for jurors. After trying his hand there a while, he went boldly -into court and took upon himself the duties of an advocate, and a -little observation and experience there convinced him that the same -cabbages were in the court house which he thought he had left in the -garden,--five in one row and twelve in another.” - -The natural alienation of such attorneys from the intricacies of -English law was increased by occasional conflicts between that -system and Colonial statutes or conceptions of justice. An excellent -Connecticut act for the disposal of a decedent’s land was declared void -by the Privy Council in London as contrary to the laws of England, -and the attempt of the New York governor and judges to enforce the -obnoxious English law of libel in the prosecution of Peter Zenger in -order to throttle the criticism of public officials by the press, would -have succeeded if the jury had not deliberately rejected the legal -definitions given by the court. - -The Common Law became somewhat more popular when the principles of -individual rights which had blocked Stuart oppression were used -against George III. After the Revolution, however, it suffered with -all things English. Many lawyers had been Loyalists. The commercial -depression turned the bar into debt collectors. The great decisions of -Lord Mansfield which laid the foundations of modern business law were -rejected by Jefferson and many other Americans because of that judge’s -reactionary policy towards the Colonies. Many States actually passed -legislation forbidding the use of English cases as authorities in our -courts. The enforcement of the Common Law of sedition and criminal -libel by judges, many of whom had been educated in England, identified -the Common Law with the suppression of freedom of speech. Nevertheless, -the old simple Colonial rules were insufficient to decide the complex -commercial questions which were constantly arising, especially in -maritime transactions. Aid had to be obtained from some mature system -of law. - -At this moment a rival to the Common Law presented itself in the -Napoleonic code of 1804, attractive to the populace just because it -was French, and to many of the bar because of its logical arrangement -and because unlike English lawyers they were widely read in Roman and -modern Continental law. For a time it was actually doubtful whether -the legal assistance which American judges needed would be drawn -from England or France. French writers were cited in the courts and -Livingston drafted a code on the Napoleonic model for Louisiana. The -English law had, however, one great advantage. It was written in our -own language. Furthermore, a group of exceptionally able judges such -as Joseph Story and James Kent, by their decisions and writings, -virtually imported the great bulk of the Common Law into this country -and reworked it to meet American conditions. Nevertheless, this law was -something that came from outside and had not grown up altogether from -the lives and thoughts of our own people, so that it has never meant to -Americans what English law means to Englishmen, for whom it is as much -a product of their own land as parliamentary government or the plays of -Shakespeare. - -Another reason for American hostility to law was found at the frontier. -The pioneer, imbued with the conviction that he was entitled to the -land which he had cleared, ploughed and sown, often thrown by crop -failures into debt to the tradesmen in the town, resented law as -something which was forced upon him by people who led easy lives, who -took his land away for some technical defect of title, foreclosed -mortgages, compelled him to pay for goods of high prices and low -quality, suppressed hereditary feuds, and substituted a mass of book -learning which he was too ignorant or too busy to read, for the simple -principles of fair play which seemed sufficient to him. Habitual -obedience to law was a spirit which could not develop in men who were -largely squatters, and who, from the outset of our national history, -disregarded the Congressional statutes which required that public -lands must be surveyed before they were settled. Sometimes, as in this -instance, the settler’s resistance to law was successful. More often -they were overpowered by the strength of civilization and submitted to -the law sullen and unconvinced. - -The old frontier is gone, a new frontier has arisen. The meeting -place of unfriendly races has moved Eastward from the Missouri to -the Merrimac. The pioneers of to-day came often from autocratic -lands where law was something imposed on them from above, and they -were slow to regard our law as different in kind. It was not a part -of themselves. Moreover, they did not find in America the energetic -police organization which had compelled their obedience in Europe. -The men who framed our system of laws were taught by Puritanism that -duties declared by those lawfully in authority should be voluntarily -performed. A statute once on the books got much vitality from this -spirit and from the social pressure of the homogeneous settled -communities, whatever the difficulties of enforcement at the frontier. -These forces behind law became weaker when the population was split -into numerous and diverse races by the great tide of immigration. -Obedience to law, never automatic among us, now became liable to cease -altogether whenever a person thought the law unreasonable or felt -fairly certain that he would not be found out. - -This belief that a law ceases to have obligation when it becomes -inexpedient to obey it, extends far beyond the recently arrived -elements in our population. For instance, a wealthy man with several -American generations behind him, who was serving on the jury in an -accident case, stood up on a chair as soon as the jury got into the -consultation-room and urged them to disregard everything which the -judge had instructed them about the inability of the plaintiff to -recover if he, as well as the defendant, was negligent. “This doctrine -of contributory negligence,” said this educated juryman, “is not the -law of France or Germany or any country on the Continent of Europe. A -number of eminent writers agree that it is a thoroughly bad law. Let’s -have nothing to do with it.” Needless to say, the plaintiff recovered. -This conception of a higher law than that on the books may owe -something to the Abolitionists’ belief that they were not bound by the -laws protecting the inhuman institution of slavery. Many conscientious -persons still hold that a man ought not to be punished for disobeying -a law which he believes to be morally wrong. Fortunately, a corrective -to this dangerous doctrine of the inner legal light is found in the -words of a leading Abolitionist, Judge Ebenezer Rockwood Hoar, in -charging the Grand Jury on riotous resistance to the fugitive slave -law, although he himself regarded it as vicious legislation: - -“A man whose private conscience leads him to disobey a law recognized -by the community must take the consequences of that disobedience. It -is a matter solely between him and his Maker. He should take good care -that he is not mistaken, that his private opinion does not result from -passion or prejudice, but, if he believes it to be his duty to disobey, -he must be prepared to abide by the result; and the laws as they are -enacted and settled by the constituted authorities to be constitutional -and valid, must be enforced, although it may be to his grievous harm. -It will not do for the public authorities to recognize his private -opinion as a justification of his acts.” - -Disrespect for law has been aggravated by the changing function of -the lawyer since the Civil War. In the forties and fifties, he stood -out as a leader in his community, lifted by education above the mass -of citizens, often before the public gaze in the court-room and -chosen because of his forensic eloquence to deliver many of those set -orations which Americans constantly demand, brought forward by the -litigation of those days as the avenger of crime, the defender of -those unjustly imprisoned, the liberator of the escaping slave, or -upholding some great public right on behalf of his city or State--the -construction of a toll-free bridge across the Charles, the maintenance -of the charter of Dartmouth College. After 1870, this pre-eminence was -challenged by the new captains of industry, and their appearance was -accompanied by an alteration in the work of many an able lawyer, which -soon obscured him to the popular imagination. The formation of large -businesses required more and more the skill which he possessed. Rewards -for drafting and consultation became greater than for litigation, -which was growing tedious and costly, so that his clients avoided it -whenever possible. Consequently, he changed from an advocate into a -“client care-taker,” seldom visible to the people and often associated -in their minds with the powerful and detested corporations which he -represented. Much of the prejudice against “corporation lawyers” -was unjust, and the business development of to-day would have been -impossible without the skill in organization and reorganization of -great enterprises which they displayed during the last half century. -However, popular opinion of a class is inevitably based, not on all -its members, but on a conspicuous few, and the kind of legal career -described in Winston Churchill’s “Far Country” was common enough to -furnish data for damaging generalizations. In any case, the decline in -the public influence of the bar was inevitable, especially as certain -businesses retained the exclusive legal services of a staff of men, so -that it could be said: “Lawyers used to have clients; now, clients have -lawyers.” - -Of course, during this period there were many lawyers who made a -notable success by conducting cases against corporations. These -accident lawyers were, however, no more popular than their opponents, -even with the workingmen whom they represented. The small means of -their clients made any remuneration from them improbable unless damages -were recovered. Consequently, the lawyer agreed to take nothing if -defeated, but to even matters up insisted on a large fraction of the -amount awarded, usually one-third or even more, if he won. Therefore, -he fought not merely for justice and his client, but for his own fee, -and the temptation to win by every possible means was great. Business -men were quick to label him unscrupulous, while workingmen resented it -when a large slice of the money which the jury gave to them as a just -measure for suffering a lifelong disability vanished into some lawyer’s -pockets. - -No satisfactory substitute for the contingent fee was suggested, but -the prejudice created by the system and by the dislike of corporation -lawyers was too great to be dispelled by the many members of the bar -whose practice lay in neither of these two fields. And indeed, the -profession as a whole cannot free itself from blame for some very -definite evils, soon to be discussed. Unfortunately, the long-standing -antagonism between lawyers and laymen has distracted the thoughts -of both sides from wrongs which ought to be and can be cured, and -turned them to never-ending disputes on problems of relatively small -importance. For instance, almost any layman will open a discussion of -the function of the lawyer by condemning the profession because it -defends criminals who are known to be guilty. The solution of this -problem is not easy, but it is not worth a hundredth of the attention -it receives, for it hardly ever arises. The criminal law is a small -part of the whole law, and lawyers who have spent their whole lives in -that field have declared that they were not certain of the guilt of a -single client. A far more important problem is whether a lawyer should -advocate the passage of legislation which he personally considers -vicious. Indeed, the underlying question, to which lawyers and laymen -ought to be devoting themselves, is this. How far can the State -ascertain the proper course of action by limiting itself to hearing -paid representatives of the persons directly interested, financially -or otherwise; or should the State also call in and pay trained men to -investigate the question independently? The solution of this question -will affect not only lawyers, but other professions as well. Medical -experts, for instance, might cease to be hired by millionaires to prove -them insane, or by the prosecuting attorney with the opposite purpose, -but might be employed by the court to make an impartial inquiry into -the mental condition of a prisoner. In short, it may be that we have -carried the notion of litigation as a contest of wits between two -sides so far that the interests of society have not been adequately -safeguarded. - -If laymen have erred in concentrating on minor points, lawyers have -been far too ready to deny laymen any right to discuss law at all. -It is just as if school-teachers should maintain that parents and -citizens in general have no concern in the problems of education. The -time has come to close the gulf in American life between the legal -profession and the people who are ruled by laws. Law is the surface -of contact where the pressure of society bears upon the individual. -Doubtless, he attributes to the law many of the features in this -pressure to which he objects, whereas they actually result from the -social structure itself. The man who feels wronged by a prosecution -for bigamy, or for stealing bread when he is starving for lack of -employment, cannot expect to change the law without also changing the -views of the community on monogamous marriage and the organization of -industry. These institutions of society show themselves in the law -just as the veins in a block of marble show themselves at the surface, -but it is as futile for him to blame the law for “capitalism,” private -property, or our present semi-permanent marriages as to try to get -rid of the veins by scraping the surface of the marble. On the other -hand, there are aspects of law which do not correspond to any existing -social requirements or demands, and the layman has good cause to offer -his opinion. And it may be worth listening to. The onlooker often sees -most of the game. Although the layman may lack technical knowledge, -he can appreciate the relation of law to his own department of human -activity--business, social service, health--in ways that are difficult -for the lawyer who is absorbed in the pressing tasks of each day. -Moreover, the lawyer’s habitual and necessary obligation to conform -to existing laws naturally inclines him to overlook their defects, -which are obvious to those who can spend in detached criticism the -same time which he requires for practical application. Modern medicine -was created by Pasteur, who was not a doctor; modern English law by -Bentham, who was a lawyer to the extent of arguing one case and who was -edited by Mill, a philosopher and economist. - -Knowledge is no longer a matter of water-tight compartments. “All good -work is one,” says Wells in “Joan and Peter.” Law touches psychology -in its treatment of the defective and insane, medicine and surgery -in industrial accidents and disease, political science in municipal -corporations, economics in taxation, philosophy in its selection of the -purposes it should strive to accomplish. And this is a meagre list. -The greatest need of American law is the establishment of means for -intelligent mutual understanding and effective co-operation, not merely -between lawyers and experts in such other fields as those mentioned, -but between lawyers and the mass of our population, who fill the jails, -pay the taxes, drink city water, get hurt in factories, buy, sell, -invest, build homes, and leave it all to their children when they die. - -For these men and women have a right to complain of our law. Its evils -are not those commonly decried, lawyers to defend the guilty, reliance -on precedents instead of common sense, bribed judges. The real defect -is failure to keep up to date. Many existing legal rules have the same -fault as New York surface-cars before the subway or Hoboken Ferries -before the tubes. They were good in their day, but it has gone by and -they cannot handle the traffic. The system formulated by Story and -Kent worked well for the farms, small factories, and small banks of -their time, but the great development of national resources and crowded -cities presented new situations unsuited to the old legal rules, and -kept men too busy for the constructive leisure necessary for thinking -out a new system. The law became a hand-to-mouth affair, deciding each -isolated problem as it arose, and often deciding it wrong. Yet lawyers -were satisfied with law, just as business men with business. Then came -the agitation of the last fifteen years, which has at least made us -discontented about many things. The next task is to stop calling each -other names, sit down together, think matters through to a finish, -and work together to complete the process which is farther along than -we realize, of making over the common law system of an agricultural -population a century ago to meet the needs of the city-dwelling America -of to-day. - -A first step toward co-operation would be more discussion of law in -the press. Several years ago Charles E. Hughes in a public address -said that one reason why courts and lawyers were so unpopular in this -country was the unfamiliarity of the people with what they were doing. -Outside of criminal prosecutions, divorces, and large constitutional -cases, newspapers give very little attention to legal questions, and -even these cases are presented fragmentarily with almost no attempt -to present their historical background and the general principles -at issue. There is nothing to compare with the resumé of trials -and decisions which appears from day to day in the London _Times_, -no popular exposition of legal problems such as Woods Hutchinson -has done for medicine or numerous writers for the achievements of -Einstein. Surely law can be made as intelligible and interesting to -the ordinary educated reader as relativity. It enters so intimately -into human relationships that some knowledge of it is very important, -not as a guide in specific transactions as to which a lawyer ought -to be consulted, but as part of the mental stock-in-trade of the -well-informed citizen. Wider realization of the difficulties of the -work of judges and lawyers would bring about a friendlier and more -helpful popular attitude. - -The public might understand, for example, why law does not progress -so conspicuously and rapidly as medicine or engineering. Part of the -blame rests, no doubt, upon lawyers, who have been less active than -other professions in discussing and applying new ideas, but the very -nature of the subject is an obstacle to quick change. In law, progress -requires group action; the individual can accomplish little. The -physician who discovers a new antitoxin, the surgeon who invents a new -method of operating for gastric ulcer, can always, if his reputation be -established, find some patient upon whom to test his conception. Its -excellence or its faults can be rapidly proved to his own mind and -that of any skilled onlooker. And new ideas, if sound, mean a larger -practice and money in his pocket. The lawyer gets no such rewards for -improving the law, and has no such opportunities for experiment. If -he is convinced by observation, wide reading, and long thinking, that -arrest for debt should be abolished, or the property of a spendthrift -protected by law from his creditors, or trial by jury abandoned -except in criminal trials, he cannot try out these theories upon some -client. He must sacrifice days from his regular work to persuade a -whole legislature to test his idea upon thousands of citizens, and if -the idea is a bad one, the experiment will be a widespread disaster. -Consequently law reform always faces an instinctive and discouraging -legislative opposition. Even after every State except two had adopted -the Uniform Negotiable Instruments Law, the Georgia legislature refused -to do so because the Act abolished days of grace, the old custom -allowing a debtor three days beyond the time of payment named in his -note. They said that when a man had promised to pay a debt on May 1, -it was un-American not to let him wait till May 4. Again, a committee -of very able New York lawyers recently drew a short Practice Act -setting forth the main requirements for the conduct of a law-suit, and -leaving the details to the judges, who may be supposed to know more -about their own work than the legislature. Similar laws have long been -in successful operation in England, Massachusetts, and Connecticut, -whereas the existing New York Code of Civil Procedure with its -thousands of sections has been a vexatious source of delay and disputes -in the press of urban litigation. The new measure was an admirable and -thorough piece of work, endorsed by the Bar Associations of New York -City and the State. Yet it was killed by the age-long opposition of the -country to the town. Upstate lawyers, less harassed by the old Code -because of uncrowded rural dockets, objected to throwing over their -knowledge of the existing system and spending time to learn a new and -better one. The legislature hated to give more power to the courts. As -a result, the new bill was scrapped, and nothing has been done after -years of agitation except to renumber the sections of the old Code with -a few improvements. - -Another factor in law reform is the existence of fifty legal systems -in one nation. Even if the law is modernized in one State, the -objectionable old rule will remain in the other forty-seven until -their legislatures are persuaded by the same tedious process. On the -other hand, this diversity has its merits. Some of the progressive -Western States serve as experiment stations for testing new legal -and governmental schemes. Still more important, the limitations on -legal experimentation are somewhat offset by the opportunities for -observation of the workings of different legal rules in neighbouring -States. The possibilities of this comparative method for judging the -best solution of a legal problem have not yet been fully utilized. For -example, a dispute has long raged whether it is desirable to compel a -doctor to disclose professional secrets on the witness-stand without -the patient’s consent. About half the States require him to keep -silent. The reasons given are, that patients will seek medical aid -less freely if their confidences may be disclosed; doctors would lie -to shield their patients; some doctors are hired by employers to treat -workmen injured in accidents and will try to get evidence on behalf of -the employers if they are allowed to testify. So far, the discussion -has turned on the probability or improbability that these arguments -represent the facts, and neither side has collected the facts. The -discussion could be brought down to earth by an investigation in New -York which has the privilege, and Massachusetts, where secrecy is -not maintained. Are doctors less consulted in Massachusetts, do they -perjure themselves, do they ingratiate themselves with workmen to -defeat subsequent accident suits? Statistics, personal interviews with -judges and physicians, and examination of the stenographic records of -trials ought to give valuable assistance in determining which half of -the States has the better rule. - -Since law reform requires highly organized group action, some -individual should be charged with the responsibility of organization. -At present, it is everybody’s business. Judges are hearing cases -all day and writing opinions at night, and they have no legislative -position as in England, where they can draft bills and present them in -the House of Lords. Individual lawyers carry little weight. The Bar -Associations have accomplished much, but the work of their members -is done without pay in the intervals of practice, and they have no -official standing. The Attorney General is necessarily a partisan, -representing the State’s side in litigation, with neither the time -nor the duty to improve the law in general. The United States and -the larger States badly need a Minister of Justice. All complaints -of legal inefficiency would come to him, and he would be constantly -collecting statistics of the cases in the courts and their social -consequences, observing procedure personally, or through a corps of -expert assistants, conferring with the judges and the Bar Associations, -drafting or examining measures affecting the administration of justice -and giving his opinion about them to the legislature, and charged -with the general duty of ascertaining whether every person can find -a certain remedy from the laws for all injuries or wrongs, obtaining -right and justice freely and without purchase, completely and without -denial, promptly and without delay. - -Until we establish such an official, we can rely on three instruments -of legal advance, each of which may be a point of co-operation between -lawyers and laymen. Of the first, the Bar Associations, something has -already been said. The second is the judiciary. Unfortunately, the -tendency of the American antagonism to law to concentrate on personal -topics has warped the prolonged discussion of this branch of our -government during the last ten years, and, indeed, since 1789. Charges -of corruption and incompetency against individual judges, and methods -of getting a bad judge off the bench, have entirely obscured the -problem of getting good judges on the bench. The power of judges to -declare statutes unconstitutional and void makes them the controlling -factor in our government, yet there is no country where less attention -is paid to their selection and training. It is of no use to recall -a poor judge by popular vote if the people are eager to put one of -the same type in his place. Nothing need be added to the estimate in -Bryce’s “Modern Democracies” of the unevenness of judicial personnel. -The most obvious need, if the inferior judges are to be brought up to -the level of the best men, is for higher salaries. But that alone is -not enough to induce leaders of the bar to become judges. No salary -could be so high as the income of successful metropolitan lawyers. -The time has come for greater willingness on their part to retire from -a large practice in middle life and devote their talents to judicial -work. And even this will be useless, unless selection is based on -merit. Our system of an elective judiciary is probably too deeply -rooted to be entirely abandoned, though it is clear that legal talent -is not a quality, like executive ability, readily capable of being -appraised by the electorate. On the other hand, it is not altogether -certain that State governors would appoint judges without regard to -partisan considerations. An interesting compromise plan has been -suggested, that there should be a Chief Justice, elected by the people, -who should be in effect the Minister of Justice already described. -All the other judges would be appointed by him, for life or for long -terms, while his responsibility for wise selections would be secured -by a short term or even by the recall. A governor does so many tasks -that his judicial appointments do not play a large part in the popular -judgment of his record, but the Chief Justice would stand or fall on -the merits of the administration of law under his management. - -Moreover, we do not deal fairly by the judges chosen under existing -systems. After they have been selected, they should have more -opportunity to study the special duties of their position before -beginning work, and more leisure amid trials and opinions for general -legal reading and for observation of the complexities of modern -life which are inevitably involved in their decisions, especially -on constitutional questions. Most litigation grows out of urban and -industrial conditions, with which State supreme court judges may easily -get out of touch, if they remain continuously in the State House in a -small upstate city like Springfield, Albany, or Sacramento, with little -opportunity to visit the factories and tenements of Chicago, New York, -and San Francisco. It may also be doubted whether our usual system -which restricts some judges to trials and others to appellate work is -wise; an occasional change from one to the other is both refreshing -and instructive. Judges frequently complain of the monotony of their -work, cooped up with a few associates of similar mental interests, so -that the atmosphere may acquire the irritability of a boarding-house. -It is not generally understood how much judges are cut off from other -men. Close intimacy with their former friends at the bar or with -wealthy business men who may have cases before them, is sure to cause -talk. Graham Wallas’s suggestion of an occasional transfer to active -work of a semi-judicial character, like Judge Sankey’s chairmanship of -the English Coal Commission, seems valuable. Our Interstate Commerce -Commission would provide such an opportunity. Finally, the existing -gulf between courts and law schools might be narrowed by summer -conferences on growing-points in the law, where each side could give -much out of its experience to the other. - -The remaining instrument of progress is the law schools. “Legal -education,” says Bryce, “is probably nowhere so thorough as in the -United States.” The chief reasons for this success are two, the -professional law teacher, who has replaced the retired judge and the -practising lawyer who lectured in his spare hours; and the case-system -of instruction. This method is not, as is popularly believed, the -memorization by the students of the facts of innumerable cases. -It imparts legal principles, not on the say-so of a text-book or -a professor, but by study and discussion of the actual sources of -those principles, the decisions of the courts. The same method in the -Continental Law would result in a class-room discussion of codes and -commentators, which are there the sources. One of the most interesting -signs of its success is its spread from law into other sciences such as -medicine. Books based on the study of concrete situations are used in -public schools for the study of geography and hygiene, and charitable -societies work out the general needs of the community from the problems -of individual families. This system has superseded in all the leading -law schools the old methods of lecturing and reading treatises. Its -most conspicuous service is, of course, vocational, the training of -men whose advice a client can safely accept. Already some States -have required a law-school degree as a condition of admission to the -bar, and the old haphazard law-office apprenticeship will eventually -disappear, although the question of how far a man who is earning his -living should be allowed to study law in his spare hours at a night law -school whose standards must usually be lower than a full-time school -remains as a difficult problem in a democratic country. Efficiency -of training conflicts with equality of opportunity. A second service -of the leading law schools is the modernization of the law through -the production of books. A great example of this is the “Treatise on -Evidence,” by John H. Wigmore, dean of Northwestern Law School, which -is every day influencing courts and renovating the most antiquated -portion of the common law. - -Of late years, the need for fresh changes in method has become plain. -Christopher Columbus Langdell, the inventor of the case-system, laid -down two fundamental propositions: “First, that law is a science; -second, that all the available materials of that science are contained -in printed books.” Experience has proved that he was right in believing -that attendance in a lawyer’s office or at the proceedings of courts -was not essential to a legal education. But the scope of legal study -must now extend beyond printed books, certainly beyond law books. -Since law is not an isolated department of knowledge, but a system -of rules for the regulation of human life, the truth of those rules -must be tested by many facts outside the past proceedings of courts -and legislatures. Not only law in books but law in action has to be -considered, and after learning the principles evolved by a process of -inclusion and exclusion in the decisions or by intermittent legislative -action, the scholar must find how those principles actually work in -the bank, the factory, the street, and the jail. The problem is still -debated, whether this can better be done in the pre-legal college -course or by the use of non-legal experts in the law schools, or -whether the necessary material should be assimilated and presented by -the law teachers themselves. Yet this widening of the content of legal -study does not in the least impair the validity of Langdell’s method, -the systematic investigation of the sources of law at first hand, -whether those sources be found in the reports and statutes which he had -in mind, or in the economic, social, and psychological facts which have -demanded attention in recent years. - -Something must be said in closing of those portions of the law where -change has been most necessary. Of these our criminal law is easily -the most disgraceful. Its complete inability to perform its task has -been exhaustively demonstrated by the opening chapter of Raymond -Fosdick’s “American Police Systems.” The lawyers and judges are -only partly to blame, for their work forms only the middle of three -stages in the suppression of crime. The initial stage of arrest and -the final stage of punishment are in the hands of administrative -officials, beyond the control of the bench and bar. Many criminals -are never caught, and the loss of public confidence in the justice or -effectiveness of prisons makes juries reluctant to convict. Yet the -legal profession is sorely at fault for what takes place while the -prisoner is in the dock. The whole problem calls for that co-operation -between lawyers, other experts, and laymen, of which I have already -spoken. Unless something is soon done, we may find crime ceasing to be -a legal matter at all. Even now, many large department stores have so -little belief in the criminal courts and prisons that they are trying -embezzlers and shoplifters in tribunals of their own, and administering -a private system of probation and restitution. The initial step is a -reformulation of the purpose of punishment. Twenty-five years ago, -Justice Holmes asked, “What have we better than a blind guess to show -that the criminal law in its present form does more good than harm?” - -One serious reason for its breakdown has been the creation of -innumerable minor offences, which are repeatedly committed and almost -impossible to suppress. The police are diverted from murders and -burglaries to gambling and sexual delinquencies, while the frequent -winking at such breaches of law destroys the essential popular -conviction that a law ought to be obeyed just because it is law. The -Chief of Police of New Orleans told Raymond Fosdick, “If I should -enforce the law against selling tobacco on Sunday, I would be run out -of office in twenty-four hours. But I am in constant danger of being -run out of office because I don’t enforce it.” So they were hanging -green curtains, which served the double purpose of advertising the -location of the stands and of protecting the virtue of the citizens -from visions of evil. - -At the present time we have thrown a new strain on the criminal law by -the enactment of nation-wide prohibition. The future will show whether -the main effect of this measure will be an increase in disrespect and -antagonism for law, or the ultimate removal of one of the chief causes -of lawlessness and waste. Unfortunately, the perpetual discussion -of home-brew receipts and hidden sources of supply has prevented a -general realization that we are witnessing one of the most far-reaching -legislative experiments of all time. What we ought to be talking -about is the consequences of prohibition to health, poverty, crime, -earning-power, and general happiness. It is possible, for instance, -that total abstinence for the working classes coupled with apparently -unlimited supplies of liquor for their employers may have the double -consequence of increasing the resentful desire of the former to wrest -the control of wealth from those who are monopolizing a time-honoured -source of pleasure, and of weakening the ability of the heavy-drinking -sons of our captains of industry to stand up in the struggle against -the sober brains of the labour leaders of the future. Prohibition may -thus bring about a striking shift of economic power. - -The delays, expense, and intricacies of legal procedure demand reform. -The possession of a legal right is worthless to a poor man if he cannot -afford to enforce it through the courts. The means of removing such -obstacles have been set forth by Reginald H. Smith in “Justice and -the Poor.” For instance, much has already been accomplished by Small -Claims Courts, where relief is given without lawyers in a very simple -manner. When a Cleveland landlady was sued by a boarder because she -had detained his trunk, she told the judge that he had set fire to -his mattress while smoking in bed and refused to pay her twenty-five -dollars for the damage. The judge, instead of calling expert witnesses -to prove the value of the mattress, telephoned the nearest department -store, found he could buy another for eight dollars, and the parties -agreed to settle on that basis. Again, family troubles are now -scattered through numerous courts. A father deserts, and the mother -goes to work. The neglected children get into the Juvenile Court. -She asks for a separation in the Probate Court. A grocer sues her -husband for food she has bought, before a jury. She prosecutes him -before a criminal court for non-support, and finally secures a divorce -in equity. One Court of Domestic Relations should handle all the -difficulties of the family, which ought to be considered together. Much -of the injustice to the poor has been lessened by legal aid societies, -which have not only conducted litigation for individuals but have also -fought test-cases up to the highest courts, and drafted statutes in -order to protect large groups of victims of injustice. The injury done -to the poor by antiquated legal machinery is receiving wide attention, -but it is also a tax on large business transactions which is ultimately -paid by the consumer. Reform is needed to secure justice to the rich. - -The substantive law which determines the scope of rights and duties has -been more completely overhauled, and many great improvements have been -accomplished. Relations between the public and the great corporations -which furnish transportation and other essential services are no longer -left to the arbitrary decisions of corporate officers or the slow -process of isolated litigation. Public service commissions do not yet -operate perfectly, but any one who doubts their desirability should -read a contemporary Commission Report and then turn to the history of -the Erie Railroad under Jim Fiske and Jay Gould as related in “The Book -of Daniel Drew.” The old fellow-servant rule which threw the burden of -an industrial accident upon the victim has been changed by workmen’s -compensation acts which place the risk upon the employer. He pays for -the injured workman as for a broken machine and shifts the expense -to his customers as part of the costs of the business. The burden is -distributed through society and litigation is rapid and inexpensive. -Unfortunately, no such satisfactory solution has been reached in the -law of labour organizations, but its chaotic condition only corresponds -to the general American uncertainty on the proper treatment of such -organizations. It is possible that just as the King, in the Middle -Ages, insisted on dragging the Barons into his courts to fight out -their boundary disputes there, instead of with swords and battleaxes -on the highway, so society which is the victim of every great -industrial dispute will force employers and workmen alike to settle -their differences before a tribunal while production goes on. The -Australian Courts of Conciliation have lately been imitated in Kansas, -an experiment which will be watched with close interest. - -Less importance must be attached, however, to the development of -particular branches of the law than to the change in legal attitude. -The difference between the old and the new is exemplified by two -extracts from judicial decisions which were almost contemporaneous. -Judge Werner, in holding the first New York Workmen’s Compensation Act -unconstitutional, limited the scope of law as follows: - -“This quoted summary of the report of the commission to the -legislature, which clearly and fairly epitomizes what is more fully set -forth in the body of the report, is based upon a most voluminous array -of statistical tables, extracts from the works of philosophical writers -and the industrial laws of many countries, all of which are designed -to show that our own system of dealing with industrial accidents -is economically, morally, and legally unsound. Under our form of -government, however, courts must regard all economical, philosophical -and moral theories, attractive and desirable though they may be, as -subordinate to the primary question whether they can be moulded into -statutes without infringing upon the letter or spirit of our written -constitutions.... With these considerations in mind we turn to the -purely legal phases of the controversy.” (Ives _v._ South Buffalo Ry. -Co., 201 N. Y. 271, 287, 1911.) - -A different attitude was shown by the Supreme Court of the United -States in its reception of the brief filed by Mr. Louis D. Brandeis -on behalf of the constitutionality of an Oregon statute limiting -woman’s work to ten hours a day. Besides decisions, he included the -legislation of many States and of European countries. Then follow -extracts from over ninety reports of committees, bureaus of statistics, -commissioners of hygiene, inspectors of factories, both in this country -and in Europe, to the effect that long hours of labour are dangerous -for women, primarily because of their special physical organization. -Following them are extracts from similar reports discussing the general -benefits of shorter hours from the economic aspect of the question. -Justice Brewer said: - -“The legislation and opinions referred to in the margin may not -be, technically speaking, authorities, and in them is little or -no discussion of the constitutional question presented to us for -determination, yet they are significant of a widespread belief -that woman’s physical structure, and the functions she performs in -consequence thereof, justify special legislation restricting or -qualifying the conditions under which she should be permitted to -toil. Constitutional questions, it is true, are not settled by even -a consensus of present public opinion, for it is a peculiar value of -a written constitution that it places in unchanging form limitations -upon legislative action, and thus gives a permanence and stability -to popular government which otherwise would be lacking. At the same -time, when a question of fact is debated and debatable, and the extent -to which a special constitutional limitation goes is affected by the -truth in respect to that fact, a widespread and long continued belief -concerning it is worthy of consideration. We take judicial cognizance -of all matters of general knowledge.” (Muller _v._ Oregon, 208 U. S. -412, 420, 1907.) - -The decision displays two qualities which are characteristic of the -winning counsel since his elevation to the bench; it keeps its eye -on the object instead of devoting itself to abstract conceptions, -and it emphasizes the interest of society in new forms of protection -against poverty, disease, and other evils. To these social interests, -the property of the individual must often be partly sacrificed and in -recent years we have seen the courts upholding the guarantee of bank -deposits, State regulation of insurance rates, and suspension of the -right of landlords to recover unreasonable rents or dispossess their -tenants. All this would have been regarded as impossible fifty years -ago. - -These extensions of governmental power over property have been -accompanied by legislation severely restricting freedom of discussion -of still more radical types of State control. It is argued that the -right of free speech must face limitation like the right of the -landlord. The true policy is exactly the opposite. Not only is it -unjust for the State to carry out one form of confiscation while -severely punishing the discussion of another form, but in an age of -new social devices the widest liberty for the expression of opinion -is essential, so that the merits and demerits of any proposed plan may -be thoroughly known and comparisons made between it and alternative -schemes, no matter how radical these alternatives may be. A body of law -that was determined to stand still might discourage thought with no -serious damage; but law which is determined to move needs the utmost -possible light so that it may be sure of moving forward. - -No one has expressed so well the new importance of social interests, -and the value of freedom of speech; no one, indeed, has expressed so -nobly the task and hopes of American Law, as the man of whom it is said -that among the long list of American judges, he seems “the only one -who has framed for himself a system of legal ideas and general truths -of life, and composed his opinions in harmony with the system already -framed.” (John H. Wigmore, “Justice Holmes and the Law of Torts,” 29 -Harv. L. Rev. 601.) Yet no one has been more cautious than Justice -Holmes in warning us not to expect too much from law. - -“The law, so far as it depends on learning, is indeed, as it has -been called, the government of the living by the dead. It cannot be -helped, it is as it should be, that the law is behind the times. As law -embodies beliefs that have triumphed in the battle of ideas and then -have translated themselves into action, while there is still doubt, -while opposite convictions still keep a battle front against each -other, the time for law has not come; the notion destined to prevail is -not yet entitled to the field.” (“Collected Legal Papers,” 138, 294.) - -It is the work of the present generation of American lawyers to be sure -that the right side wins in the many conflicts now waging. We cannot -be certain that the law will make itself rational, while we remain as -inactive as in the past, absorbed in our own routine, and occasionally -pausing to say, “All’s right with the world”; for, to quote Holmes -once more, “The mode in which the inevitable comes to pass is through -effort.” - - ZECHARIAH CHAFEE, JR. - - - - -EDUCATION - - -If Henry Adams had lived in the 13th century he would have found -the centre of a world of unity in the most powerful doctrine of the -church, the cult of the Virgin Mary. Living in the 19th century he -sums up his experience in a world of multiplicity as the attempt to -realize for himself the saving faith of that world in what is called -education. Adams was not the first to be struck with the similarity of -the faiths of the mediæval and the modern world. This comparison is -the subject of an article by Professor Barrett Wendell published in -the _North American Review_ for 1904 and entitled “The Great American -Superstition”: - - “Undefined and indefinite as it is, the word education is - just now a magic one; from the Atlantic to the Pacific, it - is the most potent with which you can conjure money out of - public chests or private pockets. Let social troubles declare - themselves anywhere, lynchings, strikes, trusts, immigration, - racial controversies, whatever you chance to hold most - threatening, and we are gravely assured on every side that - education is the only thing which can preserve our coming - generations from destruction. What is more, as a people we - listen credulously to these assurances. We are told, and we - believe and evince magnificent faith in our belief, that our - national salvation must depend on education.” - -Professor Wendell goes on trenchantly to compare this reigning modern -faith with that in the mediæval church. He calls attention to the -fact that whereas the dominant architectural monuments of the Old -World are great cathedrals and religious houses, implying the faith -that salvation could be assured by unstinted gifts to the church, -in our modern times the most stately and impressive structures are -our schools, colleges, and public libraries, many of them, like the -cathedrals, erected by sinners of wealth in the pursuit of individual -atonement and social salvation. “Ask any American what we shall do to -be saved, and if he speak his mind he will probably bid us educate our -fellow-men.” He might have extended his comparison to the personal -hierarchy of the two institutions, for at the time of his article -the President of Harvard spoke to the people of the United States -with the voice of Innocent III, surrounded by his advisers among -university presidents and superintendents gathered like Cardinal -Archbishops, in the conclave of the National Education Association, -of which the Committee of Ten was a sort of papal curia. Although -the educational papacy has fallen into schism, the cities are still -ruled by superintendents like bishops, the colleges by president and -deans, like abbots and priors, and the whole structure rests on a vast -population of teachers holding their precarious livings like the parish -priests at the will of their superiors, tempered by public opinion. -Indeed, Professor Wendell is struck by the probability that as European -society was encumbered by the itinerant friars, so America will have -“its mendicant orders of scholars--the male and female doctors of -philosophy.” But it is his main theme which concerns us here, that “the -present mood of our country concerning education is neither more nor -less than a mood of blind, mediæval superstition.” - -The difference between faith as religion and as superstition may be -hard to define, the terms having become somewhat interchangeable -through controversy, but in general we should doubtless use the -pragmatic test. A vital and saving faith which actually justifies -itself by results is religion; a faith which is without constructive -effect on character and society, and is merely fanciful, fantastic, -or degrading we call superstition. The old education which America -brought from England and inherited from the Renaissance was a -reasonable faith. It consisted of mathematics, classics, and theology, -and while it produced, except in rare instances, no mathematicians, -classical scholars, or theologians, it trained minds for the learned -professions of those days and it gave the possessors of it intellectual -distinction, and admitted them to the society of cultivated men -everywhere. Its authority was largely traditional, but it worked in -the world of that day much as the thirty-three Masonic degrees do in -the world of Masonry. It may properly be called a religion, and in its -rigid, prescribed, dogmatic creed it may be compared to the mediæval -theology. At any rate, it suffered the same fate and from the same -cause. Its system was too narrow for the expanding knowledge and the -multiplying phenomena of the advancing hour. It failed to take account -of too many things. The authority of tradition, by which it maintained -its position, was challenged and overthrown, and private judgment was -set in its place. - -Private judgment in education is represented by the elective system; -President Eliot was the Luther of this movement and Harvard College his -Wittenberg. Exactly as after the Reformation, however, the attitudes of -assertion and subservience in spiritual matters continued to manifest -themselves where the pope had been deposed, in Geneva and Dort and -Westminster, so in spite of the anarchy of the elective system the -educational function continues to impose itself in its traditional -robes of authority, and to be received with the reverence due to long -custom. And in this way education in America from being a saving faith -has become an illusion. The old education, its authority challenged, -its sway limited, and nobody caring whether its followers can quote -Latin or not, is in the position of the Church of Rome; the so-called -new education, uncertain in regard to material and method, direction -and destination, is like the anarchic Protestant sects. Neither -possesses authority; the old system has lost it, and the new ones have -never had it. They are alike in depending upon the blindness of the -masses which is superstition. - -Although the generalization remains true that the mood of America -toward education is a mood of superstition, there are certain forms -of education operative in America to-day which approve themselves by -performance and justify the reasonable faith in which they are held. -The argument in favour of the elective system, by force of which it -displaced the prescribed classical course, was that it was necessary to -give opportunity for specialization. This opportunity it has given, and -in certain directions the results produced by American institutions -are of high value. Our scientific education is the most advanced, and -in the professions which depend upon it, engineering and medicine, our -product doubtless “compares favourably” with that of Europe. These -facts cannot be cited, however, as a valid reason for the American -faith in education as a whole. It is recognized to-day that progress -in natural science has far outrun that in politics, social life, -culture--therein lies the tragedy of the world. A few men of science -have a knowledge of the means by which the human race can be destroyed -in a brief space--and no statesmen, philosophers, or apostles of -culture have the power to persuade the human race not to permit it to -be done. - -In another direction a great increase of specialization has taken -place--in the preparation for business. Our colleges of business -administration rival our scientific schools in the exactness of their -aim, and the precision of their effort. Here again, however, it may -be questioned whether their success is one to justify belief in the -educational process as a whole. The result of such specialization -upon the business organization of society can hardly be to arouse a -critical, and hence truly constructive, attitude in regard to the -whole economic problem; it is nearly certain to promote a disposition -to take advantage of the manifest shortcomings of that organization -for individual successful achievement. Whether society as a whole will -profit by the efforts of such experts as our business colleges are -turning out remains to be seen. Whether we are wise in strengthening -the predatory elements which put a strain on the social organization, -at a time when the whole structure is trembling, is open to question. -Here again the faith of America in education as social salvation is not -justified by individual results, however brilliant and fortunate. - -The value of the specialist to society is unquestionable, but he -alone will not save it. Such salvation must come from the diffusion -and validity of the educational process as a whole, from the men and -women of active intelligence, broad view, wide sympathy, and resolute -character who are fitted as a result of it to see life steadily and -see it whole, reason soundly to firm conclusions in regard to it, and -hold those decisions in the face of death. The specialist indeed may -be considered a necessary subtraction from the general social army, a -person set apart for special duty, whose energies are concentrated and -loyalties narrowed. We expect him to die, if need be, in maintaining -that the world moves, but not for freedom of thought in the abstract. -It is by the generally trained, all-round product of our education that -the system must be judged. And what do we find? - -The general student, it appears, tends to be the product of as narrow -a process as the specialist, but not as deep. As the demands of -specialization become more exacting, its requirements reach farther and -farther back into the field of general education, and more and more of -the area is restricted to its uses. The general student in consequence -becomes a specialist in what is left over. Moreover, he exercises his -right of private judgment and free election along the path of least -resistance. Laboratory science he abhors as belonging to a course of -specialization which he has renounced. The classics and mathematics, to -which a good share of our educational machinery is still by hereditary -right devoted, he scorns as having no _raison d’être_ except an outworn -tradition. With the decline of the classics has gone the preliminary -training for modern languages, which the general student usually -finds too exacting and burdensome, and from the obligation of which -colleges and secondary institutions also are now rapidly relieving -him. We boasted in the late war that we had no quarrel with the German -language, and yet by our behaviour we recognized that one of the fruits -of victory was the annihilation of at least one foreign speech within -our borders. The general student is thus confined, by right of private -judgment of course, to his own language and literature, and such -superficial studies in history and social science as he can accomplish -with that instrument alone. His view is therefore narrow and insular. -His penetration is slight. He is, in short, a specialist in the obvious. - -Not only does the general student tend to be as restricted in -subject-matter as the specialist, but he lacks the training in -investigation, reasoning, and concentration which the latter’s -responsibility for independent research imposes. The definition of -the aim of general education on which Professor Wendell rested his -case for the old curriculum in the article quoted above, is “such -training as shall enable a man to devote his faculties intently to -matters which of themselves do not interest him.” Now clearly if the -student persistently chooses only the subjects which interest him, -and follows them only as far as his interest extends, he escapes all -training in voluntary attention and concentration. In his natural -disposition to avoid mental work he finds ready accomplices in his -instructors and text-book writers. They realize that they are on trial, -and that interest alone is the basis of the verdict. Accordingly they -cheerfully assume the burden of preliminary digestion of material, -leaving to the student the assimilation of so much as his queasy -stomach can bear. One way in which the study of English literature or -history can be made a matter of training in criticism and reasoning -is to send the student to the sources, the original material, and -hold him responsible for his conclusions. He may gain a wrong or -inadequate view, but at any rate it is his own, and it affords him a -solid basis for enlargement or correction. Instead of this the student -is invited to a set of criticisms and summaries already made, and is -usually discouraged if by chance he attempts a verification on his own -account. The actual reading of Shakespeare, Bacon, Milton, Swift, Burke -will give the student at least a certain training in concentration; -but this is hard, slow, and dry work. It is much easier and more -comprehensive, instead of reading one play of Shakespeare, to read -_about_ all the plays, including the life of the author, his dramatic -art, and some speculations in regard to the Elizabethan stage. It -was William James who pointed out the difference between _knowledge -about_ and _acquaintance with_ an author. The extent to which we have -substituted for the direct vision, with its stimulating appeal to -individual reaction, the conventional summary and accepted criticism, -the official formula and the stereotyped view, is the chief reason for -the ready-made uniformity of our educated product. - -The pioneer democracy of America itself is responsible for a method of -instruction typically American. The superstitious faith in education -was the basis of a system whereby many busy, middle-aged persons whose -early advantages had been limited, by means of attractive summaries, -outlines, and handbooks, could acquaint themselves with the names of -men, books, and events which form the Binet-Simon test of culture, -and enable the initiate to hold up his head in circles where the best -that has been thought or said in the world is habitually referred to. -This method is carried out in hundreds of cultural camp-meetings every -summer, by thousands of popular lectures, in countless programmes of -study for women’s clubs. Unfortunately it is coming to be not only the -typical but the only method of general education in America. Chautauqua -has penetrated the college and the university. Better that our fathers -had died, their intellectual thirst unsatisfied, than that they had -left this legacy of mental soft drinks for their children. - -Thus far I have had the college chiefly in mind, but the same -observations apply equally to the secondary school. The elective system -has made its way thither, and indeed one of the chief difficulties of -organizing a college curriculum for the general student which shall -represent something in the way of finding things out, of reasoning from -facts to conclusions, and of training in voluntary attention, is that -of determining any common ground on the basis of previous attainment. -Not only the elective system but the Chautauqua method has largely -permeated our high schools. The teachers, often on annual appointment, -more than the college instructors, with comparative security of tenure, -are dependent on the favour of pupils, a favour to be maintained in -competition with dances, movies, and _The Saturday Evening Post_, by -interesting them. It is therefore a common thing for teachers to repeat -in diluted form the courses which they took in college--and which in -the original were at best no saturate solutions of the subject. The -other day, on visiting a class in Shakespeare at a Y.M.C.A. school, -I ventured to suggest to the teacher that the method used was rather -advanced. “Ah, but my daughter at high school,” he said, “is having -Professor Blank’s course in the mediæval drama.” Now such a course -intended for graduate students investigating sources, influences, -and variations among saints’ plays and mystery plays, could have no -educational value in material or method for a high-school pupil, but -it was, no doubt, as interesting as a Persian tale. - -Inasmuch as the colleges and the secondary schools are both uncertain -as regards the meaning and aim of general education, it is not -surprising to find the grade schools also at sea, their pupils the -victims both of meaningless tradition and reckless experiment. The -tradition of our grade schools, educational experts tell us, was -brought by Horace Mann from Prussia. There the _Volkschule_ was -designed for the children of the people, who should be trained with a -view to remaining in the station in which they had been born. At least, -it may be conceded, the German designers of the system had a purpose -in mind, and knew the means to attain it; but both purpose and means -are strangely at variance with American conditions and ideals. Other -experts have pointed out the extraordinary retarding of the educational -process after the first years, when the child learns by a natural -objective method some of the most difficult processes of physical -life, accomplishing extraordinary feats of understanding and control; -and some of the most hopeful experiments in primary education look -toward continuing this natural method for a longer time. At present the -principle of regimentation seems to be the most important one in the -grade school, and as the pace is necessarily that of the slowest, the -pupils in general have a large amount of slack rope which it is the -problem of principals and teachers to draw in and coil up. Altogether -the grade school represents a degree of waste and misdirection which -would in itself account for the tendencies toward mental caprice or -stagnation which are evident in the pupils who proceed from it. - -Thus the parallel which Professor Wendell established between our -educational system and the mediæval church would seem to have a certain -foundation. In the colleges, as in the monasteries, we have a group -of ascetic specialists, sustained in their labours by an apocalyptic -vision of a world which they can set on fire, and in which no flesh can -live; and a mass of idle, pleasure-loving youth of both sexes, except -where some Abbot Samson arises, with strong-arm methods momentarily -to reduce them to order and industry. In the high schools, as in the -cathedrals, we have great congregations inspired by the music, the -lights, the incense, assisting at a ceremony of which the meaning is -as little understood as the miracle of the mass. In the grade schools, -as in the parish churches, we have the humble workers, like Chaucer’s -poor parson of the town, trying with pathetic endeavour to meet the -needs and satisfy the desires of their flocks, under conditions of -an educational and political tyranny no less galling than was the -ecclesiastical. - -But, we may well enquire, whence does this system draw its power to -impose itself upon the masses?--for even superstition must have a sign -which the blind can read, and a source of appeal to human nature. -The answer bears out still further Professor Wendell’s parallel. -The mediæval church drew its authority from God, and to impose that -authority upon the masses it invented the method of propaganda. It -claimed to be able to release men from the burden which oppressed them -most heavily, their sins, and in conjunction with the secular power -it enforced its claims against all gainsayers, treating the obstinate -among them with a series of penalties, penance, excommunication, the -stake. Education finds its authority in the human reason, and likewise -imposes that authority by propaganda. It too claims the power of -salvation from the evils which oppress men most sorely to-day--the -social maladjustments, “lynchings, strikes, trusts, immigration, -racial controversies”--and it is in alliance with the secular power -to preserve its monopoly of social remedies from the competition of -anything like direct action. Now it is clear that in the religion -of Christ in its pure form the church had a basis for its claims to -possess a power against sin, and a means of salvation. Similarly -it may be maintained that human reason, allowed to act freely and -disinterestedly, would be sufficient to cope with the evils of our -time and bring about a social salvation. Indeed, it is curious to -remark how nearly the intellectual conclusions of reason have come to -coincide with the intuitive wisdom of Jesus. The church was faithless -to its mission by alliance with temporal power, by substituting its -own advancement for the will of God, by becoming an end in itself. -Education likewise is by way of being faithless to itself, by alliance -with secular power, political and financial, by the substitution of its -own institutional advancement for disinterested service of truth, by -becoming likewise an end in itself. - -In one of the most remarkable pronouncements of the present -commencement season, President Hopkins of Dartmouth College summarized -the influences which make against what he calls Verihood. They are -first, Insufficiency of mentality, or over-professionalization of -point of view; second, Inertia of mentality or closed mindedness; and -third, False emphasis of mentality or propaganda. The late war and -its evil aftermath have put in high relief the extent of this third -influence. President Hopkins speaks as one of the Cardinal Archbishops -of Education, and I quote his words with the authority which his -personality and position give them: - - “Now that the war is passed, the spirit of propaganda still - remains in the reluctance with which is returned to an - impatient people the ancient right of access to knowledge - of the truth, the right of free assembly, and the right of - freedom of speech. Meanwhile the hesitancy with which these - are returned breeds in large groups vague suspicion and - acrimonious distrust of that which is published as truth, and - which actually is true, so that on all sides we hear the query - whether we are being indulged with what is considered good for - us, or with that which constitutes the facts. Thus we impair - the validity of truth and open the door and give opportunity - for authority which is not justly theirs to be ascribed to - falsehood and deceit.” - -The war was a test which showed how feeble was the hold of American -education upon the principle which alone can give it validity. Nowhere -was the suppression of freedom of mind, of truth, so energetic, so -vindictive as in the schools. Instances crowd upon the mind. I remember -attending the trial of a teacher before a committee of the New York -School Board, the point being whether his reasons for not entering -with his class upon a discussion of the Soviet government concealed -a latent sympathy with that form of social organization. The pupils -were ranged in two groups, Jews and Gentiles, and were summoned in -turn to give their testimony--they had previously been educated in -the important functions of modern American society, espionage, and -mass action. Another occasion is commemorated by the New York _Evening -Post_, the teacher being on trial for disloyalty and the chief count in -his indictment that he desired an early peace; and his accuser, one Dr. -John Tildsley, an Archdeacon or superintendent of the diocese of New -York under Bishop Ettinger: - - “Are you interested in having this man discharged?” - - “I am,” said Dr. Tildsley. - - “Do you know of any act that would condemn him as a teacher?” - - “Yes,” said Dr. Tildsley, “he favoured an early peace.” - - “Don’t you want an early, victorious peace?” - - “Why ask me a question like that?” - - “Because I want to show you how unfair you have been to this - teacher.” - - “But Mr. Mufson wanted an early peace without victory,” said - Dr. Tildsley. - - “He didn’t say that, did he? He did not say an early peace - without victory?” - - “No.” - - “Then you don’t want an early peace, do you?” - - “No.” - - “You want a prolongation of all this world misery?” - - “To a certain extent, yes,” said Dr. Tildsley. - -Nor did the sabotage of truth stop with school boards and -superintendents. A colleague of mine writing a chapter of a text-book -in modern history made the statement that the British government -entered the war because of an understanding with France, the invasion -of Belgium being the pretext which appealed to popular enthusiasm--to -which a great publishing house responded that this statement would -arouse much indignation among the American people, and must therefore -be suppressed. - -We need not be surprised that since the war education has not shown -a disinterested and impartial attitude toward the phenomena of human -affairs, a reliance on the method of trial and error, of experiment -and testimony, which it has evolved. Teachers who are openly, or even -latently, in sympathy with a form of social organization other than -the régime of private control of capital are banned from schools and -colleges with candle, with book, and with bell. Text-books which do not -agree with the convenient view of international relations are barred. -Superintendents like Ettinger and Tildsley in New York are the devoted -apologists for the system to which they owe their greatness. To its -position among the vested interests of the world, to the prosperity of -its higher clergy, education has sacrificed its loyalty to that which -alone can give it authority. - -The prevention of freedom of thought and enquiry is of course necessary -so long as the purpose of education is to produce belief rather than -to stimulate thought. The belief which it is the function of education -to propagate is that in the existing order. Hence we find the vast -effort known as “Americanization,” which is for the most part a -perfect example of American education at the present day. The spirit -of “Americanization” is to consider the individual not with reference -to his inward growth of mind and spirit, but solely with a view to his -worldly success, and his relation to the existing order of society, -to which it is considered that the individual will find his highest -happiness and usefulness in contributing. This programme naturally -enough finds a sponsor in the American Legion, but it is truly -disconcerting to find the National Education Association entering into -alliance with this super-legal body, appointing a standing committee -to act in co-operation with the Legion throughout the year, accepting -the offer of the Legion to give lectures in the schools, and endorsing -the principle of the Lusk Law in New York, which imposes the test of an -oath of allegiance to the Government as a requirement for a teacher’s -certificate. - -We have now the chief reason why education remains the dominant -superstition of our time; but one may still wonder how an institution -which is apparently so uncertain of its purpose and methods can -continue to exercise such influence on the minds and hearts of men. -The answer is, of course, that education is not in the least doubtful -of its purpose and methods. Though the humble and obscure teacher, -like the Lollard parson, may puzzle his brains about the why and how -and purpose of his being here, his superiors, the bishops, the papal -curia, know the reason. Education is the propaganda department of the -State, and the existing social system. Its resolute insistence upon -the essential rightness of things as they are, coupled with its modest -promise to reform them if necessary, is the basis of the touching -confidence with which it is received. It further imposes itself upon -the credulity of the people by the magnificence of its establishment. -The academic splendour of the commencement season when the hierarchs -bestow their favours, and honour each other and their patrons by higher -degrees, is of enormous value in impressing the public. Especially -to the uneducated does this majesty appeal. That an institution -which holds so fair an outlook on society, which is on such easy and -sympathetic terms with all that is important in the nation, which -commands the avenues by which men go forward in the world, should be -able to guarantee success in life to its worshippers is nothing at -which to be surprised. Hence we find the poor of different grades -making every sacrifice to send sons and daughters through high school, -through college, in the same pathetic faith with which they once burned -candles to win respite for the souls of their dead. - -There are reasons, however, for thinking that the superstition is -passing. In the first place, nowhere do we find more scepticism in -regard to the pretensions of education than among those who have been -educated, and this number is rapidly increasing. In the second place, -the alliance between education and a social system depending on private -capital is too obvious, and the abrogation of the true functions of the -former is too complete. The so-called Americanization campaign is so -crude an attempt to put something over that even the unsophisticated -foreigner whom it is intended to impress watches the pictures or reads -the pamphlets which set forth the happy estate of the American workman, -with his tongue in his cheek. The social groups which feel aggrieved -under the present order are marking their defection by seceding from -the educational system and setting up labour universities of their own. -So serious is this secession that New York has passed the Lusk Law, -designed to bring the independent movement under State control. In the -third place, the claim of education to be an open sesame to success in -life is contradicted by the position of its most constant votaries, the -teachers. The prestige which used to attach to the priests of learning -and which placed them above the lure of riches has vanished; their -economic station has declined until even college professors have fallen -into the servantless class, which means the proletariat. Truly for such -as they to declare that education means success in life is a dismal -paradox. - -Another sign of approaching reformation in the educational system is -to be found in the frankly corrupt practices which infest it. Here the -parallel to the mediæval church is not exact, for in the latter it was -the monasteries and religious houses that were the chief sources of -offence, while the colleges and private institutions of higher learning -which correspond to them are singularly free from anything worse -than wasteful internal politics. It is the public educational system -which by reason of its contact with political government partakes -most palpably of the corruption that attends the democratic State. -It is unnecessary to mention the forms which this corruption takes -where a school board of trustees by political appointment is given -the exploitation of the schools--the favouritism in appointments and -promotions, the graft in text-books and equipment, the speculation in -real estate and building contracts, the alienation of school property. -There is scarcely a large city in the country in which pupils and -teachers alike are not shamefully and scandalously defrauded by action -of school trustees which can be characterized in the mildest terms as -wilful mismanagement conducing to private profit. - -There are two things necessary to the reform of education. One is -democratic control, that is, management of institutions of teaching by -the teachers. It is to be noted that this is the demand everywhere of -labour which respects itself--control of the means of production and -responsibility for the result. Surely the teachers should be one of the -first groups of toilers to be so trusted. Under democratic control the -spoliation of the schools by politicians, the sacrifice of education -to propaganda, the tyranny of the hierarchy can be successfully -resisted. Once the teachers are released from servile bondage to the -public through the political masters who control appointments and -promotions, they will deal with their problems with more authority, -and be independent of the suffrage of the pupils. Through joint -responsibility of the workers for the product they will arrive at that -_esprit de corps_ which consists in thinking in terms of the enterprise -rather than of the job, and from which we may expect a true method of -education. Already the movement toward democratic control of teaching -is taking form in school systems and colleges. There are a hundred and -fifty unions of teachers affiliated with the American Federation of -Labour. But the true analogy is not between teachers and labour, but -between education and other professions. To quote Dr. H. M. Kallen: - - “To the discoverers and creators of Knowledge, and to its - transmitters and distributors, to these and to no one else - beside belongs the control of education. It is as absurd - that any but teachers and investigators should govern the - art of education as that any but medical practitioners and - investigators should govern the art of medicine.” - -The other thing needful to restore education to health and usefulness -is that it should surrender its hold upon the superstitious adoration -of the public, by giving up its pretensions to individual or social -salvation, by ceasing its flattery of nationalistic and capitalistic -ambitions, and by laying aside its pomps and ceremonies which conduce -mainly to sycophancy and cant. Education has shown in special lines -that it can be thoroughly scientific, disinterested, devoted. It is -its task to translate these virtues of the specialist into the general -field. It is not the business of education to humbug the people in -the interest of what any person may think to be for their or for his -advantage. It is its business to deal frankly and honestly with them, -accepting in the most literal sense the responsibility and the promise -contained in the text: “Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall -make you free.” - - ROBERT MORSS LOVETT - - - - -SCHOLARSHIP AND CRITICISM - - -It is natural for the musician to think any land barbarous if it -has produced no great composers, the painter if it has produced no -great painters, the critic or the scholar if it has produced no great -scholars and critics, and so on for all the other arts and sciences. -But it is idle to insist that every race should express itself in the -same way, or to assume that the genius of a nation can be tested by -its deficiencies in any single field of the higher life. Great critics -are rare in every age and country; and even if they were not, what -consolation is there for the clash and diversity of races and nations -except the special and diverse gifts which each may furnish to the -spiritual whole? England has achieved greatness without great music, -Germany without great sculpture, ancient Rome without great science or -philosophy, Judæa with little but poetry and religion; and it is not -necessary to lay too much stress on our own lack of great scholars and -great critics--yes, even on our lack of great poets and great painters. -They may come to-day or to-morrow, or we may be destined never to have -them. The idea that great national energy must inevitably flower in a -great literature, and that our wide-flung power must certainly find -expression in an immortal poem or in the “great American novel,” is -merely another example of our mechanical optimism. The vision of great -empires that have been both strong and silent, Assyria, Babylonia, -Egypt, haunts all history; Virgil or Camoens only fitfully expresses -the power that is summed up in Cæsar or Magellan. - -But without insisting on impossible aims or illusory standards of -greatness, it is fair to ask some flow of spiritual activity, some -general spirit of diffused culture,--in a word, the presence of a soul. -For though we must eat (and common sense will cook better dinners than -philosophy), though we must work (and the captain of industry can -organize trade better than the poet), though we must play (and the -athlete can win more games than the scholar), the civilization that -has no higher outlets for its intellect and imagination will show at -least some marks of spiritual starvation. You may see the signs of its -restless gnawing on the face of almost any American woman beyond the -first flush of youth; you may see some shadow of its hopeless craving -on the face of almost any mature American man. - -The same signs are to be seen in American scholarship and American -criticism. If scholarship were what most people think it, the dull -learning of pedants, and criticism merely the carping and bickering -of fault-finders, the fact would hardly be worth recording. But since -they are instruments which the mind of man uses for some of its keenest -questionings, their absence or their weakness must indicate something -at least in the national life and character which it is not unimportant -to understand. - - -I - -The tradition of scholarship, like so many other things, comes to us -from what used to be called the Renaissance, the period (it may not -be ironical to be reminded) in which the Americas were discovered -and explored; and whatever savour of distinction inheres in the idea -of “the gentleman and the scholar” was created then. Scholarship at -first meant merely a knowledge of the classics, and though it has -since widened its scope, even then the diversity of its problems was -apparent, for the classical writers had tilled many fields of human -knowledge, and the student of Homer and Virgil was really faced with a -different problem from the student of Plato or Thucydides. Scholarship -has never been a reality, a field that could be bounded and defined -in the sense in which poetry, philosophy, and history can be. It is -a point of view, an attitude, a method of approach, and, so far as -its meaning and purpose can be captured, it may be said to be the -discipline and illumination that come from the intellectual mastery of -a definite problem involved in the growth of the human spirit. - -Scholarship, conceived in this sense, has no history (though dull and -learned hodge-podges have served as such), for it is a spirit diffused -over various fields of study; and in America this spirit has scarcely -even come into existence. American Universities seem to have been -created for the special purpose of ignoring or destroying it. The -chief monuments of American scholarship have seldom if ever come from -men who have been willing to live their whole lives in an academic -atmosphere. The men whom we think of as our foremost literary scholars, -Gildersleeve, Norton, and the rest, acquired their fame rather through -their personalities than their scholarly achievements. The historians, -Motley, Prescott, Bancroft, Parkman, Rhodes, Lea, Fiske, Mahan, were -not professors; books like Taylor’s “Mediæval Mind,” Henry Adams’s -“Mont Saint Michel and Chartres,” Thayer’s “Cavour,” Villard’s “John -Brown,” and Beveridge’s “John Marshall,” even Ticknor’s “History of -Spanish Literature,” were not written within University walls, though -Ticknor’s sixteen years of teaching tamed the work of a brilliant -man of the world until there is little left save the characteristic -juiceless virtue of an intelligent ordering of laborious research. It -would seem as if in the atmosphere of our Universities personality -could not find fruitage in scholarly achievement worthy of it, and -learning can only thrive when it gives no hostages to the enemy, -personality. - -Of the typical products of this academic system, the lowest is -perhaps the literary dissertation and the highest the historical -manual or text-book. It may be because history is not my own special -field of study that I seem to find its practitioners more vigorous -intellectually than the literary scholars. Certainly our historians -seem to have a special aptitude for compiling careful summaries of -historical periods, and some of these have an ordered reasonableness -and impersonal efficiency not unlike that of the financial accounting -system of our large trusts or the budgets of our large universities. -To me most of them seem feats of historical engineering rather than of -historical scholarship; and if they represent a scholarly “advance” on -older and less accurate work, written before Clio became a peon of the -professors, it can only be said that history has not yet recovered from -the advance. Nor am I as much impressed as the historians themselves -by the more recent clash between the “old” school and the “new,” for -both seem to me equally lacking in a truly philosophic conception -of the meaning of history. Yet there is among the younger breed a -certain freshness of mind and an openness to new ideas, though less to -the problems of human personality or to the emotional and spiritual -values of man’s life. This deficiency is especially irritating in the -field of biography. Not even an American opera (_corruptio optimi_) -is as wooden as the biographies of our statesmen and national heroes; -and if American lives written by Englishmen have been received with -enthusiasm, it was less because of any inherent excellence than because -they at least conceived of Hamilton or Lincoln as a man and not as an -historical document or a political platitude. - -But literary scholarship is in far worse plight in our Universities. -No great work of classical learning has ever been achieved by an -American scholar. It may be unfair to suggest comparison with men like -Gilbert Murray, Croiset, or Wilamowitz; but how can we be persuaded -by the professors or even by a dean that all culture will die if we -forget Greek and Latin, until they satisfy us by their own work that -they themselves are alive? Asia beckons to us with the hand of Fate, -but Oriental scholarship is a desert through which a few nomadic -professors wander aimlessly. As to the literatures in the modern -European tongues, Dante scholarship has perhaps the oldest and most -respectable tradition, but on examination dwindles into its proper -proportions: an essay by Lowell and translations by Longfellow and -Norton pointed the way; a Dante Society has nursed it; and its modern -fruits, with one or two honourable exceptions, are a few unilluminating -articles and text-books. Ticknor’s pioneer work in the Spanish field -has had no successors, though Spanish America is at our doors; the -generous subsidies of rich men have resulted as usual in buildings -but not in scholarship. Of the general level of our French and German -studies I prefer to say nothing; and silence is also wisest in the -case of English. This field fairly teems with professors; Harvard has -twice as many as Oxford and Cambridge combined, and the University of -Chicago almost as many as the whole of England. Whether this plethora -of professors has justified itself, either by distinguished works of -scholarship or by helping young America to love literature and to write -good English, I shall not decide, but leave entirely to their own -conscience. This at least may be said, that the mole is not allowed -to burrow in his hole without disturbance; for in this atmosphere, as -a protest and counterfoil, or as a token of submission to the idols -of the market-place, there has arisen a very characteristic academic -product,--the professor who writes popular articles, sometimes clever, -sometimes precious, sometimes genteel and refined, sometimes merely -commonplace, but almost always devoid of real knowledge or stimulating -thought. Even the sober pedant is a more humane creature than the -professorial smart-Aleck. - -Whence arises this inhibition of mediocrity, this fear of personality -and intellect, this deep antinomy of pedant and dilettante? The -“fear-of-giving-themselves-away disease” which affected the professors -of the Colleges of Unreason in “Erewhon” is mildly endemic in every -University in the world, and to a certain degree in every profession; -but nowhere else does it give the tone to the intellectual life of -a whole people. If I were a sociologist, confident that the proper -search would unearth an external cause for every spiritual defect, I -might point to any one of a dozen or more damning facts as the origin -and source of all our trouble,--to the materialism of a national -life directed solely toward practical ends, to the levelling and -standardizing influences of democracy, to Anglo-Saxon “Colonialism,” -to the influence of German erudition, or to the inadequate economic -rewards of the academic life. I should probably make much of that -favourite theme of critical fantasy, the habits derived from the “age -of the pioneers,” a period in which life, with its mere physical -discomforts and its mere demands on physical energy and endurance, was -really so easy and simple that Americans attempt to reproduce it on all -their holidays. - -But in so far as they have any reality, all these are merely symptoms -of the same disease of the soul. The modern sanatorium may be likened -to the mediæval monastery without its spiritual faith; the American -University to a University without its inner illumination. It is an -intellectual refuge without the integration of a central soul,--crassly -material because it has no inner standards to redeem it from the idols -of the market-place, or timid and anæmic because it lacks that quixotic -fire which inheres in every act of faith. It is at one and the same -time our greatest practical achievement and our greatest spiritual -failure. To call it a compound of sanatorium and machine-shop may seem -grossly unfair to an institution which has more than its share of -earnest and high-minded men; but though the phrase may not describe the -reality, it does indicate the danger. When we find that in such a place -education does not educate, we cry for help to the only gods we know, -the restless gods of Administration and Organization; but scholarship -cannot be organized or administered into existence, even by Americans. - -What can we say (though it seem to evade the question) save that -America has no scholarship because as yet it has a body but no soul? -The scholar goes through all the proper motions,--collects facts, -organizes research, delivers lectures, writes articles and sometimes -books,--but under this outer seeming there is no inner reality. Under -all the great works of culture there broods the quivering soul of -tradition, a burden sometimes disturbing and heavy to bear, but more -often helping the soul to soar on wings not of its own making. We think -hungrily that the freshness of outlook of a young people should be more -than compensation; but the freshness is not there. Bad habits long -persisted in, or new vices painfully acquired, may pass for traditions -among some spokesmen of “Americanism,” but will not breathe the breath -of life into a national culture. All is shell, mask, and a deep inner -emptiness. We have scholars without scholarship, as there are churches -without religion. - -Until there comes a change of heart or a new faith or a deep inner -searching, scholarship must continue to live this thwarted and -frustrated life. Only a profound realization of its high purpose and -special function, and the pride that comes from this realization, -can give the scholar his true place in an American world. For this -special function is none other than to act as the devoted servant -of thought and imagination and to champion their claims as the twin -pillars that support all the spiritual activities of human life,--art, -philosophy, religion, science; and these it must champion against all -the materialists under whatever name they disguise their purpose. -What matter whether they be scientists who decry “dialectics,” or -sociologists who sneer at “mere belles-lettres,” or practical men who -have no use for the “higher life”? Whether they be called bourgeois -or radical, conservative or intellectual,--all who would reduce life -to a problem of practical activity and physical satisfaction, all who -would reduce intellect and imagination to mere instruments of practical -usefulness, all who worship dead idols instead of living gods, all who -grasp at every flitting will-o’-the-wisp of theory or sensation,--all -these alike scholarship must forever recognize as its enemies, and its -chief tempters. - - -II - -Scholarship, so conceived, is the basis of criticism. When a few years -ago I published a volume which bore the subtitle of “Essays on the -Unity of Genius and Taste,” the pedants and the professors were in the -ascendant, and it seemed necessary to emphasize the side of criticism -which was then in danger, the side that is closest to the art of -the creator. But the professors have been temporarily routed by the -dilettanti, the amateurs, and the journalists, who treat a work of the -imagination as if they were describing fireworks or a bull-fight (to -use a phrase of Zola’s about Gautier); and so it is necessary now to -insist on the discipline and illumination of scholarship,--in other -Words, to write an “Essay on the Divergence of Criticism and Creation.” - -American criticism, like that of England, but to an even greater -extent, suffers from a want of philosophic insight and precision. It -has neither inherited nor created a tradition of æsthetic thought. -For it every critical problem is a separate problem, a problem in -a philosophic vacuum, and so open for discussion to any astute -mind with a taste for letters. Realism, classicism, romanticism, -imagism, impressionism, expressionism, and other terms or movements -as they spring up, seem ultimate realities instead of matters of -very subordinate concern to any philosophy of art,--mere practical -programmes which bear somewhat the same relation to æsthetic truth that -the platform of the Republican Party bears to Aristotle’s “Politics” -or Marx’s “Capital.” As a result, critics are constantly carrying -on a guerilla warfare of their own in favour of some vague literary -shibboleth or sociological abstraction, and discovering anew the -virtues or vices of individuality, modernity, Puritanism, the romantic -spirit or the spirit of the Middle West, the traditions of the pioneer, -and so on ad infinitum. This holds true of every school of American -criticism, “conservative” or “radical”; for all of them a disconnected -body of literary theories takes the place of a real philosophy of art. -“Find an idea and then write about it” sums up the American conception -of criticism. Now, while the critic must approach a work of literature -without preconceived notion of what that individual work should -attempt, he cannot criticize it without some understanding of what -all literature attempts. The critic without an æsthetic is a mariner -without chart, compass, or knowledge of navigation; for the question is -not where the ship should go or what cargo it should carry, but whether -it is going to arrive at any port at all without sinking. - -Criticism is essentially an expression of taste, or that faculty of -imaginative sympathy by which the reader or spectator is able to -re-live the vision created by the artist. This is the soil without -which it cannot flourish; but it attains its end and becomes criticism -in the highest sense only when taste is guided by knowledge and -thought. Of these three elements, implicit in all real criticism, the -professors have made light of taste, and have made thought itself -subservient to knowledge, while the dilettanti have considered it -possible to dispense with both knowledge and thought. But even -dilettante criticism is preferable to the dogmatic and intellectualist -criticism of the professors, on the same grounds that Sainte-Beuve -is superior to Brunetière, or Hazlitt to Francis Jeffrey; for the -dilettante at least meets the mind of the artist on the plane of -imagination and taste, while the intellectualist or moralist is -precluded by his temperament and his theories from ever understanding -the primal thrill and purpose of the creative act. - -Back of any philosophy of art there must be a philosophy of life, and -all æsthetic formulæ seem empty unless there is richness of content -behind them. The critic, like the poet or the philosopher, has the -whole world to range in, and the farther he ranges in it, the better -his work will be. Yet this does not mean that criticism should focus -its attention on morals, history, life, instead of on the forms into -which the artist transforms them. Art has something else to give us; -and to seek morals, or economic theories, or the national spirit in -it is to seek morals, economic theories, the national spirit, but not -art. Indeed, the United States is the only civilized country where -morals are still in controversy so far as creative literature is -concerned; France, Germany, and Italy liberated themselves from this -faded obsession long ago; even in England critics of authority hesitate -to judge a work of art by moral standards. Yet this is precisely what -divides the two chief schools of American criticism, the moralists and -the anti-moralists, though even among the latter masquerade some whose -only quarrel with the moralists is the nature of the moral standards -employed. - -Disregarding the Coleridgean tradition, which seems to have come to -an end with Mr. Woodberry, and the influence of the “new psychology,” -which has not yet taken a definite form, the main forces that have -influenced the present clashes in the American attitude toward -literature seem to be three. There is first of all the conception of -literature as a moral influence, a conception which goes back to the -Græco-Roman rhetoricians and moralists, and after pervading English -thought from Sidney to Matthew Arnold, finds its last stronghold to-day -among the American descendants of the Puritans. There is, secondly, -the Shavian conception of literature as the most effective vehicle for -a new _Weltanschauung_, to be judged by the novelty and freshness of -its ideas, a conception particularly attractive to the school of young -reformers, radicals, and intellectuals whose interest in the creative -imagination is secondary, and whose training in æsthetic thought has -been negligible; this is merely an obverse of the Puritan moralism, and -is tainted by the same fundamental misconception of the meaning of the -creative imagination. And there is finally the conception of literature -as an external thing, a complex of rhythms, charm, beauty without -inner content, or mere theatrical effectiveness, which goes back -through the English ’nineties to the French ’seventies, when the idea -of the independence of art from moral and intellectual standards was -distorted into the merely mechanical theory of “art for art’s sake”; -the French have a special talent for narrowing æsthetic truths into -hard-and-fast formulæ, devoid of their original nucleus of philosophic -reality, but all the more effective on this account for universal -conquest as practical programmes. - -The apparent paradox which none of these critics face is that the -_Weltanschauung_ of the creative artist, his moral convictions, his -views on intellectual, economic, and other subjects, furnish the -content of his work and are at the same time the chief obstacles to his -artistic achievement. Out of morals or philosophy he has to make, not -morals or philosophy, but poetry; for morals and philosophy are only -a part, and a small part, of the whole reality which his imagination -has to encompass. The man who is overwhelmed with moral theories and -convictions would naturally find it easiest to become a moralist, -and moralists are prosaic, not poetic. A man who has strong economic -convictions would find it easiest to become an economist or economic -reformer, and economics too is the prose of life, not the poetry. A -man with a strong philosophic bias would find it easiest to become a -pure thinker, and the poet’s visionary world topples when laid open -to the cold scrutiny of logic. A poet is a human being, and therefore -likely to have convictions, prejudices, preconceptions, like other men; -but the deeper his interest in them is, the easier it is for him to -become a moralist, economist, philosopher, or what not, and the harder -for him to transcend them and to become a poet. But if the genius of -the poet (and by poet I mean any writer of imaginative literature) is -strong enough, it will transcend them, pass over them by the power of -the imagination, which leaves them behind without knowing it. It has -been well said that morals are one reality, a poem is another reality, -and the illusion consists in thinking them one and the same. The poet’s -conscience as a man may be satisfied by the illusion, but woe to him -if it is not an illusion, for that is what we tell him when we say, -“He is a moralist, not a poet.” Such a man has really expressed his -moral convictions, instead of leaping over and beyond them into that -world of the imagination where moral ideas must be interpreted from -the standpoint of poetry, or the artistic needs of the characters -portrayed, and not by the logical or reality value of morals. - -This “leaping over” is the test of all art; it is inherent in the very -nature of the creative imagination. It explains, for example, how -Milton the moralist started out to make Satan a demon and how Milton -the poet ended by making him a hero. It explains the blindness of the -American critic who recently objected to the “loose thinking” of a -poem of Carl Sandburg in which steel is conceived of as made of smoke -and blood, and who propounded this question to the Walrus and the -Carpenter: “How can smoke, the lighter refuse of steel, be one of its -constituents, and how can the smoke which drifts away from the chimney -and the blood which flows in the steelmaker’s veins be correlates in -their relation to steel?” Where shall we match this precious gem? Over -two centuries ago, Othello’s cry after the death of Desdemona, - - “O heavy hour, - Methinks it should now be a huge eclipse - Of sun and moon!” - -provoked another intellectualist critic to enquire whether “the sun -and moon can both together be so hugely eclipsed in any one heavy hour -whatsoever;” but Rymer has been called “the worst critic that ever -lived” for applying tests like these to the poetry of Shakespeare. -Over a century ago a certain Abbé Morellet, unmoved by the music of -Chateaubriand’s description of the moon,-- - - “She pours forth in the woods this great secret of melancholy - which she loves to recount to the old oaks and the ancient - shores of the sea,”-- - -asked his readers: “How can the melancholy of night be called a secret; -and if the moon recounts it, how is it still a secret; and how does she -manage to recount it to the old oaks and the ancient shores of the sea -rather than to the deep valleys, the mountains, and the rivers?” - -These are simply exaggerations of the inevitable consequence of -carrying over the mood of actual life into the world of the -imagination. “Sense, sense, nothing but sense!” cried a great Austrian -poet, “as if poetry in contrast with prose were not always a kind of -divine nonsense. Every poetic image bears within itself its own certain -demonstration that logic is not the arbitress of art.” And Alfieri -spoke for every poet in the world when he said of himself, “Reasoning -and judging are for me only pure and generous forms of feeling.” The -trained economist, philosopher, or moralist, examining the ideas of a -poet, is always likely to say: “These are not clearly thought out or -logical ideas; they are just a poet’s fancy or inspiration;” and that -is the final praise of the poet. If the expert finds a closely reasoned -treatise we may be sure that we shall find no poetry. It is a vision of -reality, and not reality, imagination and not thought or morals, that -the artist gives us; and his spiritual world, with all that it means -for the soaring life of man, fades and disappears when we bring to it -no other test than the test of reality. - -These are some of the elementary reasons why those who demand of the -poet a definite code of morals or manners--“American ideals,” or -“Puritanism,” or on the other side, “radical ideas”--seem to me to -show their incompetence as critics. How can we expect illumination -from those who share the “typical American business man’s” inherent -inability to live in the world of fantasy which the poets have created, -without the business man’s ability to face the external facts of life -and mould them to his will? These men are schoolmasters, pedants, -moralists, policemen, but neither critics nor true lovers of the -spiritual food that art provides. To the creative writers of America -I should give a wholly different message from theirs. I should say to -them: “Express what is in you, all that serene or turbulent vision of -multitudinous life which is yours by right of imagination, trusting -in your own power to achieve discipline and mastery, and leave -the discussion of ‘American ideals’ to statesmen, historians, and -philosophers, with the certainty that if you truly express the vision -that is in you, the statesmen, historians, and philosophers of the -future will point to your work as a fine expression of the ‘American -ideals’ you have helped to create.” - -But it is no part of the critic’s duty to lay down laws for the -guidance of the creator, though he may have insight enough to foresee -some of the directions which literature is likely to take. He may even -point out new material for the imagination of poets to feed on,--the -beautiful folklore of our native Indians, the unplumbed depths of the -Negro’s soul, the poetry and wisdom of Asia (which it may be our chief -destiny to interpret for the nations of Europe), the myth and story -of the hundred races that are to make up the new America, and all the -undiscovered coigns and crannies of our national life. I shall not say -that these services are extraneous and unimportant, like furnishing -the fountain-pen with which a great poem is written; but incursions -into the geography of the imagination are incidental to the critic’s -main duty of interpreting literature and making its meaning and purpose -clear to all who wish to love and understand it. - -The first need of American criticism to-day is education in æsthetic -thinking. It needs above all the cleansing and stimulating power of -an intellectual bath. Only the drenching discipline that comes from -intellectual mastery of the problems of æsthetic thought can train us -for the duty of interpreting the American literature of the future. The -anarchy of impressionism is a natural reaction against the mechanical -theories and jejune text-books of the professors, but it is a temporary -haven and not a home. The haphazard empiricism of English criticism and -the faded moralism of our own will serve us no more. We must desert -these muddy waters, and seek purer and deeper streams. In a country -where philosophers urge men to cease thinking, it may be the task of -the critic to revivify and reorganize thought. Only in this way can we -gain what America lacks, the brain-illumined soul. - -The second need of American criticism can be summed up in the word -scholarship--that discipline of knowledge which will give us at one -and the same time a wider international outlook and a deeper national -insight. One will spring from the other, for the timid Colonial -spirit finds no place in the heart of the citizen of the world; and -respect for native talent, born of a surer knowledge, will prevent -us alike from overrating its merits and from holding it too cheap. -Half-knowledge is either too timid or too cocksure; and only out of -this spiritual discipline can come a true independence of judgment and -taste. - -For taste is after all both the point of departure and the goal; -and the third and greatest need of American criticism is a deeper -sensibility, a more complete submission to the imaginative will of the -artist, before attempting to rise above it into the realm of judgment. -If there is anything that American life can be said to give least of -all, it is training in taste. There is a deadness of artistic feeling, -which is sometimes replaced or disguised by a fervour of sociological -obsession, but this is no substitute for the faculty of imaginative -sympathy which is at the heart of all criticism. When the social -historian is born, the critic dies; for taste, or æsthetic enjoyment, -is the only gateway to the critic’s judgment, and over it is a flaming -signpost, “Critic, abandon all hope when this gate is shut.” - - “To ravish Beauty with dividing powers - Is to let exquisite essences escape.” - -Only out of the fusion of these three elements of taste, intellect, and -knowledge can American criticism gain what in one of its manifestations -is called “personality” and in another “style.” Only in this way can -it win in the battle against the benumbing chaos and the benumbing -monotony of American art and life. - -We are all cocksure but bewildered children in a world we cannot -understand. We are all parvenus--parvenus on a new continent, on the -fringes of which some have lived a little longer than others, but the -whole of which has been encompassed by none of us for more than two or -three generations; parvenus in a new world of steam and electricity, -wireless and aeroplane, machinery and industry, which none of us has -yet been able to subdue to a mould that satisfies our deepest cravings; -parvenus in our culture, which still seems like a borrowed garment -instead of flesh of our flesh and bone of our bone. What is the good of -all the instruments that our hands have moulded if we have neither the -will nor the imagination to wield them for the uses of the soul? Not -in this fashion shall we justify our old dream of an America that is -the hope of the world. Here are hundreds of colleges and universities; -why not fill these empty barracks with scholars and thinkers? Here are -a hundred races; why not say to them: “America can give you generous -opportunity and the most superb instruments that the undisciplined -energy of practical life has ever created, but in the spiritual fields -of art, poetry, religion, culture, it has little or nothing to give -you; let us all work together, learning and creating these high things -side by side”? Here are more hearts empty and unfulfilled and more -restless minds than the world has ever before gathered together; why -not lead them out of their corrals, and find a fitting pasture for -their brains and souls? - - J. E. SPINGARN - - -_GLOSSARY_ - -The English language, extraordinarily rich and expressive in everything -that concerns the practical or the imaginative life, suffers from the -poverty and lack of precision of English æsthetic thought. It may -therefore be useful to indicate briefly the special sense in which -certain terms are used in this essay. - - “_Spectator_: I should say that you have advanced a subtlety - that is little more than a play on words. - - “_Friend_: And I maintain that when we are speaking of the - operations of the soul, no words can be delicate and subtle - enough.”--GOETHE. - - - _Art_--Any creation of the imagination, whether in the form of - imaginative literature or of painting, sculpture, music, - etc. - - _Artist_--The creator of a work of art in any of its forms; - not used in this essay in the narrower sense of painter or - sculptor. - - _Taste_--The faculty of imaginative sympathy by which the - reader or spectator is able to re-live the vision of the - artist, and therefore the essential pre-requisite to all - criticism. - - _Criticism_--Any expression of taste guided by knowledge - and thought. (The critic’s training in knowledge is - scholarship, and his special field of thought æsthetics.) - - _Æsthetics_--An ordered and reasoned conception of the meaning - and purpose of art, intended for the guidance of the critic - and not of the artist. - - _A Literary Theory_--An isolated “idea” or theory in regard to - imaginative literature, without reference to any ordered - and reasoned conception of its meaning and purpose. - - _Impressionist Criticism_--Any expression of taste without - adequate guidance of knowledge or thought. - - _Intellectualist (or dogmatic) criticism_--Criticism based on - the conception that art is a product of thought rather than - of imagination, and that the creative fantasy of the artist - can be limited and judged by the critic’s pre-conceived - theories; or in the more ornate words of Francis Thompson, - criticism that is “for ever shearing the wild tresses of - poetry between rusty rules.” - - _The Intellectuals_--All who lay undue stress on the place of - intellect in life, and assume that the turbulent flux of - reality can be tied up in neat parcels of intellectual - formulæ. - - _Poetry_--All literature in which reality has been transfigured - by the imagination, including poetry in its narrower sense, - the novel, the drama, etc.; used instead of “imaginative - literature,” not merely for the sake of brevity, but as - implying a special emphasis on creative power. - - _Poet_--A writer of imaginative literature in any of its forms; - not used in this essay in the narrower sense of a writer of - verse. - - _Learning_--The accumulation of certain forms of knowledge - as a basis for scholarship, but no more the main purpose - of scholarship than his preparatory training is the sole - object of the athlete or soldier. - - _Scholarship_--The discipline and illumination that come from - the intellectual mastery of a definite problem in the - spiritual (as opposed to the practical) life of man. - - _Pedant_--Any one who thinks that learning is the whole of - scholarship. - - J. E. S. - - - - -SCHOOL AND COLLEGE LIFE - - -Should we ever entertain an intelligent explorer from Mars, we should -of course importune him, in season and out, for his impressions of -America. And if he were candid as well as intelligent, he might -ultimately be interviewed somewhat as follows: - -“At first I thought the most striking fact about you was your -passion for education. While I have been enjoying your so thorough -hospitality I have met a minority of Americans who express themselves -less complacently than the rest about your material blessings; I have -talked with a few dissidents from your political theory; and I have -even heard complaints that it is possible to carry moral enthusiasm -too far. But I have yet to meet that American who is sceptical about -education as such, though on the other hand I have found few of -your citizens quite content with the working of every part of your -educational establishment. And this very discontent was what clinched -my first impression that schooling is the most vital of your passionate -interests. - -“Yet as I have travelled from one to another of your cities, a second -fact about you has struck me so forcibly as to contest the supremacy -of the first. You Americans more and more seem to me to be essentially -alike. Your cities are only less identical than the trains that ply -between them. Nearly any congregation could worship just as comfortably -in nearly any other church. The casts of almost any two plays, the -staffs of almost any two newspapers, even the faculties of almost any -two colleges could exchange ‘vehicles’ with about the same results that -would attend their exchanging clothes. - -“And in nothing are you so alike as in your universal desire to be -alike--to be inconspicuous, to put on straw hats on the same day, -to change your clothes in Texas in accordance with the seasons in -New York, to read the books everybody else is reading, to adopt the -opinions a weekly digests for you from the almost uniform opinions of -the whole of the daily press, in war and peace to be incontestably and -entirely American. - -“Now, I should scarcely make bold to be so frank about these -observations if some of my new friends had not reassured me with the -information that they are not novel, that a distinguished Englishman -has put them into what you have considered the most representative and -have made the most popular book about your commonwealth, that in fact -you rather enjoy having outsiders recognize the success of your efforts -in uniformity. There is, of course, no reason why you should not be -as similar to each other as you choose, and you must not interpret my -surprise to mean that I am shocked by anything except the contradiction -I find between this essential similarity and what I have called your -passion for education. - -“On Mars it has for a long time been our idea that the function of the -school is to put our youth in touch with what all sorts of Martians -have thought and are thinking, have felt and are feeling. I say ‘put -in touch’ rather than ‘teach,’ because it is not so much our notion -to pack their minds and hearts as to proffer samples of our various -cultures and supply keys to the storehouses--not unlike your libraries, -museums, and laboratories--that contain our records. We prefer to -think of schooling as a kind of thoroughfare between our past and our -present, an avenue to the recovery and appreciation of as many as -possible of those innumerable differences between Martian and Martian, -those conflicting speculations and cogitations, myths and hypotheses -regarding our planet and ourselves that have gone into the warp and -woof of our mental history. Thus we have hoped not only to preserve -and add to the body of Martian knowledge, but also to understand -better and utilize more variously our present minds. So it seems to us -perfectly natural, and has rather pleased than distressed us, that our -students should emerge from their studies with a multitude of differing -sympathies, beliefs, tastes, and ambitions. We have thought that such -an education enriched the lives of all of us, lives that ignorance -could not fail to constrict and subject to hum-drum monotony. - -“So when I return to Mars and report that I found Earth’s most -favourable continent inhabited by its most literate great people, -a people that has carried the use of print and other means of -communication to a point we Martians have never dared dream about; -that this people has at once the most widely diffused enthusiasm for -education and the most comprehensive school equipment on Earth; and -finally that this people is at the same time the most uniform in its -life--well, I fear I shall not be believed.” - -On subsequent visits the Martian might, as a wise man does who is -confronted by a logical impasse, re-examine the terms of his paradox. - -As regards our uniformity, fresh evidence could only endorse his first -impressions. The vestigial remnants of what regional cultures we have -had are rapidly being effaced by our unthinking standardization in -every department of life. The railroad, the telephone and telegraph, -the newspaper, the Ford, the movies, advertising--all have scarcely -standardized themselves before they have set about standardizing -everything within their reach. Not even our provinces of the -picturesque are immune, the places and things we like to think of as -“different” (word that betrays our standard sameness!) and glamorous -of our romantic golden age. In the Old South, Birmingham loves to -call herself the Pittsburgh of the South; our railroads have all but -hounded the packets from the Mississippi; it is notorious that our -apostles to the Indians, whether political, religious, or pedagogic, -wage relentless war on the very customs and traditions we cherish in -legend; the beautiful Missions that a kindlier evangelism bequeathed -to them are repeated and cheapened in every suburb and village of the -land, under every harsher sky; those once spontaneous fêtes of the -plains, the “Stampede” and the “Round-Up,” have been made so spurious -that the natives abandon them for a moth-eaten Wild West Show made in -the East; and in only a year or two even New Orleans’ Mardi Gras will -be indistinguishable from its counterfeits in St. Louis and elsewhere. - -As with these adventitious and perhaps not very important regional -differentiations, so with the one fundamental demarcation our people -have all along recognized as conditioning the give-and-take of American -life. The line between the East and the West, advancing from the -Alleghanies to the Rockies and then part of the way back, has never -stayed long enough in one zone to be precisely drawn, but it has -always been sharply felt. Since Colonial times the East has meant many -things--wealth, stability, contacts with Europe, refinement, industry, -centralized finance--and the West has meant many things--hardship -and adventure, El Dorado, outlawry, self-reliance, agriculture, vast -enterprise; but they have never been so close to meaning the same -things as to-day. To-morrow they will merge. Even now the geographical -line between them may be drawn anywhere in a belt two thousand miles -wide, in which it will be fixed according to the nativity of the critic -rather than by any pronounced social stigmata. East or West, there is -a greater gulf between the intelligent and the unintelligent of the -same parish than divides the intelligent of different parishes. East -or West, Americans think pretty much the same thoughts, feel about the -same emotions, and express themselves in the American tongue--that -is, in slang. If the slang, the accent, the manner differ noticeably, -as they still do, there are not wanting signs that another generation -will obliterate these differences too. Publishing, to be sure, tends -to concentrate in the East, though without impoverishing the West, -since all notable circulations have to be national to survive. The -very fact that the country’s publishing can be done from New York, -Philadelphia, and Boston demonstrates our national unanimity of opinion -and expression. - -Before it overleapt the geographical walls, this national unanimity -had wiped out every class distinction but one, which it has steadily -tended to entrench--the money line. Families may continue to hold their -place only on the condition that they keep their money or get more; and -a moderate fortune, no matter how quickly come by, has only to make a -few correct strokes, avoid a few obvious bunkers, and it will found a -family by inadvertence. The process is so simple that clerks practise -it during their vacations at the shore. - -Besides money, there is one other qualification--personal charm. Its -chief function, perhaps, is to disguise the essentially monetary -character of American social life. At any rate, Americans are almost as -uniformly charming as they are uniformly acquisitive. For the most part -it is a negative charm, a careful skirting of certain national taboos: -it eschews frank egoism, unfavourable criticism, intellectual subtlety, -unique expressions of temperament, humour that is no respecter of -persons, anything that might disturb the _status quo_ of reciprocal -kindliness and complacent optimism. The unpopular American is unpopular -not because he is a duffer or a bore, but because he is “conceited,” -a “knocker,” a “highbrow,” a “nut,” a “grouch,” or something of that -ilk. We do not choose, as the Martian suggested, to be as similar as -possible; we choose _not_ to be dissimilar. If our convictions about -America and what is American sprang from real knowledge of ourselves -and of our capacities, we should relish egoists, disinterested -critics, intellectuals, artists, and irreverent humourists, instead of -suppressing them when we cannot mould them. That we do not relish them, -that we protect ourselves from them, is evidence that we fear them. -What reason should we have to fear them save a secret distrust of our -asseverated convictions? Our unanimity, then, would seem to the Martian -to be an artificial substitute for some natural background we lack but -should like to have; and a most dangerous wish-fulfilment it is, for it -masks our ignorance of what we are and what we may reasonably become. -Far from being self-knowledge, Americanism would seem to him to be a -hallucination, an article of faith supported only by our determination -to believe it, and to coerce others into believing it. The secret of -our uniformity would be a stubborn ignorance. - -At which point our critic would have to re-examine his earlier -impressions about our “passion for education,” and strive to understand -the uses to which we actually put our educational establishment, to -appraise its function in our life. - -Beginning with the kindergarten, it provides us a few hours’ relief -from our responsibility toward our youngsters. Curiously, the Americans -most given to this evasion are the Americans most inveterately -sentimental about the “kiddies” and most loath to employ the nursery -system, holding it somehow an undemocratic invasion of the child’s -rights. Then somewhere in the primary grades we begin to feel that -we are purchasing relief from the burden of fundamental instruction. -Ourselves mentally lazy, abstracted, and genuinely bewildered by the -flow of questions from only one mouth, we blithely refer that awakening -curiosity to a harassed young woman, probably less well informed than -we are, who has to answer, or silence, the questions of from a score to -three score mouths. So begins that long throttling of curiosity which -later on will baffle the college instructor, who will sometimes write a -clever magazine essay about the complacent ignorance of his pupils. - -A few years, and our expectation has shifted to the main chance. We -begin worrying over grade reports and knotting our brows over problems -in arithmetic by way of assisting our offspring to the practical -advantages of education. For the child, we now demand of his teachers -solid and lasting preparation in the things whose monetary value -our office or domestic payroll keeps sharply before us--figures, -penmanship, spelling, home economics. For us, the vicarious glory of -his “brightness.” But we want this brightness to count, to be in the -direct avenue to his career; so we reinforce the environment that -gently discourages him from the primrose paths of knowledge. Nothing -“practical” is too good for the boy at this moment--tool chests, -bicycles, wireless, what not. Thank God, we can give him a better start -than we had. As for arts and letters, well, we guess what was good -enough for his dad is good enough for him. Meanwhile we are rather -pleased than not at the athletics and the other activities in which the -grammar school apes the high school that apes the college. - -The long spiral of repetitive schooling in study and sport has now -commenced its climb: year by year reviews and adds its fresh increment -to last year’s subject-matter in the classroom and on the field. -Is it so strange that when the boy meets his college professors he -is cock-sure of knowing to a hair the limits of what is normal and -important in life, beyond which lie the abnormal interests of the -grinds? That mediocre _C_ is a gentleman’s mark? Not his to question -the system that, in season and out, has borne down on passing instead -of on training, and that ends somewhere, soon or late, with a diploma -and, amid family plaudits, graduation from family control. - -The high schools are expected to fit ninety-five per cent. of their -charges for life and five per cent. for college. If our boy and girl -are of the ninety and five, we demand very early specialization toward -their precious careers, wax enthusiastic over the school’s model -mercantile and banking establishment, expand to know our children are -being dosed with a course in “Civics,” generously admire the history -note-books in which they have spread much tinted ink over a little -stereotyped information, and in what we fool ourselves into believing -are the margins to all these matters proudly watch them capture a class -numeral or a school letter, grumblingly pay for real estate signs that -have gone up in flame to celebrate some epochal victory, and bear with -their antics during hazings and initiations. It’s a democratic country, -and if the poor man’s son cannot go to college, why the college must -come to him. Nor are we without a certain undemocratic satisfaction in -the thought that he has stolen a four years’ march into business over -the rich man’s son, who spends his college hours, we assure ourselves, -acquiring habits that will leave him weak in the hour of competition. - -Meanwhile the straddling masters are cramming the other five with all -the dates and rules and verbs and prose passages which long and bitter -experience has demonstrated to be likeliest on entrance examinations. -From the classrooms, as term follows term with its endless iteration -of short advances and long reviews, there rises the bruit of rivalry: -masters decorously put forward the claims of their own colleges; pupils -rejoice when their future alma mater notches another athletic victory -to the well-remembered tally; the weak of heart are urging upon their -bewildered parents the superior merits of the “back-door” route to some -exacting university--by certificate to a small college and transfer at -the end of the first year. - -There are high schools in whose cases all this is understatement; -and of course there are innumerable others, especially in these days -when the most rigorous colleges have lost a little of their faith in -entrance examinations, where it is absurd overstatement. Nevertheless -your son, if he goes to a representative Eastern college from a -representative high school, goes as a man steals second in the seventh. -And his subsequent instructors marvel at the airy nonchalance with -which he ignores “the finer things of life”! - -The private secondary schools, save those that are frankly designed to -relieve parents of recalcitrant boys when the public schools will have -no more of them, are pretty much without the ninety-five per cent. of -non-college men. Frequently they have their charges for longer periods. -So they are free to specialize in cramming with more singleness of -mind and at the same time to soften the process as their endowments -and atmospheres permit. But at bottom the demand you make of the “prep -school” is the same demand your bookkeeper puts on his son’s high -school: you want your boy launched into college with the minimum of -trouble for yourself and the maximum of practical advantage for him; -your bookkeeper wants his boy launched into business with a minimum of -frippery and a maximum of marketable skill. One boy is experted into -college, the other is experted into business. You are both among those -passionate believers in education who impressed the Martian on his -first visit. - -Some educator has announced that the college course should not only -provide preparation for life but should itself be a satisfactory -portion of life. What college student so dull as not to know -that? For the most part, he trusts the faculty to provide the -preparation--sometimes it would seem that he dares it to--but he -takes jolly good care that the four years shall give him life more -abundantly. He has looked forward to them with an impatience not even -the indignity of entrance examinations could balk; he will live them -to the top of his bent; and he will look back on them tenderly, even -sentimentally, as the purplest patch of his days. So the American -undergraduate is representative of the American temper at its best. He -is the flower of our youth at its moment of perfect bloom, its ideals -not yet corrupted, its aspirations unwithered. As he thinks and feels, -all America would think and feel if it dared and could. - -At this point, therefore, the Martian’s inquiry into what we expect -from our educational establishment would have to shift its point of -view from the older to the younger generation. The Martian would be -much in demand at our colleges, both as a sure-fire lecturer and as -a shining target for degrees certain to attract wide publicity to -the donors. Let us imagine him setting aside a page in his notebook -for a scheme of undergraduate emphases, grouped and amended as his -triumphant progress permitted him to check up on his observations. - -Athletics would of course head the list. Regarded as play--that is, as -they affect the spectator--college sports proffer a series of thrilling -Roman holidays extending from the first week or so of term-time to -the final base-ball game and crew race of Commencement week the next -June, and for some colleges there may be transatlantic sequels in -midsummer or later. It is by no means all play for the spectator, -whose loyalty to his institution makes it his duty to watch the teams -practise, follow the histories of the gladiators who are at once his -representatives and his entertainers, and drill himself in songs and -yells at noisy mass meetings; to bet on his college according to his -purse and without any niggardly regard for his sober judgment as to -the event; then to deck himself in the colours, march to the field, -and watch the fray from the cheering section, where his attention will -be perpetually interrupted by the orders and the abuse of a file of -insatiable marionettes who are there to dictate when he may and when -he may not give throat to his enthusiasm; and finally, if Providence -please, to be one of the snake-dancing celebrants of victory. If he -have the right physique or talent for one of the sports, he will -find himself conscripted by public opinion to enter upon the long -and arduous regimen that turns out the annual handful of athletic -heroes--to slave on freshman squads, class teams, scrub and third and -second teams, and finally perhaps, if he has been faithful, to play -a dull minute or two of a big game that is already decided and so -receive his coveted letter and side-line privilege as a charity. Or at -the dizziest pinnacle of success, a “star,” to endure the unremitting -discipline of summer practice, incessant training, eating with his -fellow-stars at the training table, in season and out to be the butt of -instruction and exhortation from all the experts of the entourage. As -they affect the participant, then, college sports are to be regarded as -work that differs from the work of professional sportsmen chiefly by -being unremunerated. - -The student’s next most vivid concern is the organization of the social -life in the academic commonwealth of which he is a citizen. Every -American college has, or fancies it has, its own tone, its ideal -type of man; and good citizenship prescribes conformity to the spirit -of the place and observance of the letter of its unwritten code. For -the type is defined by a body of obligations and taboos transmitted -from generation to generation, sometimes through the mouthpiece of -the faculty, sometimes by way of the college “Bible” (to use the -slang name for those handy manuals of what to do and what to avoid -which the college Y.M.C.A. issues for the guidance of newcomers), but -most often by a rough process of trial and error which very speedily -convinces the freshman that the Fence is for seniors only, or that -it is impracticable to smoke his pipe in the Yard, or that it is -much healthier to take the air in a class cap than bareheaded. The -cherished “traditions” of a college are for the most part a composite -of just such privileges and prohibitions as these, clustering round the -notion of the type and symbolizing it; and, curiously, the younger the -institution, the more insistent it is likely to be about the sanctity -of its traditions--a college feels the need of a type in much the same -degree that a factory needs a trademark. - -Conformity thus becomes an article in loyalty. Sometimes the mere -conformity is the desiderate virtue, as used (at least) to be the -case in Yale. Sometimes the type will go in for individualism, as at -Harvard a decade ago, where the thing to conform to was non-conformity. -One tradition is probably universal: is there anywhere in America a -college which does not boast that it is more “democratic” than others? -Democracy undergoes some engaging redefinition in support of these -conflicting claims, but at bottom it refers to an absence of snobs, -arrogant critics, incomprehensible intellectuals, bouncing wits, -uncomfortable pessimists--in short, the discouragement of just such -individual tastes and energies as the Martian found discouraged in our -social life at large. The money line remains. Theoretically, the poor -may compete in athletics and in other student enterprises and reap the -same social rewards as the rich: practically, they may compete and go -socially unrewarded, precisely as in the outside world. It is natural -and seemly that this should be the case, for the poor cannot afford -the avenues of association which are the breath of society to the -rich. There have been football heroes whom the well-to-do have put -in the way of acquiring wealth after they left college, but this is -patronage, not democracy. There are also colleges proud to be known as -poor men’s colleges, and for that very reason devoid of the democracy -they boast. Not long ago the president of Valparaiso had to resign, and -it developed that among the counts against him were the deadly facts -that he had attended the annual alumni dinner in dress clothes and -had countenanced “dances, athletics, fraternities, and such.” No, all -that we really mean by democracy in college is the equal opportunity -to invest one’s inoffensive charm and perfectly good money in a -transient society, to be neighbourly across geographical and family -lines, to cultivate the local twist of the universal ideal--to be a -“regular fellow.” Which is very much what we mean by democracy outside. -Whatever the precise type of man a college exalts, its characteristic -virtues are those that reflect a uniform people--hearty acceptance -of unexamined ideals, loyal conformity to traditional standards and -taboos, unassuming modesty in “playing the game,” and a wholesome -optimism withal. - -But as for genuine democracy, the unrestricted interplay of free -spirits against a common background, what college can boast that its -social organization approaches even the measure of equality enjoyed -by its disinterested scholars? There was a modicum of it in the -free elective system that obtained in Dr. Eliot’s Harvard. There -was an indifference to seniority that sorely puzzled the graduates -of other colleges. Alas, freshman dormitories descended upon it, -treacherously carrying the banners of “democracy”; and a “group system” -of courses began to externalize intellectual interests to which the -elective system, abused as it was, had offered every opportunity -for spontaneity. It may be that the Amherst of Dr. Meiklejohn’s -experiments, or the Smith that President Neilson envisages, will -recapture opportunities now fled from Cambridge. These cases, after -all, are exceptional. For the typical American college, private or -public, marshals its students in two caste systems so universal and -so familiar that it never occurs to us to scrutinize the one and we -are liable to criticize the other only when its excesses betray its -decadence. - -The former, the divisioning and tagging of every recruit with the -year of his graduation, looks to be an innocent convenience until -you have surveyed its regimental effect. Freshmen are green; so we -clap ridiculous caps on them, dub them “Frosh” or “Fish,” haze them, -confine them to a York Street of their kind or impound them in freshman -dormitories, where we bid them save themselves, the which they do in -their sophomore year at the expense of the next crop of recruits. It -is not so much the occasional brutality of hazing parties and “rushes” -that should arrest us here, nor yet such infrequent accidents as the -probably insane despair of that Harvard freshman whose phobia for -eggs drove him to suicide to escape the inflexible diet of his class -commons, as it is the remorseless mob invasion of personality and -privacy which either leaves the impressionable boy a victim of his -ingrowing sensibility or else converts him into a martinet who in his -turn will cripple others. In the case of the Cornell freshman who was -ducked for stubbornly refusing to wear the class cap and was saved -from more duckings by an acting president who advised him--“in all -friendliness,” said the newspapers!--to submit or to withdraw from -college for a year, it is not necessary to applaud what may have been -pig-headedness in the victim, or to flay what may have been wisdom in -the executive, in order to admire the single professor who stood ready -to resign in order to rebuke his college for her bigotry. What was -really significant here, however, and what is everywhere characteristic -of this sort of benevolent assimilation, was the tone of the university -daily’s editorial apologia: - - “Complete liberty of action has never been recognized by any - but avowed anarchists; granted the validity of the law, there - can be no charge of intolerance in the enforcement of it.” - -The legal “validity” of an arbitrary tradition! No “intolerance” in its -enforcement by Judge Lynch! The editor of the _Cornell Sun_ went on -to say that the existence of the “law” in question is “no secret from -the prospective Cornellian,” implying, no doubt, that to offer oneself -for matriculation at Cornell is _ipso facto_ to accept the whole body -of Ithacan tradition and taboos, along with their interpretation and -enforcement according to the momentary caprice of the majority, as -a _contrat social_. Small wonder he called the refractory freshman -a “red.” The young editor’s reasoning should recommend his early -appointment to a place in the greater _Sun_. - -The caste system of academic seniority, like all caste systems, is -worst at its base. Such customs as the sequestering of the upper -classes in their private quads or ovals, the jealous protection of -senior privileges, and the calendrical elaboration of the alumni -programme serve to import a picturesque if rather forced variety into -our drab monotony. That men should choose to organize themselves to -protect some more or less irrelevant distinction is of no special -importance to outsiders so long as they do not use their organization -to dragoon minorities or to bully individuals. Yet, speak out against -the exploitation, and you will be accused of attacking the fellowship. -Criticize the shackling of freshmen, and there will not be wanting -college editors to call you a fanatic who cannot bear the jolly sight -of cap and gown. - -The other system of caste, to which we give sharp attention when it -goes badly wrong, is of course the club hierarchy. Wherever there are -clubs their social capital will necessarily fluctuate with the quality -of the members they take in. The reformers who deplore the institution -of “rushing” have of course exaggerated its evils, but the evils -are there. In young colleges, and wherever clubs are insecure, the -candidates are liable to be spoiled for any club purposes before their -destination is settled; wherever the candidates must do the courting, -either brazenly or subtly, they tend to debauch the club. The dilemma -holds, in one form or another, all the way from the opposed “literary” -societies of the back-woods college to the most powerful chapters of -the national fraternities; and it is particularly acute where the -clubhouse is also the student’s residence. Any remedy thus far advanced -by the reformers is worse than the disease. - -In many of the older colleges the equilibrium has been stabilized by a -device similar to the gentlemen’s agreement in industry. The important -clubs have gradually adjusted themselves into a series through -which the clubman passes, or into which he penetrates as far as his -personality and money will carry him. So the initial competition for -untried material is done away with or greatly simplified; one or two -large freshman or sophomore clubs take in all the likely candidates; -the junior clubs do most of their choosing from among this number; -and the senior clubs in turn draw on the junior. Meanwhile the member -turnover is perhaps trebled, and initiations and other gay functions -multiply. - -It is to be remembered, however, that not all the brethren shift onward -and upward year by year. Many have to content themselves with clubs -already won, and those who pass on are a narrowing band, whose depleted -ranks are by no means restored in the eleventh hour recruiting of -“elections at large,” deathbed gestures of democracy after a career -of ballotting to exclude candidates who had not taken all the earlier -degrees. Thus increasing distinction is purchased through the tried and -true method of decreasing numbers. To be sure, the same end could be -served if all would remain in one club and periodically drop groups of -the least likely members. Initiations might be reversed, and punches -be given to celebrate the lightening of the ship: it would be no more -fantastic than a good part of the existing ceremonial. But--it would be -undemocratic! And, too, the celebrations might be fatally hilarious. -The present pre-initiation discipline is one that tests for regularity -and bestows the accolade on the inconspicuous, so that the initiates -turn out pretty much of a piece and the entertainment they provide is -safely conventional. But reverse the process, assemble in one squad all -the hands suspected of being exceptional--all the queer fish and odd -sticks--and there’s no predicting what capers they might cut as they -walked the plank. - -The real evil of the club caste is its taste for predictability, -its standardization of contacts, its faintly cynical sophistication -where life might be a riot of adventures and experiments and -self-discoveries--in one word, its respectability. Not that it does not -provide much good fellowship and a great deal of fun (including the -varieties that have distressed its moral critics). But that everything -it provides is so definitely provided _for_, so institutionalized, and -so protected from the enrichment different types and conditions of men -could bring to it that it is exclusive in a more sinister sense than -the one intended by the critics of its alleged snobbery. - -Normally the club system is by no means so snobbish as it is thought -to be; it dislikes, and is apt to punish with the black ball, the -currying of social favour and the parade of special privilege. For -youth is youth, and in the last analysis the enemy of caste. It is -the glory of college life that the most unexpected friendships will -overleap the fences run by class and club regimentation. It is its -pity that the fences, which yield so easily to irregular friendships -once they have discovered themselves, should nevertheless be stout -enough to herd their victims past so many unrecognized opportunities -for spontaneous association. The graduate who looks back fondly on his -halcyon days is very likely passing over the Senior Picnic and his row -of shingles to recall haze-hung October afternoons of tobacco and lazy -reminiscence on the window-seat of somebody who got nowhere in class -or club, or is wistful for the midnight arguments he had with that -grind who lived in his entry freshman year--nights alive with darting -speculation and warm with generous combat. Of these clandestine sweets -he will say nothing; he is a regular fellow; but he affords one of the -proofs that the well-worn social channels are not deep enough to carry -off all the wine of free fellowship. And that even the moderate caste -of college, securely established as it seems, must defend itself from -youth (even from its own youth!) is demonstrated by two phenomena not -to be explained satisfactorily on any other hypothesis. What is all the -solemn mummery, the preposterous ritual, the pompous processions to and -from temples of nightmare architecture, the whole sacrosanct edifice -of the secret fraternities, if it be not an embroidery wherewith to -disguise from present and future devotees the naked matter-of-factness -of the cult? And, on the other hand, what are the too early maturity, -the atmosphere of politely blasé languor, the ubiquitous paraphernalia -for comfort and casual hospitality that characterize the non-secret -and citified clubs of the “indifferent” college but so many disarming -confessions of the predictability of everything--the predictability, -and the necessity for quiet acceptance? Under all the encouraging -variations and exceptions runs the regimental command of our -unanimity: if you are to belong, you must conform; you must accept the -limits of the conventional world for the bounds of your reality; and -then, according to the caprice of your _genius loci_, you will play -the game as if everything, even the minutiæ of the ritual your club -has inherited from freer spirits, were of tremendous moment, or you -will play it no less thoroughly but with the air of one who knows that -nothing is of any moment at all. The clubs, that have so often been -criticized for their un-American treason to democracy, are only too -loyally American. - -The third emphasis would be corollary to these two--the political -management of athletic and class and club affairs. The politics are -those of personal popularity, the management is that of administration -rather than legislation, the spirit is the American flair for petty -regulation. Where issues are in question the tone is almost certain to -be propagandist, conservatives and radicals dividing a field littered -with hard names. College life has accumulated an abundance of machinery -for the expression of the managing instinct, and most of it works. -Nowadays the lines of representation finally knot in a Student Council, -which is at once the Cabinet, the Senate, and the Supreme Court of -the undergraduate commonwealth. The routine of its work is heavily -sumptuary, and such matters as the sizes and colours and seasons for -hatband insignia, the length of time students may take off to attend -a distant game, the marshalling of parades, are decided with taste -and tact. Then, abruptly, it is a tribunal for major cases, just if -severe: a class at Yale fails to observe the honour rule, and upon the -Council’s recommendation twenty-one students are expelled or suspended; -it was the Student Council at Valparaiso that secured the president’s -withdrawal; and at Cornell it was the Student Council that came to -the rescue of tradition when a freshman refused to wear the freshman -cap. Invariably, one concludes, its edicts and verdicts will support -righteousness, as its constituents understand righteousness. - -The constituents themselves are ordinarily on the side of light, as -they see the light. Not so long ago the faculty of a small New England -college decided to dispense with compulsory chapel: the students voted -it back. Moral crusades spring up like mushrooms and command the -allegiance of all but the recalcitrant “rough-necks,” whom student -opinion is sometimes tempted to feel are beating their way through an -education for which they make no equivalent return in public spirit. A -typical campaign of the sort was recently put in motion by the student -daily at Brown: the editors discovered that “the modern age of girls -and young men is intensely immoral”; they penned sensational editorials -that evoked column-long echoes in the metropolitan press; they raised -a crusade against such abominations as petting parties, the toddle -(“Rome,” they wrote, “toddled before it fell”), and “parties continued -until after breakfast time”; almost immediately they won a victory--the -Mothers’ Club of Providence resolved that dances for children must end -by eleven o’clock.... - -And now the undergraduate will emphasize study. But a sharp line must -be drawn between study that looks forward merely to the A.B. degree as -the end of schooling and the beginning of business, and study that is a -part of professional training, that looks forward to some professional -degree at Commencement or to matriculation in a graduate school. Both -come under the head of preparation for life; but in the former case -the degree itself is the preparation, whereas in the latter case it is -recognized that one must master and retain at least a working modicum -of the subject-matter of the professional courses and of the liberal -courses preliminary to them. - -The arts man, then, recognizes only the same necessity he has faced -all the way up the school ladder--to pass. If he have entrance -conditions, they are mortgages that must be paid off, perhaps in the -Summer School; he must keep off probation to protect his athletic or -political or other activity status; beyond this, he must garner enough -courses and half-courses, semester hours or points, to purchase the -indispensable sheepskin. Further effort is supererogatory so far as -concerns study _per se_: prizes and distinctions fall in the category -of “student activities,” hobbies, and belong of right to the “sharks”; -scholarships, which in America are for the poor only, have to do -with still another matter--earning one’s way through--and are mostly -reserved for the “paid marks men,” professional studiers, grinds. - -Upon his programme of courses the student will often expend as much -mental energy as would carry him through an ordinary examination: he -will pore over the catalogue, be zealous to avoid nine o’clocks and -afternoon hours liable to conflict with games, make an elaborate survey -of the comparative competence of instructors, both as graders and as -entertainers and even (quaintly enough) as experts in their fields, -and enquire diligently after snap courses. Enrolled in a course, he -will speedily estimate the minimum effort that will produce a safe -pass, unless the subject happens to be one that commends itself to -his interest independently of academic necessity. In that case he -will exceed not only the moderate stint calculated to earn a _C_, but -sometimes even the instructor’s extravagant requirements. There is, in -fact, scarcely a student but has at least one pet course in which he -will “eat up” all the required reading and more, take gratuitous notes, -ask endless questions, and perhaps make private sallies into research. -The fact that he holds most of this labour to be self-indulgence will -not temper his indignation if he fails to “pull” an _A_ or _B_, though -it is a question whether, when the grade has sealed the course, he will -be much the wiser for it than for the others. - -On the evils of the course system there is probably no new thing to -be said. Such devices as the “group system” at Harvard interfere with -liberty of election without appreciably correcting the graduate’s -ignorance of the courses he has passed and cashed in for his degree. -Recognizing this fact, certain faculties have latterly inaugurated -general examinations in the whole subject-matter studied under one -department, as notably in History, Government, and Economics; but -thus far the general examination affects professional preparation, as -notably for the Law School, much more than it affects the straight arts -career, where it provides just one more obstacle to “pass.” - -This business of passing is a seasonal nuisance. The early weeks of -term-time are an Arcady of fetching lectures, more or less interesting -assigned reading, and abundant “cuts.” Across the smiling sky float -minatory wisps of cloud--exercises, quizzes, tests. Then up from the -horizon blow the “hour exams,” first breath of the academic weather -that later on will rock the earth with “mid-years” and “finals.” But -to be forewarned is, for the prudent student, to get armed, and -Heaven knows he is amply warned by instructor, registrar, and dean. -So he hies himself to the armourer, the tutor, one of the brotherhood -of experts who saw him through the entrance examinations; he provides -himself with bought or leased notebooks and summaries; he crams through -a few febrile nights of cloistral deprivations and flagellations; and -the sun shines again on his harvest of gentlemen’s _C_’s, the proud -though superfluous _A_ or _B_, and maybe a _D_ that bespeaks better -armour against the next onset. Or, of course, he may have slipped -into “probation,” limbo that outrageously handicaps his athletic -or political ambitions. Only if he have been a hapless probationer -before the examinations is there any real risk of his having to join -the exceedingly small company of living sacrifices whom a suddenly -austere college now “rusticates.” (For in America suspensions and -expulsions are the penalties rather of irregular conduct than of mental -incompetence or sloth.) In four years, after he has weathered a score -of these storms and concocted a few theses, the president hands him a -diploma to frame, he sells his other furniture, puts mothballs in his -cap and gown, and plunges into business to overtake his non-college -competitors. - -Student opinion recognizes that the man enrolled in professional -courses or headed for a graduate school faces more stringent -necessities. He may devote himself to his more specific training -without the imputation of being a “grind,” and if he pursues honours -it will be in the line of business rather than of indoor sport. He -will be charier of cuts, more painstaking as regards his notes and -reading, and the professional manner will settle on him early. In -every college commons you can find a table where the talk is largely -shop--hypothetical cases, laboratory experiments, new inventions, -devices for circumventing the income tax. All this, however, is -really a quantitative difference, not a qualitative. Of disinterested -intellectual activity he is if anything more innocent than his fellow -in the arts school. - -So much for the four great necessities of average student life--in -order of acknowledged importance: athletics, social life, politics, -study. Deans and other official but theoretical folk will tell -our Martian that the business of college is study and that all the -undergraduate’s other functions are marginal matters; but their own -conduct will already have betrayed them to him, for he will not have -missed the fact that most of their labour is devoted to making study -as dignified and popular as the students have made sports and clubs -and elections. These four majors hold their places at the head of the -list of student emphases because no representative undergraduate quite -escapes any of them; the next ones may be stressed more variously, -according rather to the student’s capricious private inclinations than -to his simpler group reactions. - -Now, for instance, he is free to “go in for” some of the innumerable -“student activities,” avocations as opposed to the preceding vocations. -There are the minor sports which are not so established in popularity -that they may conscript players--lacrosse, association football, trap -shooting, swimming, and so on. There are the other intercollegiate -competitions--chess and debating and what not. The musical clubs, -the dramatic clubs, the magazines, and many semi-professional -and semi-social organizations offer in their degree more or less -opportunity to visit rival institutions. Then, too, there is in the -larger colleges a club for almost every religious cult, from Catholic -to Theosophist, whose devotees may crave a closer warmth of communion -than they realize in the chapel, which is ordinarily non-sectarian; -a club apiece for some of the great fraternal orders; a similar club -for each of the political parties, to say nothing of a branch of the -Intercollegiate Socialist Society, with another organization forming -to supply the colleges with associated Liberal Clubs. Moreover, all -the important preparatory schools, private and public, are certain -to be represented by clubs of their alumni, some of which maintain -scholarships but all of which do yeoman service scouting for athletes. -Frequently there is a Cosmopolitan Club for foreign students and -travelled Americans. And, finally, there are clubs to represent the -various provinces of knowledge--the classics, philosophy, mathematics, -the various sciences, and so on indefinitely. Then, in colleges in -or near cities, there are well-organized opportunities for students -who care to make a hobby of the Uplift and go in for social service. -While, for amateur and professional sharks and grinds, there is the -honour roll of prizes, scholarships, fellowships, distinctions, and -other academic honours. Verily a paradise for the joiner. Day by day, -the calendar of meetings and events printed in the university paper -resembles nothing so much as the bulletin board of a metropolitan hotel -which caters to conventions. - -If at first glance all this welter of endeavour looks to be anything -but evidence of uniformity, at second will appear its significant -principle. Every part of it is cemented together by a universal -institutionalizing of impulses and values. There is scarcely a college -activity which can serve for a hobby but has its shingle and ribbon and -certificated niche in the undergraduate régime. - -Even the undergraduate’s extra-collegiate social life, which would -probably stand next on the Martian’s list, is thoroughly regimented. -Speaking broadly, it is incorrect to call on girls at the nearest -girls’ college; and, speaking still more broadly, there is usually -one correct college whereat it is socially incumbent to pay devoirs. -In coeducational institutions the sex line is an exacting but -astonishingly innocent consumer of time and energy, of which the -greater part is invested in the sheer maintenance of convention. Along -both these social avenues the student practises a mimicry of what seems -to him to be the forms regnant in secular society and, intent on the -forms, tends to miss by a little what neighbourly ease really exists -there, so that he out-conventionalizes the conventional world. The -non-college American youth, of both sexes, would scarcely tolerate the -amount of formalism, chaperonage, and constraint that our college youth -voluntarily assumes. - -The word “fussing” is the perfect tag for the visiting, the taking to -games and dances, the cherishing at house-parties, and the incessant -letter-writing that are the approved communications across the sex -line. You make a fuss over a girl, and there it ends; or you make a -fuss over a girl and get engaged, and there it ends; or--and this is -frequent only in the large Western universities where well-nigh all the -personable youths of the State’s society are in college together--you -make a fuss over a girl, you get engaged, and in due time you get -married. So far as fussing is concerned, sex is far more decorous -among collegians than among their non-collegiate fellows of the same -ages and social levels. There is a place, of course, where it is -indecorous enough; but that place is next on the Martian’s list. - -Which now shifts its weakening emphasis to recreation. You will have -thought that most of the foregoing attached to recreation and that all -play and no work is the undergraduate rule. You will have erred. Above -this point almost everything on the list is recognized by the student -to be in some sort an obligation, a serious concern, a plough on which -he finds his hand gently laid by custom but which he cannot decently -relinquish till he has gained the end of the furrow. - - “Nobody could be busier than the normal undergraduate. His - team, his paper, his club, show, or other activity, sometimes - several at once, occupy every spare moment which he can - persuade the office to let him take from the more formal part - of college instruction.” - -The quotation is not from a baccalaureate sermon: it is from the -Harvard class oration of 1921. - -The prime relaxation is talk, infinite talk--within its local range, -full of tang, flicking with deft satire the rumps of pompous asses, -burlesquing the comic (that is, the abnormal) in campus situations, -making of gossip a staccato criticism--and beyond that range, a rather -desultory patter about professional sport, shows, shallow books, the -froth of fashion, all treated lightly but taken with what a gravity! -For the other relaxations there are, according to taste, the theatre of -girls and music, the novel, bath-robed sessions at poker and bridge, -late afternoon tennis or golf or handball (very nearly the only sports -left to play for their own sake), and the bouts with Bacchus and Venus -which, though they attract fewer college men than non-college men, are -everywhere the moral holidays that insure our over-driven Puritanism -against collapse. - -A favourite subject for college debates and Freshman themes argues -the case for and against going to college. You could listen to scores -of such debates, read thousands of such themes, without once meeting -a clear brief for education as a satisfaction of human curiosity. -Everywhere below the level of disinterested scholarship, education is -regarded as access to that body of common and practical information -without which one’s hands and tongue will be tied in the company of -one’s natural peers. “Institutions of learning,” as the National -Security League lately advised the Vice-President of the United States, -“are established primarily for the dissemination of knowledge, which is -acquaintance with fact and not with theory.” Consequently the universal -expectation of the educational establishment has little to do with any -wakening of appropriate if differing personalities, and has everything -to do with a standard patina, varying only in its lustre, its brighter -or duller reflection of the established scene. - -Nevertheless, the essential Adam does break through and quiz the -scene. Though it come lowest in his scale of emphasis, the typical -underclassman knows the qualms and hungers of curiosity, experiments -a little with forbidden fruit, at some time fraternizes with a man -of richer if disreputable experience, perhaps strikes up a wistful -friendship with a sympathetic instructor. Then the world of normal -duties and rewards and certainties closes round him, and security in -it becomes his first concern. Sometime he intends really to read, to -think long thoughts again, to go to the bottom of things. Meanwhile -he falls into the easy habit of applying such words as “radical” or -“highbrow” to those infrequent hardier spirits who continue restless -and unappeased. Later in life you will catch him explaining that -radicalism is a perfectly natural manifestation of adolescence and the -soundest foundation for mature conservatism. Wise churchmen still talk -that way about religious doubt, and bide their time, and later refer to -the “death of doubt”--which has really been buried alive. The Martian -would conclude that the function of terrestrial education is to bury -curiosity alive. - -But could he now feel that this educational establishment, this going -machine of assimilation, is responsible for our uniformity? Will not -American school and college life now seem too perfect a reflection -of American adult life to be its parent? Everything in that scale of -college values, from the vicarious excitements of football to what -Santayana has called the “deprivations of disbelief” has its exact -analogue in our life at large; and neither any college tradition nor -yet the “genteel tradition” is of so much significance as the will to -tradition that both reveal. The Martian will long since have suspected -himself guilty of a very human error, that of getting the cart before -the horse. - -For we have made our schools in our own image. They are not our -prisons, but our homes. Every now and again we discipline a rash -instructor who carries too far his private taste for developing -originality; we pass acts that require teachers to sink their own -differences in our unanimity; and our fatuous faith in the public -school system as the “cradle of liberty” rests on the political -control we exercise over it. Far from being the dupes of education, we -ourselves dupe the educated; and that college men do not rebel is due -to the fact that inside a world our uniformity dominates as easily as -it dominates the school, the regimen works, college men really do get -ahead, and the “queer” really are frustrate. - -Then, what is the origin of our “desperate need to agree”? There is a -possible answer in our history, if only we can be persuaded to give -our history a little attention. When we became a nation we were not a -folk. We were, in fact, so far from being alike that there were only -our common grievances and a few propositions on which we could be got -together at all, and the propositions were more like stubborn articles -of faith than like tested observations: “We hold these truths to be -self-evident, that all men are created equal ... certain inalienable -Rights ... Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness ... the consent -of the governed ... are, and of Right ought to be, Free and Independent -States.” That is not the tone of men who are partakers in a common -tradition and who share reasonable and familiar convictions. Thus under -the spur of our first national necessity we gave the first evidence of -our capacity to substitute an arbitrary and not too exacting lowest -common denominator to which men can subscribe, for the natural and -rigorous highest common multiple that expresses their genuine community -of interest. The device succeeded because we succeeded, but it was the -propositions that got the credit. The device has continued to succeed -ever since for the same reason that tradition succeeds in the modern -college--nobody who has had any reason to challenge the propositions -has been able to get at us. - -Our proper job was to create a people, to get acquainted with each -other and develop a common background. But the almost miraculous -success of our lowest common denominator stood in the way of our -working out any highest common multiple. Instead of developing a common -background, we went on assimilating subscribers to the Declaration, our -arbitrary tradition, “Americanism.” We have been so increasingly beset -by aliens who had to be assimilated that their Americanization has -prevented our own. - -We now believe our national job was the Conquest of the West, as if -scattering people over a continent were any substitute for creating a -People. But we have never been seriously challenged. If our good luck -should hold, the second or third generation after us will believe our -job was the subjugation of a hemisphere, including the assimilation of -genuine peoples who have done us less harm even than the Indians did. -But, whatever our practice, we shall never admit that our theory has -altered. Still lacking any common background, we shall still enclose -ourselves against the void in the painted scene of our tradition. - -But our luck may not hold. We may be challenged yet. - - CLARENCE BRITTEN - - - - -THE INTELLECTUAL LIFE - - -When Professor Einstein roused the ire of the women’s clubs by stating -that “women dominate the entire life of America,” and that “there are -cities with a million population, but cities suffering from terrible -poverty--the poverty of intellectual things,” he was but repeating a -criticism of our life now old enough to be almost a _cliché_. Hardly -any intelligent foreigner has failed to observe and comment upon the -extraordinary feminization of American social life, and oftenest he -has coupled this observation with a few biting remarks concerning the -intellectual anæmia or torpor that seems to accompany it. Naturally -this attitude is resented, and the indiscreet visitor is told that he -has been rendered astigmatic by too limited observation. He is further -informed that he should travel in our country more extensively, see -more people, and live among us longer. The inference is that this -chastening process will in due time acquaint him with a beauty and -a thrilling intellectual vitality coyly hidden from the superficial -impressionist. - -Now the thesis of this paper is that the spontaneous judgment of the -perceptive foreigner is to a remarkable degree correct. But it is a -judgment which has to be modified in certain respects rather sharply. -Moreover, even long residence in the United States is not likely to -give a visitor as vivid a sense of the historical background that -has so largely contributed to the present situation as is aroused -in the native American, who in his own family hears the folklore of -the two generations preceding him and to whom the pioneer tradition -is a reality more imaginatively plausible than, say, the emanations -of glory from English fields or the aura of ancient pomp enwrapping -an Italian castle. The foreigner is too likely to forget that in a -young country, precisely because it is young, traditions have a social -sanction unknown in an older country where memory of the past goes so -far back as to become shadowy and unreal. It is a paradox of history -that from ancient cultures usually come those who “were born too soon,” -whereas from young and groping civilizations spring the panoplied -defenders of conventions. It is usually when a tradition is fresh that -it is respected most; it is only when it has been followed for years -sufficient to make it meaningless that it can create its repudiators. -America is a very young country--and in no respect younger than that of -all Western nations it has the oldest form of established government; -our naïve respect for the fathers is surest proof that we are still in -the cultural awkward age. We have not sufficiently grown up but that we -must still cling to our father and mother. In a word, we still _think_ -in pioneer terms, whatever the material and economic facts of a day -that has already outgrown their applicability. - -And it is the pioneer point of view, once thoroughly understood, -which will most satisfactorily explain the peculiar development of -the intellectual life in the United States. For the life of the mind -is no fine flower of impoverishment, and if the beginnings of human -reflection were the wayward reveries of seamen in the long watches -of the night or of a shepherd lying on his back idly watching the -summer clouds float past, as surely have the considered intellectual -achievements of modern men been due to the commercial and industrial -organization which, whether or not conducive to the general happiness, -has at least made leisure possible for the few. But in the pioneer -community leisure cannot exist, even for the few; the struggle is too -merciless, the stake--life itself, possibly--too high. The pioneer must -almost of necessity hate the thinker, even when he does not despise -thought in itself, because the thinker is a liability to a community -that can afford only assets; he is non-productive in himself and a -dangerously subversive example to others. Of course, the pioneer will -tolerate the minister, exactly as primitive tribes tolerated medicine -men--and largely for the same reasons. The minister, if he cannot bring -rain or ward off pestilence as the medicine man at least pretended -he could, can soften the hardness of the human lot and can show the -road to a future kingdom that will amply compensate for the drudgery -of the present world. He has, in brief, considerable utilitarian -value. The thinker _per se_, however, has none; not only that, he is -a reproach and a challenge to the man who must labour by the sweat of -his brow--it is as if he said, “For what end, all this turmoil and -effort, merely to live? But do you know if life is worth while on such -terms?” Questions like these the pioneer must cast far from him, and -for the very good reason that if they were tolerated, new communities -might never become settled. Scepticism is an expensive luxury possible -only to men in cities living off the fruit of others’ toil. Certainly -America, up to the end of the reconstruction period following the -Civil War, had little practical opportunity and less native impulse -for the cultivation of this tolerant attitude towards ultimate values, -an atmosphere which is a talisman that a true intellectual life is -flourishing. - -Consider the terrible hardness of the pioneer’s physical life. I can -think of no better description of it than in one of Sherwood Anderson’s -stories, “Godliness,” in his book, “Winesburg, Ohio.” He is writing -of the Bentley brothers just before the Civil War: “They clung to old -traditions and worked like driven animals. They lived as practically -all of the farming people of the time lived. In the spring and through -most of the winter the highways leading into the town of Winesburg were -a sea of mud. The four young men of the family worked hard all day in -the fields, they ate heavily of coarse, greasy food, and at night slept -like tired beasts on beds of straw. Into their lives came little that -was not coarse and brutal, and outwardly they were themselves coarse -and brutal.” Naturally, this intense concentration upon work is not -the whole of the picture; there was gaiety and often there was romance -in the early days of pioneering, it ran like a coloured thread through -all the story of our _Drang nach Westen_. But on the whole the period -from our confederation into a Union until the expanding industrial era -following the Civil War--roughly the century from 1783 to 1883--was -a period in which the cardinal command was, “Be active, be bold, and -above all, work.” In that century we subdued and populated a continent. -There was no time for the distractions of art or the amenities of -literature. - -To be sure, a short-range perspective seems to belie this last -generalization. The colonial times and the first part of the 19th -century witnessed a valid and momentous literary and intellectual -efflorescence, and it was then we contributed many names to the -biography of greatness. Yet it was a culture centred almost wholly in -New England and wholly East of the Alleghanies; it had its vitality -because it was not self-conscious, it was frankly derivative from -England and Europe, it made no pretensions to being intrinsically -American. The great current of our national life went irresistibly -along, ploughing, and tilling, and cutting down the trees and brush, -making roads and bridges as it filled the valleys and the plains. -That was the real America, a mighty river of life, compared with -which, for instance, Emerson and the Transcendentalists seemed a mere -backwater--not a stagnant or brackish one to be sure, often a pool -of quietude in which the stars, like Emerson’s sentences, might be -reflected. But the real America was still in the heart of the pioneer. -And in one sense, it still is to-day. - -The “real America,” I say, because I mean the America of mind and -attitude, the inner truth, not the outer actuality. That outer -actuality has made the fact of the pioneer almost grotesque. The -frontier is closed; the nation is the most prosperous among the -harassed ones of the earth; there is no need for the old perpetual -preoccupation with material existence. In spite of trade depressions -and wars and their aftermaths, we have conquered that problem. But we -have not conquered ourselves. We must still go on in the old terms, -as if the purpose of making money in order to make more money were as -important as the purpose of raising bread in order to support life. -The facts have changed, but we have not changed, only deflected our -interests. Where the pioneer cleared a wilderness, the modern financier -subdues a forest of competitors. He puts the same amount of energy and -essentially the same quality of thought into his task to-day, although -the practical consequences can hardly be described as identical. - -And what have been those practical consequences? As the industrial -revolution expanded, coincidently with the filling up of the country, -the surplus began to grow. That surplus was expended not towards -the enrichment of our life--if one omit the perfunctory bequests for -education--but towards the most obvious of unnecessary luxuries, -the grandiose maintenance of our women. The daughters of pioneer -mothers found themselves without a real job, often, indeed, the -chief instrument for advertising their husbands’ incomes. For years -the Victorian conception of women as ornaments dominated what we -were pleased to call our “better elements”--those years, to put it -brutally, which coincided with that early prosperity that made the -conception possible. If the leisure of the landed gentry class of -colonial times had been other than a direct importation, if there -had ever been a genuine _salon_ in our cultural history, or if our -early moneyed aristocracy had ever felt itself really secure from the -constant challenge of immigrant newcomers, this surplus might have -gone towards the deepening and widening of what we could have felt to -be an indigenous tradition. Or if, indeed, the Cavalier traditions of -the South (the only offshoot of the Renaissance in America) had not -been drained of all vitality by the Civil War and its economic and -intellectual consequences, this surplus might have enhanced the more -gracious aspects of those traditions. None of these possibilities -existed; and when prosperity smiled on us we were embarrassed. We were -parvenus--even to this day the comic series, “Bringing Up Father,” has -a native tang. We know exactly how Mr. Jiggs feels when Mrs. Jiggs -drags him away to a concert and makes him dress for a stiff, formal -dinner, when all his heart desires is to smoke his pipe and play poker -with Dinty and the boys. Indeed, this series, which appears regularly -in all the newspapers controlled by Mr. Hearst, will repay the social -historian all the attention he gives it. It symbolises better than most -of us appreciate the normal relationship of American men and women to -cultural and intellectual values. Its very grotesqueness and vulgarity -are revealing. - -In no country as in the United States have the tragic consequences of -the lack of any common concept of the good life been so strikingly -exemplified, and in no country has the break with those common concepts -been so sharp. After all, when other colonies have been founded, when -other peoples have roved from the homeland and settled in distant -parts, they have carried with them more than mere scraps of tradition. -Oftenest they have carried the most precious human asset of all, -a heritage of common feeling, which enabled them to cling to the -substance of the old forms even while they adapted them to the new -conditions of life. But with us the repudiation of the old heritages -was complete; we deliberately sought a new way of life, for in the -circumstances under which we came into national being, breaking with -the past was synonymous with casting off oppression. The hopefulness, -the eagerness, the enthusiasm of that conscious attempt to adjudge all -things afresh found its classic expression in the eloquent if vague. -Declaration of Independence, not even the abstract phraseology of which -could hide the revolutionary fervour beneath. Yet a few short years -and that early high mood of adventure had almost evaporated, and men -were distracted from the former vision by the prospect of limitless -economic expansion, both for the individual and the nation as a whole. -The Declaration symbolized only a short interlude in the pioneer -spirit which brought us here and then led us forth to conquer the -riches nature, with her fine contempt of human values, so generously -spread before us. The end of the revolutionary mood came as soon as -the signing of the Constitution by the States, that admirable working -compromise in government which made no attempt to underscore democracy, -as we understand it to-day, but rather to hold it in proper check and -balance. Free, then, of any common heritage or tradition which might -question his values, free, also, of the troublesome idealism of the -older revolutionary mood, the ordinary man could go forth into the -wilderness with singleness of purpose. He could be, as he still is -to-day, the pioneer _toujours_. - -Now when his success in his half-chosen rôle made it unnecessary for -him to play it, it was precisely the lack of a common concept of the -good life which made it impossible for him to be anything else. It is -not that Americans make money because they love to do so, but because -there is nothing else to do; oddly enough, it is not even that the -possessive instincts are especially strong with us (I think the French, -for instance, are naturally more avaricious than we), but that we -have no notion of a definite type of life for which a small income -is enough, and no notion of any type of life from which work has been -consciously eliminated. Never in any national sense having had leisure, -as individuals we do not know what to do with it when good fortune -gives it to us. Unlike a real game, we must go on playing _our_ game -even after we have won. - -But if the successful pioneer did not know what to do with his own -leisure, he had naïve faith in the capacity of his women to know -what to do with theirs. With the chivalric sentimentality that often -accompanies the prosperity of the primitive, the pioneer determined -that his good luck should bestow upon his wife and sisters and mother -and aunts a gift, the possession of which slightly embarrassed himself. -He gave them leisure exactly as the typical business man of to-day -gives them a blank check signed with his name. It disposed of them, -kept them out of his world, and salved his conscience--like a check to -charity. Unluckily for him, his mother, his wife, his sisters, and his -aunts were of his own blood and breeding; they were the daughters of -pioneers like himself, and the daughters of mothers who had contributed -share and share alike to those foundations which had made his success -possible. Although a few developed latent qualities of parasitism, -the majority were strangely discontented (strangely, that is, from -his point of view) with the job of mere Victorian ornament. What more -natural under the circumstances than that the unimportant things of -life--art, music, religion, literature, the intellectual life--should -be handed over to them to keep them busy and contented, while he -confined himself to the real man’s job of making money and getting on -in the world? Was it not a happy and sensible adaptation of function? - -Happy or not, it was exactly what took place. To an extent almost -incomprehensible to the peoples of older cultures, the things of the -mind and the spirit have been given over, in America, into the almost -exclusive custody of women. This has been true certainly of art, -certainly of music, certainly of education. The spinster school-marm -has settled in the impressionable, adolescent minds of boys the -conviction that the cultural interests are largely an affair of the -other sex; the intellectual life can have no connection with native -gaiety, with sexual curiosity, with play, with creative dreaming, or -with adventure. These more genuine impulses, he is made to feel, are -not merely distinguishable from the intellectual life, but actually at -war with it. In my own day at Harvard the Westerners in my class looked -with considerable suspicion upon those who specialized in literature, -the classics, or philosophy--a man’s education should be science, -economics, engineering. Only “sissies,” I was informed, took courses -in poetry out in that virile West. And to this day for a boy to be -taught to play the piano, for example, is regarded as “queer,” whereas -for a girl to be so taught is entirely in the nature of things. That -is, natural aptitude has nothing to do with it; some interests are -proper for women, others for men. Of course there are exceptions enough -to make even the boldest hesitate at generalizations, yet assuredly -the contempt, as measured in the only terms we thoroughly understand, -money, with which male teachers, male professors (secretly), male -ministers, and male artists are universally held should convince the -most prejudiced that, speaking broadly, this generalization is in -substance correct. - -In fact, when we try to survey the currents of our entire national -life, to assess these vagrant winds of doctrine free from the -ingenuousness that our own academic experience or training may give -us, the more shall we perceive that the dichotomy between the cultural -and intellectual life of men and women in this country has been -carried farther than anywhere else in the world. We need only recall -the older women’s clubs of the comic papers--in truth, the actual -women’s clubs of to-day as revealed by small-town newspaper reports of -their meetings--the now deliquescent Browning Clubs, the Chautauquas, -the church festivals, the rural normal schools for teachers, the -women’s magazines, the countless national organizations for improving, -elevating, uplifting this, that, or the other. One shudders slightly -and turns to the impeccable style, the slightly tired and sensuous -irony of Anatole France (not yet censored, if we read him in French) -for relief. Or if we are so fortunate as to be “regular” Americans -instead of unhappy intellectuals educated beyond our environment, -we go gratefully back to our work at the office. Beside the stilted -artificiality of this world of higher ethical values the business -world, where men haggle, cheat, and steal with whole-hearted devotion -is at least real. And it is this world, the world of making money, -in which alone the American man can feel thoroughly at home. If the -French romanticists of the 18th century invented the phrase _la femme -mécomprise_, a modern Gallic visitor would be tempted to observe -that in this 20th century the United States was the land of _l’homme -mécompris_. - -These, then, are the cruder historical forces that have led directly -to the present remarkable situation, a situation, of course, which I -attempt to depict only in its larger outlines. For the surface of the -contemporary social structure shows us suffrage, the new insights into -the world of industry which the war gave so many women for the first -time, the widening of professional opportunity, co-education, and, in -the life which perhaps those of us who have contributed to this volume -know best, a genuine intellectual camaraderie. Nevertheless, I believe -the underlying thesis cannot be successfully challenged. Where men -and women in America to-day share their intellectual life on terms of -equality and perfect understanding, closer examination reveals that -the phenomenon is not a sharing but a capitulation. The men have been -feminized. - -Thus far through this essay I have by implication rather than direct -statement contrasted genuine interest in intellectual things with -the kind of intellectual life led by women. Let me say now that no -intention is less mine than to contribute to the old controversy -concerning the respective intellectual capacities of the two sexes. -If I use the adjective “masculine” to denote a more valid type of -intellectual impulse than is expressed by the adjective “feminine,” it -is not to belittle the quality of the second impulse; it is a matter of -definition. Further, the relative degree of “masculine” and “feminine” -traits possessed by an individual are almost as much the result of -acquired training as of native inheritance. The young, independent -college girl of to-day is in fact more likely to possess “masculine” -intellectual habits than is the average Y.M.C.A. director. I use -the adjectives to express broad, general characteristics as they are -commonly understood. - -For a direct examination of the intellectual life of women--which, -I repeat, is practically the intellectual life of the nation--in -the United States shows the necessity of terms being defined more -sharply. Interest in intellectual things is first, last, and all the -time _disinterested_; it is the love of truth, if not exclusively -for its own sake, at least without fear of consequences, in fact -with precious little thought about consequences. This does not mean -that such exercise of the native disposition to think, such slaking -of the natural metaphysical curiosity in all of us, is not a process -enwrapped--as truly as the disposition to make love or to get -angry--with an emotional aura of its own, a passion as distinctive as -any other. It merely means that the occasions which stimulate this -innate intellectual disposition are of a different sort than those -which stimulate our other dispositions. An imaginative picture of -one’s enlarged social self will arouse our instincts of ambition or a -desire to found a family, whereas curiosity or wonder about the mystery -of life, the meaning of death, the ultimate nature of God (objects -of desire as truly as other objects) will arouse our intellectual -disposition. These occasions, objects, hypotheses are of necessity -without moral significance. The values inherent in them are the -values of satisfied contemplation and not of practical result. Their -immediate utility--although their ultimate, by the paradox that is -constantly making mere common sense inadequate, may be very great--is -only subjective. In this sense, they seem wayward and masculine; and, -cardinal sin of all, useless. - -Perhaps the meaning of the “feminine” approach to the intellectual life -may be made somewhat clearer by this preliminary definition. The basic -assumption of such an approach is that ideas are measured for their -value by terms outside the ideas themselves, or, as Mrs. Mary Austin -recently said in a magazine article, by “her [woman’s] deep sense of -social applicability as the test of value.” Fundamentally, in a word, -the intellectual life is an instrument of moral reform; the real -test of ideas lies in their utilitarian success. Hence it is hardly -surprising that the intellectual life, as I have defined it, of women -in America turns out on examination not to be an intellectual life at -all, but sociological activity. The best of modern women thinkers in -the United States--and there are many--are oftenest technical experts, -keen to apply knowledge and skill to the formulation of a technique -for the better solution of problems _the answers to which are already -assumed_. The question of fundamental ends is seldom if ever raised: -for example, the desirability of the modern family, the desirability -of children glowing with health, the desirability of monogamy are not -challenged. They are assumed as ends desirable in themselves, and what -women usually understand by the intellectual life is the application of -modern scientific methods to a sort of enlarged and subtler course in -domestic science. - -This attitude of contempt for mere intellectual values has of course -been strengthened by the native pioneer suspicion of all thought that -does not issue immediately in successful action. The remarkable growth -of pragmatism, and its sturdy offspring instrumentalism, where ideas -become but the lowly handmaidens of “getting on,” has been possible to -the extent to which we see it to-day precisely because the intellectual -atmosphere has been surcharged with this feminized utilitarianism. -We are deeply uncomfortable before introspection, contemplation, or -scrupulous adherence to logical sequence. Women do not hesitate to -call these activities cold, impersonal, indirect--I believe they have -a phrase for them, “the poobah tradition of learning.” With us the -concept of the intellect as a soulless machine operating in a rather -clammy void has acquired the force of folklore because we have so much -wished to strip it of warmth and colour. We have wanted to discredit -it in itself; we have respected it only for what it could do. If -its operations lead to better sanitation, better milk for babies, -and larger bridges over which, in Matthew Arnold’s phrase, we might -cross more rapidly from one dismal, illiberal city to another dismal, -illiberal city, then those operations have been justified. That the -life of the mind might have an emotional drive, a sting or vibrancy of -its own, constituting as valuable a contribution to human happiness as, -say, the satisfied marital felicity of the bacteria-less suburbanite -in his concrete villa has been incomprehensible. Every science must be -an _applied_ science, the intellect must be _applied_ intellect before -we thoroughly understand it. We have created an environment in which -the intellectual impulses must become fundamentally social in quality -and mood, whereas the truth of the matter is that these impulses, like -the religious impulse, in their pristine spontaneity are basically -individualistic and capricious rather than disciplined. - -But such individualism in thought, unless mellowed by contact with -institutions that assume and cherish it and thus can, without -patronizing, correct its wildnesses, inevitably turns into -eccentricity. And such, unfortunately, has too often been the history -of American intellectuals. The institutional structure that might -sustain them and keep them on the main track of the humanistic -tradition has been too fragile and too slight. The university and -college life, the educational institutions, even the discipline of -scholarship, as other essays in this volume show us, have been of -very little assistance. Even the church has provoked recalcitrance -rather than any real reorientation of religious viewpoint, and our -atheists--recall Ingersoll--have ordinarily been quite conventional -in their intellectual outlook. With educated Englishmen, for example, -whatever their religious, economic, or political views, there has been -a certain common tradition or point of departure and understanding, -i.e., the classics. Mr. Balfour can speak the same language as Mr. -Bertrand Russell, even when he is a member of a government that puts -Mr. Russell in gaol for his political opposition to the late war. But -it really is a strain on the imagination to picture Mr. Denby quoting -Hume to refute Mr. Weeks, or Vice-President Coolidge engaging in an -epistemological controversy with Postmaster-General Hays. There is no -intellectual background common to President Harding and Convict Debs or -to any one person and possibly as many as a hundred others--there are -only common social or geographical backgrounds, in which the absence of -a real community of interests is pathetically emphasized by grotesque -emphasis upon fraternal solidarity, as when Mr. Harding discovered that -he and his chauffeur belonged to the same lodge, regarding this purely -fortuitous fact as a symbol of the healing power of the Fathers and of -American Democracy! - -In such an atmosphere of shadowy spiritual relationships, where the -thinness of contact of mind with mind is childishly disguised under the -banner of good fellowship, it might be expected that the intellectual -life must be led not only with that degree of individualistic isolation -which is naturally necessary for its existence, but likewise in a -hostile and unintelligent environment of almost enforced “difference” -from the general social type. Such an atmosphere will become as -infested with cranks, fanatics, mushroom religious enthusiasts, moral -prigs with new schemes of perfectability, inventors of perpetual -motion, illiterate novelists, and oratorical cretins, as a swamp with -mosquitoes. They seem to breed almost overnight; we have no standard -to which the wise and the foolish may equally repair, no criterion -by which spontaneously to appraise them and thus, by robbing them of -the breath of their life, recognition, reduce their numbers. On the -contrary, we welcome them all with a kind of Jamesian gusto, as if -every fool, like every citizen, must have his right to vote. It is -a kind of intellectual enfranchisement that produces the same sort -of leadership which, in the political field of complete suffrage, -we suffer under from Washington and our various State capitals. Our -intellectual life, when we judge it objectively on the side of vigour -and diversity, too often seems like a democracy of mountebanks. - -Yet when we turn from the more naïve and popular experiments for -finding expression for the baulked disposition to think, the more -sophisticated _jeunesse dorée_ of our cultural life are equally -crippled and sterile. They suffer not so much from being thought and -being “queer”--in fact, inwardly deeply uncomfortable at not being -successful business men, they are scrupulously conventional in manner -and appearance--but from what Professor Santayana has called, with his -usual felicity, “the genteel tradition.” It is a blight that falls on -the just and the unjust; like George Bernard Shaw, they are tolerant -before the caprices of the mind, and intolerant before the caprices of -the body. They acquire their disability from the essentially American -(and essentially feminine) timorousness before life itself; they seem -to want to confine, as do all good husbands and providers, adventure -to mental adventure and tragedy to an error in ratiocination. They -will discant generously about liberty of opinion--although, strictly -speaking, _opinion_ is always free; all that is restricted is the right -to put it into words--yet seem singularly silent concerning liberty of -action. If this were a mere temperamental defect, it would of course -have no importance. But it cuts much deeper. Thought, like mist, arises -from the earth, and to it must eventually return, if it is not to be -dissipated into the ether. The genteel tradition, which has stolen from -the intellectual life its own proper possessions, gaiety and laughter, -has left it sour and _déraciné_. It has lost its earthy roots, its -sensuous fulness, its bodily _mise-en-scène_. One has the feeling, when -one talks to our correct intellectuals, that they are somehow brittle -and might be cracked with a pun, a low story, or an animal grotesquerie -as an eggshell might be cracked. Yet whatever else thought may be in -itself, surely we know that it has a biological history and an animal -setting; it can reach its own proper dignity and effectiveness only -when it functions in some kind of rational relationship with the more -clamorous instincts of the body. The adjustment must be one of harmony -and welcome; real thinkers do not make this ascetic divorce between -the passions and the intellect, the emotions and the reason, which -is the central characteristic of the genteel tradition. Thought is -nourished by the soil it feeds on, and in America to-day that soil is -choked with the feckless weeds of correctness. Our sanitary perfection, -our material organization of goods, our muffling of emotion, our -deprecation of curiosity, our fear of idle adventure, our horror of -disease and death, our denial of suffering--what kind of soil of life -is that? - -Surely not an over-gracious or thrilling one; small wonder that our -intellectual plants wither in this carefully aseptic sunlight. - -Nevertheless, though I was tempted to give the sub-title “A Study in -Sterility” to this essay, I do not believe that our soil is wholly -sterile. Beneath the surface barrenness stirs a germinal energy that -may yet push its way through the weeds and the tin-cans of those -who are afraid of life. If the genteel tradition did not succumb to -the broad challenge of Whitman, his invitations have not been wholly -rejected by the second generation following him. The most hopeful -thing of intellectual promise in America to-day is the contempt of -the younger people for their elders; they are restless, uneasy, -disaffected. It is not a disciplined contempt; it is not yet kindled -by any real love of intellectual values--how could it be? Yet it is -a genuine and moving attempt to create a way of life free from the -bondage of an authority that has lost all meaning, even to those -who wield it. Some it drives in futile and pathetic expatriotism -from the country; others it makes headstrong and reckless; many it -forces underground, where, much as in Russia before the revolution -of 1905, the _intelligentsia_ meet their own kind and share the -difficulties of their common struggle against an environment that is -out to destroy them. But whatever its crudeness and headiness, it is -a yeast composed always of those who _will not_ conform. The more -the pressure of standardization is applied to them the sharper and -keener--if often the wilder--becomes their rebellion against it. Just -now these non-conformists constitute a spiritual fellowship which is -disorganized and with few points of contact. It may be ground out of -existence, for history is merciless and every humanistic interlude -resembles a perilous equipoise of barbaric forces. Only arrogance and -self-complacency give warrant for assuming that we may not be facing -a new kind of dark age. On the other hand, if the more amiable and -civilized of the generation now growing up can somehow consolidate -their scattered powers, what may they not accomplish? For we have a -vitality and nervous alertness which, properly channelled and directed, -might cut through the rocks of stupidity with the precision and -spaciousness with which our mechanical inventions have seized on our -natural resources and turned them into material goods. Our cup of life -is full to the brim. - -I like to think that this cup will not all be poured upon the sandy -deltas of industrialism ... we have so much to spare! Climb to the top -of the Palisades and watch the great city in the deepening dusk as -light after light, and rows of lights after rows, topped by towers of -radiance at the end of the island, shine through the shadows across the -river. Think, then, of the miles of rolling plains, fertile and dotted -with cities, stretching behind one to that other ocean which washes a -civilization that was old before we were born and yet to-day gratefully -accepts our pitiful doles to keep it from starvation, of the millions -of human aspirations and hopes and youthful eagernesses contained -in the great sprawling, uneasy entity we call our country--must all -the hidden beauty and magic and laughter we know is ours be quenched -because we lack the courage to make it proud and defiant? Or walk down -the Avenue some late October morning when the sun sparkles in a clear -and electric air such as can be found nowhere else in the world. The -flashing beauty of form, the rising step of confident animalism, the -quick smile of fertile minds--must all these things, too, be reduced to -a drab uniformity because we lack the courage to proclaim their sheer -physical loveliness? Has not the magic of America been hidden under a -fog of ugliness by those who never really loved it, who never knew our -natural gaiety and high spirits and eagerness for knowledge? They have -the upper hand now--but who would dare to prophesy that they can keep -it? - -Perhaps this is only a day-dream, but surely one can hope that the -America of our natural affections rather than the present one of -enforced dull standardization may some day snap the shackles of those -who to-day keep it a spiritual prison. And as surely will it be the -rebellious and disaffected who accomplish the miracle, if it is ever -accomplished. Because at bottom their revolt, unlike the aggressions -of the standardizers, is founded not on hate of what they cannot -understand, but on love of what they wish all to share. - - HAROLD E. STEARNS - - - - -SCIENCE - - -The scientific work of our countrymen has probably evoked less -scepticism on the part of foreign judges than their achievements in -other departments of cultural activity. There is one obvious reason for -this difference. When our letters, our art, our music are criticized -with disdainfully faint commendation, it is because they have failed to -attain the higher reaches of creative effort. Supreme accomplishment in -art certainly presupposes a graduated series of lesser strivings, yet -from what might be called the consumer’s angle, mediocrity is worthless -and incapable of giving inspiration to genius. But in science it is -otherwise. Here every bit of sound work--however commonplace--counts as -a contribution to the stock of knowledge; and, what is more, on labours -of this lesser order the superior mind is frequently dependent for its -own syntheses. A combination of intelligence, technical efficiency, -and application may not by itself suffice to read the riddles of -the universe; but, to change the metaphor, it may well provide the -foundation for the epoch-makers’ structure. So while it is derogatory -to American literature to be considered a mere reflection of English -letters, it is no reflection on American scientists that they have -gone to Europe to acquire that craftsmanship which is an indispensable -prerequisite to fruitful research. And when we find Alexander von -Humboldt praising in conversation with Silliman the geographical -results of Maury and Frémont, there is no reason to suspect him of -perfunctory politeness to a transatlantic visitor; the veteran scholar -might well rejoice in the ever widening application of methods he had -himself aided in perfecting. - -Thus even seventy years ago and more the United States had by honest, -painstaking labour made worthwhile additions to human knowledge and -these contributions have naturally multiplied a hundredfold with the -lapse of years. Yet it would be quite misleading to make it appear -as if the total represented merely a vast accumulation of uninspired -routine jobs. Some years ago, to be sure, an American writer rather -sensationally voiced his discontent with the paucity of celebrated -_savants_ among our countrymen. But he forgot that in science fame -is a very inadequate index of merit. The precise contribution made -by one man’s individual ability is one of the most tantalizingly -difficult things to determine--so much so that scholars are still -debating in what measure Galileo’s predecessors paved the way for -his discoveries in dynamics. For a layman, then, to appraise the -relative significance of this or that intellectual worthy on the basis -of current gossip is rather absurd. Certainly the lack of a popular -reputation is a poor reason for denying greatness to a contemporary or -even near-contemporary scientific thinker. Two remarkable instances at -once come to mind of Americans who have won the highest distinction -abroad yet remain unknown by name to many of their most cultivated -compatriots. Who has ever heard of Willard Gibbs? Yet he was the -recipient of the Copley medal, British learning’s highest honour, and -his phase rule is said to mark an epoch in the progress of physical -chemistry. Again, prior to the Nobel prize award, who outside academic -bowers had ever heard of the crucial experiment by which a Chicago -physicist showed, to quote Poincaré, “that the physical procedures are -powerless to put in evidence absolute motion”? Michelson’s name is -linked with all the recent speculations on relativity, and he shares -with Einstein the fate of finding himself famous one fine morning -through the force of purely external circumstances. - -In even the briefest and most random enumeration of towering native -sons it is impossible to ignore the name of William James. Here for -once the suffrage of town and gown, of domestic and alien judges, -is unanimous. Naturally James can never mean quite the same to the -European world that he means to us, because in the United States he -is far more than a great psychologist, philosopher, or literary man. -Owing to our peculiar spiritual history, he occupies in our milieu an -altogether unique position. His is the solitary example of an American -pre-eminent in a branch of science who at the same time succeeded in -deeply affecting the cultural life of a whole generation. Further, he -is probably the only one of our genuinely original men to be thoroughly -saturated with the essense of old world civilization. On the other -side of the Atlantic, of course, neither of these characteristics -would confer a patent of distinction. Foreign judgment of James’s -psychological achievement was consequently not coloured by external -considerations, and it is all the more remarkable that the “Principles -of Psychology” was so widely and by such competent critics acclaimed as -a synthesis of the first order. - -Without attempting to exhaust the roster of great names, I must -mention Simon Newcomb and his fellow-astronomer, George W. Hill, both -Copley medallists. Newcomb, in particular, stood out as the foremost -representative of his science in this country, honoured here and abroad -alike for his abstruse original researches into the motion of the -moon and the planetary system and for his effective popularization. -Henry Augustus Rowland, the physicist, was another of our outstanding -men--one, incidentally, whose measure was taken in Europe long before -his greatness dawned upon his colleagues at home. He is celebrated, -among other things, for perfecting an instrument of precision and for -a new and more accurate determination of the mechanical equivalent of -heat. Among geologists Grove Karl Gilbert, famous for his exploration -of Lake Bonneville--the major forerunner of Great Salt Lake--and his -investigations of mountain structure, stands forth as one of our -pre-eminent savants. Even those who, like the present writer, enjoyed -merely casual contact with that grand old man could not fail to gain -the impression that now they knew what a great scientist looked like -in the flesh and to feel that such a one would be a fit member of any -intellectual galaxy anywhere. - -If from single individuals we turn to consider currents of scientific -thought, the United States again stands the trial with flying colours. -It can hardly be denied that in a number of branches our countrymen -are marching in the vanguard. “Experimental biology,” said a German -zoologist some time before the War, “is pre-eminently an American -science.” Certainly one need merely glance at German or British -manuals to learn how deeply interpretations of basic evolutionary -phenomena have been affected by the work of Professor T. H. Morgan -and his followers. In psychology it is true that no one wears the -mantle of William James, but there is effective advancement along -a number of distinct lines. Thorndike’s tests marked an era in the -annals of animal psychology, supplanting with a saner technique the -slovenly work of earlier investigators. Experimental investigation of -mental phenomena generally, of individual variability and behaviour in -particular, flourishes in a number of academic centres. In anthropology -the writings of Lewis H. Morgan have proved a tremendous stimulus to -sociological speculation the world over and still retain their hold -on many European thinkers. They were not, in my opinion, the product -of a great intellect and the scheme of evolution traced by Morgan is -doomed to abandonment. Yet his theories have suggested a vast amount -of thought and to his lasting credit it must be said that he opened -up an entirely new and fruitful field of recondite research through -his painstaking accumulation and discussion of primitive kinship -terminologies. - -More recently the anthropological school headed by Professor Boas has -led to a transvaluation of theoretical values in the study of cultural -development, supplanting with a sounder historical insight the cruder -evolutionary speculation of the past. Above all, its founder has -succeeded in perfecting the methodology of every division of the vast -subject, and remains probably the only anthropologist in the world who -has both directly and indirectly furthered ethnological, linguistic, -somatological and archæological investigation. Finally, the active part -played by pathologists like Dr. Simon Flexner in the experimental study -of disease is too well known to require more than brief mention. - -Either in its individual or collective results, American research is -thus very far from being a negligible factor in the scientific life of -the world. Nevertheless, the medal has a reverse side, and he would be -a bold optimist who should sincerely voice complete contentment either -with the status of science in the cultural polity of the nation or with -the work achieved by the average American investigator. Let us, then, -try to face the less flattering facts in the case. - -The fundamental difficulty can be briefly summarized by applying -the sociologist’s concept of maladjustment. American science, -notwithstanding its notable achievements, is not an organic product of -our soil; it is an epiphenomenon, a hothouse growth. It is still the -prerogative of a caste, not a treasure in which the nation glories. -We have at best only a nascent class of cultivated laymen who relish -scientific books requiring concentrated thought or supplying large -bodies of fact. This is shown most clearly by the rarity of articles -of this type even in our serious magazines. Our physicians, lawyers, -clergymen and journalists--in short, our educated classes--do not -encourage the publication of reading-matter which is issued in Europe -as a profitable business venture. It is hard to conceive of a book -like Mach’s “Analyse der Empfindungen” running through eight editions -in the United States. Conversely, it is not strange that hardly any of -our first-rate men find it an alluring task to seek an understanding -with a larger audience. Newcomb and James are of course remarkable -exceptions, but they _are_ exceptions. Here again the contrast -with European conditions is glaring. Not to mention the classic -popularizers of the past, England, e.g., can boast even to-day of such -men as Pearson, Soddy, Joly, Hinks--all of them competent or even -distinguished in their professional work yet at the same time skilful -interpreters of their field to a wider public. But for a healthy -cultural life a rapport of this sort between creator and appreciator is -an indispensable prerequisite, and it is not a whit less important in -science than in music or poetry. - -The estrangement of science from its social environment has produced -anomalies almost inconceivable in the riper civilizations of the Old -World. Either the scientist loses contact with his surroundings or -in the struggle for survival he adapts himself by a surrender of his -individuality, that is, by more or less disingenuously parading as -a lowbrow and representing himself as a dispenser of worldly goods. -It is quite true that, historically, empirical knowledge linked with -practical needs is earlier than rational science; it is also true that -applied and pure science can be and have been mutual benefactors. -This lesson is an important one and in a country with a scholastic -tradition like Germany it was one that men like Mach and Ostwald did -well to emphasize. But in an age and country where philosophers pique -themselves on ignoring philosophical problems and psychologists have -become experts in advertising technique, the emphasis ought surely to -be in quite the opposite direction, and that, even if one inclines in -general to a utilitarian point of view. For nothing is more certain -than that a penny-wise Gradgrind policy is a pound-foolish one. A -friend teaching in one of our engineering colleges tells me that owing -to the “practical” training received there the graduates are indeed -able to apply formulæ by rote but flounder helplessly when confronted -by a new situation, which drives them to seek counsel with the despised -and underpaid “theoretical” professor. The plea for pure science -offered by Rowland in 1883 is not yet altogether antiquated in 1921: -“To have the applications of a science, the science itself must exist -... we have taken the science of the Old World, and applied it to all -our uses, accepting it like the rain of heaven, without asking whence -it came, or even acknowledging the debt of gratitude we owe to the -great and unselfish workers who have given it to us.... To a civilized -nation of the present day, the applications of science are a necessity, -and our country has hitherto succeeded in this line, only for the -reason that there are certain countries in the world where pure science -has been and is cultivated, and where the study of nature is considered -a noble pursuit.” - -The Bœotian disdain for research as a desirable pursuit is naturally -reflected in the mediocre encouragement doled out to investigators, who -are obliged to do their work by hook or by crook and to raise funds -by the undignified cajolery of wealthy patrons and a disingenuous -_argumentum ad hominem_. Heaven forbid that money be appropriated to -attack a problem which, in the opinion of the best experts, calls -for solution; effort must rather be diverted to please an ignorant -benefactor bent on establishing a pet theory or fired with the zeal to -astound the world by a sensational discovery. - -Another aspect of scientific life in the United States that reflects -the general cultural conditions is the stress placed on organization -and administration as opposed to individual effort. It is quite true -that for the prosecution of elaborate investigations careful allotment -of individual tasks contributory to the general end is important and -sometimes even indispensable. But some of the greatest work in the -history of science has been achieved without regard for the principles -of business efficiency; and whatever advantage may accrue in the future -from administrative devices is negligible in comparison with the -creative thought of scientific men. These, and only these, can lend -value to the machinery of organization, which independently of them -must remain a soulless instrument. The overweighting of efficiency -schemes as compared to creative personalities is only a symptom of a -general maladjustment. Intimately related with this feature is that -cynical flouting of intellectual values that appears in the customary -attitude of trustees and university presidents towards those who -shed lustre on our academic life. The professional pre-eminence of a -scientist may be admitted by the administrative officials but it is -regarded as irrelevant since the standard of values accepted by them is -only remotely, if at all, connected with originality or learning. - -There are, of course, scientists to whom deference is paid even by -trustees, nay, by the wives of trustees; but it will be usually found -that they are men of independent means or social prestige. It is, in -other words, their wealth and position, not their creative work, that -raises them above their fellows. One of the most lamentable results -of this contempt for higher values is the failure to provide for -ample leisure that might be devoted to research. The majority of our -scientists, like those abroad, gain a livelihood by teaching, but few -foreign observers fail to be shocked by the way the energies of their -American colleagues are frittered away on administrative routine and -elementary instruction till neither time nor strength remains for -the advancement of knowledge. But even this does not tell the whole -story, for we must remember that the younger scientists are as a rule -miserably underpaid and are obliged to eke out a living by popular -writing or lecturing, so that research becomes a sheer impossibility. -If Ostwald and Cattell are right in associating the highest -productivity with the earlier years of maturity, the tragic effects of -such conditions as I have just described are manifest. - -In justice, however, mention must be made of a number of institutions -permitting scientific work without imposing any obligation to teach -or onerous administrative duties. The U. S. Geological Survey, the -Carnegie Institution, the Rockefeller Institute may serve as examples. -We must likewise remember that different individuals react quite -differently to the necessity for teaching. Some of the most noted -investigators--Rowland, for instance--find a moderate amount of -lecturing positively stimulating. In a utopian republic of learning -such individual variations would be carefully considered in the -allotment of tasks. The association of the Lick Observatory with the -University of California seems to approximate to ideal conditions, -inasmuch as its highly trained astronomers are relieved of all academic -duties but enjoy the privilege of lecturing to the students when the -spirit moves them. - -To return to the main question, the maladjustment between the specific -scientific phase of our civilization and the general cultural life -produces certain effects even more serious than those due to penury, -administrative tyranny, and popular indifference, for they are -less potent and do not so readily evoke defence-mechanisms on the -victims’ part. There is, first of all, a curtailment of potential -scientific achievement through the general deficiencies of the cultural -environment. - -Much has been said by both propagandists and detractors of German -scholarship about the effects of intensive specialization. But an -important feature commonly ignored in this connection is that in the -country of its origin specialization is a concomitant and successor -of a liberal education. Whatever strictures may be levelled at the -traditional form of this preparatory training--and I have seen it -criticized as severely by German writers as by any--the fact remains -that the German university student has a broad cultural background such -as his American counterpart too frequently lacks; and what is true of -Germany holds with minor qualifications for other European countries. - -A trivial example will serve to illustrate the possible advantages -of a cultural foundation for very specialized research. Music is -notoriously one of the salient features of German culture, not merely -because Germany has produced great composers but because of the wide -appreciation and quite general study of music. Artistically the -knowledge of the piano or violin acquired by the average child in -the typical German home may count for naught, yet in at least two -branches of inquiry it may assume importance. The psychological aspect -of acoustics is likely to attract and to be fruitfully cultivated by -those conversant with musical technique, and they alone will be capable -of grappling with the comparative problems presented by the study -of primitive music--problems that would never occur to the average -Anglo-Saxon field ethnologist, yet to which the German would apply his -knowledge as spontaneously as he applies the multiplication table to a -practical matter of everyday purchase. - -As a matter of fact, all the phenomena of the universe are interrelated -and, accordingly, the most important advances may be expected from a -revelation of the less patent connections. For this purpose a diversity -of interests with corresponding variety of information may be not only -a favourable condition but a prerequisite. Helmholtz may have made an -indifferent physician; but because he combined a medical practitioner’s -knowledge with that of a physicist he was enabled to devise the -ophthalmoscope. So it may be that not one out of ten thousand men -who might apply themselves to higher mathematics would ever be able -to advance mathematical theory, but it is certainly true that the -manipulatory skill acquired would stand them in good stead not only in -the exact sciences but in biology, psychology, and anthropometry, in -all of which the theory of probability can be effectively applied to -the phenomenon of variability. - -I do not mean to assert that the average European student is an -Admirable Crichton utilizing with multidexterity the most diverse -methods of research and groups of fact. But I am convinced that -many European workers produce more valuable work than equally able -Americans for the sole reason that the European’s social heritage -provides him with agencies ready-made for detecting correlations that -must inevitably elude a vision narrower because deprived of the same -artificial aid. The remedy lies in enriching the cultural atmosphere -and in insisting on a broad educational training over and above that -devoted to the specialist’s craftsmanship. - -Important, however, as variety of information and interests doubtless -are, one factor must take precedence in the scientist’s equipment--the -spirit in which he approaches his scientific work as a whole. In -this respect the point that would probably strike most European or, -at all events, Continental scientists is the rarity in America of -philosophical inquiries into the foundations of one’s scientific -position. The contrast with German culture is of course sharp, and in -many Teutonic works the national bent for epistemological discussion is -undoubtedly carried to a point where it ceases to be palatable to those -not to the manner born. Yet this tendency has a salutary effect in -stimulating that contempt for mere authority which is indispensable for -scientific progress. What our average American student should acquire -above all is a stout faith in the virtues of _reasoned nonconformism_, -and in this phrase adjective and noun are equally significant. On -one hand, we must condemn the blind deference with which too many of -our investigators accept the judgments of acknowledged greatness. -What can be more ridiculous, e.g., than to make dogmas of the _obiter -dicta_ of a man like William James, the chief lesson of whose life is -a resentment of academic traditionalism? Or, what shall we think of -a celebrated biologist who decides the problem of Lamarckianism by -a careful weighing not of arguments but of authorities? No one can -approve of the grim ferocity, reminiscent of the literary feuds of -Alexander Pope, with which German savants sometimes debate problems of -theoretic interest. Yet even such billingsgate as Dührring levelled at -Helmholtz is preferable to obsequious discipleship. It testifies, at -all events, to the glorious belief that in the republic of learning -fame and position count for naught, that the most illustrious scientist -shall not be free from the criticism of the meanest _Privatdozent_, -But the nonconformism should be rational. It is infantile to cling to -leading-strings but it is no less childish to thrust out one’s tongue -at doctrines that happen to disagree with those of one’s own clique. -Indeed, frequently both forms of puerility are combined: it is easy to -sneer with James at Wundt or to assault the selectionists under cover -of De Vries’s mutationism. A mature thinker will forego the short and -easy but misleading road. Following Fechner, he will be cautious in his -belief but equally cautious in his disbelief. - -It is only such spiritual freedom that makes the insistence on academic -freedom a matter worth fighting for. After all, what is the use of -a man’s teaching what he pleases, if he quite sincerely retails -the current folk-lore? In one of the most remarkable chapters of -the “Mechanik” Ernst Mach points out that the detriment to natural -philosophy due to the political power of the Church is easily -exaggerated. Science was retarded primarily not because scientists were -driven by outward compulsion to spread such and such views but because -they uncritically swallowed the cud of folk-belief. _Voilà l’ennemi!_ -In the insidious influence of group opinions, whether countenanced by -Church, State or a scientific hierarchy, lies the basic peril. The -philosophic habit of unremitting criticism of one’s basic assumptions -is naturally repugnant to a young and naïve culture, and it cannot be -expected to spring up spontaneously and flower luxuriantly in science -while other departments of life fail to yield it nurture. Every phase -of our civilization must be saturated with that spirit of positive -scepticism which Goethe and Huxley taught before science can reap a -full harvest in her own field. But her votaries, looking back upon -the history of science, may well be emboldened to lead in the battle, -and if the pioneers in the movement should fail they may well console -themselves with Milton’s hero: “... and that strife was not inglorious, -though the event was dire!” - - ROBERT H. LOWIE - - - - -PHILOSOPHY - - -Philosophy is at once a product of civilization and a stimulus to -its development. It is the solvent in which the inarticulate and -conflicting aspirations of a people become clarified and from which -they derive directing force. Since, however, philosophers are likely -to clothe their thoughts in highly technical language, there is -need of a class of middle-men-interpreters through whom philosophy -penetrates the masses. By American tradition, the philosophers have -been professors; the interpreters, clergymen. Professors are likely to -be deflected by the ideas embodied in the institutions with which they -associate themselves. The American college, in its foundations, was -designated a protector of orthodoxy and still echoes what Santayana -has so aptly called the “genteel tradition,” the tradition that the -teacher must defend the faith. Some of the most liberal New England -colleges even now demand attendance at daily chapel and Sunday church. -Less than a quarter of a century ago, one could still find, among major -non-sectarian institutions, the clergyman-president, himself a teacher, -crowning the curriculum with a senior requirement, Christian Evidences, -in support of the Faith. - -The nineteenth century organized a vigorous war against this genteel -tradition. Not only were the attacks of rationalism on dogma -reinforced by the ever-mounting tide of scientific discovery within -our institutions of learning, but also the news of these scientific -discoveries began to stir the imagination of the public, and to -carry the conflict of science and theology beyond the control of the -church-college. The greatest leaven was Darwin’s “Origin of Species,” -of which two American editions were announced as early as 1860, one -year after its publication in England. The dogma of science came -publicly to confront the dogma of theology. Howsoever conservative -the college, it had to yield to the new intellectual temper and the -capitulation was facilitated by the army of young professors whom -cheapened transportation and the rumour of great achievements led to -the universities of Germany. - -From the point of view of popular interest, the immediate effects of -these pilgrimages were not wholly advantageous to philosophy. In losing -something of their American provincialism, these pilgrims also lost -their hold on American interests. The problems that they brought back -were rooted in a foreign soil and tradition. To students they appeared -artificial and barren displays of technical skill. Thus an academic -philosophy of professordom arose, the more lonely through the loss -of the ecclesiastical mediators of the earlier tradition. But here -and there American vitality showed through its foreign clothes and -gradually an assimilation took place, the more easily, perhaps, since -German idealism naturally sustains the genteel tradition and thrives -amid the modes of thought that Emerson had developed independently and -for which his literary gifts had obtained a following. - -Wherever New England has constituted the skeletal muscles of -philosophic culture, its temper has remained unchanged. Calvinism was -brought to America because it suited this temper, and the history of -idealism in America is the history of its preservation by adaptation to -a changing environment of ideas. Its marks are a sense of the presence -of the Divine in experience and a no less strong sense of inevitable -evil. Jonathan Edwards writes, “When we behold the light and brightness -of the sun, the golden edges of an evening cloud, or the beauteous -bow, we behold the adumbrations of His glory and goodness; and in the -blue sky, of his mildness and gentleness. There are also many things -wherein we may behold His awful majesty: in the sun in his strength, in -comets, in thunder, with the lowering thunder-clouds, in ragged rocks -and the brows of mountains.” Emerson’s version is: “Nature is always -consistent, though she feigns to contravene her own laws.... She arms -and equips an animal to find it place and living in the earth, and at -the same time she arms and equips another animal to destroy it. Space -exists to divide creatures; but by clothing the sides of a bird with -a few feathers she gives him a petty omnipresence.... Nature is the -incarnation of a thought, and turns to a thought again, as ice becomes -water and gas. Every moment instructs and every object; for wisdom is -infused into every form.” And Royce’s: “When they told us in childhood -that we could not see God just _because_ he was everywhere, just -because his omnipresence gave us no chance to discern him and to fix -our eyes upon him, they told us a deep truth in allegorical fashion.... -The Self is so little a thing merely guessed at as the unknown source -of experience, that already, in the very least of daily experiences, -you unconsciously know him as something present.” - -In its darker aspect this temper gives us Edwards’s “Sinners in the -Hands of an Angry God,” whose choices we may not fathom. But Emerson -is not far behind: “Great men, great nations, have not been boasters -and buffoons, but perceivers of the terror of life, and have manned -themselves to face it.... At Lisbon, an earthquake killed men like -flies. At Naples, three years ago, ten thousand persons were crushed in -a few minutes. Etc.... Providence has a wild, rough, incalculable road -to its end, and it is of no use to try to whitewash its huge, mixed -instrumentalities, or to dress up that terrific benefactor in the clean -shirt and white neckcloth of a student of divinity.” For Royce, “the -worst tragedy of the world is the tragedy of the brute chance to which -everything spiritual seems to be subject amongst us--the tragedy of -the diabolical irrationality of so many among the foes of whatever is -significant.” - -Emersonian philosophy fails in two respects to satisfy the demands of -the puritanical temperament upon contemporary thought. In building -altars to the “Beautiful Necessity,” it neglects to assimilate the -discoveries of science, and it detaches itself from the Christian -tradition within which alone this spirit feels at home. Both of these -defects are met by the greatest of American idealists, Professor Royce. - -In character and thought Royce is the great reconciler of -contradictions. Irrational in his affections, and at his best in -the society of children, he stands for the absolute authority of -reason; filled with indignation at wrong and injustice, he explains -the presence of evil as an essential condition for the good; keenly -critical and not optimistic as to the concrete characters of men, he -presents man as the image of God, a part of the self-representative -system through which the Divine nature unfolds itself. Never was there -a better illustration of Pascal’s dictum that we use our reasons to -support what we already believe, not to attain conclusions. And never -was there greater self-deception as to the presence of this process. - -What man not already convinced of an Absolute could find in error the -proof of a deeper self that knows in unity all truth? Who else could -accept the dilemma “_either_ ... your real world yonder is through -and through a world of ideas, an outer mind that you are more or less -comprehending through your experience, _or else_, in so far as it -is real and outer, it is unknowable, an inscrutable X, an absolute -mystery”? Without the congeniality of belief, where is the thrill in -assimilating self-consciousness as infinite to a greater Infinite, as -the infinite systems of even numbers, or of odd numbers, or an infinity -of other infinite series can be assimilated to the greater infinity -of the whole number series as proper parts? Yet Royce has been able -to clothe these doctrines with vast erudition and flashes of quaint -humour, helped out by a prolix and somewhat desultory memory, and give -them life. - -By virtue of the obscurantist logic inherent in this as in other -transcendental idealisms, there is a genuine attachment to a certain -aspect of Christianity. The identification of the Absolute with the -Logos of John in his “Spirit of Modern Philosophy” and the frequent -lapses into Scriptural language are not mere tricks to inspire -abstractions with the breath of life. By such logic “selves” are never -wholly distinct. If we make classifications, they are all _secundum -quid_. Absolute ontological sundering is as mythical as the Snark. -The individual is essentially a member of a community of selves that -establishes duties for him under the demands of Loyalty. This is the -basis of Royce’s ethics. But the fellowship in this community is also a -participation in the “beloved community” within which sin, atonement, -and the dogma of Pauline Christianity unfold themselves naturally in -the guise of social psychology. In such treatment of the “Problem of -Christianity” there is at most only a slight shifting of emphasis -from the somewhat too self-conscious individualism of his earliest -philosophy. - -Royce used to tell a story on himself that illustrates a reaction of a -part of the public to idealistic philosophy. At the close of a lecture -before a certain woman’s organization, one of his auditors approached -him with the words: “Oh, my dear Professor Royce, I _did_ enjoy your -lectures _so_ much! Of course, I didn’t understand one word of it, -but it was so evident _you_ understood it all, that it made it _very_ -enjoyable!” The lady, though more frank in her confession, was probably -not intellectually inferior to a considerable portion of the idealist’s -public. James notes the fascination of hearing high things talked -about, even if one cannot understand. But time is, alas, productive of -comparative understanding, and it may be with Royce, as with Emerson -before him, that growth of understanding contributes to narrowing the -circle of his readers. The imported mysteries of Eucken and Bergson -offer newer thrills, and a fuller sense of keeping up to date. - -If Royce’s philosophy of religion has not the success that might have -been anticipated among those seeking a freer religion, it is probably, -as Professor Hocking suggests, because “idealism does not do the work -of religious truth.” Royce has no interest in churches or sects. Christ -is for him little more than a shadow. Prayer and worship find no place -in his discussion. The mantle of the genteel tradition must then fall -on other shoulders, probably those of Hocking himself. His “Meaning of -God in Human Experience” is an effort to unite realism, mysticism, and -idealism to establish Christianity as “organically rooted in passion, -fact, and institutional life.” Where idealism has destroyed the fear of -Hell, this new interpretation “restores the sense of infinite hazard, a -wrath to come, a heavenly city to be gained or lost in the process of -time and by the use of our freedom”! - -In this philosophy, we ask, what has religion done for humanity and how -has it operated? Its effects appear in “the basis of such certainties -as we have, our self-respect, our belief in human worth, our faith in -the soul’s stability through all catastrophes of physical nature, and -in the integrity of history.” But if we accept this “mass of actual -deed, once and for all accomplished under the assurance of historic -religion” and through the medium of religious dogma and practice, -does this guarantee the future importance of religion? Much has been -accomplished under the conception that the earth was flat, but the -conception is nevertheless not valid. - -It is too soon to estimate the depth of impression that this philosophy -will make on American culture. Professor Hocking warns us against -hastening to judge that the world is becoming irreligious. He believes -that the current distaste for the language of orthodoxy may spring -from the opposite reason, that man is becoming potentially more -religious. If so, this fact may conspire with the American tradition -of the church-college to verify Professor Cohen’s assertion that -“the idealistic tradition still is and perhaps will long continue to -be the prevailing basis of philosophic instruction in America.” But -there are signs that point to an opposite conclusion and the means of -emancipation are at hand both in a change of popular spirit and within -philosophy itself. - -The economic and social conditions that scattered the more adventurous -of the New Englanders through the developing West, and the tides -of immigration of the 19th century, have weakened the hold of the -Calvinistic spirit. These events, and scientific education, are -producing a generation that can look upon the beauties of nature, be -moved to enjoyment, admiration, and wonder by them without, on that -account, feeling themselves in the presence of a supernatural Divine -principle. Success in mastering nature has overcome the feeling of -helplessness in the presence of misfortune. It breeds optimists of -intelligence. To a cataclysm such as the San Francisco earthquake, -it replies with organized relief and reconstruction in reinforced -concrete. If pestilence appears, it seeks the germ, an antitoxin, and -sanitary measures. There are no longer altars built to the Beautiful -Necessity. - -Within philosophy, the most radical expression of this attitude appears -in the New Realism, and in the instrumentalism of Dewey. In 1910, -six of the younger American philosophers issued in the _Journal of -Philosophy, Psychology and Scientific Method_ “The Programme and First -Platform of Six Realists,” followed shortly by a co-operative volume -of studies to elaborate the doctrine. Their deepest bond of union is -a distaste for the romantic spirit and obscurantist logic of Absolute -Idealism. Hence their dominant idea is to cut at the very foundations -of this system, the theory of relations in general, and the relation -of idea and object in particular. Young America is not fond of the -subtleties of history, hence these realists take their stand upon the -“unimpeachable truth of the accredited results of science” at a time -when, by the irony of history, science herself has begun to doubt. - -To thwart idealism, psychology must be rewritten. While consciousness -exists there is always the chance that our world of facts may fade into -subjective presentations. Seizing a fruitful suggestion of James’, they -introduce us to a world of objects that exists quite independently -of being known. The relations of these objects are external to them -and independent of their character. Sometimes, however, there arise -relations between our organisms and other objects that can best be -described by asserting that these objects have entered into our -consciousness. How then can we fall into error? Only as nature makes -mistakes, by reacting in a way that brings conflict with unnoted -conditions. Perhaps the greatest contribution of Realism as yet to -American thought is the contribution of some of its apostles to its -implicit psychology, already independently established as behaviourism, -the most vital movement in contemporary psychology. - -The highly technical form of the Six Realists’ co-operative volume has -kept their doctrine from any great reading public. But in its critical -echoes, the busy American finds a sympathetic note in the assertion -of the independent reality of the objects with which he works and the -world in which he has to make his way. His also is practical faith -in science, and he is glad to escape an inevitable type of religion -and moral theory to be swallowed along with philosophy. Until the New -Realists, however, develop further implications of their theory, or -at least present congenial religious, moral, and social attitudes, -their philosophy has only the negative significance of release. If it -is going to take a deep hold on life, it must also be creative, not -replacing dogma by dogma, but elaborating some new world vision. As yet -it has told us little more than that truth, goodness, and beauty are -independent realities, eternal subsistencies that await our discovery. - -Professor Perry has outlined a realistic morality. For him a right -action is any that conduces to goodness and whatever fulfils an -interest is good. But a good action is not necessarily moral. Morality -requires the fulfilment of the greatest possible number of interests, -under the given circumstances; the highest good, if attainable, -would be an action fulfilling all possible interests. This doctrine, -though intelligible, is hard to apply in specific instances. In it -realism dissolves into pragmatism, and its significance can best be -seen in connection with that philosophy, where it has received fuller -development and concrete applications. - -Pragmatism obtained its initial impulse through a mind in temper -between the sturdy common sense of the New Realists and the -emotionalistic romanticism of the Idealists, or rather comprehending -both within itself. This mind is that of William James, the last heir -of the line of pure New England culture, made cosmopolitan by travel -and intellectual contacts. Of Swedenborgian family, skilled alike in -science and art, James lived the mystical thrills of the unknown but -could handle them with the shrewdness of a Yankee trader. With young -America, his gaze is directed toward the future, and with it, he is -impatient of dogma and restraint. He is free from conventions of -thought and action with the freedom of those who have lived them all -in their ancestry and dare to face realities without fear of social -or intellectual _faux pas_. With such new-found freedom goes a vast -craving for experience. For him, the deepest realities are the personal -experiences of individual men. - -James’ greatest contribution is his “Psychology.” In it he places -himself in the stream of human experience, ruthlessly cutting the -gordian knots of psychological dogma and conventions. The mind that he -reports is the mind each of us sees in himself. It is not so much a -science of psychology as the materials for such a science, a science -in its descriptive stage, constantly interrupted by shrewd homilies -wherein habit appears as the fly-wheel of society, or our many selves -enlarge the scope of sympathetic living. Nor is it congenial to this -adventurer in experience that his explorations should constrain -human nature within a scientist’s map. Not only must the stream of -consciousness flow between the boundaries of our concepts, but also in -the human will there is a point, be it ever so small, where a “we,” too -real ever to be comprehended by science or philosophy, can dip down -into the stream of consciousness and delay some fleeting idea, be it -only for the twinkling of an eye, and thereby change the whole course -and significance of our overt action. Freedom must not unequivocally -surrender to scientific determinism, or chance to necessity. - -James is a Parsifal to whom the Grail is never quite revealed. His -pragmatism and radical empiricism are but methods of exploration and -no adventure is too puny or mean for the quest. We must make our ideas -clear and test them by the revelation they produce. Thoughts that make -no difference to us in living are not real thoughts, but imaginings. -The way is always open and perhaps there is a guiding truth, a -working value, in the operations of even the deranged mind. We must -entertain the ecstatic visions of saints, the alleged communications of -spiritualists, mystical contacts with sources of some higher power, and -even the thought-systems of cranks, that nothing be lost or untried. -Not that we need share such beliefs, but they are genuine experiences -and who can foretell where in experiences some fruitful vision may -arise! - -As a psychologist, James knew that the significance of a belief lies -not so much in its content as in its power to direct the energies it -releases. His catholic interests are not equivalent to uncritical -credulity. Santayana, the wisest of his critics, is right in his -assertion that James never lost his agnosticism: “He did not really -believe; he merely believed in the right of believing that you might be -right if you believed.” As for Pascal, the wager on immortality might -be worth the making for if one won there was the blessedness of Heaven, -and if one lost--at least there should have been a sustaining optimism -through the trials of this life. Communion with the infinite might open -new sources of power. If so, the power was there. If not, no harm had -been done by the trial. Yet there is no evidence in James’ philosophy -that he himself drew inspiration from any of such sources. - -If James has drawn to himself the greatest reading public of all -American philosophers, it is because in him each man can find the -sanction for himself. Without dogmatism or pedantry, James is the -voice of all individual human experiences. In him, each man can find a -sympathetic auditor, and words vivid with the language of the street, -encouraging his endeavours or at least pointing out the significance -of his experiences for the great business of living. Sometimes James -listens to human confessions with a suppressed cry of pain and recalls -wistfully “A Certain Blindness in Human Beings,” or asks “Is Life Worth -Living?” Once with indignation at “the delicate intellectualities -and subtleties and scrupulosities” of philosophy he confronts “the -host of guileless thoroughfed thinkers” with the radical realities of -Morrison I. Swift, only to partially retract a few pages later with -the admission, for him grudgingly given, that the Absolute may afford -its believers a certain comfort and is “in so far forth” true. We live -after all in an open universe, the lid is off and time relentlessly -operates for the production of novelties. No empiricist can give a -decision until the evidence is all in, and in the nature of the case -this can never happen. - -Such openness of interest forefends the possibility of James’ founding -a school of philosophy. It also renders all his younger contemporaries -in some measure his disciples. Popularly he is the refuge of the -mystics and heterodox, the spiritualists and the cranks who seek the -sanction of academic scholarship and certified dignity. There are -more things in the philosophies of these who call him master than are -dreamed of in his philosophy. In academic philosophy there is a dual -descent of the James tradition. As a principle of negative criticism, -it may be turned into its opposite, as with Hocking, who enunciates -the extreme form of the pragmatic principle, If a theory is not -interesting, it is false--and utilizes it for his realistic, mystic, -idealistic absolutism. The philosophy of Henri Bergson, that has been -widely read in this country, reinforces this mystical spiritual side, -but American mysticism has popularly tended to degenerate into the -occultisms of second-rate credulous minds. - -On the other hand, for those in whom the conflict of science and -religion is settling itself on the side of science, the principle of -pragmatism lends itself to the interpretation originally intended by -Charles Peirce, the author of the term, as an experimentalism, a search -for verifiable hypotheses after the manner of the sciences. But this -side of the doctrine is the one that has been developed by John Dewey. - -Professor Dewey is without question the leading American philosopher, -both from the thoroughness of his analyses and the vigour of his appeal -to the American public. In discarding the Hegelian Idealism in which -he was trained, he is thoroughly aligned with the New America. In him -science has wholly won, and although of New England, Vermont, ancestry, -there remains not a trace of the New Englander’s romantic spiritual -longings for contact with a vast unknown. His dogmatic faiths, and no -man is without such faiths, relate to evolution, democracy, and the -all-decisive authority of experience. - -For Dewey, as for the Realists, psychology is the study of human -behaviour. For him mind is the instrument by which we overcome -obstacles and thinking takes place only when action is checked. Hence -in the conventional sense there are no abstractions. Our concepts are -instruments by which we take hold of reality. If we need instruments to -manufacture instruments, or to facilitate their use, these instruments -are also concepts. We may call them abstract, but they are not thereby -removed from the realm of experienced fact. Since, therefore, our real -interest is not in things as they are in themselves, but in what we -can do with them, our judgments are judgments of value, and value is -determined by practice. Such judgments imply an incomplete physical -situation and look toward its completion. But the will to believe -is gone. There is no shadow of James’ faith in the practicality of -emotional satisfactions, or in his voluntaristic psychology. Our -“sensations are not the elements out of which perceptions are composed, -constituted, or constructed; they are the finest, most carefully -discriminated objects of perception.” Early critics, particularly -among the realists, have accused Dewey of subjectivism, but except in -the sense that an individual must be recognized as one term in the -reaction to a situation, and the realists themselves do this, there is -no ground for the charge. - -Such a philosophy as Dewey’s is nothing if it is not put to work. And -here is his greatest hold on American life. Like most Americans, he has -no sympathy for the lazy, and even the over-reflective may suffer from -the contamination of sloth; the true American wants to see results, and -here is a philosophy in which results are the supreme end. Reform is, -for America, a sort of sport and this philosophy involves nothing but -reform. Metaphysical subtleties and visions leave the busy man cold; -here they are taboo. - -Professor Dewey puts his philosophy to work in the fields of ethics -and education. Perhaps his ethics is the least satisfactory, howsoever -promising its beginnings. Moral codes become the expression of -group-approval. But they easily pass into tradition, get out of touch -with fact, are superannuated. The highest virtue is intelligence and -with intelligence one can recognize the uniqueness of every moral -situation and develop from it its own criteria of judgment. Progress -in morals consists in raising the general level of intelligence and -extending the group whose approvals are significant from a social -class to the nation, a notion of highest appeal to Democracy, with -its faith in the individual man. But with Dewey the limit of group -expansion is humanity, and this may verge on dangerous (unfortunately) -radicalism. Dewey’s weapon against conventional ethics is two-edged. -For the intelligent man perhaps there is no better actual moral -standard than that springing from intelligent specific judgments, but -for the uneducated, it is only too easy to identify intelligence with -sentimental opinion and to let practice degenerate into legislative -repression. - -After all, judgments of practice do face incomplete situations and the -problem is not only to complete but also to determine the manner in -which the completion shall be brought about. What men transform is not -merely the world, but themselves, and the ethics is incomplete without -some further consideration of such questions as what are human natures, -and what do we want them to become. But perhaps such questions are -too dangerously near metaphysics to have appealed to Dewey’s powers -of analysis. At any rate, the general effectiveness of his ethics is -weakened by his neglect of attention to principles in some sense at -least ultimate. - -In education Dewey’s philosophy has its most complete vitality, for -here he is dealing with concrete needs and the means of satisfying -them. The problem of education is to integrate knowledge and life. -He finds no joy in information for information’s sake. Curiosity -may be the gift of the child, but it must be utilized to equip the -man to hold his own in a world of industrialism and democracy. Yet -Dewey’s sympathies are with spontaneity. He is a Rousseau with a new -methodology. Connected with the Laboratory School at Chicago from 1896 -to 1903, he has since followed with sympathetic interest all radical -experimentation from the methods of Madame Montessori to those of the -Gary Schools. The vast erudition amassed in this field, and his careful -and unprejudiced study of children, has made him competent above all -men to speak critically of methods and results. - -In regard to education, he has given a fuller consideration of the ends -to be attained than in the case of ethics. The end is seen as continued -growth, springing from the existing conditions, freeing activity, and -flexible in its adaptation to circumstances. The educational result -is social efficiency and culture. This efficiency does not, however, -imply accepting existing economic conditions as final, and its cultural -aspect, good citizenship, includes with the more specific positive -virtues, those characteristics that make a man a good companion. -Culture is a complete ripening of the personality. “What is termed -spiritual culture has usually been futile, with something rotten about -it, just because it has been conceived as a thing which a man might -have internally--and therefore exclusively.” The antithesis between -sacrificing oneself for others, or others for oneself, is an unreal -figment of the imagination, a tragic product of certain spiritual and -religious thinking. - -Professor Dewey well understands the dangers that lurk behind such -terms as _social efficiency_ and _good citizenship_. To him sympathy -is much more than a mere feeling: it is, as he says it should be, “a -cultivated imagination for what men have in common and a rebellion -at whatever unnecessarily divides them.” But his very gift of clear -vision, his penetration of the shams of dogma, economic and social, -leads him to treat these things with scant respect. In consequence his -fellow-philosophers, the educators over whom his influence is profound, -and the public suspect him of radicalism. Only too often, to avoid -suspicion of themselves, they turn his doctrine to the very uses that -he condemns: industrial efficiency for them becomes identical with -business expedience; the school, a trade school; culture, a detached -æstheticism to be condemned; and democracy, the privilege of thinking -and acting like everybody else. - -The greatest weakness of Dewey’s philosophy, and it is serious, for -Dewey as no other American philosopher grasps principles through -which American civilization might be transformed for the better--lies -in its lack of a metaphysics. Not, of course, a transcendentalism -or a religious mysticism, but above all an interpretation of human -nature. Emotionality represents a phase of the behaviour process -too real to deny, yet it has no place in Dewey’s philosophy of man. -Human longings and aspirations are facts as real as the materials -of industry. Most men remain religious. Must they rest with quack -mystics or unintelligent dogmatists? What is religion giving them that -they crave? Is it a form of art, an attitude toward the ideal, or -some interpretation of the forces of nature that they seek to grasp? -Professor Dewey is himself a lover of art, but what place has art in -his philosophy? If it is an instrument of education, what end does it -serve, and how is it to be utilized? The pragmatic ethics gives no -guarantee that the moral criteria developed by specific situations will -always be the same even for two men equally intelligent. Perhaps, in -spite of the paradox, there may be several best solutions. If so, this -fact has some significance rooted in man’s nature and his relations to -the world that philosophy should disclose. Such supplementation need -not change the character of the results, but it might forefend them -from misinterpretation and abuse. - -With all its incompleteness, Dewey’s philosophy is undeniably -that of the America of to-day. What shall we say of the future? No -nation in the world has more abused its philosophies than ours. The -inspirational elements of our idealisms have become the panderings of -sentimentalists. The vitalizing forces of our pragmatisms threaten to -congeal into the dogmata of cash-success. The war has intensified our -national self-satisfaction. We tend to condemn all vision as radical, -hence unsound, hence evil, hence to be put down. Philosophy thrives in -the atmosphere of the Bacchæ: - - “What else is Wisdom? What of man’s endeavour - Or God’s high grace, so lovely and so great? - To stand from fear set free, to breathe and wait; - To hold a hand uplifted over Hate; - And shall not loveliness be loved for ever?” - -But what have we now of this atmosphere? - -At Christmas-time, the American Philosophical Association devoted three -sessions to the discussion of the Rôle of the Philosopher in Modern -Life. From report, opinion was divided between those who would have -him a social reformer, to the exclusion of contemplative background, -and those with a greater sense of playing safe, who would have him -turn to history, of any sort, or contemplation quite detached from -social consequences. Let us hope these opinions are not to be taken -seriously. Our social reformers are not all like Dewey, whose neglect -of basic reflection is probably not as great as the omission of -such reflections from his published works would indicate. Nor is an -academic chair generally suited to the specific contacts with life from -which successful reforms must be shaped. On the other hand, abstract -contemplation with the pedagogic reinforcements advocated, will confirm -the popular American sentiment against reflection, if it is true, -as Dewey asserts, that education must be an outgrowth of existing -conditions. Fortunately genius, if such there be amongst us, will not -submit to the opinions of the American Philosophic Association. If -philosophy can find freedom, perhaps America can yet find philosophy. - - HAROLD CHAPMAN BROWN - - - - -THE LITERARY LIFE - - -Among all the figures which, in Mrs. Wharton’s “The Age of Innocence,” -make up the pallid little social foreground, the still more pallid -middle distance, of the New York of forty years ago, there is none -more pallid than the figure of Ned Winsett, the “man of letters -untimely born in a world that had no need of letters.” Winsett, we -are told, “had published one volume of brief and exquisite literary -appreciations,” of which one hundred and twenty copies had been sold, -and had then abandoned his calling and taken an obscure post on a -women’s weekly. “On the subject of _Hearth-fires_ (as the paper was -called) he was inexhaustibly entertaining,” says Mrs. Wharton; “but -beneath his fun lurked the sterile bitterness of the still young man -who has tried and given up.” Sterile bitterness, a bright futility, a -beginning without a future: that is the story of Ned Winsett. - -One feels, as one turns Mrs. Wharton’s pages, how symbolic this is -of the literary life in America. I shall say nothing of the other -arts, though the vital conditions of all the arts have surely much in -common; I shall say nothing of America before the Civil War, for the -America that New England dominated was a different nation from ours. -But what immediately strikes one, as one surveys the history of our -literature during the last half century, is the singular impotence of -its creative spirit. That we have and have always had an abundance of -talent is, I think, no less evident: what I mean is that so little -of this talent succeeds in effectuating itself. Of how many of our -modern writers can it be said that their work reveals a continuous -growth, or indeed any growth, that they hold their ground tenaciously -and preserve their sap from one decade to another? Where, to speak -relatively, the characteristic evolution of the European writer is one -of an ever-increasing differentiation, a progress toward the creation, -the possession of a world absolutely his own (the world of Shaw, the -world of Hardy, the world of Hamsun, of Gorky, of Anatole France), -the American writer, having struck out with his new note, becomes--how -often!--progressively less and less himself. The blighted career, -the arrested career, the diverted career are, with us, the rule. The -chronic state of our literature is that of a youthful promise which is -never redeemed. - -The great writer, the _grand écrivain_, has at the best of times -appeared but once or twice in America: that is another matter. I am -speaking, as I say, of the last half century, and I am speaking of the -rank and file. There are those who will deny this characterization of -our literature, pointing to what they consider the robust and wholesome -corpus of our “normal” fiction. But this fiction, in its way, precisely -corroborates my point. What is the quality of the spirit behind it? How -much does it contain of that creative element the character of which -consists in dominating life instead of being dominated by it? Have -these novelists of ours any world of their own as distinguished from -the world they observe and reflect, the world they share with their -neighbours? Is it a personal vision that informs them, or a mob-vision? -The Danish writer, Johannes V. Jensen, has described their work as -“journalism under exceptionally fortunate conditions.” Journalism, on -the whole, it assuredly is, and the chief of these fortunate conditions -(fortunate for journalism!) has been the general failure of the writers -in question to establish and develop themselves as individuals; as -they have rendered unto Cæsar what was intended for God, is it any -wonder that Cæsar has waxed so fat? “The unfortunate thing,” writes Mr. -Montrose J. Moses, “is that the American drama”--but the observation is -equally true of this fiction of ours--“has had many brilliant promises -which have finally thinned out and never materialized.” And again: -“The American dramatist has always taken his logic second-hand; he -has always allowed his theatrical sense to be a slave to managerial -circumstance.” The two statements are complementary, and they apply, -as I say, to the whole of this “normal” literature of ours. Managerial -circumstance? Let us call it local patriotism, the spirit of the times, -the hunger of the public for this, that, or the other: to some one of -these demands, these promptings from without, the “normal” American -writer always allows himself to become a slave. It is the fact, indeed, -of his being a slave to some demand from without that makes him -“normal”--and something else than an artist. - -The flourishing exterior of the main body of our contemporary -literature, in short, represents anything but the integrity of an -inner well-being. But even aside from this, one can count on one’s two -hands the American writers who are able to carry on the development -and unfolding of their individualities, year in, year out, as every -competent man of affairs carries on his business. What fate overtakes -the rest? Shall I begin to run over some of those names, familiar to -us all, names that have signified so much promise and are lost in -what Gautier calls “the limbo where moan (in the company of babes) -still-born vocations, abortive attempts, larvæ of ideas that have won -neither wings nor shapes”? Shall I mention the writers--but they are -countless!--who have lapsed into silence, or have involved themselves -in barren eccentricities, or have been turned into machines? The poets -who, at the very outset of their careers, find themselves extinguished -like so many candles? The novelists who have been unable to grow up, -and remain withered boys of seventeen? The critics who find themselves -overtaken in mid-career by a hardening of the spiritual arteries? Our -writers all but universally lack the power of growth, the endurance -that enables one to continue to produce personal work after the -freshness of youth has gone. Weeds and wild flowers! Weeds without -beauty or fragrance, and wild flowers that cannot survive the heat of -the day. - -Such is the aspect of our contemporary literature; beside that of -almost any European country, it is indeed one long list of spiritual -casualties. For it is not that the talent is wanting, but that somehow -this talent fails to fulfil itself. - -This being so, how much one would like to assume, with certain of our -critics, that the American writer is a sort of Samson bound with the -brass fetters of the Philistines and requiring only to have those -fetters cast off in order to be able to conquer the world! That, as I -understand it, is the position of Mr. Dreiser, who recently remarked -of certain of our novelists: “They succeeded in writing but one -book before the iron hand of convention took hold of them.” There -is this to be said for the argument, that if the American writer as -a type shows less resistance than the European writer it is plainly -because he has been insufficiently equipped, stimulated, nourished by -the society into which he has been born. In this sense the American -environment is answerable for the literature it has produced. But what -is significant is that the American writer _does_ show less resistance; -as literature is nothing but the expression of power, of the creative -will, of “free will,” in short, is it not more accurate to say, not -that the “iron hand of convention” takes hold of our writers, but -that our writers yield to the “iron hand of convention”? Samson had -lost his virility before the Philistines bound him; it was because he -had lost his virility that the Philistines were able to bind him. The -American writer who “goes wrong” is in a similar case. “I have read,” -says Mr. Dreiser, of Jack London, “several short stories which proved -what he could do. But he did not feel that he cared for want and public -indifference. Hence his many excellent romances.” _He did not feel -that he cared for want and public indifference._ Even Mr. Dreiser, as -we observe, determinist that he is, admits a margin of free will, for -he represents Jack London as having made a choice. What concerns us -now, however, is not a theoretical but a practical question, the fact, -namely, that the American writer as a rule is actuated not by faith -but by fear, that he cannot meet the obstacles of “want and public -indifference” as the European writer meets them, that he is, indeed, -and as if by nature, a journeyman and a hireling. - -As we see, then, the creative will in this country is a very weak and -sickly plant. Of the innumerable talents that are always emerging about -us there are few that come to any sort of fruition: the rest wither -early; they are transformed into those neuroses that flourish on our -soil as orchids flourish in the green jungle. The sense of this failure -is written all over our literature. Do we not know what depths of -disappointment underlay the cynicism of Mark Twain and Henry Adams and -Ambrose Bierce? Have we failed to recognize, in the surly contempt with -which the author of “The Story of a Country Town” habitually speaks of -writers and writing, the unconscious cry of sour grapes of a man whose -creative life was arrested in youth? Are we unaware of the bitterness -with which, in certain letters of his later years, Jack London -regretted the miscarriage of his gift? There is no denying that for -half a century the American writer as a type has gone down in defeat. - -Now why is this so? Why does the American writer, relatively speaking, -show less resistance than the European writer? Plainly, as I have -just said, because he has been insufficiently equipped, stimulated, -nourished by the society into which he has been born. If our creative -spirits are unable to grow and mature, it is a sign that there is -something wanting in the soil from which they spring and in the -conditions that surround them. Is it not, for that matter, a sign of -some more general failure in our life? - -“At the present moment,” wrote Mr. Chesterton in one of his early -essays (“The Fallacy of the Young Nation”), struck by the curious -anæmia of those few artists of ours who have succeeded in developing -themselves, usually by escaping from the American environment; “at -the present moment the matter which America has very seriously to -consider is not how near it is to its birth and beginning, but how near -it may be to its end.... The English colonies have produced no great -artists, and that fact may prove that they are still full of silent -possibilities and reserve force. But America has produced great artists -and that fact most certainly means that she is full of a fine futility -and the end of all things. Whatever the American men of genius are, -they are not young gods making a young world. Is the art of Whistler a -brave, barbaric art, happy and headlong? Does Mr. Henry James infect -us with the spirit of a school-boy? No, the colonies have not spoken, -and they are safe. Their silence may be the silence of the unborn. But -out of America has come a sweet and startling cry, as unmistakable as -the cry of a dying man.” That there is truth behind this, that the -soil of our society is at least arid and impoverished, is indicated -by the testimony of our own poets; one has only to consider what -George Cabot Lodge wrote in 1904, in one of his letters: “We are a -dying race, as every race must be of which the men are, as men and -not accumulators, third-rate”; one has only to consider the writings -of Messrs. Frost, Robinson, and Masters, in whose presentation of our -life, in the West as well as in the East, the individual as a spiritual -unit invariably suffers defeat. Fifty years ago J. A. Froude, on a -visit to this country, wrote to one of his friends: “From what I see of -the Eastern states I do not anticipate any very great things as likely -to come out of the Americans.... They are generous with their money, -have much tenderness and quiet good humour; but the Anglo-Saxon power -is running to seed and I don’t think will revive.” When we consider -the general colourlessness and insipidity of our latter-day life -(faithfully reflected in the novels of Howells and his successors), -the absence from it of profound passions and intense convictions, -of any representative individuals who can be compared in spiritual -force with Emerson, Thoreau, and so many of their contemporaries, its -uniformity and its uniform tepidity, then the familiar saying, “Our -age has been an age of management, not of ideas or of men,” assumes -indeed a very sinister import. I go back to the poet Lodge’s letters. -“Was there ever,” he writes, “such an anomaly as the American man? -In practical affairs his cynicism, energy, and capacity are simply -stupefying, and in every other respect he is a sentimental idiot -possessing neither the interest, the capacity, nor the desire for even -the most elementary processes of independent thought.... His wife -finds him so sexually inapt that she refuses to bear him children and -so drivelling in every way except as a money-getter that she compels -him to expend his energies solely in that direction while she leads a -discontented, sterile, stunted life....” Is this to be denied? And does -it not in part explain that extraordinary lovelessness of the American -scene which has bred the note of a universal resentment in so much of -our contemporary fiction? As well expect figs from thistles as any -considerable number of men from such a soil who are robust enough to -prefer spiritual to material victories and who are capable of achieving -them. - -It is unnecessary to go back to Taine in order to realize that here we -have a matrix as unpropitious as possible for literature and art. If -our writers wither early, if they are too generally pliant, passive, -acquiescent, anæmic, how much is this not due to the heritage of -pioneering, with its burden of isolation, nervous strain, excessive -work and all the racial habits that these have engendered? - -Certainly, for example, if there is anything that counts in the -formation of the creative spirit it is that long infancy to which John -Fiske, rightly or wrongly, attributed the emergence of man from the -lower species. In the childhood of almost every great writer one finds -this protracted incubation, this slow stretch of years in which the -unresisting organism opens itself to the influences of life. It was so -with Hawthorne, it was so with Whitman in the pastoral America of a -century ago: they were able to mature, these brooding spirits, because -they had given themselves for so long to life before they began to -react upon it. That is the old-world childhood still, in a measure; -how different it is from the modern American childhood may be seen if -one compares, for example, the first book (“Boyhood”) of “Pelle the -Conqueror” with any of those innumerable tales in which our novelists -show us that in order to succeed in life one cannot be up and doing too -soon. The whole temper of our society, if one is to judge from these -documents, is to hustle the American out of his childhood, teaching him -at no age at all how to repel life and get the best of it and build up -the defences behind which he is going to fight for his place in the -sun. Who can deny that this racial habit succeeds in its unconscious -aim, which is to produce sharp-witted men of business? But could -anything be deadlier to the poet, the artist, the writer? - -Everything in such an environment, it goes without saying, tends to -repress the creative and to stimulate the competitive impulses. A -certain Irish poet has observed that all he ever learned of poetry he -got from talking with peasants along the road. Whitman might have said -almost as much, even of New York, the New York of seventy years ago. -But what nourishment do they offer the receptive spirit to-day, the -harassed, inhibited mob of our fellow-countrymen, eaten up with the -“itch of ill-advised activity,” what encouragement to become anything -but an automaton like themselves? And what direction, in such a -society, does the instinct of emulation receive, that powerful instinct -of adolescence? A certain visitor of Whitman’s has described him as -living in a house “as cheerless as an ash-barrel,” a house indeed “like -that in which a very destitute mechanic” might have lived. Is it not -symbolic, that picture, of the esteem in which our democracy holds the -poet? If to-day the man of many dollars is no longer the hero of the -editorial page and the baccalaureate address, still, or rather more -than ever, it is the “aggressive” type that overshadows every corner -of our civilization; the intellectual man who has gone his own way -and refused to flatter the majority was never less the hero or even -the subject of intelligent interest; at best ignored, at worst (and -usually) pointed out as a crank, he is only a “warning” to youth, -which is exceedingly susceptible in these matters. But how can one -begin to enumerate the elements in our society that contribute to form -a selection constantly working against the survival of the creative -type? By cutting off the sources that nourish it, by lending prestige -to the acquisitive and destroying the glamour of the creative career, -everything in America conspires to divert the spirit from its natural -course, seizing upon the instincts of youth and turning them into a -single narrow channel. - -Here, of course, I touch upon the main fact of American history. -That traditional drag, if one may so express it, in the direction -of the practical, which has been the law of our civilization, would -alone explain why our literature and art have never been more than -half-hearted. To abandon the unpopular and unremunerative career of -painting for the useful and lucrative career of invention must have -seemed natural and inevitable to Robert Fulton and Samuel Morse. -So strong is this racial compulsion, so feeble is the hold which -Americans have upon ultimate values, that one can scarcely find to-day -a scientist or a scholar who, for the sake of science or scholarship, -will refuse an opportunity to become the money-gathering president -of some insignificant university. Thus our intellectual life has -always been ancillary to the life of business and organization: have -we forgotten that the good Washington Irving himself, the father of -American letters, thought it by no means beneath his dignity to serve -as a sort of glorified press-agent for John Jacob Astor? - -It is certainly true that none of these unfavourable factors of -American life could have had such a baleful effect upon our literature -if there had been others to counteract them. An aristocratic tradition, -if we had ever had it, would have kept open among us the right of -way of the free individual, would have preserved the claims of mere -living. “It is curious to observe,” writes Nietzsche in one of his -letters, “how any one who soon leaves the traditional highway in order -to travel on his own proper path always has more or less the sense of -being an exile, a condemned criminal, a fugitive from mankind.” If that -is true in the old world, where society is so much more complex and -offers the individual so much more latitude, how few could ever have -had the strength in a society like ours, which has always placed such -an enormous premium on conformity, to become and to remain themselves? -Is it fanciful indeed to see in the famous “remorse” of Poe the traces -left by this dereliction of the tribal law upon the unconscious mind -of an artist of unique force and courage? Similarly, a tradition of -voluntary poverty would have provided us with an escape from the -importunities of bourgeois custom. But aside from the fact that even so -simple a principle as this depends largely for its life on precedent -(Whitman and the painter Ryder are almost alone among latter-day -Americans in having discovered it for themselves), aside from the fact -that to secede from the bourgeois system is, in America, to subject -oneself to peculiar penalties (did it ever occur to Mark Twain that he -_could_ be honourably poor?)--aside from all this, poverty in the new -world is by no means the same thing as poverty in the old: one has only -to think of Charles Lamb and all the riches that London freely gave -him, all the public resources he had at his disposal, to appreciate -the difference. With us poverty means in the end an almost inevitable -intellectual starvation. Consider such a plaint as Sidney Lanier’s: -“I could never describe to you” (he writes to Bayard Taylor) “what a -mere drought and famine my life has been, as regards that multitude of -matters which I fancy one absorbs when one is in an atmosphere of art, -or when one is in conversational relationship with men of letters, -with travellers, with persons who have either seen, or written, or done -large things. Perhaps you know that, with us of the younger generation -in the South since the war, pretty much the whole of life has been -merely not dying.” That is what poverty means in America, poverty -and isolation, for Lanier, whose talent, as we can see to-day, was -hopelessly crippled by it, was mistaken if he supposed that there was -anything peculiar to the South in that plight of his: it has been the -plight of the sensitive man everywhere in America and at all times. Add -to poverty the want of a society devoted to intellectual things and we -have such a fate as Herman Melville’s in New York. “What he lacked,” -wrote Mr. Frank Jewett Mather the other day, explaining the singular -evaporation of Melville’s talent, “was possibly only health and -nerve, but perhaps even more, companionship of a friendly, critical, -understanding sort. In London, where he must have been hounded out of -his corner, I can imagine Melville carrying the reflective vein to -literary completion.” Truly Samuel Butler was right when he jotted down -the following observation in his note-book: “America will have her -geniuses, as every other country has, in fact she has already had one -in Walt Whitman, but I do not think America is a good place in which to -be a genius. A genius can never expect to have a good time anywhere, if -he is a genuine article, but America is about the last place in which -life will be endurable at all for an inspired writer of any kind.” - -To such circumstances as these, I say, the weakness of our literary -life is due. If we had lacked nothing else indeed, the lack of great -leaders, of a strong and self-respecting literary guild, even of an -enlightened publishing system would have sufficed to account for -much of it. To consider the last point first: in the philosophy of -American publishing, popularity has been regarded not only as a -practical advantage but as a virtue as well. Thanks to the peculiar -character of our democracy, our publishers have been able to persuade -themselves that a book which fails to appeal to the ordinary citizen -cannot be good on other grounds. Thus, if we had had to depend on the -established system, the present revival in our letters, tentative as -it is, would have been still more sadly handicapped. The history of -Mr. Dreiser’s “Sister Carrie” is enough to suggest what may well have -been the fate of many an incipient author less persistent than he. It -is certain, in any case, that many another, at a critical moment, has -drifted away from literature because of the lack in our publishing -world of those opportunities for a semi-creative hack-work which -have provided countless European writers with a foothold and even a -guideway. The Grub Street of London and Paris is a purgatory, but as -long as it exists, with its humble instrumentalities, translating, -editing, reviewing, one can at least survive until one has either -lost or found oneself: it scarcely needs to be pointed out that the -American magazine, with its mechanical exactions, which levy such a -terrible toll upon one’s individuality, is anything but an advantageous -substitute. Till one has found oneself, the less one is subjected to -such powerful, such essentially depolarizing influences, the better; -the most mediocre institutions, if they enable one at the same time -to maintain one’s contact with literature and to keep body and soul -together, are as life is to death beside them. How many English -writers owe their ultimate salvation to such trivial agencies as -_T. P.’s Weekly_? In America, where nothing of the kind has existed -until lately, or nothing adequate to the number of those who might -have benefitted by it, the literary aspirant is lost unless his powers -mature at once. - -But the lack of great leaders, of a strong and self-respecting -literary guild (the one results from the other)--is not this our chief -misfortune? In the best of circumstances, and considering all the -devils that beset the creative spirit, a strong impulse is scarcely -enough to carry one through: one must feel not only that one is doing -what one wishes to do but that what one is doing _matters_. If dozens -of American writers have fallen by the wayside because they have met -with insuperable obstacles, dozens of others have fallen, with all -their gifts, because they have lost interest in their work, because -they have ceased to “see the necessity” of it. This is just the point -where the presence of a leader, of a local tradition, a school, a -guild makes all the difference. “With the masters I converse,” writes -Gauguin in his journal. “Their example fortifies me. When I am tempted -to falter I blush before them.” If that could have been true of -Gauguin, the “Wolf,” who walked by himself as few have walked, what -shall we say of other men whose artistic integrity, whose faith in -themselves, is exposed every day to the corroding influences of a -third-rate civilization? It would be all very well if literature were -merely a mode of “having a good time;” I am speaking of those, the real -artists, who, with Nietzsche, make a distinction (illusory perhaps) -between “happiness” and “work,” and I say that these men have always -fed on the thought of greatness and on the propinquity of greatness. It -was not for nothing that Turgeniev bore in his memory, as a talisman, -the image of Pushkin; that Gorky, having seen Tolstoy once, sitting -among the boulders on the seashore, felt everything in him blending -in one happy thought, “I am not an orphan on the earth, so long as -this man lives on it.” The presence of such men immeasurably raises -the morale of the literary life: that is what Chekhov meant when he -said, “I am afraid of Tolstoy’s death,” and is it not true that the -whole contemporary literature of England has drawn virtue from Thomas -Hardy? The sense that one is _working in a great line_: this, more than -anything else perhaps, renews one’s confidence in the “quaint mania -of passing one’s life wearing oneself out over words,” as Flaubert -called it, in the still greater folly of pursuing one’s ego when -everything in life combines to punish one for doing so. The successful -pursuit of the ego is what makes literature; this requires not only -a certain inner intensity but a certain courage, and it is doubtful -whether, in any nation, any considerable number of men can summon up -that courage and maintain it unless they have _seen the thing done_. -The very notion that such a life is either possible or desirable, the -notion that such a life exists even, can hardly occur to the rank and -file: some individual has to start the ball rolling, some individual -of extraordinary force and audacity, and where is that individual to -be found in our modern American literature? Whitman is the unique -instance, for Henry James, with all his admirable conscience, was at -once an exile and a man of singularly low vitality; and Whitman was not -only essentially of an earlier generation, he was an invalid who folded -his hands in mid-career. - -Of those others what can we say, those others whose gifts have fitted -them to be our leaders? Mr. Howells once observed of the American drama -of the last few decades that “mainly it has been gay as our prevalent -mood is, mainly it has been honest, as our habit is, in cases where -we believe we can afford it.” In this gently ironical pleasantry one -seems to discern the true spirit of modern American letters. But it was -Howells himself who, in order to arrive at the doctrine that “the more -smiling aspects of life are the more American,” deliberately, as he has -told us, and professed realist that he was, averted his eyes from the -darker side of life. And Mark Twain suppressed his real beliefs about -man and the universe. And Henry Adams refused to sponsor in public the -novels that revealed what he considered to be the truth about American -society. Thus spake Zarathustra: “There is no harsher misfortune in -all the fate of man than when the mighty ones of earth are not also -the most excellent.” At its very headwaters, as we see, this modern -literature of ours has failed to flow clear: the creative impulse in -these men, richly endowed as they were, was checked and compromised -by too many other impulses, social and commercial. If one is to blame -anything for this it is the immense insecurity of our life, which is -due to its chaotic nature; for one is not entitled to expect greatness -even of those who have the greatest gifts, and of these men Henry Adams -was alone secure; of Howells and Mark Twain, Westerners as they were, -it may be said that they were obliged to compromise, consciously or -unconsciously, in order to gain a foothold in the only corner of the -country where men could exist as writers at all. But if these men were -unable to establish their independence (one has only to recall the -notorious Gorky dinner in order to perceive the full ignominy of their -position), what must one expect to find in the rank and file? Great men -form a sort of wind shield behind which the rest of their profession -are able to build up their own defences; they establish a right of -way for the others; they command a respect for their profession, they -arouse in the public a concern for it, an interest in it, from which -the others benefit. As things are, the literary guild in America is -not respected, nor does it respect itself. In “My Literary Passions” -Howells, after saying that his early reading gave him no standing -among other boys, observes: “I have since found that literature gives -one no more certain station in the world of men’s activities, either -idle or useful. We literary folk try to believe that it does, but -that is all nonsense. At every period of life among boys or men we -are accepted when they are at leisure and want to be amused, and at -best we are tolerated rather than accepted.” Pathetic? Pusillanimous? -Abject? Pathetic, I suppose. Imagine Maxim Gorky or Knut Hamsun or -Bernard Shaw “trying to believe” that literature gives him a certain -station in the world of men’s activities, conceiving for a moment -that any activity could exceed his in dignity! Howells, we observe, -conscientious craftsman as he was, instinctively shared, in regard -to the significance of his vocation, the feeling of our pragmatic -philosophers, who have been obliged to justify the intellectual life by -showing how useful it is--not to mention Mr. R. W. Chambers, who has -remarked that writers “are not held in excessive esteem by really busy -people, the general idea being--which is usually true--that literature -is a godsend to those unfitted for real work.” After this one can -easily understand why our novelists take such pains to be mistaken for -business men and succeed so admirably in their effort. One can easily -understand why Jack London preferred the glory of his model ranch and -his hygienic pigsties to the approval of his artistic conscience. - -So much for the conditions, or at least a few of them, that have -prevented our literature from getting its head above water. If -America is littered with extinct talents, the halt, the maimed and -the blind, it is for reasons with which we are all too familiar; and -we to whom the creative life is nothing less than the principle of -human movement, and its welfare the true sign of human health, look -upon this wreckage of everything that is most precious to society and -ask ourselves what our fathers meant when they extolled the progress -of our civilization. But let us look facts in the face. Mr. Sinclair -Lewis asserts that we are in the midst of a revival and that we are -too humble in supposing that our contemporary literature is inferior -to that of England. That we are in the midst of a revival I have no -doubt, but it is the sustained career that makes a literature; without -the evidence of this we can hope much but we can affirm nothing. What -we can see is that, with all its hope, the morale of the literary -profession in this country is just what its antecedents have made -it. I am reminded of the observation of a friend who has reason to -know, that the Catholic Church in America, great as it is in numbers -and organization, still depends on the old world for its models, its -task-masters and its inspiration; for the American priest, as a rule, -does not feel the vocation as the European feels it. I am reminded of -the American labour movement which, prosperous as it is in comparison -with the labour movements of Europe, is unparalleled for the feebleness -of its representatives. I am reminded of certain brief experiences in -the American university world which have led me to believe that the -professors who radiate a genuine light and warmth are far more likely -to be Russians, Germans, Englishmen, Irishmen, Dutchmen, Swedes and -Finns than the children of ’76. That old hostility of the pioneers to -the special career still operates to prevent in the American mind the -powerful, concentrated pursuit of any non-utilitarian way of life: -meanwhile everything else in our society tends to check the growth of -the spirit and to shatter the confidence of the individual in himself. -Considered with reference to its higher manifestations, life itself has -been thus far, in modern America, a failure. Of this the failure of our -literature is merely emblematic. - -Mr. Mencken, who shares this belief, urges that the only hope of a -change for the better lies in the development of a native aristocracy -that will stand between the writer and the public, supporting him, -appreciating him, forming as it were a _cordon sanitaire_ between the -individual and the mob. That no change can come without the development -of an aristocracy of some sort, some nucleus of the more gifted, -energetic and determined, one can hardly doubt. But how can one expect -the emergence of an aristocracy outside of the creative class, and -devoted to its welfare, unless and until the creative class itself -reveals the sort of pride that can alone attract its ministrations? -“The notion that a people can run itself and its affairs anonymously -is now well known to be the silliest of absurdities.” Thus William -James, in defence of the aristocratic principle; and what he says is -as applicable to literature as to every other department of social -life. But he continues: “Mankind does nothing save through initiatives -on the part of inventors, great and small, and imitation by the rest -of us--these are the sole factors alive in human progress. Individuals -of genius show the way, and set the patterns, which common people then -adopt and follow.” In other words, as I understand it, and so far -as literature is concerned, the burden of proof lies on the writer -himself--which brings one back to a truism: it is not for the public or -any aristocratic minority within the public to understand the writer, -it is for the writer to create the taste by which he is understood. Is -it not by this indeed (in a measure, at least) that we recognize the -creator? - -Certainly if our contemporary literature is not respected, if it -has not been able to rally to its support the sensitive public that -already exists in this country, it is partly because this literature -has not respected itself. That there has been every reason for it -makes no difference; that it has begun to respect itself again makes -no difference either, for when a people has lost confidence in its -literature, and has had grounds for losing confidence in it, one cannot -be surprised if it insists a little cynically upon being “shown.” -The public supported Mark Twain and Howells and the men of their -generation, it admired them for what was admirable in them, but it -was aware, if only unconsciously, that there was a difference between -them and the men of the generation before them; and in consequence of -this the whole stock of American literature fell. But those who insist -in our day that America prefers European writers to its own, because -America is still a colony of Europe, cannot ignore the significant fact -that at a time when America was still more truly colonial than it is -now American writers had all the prestige in this country that European -writers have at present; and it is not entirely because at that time -the country was more homogeneous. Poe and Thoreau found little support -in the generation of which I speak, as Whitman found little support -in the generation that followed it. On the other hand, there were no -European writers (and it was an age of great writers in Europe) who -were held in higher esteem in this country than Hawthorne, Emerson, -Motley, and one or two others almost equally distinguished, as well -from a European as from an American point of view; there were few, -if any, European writers, in fact, who were esteemed in this country -as highly as they. How can one explain it? How can one explain why, -at a time when America, in every other department of life, was more -distinctly colonial than it is now, American literature commanded the -full respect of Americans, while to-day, when the colonial tradition is -vanishing all about us, it so little commands their respect that they -go after any strange god from England? The problem is not a simple one, -but among the many explanations of it one can hardly deny that there -were in that period a number of writers of unusual power, who made the -most (who were able to make the most) of their power, who followed -their artistic conscience (who were able to follow it) and who by this -fact built up a public confidence in themselves and in the literature -they represented. Does it matter at all whether to-day we enjoy these -writers or not? They were men of spiritual force, three or four of -them: that is the important point. If the emerging writers of our epoch -find themselves handicapped by the scepticism of the public, which has -ceased to believe that any good thing can come out of Nazareth, let -them remember not only that they are themselves for the most part in -the formative stage, but that they have to live down the recent past of -their profession. - -Meanwhile, what constitutes a literature is the spiritual force of -the individuals who compose it. If our literature is ever to be -regenerated, therefore, it can only be through the development of a -sense of “free will” (and of the responsibility that this entails) on -the part of our writers themselves. To be, to feel oneself, a “victim” -is in itself not to be an artist, for it is the nature of the artist to -live, not in the world of which he is an effect, but in the world of -which he is the cause, the world of his own creation. For this reason, -the pessimistic determinism of the present age is, from the point of -view of literature, of a piece with the optimistic determinism of -the age that is passing. What this pessimistic determinism reveals, -however, is a _consciousness of the situation_: to that extent it -represents a gain, and one may even say that to be conscious of -the situation is half the battle. If we owed nothing else to Mr. -Dreiser, for instance, we should owe him enough for the tragic sense -of the waste and futility of American life, as we know it, which his -books communicate. It remains true that in so far as we resent this -life it is a sign of our own weakness, of the harm not only that our -civilization has done us but that we have permitted it to do us, of -our own imperfectly realized freedom; for to the creative spirit in -its free state the external world is merely an impersonal point of -departure. Thus it is certain that as long as the American writer -shares what James Bryce calls the “mass fatalism” of the American -people, our literature will remain the sterile, supine, and inferior -phenomenon which, on the whole, it is. - -“What we want,” wrote Henry Adams in 1862 to his brother Charles, “is a -_school_. We want a national set of young men like ourselves or better, -to start new influences not only in politics, but in literature, in -law, in society, and throughout the whole social organism of the -country--a national school of our own generation. And that is what -America has no power to create.... It’s all random, insulated work, -for special and temporary and personal purposes. And we have no means, -power or hope of combined action for any unselfish end.” _That is what -America has no power to create._ But can it be said that any nation -has ever created a school? Here we have the perfect illustration of -that mass fatalism of which I have spoken, and Henry Adams himself, in -his passivity, is the type of it. Secure as he was, uniquely secure, -why did he refuse to accept the responsibility of those novels in -which he expressed the contempt of a powerful and cultivated mind -for the meanness, the baseness, the vulgarity of the guiding element -in American society? In the darkest and most chaotic hours of our -spiritual history the individual has possessed a measure of free -will only to renounce it: if Henry Adams had merely signed his work -and accepted the consequences of it, he might by that very fact have -become the founder, the centre, of the school that he desired. But it -is true that in that generation the impulses of youth were, with an -extraordinary unanimity, focused upon a single end, the exploitation of -the continent; the material opportunities that American life offered -were too great and too all-engrossing, and it is unlikely that any -considerable minority could have been rallied for any non-utilitarian -cause. Sixty years later this school remains, and quite particularly -as regards our literature, the one thing necessary; the reforestation -of our spiritual territory depends on it. And in more than one sense -the times are favourable. The closing of the frontier seems to promise -for this country an intenser life than it has known before; a large -element of the younger generation, estranged from the present order, -exists in a state of ferment that renders it highly susceptible to new -ideas; the country literally swarms with half-artists, as one may call -them, men and women, that is to say, who have ceased to conform to the -law of the tribe but who have not accepted the discipline of their -own individual spirits. “What I chiefly desire for you,” wrote Ibsen -to Brandes at the outset of his career, “is a genuine, full-blooded -egoism, which shall force you for a time to regard what concerns you -yourself as the only thing of any consequence, and everything else as -non-existent.... There is no way in which you can benefit society more -than by coining the metal you have in yourself.” The second half of -this rather blunt counsel of perfection is implied in the first, and it -connotes a world of things merely to name which would be to throw into -relief the essential infantility of the American writer as we know the -type. By what prodigies of alert self-adaptation, of discriminating -self-scrutiny, of conscious effort does the creative will come into its -own! As for us, weak as too many of us are, ignorant, isolated, all too -easily satisfied, and scarcely as yet immune from the solicitations of -the mob, we still have this advantage, that an age of reaction is an -age that stirs the few into a consciousness of themselves. - - VAN WYCK BROOKS - - - - -MUSIC - - -We spend more money upon music than does any other nation on earth; -some of our orchestras, notably those of Boston, Chicago, and -Philadelphia, are worthy to rank among the world’s best; in the -Metropolitan Opera House we give performances of grand opera that for -consistent excellence of playing, singing, and _mise-en-scène_ are -surpassed probably nowhere. Yet there has never been a successful opera -by an American offered at that opera house, and the number of viable -American orchestral works is small enough to be counted almost upon -one’s fingers. We squander millions every year upon an art that we -cannot produce. - -There are apologists for the American composer who will say that we -do produce it, but that it is strangled at birth. According to their -stock argument, there are numberless greatly gifted native composers -whose works never get a hearing, (a) because Americans are prejudiced -against American music and in favour of foreign music, and (b) because -the foreigners who largely control the musical situation in this -country jealously refuse to allow American works to be performed. -This would be impressive if it were consistent or true. As far as -concerns the Jealous Foreigner myth--he does not dominate the musical -situation--I have never noticed that the average European in this -country is deficient either in self-interest or tact. He is generally -anxious, if only for diplomatic reasons, to find American music that -is worth singing or playing. Even when he fails to find any that is -worth performing, he often performs some that isn’t, in order to -satisfy local pride. Moreover, Americans are no more prejudiced against -American musicians than they are against other kinds. As a matter of -fact, if intensive boosting campaigns produced creative artists, the -American composer during the past decade should have expanded like -a hot-house strawberry. We have had prize contests of all kinds, -offering substantial sums for everything from grand operas to string -quartettes, we have had societies formed to publish his chamber-music -scores; publishers have rushed to print his smaller works; we have had -concerts of American compositions; we have had all-American festivals. -Meanwhile the American composer has, with a few lonely exceptions, -obstinately refused to produce anything above the level of what it -would be flattering to call mediocrity. - -No. If he is not heard oftener in concert halls and upon recital -platforms, it is because he is not good enough. There is, in the -music of even the second-rate Continental composers, a surety of -touch, a quality of evident confidence in their material and ease in -its handling that is rarely present in the work of Americans. Most -American symphonic and chamber music lacks structure and clarity. The -workmanship is faulty, the utterance stammers and halts. Listening to -an average American symphonic poem, you get the impression that the -composer was so amazed and delighted at being able to write a symphonic -poem at all that the fact that it might be a dull one seemed of minor -importance to him. When he isn’t being almost entirely formless he is -generally safely conventional, preferring to stick to what a statesman -would call the Ways of the Fathers rather than risk some structural -innovation what might or might not be effective. Tschaikovsky’s -variation of the traditional sequence of movements in the _Pathétique_ -symphony, for example--ending with the slow movement instead of the -march--would scandalize and terrify the average American. - -This feebleness and uncertainty in the handling of material makes -American music sound more sterile and commonplace than it really is. -The American composer never seems certain just what, if anything, he -wants to say. His themes, his fundamental ideas, are often of real -significance, but he has no control over that very essence of the -language of music, mood. He lacks taste. The fact that an American -composition may begin in a genuinely impressive mood is no guarantee -at all that inside of twenty-four bars it may not fall into the -most appalling banalities. We start with lyric beauty and finish in -stickiness. The curse of bathos is upon us. We lack staying power. Just -as so many American dramatists can write two good acts of a three-act -play, so many American novelists can write superb opening chapters, so -do American composers devise eloquent opening themes. But we all fail -when it comes to development. The train is laid, the match is applied, -and the spectators crowd back in delighted terror amid tremendous -hissings and sputterings. But when the awaited detonation comes, it is -too often only a pop. - -Such failure to make adequate use of his ideas is partially -attributable to the American musician’s pathetically inadequate -technical equipment. Generally speaking, he doesn’t know his business. -He has been unable, or hasn’t bothered, to learn his trade. Imagine if -you can a successful dramatist who can neither read nor write, but has -to dictate his plays, or a painter who can only draw the outlines of -his pictures, hiring some one else to lay in the colours, and you have -something analogous to many an American “composer” whose music is taken -seriously by Americans, and who cannot write out a playable piano part, -arrange a song for choral performance, or transcribe a hymn tune for -a string quartette. Such elementary work he has to have done for him, -whenever it is necessary, by some hack. This, to say nothing of the -more advanced branches of musical science, like counterpoint, fugue, -orchestration. Though it is risky to generalize, it is probably safe -to say that among Americans who write music, the man who can construct -a respectable fugue or canon or score a piece for full orchestra is -decidedly the exception. In Europe, of course, any man who did not -have these technical resources at his fingertips would have to be a -Moussorgsky to be taken seriously as a composer at all. - -It is not entirely the American’s fault that he is so ill-equipped. -Much of his comparative musical illiteracy, true, is the result of -his own laziness and his traditional American contempt for theory and -passion for results. On the other hand, the young American who honestly -desires a good theoretical training in music must either undertake -the expensive adventure of journeying to one of the few cities that -contain a first-class conservatory, or the equally expensive one of -going to Europe. If he can do neither, he must to a great extent -educate himself. Some kinds of training it is nearly impossible for -him to obtain here at any price. Orchestration, for instance, a -tremendously complex and difficult science, can be mastered only by -the time-honoured trial and error method, i.e., by writing out scores -and hearing them played. How is our young American to manage this? -Granted that there is a symphony orchestra near him, how can he get -his scores played? The conductor cannot be blamed for refusing. He -is hired to play the works of masters, not to try out the apprentice -efforts of unskilled aspirants. What we need so badly here are not -more first-class orchestras, but more second-rate ones, small-town -orchestras that could afford to give the tyro a chance. - -Because of their lack of technical skill many composers in this country -never venture into the broader fields of composition at all. As a -class, we write short piano and violin pieces, or songs. We write them -because we do earnestly desire to write something and because they do -not demand the technical resourcefulness and sustained inspiration -that we lack. Parenthetically, I don’t for a moment mean to imply that -clumsy workmanship and sterility are unknown in Europe, that we are all -mediocrities and they are all _Uebermenschen_. As a matter of fact, -we have to-day probably much more creative musical talent, if less -brains, than Europe; but, talent for talent, the European is infinitely -better trained. This, at least in part, because he respects theory -and has a desire for technical proficiency that we almost totally -lack. Then too, the European has some cultural background. There is a -curious lack of inter-communication among the arts in this country. -The painter seems to feel that literature has nothing direct to give -him, the writer, that music and painting are not in his line, and the -musician--decidedly the worst of the three in this respect--that his -own art has no connection with anything. - -The American composer’s most complete failure is intellectual. The -fact that he writes music seldom warrants the assumption that he has -the artist’s point of view at all. He is likely to be a much less -interesting person than one’s iceman. Ten to one, he never visits a -picture gallery or a sculpture exhibition, his taste in the theatre -is probably that of the tired business man, and what little reading -he does is likely to be confined to trade papers, _Snappy Stories_, -and best-sellers. He takes no interest in politics, economics, or -sociology, either national or international (how could they possibly -concern him?), and probably cannot discuss even music with pleasure or -profit to anybody. - -The natural inference that might be drawn from this diatribe--that -the composing of music in this country is confined exclusively to the -idiot classes--is not strictly true. Plenty of American musicians are -intelligent and cultured men as well; but that is not America’s fault. -She is just as cordial to the stupid ones. And the widespread impotence -and technical sloppiness of American music is the inevitable result of -the American attitude toward music and to the anomalous position the -art occupies in this country. - -Let me be platitudinous in the interest of clarity and point out what -we so often forget: that our nation, unlike most of the others, is not -a race as well. We have common wellsprings of thought, but--and this -is significant and ominous--none of feeling. Sheer environment may -teach people to think alike within a generation; but it takes centuries -of common emotional experiences to make them feel alike. Any average -American, even of the National-Security-League-one-hundred-per-centum -variety, may have in his veins the blood of English, French, Italian, -and Russian ancestors, and there is no saying that his emotional -nature is going to find many heart-beats in common with some equally -average neighbour, whose ancestry may be, say, Irish, Danish, and -Hungarian. What national spirit we have has been determined, first, -by the fact that the ancestors of every one of us, whether they came -here twenty years ago or two hundred, were pioneers. Every one of them -left a civilization whose cultural background had been established for -centuries, to come to a land where the problem of mere existence was -of prime importance. Again, many of them were religious fanatics. In -the life of the pioneer there was little room for art of any sort, and -least for music. What he demanded of music, when he had time to spare -for it, was that above all things it distract him from the fatigue -and worry of everyday life, either by amusing him or by furnishing a -sentimental reminder of old ways. To the Puritan, music, both for its -own sake and as entertainment, was anathema. As sensuous beauty it was -popish, and as entertainment it was worldly pleasure, and therefore -wicked. To be tolerated at all, it must be practical, i.e., perform -some moral service by being a hymn tune. And what the American pioneer -and the American Puritan asked a few generations back, the average -American asks to-day whenever he is confronted with any work of art: -Does it point a moral? If not, will it help me to kill time without -boring me? - -Instruction, release, or amusement: that, in general, is all we want -of art. The American’s favourite picture is one that tells a story, or -shows the features of some famous person, or the topography of some -historic spot. Fantastic pictures he likes, because they show him -people and places far removed from his own rather tedious environment, -but they must be a gaudy, literal, solid sort of fantasy--Maxfield -Parrish rather than Aubrey Beardsley. If he can’t have these, he wants -pretty girls or comics. Purely decorative or frankly meaningless -pictures--Hokusai and Whistler (except, of course, the portraits of -Carlyle and his mother)--do not exist for him. Sculpture--which he -does not understand--is probably his favourite art-form, for it is -tangible, three-dimensionable, stable. He doesn’t mind poetry, for it, -too, gives him release. He likes novels, especially “glad” ones or -mystery stories. He even tolerates realism if, as in “Main Street,” it -gives him release by showing him a set of consistently contemptible -and uncultured characters to whom even he must feel superior. His -architecture he likes either ornate to imbecility or utilitarian to -hideousness. - -In other words, the typical American goes to an art-work either frankly -to have his senses tickled or for the sake of a definite thing that it -says or a series of extraneous images or thoughts that it evokes--never -for the _Ding an sich_. Of pure æsthetic emotion he exhibits very -little. To him, beauty is emphatically not its own excuse for being. -He does not want it for its own sake, and distrusts and fears it when -it appears before him unclothed in moral lessons or associated ideas. -In such a civilization music can occupy but a very unimportant place. -For music is, morally or intellectually, the most meaningless of arts: -it teaches no lesson, it offers no definite escape from life to the -literal-minded, and aside from the primitive and obvious associations -of patriotic airs and “mother” songs, it evokes no associated images or -ideas. To love music you must be willing to enjoy beauty pretty largely -for its own sake, without asking it to mean anything definite in words -or pictures. This the American hates to do. Since he cannot be edified, -he refuses to be stirred. There is nothing left for him, therefore, in -music, except such enjoyment as he can get out of a pretty tune or an -infectious rhythm. - -And that, despite our admirable symphony orchestras and our two superb -permanent opera companies (all run at a loss, by the way), is about all -that music means to the average American--amusement. He simply does not -see how an art that doesn’t teach him anything, that is a shameless -assault upon his emotions (he makes no distinction between emotions -and senses), can possibly play any significant part in his life. So, -as a nation, he does what he generally does in other matters of art, -delegates its serious cultivation to women. - -Women constitute ninety per cent. of those who support music in this -country. It is women who attend song and instrumental recitals; it -is women who force reluctant husbands and fathers to subscribe for -opera seats and symphony concerts; the National Federation of Musical -Clubs, which works throughout the country to foster the appreciation -of music, is composed entirely of women; at least two-thirds of the -choral organizations in the United States contain women’s voices only. -It is no disparagement of their activities to say that such a state -of affairs is unhealthy. This well-nigh complete feminization of -music is bad for it. After all, art, to be alive, must like any other -living thing be the result of collaboration. Women have undertaken -to be the moral guardians of the race, and no one can deny that they -guard, upon the whole, as well as men could; but their guardianship -is a bit too zealous at times, and their predominance in our musical -life aggravates our already exaggerated tendency to demand that art be -edifying. One of the conditions of the opera contest conducted by the -National Federation in 1914 was that the libretto must contain nothing -immoral or suggestive (I paraphrase). Now music is, after all, an adult -occupation, and it might be assumed that a composer competent to write -an opera score might have taste and intelligence enough not to be -vulgar--for, surely, vulgarity was all they wanted to guard against. -If the clause were to be interpreted literally, it would bar the -librettos of _Tristan_, _Walküre_, _Carmen_, _Pelléas et Mélisande_, -and _L’Amore dei Tre Re_--a supposition quite too unthinkable. The -feminine influence helps to increase the insularity of our musicians. -Women are more chauvinistic in art matters--if possible--than men, -and among the women’s clubs that are trying to encourage the American -composer there is a tendency to insist rather that he be American than -that he be a composer. Since it is women who support our recitals and -concerts it is they who must assume responsibility for our excessive -cult of the performer. This land is certainly the happy hunting-ground -of the virtuoso, be he singer, player, or conductor. What he chooses -to sing, play, or conduct is comparatively unimportant to us. Our -audiences seem to gather not so much to listen as to look; or if -they do listen, it is to the voice or the instrument rather than -to the music. The announcement, “Farrar in _Carmen_” will pack the -Metropolitan to the doors; but if the bill be changed, and _Zaza_ be -substituted at the last moment, who cares? Indeed the ticket agencies, -knowing what people really attend opera for, frankly advertise “tickets -for Farrar to-night.” Rachmaninoff is a great pianist, and Rachmaninoff -playing an all-Chopin programme could fill Carnegie Hall at any -time. But Rachmaninoff playing a programme of Czerny’s “Exercises -for the Beginner” could fill it just as well. Announce an all-Chopin -programme without naming the pianist, and see how much of an audience -you draw. The people who go to hear Galli-Curci sing the shadow-song -from _Dinora_ do not go to hear music at all. They go as they would go -to see Bird Millman walk a slack wire; they go to hear a woman prove -that, given a phenomenal development of the vocal cords, she can, after -years of practice, perform scales and trills _in altissimo_ very nearly -as well as the union flute-player who furnishes her obligato. All -this is to a certain extent true elsewhere, of course. It is natural -that if one person can sing or play better than another, audiences -should prefer to hear him rather than another. But this worship of the -performance rather than the thing performed, this blind adoration of -skill for its own sake, is cultivated in America to a degree that is -quite unparalleled. - -Many American cities and large towns hold annual musical festivals, -lasting from two days to a week or more, and these are often mentioned -as evidence of the existence of a genuine musical culture among us. Are -they? What happens at them? For one thing, the local choral society -performs a cantata or oratorio. This is more than likely to be either -_The Messiah_ or _Elijah_, works which through long association have -taken on less the character of musical compositions than of devotional -exercises. Edification again. Soloists are engaged, as expensive and -famous as the local budget allows, and these give recitals during the -remaining sessions of the festival. The audiences come largely to see -these marvels rather than to hear music, for after the annual spree of -culture is over they return home contentedly enough to another year -void of any music whatever. Hearing a little music is better than -hearing none, but the test of genuine culture is whether or not it -is an integral part of life rather than a vacation from it. By this -test the annual festival would seem to exert about as much permanent -cultural influence as a clambake. - -The total unconsciousness on the part of his fellow-countrymen that art -is related to life, a sense of futility and unreality, is what makes -the lot of the musician in America a hard one, and is responsible for -his failure as an artist. If people get the kind of government they -deserve, they most certainly get the kind of art they demand; and if, -comparatively speaking, there is no American composer, it is because -America doesn’t want him, doesn’t see where he fits in. - -Suppose most American music is trivial and superficial? How many -Americans would know the difference if it were profound? The composer -here lives in an atmosphere that is, at the worst, good-natured -contempt. Contempt, mind you, not for himself--that wouldn’t -matter--but for his very art. In the minds of many of his compatriots -it ranks only as an entertainment and a diversion, slightly above -embroidery and unthinkably below baseball. At best, what he gets is -unintelligent admiration, not as an artist, but as a freak. Blind -Tom, the negro pianist, is still a remembered and admired figure in -American musical history; and Blind Tom was an idiot. To an American, -the process of musical composition is a mysterious and incomprehensible -trick--like sword-swallowing or levitation--and as such he admires it; -but he does not respect it. He cannot understand how any normal he-man -can spend his life thinking up tunes and putting them down on paper. -Tunes are pleasant things, of course, especially when they make your -feet go or take you back to the days when you went straw-riding; but as -for taking them seriously, and calling it work--man’s work--to think -them up ... any one who thinks that can be dismissed as a crank. - -If the crank could make money, it might be different. The respect -accorded to artists in our country is pretty sharply graded in -accordance with their earning power. Novelists and playwrights come -first, since literature and the stage are known to furnish a “good -living.” Sculptors have a certain standing, on account of the rumoured -prices paid for statues and public memorials, though scenario writers -are beginning to rank higher. Painters are eyed with a certain -suspicion, though there is always the comfortable belief that the -painter probably pursues a prosperous career of advertising art on -the side. But poets and composers are decidedly men not to be taken -seriously. This system of evaluation is not quite as crass as it -sounds. America has so long been the land of opportunity, we have so -long gloried in her supremacy as the place to make a living, that -we have an instinctive conviction that if a man is really doing a -good job he must inevitably make money at it. Only, poetry and music -have the bad luck to be arts wherein a man may be both great and -successful and still be unable to look the landlord in the eye. Since -such trades are so unprofitable, we argue, those who pursue them are -presumably incompetent. The one class of composer whom the American -does take seriously is the writer of musical comedy and popular songs, -not only because he can make money, but because he provides honest, -understandable entertainment for man and beast. That, perhaps, is why -our light music is the best of its kind in the world. - -The self-styled music-lover in this country too often brings little -more genuine comprehension to music. He is likely to be a highbrow -(defined as a person educated beyond his intelligence), with all the -mental obtuseness and snobbishness of his class. He divides music into -“popular”--meaning light--and “classical”--meaning pretentious. Now -there is good music and bad, and the composer’s pretensions have little -to do with the case. Compare, for example, the first-act finale of -Victor Herbert’s _Mlle. Modiste_ with such vulgar rubbish as _Donna è -mobile_. Yet because the latter is sung by tenors, at the Metropolitan, -the highbrow solemnly catalogues it as “classical,” abolishing the -work of Herbert, Berlin, and Kern, three greatly gifted men, with the -adjective “popular.” In general, he is the faithful guardian of the -Puritan tradition, always sniffing the air for a definite “message” or -moral, seeking sermons in tones, books in running arpeggios. It never -occurs to him that just as words are the language of intellect, so is -music the language of emotion, that its whole excuse for existence is -its perfection in saying what lies just beyond and above words, and -that if you can reduce a composer’s message to words, you automatically -render it meaningless. - -Music criticism in America is amazingly good in the cities. The system -under which the critics must work, however, whereby they are supposed -to “cover” everything (in New York this theoretically entails making -some sort of critical comment upon every one of three or four hundred -events in a single season) is so impossible that much of their work is -inevitably scamped and perfunctory. Elsewhere throughout the country -criticism is handed over to reporters, who generally avoid trouble -by approving of everything. There is a tendency toward the double -standard--holding the stranger strictly to account, especially the -foreigner, and being “nice” to the native--that produces demoralizing -results. - -Of real musical journalism we have none. There is _The Musical -Quarterly_, good of its kind, but rather ponderous and making no -pretence to timeliness. The monthlies are chiefly for the teacher. -The weeklies are in general frankly “shop” organs, devoted to the -activities of the performer and filled with his advertisements, -portraits, and press notices. There is no medium for the exchange -of contemporary thought, for the discussion of topics having a -non-professional cultural interest. Music publishing here is an -industry, conducted like any other industry. The Continental type of -publisher, who is a scholar and a musician, and a gentleman who is -conscious of a duty to music as well as to the stockholders, is almost -unknown here. To our publishers music is a commodity, to be bought -cheap and sold dear, and most of them will publish anything that looks -profitable, regardless of its quality. Their typographical standards -are higher than those anywhere in the world, except Germany. - -So the American composer in America works more or less in a vacuum. He -is out of things, and he knows it. If he attempts to say something, -through his art, that will be intelligible to his countrymen, he is -baffled by the realization that his countrymen don’t understand his -language. This particular difficulty, this sense of inarticulateness, -probably weighed less heavily upon the last two generations of American -composers; for they were, most of them, virtually German composers. -In their time a thorough technical education in music was so nearly -unobtainable here that it was simpler to go abroad for it. So, from -Paine to MacDowell, they went to Germany. There they learned their -trade, and at least learned it thoroughly; but they learned to write, -not only music, but German music. To them, German music was music. -Their songs were _Lieder_; their symphonies and overtures were little -sinister sons of Beethoven, Raff, and Brahms. So completely Teutonized -did our musical speech become that we still find it hard to believe -that French music, Spanish music, Russian music is anything but an -imperfect translation from the German. A few went to Paris and learned -to write with a French accent. MacDowell was, and remains, our best: -a first-rank composer, who died before his work was done. His earlier -music was all written, performed, and published in Germany, and it is -as _echt Deutsch_ as that of Raff, his master. Not until he approached -middle life did he evolve a musical idiom that was wholly of MacDowell, -the American. Most of the rest came back to spend their days fashioning -good, honest, square-toed _Kapellmeistermusik_ that had about as much -genuine relation to their America as the Declaration of Independence -has to ours. They might feel this lack of contact, but at least they -had the consolation of knowing that there were people in the world to -whom what they said was at least intelligible. - -The American of the present generation has no such consolation. He has -probably not been trained abroad. He wants to write music, and being -human, he wants it understood. But the minute he tries to express -himself he betrays the fact that he does not know what he wants to -express. Any significant work of art is inevitably based on the -artist’s relation and reaction to life. But the American composer’s -relation to the common life is unreal. His activities strike his -fellows as unimportant and slightly irrational. He can’t lay his -finger upon the great, throbbing, common pulse of America because for -him there is none. So he tries this, that, and the other, hoping by -luck to stumble upon the thing he wants to say. He tries desperately -to be American. Knowing that the great national schools of music in -other countries are based upon folksong, he tries to find the American -folksong, so as to base his music upon that. He utilizes Negro tunes, -and when they fail to strike the common chord he devises themes based -upon Indian melodies. What he fails to see is that the folksongs of -Europe express the common _racial_ emotions of a nation, not its -geographical accidents. When a Frenchman hears _Malbrouck_ he is moved -by what moved generations of long-dead Frenchmen; when a Russian hears -_Dubinushka_ he is stirred by what has stirred Russians for centuries. -But even if some melody did stir the pulse of Geronimo, the mere fact -that he was a former resident of my country is no proof that it is -going to stir mine. If you insist that Negro music is the proper basis -for an American school of composition, try telling a Southerner that -when he hears _Swing Low, Sweet Chariot_, he is hearkening to the -voices of his ancestors! - -A curious symptom of this feeling of disinheritance is the tendency of -so many Americans to write what might be called the music of escape, -music that far from attempting to affirm the composer’s relation to -his day and age is a deliberate attempt to liberate himself by evoking -alien and exotic moods and atmosphere. The publishers’ catalogues -are full of Arab meditations, Persian dances, Hindu serenades, and -countless similar attempts to get “anywhere out of the world.” The -best work of Charles Griffes, whose untimely death last year robbed -us of a true creative talent, was his symphonic poem, “The Pleasure -Dome of Kubla Khan,” and his settings of Chinese and Japanese lyrics -in Oriental rhythms and timbres. Not that the mere choice of subject -is important; it is the actual mood and idiom of so much of this music -that is significant evidence of the impulse to give up and forget -America, to create a dream-world wherein one can find refuge from the -land of chewing gum and victrolas. - -These same victrolas, by the way, with their cousin, the player-piano, -which so outrage the sensibilities of many a musician of the elder day, -are a very real force in helping to civilize this country musically. -The American is by no means as unmusical as he thinks he is. His -indifference to art is only the result of his purely industrial -civilization, and his tendency to mix morals with æsthetics is a -habit of thought engendered by his ancestry. The Puritan tradition -makes him fearful and suspicious of any sort of sensuous or emotional -response, but it has not rendered him incapable of it. Catch him off -his guard, get him away from the fear of being bored, and he is far -from insensitive to music. He buys victrola records because he is a -hero-worshipper, because he wants to hear the expensive Caruso and -Kreisler and McCormack; but inevitably he is bound to take some notice -of what they play and sing, and to recognize it when he hears it again. -In spite of himself he begins to acquire a rudimentary sort of musical -background. He begins by buying jazz rolls for his player-piano, and -is likely in the long run, if only out of curiosity, to progress from -“blues” to Chopin, via Moszkovski and Grainger. - -But the greatest present-day force for good, musically, in this -country, is the large motion-picture house. Music has always been a -necessary accompaniment to motion pictures, in order to compensate for -the uncanny silence in which these photographic wraiths unfold their -dramas. Starting with a modest ensemble of piano and glass crash, the -motion-picture orchestra has gradually increased in size and quality, -the pipe organ has been introduced to augment and alternate it, so -that the larger houses to-day can boast a musical equipment that is -amazingly good. A few years ago S. L. Rothafel devised a glorified -type of entertainment that was a sort of combination picture-show and -“pop” concert. He built a theatre, the Rialto, especially to house it, -containing a stage that was little more than a picture frame, a large -pipe organ, and an orchestra platform large enough to hold seventy or -eighty players. He recruited a permanent orchestra large enough to play -symphonic works, and put Hugo Riesenfeld, an excellent violinist and -conductor, who had been trained under Arthur Nikisch, in charge of the -performances. These, besides the usual film presentations, comprised -vocal and instrumental solos and detached numbers by the orchestra. All -the music played at these entertainments was good--in what is known in -this country as “classical.” Riesenfeld devised a running accompaniment -to the films, assembled from the best orchestral music obtainable--a -sort of synthetic symphonic poem that fitted the mood and action of the -film presented, and was, of course, much too good for it. - -This new entertainment form was instantly successful, and is rapidly -becoming the standard offering at all the larger picture houses. It is -a significant step in our musical life, for it is the first entirely -successful attempt in this country to adapt art to popular wants. At -last the average man is going of his own accord into a public hall -and hearing music--real music--and discovering that he likes it. The -picture house allows him to pretend that he is going solely to see the -films, and needn’t listen unless he wants to. He finds that “classical” -music is not nearly so boresome as many of its admirers. Freed from -the highbrow’s condescension, unconscious of uplift, he listens and -responds to music like the prelude to _Tristan_, the _Walkürenritt_, -the _New World_ symphony, Tschaikovsky’s _Fourth_, and the _Eroica_. -Theodore Thomas rendered no more valuable service to music in America -than have Samuel Rothafel and Hugo Riesenfeld. - -We are still far from utopia, however. In one of his essays upon -communal art Henry Caro-Delvaille speaks of “the true Mediterranean -_esprit_, the viable art philosophy of the French race, which is -essentially plastic, accepting and delineating life, free alike from -dogmatism and mysticism.” Try to frame a sentence like that about -America. Try to make any generalization about the American spirit -without using “liberty,” “free institutions,” “resourcefulness,” -“opportunity,” or other politico-economic terms, if you would know what -confronts the American artist, above all the American musician, when -he attempts to become articulate to his countrymen. We simply have no -common æsthetic emotions. No wonder our music flounders and stammers, -and trails off into incoherence! - -Wagner wrote _Die Meistersinger_ in a deliberate effort to express the -German artistic creed; Verdi wrote consciously as an Italian; Glinka -founded an entire school of composers whose sole aim was to express -Russia. Such a task is beyond the American. The others were spokesmen -for a race: he has no race to speak for, and the moment he pretends -that he has, and tries to speak for it, he becomes conscious and -futile. To speak of American music, in any ethnic sense, is naïve; you -might as well speak of Baptist music. No. The American must accept his -lot. There is but one audience he can write for, and that is himself. -John Smith, American composer, dare not say: “I write to express -America.” He can only say: “I write to express John Smith. I accept my -life because, after all, it is mine, and I interpret my life because it -is the only life I know.” And because John Smith is an American, and -because somewhere, remote and inarticulate, there must be an American -soul, then perhaps, if he does honest work and is true to himself, he -may succeed in saying something that is of America, and of nowhere -else, and that other Americans will hear and understand. - - DEEMS TAYLOR - - - - -POETRY - - -There are many fashions, among contemporary critics, of regarding -American poetry, each of them perhaps of equal helpfulness, since -each is one facet of an imaginable whole. There is the view of Mr. -John Middleton Murry, an English critic, that it depends perhaps a -shade too much on narrative or dramatic interest, on bizarrerie (if -I may very freely elaborate his notion) or, in general, on a kind of -sensationalism, a use of superficially intriguing elements which are -not specifically the right--or at all events the best--elements of -poetry. There is the view of Mr. Louis Untermeyer, one of the ablest -of our own critics and also one of the most versatile of our parodists -and poets, that our contemporary poetry is good in measure as it -comes in the direct line from Whitman: good, that is to say, when it -is the voice of the poet who accepts, accepts joyously and largely, -even loosely, this new world environment, these new customs, social -and industrial, above all, it may be, the new sense of freedom which -he might, if pressed, trace back to Karl Marx on one hand and Sigmund -Freud on the other. There is again the view of Miss Amy Lowell that -our poetry is good, or tends to be, precisely in proportion as it -represents an outgrowing, by the poet, of his acute awareness of a -social or ethical “here and now,” and the attainment of a relatively -pure pre-occupation with beauty--the sense of freedom here exercising -itself principally, if not altogether, with regard to literary -tradition, especially the English: once more, I dilate the view to make -it the more broadly representative. And there is, finally, the view of -the conservative, by no means silent even in this era, that what is -good in contemporary American poetry is what is for the moment least -conspicuous--the traditional, seen as it appears inevitably in America -to be seen, as something graceful, sentimental, rightly ethical, gently -idealistic. - -What will be fairly obvious is that if we follow a little way any -particular one of these critics, we shall find him attempting to urge -our poetry in a particular direction, a direction which he prefers -to any other direction, and analysing its origins in such a way, if -he analyses at all, as to make plausible its (postulated) growth in -that direction. This is the natural, even perhaps the best thing, for -a participant critic to do--it contributes, certainly, an interest -and an energy. But if in some freak of disinterestedness, we wish if -for only a moment to see American poetry with no concern save that -of inordinate and intelligent curiosity, then it is to all of these -views that we must turn, rather than to any one, and to the obverse of -each, as well as to the face. For if one thing is apparent to-day in -a study of American letters, it is that we must heroically resist any -temptation to simplify, to look in only one direction for origins or -in only one direction for growth. Despite our national motto, American -civilization is not so much one in many as many in one. We have not, as -England has and as France has, a single literary heart; our literary -capitals and countries are many, each with its own vigorous people, -its own self-interest, its own virtues and provincialisms. We may -attribute this to the mere matter of our size, and the consequent -geographical sequestration of this or that group--that is no doubt a -factor, but of equal importance is the fact that in a new country, of -rapid and chaotic material growth, we must inevitably have, according -to the locality, marked variations in the rapidity of growth of the -vague thing we call civilization. Chicago is younger than Boston, older -than San Francisco. And what applies to the large unit applies also -to the small--if the country in general has not yet reached anything -remotely like a cultural homogeneity (as far, that is, as we ever in -viewing a great nation expect such a thing) neither has any section of -it, nor any city of it. It is no longer possible, if indeed it ever -was, to regard a section like New England, for example, as a definite -environmental factor, say “y,” and to conclude, as some critics are -so fond of doing, that any poet who matures there will inevitably be -representable as “yp.” This is among the commonest and falsest of -false simplifications. Our critics, frantically determined to find -an American poetry that is autochthonous, will see rocky pastures, -mountains and birches in the poetry of a New Englander, or skyscrapers -in the poetry of a New Yorker, or stockyards in the poetry of a -Chicagoan, as easily as a conjurer takes a rabbit from a hat. - -What refuge we have from a critical basis so naïve is in assuming -from the outset, toward contemporary American poetry, an attitude -guardedly pluralistic--we begin by observing merely that American -poetry is certainly, at the moment, if quantitative production and -public interest are any measure, extraordinarily healthy and vigorous. -We are accustomed to hearing it called a renaissance. The term is -admissible if we carefully exclude, in using it, any implication of a -revival of classicism. What we mean by it is simply that the moment -is one of quite remarkable energy, productiveness, range, colour, and -anarchy. What we do not mean by it is that we can trace with accuracy -where this outburst comes from. The origins of the thing are obscure. -It was audible in 1914--Mr. Edwin Arlington Robinson and Mr. Ezra Pound -were audible before that; it burst into full chorus in 1915; and ever -since there has been, with an occasional dying fall, a lusty corybantic -cacophony. Just where this amazing procession started nobody clearly -knows. Mr. Untermeyer would have us believe that Walt Whitman was, as -it were, the organizer of it, Miss Monroe tries to persuade us that -it was _Poetry: a Magazine of Verse_, But the facts, I think, wave -aside either postulate. If one thing is remarkable it is that in this -spate of poetry the influence of Walt Whitman--an influence, one would -suppose, as toxic for the young as Swinburne--is so inconsiderable: -if another is even more remarkable, it is that in all this chorus one -so seldom hears a voice of which any previous American voice was the -clear prototype. We have had, of course, our voices--of the sort, I -mean, rich enough in character to make imitation an easy and tempting -thing. Longfellow, Lowell, Bryant, Sill, Lanier are not in this regard -considerable,--but what of Poe, whose influence we have seen in French -poetry on Baudelaire, and in contemporary English poetry on Mr. Walter -de la Mare? No trace of him is discoverable, unless perhaps we find -the ghostliest of his shadows now and then across the work of Mr. -John Gould Fletcher, or Mr. Maxwell Bodenheim, or Mr. Wallace Stevens, -a shadow cast, in all these cases, amid much else, from a technical -and colouristic standpoint, which would have filled Poe with alarm. -And there is another American poet, perhaps as great as Poe, perhaps -greater (as he in turn is perhaps greater than Whitman--as poet, though -not as personality)--Emily Dickinson. Of that quietist and mystic, who -walked with tranquillity midway between Blake and Emerson, making of -her wilful imperfections a kind of perfectionism, why do we hear so -little? Do we catch now and again the fleetingest glimpse of her in the -early work of Mr. Robert Frost? If so, it is certainly nowhere else. -Yet it would be hard to prove that she has no right to a place with Poe -and Whitman, or indeed among the best poets in the language. - -But nowhere in America can we find, for contemporary poetry, any -clear precursive signal. Little as it may comfort our fuglemen of the -autochthonous, we must, I think, look to Europe for its origins. This -is not, as some imagine, a disgrace--it would be a melancholy thing, -of course, if we merely imitated the European, without alteration. But -Browning would hardly recognize himself, even if he cared to, in the -“Domesday Book” of Mr. Edgar Lee Masters, Mallarmé and Rimbaud would -find Mr. Fletcher a mirror with an odd trick of distortion, Laforgue -would have to look twice at Mr. T. S. Eliot’s “Prufrock” (for all -its Hamletism), M. Paul Fort would scarcely feel at home in Miss Amy -Lowell’s “Can Grande’s Castle,” Mr. Thomas Hardy and the ghost of -Tennyson would not quarrel much for the possession of Mr. Robinson’s -work, nor Mr. Chesterton and the author of “The Ingoldsby Legends” -for the lively sonorities of Mr. Vachel Lindsay. In such cases we -have not so much “influence” as fertilization. It is something of Mr. -Masters that “The Ring and the Book” reveals to Mr. Masters: something -of Miss Lowell to which M. Paul Fort offers her the key. Was it a -calamity for Baudelaire that he lived only by a transfusion of blood -from an American? Is Becquer the less Becquer or Spanish for having -fed upon the “Buch der Lieder”?... Culture is bartered, nowadays, at -open frontiers, and if to-day a new theme, chord, or colour-scheme is -French, German, or American, to-morrow it is international. - -If we differ in this respect from any other country it is only that we -are freer to exploit, really exhaust, the new, because we hold, less -than any other, to any classical traditions: for traditions our poets -seldom look back further than the 19th century. We have the courage, -often indistinguishable from folly, of our lack of convictions. Thus it -comes about that as America is the melting-pot for races, so she is in -a fair way to become a melting-pot for cultures: we have the energy, -the curiosity, the intelligence, above all the lack of affiliations -with the past, which admirably adapt us to a task--so precisely -demanding complete self-surrender--of æsthetic experiment. Ignorance -has some compensations--I mean, of course, a partial ignorance. If Mr. -Lindsay had been brought up exclusively on Aristotle, Plato, Æschylus, -and Euripides, and had been taken out of the shadow of the church -by Voltaire and Darwin, perhaps he would not have been so “free” to -experiment with the “higher vaudeville.” It will be observed that this -is an odd kind of “freedom,” for it amounts in some ways to little -more than the “freedom” of the prison. For if too severe a training -in the classics unfits one somewhat for bold experiment, too little -of it is as likely, on the other hand, to leave one with an æsthetic -perceptiveness, a sensibility, in short, relatively rudimentary. - -This, then, is something of the cultural _mise en scène_ for our -contemporary poetry. We have repeated waves of European suggestion -breaking Westward over our continent, foaming rather more in Chicago -than in New York; and we have our lusty young company of swimmers, -confident that they are strong enough to ride these waves farther than -any one in Europe rode them and with a more native grace. What is most -conspicuously American in most of these swimmers is the fact that -they rely not so much on skill and long training as on sheer energy, -vitality, and confidence. They rely, indeed, in most cases, on a kind -of exuberance or superabundance. Do we not feel this in the work of -Mr. Edgar Lee Masters--does he not try, in these many full books of -his, where the good is so inextricably enmeshed with the bad, simply -to beat us down as under a cataract? “Domesday Book” is, rather, an -avalanche. He never knows what to exclude, where to stop. Miss Lowell, -Mr. Fletcher, Mr. Carl Sandburg, and Mr. Lindsay are not far behind -him, either--they are all copious. I do not mean to imply that this -is a bad thing, at the moment--at the moment I am not sure that this -sheer exuberance is not, for us, the very _best_ thing. Energy is the -first requisite of a “renaissance,” and supplies its material, or, -in another light, its richness of colour. Not the beginning, but the -end, of a renaissance is in refinement; and I think we are certainly -within bounds in postulating that the last five years have given us -at the least a superb beginning, and enough more than that, perhaps, -to make one wonder whether we have not already cast Poe and Whitman, -Sidney Lanier, and Emily Dickinson, our strange little quartette, into -a shadow. - -All that our wonder can hope for is at best a very speculative answer. -If parallels were not so dangerous, we might look with encouragement at -that spangled rhetorical torrent which we call Elizabethan literature. -Ben Jonson did not consider Shakespeare much of an artist, nor did -Milton, and classicists ever since have followed them in that opinion. -If one can be the greatest of poets and yet not much of an artist, we -may here keep clear of the quarrel: what we get at is the fact that -Shakespeare and the other Elizabethans participated in a literary -movement which, like ours, began in energy, violence, and extravagance, -was at its best excessively rhetorical and given to unpruned -copiousness, and perished as it refined. Will a future generation see -us in a somewhat similar light--will it like us for our vitality, for -the reckless adventurousness of our literature, our extravagances, and -forgive us, if it does not precisely enjoy as something with a foreign -flavour, our artistic innocence? That is conceivable, certainly. Yet -the view _is_ speculative and we dare not take it too seriously. For if -we have kept hopefully and intelligently abreast of the contemporary we -have kept, none the less, our own very sufficient aloofness, our own -tactilism and awareness, in the light of which we are bound to have our -own scepticisms and self-distrust. I do not mean that we would perhaps -prefer something more classical or severe than “Spoon River Anthology” -or “The Congo” or the colour symphonies of Mr. Fletcher, merely on -the ground that it is the intrinsically classical and severe which we -most desire. What we seem to see in contemporary American poetry is a -transition from the more to the less exuberant, from the less to the -more severe; and what we most _desire_ to see is the attainment of -_that point_, in this transition, which will give us our parallel to -the Shakespearean, if we may hope for anything even approximately so -high; a point of equipoise. - -This hope gives us a convenient vantage from which to survey the -situation, if we also keep in mind our perception of American cultural -heterogeneity and the rashness of any attempt to generalize about -it. The most exact but least diverting method would be the merely -enumerative, the mere roll-call which would put before us Mr. Edwin -Arlington Robinson and Mr. Ezra Pound as the two of our poets whose -public literary activities extend farthest back, and after them the -group who made themselves known in the interval between 1914 and 1920: -Mr. Robert Frost, Mr. Fletcher, Mr. Masters, Mr. Sandburg, Miss Lowell, -Mr. Lindsay, Mr. Alfred Kreymborg, Mr. Maxwell Bodenheim, Mr. Wallace -Stevens, “H. D.,” Mr. T. S. Eliot, and Miss Sara Teasdale. These poets, -with few exceptions, have little enough in common--nothing, perhaps, -save the fact that they were all a good deal actuated at the outset -by a disgust with the dead level of sentimentality and prettiness and -moralism to which American poetry had fallen between 1890 and 1910. -From that point they diverge like so many radii. One cannot say, as -Miss Lowell has tried to persuade us, that they have all followed one -radius, and that the differences between them are occasioned by the -fact that some have gone farther than others. We may, for convenience, -classify them, if we do not attach too much importance to the bounds -of our classes. We may say that Mr. Robinson, Mr. Frost, and Mr. -Masters bring back to our poetry a strong sense of reality; that Mr. -Fletcher, Mr. Pound, Miss Lowell, “H. D.,” and Mr. Bodenheim bring to -it a sharpened consciousness of colour; that Mr. Eliot, Mr. Kreymborg, -and Mr. Stevens bring to it a refinement of psychological subtlety; -Mr. Sandburg, a grim sense of social responsibility; Mr. Lindsay, a -rhythmic abandon mixed with evangelism; Miss Teasdale, a grace. The -range here indicated is extraordinary. The existence side by side in -one generation and in one country of such poets as Mr. Masters and -Mr. Fletcher, or Mr. Eliot and Miss Lowell, is anomalous. Clearly we -are past that time when a nation will have at a given moment a single -direct literary current. There is as yet no sign that to any one of -these groups will fall anything like undivided sway. Mr. Frost’s -“North of Boston” and Mr. Fletcher’s “Irradiations” came out in the -same year; “Spoon River Anthology” and the first “Imagist Anthology”; -Mr. Robinson’s “Lancelot” and Mr. Bodenheim’s “Advice.” And what -gulfs even between members of any one of our arbitrary “classes”! -Mr. Frost’s actualism is seldom far from the dramatic or lyric, that -of Mr. Masters seldom far from the physiological. Mr. Masters is -bitter-minded, tediously explanatory, and his passionate enquiries fall -upon life like so many heavy blows; his delvings appear morbid as well -as searching. Mr. Frost is gentle, whether in irony, humour, or sense -of pain: if it is the pathos of decay which most moves him, he sees it, -none the less, at dewfall and moonrise, in a dark tree, a birdsong. -The inflections of the human voice, as he hears them, are as tender as -in the hearing of Mr. Masters they are harsh. And can Mr. Robinson be -thought a commensal of either? His again is a prolonged enquiry into -the why of human behaviour, but how bared of colour, how muffled with -reserves and dimmed with reticence! Here, indeed, is a step toward -romanticism. For Mr. Robinson, though a realist in the sense that his -preoccupation is with motive, turns down the light in the presence of -his protagonist that in the gloom he may take on the air of something -larger and more mysterious than the garishly actual. Gleams convey the -dimensions--hints suggest a depth. We are not always too precisely -aware of what is going on in this twilight of uncertainties, but Mr. -Robinson seems to whisper that the implications are tremendous. Not -least, moreover, of these implications are the moral--the mirror that -Mr. Robinson holds up to nature gives us back the true, no doubt, -but increasingly in his later work (as in “Merlin” and “Lancelot,” -particularly the latter) with a slight trick of refraction that makes -of the true the exemplary. - -We cross a chasm, from these sombre psycho-realists, to the colourists. -To these, one finds, what is human in behaviour or motive is of -importance only in so far as it affords colour or offers possibilities -of pattern. Mr. Fletcher is the most brilliant of this group, and -the most “uncontrolled”: his colourism, at its best, is a pure, an -astonishingly absolute thing. The “human” element he wisely leaves -alone--it baffles and escapes him. One is aware that this kaleidoscopic -whirl of colour is “wrung out” of Mr. Fletcher, that it conveys what -is for him an intense personal drama, but this does not make his work -“human.” The note of “personal drama” is more complete in the poetry -of “H. D.,” but this too is, in the last analysis, a nearly pure -colourism, as static and fragmentary, however, as Mr. Fletcher’s is -dynamic. Mr. Bodenheim is more detached, cooler, has a more conscious -eye for correspondences between colour and mood: perhaps we should -call him a symbolist. Even here, however, the “human,” the whim of -tenderness, the psychological gleam, are swerved so that they may -fall into a fantastic design. Miss Lowell, finally, more conscious, -deliberate and energetic than any of these, brilliantly versatile, -utterly detached, while she “sees” more of the objective world (and has -farther-ranging interests), sees it more completely than any of them -simply as raw colour or incipient pattern. If the literary pulse is -here often feverishly high, the empathic and sympathetic temperature is -as often absolute zero. - -Mr. Pound shares with Miss Lowell this immersion in the “literary”--he -is intensely aware of the literary past, rifles it for odds and ends -of colour, atmosphere, and attitude, is perpetually adding bright new -bits, from such sources, to his Joseph’s coat: but if a traditionalist -in this, a curio-hunter, he is an experimentalist in prosody; he has -come far from the sentimental literary affectedness of his early work -and at his best has written lyrics of a singular beauty and transparent -clarity. The psychological factor has from time to time intrigued him, -moreover, and we see him as a kind of link between the colourists and -such poets as Mr. T. S. Eliot, Mr. Alfred Kreymborg, and Mr. Wallace -Stevens. These poets are alike in achieving, by a kind of alchemy, the -lyric in terms of the analytic: introspection is made to shine, to the -subtly seen is given a delicate air of false simplicity. Mr. Stevens is -closest to the colourists. His drift has been away from the analytic -and towards the mere capture of a “tone.” Mr. Kreymborg is a melodist -and a mathematician. He takes a pleasure in making of his poems and -plays charming diagrams of the emotions. Mr. Eliot has more of an -eye for the sharp dramatic gesture, more of an ear for the trenchant -dramatic phrase--he looks now at Laforgue, now at John Webster. His -technical skill is remarkable, his perception of effect is precise, his -range narrow, perhaps increasingly narrow. - -Even so rapid and superficial a survey cannot but impress us with the -essential anarchy of this poetic community. Lawlessness has seemed -at times to be the prevailing note; no poetic principle has remained -unchallenged, and we have only to look in the less prosperous suburbs -and corners of this city to see to what lengths the bolder rebels, -whether of the “Others” group or elsewhere, have gone. Ugliness and -shapelessness have had their adherents among those whom æsthetic -fatigue had rendered momentarily insensitive to the well-shaped; -the fragmentary has had its adherents among those whom cynicism had -rendered incapable of any service, too prolonged, to one idea. But -the fetichists of the ugly and the fragmentary have exerted, none the -less, a wholesome and fructifying influence. Whatever we feel about -the ephemerality of the specifically ugly or fragmentary, we cannot -escape a feeling that these, almost as importantly as the new realism -or the new colourism, have enlarged what we might term the general -“poetic consciousness” of the time. If there was a moment when the -vogue of the disordered seemed to threaten, or predict, a widespread -and rapid poetic decadence, that moment is safely past. The tendency -is now in the other direction, and not the least interesting sign is -the fact that many of the former apostles of the disordered are to-day -experimenting with the things they yesterday despised--rhyme, metre, -and the architecture of theme. - -We have our affections, in all this, for the fragmentary and ugly -as for the abrupt small hideousness--oddly akin to virility--of -gargoyles. We have our affections, too, for the rawest of our very raw -realisms--for the maddest of our colourisms, the most idiosyncratic -subtleties of our first introspectionists. Do we hesitate a little to -ask something more of any of the poets whom we thus designate? What -we fear is that in attempting to give us our something more, they -will give us something less. What we want more of, what we see our -contemporary poets as for the most part sadly deficient in, is “art.” -What we are afraid they will lose, if we urge them in this direction, -is their young sharp brilliance. Urge them, however, we must. What -our poets need most to learn is that poetry is not merely a matter of -outpouring, of confession. It must be serious: it must be, if simple in -appearance, none the less highly wrought: it must be packed. It must -be beautifully elaborate rather than elaborately beautiful. It must be -detached from dogma--we must keep it away from the all too prevalent -lecture platform. - -What we should like to see, in short, is a fusion, of the extraordinary -range of poetic virtues with which our contemporary poets confront -us, into one poetic consciousness. Do we cavil too much in assuming -that no one of our poets offers us quite enough? Should we rather take -comfort in the hope that many of their individual “personalities” are -vivid enough to offset their onesidedness, and in that way to have a -considerable guarantee of survival? We have mentioned that possibility -before, and certainly it cannot be flatly dismissed. But I think it -cannot be contested that many of these poets already feel, themselves, -a sharper responsibility, a need for a greater comprehensiveness, for -a finer and richer tactile equipment, a steadier view of what it is -that constitutes beauty of form. They are immeasurably distant from -any dry, cold perfectionism, however; and if we cheer them in taking -the path that leads thither, it is in the hope of seeing them reach -the halfway house rather than the summit. For to go all the way is to -arrive exhausted; to go half way is to arrive with vigour.... That, -however, is to interpose our own view and to lose our detachment. We -return to a reiteration of our conclusion that American poetry is at -the moment extraordinarily healthy. Its virtues are the virtues of all -good poetry, and they are sufficient to persuade us that the future -of English poetry lies as much in America as in England. Its faults -are the faults of a culture that is immature. But again, we reiterate -that we have here many cultures, and if some are immature, some are -not. Let those who are too prone to diagnose us culturally from “Spoon -River Anthology” or “Smoke and Steel” keep in mind also Mr. Robinson’s -“Merlin” and Mr. Frost’s “North of Boston”; Mr. Fletcher’s “Goblins and -Pagodas” and Miss Lowell’s “Can Grande’s Castle.” - - CONRAD AIKEN - - - - -ART - - -The problem of American Art is unlike that of any other country of -the present or the past. We have not here the racial and historical -foundation on which, until now, every art has been built and so our -striving (it is far too soon to speak of success or failure) must be -judged from another standpoint than the one to be taken in viewing an -art that originates with its people or is directly transmitted from -an older race. Egypt and ancient Mexico furnish examples of the first -case, Italy and France of the second. When the latter countries were -colonized by the Greeks, Phœnicians and others, they received a culture -which could take on fresh vigour when grasped by a new race. - -We did not start as a new race, but as Europeans possessing the same -intellectual heritage as the men who stayed in the parent countries. -Our problem was not one of receiving the ancient tradition from an -invading or colonizing people who brought with them an art already -formed. Ourselves the invaders and colonizers, our problem was to keep -alive the ideas that we had had in Europe, or to take over those of our -new home, or to evolve an art of our own. - -To begin with the second possibility, the question of our relation to -the ideas of the Indians may obviously be disposed of very briefly. -The tribes encountered by the early settlers were in a state of -savagery, and this fact, together with the constant warfare between -the two races, is a sufficient explanation why we find no influence -from the red men. Even where the Europeans encountered culture of a -very high order, as in Mexico and Peru, the remoteness of the native -ideas from those of the invading race prevented for centuries a just -appreciation of the earliest and unquestionably the greatest art -produced in the Western Hemisphere. It is only in quite recent years -that we have realized its merit, and it is unlikely that even our -present-day interest in the exotic arts will bring about any important -influence from the Indians, although in regions such as our Southwest -and the parts of Mexico where “Americanizing” has not yet killed their -art-instinct, they are still producing beautiful work. - -We have, of course, retained European ideals, but they have been -conditioned by circumstances and we have not kept pace with Europe or -even followed the course of the great art-movements until they were -almost or quite superseded abroad. Our distance from the centres of -ancient and modern culture on one hand, and the needs of building -up the new continent on the other, combined to make our people lose -interest in art, which, indeed, had never found a propitious soil among -our British forebears. The case of literature is different. The love -of it is an abiding one with the Anglo-Saxon race, and as Shakespeare -and the Bible could be read in the frontier cabin almost as well as in -London or Dublin, there was not the loss of knowledge of literature, -the break in the production of it that we find in the case of the -plastic arts. - -It is easy to exaggerate on this score, however, forgetting that the -art-instinct accumulated in a race for centuries is not to be lost by a -period of neglect. When he goes to the museum, the American recognizes -the same masters as does the European, but the smaller opportunity here -to know the classic past has the double effect of keeping art-lovers -in America in a far more reduced minority and at the same time of -weakening the authority of tradition. - -Not to speak of 17th or 18th century conditions, nor even of those -of the 19th century, one need only consider the America of to-day to -realize how little opportunity our people has to know art. In all but -a few cities, Americans can learn only from reproductions and books, -though even these are an immeasurably safer guide than the bad original -works which are usually the first to arrive. When one thinks of the -European countryside and the numberless small towns of all the old -countries where there is no museum, one may be tempted to ask whether -art conditions are so very different there. But they are different. -There will be an old church, or some houses of a good period, or some -objects in the houses, or--on the walls of the inn--some old prints -handing on the tradition of the great religious pictures (such things -were made quite commonly until recent times and have not entirely -ceased to be produced); a tradition of construction and of colour makes -the modern houses fit in quite acceptably with those of the past. The -centuries have built up a sense of fitness and beauty in the making and -wearing of costume; there will be some form of folk-singing or other -collective action of an artistic character, and thus the exceptional -individual, born with a strong instinct toward art, has surroundings -and a foundation that are lacking here. A striking proof of the -difference between the two continents is the effect of the war on -art-interest: whereas in America public attention has been turned away -from art to a most marked degree, Europe is producing and buying art -with a fervour that can only be explained by the desire to get back to -essentials after the years in which people were deprived of them. - -Another phenomenon to be noted at this point is the dominance of women -in American art-matters. It is unknown in any other country. The vast -majority of American men are engrossed in the drive of work, their -leisure goes to sport and to the forms of entertainment that call for -the smallest amount of mental effort. The women, with their quicker -sensibility and their recognition of art as one of the things that -mark the higher orders of life, take over the furnishing of the home -and through this and the study that their greater leisure permits -them, exert a strong influence on the purchase of art-works for -private collections and even museums. The production of the American -painter and sculptor is also much affected as a consequence, and in -the direction of conventionality. I do not claim that the level of art -in America would be greatly improved at present if it were the men -instead of the women who took the lead; perhaps, in view of the state -of appreciation in our people, it would be lowered; but I maintain that -the fact that art is so much in the hands of women and the suspicion -among men that it carries with it some implication of effeminacy are -among the indications of American immaturity in art-appreciation. We -cannot expect an art really representative of America until there is a -foundation of regard for his work that the artist can build on. In the -old civilizations the artist was meeting an active demand on the part -of his people; in America, he has to seek desperately for a living. -Albrecht Dürer summed up the difference between the two states of -civilization when he wrote from Venice to a friend in the young Germany -of his day: “Oh, how I shall freeze for this sun when I get home; here -I am a gentleman, at home a parasite.” - -It will seem to many that even such famous words should not be repeated -in a country where art is so often mentioned in the papers, where -museums are springing up in large numbers, where unheard-of prices -are paid for the work of famous men, and where even those who take -no interest in art will accord it a sort of halo. But the very fact -that it is relegated to the class of Sunday things instead of entering -into everyday life shows that our colonial period--in the cultural -sense of the word--is not yet passed. This should not be looked on as -discouraging; it is natural that the formation of character and ideas -should require time and I shall endeavour to show that the development -is really a rapid and healthy one. The mistake Americans are most prone -to, that of imagining the country to have reached a mature character -and a valid expression, shows their eagerness to advance, and explains -their readiness to tear down or to build up. - -In the presence of such a spirit, one must see the mistakes of -conservatism or of ignorance in due perspective. However trying to -those who suffer from them at the time, they cannot fatally warp the -growth that is going on. For years we retained a tariff that obstructed -the coming into the country of works of art. That is a thing of the -past, and as one of the reasons used to defend it was that it protected -American artists against the foreigner, so, with the abolition of the -tariff, there has been more of a tendency to judge works of art for -their own qualities, without question of their nationality and without -the puerile idea of nurturing the American product by keeping out work -from abroad. How far this mistake had gone may be judged from the -fact that in a certain city of our Far West a group of painters made -a protest against the attention given by a newspaper to an exhibition -sent out from New York, raising no question of the quality of the -work, but merely demanding that local men be spoken of when art was -discussed in the paper--which promptly acquiesced, and removed the -critic from his position. The case may seem an extreme one, yet it -illustrates the attitude of many of our collectors and even our museum -authorities who, in the name of Americanism, are “helping to fame many, -the sight of whose painting is a miseducation,” to use a phrase that -Mr. Berenson has applied to another matter. - -There is no question to-day but that America must evolve along -the lines of contemporary thought throughout the civilized world. -There will be a local tang to our art. Certain enthusiasms and -characteristics, as we develop them, may give emphasis to special -phases of our production, but there is no longer the possibility of -an isolated, autochthonic growth, such as seemed to be forecast up to -about the time of the Revolution. The 18th century in America with its -beautiful architecture, its fine craftsmen, and its painting, is only -less far from the America of to-day than is the art of the Indians. -We still put up buildings and make furniture in what is called the -Colonial style, but so do we follow the even more remote Mission style -of architecture in our Western States, and attempt to use Indian -designs in decoration. The usual fate of attempted continuings of a -bygone style overtakes all these efforts. Our materials are different, -our needs are different, our time is different. A glance at two houses, -as one speeds by in an automobile, tells us which is the real Colonial -architecture, which the imitation. At the Jumel Mansion in New York -it is easy to see which are the old parts, which the restorations, -although enough time has passed since the latter were made to weather -them to the tone of the original places. - -In painting, the change that occurred after we became a republic is -even more unmistakable. The English School underwent considerable -modification when its representatives here began to work for -themselves. Where Reynolds, Gainsborough, and Lawrence were consulting -the old masters with such studious solicitude, Sir Joshua especially -pursuing his enquiry into the processes of Titian, men like Copley -and Blackburn were thrown back on such technical resources as they -could find here and had to depend for progress on tightening their -hold on character. Copley has the true note of the primitive in the -intensity with which he studies his people, and must be reckoned with -portraitists of almost the highest order. - -What a change in the next generation! The more independent we are -politically the more we come out of the isolation that gave us quiet -and freedom to build up the admirable style of pre-Revolutionary days. -And then there was so much to be done in getting our new institutions -to work and our new land under cultivation, there was so much money -to be made and so much to import from Europe. It is significant that -the best painter of the period is John Vanderlyn, who had been sent -to Paris to study under Ingres. Fine artist that Vanderlyn was, and -informed by a greater tradition than Copley knew, he never reached the -impressiveness of the latter. - -I shall not attempt to describe at any length the various steps -by which we rose from the artistic poverty which was ours in the -earlier decades of the 19th century. My purpose is not to write even -a short history of American art, but to enquire into its character -and accomplishment. The test of these is evidently not what each -period or school meant to the American artists before or after it, -but how it compares with the rest of the world’s art at its time. The -thought occurs to one forcibly on hearing of the wildly exaggerated -esteem--whether measured by words or by money--in which the more -celebrated of American artists are held; one asks oneself how the given -work would be considered in Europe by competent men. Few indeed are -the reputations that will stand the test; and we do not need to go -abroad to apply it, for the galleries of our large cities supply ample -opportunity for the comparison. - -Beginning with the landscape artists who are the earliest of the modern -Americans to be looked on as our possible contribution to art, one’s -most impersonal observation is that in point of time, they, like their -successors in this country, follow the Europeans of the school to which -they belong by something like a generation. Now, art-ideas moved very -rapidly in the 19th century, and--however mechanical an indication -it may appear at first sight--it is almost a sure condemnation of -a European painter to find him in one period trying to work with -the formula of the generation before him. In America this test does -not apply so well, for we must allow for the effect of distance and -compare the American with his immediate contemporaries abroad only -in proportion to the advance of time--which is to say in proportion -to the convenience of travel to Europe and the possibility of seeing -contemporary work here. - -Thus when we consider that Inness, Wyant, and Martin were born about -a generation after the Barbizon men and very nearly at the time of -the French Impressionists, we shall not say that it was to the latter -school that the Americans should have belonged. Whereas the European -followers of Corot and Rousseau were merely _retardataires_ who had -not the intellectual power to seize on the ideas of their own day, -the Americans could feel a little of the joy of discoverers through -having themselves worked out some of the ideas of naturalism in their -evolution from the earlier landscape painting in this country. And -so if they add nothing to what the Frenchmen had done already--with -an incomparably greater tradition to uphold them--our trio of -nature-lovers expressed genuine sentiment, and Homer Martin pushed on -to a quality of painting that often places him within hailing distance -of the classic line which, in France, kept out of the swamps of -sentimentality that engulfed the followers of Wyant and Inness here. - -The cases of Winslow Homer and Albert P. Ryder have an interest aside -from the actual works of the two painters. They are doubtless the -strongest Americans of their time--and the ones who owe the least to -Europe. It must be men of such a breed who will make real American art -when we are ready to produce it. In any case their work must rank among -our permanently valuable achievements: Homer’s for the renewal of the -sturdy self-reliance that we noted in Copley, Ryder’s for the really -noble design he so often obtained and for the grand and moving fidelity -to a vision. - -If their independence is so valuable a factor in both men’s work, -there is also to be noted the heavy price that each paid for having -been reared in a provincial school. With a boldness of character that -recalls Courbet, Winslow Homer fails utterly to hold a place in art -analogous to that of the French realist, because all the power and -ability that went into his work were unequal to compensating for his -lack of the knowledge of form, of structure, of optical effect that -Ingres and Delacroix, among others, furnished ready to the hand of -Courbet. Thus Homer’s painting goes on throughout his lifetime quite -innocent of any real concern with the central problems of European -picture-making and owes most of its strength to the second-rate quality -of illustration. One hesitates to say that Ryder would have gone -farther had he been born in France, yet the fact of his labouring for -ten or fifteen years on many a small canvas, the very limited number of -his works which has resulted from the difficulty he had in saying the -thing that was in him, are marks of a bad training. His range is not a -wide one, but the deep beauty he infused into his pictures is one of -our chief reasons for confidence in the art-instinct that lies dormant -in our people. - -None of the men in the next group we must consider, the artists who -enter fully into European painting, have the foundation of talent that -Ryder had. Whistler is, of course, the painter to whom most Americans -pin their faith in searching among their compatriots for an essential -figure in 19th-century art. But take the first opportunity to see him -with the great Frenchmen of his time: beside Degas his drawing is of -a sickly weakness but slightly relieved by his sense of rhythm in -line and form; beside Manet his colour and painting seem even more -etiolated, and to save one’s feeling for him from utter demolition -one hastens to the usual American refuge of the sentiment and--in the -etchings--to the Yankee excellence of the craftsmanship. The nocturnes -really do have a felicity in their rendering of the poetry of the night -that would make us regret their loss, and when the unhappy Whistlerian -school has been forgotten (an artist must take _some_ responsibility -for his followers) we shall have more satisfaction in the butterfly -that Whistler knew himself to be, since he adopted it as his signature. -It is merit of no such slightness that we love in Ryder, and yet -when we reach Chase and Sargent we find even less of basic talent, -for which their immersion in the current of European painting could -have furnished a finely tempered instrument of expression. Both men -show the natural bent for painting that is often a valuable asset and -often--as in their case--a source of danger. They do not enrich our -annals by any great works, but they do the country an immense service -when they cause its students and collectors to take one of the final -steps in the direction of the live tradition of Europe. They never -appreciated what was greatest among their contemporaries, and failing -to have this grasp of the creative impulse and of the new principles -that were at work in Paris, they offered clever manipulations of the -material as a substitute. Feeling the insufficience of this, Sargent -has tried the grave style of the early Italians in his decorations at -the Public Library in Boston. But his Biblical personages get him no -nearer to the essentials of art than the society people of whom he has -done so many likenesses. In Boston, it is Chavannes who shows which is -the great tradition of the period and how it accords with the classic -past. Sargent is perhaps most American in his unreadiness to perceive -the immense things that Europe, modern and ancient, had to offer him. - -Even so, with Chase and Sargent we find ourselves far nearer the period -when American artists shall partake in art-ideas during their moment -of full fertility. Our Impressionists are only a decade or two behind -the Frenchman, and while one must not slip into a too easy trick of -rating talent by the time of its appearance, one cannot fail to be -struck by the fact that John H. Twachtman and J. Alden Weir approached -the quality of their French preceptors with far greater closeness than -that with which the Inness-Wyant group followed the Barbizon men. Much -as there is of charm and sound pictorial knowledge in Twachtman’s work -and Weir’s, one feels that they are not yet deep enough in the great -tradition to go on to an art of their own creation, and we have to -content ourselves with giving them a place among the Impressionists of -secondary rank. - -An interesting case among the Americans who made the serious study of -European art that began soon after the middle of the 19th century, is -that of John La Farge. We know the history of his seeking, his copying, -his associations, speculations, and travels. All his life he is the man -from the new country asking the dead and the living representatives of -the classic tradition for help. How little we see of the man himself -in the mosaic of charming things that make up his art. Winslow Homer -exists as a personality, ill-educated and crude, but affirmative and -arresting. La Farge disappears in the smoke of the incense that he -burns before the various shrines to which his eclecticism led him. - -If not to be admired as a great artist, he was a man of great gifts -and a genuine appreciator of the masters. Therefore, he is not to -be confused for a moment with the ignoble _pasticheurs_ who achieve -office and honours in the anæmic institutions with which we imitate the -academies and salons of Europe. These are among the youthful errors I -mentioned on an earlier page--depressing enough when one sees the acres -of “decorative” abominations which fill our state-houses, courts, and -libraries, but in reality of no great importance as a detriment to -our culture. Like the soldiers’ monuments, the dead architecture, the -tasteless manufactured articles of common use, they sink so far below -any level of art that the public is scarcely affected by them. Only -the persons trained in schools to admire the painting of a Mr. E. H. -Blashfield or the sculpture of a Mr. Daniel C. French ever try to think -of them as beautiful; the rest of the public takes them on faith as -something that goes with the building, like the “frescoed” cupids to be -found in the halls of apartment houses or the tin cupolas and minarets -on the roof. The popular magazine-illustrators, poor as they are, have -more power to mislead than our quasi-official nonentities. - -Between the pseudo-classic decorators and the frankly “lowbrow” artists -of the commercial publications, the posters, and the advertisements, -there is the large class of men whose work is seen at the annual -exhibitions, the dealers’ galleries, and the American sections of the -museums. They partake of the vice of each of the other two classes: the -easily learned formula for their product being a more or less thorough -schooling in some style derived from the past, plus an optimistic or -“red-blooded” or else gently melancholy attitude toward the subject. -Velasquez has been the main victim of their caricature in the later -years, but a little Chinese, Florentine, Impressionist, or even Cubist -style will often be added to give a look of “modernity” to the work. -As long as there is a recognizable proficiency in drawing and painting -(it is of course only for the cheaper trade that the picture has to -be guaranteed as done by hand), the erudite patron or museum trustee -is assured of the seriousness of the artist’s intentions, while to -make the thing take with the general buyer, the most important matter -is judgment as to the type of American girl, the virile male, or the -romantic or homely landscape that our public likes to live with. - -The only excuse for mentioning such things in an essay on American art -is that they help to define it by contrast--for these pictures are -neither art nor American. The disease of which they are an outward sign -infects Europe almost as much as it does our own country, and there is -hardly a distinguishing mark to tell whether the Salon picture was done -in Madrid, Berlin, or Indianapolis. A sentence from an eminent American -critic, Russell Sturgis, gives the key to the situation. He said, “The -power of abstract design is lost to the modern world,--we must paint -pictures or carve expressional groups when we wish to adorn.” In the -half generation that has passed since these words were spoken, the -French have proven by several arts based entirely on abstract design -that the power for it was not lost to the world and that men still know -the difference between expression by form and colour and expression by -concrete ideas. - -Throughout this survey I have taken painting as the index to the -art-instinct of America, and as we glance again at even our best -painters we see that it is on concrete ideas that they have built: on -character in portraiture with Copley, on romantic vision with Ryder, -on observation of appearances with Homer. Precisely the reason for -Whistler’s great success among his countrymen was the promise of -release he afforded by his reaching out for the design and colour -of the Orient, with which one associates also his spoken words, -offering us “harmonies” and “symphonies” in place of the art built on -intellectual elements that we had had before. The fact that Whistler -himself was not strong enough in his grasp of tradition, or of a nature -to achieve an important result along the lines he pointed to, does -not change the issue. We had begun to be aware of the repression of -instinct that was marking American life. We had recognized that the -satisfaction of the senses, quite as much as intellectual pleasure, is -to be demanded of art. Puritan morality and Quaker drabness had turned -us away from any such conception, and when they took notice of art at -all, it was for its educational value, either to inculcate religious or -patriotic ideas, or for its connection with the classic past. - -Add to this the utilitarian needs of a country that had to build -rapidly, caring for cheapness more than for permanence (so little of -the building, in fact, was intended to be permanent), and one has an -explanation of the absence of architectural quality in the American -houses of the last hundred years. The characteristic of building in -the time is seen in the lifeless blocks of “brownstone fronts,” in -the apartments that have so little of the home about them that in the -restlessness of his search for a place to live satisfactorily, the -American of the cities has earned the name of the “van-dweller,”--one -sees the thing again in the abject monotony of farm-houses and country -residences. Their spirit, or lack of it, is continued in furniture -and decoration. One understands why Europe has been the magic word -for countless thousands of Americans. Perhaps it was the palaces and -museums that they set out to see and that they told about on their -return, but more impressive to them--because more satisfying to their -hunger for a beauty near to their daily lives--was the sight of an -Italian village built with love for hillsides and with understanding of -the forms of the hill and of the type of construction that would suit -it. Or was it the cheeriness of the solid Dutch houses whose clear reds -and blacks look out so robustly through the green of the trees that -border the canals? The bright-coloured clothing of the peasants became -delightful to the traveller, even if he still gave it a pitying smile -when he saw it again on the immigrant here; and the humble foreigner, -anxious to fit in to his new surroundings, hastened to tone down the -vivacity of his native costume to the colourlessness of the American -farmer’s or workman’s garb. In place of the gay pink or green stucco -of his cottage at home, the immigrant got more or less of sanitary -plumbing, higher wages, and other material benefits, to recompense him -for the life he had left behind. - -The life! That was the magic that Europe held for our visitors. They -might return to the big enterprises, the big problems here, and feel -that America was home because they had a share in its growth, but -their nostalgia for the old countries continued to grow in the measure -that they came to appreciate the wisdom with which life was ordered -there--as they realized how the stable institutions, the old religions, -festivals, traditions, all the things that flower into art, had -resisted the terrific change that the industrial revolution had brought -into the 19th century. Behind all questions of the coming of objects of -art into this country or the appearance of new artists or new schools -here, lies this most pivotal matter of the elements of art in American -life. They need not be, they cannot be the same as those in European -life, but it is futile to think of having an art here if we deny -ourselves the ideas and feelings of which art has been made--the joy -and awe of life that the Greek responded to in his marbles, the Italian -in his frescoes, the Spaniard, the Fleming, the Dutchman, and the -Frenchman in his canvases. Copying the externals of their work without -again living their lives can result only in academism--bad sculpture -and bad pictures. - -It was not as a protest against bad art, local or foreign, that the -International Exhibition of 1913 was organized, and it is very solidly -to the credit of our public that it did not regard the event in that -negative fashion--but as a positive thing, a revelation of the later -schools of European painting of which it had been kept in ignorance -by the will of the academies here and abroad. The “Armory Show,” as -it was called, drew forth a storm of ridicule, but it also attracted -such hundreds of thousands of visitors as no current exhibition had -ever gathered in this country before. The first contact of our public -with the arts that have succeeded Impressionism--with the painting -of Cézanne, Redon, Gauguin, van Gogh, Matisse, the Cubists, and -others--was made at this epoch-marking show. With the jeers that it -received there were not a few hosannas, and even the vast majority of -visitors--doubtful as to the exact value of the various exhibits, knew -that qualities existed in the new schools that had never been seen -here and that were needed. Some three hundred works went from the walls -of the Armory to form a vanguard for the far more important purchases -of modern art that have since been building up our collections; so -that at the moment of this writing an exhibition can be opened at the -Metropolitan Museum which, while representing a mere fraction of the -wealth of such pictures in American possession, gives a superb idea of -the great schools of the later 19th century and the 20th century in -France. It is worthy of note that in its response to the great show of -1913 and to the smaller ones that followed, America was only giving, -in a stronger form, the measure of a power of appreciation it had -shown before. Earlier examples of this are to be found in the great -collections of Barbizon and Impressionist pictures here. A thing that -should weigh against many a discouraging feature of our art-conditions -is the fact that an American museum was the first in the world, and the -only one during the lifetime of Manet, to hang works by that master. - -Returning now to our own painting, one man in this country resisted -with complete success the test of an exhibition with the greatest of -recent painters from abroad. It was Mr. Maurice B. Prendergast, who -for thirty years had been joyously labouring at an art which showed -its derivation from the best French painting of his day, its admirable -acceptances of the teaching of Cézanne (scarcely a name even in -Europe when Mr. Prendergast first studied him), and its humorous and -affectionate appreciation of the American scenes that the artist had -known from his youth. In original and logical design, in brilliant -colour that yet had the mellowness of a splendid wine, he expresses -the modern faith in the world we see and makes it lovable. At last -we welcome an art in accord with the finest of the ancient-modern -tradition, as European critics have since declared; yet it remains -American in provenance and in the air of unconscious honesty that has -always been a characteristic of the good work of this country. - -The latest wave of influence to come over American art has almost -been the most far-reaching and invigorating. To go further than this -assertion, at least in the matter of individuals, would be to forego -the support of too large a part of that body of opinion that I know -to be behind my statements throughout this essay. Art-matters must, -in the final analysis, be stated dogmatically, but I am unwilling to -speak of the schools now developing save in a general way, especially -as the most interesting men in them have still to reach a definitive -point in their evolution. They are abreast or nearly abreast of the -ideas of Europe, and there is an admirable vigour in the work that some -individuals are producing with those ideas. But the changes brought -about by the International are still too recent for us to expect the -most important results from them for a number of years. The general -condition here has probably never been as good before. - -I have, till now, spoken only of the more traditional aspects of -art--the kind one finds in museums--and that last word calls for at -least a mention of the great wealth of art-objects that are heaping up -in our public collections, and in the private galleries which so often -come to the aid of the museums. - -There is, however, another phase of our subject that demands comment, -if only as a point of departure for the study that will one day be -given to the American art that is not yet recognized by its public or -its makers as one of our main expressions. The steel bridges, the steel -buildings, the newly designed machines, and utensils of all kinds we -are bringing forth show an adaptation to function that is recognized -as one of the great elements of art. Perhaps the process has not yet -gone far enough for us to look on these things as fully developed works -of art, perhaps we shall still need some influence from Europe to make -us see the possibilities we have here, or again, it may be in America -that the impetus to creation along such lines will be the stronger. At -all events we may feel sure that the study of the classics, ancient -and modern, which is spreading throughout the country has, in some -men, reached a point of saturation which permits the going on to new -discovery, and we may be confident of the ability of our artists to -make good use of their advantage. - - WALTER PACH - - - - -THE THEATRE - - -Of the perceptible gradual improvement in the American popular taste so -far as the arts are concerned, the theatre as we currently engage it -offers, comparatively, the least evidence. The best-selling E. Phillips -Oppenheims, Robert W. Chamberses, and Eleanor H. Porters of yesterday -have given considerable ground to Wharton and Bennett, to Hergesheimer -and Wells. The audiences in support of Stokowski, the Flonzaley -Quartette, the Philharmonic, the great piano and violin virtuosos, and -the recognized singers, are yearly augmented. Fine painting and fine -sculpture find an increasing sober appreciation. The circulation of -_Munsey’s Magazine_ falls, and that of the _Atlantic Monthly_ rises. -But the best play of an American theatrical season, say a “Beyond the -Horizon,” has still to struggle for full breath, while across the -street the receipts of some “Ladies’ Night,” “Gold Diggers,” or “Bat,” -running on without end, mount to the half-million mark. - -If one speaks of the New York theatre as the American theatre, one -speaks with an exaggerated degree of critical charity, for the New -York theatre--so far as there is any taste in the American theatre--is -the native theatre at its fullest flower. Persons insufficiently -acquainted with the theatre have a fondness for controverting this, -but the bookkeeping departments offer concrete testimony that, if good -drama is supported at all, it is supported in the metropolitan theatre, -not in the so-called “road” theatre. The New York theatre supports -an American playwright like Booth Tarkington when he does his best -in “Clarence,” where the road theatre supports him only when he does -his worst, as in “Mister Antonio.” The New York theatre, these same -financial records prove, supports Shaw, O’Neill, Galsworthy, Bahr, and -others of their kind, at least in sufficient degree to permit them to -pay their way, where the theatre of Philadelphia, Boston, Cleveland, -Chicago, St. Louis, Baltimore, and Pittsburgh spells failure for them. -Save it be played by an actor or actress of great popular favour, a -first-rate piece of dramatic writing has to-day hardly a chance for -success outside of New York. These other cities of America, though -they are gradually reading better books and patronizing better music -and finer musicians, are almost drama-deaf. “There is, in New York,” -the experienced Mr. William A. Brady has said to me, “an audience of -at least fifteen thousand for any really good play. That isn’t a large -audience; it won’t turn the play into a profitable theatrical venture; -but it is a damned sight larger audience than you’ll be able to find -in any other American city.” Let the native sons of the cities thus -cruelly maligned, before they emit their habitual bellows of protest, -consider, once they fared forth from New York, the fate of nine-tenths -of the first-rate plays produced in the American theatre without the -hocus-pocus of fancy box-office “stars” during the last ten years. - -The theatrical taste of America at the present time, outside of the -metropolis, is demonstrated by the box-office returns to be one -that venerates the wall-motto _opera_ of Mr. William Hodge and the -spectacular imbecilities of Mr. Richard Walton Tully above the finest -work of the best of its native dramatists like O’Neill, and above the -finest work of the best of the modern Europeans. In the metropolis, -an O’Neill’s “Beyond the Horizon,” a Galsworthy’s “Justice,” a Shaw’s -“Androcles,” at least can live; sometimes, indeed, live and prosper. -But for one respectable piece of dramatic writing that succeeds outside -of New York, there are twenty that fail miserably. The theatrical -culture of the American countryside is in the main of a piece with -that of the French countryside, and to the nature of the latter the -statistics of the French provincial theatres offer a brilliant and -dismaying attestation. Save a good play first obtain the endorsement -of New York, it is to-day impossible to get a paying audience for -it in any American city of size after the first curiosity-provoking -performance. These audiences buy, not good drama, but notoriety. Were -all communication with the city of New York suddenly to be cut off for -six months, the only theatrical ventures that could earn their way -outside would be the Ziegfeld “Follies,” the Winter Garden shows, “Ben -Hur,” and the hack dramatizations of the trashier best-sellers like -“Pollyanna” and “Daddy Longlegs.” This is not postured for sensational -effect. It is literally true. So true, in fact, that there is to-day -not a single producer in the American theatre who can afford to, or -who will, risk the loss of a mere four weeks’ preliminary “road” trial -of a first-class play. If he cannot get a New York theatre for his -production, he places it in the storehouse temporarily until he can -obtain a metropolitan booking rather than hazard the financial loss -that, nine times in ten, is certain to come to him. - -More and more, the better producing managers--men like Hopkins, William -Harris, Jr., Ames, _et al._--are coming to open their plays in New -York “cold,” that is, without the former experimental performances in -thitherward cities. And more and more, they are coming to realize to -their sorrow that, unless New York supports these plays of the better -sort, they can look for no support elsewhere. Chicago, boasting of its -hospitality to sound artistic endeavour, spent thirty-five hundred -dollars on a drama by Eugene O’Neill in the same week that it spent -forty-five thousand dollars on Al Jolson’s Winter Garden show. Boston, -one of the first cities to rush frantically forward with proofs of -its old New England culture, has turned into a prompt and disastrous -failure every first-rate play presented in its theatres without a -widely advertised star actor during the last five years, and at the -same time has made a fortune for the astute Mr. A. H. Woods, who, -gauging its culture accurately, has sent it “Up in Mabel’s Room,” -“Getting Gertie’s Garter,” and similar spicy boudoir and hay-mow -farces, together with Miss Theda Bara in “The Blue Flame.” (It is no -secret among the theatrical managers that the only way to bring the -culture of Boston to the box-office window is through a campaign of raw -advertising: the rawer the better. Thus the Boston Sunday newspaper -advertisements of “Up in Mabel’s Room” were made to display a girl -lying on a bed, with the suggestive catch-lines, “10,000 Visitors -Weekly” and “Such a Funny Feeling.” Thus, the advertisements of another -exhibit presented a rear view of a nude female with the title of the -show, “Oh, Mommer,” printed across the ample buttocks. Thus, the -advertisements of a Winter Garden music show, alluding to the runway -used in these exhibitions, christened it “The Bridge of Thighs.”) No -play presented in Philadelphia since “The Girl with the Whooping Cough” -(subsequently suppressed by the New York police authorities on the -ground of indecency) has been patronized to the extent where it has -been found necessary to call out the police reserves to maintain order, -as was the case when the play in point was produced. Washington is a -cultural wilderness; I have personally attended the premières of ten -highly meritorious dramas in the national capital in the last six years -and can report accurately on the quality of the receptions accorded to -them. Washington would seem still to be what it was some fifteen years -or so ago when, upon the initial revelation of Barrie’s “Peter Pan,” -it essayed to boo it into permanent discard. Baltimore, Detroit (save -during the height of the war prosperity when the poor bohicks, wops, -and Greeks in the automobile works found themselves suddenly able to -buy theatre seats regularly), Cleveland, St. Louis, San Francisco--the -story is the same. Honourable drama spells ruin; legs, lewdness and -sentimentality spell riches. - -In comparison with the taste of the great American cultural prairie -whereon these cities are situated, the city of New York, as I have -written, looms up an æsthetic Athens. In New York, too, there is -prosperity for bare knees, bed humours, and “Peg o’ My Heart” bathos, -but not alone for these. Side by side with the audiences that crowd -into the leg shows, the couch farces, and the uplift sermons are -audiences of considerable bulk that make profitable the production of -such more estimable things as Shaw’s “Heartbreak House,” O’Neill’s -“Emperor Jones,” the plays of St. John Ervine and Dunsany, of Tolstoy -and Hauptmann, of Bahr and Benavente and Guitry. True enough, in -order to get to the theatres in which certain of these plays are -revealed, one is compelled to travel in a taxicab several miles from -Broadway--and at times has to sit with the chauffeur in order to pilot -him to far streets and alleyways that are not within his sophisticated -ken--but, once one gets to the theatres, one finds them full, and their -audiences enthusiastic and responsive. The culture of the American -theatre--in so far as it exists--may be said, in fact, to be an -alleyway culture. Almost without exception in the last dozen years -and more have the best dramatists of Europe and of our own country -been driven up alleyways and side-streets for their first American -hearing. Up these dark alleys and in these remote malls alone have they -been able to find a sufficient intelligence for their wares. Hervieu, -Shaw, Echegaray, Strindberg, Björnson, Dunsany, Masefield, Ervine, -Bergström, Chekhov, Andreyev, Benavente, O’Neill--these and many others -of eminence owe their New York introduction to the side-street American -who, in the majority of cases, is found upon analysis to be of fifty -per cent. foreign blood. And what thus holds true of New York holds -equally true in most of the other cities. In most of such cities, that -is, as have arrived at a degree of theatrical polish sufficient to -boast a little playhouse up an ulterior mews. - -The more general American theatrical taste, reflected perhaps most -fairly in such things as the idiotic endorsements of the Drama -League and the various “white lists” of the different religious -organizations, is--for all the undeniable fact that it seems gradually -to be improving--still in the playing-blocks and tin choo-choo-car -stage. Satire, unless it be of the most obvious sort and approach -easily assimilable burlesque, spells failure for a producer. A point -of view that does not effect a compromise with sentimentality spells -failure for a dramatist. Sex, save it be presented in terms of a -seltzer-siphon, “Abendstern,” or the _Police Gazette_, spells failure -for both. The leaders in the propagation of this low taste are not -the American managers and producers, as is commonly maintained, but -the American playwrights. During the seventeen years of my active -critical interest in the theatre, I have not encountered a single -honest piece of dramatic writing from an American hand that could not -get a hearing--and an intelligent hearing--from one or another of these -regularly abused managers and producers. And during these years I have, -by virtue of my joint professional duties as critic and co-editor -of a sympathetic literary periodical, read perhaps nine-tenths of -the dramatic manuscripts which aspiring young America has confected. -This young America, loud in its inveighing against the managers and -producers, has in the space of time indicated produced very, very -little that was worth producing, and that little has promptly found -a market. A bad workman is always indignant. But I know of no good -American play that either has not already been produced, or has not -been bought for future production. Any good play by an American will -find its producer readily enough. The first manager who read “Beyond -the Horizon” bought it immediately he laid the manuscript down, and -this, recall, was its professionally unknown author’s first three-act -play. The American theatre has altered in this department; the last -fifteen years have wrought a tonic change. - -No, the fault is not with the managers and producers, but with the -playwrights. The latter, where they are not mere parrots, are cowards. -Young and old, new and experienced, talented and talentless alike, they -are in the mass so many _Saturday Evening Post_ souls, alone dreaming -of and intent upon achieving a sufficient financial gain to transmute -the Ford into a Rolls-Royce and the Hudson Bay seal collar into Russian -sable. A baby cannot be nourished and developed physically upon water; -a theatrical public, for all its potential willingness, cannot be -developed aesthetically upon a diet of snide writing. In the American -theatre of the present time there are not more than two, or at most -three, playwrights out of all the hundreds, who retain in their hearts -a determined and uncorrupted purpose. Take away young O’Neill, and give -a bit of ground to Miss Rita Wellman (whose accomplishment is still -too vague for fixed appraisal), and there is next to nothing left. -Flashes of talent, yes, but only flashes. Craven’s “Too Many Cooks” -and “The First Year” are observant, highly skilful depictions of the -American scene, but they are dramatic literature only in the degree -that “Main Street” and “This Side of Paradise” are literature. With -the extraordinary “Papa,” Miss Zoë Akins gave up and surrendered--at -least temporarily--to the box-office skull and cross-bones. Until -Tarkington proves that “Clarence” was not a happy accident in the -long and unbroken line of “Up from Nowhere,” “Mister Antonio,” “The -Country Cousin,” “The Alan from Home,” “Cameo Kirby,” “Your Humble -Servant,” “Springtime,” “Getting a Polish,” “The Gibson Upright,” and -“Poldekin,” we shall have to hold up our decision on him. George Ade, -the great promise of authentic American drama, is no more; he pulled -in his oars, alas, in mid-stream. Joseph Medill Patterson, an honest -dramatist, fell through the bridge while not yet half way across. The -rest? Well, the rest are the Augustus Thomases, left-overs from the -last generation, proficient technicians with empty heads, or youngsters -still dramatically wet behind the ears. The rest of the rest? Ticket -salesmen. - -In no civilized country in the world to-day is there among playwrights -so little fervour for sound drama as in the United States. In England, -they at least try, in a measure, to write well; in Germany, to -experiment bravely in new forms; in France, to philosophize either -seriously or lightly upon life as they find it; in Russia, to treat -soberly of problems physical and spiritual; in Spain, to depict the -Spanish heart and conscience and atmosphere; in Ireland, to reflect -the life and thoughts, the humour and tragedy and encompassing -aspirations, of a people. And in the United States--what? In the -United States, with hardly more than two exceptions, there is at the -moment not a playwright who isn’t thinking of “success” above honest -work. Good and bad craftsmen alike, they all think the same. Gold, -silver, copper. And the result is an endless procession of revamped -crook plays, detective plays, Cinderella plays, boudoir plays, bucolic -plays: fodder for doodles. The cowardice before the golden snake’s eye -spreads to the highest as well as to the lowest. Integrity is thrown -overboard as the ship is steered unswervingly into the Golden Gate. The -unquestionable talent of an Avery Hopwood--a George M. Cohan--a George -Bronson-Howard--is deliberately self-corrupted. - -The American professional theatre is to-day at once the richest theatre -in the world, and the poorest. Financially, it reaches to the stars; -culturally, with exception so small as to be negligible, it reaches to -the drains. For both of these reaches, the American newspaper stands -largely responsible. The American newspaper, in general, regards the -theatre with contempt. My early years, upon leaving the university, -were spent on the staff of one of them--the leading daily journal of -America, it was in those days--and I shall never forget its attitude -toward the theatre: cheap, hollow, debased. If a play was produced by -a manager who advertised extensively in the paper, it was praised out -of all reason. If a play was produced by a manager who happened to -be _persona non grata_ in the office, it was dismissed with a brief -reportorial notice. If a play was produced by a new and enterprising -manager on the night of another production in a theatre patronized by -fashionable audiences--the Empire, say--the former play, however worthy -an effort it might be, was let down with a stick or two that there -might be room to print the names of the fashionables who were in the -Empire seats. The surface of things has changed somewhat since then, -but the situation at bottom is much the same. A talented young reviewer -writes honestly of a tawdry play in the _Evening Sun_; the producer -of the play, an office favourite, complains; and the young reviewer -is promptly discharged. A moving picture producer takes half-page -advertisements of his forthcoming _opus_ in the New York newspapers, -and the screen exhibit, a piece of trash, is hailed as a master work. -Let a new drama by Gerhart Hauptmann be presented in the Park Theatre -to-night and let Mr. John Barrymore also appear at eight-thirty in a -play by some obscure hack at the Empire, and there will not be a single -newspaper in the whole of New York City that will not review the latter -flashy affair at the expense of the former. - -It is not that the newspapers, in New York as elsewhere, are -dishonest--few of them are actually dishonest; it is that they are -suburban, shoddy, cheap. With only four exceptions that I can think of, -the American newspaper, wherever you find it, treats the theatre as if -it were of very much less importance than baseball and of but a shade -more importance than a rape in Perth Amboy, New Jersey. Two columns are -given freely to the latest development in bootlegging in Harlem, and -a begrudged half-column to a play by John Galsworthy. A society woman -is accused by her husband of having been guilty of adultery with a -half-breed Indian, and the allotment is four columns. On the same day, -a Shakespearean production is mounted by the most artistic producer -in the American theatre, and the allotment of space is two-thirds of -a column. The reply of the newspapers is, “Well, we give the public -what it wants! And it is more greatly interested in scandal than in -Shakespeare.” Have not then the theatrical managers the right to reply -in the same terms? And when they do, some of them, disgustedly reply in -the same terms, what is the hypocritical appraisal of their offerings -that the selfsame newspapers vouchsafe to them? If the New York _Times_ -devotes three columns to a dirty divorce case, I fail to see how it can -with justice or reason permit its theatrical reviewer indignantly to -denounce Mr. A. H. Woods in the same issue for devoting three hours to -a dirty farce. - -The American drama, like the American audience, lacks repose. This is -ever logically true of a new civilization. Time must mellow the mind -and heart before drama may achieve depth and richness; time must mellow -the mind and heart before an audience may achieve the mood of calm -deliberation. Youth is a rare and precious attribute, but youth, for -all its fine courage and derring-do, is inclined to be superficial. -Its emotions and its reactions are respectively of and to the primary -colours; the pastels it is impatient of. The American theatre, drama, -and audience are the theatre, drama, and audience of the metaphysical -and emotional primary colours: substantial, vivid, but all too obvious -and glaring. I speak, of course, generally. For there are a few -notable exceptions to the rule, and these exceptions portend in the -American theatre the first signs of the coming dawn. A producer like -Arthur Hopkins, perhaps the first American man of the theatre gifted -with a genuine passion for fine and beautiful things and the talent -with which to do--or at least try to do--them; a dramatist like young -O’Neill, permitting no compromise or equivoke in the upward sweep of -his dynamic imagination; an actor like Arnold Daly and an actress like -Margaret Anglin to whom failure in the service of honest drama means -absolutely nothing--these are they who inspire our faith in the future. -Nor do they stand alone. Hume and Moeller, Jones, Peters, Simonson and -Bel-Geddes, Glaspell, Wellman and Pottle--such youngsters, too, are -dreaming their dreams, some of them, true enough, still silly dreams, -but yet dreams. And the dreaming spreads, spreads.... - -But in its slow and brave ascent, the American theatre is still -heavily retarded by the insular forces that, as in no other theatre -save the English, operate in the Republic. The fight against outworn -convention is a brave and bitter fight, but victory still rests -mainly on the banners of the Philistines. The drama that dismisses -sentimentality for truth, that seeks to face squarely the tragedy -and comedy of love and life, that declines to pigeon-hole itself, -and that hazards to view the American scene with cosmopolitan eyes, -is confronted at every turn by the native Puritanism (as often -shammed as inborn), and by the native parochialism and hypocrisy. The -production that derides all stereotype--all the ridiculous and mossy -rubber-stamps--is in turn derided. The actor or actress who essays to -filter a rôle through the mind of a human being instead of through the -mind of a rouged marionette is made mock of. Here, the playgoing public -finds its leaders in three-fourths of the newspaper reviewing chairs, -chairs influenced, directly or indirectly, by an intrinsic inexperience -and ignorance, or by an extrinsic suggestion of “policy.” - -The American theatre and drama have long suffered from being slaves -to the national hypocrisy. Only on rare occasions have they been -successful in casting off the shackles, and then but momentarily. The -pull against them is stubborn, strong. Cracking the black snake across -their backs are a hundred padrones: newspapers trembling at the thought -of offending their advertisers, religious orders poking their noses -into what should not concern them, corrupt moral uplift organizations -and lecherous anti-vice societies itching for the gauds of publicity, -meddling college professors augmenting their humble wage by writing -twenty-dollar articles on subjects they know nothing about for the -Sunday supplements, ex-real estate reporters and divorcée interviewers -become “dramatic critics,” notoriety seeking clergymen, snide -producers trying to protect their snide enterprises from the dangers -of the invasion of truth and beauty. Let a group of drama-loving and -theatre-loving young men, resourceful, skilful, and successful, come -upon the scene, as the Washington Square Players came, let them bring -flashes of authentic dramatic art into their native theatre, and -against them is promptly hurled the jealous irony of the Old Guard -that is dead, but never surrenders. Let a young playwright like Zoë -Akins write an admirable fantastic comedy (“Papa”), and against her -are brought all the weapons of the morals-in-art mountebanks. Let a -producer like Hopkins break away from the mantel-leaning histrionism -and palm-pot investiture, and against him is brought up the curt -dismissal of freakishness. - -The native theatre, for all the fact that it is on the way, is not yet -ready for such things as demand a degree of civilization for receptive -and remunerative appreciation. The “Pegs o’ My Heart” and “Pollyannas,” -the “Turn to the Rights” and “Lightnin’s” still make millions, while -the bulk of finer things languish and perish. I speak, remember, not of -the theatre of one city, but of the theatre of the land. This theatre, -considering it in so far as possible as a unit, is still not much above -the Midway Plaisance, the honk-a-tonk, the Sunday School charade. That -one, or maybe two, foreign national theatres may not be much better is -no apology. Such foreign theatres--the French, say--are less national -theatres than one-city theatres, for Paris is France. But the American -theatre spreads from coast to coast. What it spreads, I have herein -tried to suggest. - - GEORGE JEAN NATHAN - - - - -ECONOMIC OPINION - - -IF there were conscious restriction upon the expression of opinion in -America, this essay would possess the pompous certainty of an official -document. Instead of threading its hazardous way through a mass of -confused thought, it would record in formal terms acceptable utterance. -In fact, the very restrictions upon thought and speech, with the aid -of scissors and a license to speech, could easily be turned into a -statement of the reputable theory of the welfare of the community. - -Unluckily, however, American life has not been arranged to make -matters easy for the interpreter of economic opinion. Every American -is conscious of a right to his own opinion about “why all of us taken -together are as well off as we are” and “why some of us are better -off and others of us worse off than the average of us.” Whether this -privilege comes from the Bill of Rights, the constitution of the United -States, or his Simian ancestry, he could not say; but he is fully -assured that it is “inalienable” and “indefeasible.” No restriction of -birth, breeding, position, or wealth limits his right to an opinion -or persuades him to esteem his more fortunate neighbour’s more highly -than his own. Nor do intellectual limitations check the flow of words -and of ideas. No one is examined upon the growth of industrialism, the -institutions which make up the economic order, or the nature of an -industrial problem before he is allowed to speak. In fact, the idea -that a knowledge of the facts about the subject under discussion, -or of the principles to be applied to it, is essential to the right -to an opinion is a strange notion little understood here. Even if -occasionally some potentate attempts a mild restriction upon the -spoken or the written word, it checks only those who talk directly and -therefore clumsily. Its principal effect is through provocation to add -mightily to the volume of opinion. - -The result is a conglomerate mass of opinion that sprawls through -the known realm of economics and into regions uncharted. The mighty -men of finance spin a theory of national welfare in terms of foreign -concessions no more glibly than the knights of the road in solemn -convention solve with words the riddle of unemployment. The newly -enfranchised women compete with the members of the Dynamite Club in -proposals for setting the industrial cosmos in order. Economic opinion -bobs up in the financial journals, “the labour press,” the periodicals -of the “learned” societies, and in all the “Christian” advocates. It -shows itself boldly in political speeches, in directors’ reports, in -public hearings, and in propagandist sheets. It lurks craftily in -editorials, moving pictures, drawing-room lectures, poems, cartoons, -and hymns. It ranges from the sonorous apologies for the existing order -voiced by the Aaron Baal Professor of Christian Homiletics in the -Midas Theological Seminary to the staccato denunciation of what is by -the Sons of Martha Professor of Proletarian Tactics in the Karl Marx -College for Workers. - -A mere semblance of order is given to this heterogeneous mass of -opinion by the conditions which make it. A common system of legal, -business, and social usages is to be found the country over. This -has left its impress too firmly in the assumptions which underlie -thought to allow this material to be separate bits from so many mental -universes. The prevailing scheme of economic life is so definitely -established as to force its imprint upon the opinion that moves about -it. Acceptable opinion is created in its likeness, and unacceptable -opinion becomes acceptable opinion when the negatives are skilfully -extracted. Protestants are concerned rather with eliminating the -“evils” of “capitalism” than with eradicating it root and branch. -Protestantism is rather a variant of orthodox doctrine than an -independent system of thought. Radical opinion that is likely to pass -the decent bounds of negation is kept small in volume by a press which -allows it little upon which to feed. Accordingly, varied doctrines wear -the semblance of unity. - -Such elements, however, do not free this adventure into speculation -from its perils. They merely make the hazards mortal. In the paragraphs -below the economic opinion in America is recklessly resolved into four -main classes. These are the _laissez-faire_ opinion of the mid-19th -century, the conventional “case for capitalism,” the protestant demand -for “control,” and the academic insistence upon conscious “direction” -of industrial change. Radical opinion gets a competent judgment -elsewhere in this volume. Even in this bold outline the opinions of -small minorities are lost to sight, and views and doctrines, seemingly -alien to the authors who know their subtle differences, are often -blurred into a single picture. To avoid the charge that the lion and -the lamb have been pictured as one, no names have been called. Here as -elsewhere particulars will rise up to curse their generalizations, and -the whole will be found to be entirely too scanty to be disbursed into -its parts. But the chance must be taken, and, after all, truth does not -reside in copy-book mottoes. - - -I - -The current types of economic opinion in this country all have a common -origin. The men who express them are but a scant generation or two -removed from the country or the small town. The opinions are so many -variants of a stream of thought which goes back to a mid-19th century -America of small towns and open country. This primitive economic -opinion was formed out of the dust of the ground in the likeness of -an exploitative America. The conditions which shaped it might be set -forth in two lines of a school history thus: First, abundant natural -resources; second, a scanty population; and third, the principle of -letting the individual alone. - -It was a chance at an economic opportunity which made America of the -19th century the “land of promise.” The raw materials of personal -wealth were here in soil, stream, and mine. The equipment necessary to -the crude exploitative farming of the time was easy to possess. Since -there was an abundance, the resources essential to a chance at a living -were to be had for the asking. One with enterprise enough to “go it -alone” lived upon what he himself and his wealth in wife and children -produced. He did not have to drive a shrewd bargain for the sale of his -labour nor purchase the wherewithal to be fed and clothed in a market. -There was no confusing scheme of prices to break the connection between -effort and reward; opportunity and responsibility went hand in hand; -success or failure was of one’s own fashioning. Where nature does most, -man claims all; and in rural America men were quite disposed to claim -personal credit for nature’s accomplishments. Since ample resources -smothered even mediocre effort in plenty, the voice of chronic failure -which blamed circumstance, fate, or “the system” was unheard. A freedom -to have and to hold economic resources plentiful enough to supply all -was the condition of material prosperity. - -Even when the lure of natural resources drew men from agriculture to -industrial exploitation conditions did not change materially. The -population of the new towns for a while kept at least one foot upon -the soil. When at last the city possessed its people, aliens came out -of Southeastern Europe to do the “dirty work,” and the native born -passed up into administrative, clerical, or professional positions. -The alternative of farm employment and the rapid expansion of industry -fixed a rough minimum beneath which wages could not fall. The expanding -machine technique with large scale production by quantity methods -turned out an abundance of goods evidenced alike in lower prices and in -higher standards of living. The “captains of industry” were regarded by -the community as the creators of the jobs which they dispensed and as -the efficient cause of the prosperity of the neighbourhood. The trickle -of immigration that swelled to a “stream” and rose to a “tide” is an -eloquent testimonial of the time paid by the peasantry of Europe to the -success of the American system of letting the individual alone in his -business. - -These conditions brought forth the lay economic theory acceptable to -the national community. Its precepts came from experience, rather -than from books; by intuition, rather than by reason. The welfare of -the individual and the wealth of the nation were alike due to free -institutions. In business and industry the individual was to be free to -do as he pleased unless specifically forbidden by the State. The State -was powerless to interfere with the individual unless granted specific -“constitutional” authority to do so. Each knew what he wanted and was -able to take care of himself. The interests of all were an aggregate of -the interests of individuals. The prevailing scheme of institutions -was accepted as a part of the immutable world of nature. Private -property, if defended at all, was good because it gave the individual -security and enabled him to enjoy the fruits of his own labour. The -right of contract, exercised in a market characterized by “higgling,” -gave one an occasional adventure beyond the horizon of a household -economy. If perchance the individual stumbled into a bad bargain -occasionally, so much the better. The mistake was a useful exercise -in the development of the cardinal virtue of self-reliance. When the -coming of industrialism made contract the basis of all industrial -relations, the older justification was still used. Competition, with -which it was always associated, was regarded as the prime agency in the -organization of industry. It forced the elements of production into -order and exercised a moral restraint over them. Under its régime men -were rewarded in accordance with their deserts. In general, it was true -beyond peradventure that “opportunity” knocked once “at every gate”; -that there was “plenty of room at the top”; that each built the ladder -by which he rose; and that even the humblest was “master of his fate.” - -Out of such raw materials there was fashioned a body of professional -economic theory. In a sense it was an imported product; for its earlier -statement was that of English “classical” economics. But in reality -it was the return of an earlier export, for accepted theory had been -made from crude individualistic notions which England had got from -America. In addition, at the hands of American economists it received -a far more elaborate and articulate statement than had been given it -overseas. These theorists used subtle analysis, ponderous logic, and -circumlocution; but their decorous processes brought them to much -the same conclusions that practical men gained from their limited -experiences. Its strength and its acceptability were wholly due to -the precision and verbiage with which it reduced to formal terms the -common-sense economics of the day. - -In its terms the economic order is made up of individuals. Each of -these is actuated by the motive of self-interest. Each has for disposal -personal services, goods, or property rights. Each must live upon -goods and services purchased from others. Each must compete with his -fellows in the sale of his wares and the purchase of his articles of -livelihood. Because of the competition of sellers the wages of labour, -the profits of capital, and the prices of goods cannot be forced to -untoward heights. Because of the competition of buyers they cannot be -driven too low. The equilibrium of this double competitive process -assures to each a return which represents the just value of the -service, the property right, or the good. Prices, by moving up and down -in response to changing conditions, stimulate and retard consumption -and production. Their very movement constantly reallocates resources -to the production of a variety of goods and services in just the -proportion which the consumers demand. In this theory the institutions -which comprise the framework of the economic order are taken for -granted. It has no place for an interference by the State with “private -business.” It regards monopoly as a thing to be abjured, whether -appearing as a capitalistic combine or as a union of workingmen. In -the Eden of free enterprise the community’s resources yield all they -have and competition rewards justly all the faithful who by serving -themselves serve society. It is small wonder that sermons were preached -upon “The Relation of Political Economy to Natural Theology.” - - -II - -The conditions which made the economic opinion of the America of small -towns and open country are gone. With their passing the older theories -have been reshaped to new purposes. There are no longer free economic -opportunities for all comers. Natural resources have been appropriated, -and the natural differences between men have been enhanced by the -artificial ones of ownership and inheritance. Wealth and control have -alike been stripped from the many and concentrated in the few. The -prevailing unit in business is the corporation. Establishments have -been gathered into industries, and these have been articulated into a -mighty industrial system, with its established rights, its customary -ways of doing things, and its compulsions upon those who serve it. -The older personal relation of “master” and “servant” abides only in -indices of the records of the law courts. The contract of employment -is now between a “soulless” but “legal entity” and a mere creature of -flesh and blood. The more human individual, the survival of a less -mechanical age, no longer lives upon the fruit of his individual -toil. His welfare is pent in between his wages and the prices which -he must pay for his necessities. Beyond this immediate bargain lies a -mysterious economic system filled with unknown causes which threaten -his income and even his employment. Those who possess have come into -succession to those who ventured. In short, free enterprise has given -way to an established system. - -These events have left their mark upon economic opinion. It is -altogether fitting that those who fell heir to the wealth piled up by -free enterprise should gain its outer defences of theory and dialectic. -So the older economics, with its logic and its blessing, has come -as a legacy to those who have. Its newer statement, because of its -well-known objective, may be called “the case for capitalism.” In its -revision the adventurous militarism bent upon exploitation has given -way to a pacifistic defence of security, possession, and things as they -are. - -In outward form few changes were necessary to convert the older theory -of _laissez-faire_ into a presentable case for capitalism. A more -rigid and absolute statement of the classical doctrine was almost -enough. In its terms the economic order is independent of other social -arrangements. It is an automatic, self-regulating mechanism. Over it -there rules an immutable and natural “law of supply and demand.” This -maintains just prices, prevents exploitation, adjusts production and -consumption to each other, secures the maximum of goods and services -from the resources at hand, and disburses incomes in accordance with -the merits of men and the verity of things. So just and impartial is -the operation of this law that interference by the State amounts to -meddlesome muddling. It cannot override natural law; therefore it -should not. - -It differs most from the older economics in the more explicit statement -of the function of institutions. The growing inequality of income, -of control, and of opportunity have presented facts that have to be -faced. But even here, instead of contriving new defences, the advocates -of capitalism have refurbished the older ones. The thing that is -finds its justification in that which was. Property rights are to be -preserved intact, because private property is essential to personal -opportunity; just as if the propertyless did not exist and each was -to win his living from his own acres or his own shop. The right of -contract is not to be abridged, because the interests of both parties -are advanced by a bargain between equals; just as if the corporate -employer and the individual employé were alike in their freedom, their -capacity to wait, and their power to shape the terms of the bargain. -Prices are to be self-determined in open market, because competition -will best reconcile the conflicting interests of buyers and sellers; -just as if there was no semblance of monopoly among producers, no open -price agreements, and no informal understandings. Individual initiative -is not to be abridged, because it creates the wealth of the nation; -just as if routine had no value for efficiency and the masses of men -still had discretion in economic matters. The arrangements which make -up the economic order find their validity in the symbolic language of -ritual rather than in a prosaic recital of current fact. - -This defence crosses the frontier which separates the economic from the -political order only to appropriate the prestige of democracy. Its real -concern is the preservation of the prevailing system wherein business -controls industry for purposes of profit. Its formal solicitation -is lest “the form of government” be changed. This concern finds -expression in veneration for the work of the “fathers” (rather young -men, by the way), not of machine technology and business enterprise, -but of “representative government” and of “constitutional authority.” -Its creed becomes propaganda, not for the defence of business, the -security of corporations, or the preservation of managerial immunities, -but for the defence of the nation, the security of America, and -the preservation of “constitutional” rights. The newer economic -arrangements are masked behind political rights and given the values -of the political institutions which antedate them by many decades. In -short, the staunchest defenders of the prevailing economic system -believe that “their economic preferences are shared by the constitution -of the United States.” - -If we may borrow a term from its advocates, this body of opinion -must be pronounced “theoretical.” In their speech a “theory” is a -generalization which goes much further than its particulars warrant. -In that sense their conclusions are not “practical.” The essential -question with which this body of opinion is concerned is whether the -scheme of institutions which focus upon profit-making make the members -of the community, severally and collectively, as well off as they ought -to be. It seems offhand that a realistic defence of the prevailing -order might be convincingly formulated. At any rate, “the case for -capitalism” is good enough to get into the records. Instead, its -advocates have confused their own pecuniary success with the well-being -of the community and have argued that because profits have been made -the system is good. Like the classical economists they vindicate the -system by assumption. - - -III - -In the wake of the new industrialism there has come an economic opinion -of protest. It is being gradually formulated by professional men, by -farmers, by trade unionists, and by the younger business men who have -escaped being “self-made.” Its hesitating and confused statement is -due to the disturbed conditions out of which it comes. The varied -interests of its many authors prevents unity of words or of principles. -Its origin in the contact of minds steeped in the older individualism -with the arresting facts of the newer economic order explains its -current inarticulate expression. It can be set forth briefly only -by subordinating the reality of variety to the tendencies which are -clearly inherent within it. - -The objective of this newer opinion is a modification of the prevailing -order, rather than its overthrow. It is quite conscious of defects in -its arrangements and knows that its fruits are not all good. It has -never considered the question of the efficiency or inefficiency of the -system as a whole. The older individualistic notions are strong enough -to give an intuitive belief that the theory of the control of industry -by business for profit is essentially sound. But it would eliminate -the bad, patch up the indifferent, and retain the good. It would set up -in the government an external authority which through regulation and -repression would make business interests serve the community. Its faith -is in private enterprise compelled by the State to promote “public -welfare.” Its detail can best be suggested by typical illustrations. - -There is, first of all, the attitude of the protestants towards freedom -of contract. They accept the prevailing theory that the relations of -buyer and seller, employer and employé, owner and agent, can safely -be left to the free choice of all concerned. But they point out that -in practice the principle does not give its assumed results. For, -whereas the theory assumes the parties to be equal in their power to -determine the terms of the contract, it is a matter of common knowledge -that employers and labourers occupy unequal bargaining positions. -They would leave relations to be determined by free bargaining; -but, as a preliminary, they would attempt to establish equality of -bargaining power. To that end they would have the contract made by -“collective bargaining” between employers and employés “through -representatives” chosen by each. Moreover, they would use the State -to better the position of the weaker party. Thus legislation has been -passed depriving employers of their right of requiring employés, as -a condition of employment, not to remain members of labour unions. -Although the courts have found such legislation to be “an arbitrary -interference with the liberty of contract which no government can -justify in a free land,” its advocates will insist that their aim has -been only “to establish that equality in position between the parties -in which liberty of contract begins.” - -There is, in the next place, a growing opinion among the protestants -that the State is “a moral agent” and should determine the rules under -which business is to be carried on. They point out that in business -there are bad as well as good conditions, that business men engage in -proper as well as in improper practices, and that some activities harm -while others help the community. In many instances the employer finds -it to his advantage to establish conditions which the interests of the -workers and of the consumers require. In others, the elevation of -standards waits upon the pleasure of the most inconsiderate employer. -The prohibition of child labour, the shortening of the working day, and -the payment of a minimum wage may be advantageous alike to labourers -and to the community; yet these innovations involve an increase in cost -and cannot be made against the competition of the producer who will not -establish them. In such cases it is the duty of the State to establish -minimum conditions which must be met by all employers. The imposition -of such standards in no way affects the system under which business is -carried on; for the competition of rival sellers can be just as acute -and just as considerate of the public, if all of them are forced to pay -their employés a living wage, as if they are all free to force wages -down to starvation. Upon this theory the State has established uniform -weights and measures, prohibited the use of deleterious chemicals, -stopped the sale of impure food, provided compensation for the human -wear and tear of industry, and established minimum standards of safety, -health, and service. - -There is, finally, a growing opinion that in some industries the -profit-making motive must be superseded by some other. In the railway -industry it has been repeatedly shown that the pecuniary interest of -the management fails to coincide with that of either the owners or -of the shippers. Long ago the determination of charges for service -was put beyond the discretion of the officials. Of late there has -been an increasing tendency to make accounts, services, expenditures, -valuations, and other matters meet standards of public service. When -this has been effected, as it will be, the officials of the roads -will become mere subordinates responsible to a public authority. Then -profit-making as a guide to administration will have given way to an -official judgment of results in terms of established standards. Then -it will be discovered that public control formally rejected has been -achieved by indirection. But many times ere this American opinion has -come by devious paths to goals which its individualism has not allowed -it to regard as quite desirable. - -For the moment the medley of opinion here roughly characterized as a -demand for control is dominant. Its proponents are almost as naïve -as the advocates of capitalism in a belief in the essential goodness -of a mythical system of “free enterprise.” They differ from them in -placing greater emphasis upon voluntary associations and in demanding -that the State from without compel business to serve the common good. -As yet they have formulated no consistent theory of economics and -no articulate programme for achieving their ends. Without a clear -understanding of the development of industry and of the structure of -the economic order, they are content to face specific problems when -they meet them. They are far from ready to surrender an inherited -belief in an individualistic theory of the common good. - - -IV - -The changes of the last four decades, which make up “The Industrial -Revolution in America,” have left their mark upon the economics of -the schools. If there was a time when the thought of the professed -economists was a thing apart from the common sense of the age, it -ended with the coming of industrialism. Differ as it may in phrase, in -method, and in statement, the economics in solid and dull treatises -reflects, as it has always reflected, the opinions of the laity. If -there were agreement among the sorts of men who gather at ball games -and in smoking cars, the books on economics would all read alike. But -when the plumber differs from the banker and the scrub woman refuses -to take her ideas from the coupon clipper, it is futile to expect mere -economists to agree. To some, the classical doctrine still serves as -a sabbatical refuge from modern problems. Others, who “specialize” -in trusts, tariffs, and labour are too busy being “scientific” to -formulate general opinions. Still others insist upon creating a -new economics concerned with the problem of directing industrial -development to appointed ends. Each of these schools has a membership -large enough to allow dissension within the ranks. - -The revolt against the classical economics began when it encountered -modern fact. Beyond the pale of doctrine taught by certified theorists -appeared studies upon corporations, international trade, railway rates, -craft unionism, and other matters of the newer fact. For a time those -who studied these subjects were content to describe in superficial -terms the results of their observations. But as facts accumulated they -provoked generalizations at variance with the accepted principles of -the older competitive theory. At the same time the rise of a newer -history concerned with development rather than chronology, a new ethics -that recognized the existence of a social order, and a new psychology -that taught that the content of men’s behaviour is poured in by the -environment, together made the foundations of the older economics very -insecure. - -For a time this protest found expression only in critical work. The -picture of an economic order as a self-regulating mechanism, peopled -with folk who could not but serve the community in serving themselves -became very unreal. The complexity of industrialism made it hard to -believe that the individual had knowledge enough to choose best for -himself. The suspicion that frequently thought follows action made it -hard to continue to believe in man’s complete rationality. The idea -that incomes are different because opportunities are different led to -a questioning of the justice of the ratings of men in the market. The -unequal division of income made impossible pecuniary calculations in -which each man counted for one and only for one. With these assumptions -of 19th-century economics passed “the economic man,” “the Crusoe -economy,” and the last of the divine theories, that of “enlightened -self-interest.” It was no longer possible to build a defence of the -existing order upon “the hedonistic conception of man” as “a lightning -calculator of pleasures and pains, who oscillates like a homogeneous -globule of desire of happiness under the impulse of stimuli that shift -him about the area, but leave him inert.” - -The most immediate effect of this criticism was a change in method. -The older process of juggling economic laws out of assumptions about -human nature, human motives, and the beneficence of competition lost -prestige. It was evident that if the system was to be appraised -the facts must be had. Accordingly a veritable multitude of facts, -good, bad, and mostly indifferent were treasured up. This process of -garnering information soon made it evident that the facts about the -relationship of industry to the welfare of the community were too -varied and too numerous to be separately catalogued. Since only totals -could be used, economics came to rely upon facts presented in the -quantitative language of statistics. - -But since facts are not possessed of the virtue of self-determination, -they did not yield an opinion which was very relevant or very truthful. -Their use was for the moment nothing more than a substitution of the -superstition of facts for that of logic. The facts were of value, -because when properly interpreted they gave the story of what the -economic system had done. But without the aid of standards it was -impossible to determine whether it had worked well or ill, whether it -had much or little to give in return for the solicitous concern about -it. It was evident that modern industrialism was developing without -conscious guidance. As long as no goal was fixed it was impossible -to tell whether industrial development was proceeding in the right -direction. As long as we were unmindful of the kind of society we -wished ours to be, we could not appraise its accomplishments. Without -standards all that could be said was that the system had worked as well -as it had worked and that we were as well off as we were well off. The -problem, therefore, became one of judging the system on the basis of -the facts by means of standards. - -Thus the newer economics has been of service in stating the problem -with which opinion must be concerned. The “prevailing” economic order -is one of many schemes of arrangements for making industry serve the -purposes of the community. The system has been slowly evolved out -of the institutions of the past, is constantly being affected by -circumstances, and for the future is capable of conscious modification. -How well it has served its purpose cannot be attested by an abstract -argument proceeding from assumptions about human nature and the cosmos. -A judgment upon its relative goodness or badness requires an appraisal -of the facts in terms of standards. These standards must be obtained -from our notions of the kind of society we want this to be. These -notions must proceed from a scientific study of the properties of -things and the needs of human beings. That judgment will be one not of -goodness or badness, but of the relative merits of a very human scheme -of arrangements compared with its alternatives. - -The economists are reluctant to pass a judgment upon the prevailing -order. The relevant facts are too scanty and the standards too inexact -to warrant an appraisal of the virtues and the vices of “capitalism.” -They distrust the eulogies of apologists because they do not square -with the known facts. They are not convinced by the reformers, because -they fear that they know as little about their own schemes as they -do about current arrangements. They insist that a general judgment -must be a progressive affair. The system will change through gradual -modification; the larger problem will be solved by attention to an -endless succession of minor problems. Each of these must be met with -the facts and with an ideal of what our society should be. They have -too little faith in the rationality of the collect to believe that -problems can be faced in battalions or that a new order can emerge -as a work of creation. They have little fear for “the future of the -nation,” if only problems can be intelligently handled as they emerge. -Their attitude towards the present system is one, neither of acceptance -nor of rejection, but of doubt and of honest inquiry. Their faith is -neither in the existing order nor in a hand-me-down substitute, but in -a conscious direction of the process of change. - - * * * * * - -This tedious narrative has failed entirely in its purpose, if it has -not revealed the strength and the weakness of economic opinion in -America. Its merits stand out boldly in the preceding paragraphs; its -defects are too striking to be concealed. The reader has already been -informed; but the writer must inform himself. The essay, therefore, -will close with an explicit statement of some three of the more obvious -characteristics. - -First, its most striking characteristic is its volume. In quantity -it contains enough verbal and intellectual ammunition to justify or -to wreck a dozen contradictory economic orders. If, in an orderly -way, opinion became judgment and judgment ripened into the society of -to-morrow, it would stand condemned. For little of it has a practical -consequence and our ways of expression are very wasteful. But it also -affords a harmless outlet for the dangerous emotions aroused by the -wear and tear of everyday work in a humdrum universe. And, if it is -true that we are, all of us, Simians by lineage, this is by far the -most important function it serves. - -Second, it is grounded none too well in information and principles. -The ordinary mortal is busied with his own affairs. He lacks the time, -the patience, and the equipment necessary to get at the facts about -the material welfare of the nation. In the most casual way he makes up -his mind, using for the purpose a few superficial facts, a number of -prejudices, and a bit of experience. He has little idea of where we are -in the course of social development, of the forces which have brought -us here, or of where we ought to be going. Since the opinions of groups -and of the nation are aggregates of individual opinion, the ideas of -those who have an intellectual right to speak are not a large part of -the compound. - -Third, despite its crudeness and variety, it possesses elements of -real value. Its very volume creates at least a statistical probability -that some of it is of high quality. The waste of much of it gives the -rest a real chance of expression in social policy. The common features -of industrialism are giving to men something of a common experience -out of which there will come a more or less common-sense appreciation -of problems and of ideals. This will dictate the larger features of a -future social policy. The particularized opinion which finds expression -in the detailed formulation of programmes must be left to the experts. -The great masses of men must learn that these problems are technical -and must trust the judgment of those who know. Despite the record -of halting development and of confused statement, the pages above -indicate that the economic opinion in America is coming slowly to an -appreciation of the factors upon which “the good life for all” really -rests. - -But enough. Opinion by being economic does not cease to be opinion, and -an essay about it is only more opinion. - - WALTON H. HAMILTON - - - - -RADICALISM - - -The first obstacle to an assessment of radicalism in America is the -difficulty of discovering precisely what American radicalism is. -According to his enemies, a radical is a person whose opinions need -not be considered and whose rights need not be respected. As a people -we do not wish to understand him, or to deal with what he represents, -but only to get him out of sight. We deport him and imprison him. If -he writes a book, we keep it out of the schools and libraries. If he -publishes a paper, we debar it from the mails. If he makes a speech, -we drive him out of the hall and shoo him away from the street-corner. -If by hook or crook he multiplies himself to considerable numbers, -we expel his representatives from legislative chambers, break up his -parades, and disperse his strikes with well-armed soldiery. - -These being the associations which cluster about the word, it has -naturally become less a definition than a weapon. Statisticians in -the Federal Trade Commission publish certain figures dealing with the -business of the packing-houses--a Senator loudly calls these devoted -civil servants “radicals,” and they are allowed to resign. A labour -leader, following the precedent of federal law established for over a -half a century, espouses the eight-hour day, but because he has the -bad taste to do so in connection with the steel industry, he becomes a -“radical,” and is soundly berated in the press. If one were to ask the -typical American Legion member how he would describe a radical--aside -from the fact that a radical is a person to be suppressed--he would -probably answer that a radical is (a) a pro-German, (b) a Russian or -other foreigner, (c) a person who sends bombs through the mail, (d) a -believer in free love, (e) a writer of free verse, (f) a painter of -cubist pictures, (g) a member of the I.W.W., (h) a Socialist, (i) a -Bolshevist, (j) a believer in labour unions and an opponent of the open -shop, and (k) any one who would be looked upon with disapproval by a -committee consisting of Judge Gary, Archibald Stevenson, and Brander -Matthews. - -There is scarcely more light to be had from the radicals themselves. -Any one who feels a natural distaste for the censorious crowd of -suppressors is likely to class himself with the free spirits whom -they oppose. To call oneself a radical is in such circumstances a -necessary accompaniment of self-respect. The content of the radicalism -is of minor importance. There is an adventurous tendency to espouse -anything that is forbidden, and so to include among one’s affirmations -the most contradictory systems--such as Nietzscheanism and Communism, -Christianity of the mystical sort and rebellion. And when these rebels -really begin to think, the confusion is increased. Each pours his whole -ardour into some exclusive creed, which makes him scorn other earnest -souls who happen to disagree about abstruse technical points. Among -economic radicals, terms like “counter-revolutionary” and “bourgeois” -are bandied about in a most unpleasant fashion. If, for instance, you -happen to believe that Socialism may be brought about through the -ballot rather than through the general strike, numbers of radicals will -believe you more dangerous than the Czar himself; it is certain that -when the time comes you will be found fighting on the wrong side of -the barricade. Creeds have innumerable subdivisions, and on the exact -acceptance of the creed depends your eternal salvation. Calvinists, -Wesleyans, Lutherans, and the rest in their most exigent days could not -rival the logical hair-splitting which has lately taken place among -the sectarian economic dissenters, nor has any religious quarrel ever -surpassed in bitterness the dogmatic dissidence with which the numerous -schools of authoritarian rebellion rebel against authority. - -There is a brilliant magazine published in New York which takes pride -in edging a little to the left of the leftmost radical, wherever for -the moment that may be. Its editor is a poet, and he writes eloquently -of the proletariat and the worker. Not long ago I was speaking of this -editor to an actual leader of labour--a man who is a radical, and who -also takes a daily part in the workers’ struggles. “Yes,” he said, “he -certainly can write. He is one of the best writers living.” And he -went on wistfully, “If the labour movement only had a writer like that!” - -There is another brilliant magazine published in New York which takes -exquisite pains to inform the reader that it is radical. In precise -columns of elegant type, Puritan in its scorn of passion or sensation, -it weekly derides the sentimental liberal for ignorance of “fundamental -economics.” Not long ago it made the startling discovery that -Socialists favour taking natural resources out of private ownership. -And its “fundamental economics,” whenever they appear in language -simple enough for the common reader to understand, turn out to be -nothing more dangerous than that respectable and ancient heresy, the -single tax. - -Another method of definition is now in common use--a method which -seems easy because of its mechanical simplicity. People are arranged -in a row from left to right, according to their attitude toward the -existing order. At the extreme right are the reactionaries, who want -to restore the discarded. Next to them are the conservatives, who wish -to keep most of what exists. At their elbow are the liberals, who are -ready to examine new ideas, but who are not eager or dogmatic about -change. And at the extreme left are the radicals, who want to change -nearly everything for something totally new. Such an arrangement is a -confusing misuse of words based on a misconception of social forces. -Society is not a car on a track, along which it may move in either -direction, or on which it may stand still. Society is a complex, with -many of the characteristics of an organism. Its change is continuous, -although by no means constant. It passes through long periods of -quiescence, and comparatively brief periods of rapid mutation. It -may collect itself into a close order, or again become dispersed -into a nebula. There is much in its development that is cyclical; it -has yet undiscovered rhythms, and many vagaries. The radical and the -reactionary may be agreed on essentials; they may both wish sudden -change and closer organization. The conservative may be liberal because -he wishes to preserve an order in which liberal virtues may exist. Or a -liberal may be so cribbed and confined by an unpleasant constriction -of social tissue that he becomes radical in his struggle for immediate -release. The terms are not of the same class and should not be arranged -in parallel columns. - -The dictionary definition is enlightening. “Radical--Going to the root -or origin; touching or acting upon what is essential or fundamental; -thorough.... _Radical reform_, a thorough reform.... Hence Radical -Reformer equals Radical” (New English Dictionary). In this sense -radicalism is an historic American tradition. The revolt of the -Colonies against England and the formation of the Republic were, -indeed, far from the complete break with the past which the schoolboy -assumes them to have been, but what lives in the minds of the American -people is, nevertheless, not the series of counterchecks which men -like Hamilton and Madison wrote into the Constitution, but rather the -daring affirmations of Jefferson which have a real kinship with the -radical spirit of the French Revolution. Talk of “inalienable rights” -such as life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness was genuine radical -talk; it searched out the bases of human relationship, proclaimed them -against authority, and sought to found on them a system of government. - -So strongly has this conception seized the imagination of Americans -that it largely accounts for their almost instinctive hostility to new -kinds of political change. The roots of politics have been uncovered, -the change has in fact been made once for all--so they reason. To admit -that any new fundamental alteration is necessary is to be disloyal to -the historical liberation. Because the conservative American believes -himself a complete democrat, because for him the “new order” was -achieved in 1776, he is intolerant of modern radicals. Suggestions of -new revolution touch him closely on his pride. In this sense Jefferson -has been less a spur to future generations than an obstacle. If his -fine frenzy about rights had been less eloquently expressed, if it had -not obscured in a cloud of glory the true nature of the foundation of -our government--a highly practical compromise which embodied a few -moderate advances and many hesitancies--we should have a different -temper about change to-day. We should not assume that all desirable -fundamental modification of social and political structure had been -completed nearly a century and a half ago. - -The greatest historic expression of American radicalism has thus -become the altar of the conservatives. To the unlettered man it -may seem strange that a Supreme Court of elderly radicals will not -allow Congress to forbid child-labour because of their loyalty to an -18th-century limitation of the federal government, presumably in the -interest of freedom and humanity. To workmen voting for the eight-hour -day the language of Jefferson did not seem hostile--they were -struggling to pursue happiness in a way that he must have approved. -And yet it is the sacred “right” of contract which deprived them, as -voters, of the right to legislate for shorter hours. Workmen using -their collective economic power to gain industrial freedom are met by -a shower of injunctive denials, based chiefly on that same right of -contract. In order to stay any further liberation of the human body -and spirit, judges and officials and industrial barons have only to -invoke the phrases of freedom thrown out against an ancient despotism. -They have only to point out that freedom as defined abstractly over a -hundred years ago forbids practical freedom to-day. Frozen radicalism -of the past chills and destroys the new roots of American life. - -Some appreciation of this state of affairs underlies the prevailing -tendency to believe that all new radicalism has a foreign origin. It -is, indeed, part of the best nationalistic tradition to attribute -subversive doctrines to foreigners. This is the habit in every country. -But in the United States the habit is perhaps more deep-seated than -elsewhere. Americans are by definition free and equal; if then any one -talks or acts as if he were not free and equal, he must have been born -somewhere else. The American Government, being not a faulty product of -human growth, but a new creation sprung perfect out of the ineffable -minds of the Fathers, is unassailable; if any one assails it, he -cannot know it, and must be subjected to courses in English and Civics -(Americanization) until he recognizes its perfection. Treason in this -country is not simple treason to a ruler, to a class, or to a system -as elsewhere; it is an act of sacrilege, by one uninitiated, upon a -religious mystery. - -Of course there are and have been Americans whose radicalism is less -crust and more meat. The spirit of Jefferson still lives, after all, to -confute the interpretation put upon his words. And imported doctrine -has actually had less to do with most of the radical movements in -America than has American tradition itself. It is an easy step from the -conception of political liberty to the conception of economic liberty, -and the step has been made here as readily as in Europe. In a country -which for so long offered extraordinary opportunities to the individual -business man, it is only natural that economic liberty should have been -conceived as a means of protecting his enterprise; and as a matter of -fact our economic legislation for many years has been sprinkled with -victories of the small business men and farmers over the interests -which had already become large enough to seem to them oppressive. -The regulation of the railroads, the succession of popular financial -doctrines, and the anti-trust legislation, were all initiated by the -interpretation of economic democracy naturally arising in the vigorous -class of the small entrepreneurs. With the slow weakening of this class -by its disintegration, on one hand into captains and lieutenants of the -great principalities of industry, and on the other into permanently -salaried or waged members of the rank and file, comes a corresponding -tendency to change the prevailing conception of economic democracy. -The radicalism of workmen in the United States has often been no less -sweeping or assertive than the radicalism of workmen anywhere--witness -the I.W.W. Even violence in the labour struggle has been practised -chiefly by one hundred per cent. Americans--the steel workers in -Homestead in 1892 and the West Virginia miners in Mingo County in 1921 -were of old American stock. And the moment the predominating group -in American thought and activity is composed of those who expect to -live by their daily work rather than of those who expect to accumulate -property, we are likely to see the rise of an economic radicalism more -akin to that which exists in Europe, and one which, because of its -sanction in our tradition, will be twice as militant and convinced. - -For, after all, economic radicalism arises neither from a merely stupid -desire for more material goods, nor from an intellectual adherence -to a particular formula of industrial organization. It arises from a -desire to be free, to achieve dignity and independence. Poverty is -distressful not so much because of its physical hardships as because -of its spiritual bondage. To be poor because one chooses to be poor is -less annoying than to be moderately paid while the man who fixes one’s -wages rides in a Rolls-Royce. The most modest aspects of the labour -movement are attempts of the workmen to gain some voice in determining -the conditions under which they must work--in other words, to extend -democracy into industry. And when the workman wakes up to the fact -that industrial policies are governed by a comparatively small class -of owners, and that the visible result of those policies seems to be a -large class of underemployed, undernourished, and under-housed families -on one hand, and a small class of abundantly supplied families on the -other, he feels that he is suffering an indignity. You may challenge -him to prove that any other system would work better. You may argue -that if all the wealth of the rich were distributed equally, he would -receive but a trifle. Such reasoning will affect him little. If every -one must be miserable, he at least wants to share and exercise whatever -power exists to alter that misery. Kings have argued that the people -could rule no better than they, but that has not prevented peoples from -demanding representative government. The American tradition is sure to -be as subversive a motive in industry as it has been in the State. The -technical problem of how industry may be better organized, important as -it is, is subordinate to this cry of the personality. Essentially, this -sort of radicalism arises from the instinct of the workman to achieve -an adult relationship to the industrial world. - -The impact of the war upon industry, and the reverberation of its -social results abroad, for some time stimulated this latent feeling -in American workmen. For the first time in decades the competition -of the unemployed and the immigrant was virtually removed, and the -wage-earner began to feel secure enough to assert his personality. He -was necessary to the community in an immediate way. The policy of the -government was to recognize this fact, and to prevent an unduly rapid -increase in wages and in the power of organized labour by compromising -with it on certain simple issues like collective bargaining and the -eight-hour day. But larger aspirations arose in the rank and file, and -when the Russian Revolution sent a word of emancipation around the -world, they were ready to listen. In spite of the crushing force of -the whole ruling propaganda machinery, which had been so successful in -arousing hatred against Germany, countless American workmen sensed the -approach of a new order as a result of the success of the Bolsheviki. -A secondary impulse of the same sort, felt even more strongly in -some quarters, arose from the Nottingham programme of the British -Labour Party. But affairs moved slowly, hope was deferred, and at -length the new spirit lost much of its freshness and power. The very -acrimoniousness and volume of the controversy over what had or had -not been done in Russia wearied most people of the whole matter. The -many expected revolutions in other countries, which missed fire so -many times, caused disillusionment. The doctrinaire and even religious -adherents of the Russian Communists began to make trouble for every -radical organization in the country by their quarrels and divisions. At -length, the war being over, the American labour movement itself began -to display a weakness in the face of renewed attack on the part of its -opponents, which showed how illusory had been many of its recent gains -and how seriously its morale had been injured. - -Economic radicalism never looked--on the surface--weaker than it does -in the United States to-day. On the strength of statements by Mr. -Gompers and some other leaders of the trade unions, we are likely to -assume that organized labour will have nothing to do with it. The -professed radicals themselves have been weakened by dissensions and -scattered by persecution. Yet a brief survey of the formal groups which -now profess radical theories will indicate why the future of American -radicalism should not be assessed on the evidence of their present low -estate. - -The Socialist Party, even more than the Socialist Parties in other -countries, was placed by the war in a difficult situation. With its -roots not yet firmly in the soil, except in a few localities and -among diverse national elements, it was faced with the necessity, -in accordance with its principles and tradition, of denouncing the -entrance of the United States into hostilities. But this decision -could command no effective support from the workers organized on the -economic field, who under a different leadership adopted a different -attitude. Nor was the party strong enough among any other element of -the population to make its decision respected. The only immediate -result of the gesture was therefore to place this unarmed little force -in the most exposed position possible, where it drew the fire of all -those who were nervously afraid the people would not sanction the war. -Socialism was not judged on the basis of its economic tenets, but was -condemned as disloyal and pro-German; and the effect was to render the -party even more sectarian and unrepresentative than ever before. It had -adopted a position in which it could not expect recruits except from -moral heroes, and no nation nourishes a large proportion of these. Such -episodes make good legend, but they do not lead to prompt victories. -Even those who later have come to believe that the Socialists were -right about the war are likely to express their belief in some other -form than joining the party. - -In this weakened condition, the Socialist Party after the war developed -internal fissures. Many bitter words have been exchanged as to whether -the “Left Wingers” were or were not a majority of the party, whether -they were or were not more orthodox than those in control of the party -machinery, and whether, if they were more orthodox, their orthodoxy was -wise. At any rate, they broke away and formed two new parties of their -own, a fact which is the chief point of interest to one who is more -concerned with the larger issues of American radicalism than with the -minutiæ of Socialist politics. The Communist Party and the Communist -Labour Party, whatever may have been the legitimacy of their gestation -in the bowels of Socialism, certainly found their reason for being -chiefly in logic which originated in Moscow and Berlin rather than in -the American situation. At once selected for persecution by government -officials, they burrowed underground, doubtless followed by a band of -spies at least as numerous as they. From these subterranean regions -have come rumours of a fourth party--the United Communist, which -swallowed most of the Communist Labourites and some of the Communists. -At last accounts the Communists and the United Communists were each -attempting to prove the other counter-revolutionary by reference to the -latest documents from international revolutionary headquarters. - -It is hazardous in the extreme for an outsider to speak of the -differences in doctrine among these groups. It is probably fair to -say, however, that the Communist parties are chiefly distinguished by -their total lack of interest in anything save a complete revolution, -because this is the only kind they believe possible. They reject -as “compromises” partial gains of all sorts; piecemeal progress by -evolutionary methods rather offends them than otherwise. Their eyes -are turned always toward some future revolutionary situation; for -this their organization and their theories are being prepared. This -being the case, the validity of their position will be tested by the -event. If, as the milder Socialists believe, economic changes may come -gradually by process of growth and smaller shocks, the Communists are -likely to remain a nearly functionless and tiny minority, even in the -labour movement. If, as the Communists believe, the present order in -the normal course of its development is destined to experience a sudden -collapse similar to that which occurred in Russia near the end of the -war, they will become the true prophets, and their mode of thought and -action will presumably have fitted them to assume leadership. - -The Farmer-Labour Party is a recent growth far less doctrinaire than -either the Socialist or the Communist groups. It has neither prophet -nor Bible, but is based rather on the principle of gathering certain -categories of people together for political action, trusting that -as they become organized they will work out their own programme in -relation to the situation, and that that programme will develop as time -goes on. The categories to which it appeals are chiefly the industrial -workers and the small farmers, who have in general common economic -interests as opposed to the large owners of land and capital. It hopes -that other elements in the population, realizing that their major -interests are much the same as those of the unionists and the farmers, -will join forces with them to produce a majority. As an illustration -of the operation of such tactics, the Farmer-Labourites point to -the success of the Independent Labour Party of Great Britain, first -in aiding the foundation of the British Labour Party, and second in -building up for that party an increasingly coherent radical programme. - -In all these cases, however, not much confidence is placed in the -actual political machinery of elections. There is a widespread -scepticism about the ability to accomplish industrial changes by the -ballot, on account of experience with political corruption, broken -election promises, adverse court decisions, and political buncombe -in general. These parties are formed as much for the purpose of -propagating ideas and creating centres of activity as for mobilizing -votes. All radical parties lay great stress on the industrial power -of the organized labour movement. This is not to say that they do not -recognize the importance of the State in industrial matters. All agree -that control of political machinery will in the long run be necessary, -if only to prevent it from checking the advance of the people through -the courts and police. But they also agree that control of the State -is not held and cannot be attained by political machinery alone. The -present influence of the proprietors of industry on politics is due, -they see, chiefly to economic power, and the workers consequently -must not neglect the development of their own economic organization. -The Communists are completely hopeless of attaining results through -the present election machinery; the Socialists and Farmer-Labourites -believe it possible to secure a majority at the polls, which may -then execute its will, if the workers are well enough organized for -industrial action. - -Outwardly the most successful of the radical movements is the least -doctrinaire of all. It is unnecessary to repeat the history and -achievements of the Nonpartisan League--an attempt on the part of -organized farmers to use the machinery of the State in order to -gain economic independence from the banking, milling, and packing -interests. Other groups of farmers have aimed at a similar result -through co-operation, with varying success. - -In the industrial labour movement proper there have been numerous -radical minorities. The most uncompromising of these, as well as -the most characteristically American, was the Industrial Workers of -the World, who aspired to build up a consciously revolutionary body -to rival the unions composing the American Federation of Labour. -This decline is due not so much to suppression as to their previous -failure to enlist the continued support of the industrial workers -themselves. Like the Communists, the I.W.W. predicated their success -on a revolutionary situation, and lacking that situation they could -not build a labour movement on an abstract idea. Over long periods not -enough people are moved by a philosophy of salvation to give staying -power to such an organization in the daily struggle with the employers. -Other similar attempts, such as the W.I.I.U., and the more recent One -Big Union, have encountered similar difficulties. They grow rapidly in -crises, but fail under the strain of continued performance. - -The failure of American radicals to build up a strong movement is in -part due, of course, to the natural difficulties of the social and -economic situation, but it is also due to the mental traits which -usually accompany remoteness from reality. This is illustrated in -the history of the I.W.W., if we accept William Z. Foster’s acute -analysis. The regular trade-union movement, slowly evolving towards -a goal but half consciously realized, overcoming practical obstacles -painfully and clumsily, as such obstacles usually are overcome, was too -halting for these impatient radicals. They withdrew, and set up rival, -perfectionist unions, founded in uncompromising revolutionary ardour. -These organizations were often unable to serve the rank and file in -their practical difficulties, and consequently could not supplant -the historic labour movement. But they did draw out of that movement -many of its most sincere and ardent spirits, thus depriving it of the -ferment which was necessary to its growth. The I.W.W., for their part, -failing to secure any large grip on reality, regressed into quarrels -about theory, suffered divisions of their social personality, and -at length--except in the far West--became little more than economic -anchorites. As Foster says, “The I.W.W. were absolutely against -results.” - -Too much of American radicalism has been diverted to the easy -emotional satisfaction which is substituted for the arduous process -of dealing with reality. We suffer a restriction of the personality, -we cry out against the oppressor, we invent slogans and doctrines, -we fill our minds with day dreams, with intricate mechanisms of some -imaginary revolution. At the same time we withdraw from the actual -next step. Here is the trade-union movement, built up painfully for -over a century, a great army with many divisions which function every -day in the industrial struggle. How many radicals know it in any -detail? How many have paid the slightest attention to the technique -of its organization, or have devoted any time to a working out of the -smaller problems which must be worked out before it can achieve this -or that victory? Here are our great industries, our complex systems -of exchange. How many radicals really know the technique of even the -smallest section of them? Radicals wish to reorganize the industrial -system; would they know how to organize a factory? - -If radicalism arises from the instinct for economic maturity, then it -can find its place in the world only by learning its function, only -by expressing its emotion in terms of the actual with which it has to -deal. A period of adolescence was to be expected, but to prolong the -characteristics of that period is to invite futility. And as a matter -of fact American radicalism now exhibits a tendency to establish more -contacts with reality. Instead of withdrawing from established unions -to start a new and spotless labour movement, radicals are beginning to -visualize and to carry out the difficult but possible task of improving -the organization of the existing unions, and of charging them with new -energy and ideas. Unions which were founded by radicals--such as the -Amalgamated Clothing Workers of America--are devoting their efforts not -to talking of a future revolution, but to organizing the workers more -firmly in the present, to establishing constitutional government in -industry through which tangible advances may be made and safeguarded, -and to improving the productivity of industry itself. Engineers, -encouraged by labour organizations, and in some cases actually paid -by them, are investigating the problem of economic waste, and are -demonstrating by line upon line and precept upon precept how the chaos -of competition, industrial autocracy, and a controlling profit motive -are reflected in idle hours, low wages, high prices, and inferior -products. The co-operative movement is slowly providing a new and -more efficient machinery of distribution, while co-operative banks -are building up a reserve of credit for those who wish to experiment -with undertakings conducted for other purposes than the profit of -the proprietor. Such functional use of the labour movement is more -dangerous to the existing disorder than volumes of phrases or a whole -battalion of “natural rights.” - -Extremists call such activities compromise. They are compromise in the -sense that any hypothesis must be changed to fit the facts, but they -involve no compromise with scientific truth. The alchemist compromised -when he gave up the search for the philosopher’s stone and began to -learn from the elements. He surrendered a sterile dogma for a fruitful -science. In proportion as radicals learn how to put their emotions to -work, in proportion as they devise ways to function in the world in -which we live, will they make possible not only unity among themselves, -but a rapprochement with other Americans. A man who believes there is -no real possibility of change short of complete revolution can unite -with a man who has no theory about the matter at all so long as they -do not discuss abstract doctrine, but concentrate upon the problem of -how to bring about a particular effect at a particular time. The most -radical theories, if expressed in terms of concrete situations, will be -accepted by those who are wary of generalities, or do not understand -them. The theories will be tested in the fact. The operation of such a -process may be blocked by those who dogmatically oppose all experiment, -but in that case the forces of reason and of nature will be so clearly -on the side of the radical that there can be no doubt about his -ultimate fruitfulness. - - GEORGE SOULE - - - - -THE SMALL TOWN - - -America is a nation of villagers, once remarked George Bernard Shaw -in a moment of his most exclusive scorn for what he believed was our -crude and naïve susceptibility to the modes and moods, to say nothing -of the manners, of the professional patriots during that hectic period -when Wilhelm was training to become the woodman of Amerongen. Now Shaw -is the oracle of the Occident, and when he speaks there is no docile -dog this side of Adelphi Terrace presumptuous enough to bark. At least -there should not be; and in any event, neither history nor H. G. -Wells records any spirited protest on America’s part to the Shavian -accusation. It was allowed to stand invulnerable and irrefutable. Of -course, in our hearts we know Shaw is right. We may for the moment -be signifying _rus in urbe_, but between you and me and the chief -copy-reader of the Marion (Ohio) _Star_, _in urbe_ is a superfluous -detail. - -Show me a native New Yorker and I will show you something as extinct -as a bar-tender. There are no native New Yorkers. All New Yorkers -come from small towns and farms. Ask Dad, ask the Sunday editor, ask -the census-taker--they know. And what is true of New York is true of -Boston and Chicago. The big men, the notable men of the big cities, -hail from the small towns, the Springfields, the Jacksons, the -Jamestowns, Georgetowns, Charlestowns--yes, and from the Elizabeths and -Charlottes--of the nation. - -Under the circumstances any back-to-the-land movement in this country -seems futile if not ridiculous. The land is still confident and -capable of taking care of itself. It needs no aid from the city chaps -and asks none. The Freudians are not deceived for a moment over the -basis of a return-to-the-farm enterprise. They recognize it for what -it is--a sentimental complex superinduced by the nervous hysteria of -the city. But even the amazingly small proportion of the population -that is not Freudian refuses to become influenced by the cry of the -sentimentalists. Because it is keenly, though unpretentiously, aware of -the genuinely rural state of its culture and civilization. - -The civilization of America is predominantly the civilization of -the small town. The few libertarians and cosmopolites who continue -to profess to see a broader culture developing along the Atlantic -seaboard resent this fact, though they scarcely deny it. They are too -intelligent, too widened in vision to deny it. They cannot watch the -tremendous growth and power and influence of secret societies, of -chambers of commerce, of boosters’ clubs, of the Ford car, of moving -pictures, of talking-machines, of evangelists, of nerve tonics, of -the _Saturday Evening Post_, of Browning societies, of circuses, of -church socials, of parades and pageants of every kind and description, -of family reunions, of pioneer picnics, of county fairs, of firemen’s -conventions without secretly acknowledging it. And they know, if they -have obtained a true perspective of America, that there is no section -of this vast political unit that does not possess--and even frequently -boast--these unmistakably provincial signs and symbols. - -I do not mean to imply that such aspects make America an unfit place -in which to live. On the contrary, America’s very possession of them -brings colour and rugged picturesqueness, if not a little pathos, to -the individual with imagination sufficient to find them. Mr. Dreiser -found them and shed a triumphant tear. “Dear, crude America” is to -him a sweet and melancholy reality. It is a reality that has been -expressed with a good deal of prophecy--and some profit--by the young -novelists. Small-town realism with a vengeance, rather than a joy, -has been the keynote of their remarkable success during the past -year. However, they pulled the pendulum of cultural life too far in -one direction. They failed, for the most part, of appreciating the -similarity of human nature in city as in country, with the result that -their triumph is ephemeral. Already the reaction has set in. There are -now going on in the work-rooms of the novelists attempts to immortalize -Riverside Drive, Fifth Avenue, Beacon Street, Michigan Boulevard, and -Pennsylvania Avenue. - -Unless they penetrate into the soul of these avenues, unless they -perceive that these avenues are not spiritually different from Main -Street, though they may be clothed in the habiliments of metropolitan -taste and fancy, they will fail to symbolize correctly America. They -will be writing merely for money and controversial space in the -literary supplements. - -For the soul of these avenues is a soul with an _i_ substituted -for _u_. It is the soul of the land. It is a homely, wholesome -provincialism, typifying human nature as it is found throughout the -United States. We may herd in a large centre of population, assume -the superficialities of cosmopolitan culture and genuinely believe -ourselves devils of fellows. It takes all the force of a prohibition -law to make us realize that we are more sinned against than sinning. -Then are we confronted sharply by the fact that the herd is appallingly -inefficient and inarticulate in a conflict with isolated individualism. - -The prohibition movement originated in farming communities and -villages where the evils of alcohol are ridiculously insignificant. No -self-respecting or neighbour-respecting villager could afford to be -known as a drinking man. His business or his livelihood was at stake. -Then why did he foster prohibition? Why did he seek to fasten it upon -the city resident who, if he drank, did not lose apparently his own -or his neighbour’s respect? Chiefly because of his very isolation. -Because he was geographically deprived of the enjoyments which the city -man shared. I can well imagine a farmer in the long sweating hours of -harvest time or a small town storekeeper forced to currying favour with -his friends and neighbours 365 days in a year, resolutely declaring -that what he cannot have the man in the city shall not have. The -hatching of all kinds of prohibitory plots can be traced to just such -apparent injustices of life. Dr. Freud would correctly explain it under -the heading of inferiority-complex. - -City men have marvelled at the remarkable organization of the -reformers. It is not so much organization, however, as it is a national -feeling perceived and expressed simultaneously. Cities may conduct the -most efficient propaganda against such a feeling, they may assemble -their largest voting strength to assail it. All in vain. The country -districts roll up the majorities and the cities are left unmistakably -high and dry. - -So it is with most of the laws and movements of America. The rural -sections have but to will them and they become in due time established -facts. An idea merely has to take root in the mind of some socially -oppressed individual. He talks it over with his friends at lodge -meeting or during an informal hour at a board of trade meeting. He -receives encouragement. He imparts the idea to his wife, who carries it -to her literary club, where it is given further airing. It spreads to -the volunteer firemen’s clubrooms, to the grange picnics and the church -socials. It is discussed in the pulpits. Finally it reaches the ears -of the village and county politicians who, impressed by its appeal to -the moral force of the community, decide after hours in the back room -of the post-office or the national bank to interest the congressman or -assemblyman from their district in its merits as a possible law upon -the statute books. The congressman and assemblyman, acutely aware of -the side on which their bread is buttered, agree to do “everything -within their power” to put the measure through. Having the assistance -of other congressmen and assemblymen, most of whom are from rural -districts, their tasks assuredly are not difficult. - -Before the appearance of the automobile and the movie upon the national -horizon, the small town was chiefly characterized by a distinctly rural -and often melancholy peacefulness. A gentle air of depression hung -over it, destructive of the ambitious spirit of youth and yet, by very -reason of its existence, influencing this spirit to seek adventure and -livelihood in wider fields. Amusements were few and far between. It was -the day of the quilting party, of the Sunday promenade in the cemetery, -of buggy-riding, of the ice-cream festival and the spelling bee. The -bucolic note was ever present. - -Such an environment, while joyous to the small boy, became hopelessly -dull and lifeless to the youth of vitality and imagination. -Restlessness with it tormented him day and night until it grew into an -obsession. Especially did he dislike Sunday, its funereal quiet with -stores closed and other possible avenues of excitement and adventure -forbidden. He began to cherish dreams of a life strange and teeming in -distant cities. - -As he grew older and a measure of independence came to him he -fled, provided there was no business established by a patient and -hard-working ancestry which might lure him into remaining home. And -even that did not always attract him. He was compelled to go by his -very nature--a nature that desired a change from the pall of confining -and circumscribed realism, the masks of respectability everywhere about -him, the ridiculous display of caste, that saw a rainbow of fulfilled -ideals over the hills, that demanded, in a word, romance. - -He, who did not feel this urge, departed because of lack of business -opportunities. Occasionally he returned disillusioned and exhausted -by the city and eager to re-establish himself in a line of work -which promised spiritual contentment. But more often he stayed away, -struggling with the crowd in the city, returning home only for short -vacation periods for rest and reminiscence, to see his people and renew -boyhood friendships. At such times he was likely to be impressed by -the seeming prosperity of those boys he left behind, of the apparent -enjoyment they found in the narrow environment. The thought may have -occurred to him that the life of the small town had undergone a marked -change, that it had adopted awkward, self-conscious urban airs. - -Suddenly he realizes that the automobile and the movie and to some -extent the topical magazine are mainly responsible for the contrast. -The motor-car has given the small town man an ever-increasing contact -with the city, with life at formerly inaccessible resorts, with the -country at large. And the movie and the magazine have brought him news -and pictures of the outside world. He has patronized them and grown -wiser. - -The basis, the underlying motive, of all cultural life in the small -town is social. The intellectual never enters. It may try to get in but -the doors are usually barred. There is practically no demand for the -so-called intellectual magazines. Therefore, they are seldom placed on -sale. But few daily papers outside of a radius of fifty miles are read. -Plays which have exclusive appeal to the imagination or the intellect -are presented to rows of empty seats. On the other hand, dramas teeming -with primitive emotions and the familiar devices of hokum attract -large audiences, provided the producing managers care to abide by the -present excessive transportation rates. There is but little interest -manifested in great world movements, such as the economic upheaval -in Eastern Europe. Normalcy is, indeed, the watchword so far as -intellectual development is concerned. - -It is in the social atmosphere that the American village has its real -_raison d’être_. Therein do we meet the characteristics that have -stamped themselves indelibly upon American life. The thousand and one -secret societies that flourish here have particularly fertile soil in -the small towns. Count all the loyal legionaries of all the chapters -of all the secret societies between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans -and you have a job suited only to the most irrepressible statistician. -And the most loyal live in the small towns and villages of the United -States. The choice is not limited. There are societies enough to suit -all kinds of personalities and purses. - -The Knights of Pythias, the Knights of the Maccabees, the Odd Fellows, -the Elks, the Eagles, the Loyal Order of the Moose, the Modern Woodmen, -the Masons with their elaborate subdivisions of Shriners and Knights -Templar--all count their membership throughout the nation. And the -women, jealous of their husbands’ loyalty to various and complex forms -of hocus-pocus, have organized auxiliary societies which, while not -maintaining the secrecy that veils the fraternal orders, nevertheless -build up a pretentious mystery intriguing to the male mind. - -No town is a self-respecting town unless it can boast half a dozen of -these societies. They are the fabric of which the basis of the social -structure is built. They are the very essence of America. They dot -the national landscape. Every city, as if to prove conclusively its -provincial nature, displays one or more temples devoted to the rituals -of fraternal organization. - -Recently the South has revived the order of the Ku Klux Klan which -flourished after the Civil War as a means of improving upon the -orderly course of the law in dealing with the Negro race. Here is the -apotheosis of the secret society, with its magnificent concealment of -identity in a unique form of dress, its pretensions to 100 per cent. -Americanism, its blatant proclamations of perpetuating the great and -glorious traditions of the republic. The Negro has already organized to -offset this propaganda. He knew that unless he could show secret orders -of imposing strength he had no right even to the questionable heritage -of habitation here. He would be outside the spirit of the times. He -owed it to America, to “dear, crude America,” to organize lodges and -secret societies; and he has done so. - -Undoubtedly the secret society plays a large part in the greatness of -America. It has made the American class-conscious. It has made him -recognize his own importance, his own right to the national distinction -of good-fellowship. It provides him temporary surcease from domestic -and business details, though there are countless numbers of men who -join these orders to make business details, so far as they affect them, -more significant. - -The amazing prevalence of conventions in America is an outgrowth of -the secret societies. Life to many 100 per cent. Americans is just one -lodge convention after another. Held in a different city each year, -a distinction that is industriously competed for, the convention has -become a fixed fact in American cultural life. Here is the one occasion -of the year when the serious diddle-daddle is laid aside, and refuge -and freedom are sought in such amusements as the convention city can -offer. The secret order convention has inspired the assembly of all -kinds and descriptions of conventions--trade conventions, religious -conventions, educational conventions--until there is no city in the -land boasting a first-class hotel that does not at one time or another -during the year house delegates with elaborate insignia and badges. - -Probably the first parade held in America was that of a class-conscious -fraternal organization eager to display its high standard of membership -as well as a unique resplendence in elaborate regalia. The parade -has continued an integral part of American life ever since. There -is something of the vigour, the gusto and crudeness of America in a -parade. It has come to represent life here in all its curious phases. - -The parade had become an event of colourful significance when P. T. -Barnum organized the “greatest show on earth.” He decided to glorify -it--in his dictionary “to glorify” really meant “to commercialize”--and -once and for all time associate it chiefly with the circus. He -succeeded, mainly because the residents of the villages were receptive -to the idea. They saw a bizarre relief from the monotony of existence. -The farmers rolled down from the hills in their lumber-wagons and -found an inarticulate joy, storekeepers closed shop and experienced a -tumultuous freedom from the petty bickerings of trade, men and women -renewed their youth, children were suddenly thrown into a very ecstasy -of delight. Thus, the circus parade became part and parcel of American -civilization. - -And the precious and unique spirit created by the circus parade has -been carried on in innumerable representations. To-day America shelters -parades of every conceivable enterprise. Firemen have a day in every -small town of the land on which they joyously pull flower-laden -hose-carts for the entertainment of their fellow-citizens. Bearing such -labels as Alerts, Rescues and Champion Hook and Ladder No. 1, they -march proudly down Main Street--and the world goes hang. The volunteer -firemen’s organization is an institution peculiar to the American small -town,--an institution, too, that is not without class-consciousness. -The rough-and-ready, comparatively illiterate young men form one group. -The clerks, men engaged in the professions and social favourites -compose another. This class is usually endowed by the wealthiest -resident of the town, and its gratitude is expressed usually by naming -the organization for the local Crœsus. - -The Elks parade, the Knights of Pythias parade, veterans of various -wars parade, the Shriners and Knights Templar parade, prohibitionists -parade, anti-prohibitionists parade, politicians parade, women parade, -babies parade--everybody parades in America. Indeed, America can be -divided into two classes, those who parade and those who watch the -parade. The parade is indelibly identified with the small town. It is -also inalienably associated with the large city, composed, as it is, of -small-town men. - -There has lately taken place in the villages throughout the country a -new movement that has civic pride as its basis. It is the formation -of boosters’ clubs. Everybody is boosting his home town, at least -publicly, though in the privacy of the front porch he may be justly -depressed by its narrowness of opportunity, its subservience to social -snobbery, its intellectual aridity. “Come to Our Town. Free Sites -Furnished for Factories,” read the signs along the railroad tracks. -“Boost Our Town” shout banners stretched across Main Street. - -Is there not something vitally poignant in such a proud provincialism? -Is not America endeavouring to lift itself up by its boot-straps, to -make life more comfortable and interesting? The groping, though crude, -is commendable. It is badly directed because there is no inspiration -back of it, because its organizers are only remotely aware how to make -life here more interesting. However, there is the effort and it is -welcome. - -Perhaps, when the towns--and for that matter the cities--realize that -artistic sensitiveness is necessary to achieve comfort and interest we -shall have boosters who are as enthusiastic on the front porch as in -the board of trade meeting. When will our towns take artistic advantage -of their river-fronts? The place for the most beautiful walk and -drive and park presents usually unsightly piers, factories and sheds. -Railroad tracks are often laid in the very heart of the town. For many -years the leading hotels in practically all of our towns and cities -were built in close proximity to the railroad station. In seeking to -save a traveller time and convenience hotel proprietors subjected him -to the bodily and mental discomforts that are related to the vicinity -of a railroad station. Of late there is a marked tendency to erect -hotels in quiet residential streets away from the noise and confusion -of shops and railroad yards. - -The billboard menace, while diminishing, is still imposing. It is -to the everlasting shame of the towns and cities that in an era of -prohibitions no legislative effort has been made to stop the evil of -desecrating our finest streets with advertising signs. Such commercial -greed is inconceivable to the foreign visitor. It is one of his first -impressions, though he charitably takes refuge in public in attributing -it to the high tension of our existence. - -While the first symptoms of artistic appreciation are beginning to -be faintly discerned upon the American horizon, the old and familiar -phases of social life in the country are still being observed. The -picnic of first settlers, the family reunion, the church supper, the -sewing circle, the Browning society--all have national expression. -The introduction of such modern industrial devices as the automobile -has not affected them in the least. It can truly be asserted that the -flivver has even added to their popularity. It has brought people of -the country districts into closer contact than ever before. It has -given a new prestige to the picnics and the reunions. - -What offers more rustic charm and simplicity than a family reunion? -Practically every family in the farming districts that claims an -ancestral residence in this country of more than fifty years holds -one annually. It is attended by the great and the near-great from -the cities, by the unaffected relatives back home. Babies jostle -great-grandparents. Large and perspiring women bake for days the cakes -and pies to be consumed. The men of the house are foolishly helping in -making the rooms and the front lawn ready. At last the reunion is at -hand--a sentimental debauch, a grand gorging. Everybody present feels -the poignancy of age. But while the heart throbs the stomach is working -overtime. The law of compensation is satisfied. “A good time was had -by all” finds another expression in the weekly paper, and the reunion -becomes a memory. - -At pioneer picnics one finds the family reunion on a larger scale. -The whole township and county has for the time become related. It is -the day of days, a sentimental tournament with handshaking as the -most popular pastime. Organized in the rugged primitiveness of the -early part of the 19th century by men who were first to settle in the -vicinity, the pioneer picnic has been perpetuated, until to-day it -is linked inalterably with America’s development. It has weathered -the passing of the nation from an agricultural to a great industrial -commonwealth. It has stood the gaff of time. And so it goes on for -ever, a tradition of the small town and the farming community. While it -has been divested almost entirely of its original purpose, it serves -to bring the politicians in touch with the “peepul.” Grandiloquent -promises are made for a day from the rostrum by a battalion of -“Honourables”--and forgotten both by the “Honourables” and the public -intent upon dancing and walking aimlessly about the grounds. The -politicians smile as they continue to preserve their heroic pose, -and the “peepul,” satisfied that all is well with the world, turn -to various gambling devices that operate under the hypocritical -eye of the sheriff and to the strange dances that have crept up -from the jungle, for it is a day filled with the eternal spirit of -youth. There is ingenuous appeal in the fair samples of the yokelry -present. There is a quiet force beneath the bovine expressions of -the boys. The soul of America--an America glad to be alive--is being -wonderfully and pathetically manifested. No shams, no superficialities, -no self-conscious sophistication are met. Merely the sturdy quality -of the true American civilization, picturesque and haunting in its -primitiveness. - -The county fair belongs in the same classification as the first-settler -picnic. It is the annual relaxation by farmers and merchants from -the tedious tasks of seeing and talking to the same people day after -day. It offers them a measure of equality with the people in the city -with their excursion boats, their baseball games, their park sports. -And they make the most of their opportunity. They come to see and to -be seen, to risk a few dollars on a horse race, to admire the free -exhibitions in front of the side-shows, to watch with wide eyes the -acrobatic stunts before the grandstand; to hear the “Poet and the -Peasant” overture by the band, proud and serious in a stand of its own. - -Three or four days given to such pleasures naturally bestow a fine -sense of illusion upon the visitors. They begin to believe that life -has been specially ordered for them. They see through a glass lightly. -They care not a whiff about the crowded excitements of the city. They -have something infinitely more enjoyable than a professional baseball -game or an excursion ride down the river. They have days of endless -variety, of new adventures, of new thoughts. They, too, know that -America cannot go wrong so long as they continue to find illusion. And -they are correct. They may not suspect that American culture is crude. -They do know, however, that it is dear. They should worry. - -Against such a background have the flavour and essence of American -life been compounded. Their influence has extended in all directions, -in all walks of industry. They have left their impress upon the -character of the country, upon the mob and the individual. Sentimental -attachment to the old ties, to boyhood ideals and traditions remains -potent though a little concealed by the mask, be it affected or real, -of sophistication. It is the voice of a new land, of a vigorous and -curious nationalism that is being exerted. There obviously cannot -be among such a naturally healthy people a supercilious contempt -for sentiment. We may laugh a little haughtily at the amazing -susceptibility of folks to the extravagant eloquence of itinerant -evangelists. We may look on an “old home week” with a touch of urban -disdain. We may listen to the band concert on a Saturday night in -the Court House Square with a studied indifference. We may assume an -attractive weariness in watching the promenaders on Main Street visit -one ice-cream emporium after another. But deep down in our hearts is a -feeling of invincible pride in the charming homeliness, the youthful -vitality, the fine simplicity, yes, and the sweeping pathos of these -aspects of small-town civilization. - - LOUIS RAYMOND REID - - - - -HISTORY - - “Nescire autem quid antea quam natus sis - acciderit id est semper puerum esse.” - - _Cicero._ - - “History is bunk.” - - _Henry Ford_ - - -The burghers of Holland, being (like the Chinese) inclined towards -a certain conservatism of both manners and habits, continued the -tradition of the “front parlour”--the so-called “good-room”--well into -the 20th century. Every farmer had his “front parlour” filled with -stuffy air, stuffy furniture, and an engraving of the Eiffel Tower -facing the lithographic representation of a lady in mid-seas clinging -desperately to a somewhat ramshackle granite cross. - -But the custom was not restricted to the bucolic districts. His late -Majesty, William III (whose funeral was the most useful event of -his long life), had been married to an estimable lady of Victorian -proclivities, who loved a “tidy” and an “antimacassar” better than -life itself. An aristocracy, recruited from the descendants of East -India Directors and West India sugar planters, followed the Royal -Example. They owned modest homes which the more imaginative Latin -would have called “Palazzi.” Most of the ground floor was taken up -by an immense “front parlour.” For the greater part of the year it -was kept under lock and key while the family clustered around the oil -lamp of the “back parlour” where they lived in the happy cacophony of -young daughters practising Czerny and young sons trying to master the -intricacies of “paideuo--paideueis--paideuei.” - -As for the “front parlour” (which will form the main part of my text), -it was opened once or twice a twelve-month for high family functions. -A week beforehand, the cleaning woman (who received six cents per hour -in those blessed Neanderthal days) would arrive with many mops and -many brooms. The covers would be removed from the antique furniture, -the frames of the pictures would be duly scrubbed. The carpets were -submitted to a process which resembled indoor ploughing and for fully -half an hour each afternoon the windows were opened to the extent of -three or four inches. - -Then came the day of the reception--the birthday party of the -grandfather--the betrothal of the young daughter. All the relatives -were there in their best silks and satins. The guests were there in -ditto. There was light and there was music. There was enough food and -drink to keep an entire Chinese province from starving. Yet the party -was a failure. The old family portraits--excellent pieces by Rembrandt -or Terborch--looked down upon grandchildren whom they did not know. -The grandchildren, on the other hand, were quite uncomfortable in the -presence of this past glory. Sometimes, when the guests had expressed -a sincere admiration of these works of art, they hired a hungry Ph.D. -to write a critical essay upon their collection for the benefit of the -“Studio” or the “Connoisseur.” Then they ordered a hundred copies, -which they sent to their friends that they might admire (and perhaps -envy) the ancient lineage of their neighbours. Thereafter, darkness and -denim covers and oblivion. - -The history of our great Republic suffers from a fate similar to that -of these heirlooms. It lives in the “front parlour” of the national -consciousness. It is brought out upon a few grand occasions when it -merely adds to the general discomfort of the assisting multitude. -For the rest of the time it lies forgotten in the half dark of those -Washington cellars which for lack of National Archives serve as a -receptacle for the written record of our past. - -Our popular estimate of history and the value of a general historical -background was defined a few years ago by Henry Ford. Mr. Ford, having -made a dozen flivvers go where none went before and having gained -untold wealth out of the motor-car industry, had been appointed an -ex-officio and highly esteemed member of our national Council of Wise -Men. His opinion was eagerly asked upon such subjects as child-raising, -irrigation, the future of the human race, and the plausibility of -the Einstein theory. During a now memorable trial the subject of -history came up for discussion, and Mr. Ford (if we are to believe the -newspaper accounts) delivered himself of the heartfelt sentiment that -“history is bunk.” A grateful country sang Amen! - -When asked to elucidate this regrettable expression of dislike, -the average citizen will fall back upon reminiscences of his early -childhood and in terms both contrite and unflattering he will thereupon -describe the hours of misery which he has spent reciting “dreary facts -about useless kings,” winding up with a wholesale denunciation of -American history as something dull beyond words. - -We cannot say much in favour of late Stuarts, Romanoffs, and Wasa’s, -but we confess to a sincere affection for the history of these United -States. It is true there are few women in it and no little children. -This, to us, seems an advantage. “Famous women of history” usually -meant “infamous trouble” for their much perturbed contemporaries. As -for the ever-popular children motif, the little princes of the Tower -would have given a great deal had they been allowed to whitewash part -of Tom Sawyer’s famous fence, instead of waiting in silken splendour -for Uncle Richard’s murder squad. - -No, the trouble is not with the history of this land of endless plains -and a limitless sky. The difficulty lies with the reader. He is the -victim of an unfortunate circumstance. The Muses did not reach these -shores in the first-class cabin of the _Aquitania_. They were almost -held up at Ellis Island and deported because they did not have the -necessary fifty dollars. They were allowed to sneak in after they had -given a solemn promise that they would try to become self-supporting -and would turn their white hands to something useful. - -Clio, our revered mistress, has tried hard to live up to this vow. -But she simply is not that sort of woman. An excellent counsellor, -the most charming and trusted of friends, she has absolutely no gift -for the practical sides of life. She was forced to open a little -gift-shop where she sold flags and bunting and pictures of Pocahontas -and Paul Revere. The venture was not a success. A few people took pity -on her and tried to help. She was asked to recite poetry at patriotic -gatherings and do selections from the “Founding Fathers.” She did not -like this, being a person of shy and unassuming character. And so she -is back in the little shop. When last I saw her, she was trying to -learn the Russian alphabet. That is always a dangerous sign. - -And now, lest we continue to jumble our metaphors, let us state the -case with no more prejudice than is strictly necessary. - -The earliest settlers of this country brought their history with them. -Little Snorri, son of Gudrid and Thorfinn Karlsefni, playing amidst -the vines of his father’s Labradorian garden, undoubtedly listened to -the selfsame sagas that were being told at the court of good King Olaf -Tryggvason in distant Norway. The children of San Domingo shared the -glories of the Cid with the boys and girls who visited the schools of -Moukkadir’s ancient capital. And the long-suffering infants of the -early New England villages merely finished an historical education -that had begun at Scrooby and had been continued at No. 21 of the -_Kloksteeg_ in Leyden. - -During the 17th century, the greater part of the Atlantic coast became -English. The Dutch and the French, the Spanish and Swedish traditions -disappeared. The history of the British Kingdom became the universal -history of the territory situated between the thirtieth and the -fiftieth degree of latitude. Even the American Revolution was a quarrel -between two conflicting versions of certain identical principles of -history. Lord North and George Washington had learned their lessons -from the same text-book. His Lordship, of course, never cut the pages -that told of Runymede, and George undoubtedly covered the printed -sheets which told of the fate of rebels with strange geometrical -figures. But the historical inheritance of the men who fought on the -left bank of the Fish Kill and those who surrendered on the right shore -was a common one, and Burgoyne and Gates might have spent a profitable -evening sharing a bottle of rum and complimenting each other upon the -glorious deeds of their respective but identical ancestors. - -But during the ’twenties and ’thirties of the 19th century, the -men of the “old régime”--the founder and fighters of the young -Republic--descended into the grave and they took their traditions, -their hopes, and their beliefs with them. The curtain rose upon a -new time and upon a new people. The acquisition of the Northwestern -Territory in 1787 and the purchase of Napoleon’s American real-estate -in the year 1803 had changed a little commonwealth of struggling -Colonies into a vast empire of endless plains and unlimited forests. -It was necessary to populate this new land. The history of the Coast -came to an end. The history of the Frontier began. English traditions -rarely crossed the Alleghanies. The long struggle for representative -government took on a new aspect in a land where no king had ever set -foot and where man was sovereign by the good right of his own energy. - -It is true that the first fifty years of the last century witnessed the -arrival upon these shores of millions of men and women from Europe who -had enjoyed a grammar school education in the land of their birth. But -dukes do not emigrate. Those sturdy fellows who risked the terrors and -horrors of the Atlantic in the leaky tubs of the early forties came to -the country of their future that they might forget the nightmare of the -past. That nightmare included the biography of Might which was then -the main feature of the European text-book. They threw it overboard as -soon as they were well outside of the mouth of the Elbe or the Mersey. -Settled upon the farms of Michigan and Wisconsin, they sometimes taught -their children the songs of the old Fatherland but its history never. -After two generations, this migration--the greatest of all “treks” -since the 4th century--came to an end. Roads had been made, canals had -been dug, railroads had been constructed, forests had been turned into -pastures, the Indian was gone, the buffalo was gone, free land was -gone, cities had been built, and the scene had been made ready for the -final apotheosis of all human accomplishment--civilization. - -The schoolmaster has ever followed in the wake of the full dinner-pail. -He now made his appearance and began to teach. Considering the -circumstances he did remarkably well. But he too worked under a -disadvantage. He was obliged to go to New England for his learning -and for his text-books. And the historian of the Boston school, -while industrious and patient, was not entirely a fair witness. The -recollection of British red-coats drilling on the Common was still -fresh in the minds of many good citizens. The wickedness of George III -was more than a myth to those good men and women whose own fathers had -watched Major Pitcairn as he marched forth to arrest Adams and Hancock. -They sincerely hated their former rulers, while they could not deny -their love for the old mother country. Hence there arose a conflict of -grave consequence. With one hand the New England chronicler twisted the -tail of the British lion. With the other he fed the creature little -bits of sugar. - -Again the scene changed. The little red school-house had marched across -the plains. It had followed the pioneer through the passes of the -Rocky Mountains. It had reached the shores of the Pacific Ocean. The -time of hacking and building and frying with lard came to a definite -end. The little red school-house gave way for the academy of learning. -College and University arose wherever a thousand people happened to be -together. History became a part of the curriculum. The schoolmaster, -jack of all learned trades and master of many practical pursuits, -became extinct. The professional historian made his appearance. And -thereby hangs a sad tale which takes us to the barren banks of the -Spree. - -Ever since the Thirty Years War, Germany had been the battlefield of -Europe. The ambitions of the Napoleon who was four feet tall and smooth -shaven and the prospective ambitions of the Napoleon who was five feet -tall and who waxed his moustachios, had given and were actually giving -that country very little rest. The intelligentsia of the defunct Holy -Roman Empire saw but a single road which could lead to salvation. The -old German State must be re-established and the kings of Prussia must -become heirs to the traditions of Charlemagne. To prove this point -it was necessary that the obedient subjects of half a hundred little -potentates be filled with certain definite historical notions about -the glorious past of Heinrich the Fat and Konrad the Lean. The patient -historical camels of the Teutonic universities were driven into the -heart of _Historia Deserta_ and brought back those stupendous bricks -of learning out of which the rulers of the land could build their -monuments to the glorious memory of the Ancestors. - -Whatever their faults and however misguided the ambition of these -faithful beasts of burden, they knew how to work. The whole world -looked on with admiration. Here, at last, in this country of scientific -precision, history had been elevated to the rank of a “_Wissenschaft_.” -Carrying high their banners, “For God, for Country, _und wie es -eigentlich dagewesen_,” all good historians went upon a crusade to save -the Holy Land of the Past from the Ignorance of the Present. - -That was in the blessed days when a first-class passage to Hamburg and -Bremen cost forty-six dollars and seventy-five cents. Henry Adams and -John Lothrop Motley were among the first of the pilgrims. They drank a -good deal of beer, listened to many excellent concerts, and assisted, -“privatissime and gratis,” at the colloquia docta of many highly -learned _Geheimräte_, and departed before they had suffered serious -damage. Others did not fare as well. Three--four--five years they spent -in the company of the Carolingians and the Hohenstaufens. After they -had soaked themselves sufficiently in Ploetz and Bernheim to survive -the _Examen Rigorosum_ of the _Hochgelehrte Facultät_, they returned to -their native shore to spread the gospel of true _Wissenschaftlichkeit_. - -There was nothing typically American in this. It happened to the -students of every country of the globe. - -Of course, in making this point, we feel that we expose ourselves to -the accusation of a slight exaggeration. “How now,” the industrious -reader exclaims, “would you advocate a return to the uncritical days -of the Middle Ages?” To which we answer, “By no means.” But history, -like cooking or fiddling, is primarily an art. It embellishes life. It -broadens our tolerance. It makes us patient of bores and fools. It is -without the slightest utilitarian value. A handbook of chemistry or -higher mathematics has a right to be dull. A history, never. And the -professional product of the Teutonic school resembled those later-day -divines who tried to console the dying by a recital of the Hebrew verb -_abhar_. - -This system of preaching the gospel of the past filled the pulpits but -it emptied the pews. The congregation went elsewhere for its historical -enlightenment. Those who were seriously interested turned to the works -of a few laymen (hardware manufacturers, diplomats, coal-dealers, -engineers) who devoted their leisure hours to the writing of history, -or imported the necessary intellectual pabulum from abroad. Others took -to the movies and since those temples of democratic delight do not open -before the hour of noon, they spent the early morning perusing the -endless volumes of reminiscences, memoirs, intimate biographies, and -recollections which flood the land with the energy of an intellectual -_cloaca maxima_. - -But all this, let us state it once more, did not matter very much. -When all is peace and happiness--when the hospitals are empty of -patients--when the weather is fine and people are dying at the usual -rate--it matters little whether the world at large takes a deep -interest in the work of the Board of Health. The public knows that -somewhere, somehow, someway, there exists a Board of Health composed -of highly trained medical experts. They also appreciate from past -experiences that these watchful gentlemen “know their job” and that no -ordinary microbe can hope to move from Warsaw to Chicago without prompt -interference on the part of the delousing squad. But when an epidemic -threatens the safety of the community, then the public hastens to the -nearest telephone booth--calls up the Health Commissioners and follows -their instructions with implicit faith. It demands that these public -servants shall spend the days of undisturbed health to prepare for the -hour of sickness when there is no time for meditation and experiment. - -The public at large had a right to expect a similar service from its -historians. But unfortunately, when the crisis came, the scientific -historical machine collapsed completely. - -In Germany, the home country of the system of _historische -Wissenschaftlichkeit_, the historian became the barker outside the -Hohenzollern main tent, shouting himself hoarse for the benefit of -half-hearted fellow citizens and hostile neutrals, extolling the -ancestral Teutonic virtues until the whole world turned away in -disgust. In France, they arrange those things better. Even the most -unhealthy mess of nationalistic scraps can be turned into a palatable -dish by a competent cook of the Parisian school. In England, the -historian turned propagandist, and for three years, the surprised -citizens of Copenhagen, Bern, and Madrid found their mail boxes -cluttered with mysterious bundles of state documents duly stamped, -beautifully illustrated, and presented (as the enclosed card showed) -with the compliments of Professor So-and-so of Such-and-such College, -Oxford, England. In Russia, a far-seeing government had taken its -measures many years before. Those historians who had refused to be used -as _cheval de bataille_ for the glory of the house of Romanoff, were -either botanising along the banks of the Lena or had long since found -a refuge in the universities of Sofia and Geneva. I do not know what -happened in Japan, but I have a suspicion that it was the same thing, -the entire world over. - -The historian turned apologist. He was as useful as a doctor who would -show a partiality to the native streptococcus on the grounds of loyalty -to the land of his birth. - -What happened on this side of the ocean after the first three years of -“peace without victory” had given place to “force to the uttermost” is -too well known to demand repetition. Long before the first American -destroyer reached Plymouth, the staunch old vessel of history had been -_spurlos versenkt_ in the _mare clausum_ of the Western hemisphere. -Text-books were recalled, rehashed, and revamped to suit the needs of -the hour. Long and most deservedly forgotten treatises were called -back to life and with the help of publishers’ blurbs and reviews by -members of the self-appointed guardians of national righteousness -they were sent forth to preach the gospel of domestic virtue. Strange -encyclopædias of current information were concocted by volunteers from -eager faculties. The public mind was a blank. For a hundred years -the little children had learned to dislike history and grown-ups had -revaluated this indifference into actual hate. This situation had been -created to maintain on high the principles of scientific historical -investigation. Let popular interest perish as long as the Truth stand -firm. But in the hour of need, the guardians of the Truth turned -gendarmes, the doors of Clio’s temple were closed, and the public -was invited to watch the continuation of the performance in the next -moving-picture house. At Versailles the curtain went down upon the -ghastly performance. - -After the first outbreak of applause the enthusiasm waned. Who had -been responsible for this terrible tragedy? The supposed authors were -branded as enemies of mankind. Nations tottered and ancient Empires -crumbled to dust and were hastily carried to the nearest historical -scrapheap. The ambitious monarch, who for thirty years had masqueraded -as a second Charlemagne, made his exit amidst properties borrowed from -the late King Louis Philippe. The gay young leader of the Death Head -Hussars developed into the amateur bicycle-repairer of the island of -Wieringen. International reputations retailed at a price which could -only be expressed in Soviet rubles and Polish marks and no takers. The -saviour of the world became the invalid of the White House. But not a -word was said about those inconspicuous authors of very conspicuous -historical works who had been the henchmen of the _Oberste_ and -_Unterste Kriegsherren_. They went back to the archives to prepare the -necessary post-mortem statements. These are now being published at a -price which fortunately keeps them well out of reach of the former -soldiers. - -In certain dramas and comedies of an older day it was customary to -interrupt the action while the Chorus of moralising Villagers reviewed -what had gone before and drew the necessary conclusions. It is time for -the “goat-singers” to make their appearance. - -“Are you, O Author,” so they speak, “quite fair when you pronounce -these bitter words? Are we not all human--too human? Is it reasonable -to demand of our historians that they shall possess such qualities of -detached judgment as have not been seen on this earth since the last -of the Mighty Gods departed from High Olympus? Has a historian no -heart? Do you expect him to stand by and discuss the virtues of vague -political questions, when all the world is doing its bit--while his -children are risking their lives for the safety of the common land?” - -And when we are approached in this way, we find it difficult to answer -“no.” For we too are an animated compound of prejudice and unreasonable -preferences and even more unreasoning dislikes, and we do not like to -assume the rôle of both judge and jury. - -The evidence, however, gives us no chance to decide otherwise. What -was done in the heat of battle--what was done under the stress of -great and sincere emotions--what was written in the agony of a thousand -fears--all that will be forgotten within a few years. But enough will -remain to convince our grandchildren that the historian was among those -most guilty of creating that “state of mind” without which modern -warfare would be an impossibility. - -Here the music of the flutes grows silent. The Chorus steps back -and the main action of our little play continues. The time is “the -present” and the problem is “the future.” The children who are now in -the second grade will be called upon to bear the burden of a very long -period of reconstruction. America, their home, has been compared to an -exceedingly powerful and influential woman who is not very popular but -who must not be offended on account of her eminent social position. The -folk who live along our international Main Street are not very well -disposed towards a neighbour who holds all the mortgages and lives in -the only house that has managed to survive the recent catastrophe. It -will not be an easy thing to maintain the peace in the neurasthenic -community of the great post-war period. It has been suggested that the -Ten Commandments, when rightly applied, may help us through the coming -difficulties. We beg to suggest that a thorough knowledge of the past -will prove to be quite as useful as the Decalogue. We do not make this -statement hastily. Furthermore, we qualify it by the observation that -both History and the Decalogue will be only two of a great many other -remedies that will have to be applied if the world is to be set free -from its present nightmare of poison gas and high-velocity shells. But -we insist that History be included. And we do so upon the statement of -a learned and famous colleague who passed through a most disastrous -war and yet managed to keep a cool head. We mean Thucydides. In his -foreword to the History of the Peloponnesian War he wrote: “The absence -of romance in my history will, I fear, detract somewhat from its -interest; but if it be judged by those inquirers who desire an exact -knowledge of the past as an aid to the interpretation of the future, -which in the course of human things, must resemble, if it does not -reflect it, I shall be content.” - -When we measure out achievements in the light of this ancient Greek -ideal, we have accomplished very little indeed. An enormous amount of -work has been done and much of it is excellent. The great wilderness -of the past has been explored with diligent care and the material -lies, carefully classified, in those literary museums which we call -libraries. But the public refuses to go in. No one has ever been able -to convince the man in the street that time employed upon historical -reading is not merely time wasted. He carries with him certain hazy -notions about a few names, Cæsar and Joan of Arc (since the war) and -Magna Charta and George Washington and Abraham Lincoln. He remembers -that Paul Revere took a ride, but whither and for what purpose he -neither knows nor cares to investigate. The historical tie which -binds him to the past and which alone can make him understand his own -position in relation to the future, is non-existent. Upon special -occasions the multitude is given the benefit of a grand historical -pyrotechnic display, paid for by the local Chamber of Commerce, and a -few disjointed facts flash by amidst the fine roar of rockets and the -blaring of a brass band. But this sort of historical evangelising has -as little value as the slapstick vespers which delight the congregation -of Billy Sunday’s circus tent. - -We live in an age of patent medicines. The short-cut to success is the -modern _pons asinorum_ which leads to happiness. And remedies which -are “guaranteed to cure” are advertised down the highways and byways -of our economic and social world. But no such cure exists for the sad -neglect of an historical background. History can never be detached from -life. It will continue to reflect the current tendencies of our modern -world until that happy day when we shall discontinue the pursuit of a -non-essential greatness and devote our energies towards the acquisition -of those qualities of the spirit without which human existence (at its -best) resembles the proverbial dog-kennel. - -For the coming of that day we must be as patient as Nature. - - HENDRIK WILLEM VAN LOON - - - - -SEX - - “The sin I impute to each frustrate ghost - Is the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin.” - - -In one of the popular plays of last season, a melodrama toned up with -snatches of satire and farce, the wife was portrayed as a beaten dog -heeling her master after he has crushed her down across the table the -better to rowel off her nose. Not until the would-be mutilator was -finally disposed of by an untrammelled Mexican did the woman feel free -to go to her lover, and even then she took little or no satisfaction in -the venture. As for the lover, he had to be robbed of his pistol by the -husband and shot at, and then--the husband out of the way--threatened -by the bandit with the loss of the woman, before he felt free to take -her. The two New Englanders were made happy in spite of themselves--and -in accordance with the traditions or conventions of the audience. - -To leave a husband for a lover is in theory un-American, unless the -husband gives a legal ground for divorce and the divorce is secured. In -several States cruelty is a legal ground, and so the conjugal fidelity -of the stage-heroine was perhaps overdrawn. But the feeling that she -was presumed to share with the audience--that the initiative towards -freedom in love should not come from her--is a characteristic trait -of American morality. If your husband is unrestrainedly a brute or a -villain, you may leave him, in fact it behooves you to leave him, but -if he is merely a bore, or perhaps a man you like well enough as a -friend, but only as a friend, you must stay on with him in an intimacy -where boredom readily becomes aversion and mere friendliness, disgust. -The fact that you do not love a person is no reason at all, in American -opinion, for not living as if you did. - -This opinion or attitude is explicit in American divorce law. In -none of the States is divorce granted either by mutual consent or at -the desire, the overt desire, of either person. In fact collusion, -as mutual consent is called, is accounted a reason against granting -divorce, and desire for divorce on the part of one remains ineffectual -until the other has been forced into entertaining it. He or she must -be given due ground. Disinclination to intimacy is not of itself due -ground. You must express disinclination in a way so disagreeable that -he or she will want to get rid of you. The law sets a premium on being -hateful, declares indeed that in this case it is an indispensable -condition to not being miserable. - -The grotesqueness, from either a social or psychological point of view, -would be too obvious to emphasize, if the implications of this attitude -towards divorce were not so significant of American attitudes at large -towards sex--attitudes of repression or deception. Of deception or -camouflage towards divorce there is one other conspicuous point I -should like to note. “Strictness of divorce” is commonly argued to be -protection of marriage for the sake of children, since brittle marriage -is destructive of the family life. It is safe to say that from no -contemporary discussion of divorce will this argument be omitted; and -it is equally safe to say that the rejoinder that divorce laws should -therefore discriminate between parents and non-parents will, by the -opponents of divorce, pass unheeded. That this distinction should be so -persistently ignored is accountable only, it seems to me, on the ground -of emotional self-deception. What else but a covert emotional attitude -could make tenable the irrationality, and what else is that attitude -but that joy in mating is of negligible value, that sex emotion, if not -a necessary evil, is at any rate a negligible good, deserving merely -of what surplus of attention may be available from the real business -of life? Indifference towards sex emotion is masked by concern for -offspring. - -In France, we may note, this confusion between parenthood and mating -does not exist. The parental relation in both law and custom is highly -regulated, much more regulated than among English-speaking peoples, -but it is unlikely that it would be argued in France that mating and -parenthood were inseparable concepts. Unlikely, because the French -attitude towards sex differs so radically from the Anglo-Saxon. - -To the French, as to many of the Continental peoples of Europe, sexual -interest is normally to be kept stimulated, neither covered over nor -suppressed. And in this case stimulation is seen to depend largely -upon the factor of interrelation. Sex-facts are to be related to other -facts of life, not rigidly or _a priori_, as in the American view that -mating is inseparable from parenthood, but fluently and realistically, -as life itself moves and finds expression. And sex-facts in European -opinion are to be interrelated in a philosophy of sex. Failure to make -these interrelations, together with the attitude of suppression, seem -to me to be the outstanding aspects of the characteristically American -attitude towards sex. - -There is no need in this post-Freudian day of dwelling upon the effects -of suppression of sex instinct or impulse. Suppression leads, we are -told, either to sublimation, in which case it is diversion, rather -than suppression, or it leads to perversion or disease. Unfortunately -sex-pathology in the United States has been given little or no study, -statistically. We have no statistical data of health or disease in -relation to the expression or suppression of sex instinct, and no data -on the extent or the effects of homosexuality or of the direction -of the sex impulses towards self. Opinion therefore becomes merely -a matter of personal observation and conclusion, observation of -individuals or small groups. My own conclusion or guess in regard -to perversion in this country is that part of the commonly observed -spirit of isolation or antagonism between the sexes, and part of -the spirit of competition between individuals, are associated with -homosexual or masturbatory tendencies which get expressed in varying -degrees according to varying circumstances. More particularly the -lack of warmth in personal intercourse which makes alike for American -bad manners and, in the more intellectual circles, for cheerlessness -and aridity is due, I think, to failure of one kind or another in sex -relations. I mean cultural failure, not merely individual failure. - -May not some such theory of sex failure account also for that herd -sense which is so familiar a part of Americanism, and which is not -incompatible with the type of self-seeking or pseudo-individualism -of which American individualism appears to be an expression? It is a -tenable hypothesis that sexually isolated individuals become dependent -upon the group for stimulus, whether of emotion or will, whereas -persons in normal sex relations, although they may contribute to the -group or co-operate with it, remain comparatively independent of it, -finding stimulus in sex and its sublimations. - -If this theory is valid, we may expect to find a comparatively large -number of sex failures in those circles which are characterized by -what Everett Dean Martin has recently called crowd behaviour, reform -circles intolerant of other mindedness and obsessed by belief in the -paramountcy of their own dogma. - - “_Leur printemps sans jeunesse exige des folies, - Leur sang brûlant leur dicte des propos amers, - L’émeute est un remède à la mélancolie, - Et nous aurions la paix si leurs yeux étaient clairs, - Ou leur femme jolie._” - -Were a set of tests for sex failure or sex fulfilment applied to the -more outstanding propagandists of this country, likewise, of course, -for comparative purposes, to an adequate number of non-propagandists, -the results might be of considerable significance. I recommend the -undertaking to the National Research Council in co-operation with some -organization for social hygiene. - -Meanwhile in what measure propagandism of various sorts may be a -perversion of sex or a sublimation remains speculative; and in applying -theory one should be thoroughly aware that from the day of Sappho and -before to the day of Elizabeth Blackwell and after, even to the Russian -Revolution, sex failure of one kind or another, the kind considered -at the time most despicable, has commonly been imputed to persons or -groups disapproved of on other grounds or reprobated. Some sublimation -of sex in the United States there must be, of course, not only, in -propaganda movements, but in other expressions of American culture, in -American art and letters and science, in philanthropy, in politics, -finance, and business. By and large, however, in all these cultural -expressions does one see any conspicuous measure of sex sublimation? Is -not the concern practical rather than devotional, a matter of getting -rather than giving, of self-advancement or family support rather than -of interest in ideas and their forms or in the values of taste or of -faith? - -Interest in impersonal subjects in general is not an American trait. -Personal concrete terms are the terms commonly used. Americans, as -we say, are not given to abstract thought or philosophy. They are -interested in facts as facts, not as related to other facts. How expect -of Americans, therefore, that kind of curiosity about sex which leads -to a philosophy of sex? Sex curiosity in American life does not lead -past curiosity about isolated facts, and that means that it leads -not to philosophy but to gossip and pruriency. Not long ago I was -talking with a woman about a common acquaintance to whom I referred -as singularly free through sophistication and circumstance to please -any man she liked. “What do you mean? Have you heard any scandal about -her?” snapped out my companion, not at all interested in the general -reflection, but avid of information about illicit affairs. - -Facts which are not held together through theory call for labels. -People who do not think in terms of relations are likely to be -insistent upon names. Labels or names for sex disposition or acts -are, as a matter of fact, very definite in the American vernacular. -“Engaged,” “attentive,” “devoted,” “a married man,” “a man of family,” -“a grass widow,” “a _good_ woman,” “a _bad_ woman”--there is no end -to such tags. Again, intimacy between a man and a woman is referred -definitely to the act of consummation, a sex relation is strictly -classified according to whether or not it is physically consummated. -In this attitude towards sex boundaries or captions may lie the -explanation, incidentally, of what is a constant puzzle to the European -visitor--the freedom of social intercourse allowed to the youth of -opposite sexes. Since consummation only constitutes sexual intimacy in -American opinion, and since consummation, it is assumed, is utterly -out of the question, why raise barriers between boys and girls? The -assumption that consummation is out of the question is, by and large, -correct, which is still another puzzle. To this some clue may be found, -I think, in our concluding discussion. - -Fondness for captions and for the sort of classification that is so -likely to paralyze perception of the finer distinctions and to arrest -thought, are natural enough in a child, learning language and so -pressed upon by the multiplicity of phenomena that in self-protection -he must make rough classifications and remain unaware of much. The -old who are dying to life are also exclusive, and they, too, cling -to formulas. Is American culture in the matter of sex childish and -immature, as Americans imply when they refer to their “young country,” -or is the culture representative of the aged; are Americans born old, -as now and again a European critic asserts? - -Such terms of age are figurative, of course, unless we take them in -a historical sense, meaning either that a new culture was developed -in this country--or rather that there were fresh developments of an -old culture--or that an old culture was introduced and maintained -without significant change. This is not the place to discuss the -cultural aspects of Colonial America, but it is important to bear in -mind in any discussion of merely contemporaneous sex attitudes in this -country the contributions of European, and more particularly, English -morality. Without recalling the traditions of early Christianity or -of English Puritanism, those attitudes of ignoring or suppressing -the satisfactions of the impulses of sex to which we have referred -were indeed incomprehensible and bewildering--mere psychological -interpretation seems inadequate. But viewed as consequences of the -sense of sin in connection with sex, which was a legacy from Paul -and his successors in English Puritanism, interpretation is less -difficult, and the American attitude toward sex becomes comparatively -intelligible--the attitude seen in divorce and in the melodramas, and -in the standardizing of sex relations, in accordance with that most -significant of Pauline dogmas that marriage is the lesser of two evils, -that it is better to marry than to burn. Without the key of Paul and of -the obscenities of the early Christian Fathers how explain the recent -legislation in Virginia making it a crime to pay attention to a married -man or woman, or such a sermon as was recently preached somewhere -in the Middle West urging a crusade against the practice of taking -another man’s wife in to dinner or dancing round dances? “At a dinner -of friends let every man take his own wife on his arm and walk in to -their seats side by side at the dinner table to the inspiring music -of ‘Onward Christian Soldiers,’” urged the minister. As to dancing, -whenever a man is seen to put his arm around a woman who is not his -wife, the band should cease playing. I do not quote the words of the -latter injunction, as they are rather too indecent. - -Turning from the historical back to the psychological point of view--in -one of those circles of cause and effect that are composed now of -cultural inheritance or tradition, now of psychological trend or -disposition--the American case of sex, whether a case of adolescence or -of senescence, may be said to present symptoms of arrested development. -Together with the non-realism of childish or senile formula, there is -here the kind of emotionalism which checks emotional vitality and which -is fed upon the sense of crisis; we may call it crisis-emotion. Life at -large, the sex life in particular, is presented as a series of crises -preceded and followed by a static condition, and in these conventional -times of crisis only, the times when the labels are being attached, -are the emotions aroused. In the intervals, in the stretches between -betrothal, marriage, birth, christening, or divorce, there is little or -no sense of change--none of the emotions that correspond to changing -relations and are expressions of personal adjustment. The emotions of -crisis are statutory, pre-determined, conventionalized; neither for -oneself nor for others do they make any demands upon imagination, or -insight, or spiritual concern. - -Here in this psychology of crisis is the clue--before mentioned--to -an understanding of the freedom allowed our youth, of “bundling,” -as the Colonials termed it, or, in current phrase, “petting.” In -general, “keeping company” is accounted one kind of a relationship, -marriage, another--one characterized by courtship without consummation, -the other by consummation without courtship. Between the two kinds -of relationship there is no transition, it is assumed, except by -convention or ritual. So inrooted is this social attitude that the -young cannot escape adopting it, at least the very young to whom, at -any rate, uncritical conservatism seems to be natural. Indeed the taboo -on unritualized consummation partakes enough of the absolutism of the -taboo, shall we say, on incest, to preclude any risk of individual -youthful experimentation or venture across the boundary lines set by -the Elders. - -Given these boundary lines, given a psychology of crisis, all too -readily the sex relations, in marriage or out, become stale, flat, -colourless, or of the nature of debauch, which is only another -aspect of crisis-psychology. Sex relations perforce become limited -to two conventions, marriage and prostitution. Prostitute or wife, -the conjugal or the disorderly house, these are the alternatives. In -formulaic crisis-psychology there may be no other station of emotional -experiment or range of emotional expression. - -That a man should “sow his wild oats” before marriage, and after -marriage “settle down,” is becoming throughout the country a somewhat -archaic formula, at least in so far as wild oats means exposure to -venereal disease; but there has been no change, so far as I am aware, -in the attitude towards the second part of the formula on settling -down--in conjugal segregation. The married are as obtrusively married -as ever, and their attitude towards persons of the opposite sex as -dull and forbidding. Few “happily married” women but refer incessantly -in their conversation to their husband’s opinion or stand; and what -devoted husband will fail to mention his wife in one way or another -as a notice of his immunity against the appeal of sex in any degree -by any other woman? Shortly after the war, a certain American woman -of my acquaintance who was travelling in France found herself without -money and in danger of being put off her train before reaching Paris -and her banker’s. She found a fellow-countryman and told him her -predicament. He was quite willing to pay her fare; she was an American -and a woman, but she was informed firmly and repeatedly that her knight -was a married man, and besides, he was travelling with his business -partner. Soon after I heard this anecdote I happened to repeat it to a -Chicago lawyer who promptly joined in the laugh over the American man’s -timidity. “Still, a married man travelling can’t be too prudent,” he -finished off. - -Circumspection towards women, in travel or elsewhere, or, better still, -indifference towards women, is the standardized attitude of American -husbands. In marriage, too, a relationship of status rather than of -attention to the fluctuations of personality, indifference to psychical -experience, is a not uncommon marital trait. American men in general, -as Europeans have noted, are peculiarly indifferent to the psychology -of women. They are also peculiarly sentimental about women, a trait -quite consistent with indifference or ignorance, but one which, in view -of American prostitution and the persistent exclusion of many women -from equal opportunities for education and for life, gives an ugly look -of hypocrisy to the trumpeters of American chivalry. - -And yet subject the American concept of chivalry to a little scrutiny -and the taunt, at least of hypocrisy, will miss the mark. For the -concept is, both actually and historically, a part of the already -noted classification of women as more or less sequestered, on the one -hand, and unsequestered or loose on the other, as inexperienced and -over-experienced or, more accurately, partially over-experienced. In -this classification the claims of both classes of women are settled by -men on an economic basis, with a few sentimentalities about womanhood, -pure or impure, thrown in for good measure. The personality of the -woman a man feels that he is supporting, whether as wife or prostitute, -may, theoretically, be disregarded and, along with her personality, her -capacity for sexual response. Whether as a creature of sin or as an -object of chivalry, a woman becomes a depersonalized, and, sexually, an -unresponsive being. - -People sometimes forget this when they discuss the relations between -men and women in this country, and especially the sexlessness or -coldness of American women. They forget it in arguing against the -feminizing of education, the theatre, literature, etc., meaning, -not that women run the schools or are market for the arts, but that -immature, sexless women are in these ways too much to the fore. In -part at least it is thanks to chivalry or to her “good and considerate -husband” that the American woman, the non-wage earner at least, does -not grow up, and that it is possible for so many women to marry without -having any but the social consequences of marriage in mind. One -surmises that there are numbers, very large numbers, of American women, -married as well as unmarried, who have felt either no stirring of sex -at all or at most only the generalized sex stir of pre-adolescence. -What proportion of women marry “for a home” or to escape from a home, -or a job, and what proportion marry for love? After marriage, with the -advent of children, what of these proportions? - -Marriage for a home or for the sake of children, chivalry, -“consideration” for the wife, all these attitudes are matters of -status, not of personality, and to personality, not to status, love -must look, since love is an art, not a formula. It often seems that -in American culture, whether in marriage or out, little or no place -is open to this patient, ardent, and discerning art, and that lovers -are invariably put to flight. Even if they make good their escape, -their adventure is without social significance, since it is perforce -surreptitious. Only when adventurers and artists in love are tolerated -enough to be able to come out from under cover, and to be at least -allowed to live, if only as variants from the commonplace, may they -contribute of their spirit or art to the general culture. - - ELSIE CLEWS PARSONS - - - - -THE FAMILY - - -The American family is the scapegoat of the nations. Foreign critics -visit us and report that children are forward and incorrigible, that -wives are pampered and extravagant, and that husbands are henpecked -and cultureless. Nor is this the worst. It only skims the surface by -comparison with the strictures of home-grown criticism. Our domestic -arbiters of every school have a deeper fault to find: they see the -family as a crumbling institution, a swiftly falling bulwark. Catholic -pulpits call upon St. Joseph to save the ruins and Puritan moralists -invoke Will Carlton, believing in common with most of our public -guardians that only saints and sentimentalism can help in such a -crisis. Meanwhile the American family shows the usual tenacity of form, -beneath much superficial change, uniting in various disguises the most -ancient and the newest modes of living. In American family life, if -anywhere, the Neolithic meets the modern and one needs to be very rash -or very wise to undertake the nice job of finding out which is which. -But one at least refuses to defeat one’s normal curiosity by joining -in the game of blind-man’s buff, by means of which public opinion -about the family secures a maximum of activity along with a minimum of -knowledge. - -A little science would be of great help. But popular opinion does not -encourage scientific probing of the family. In this field, not honesty -but evasion is held to be the best policy. Rather than venture where -taboo is so rife and the material so sensitive, American science would -much rather promote domestic dyes and seedless oranges. It is true -that we have the Federal Census with its valuable though restrained -statistics. But even the census has always taken less interest in -family status and family composition, within the population, than in -the classification of property and occupation and the fascinating -game of “watching Tulsa grow.” In no country is the collection of -vital statistics so neglected and sporadic and the total yield of -grab-bag facts so unamenable to correlation. Through the persistent -effort of the Children’s Bureau, this situation has been considerably -improved during the past ten years; so that now there exist the -so-called “registration areas” where births, marriages, and deaths -are actually recorded. For the country as a whole, these vital facts -still go unregistered. The prevailing sketchiness in the matter of -vital statistics is in distinct contrast to the energy and thoroughness -with which American political machinery manages to keep track of the -individual who has passed the age of twenty-one. - -One of the tendencies, statistically verified, of the native family -is its reduction in size. In the first place the circumference of the -family circle has grown definitely smaller through the loss of those -adventitious members, the maiden aunt and the faithful servant. The -average number of adult females in the typical household is nowadays -just one. The odd women are out in the world on their own; they no -longer live “under the roofs” of their brothers-in-law. Miss Lulu -Bett is almost an anachronism in 1920. The faithful servant has -been replaced by the faithless one, who never by any chance remains -long enough to become a familial appendage, or else she has not -been replaced at all. Even “Grandma” has begun to manifest symptoms -of preferring to be on her own. Thus the glory of the patriarchal -household has visibly departed, leaving only the biological minimum in -its stead. - -In the dwindling of this ultimate group lies the crux of the matter. -The American grows less and less prolific, and panicky theorists can -already foresee a possible day when the last 100 per cent. American -Adam and the last 100 per cent. American Eve will take their departure -from our immigrationized stage. It is providentially arranged--the -maxim tells us--that the trees shall not grow and grow until they -pierce the heavens; but is there any power on the job of preventing -the progressive decline of the original Anglo-Saxon stock even to the -point of final extinction? This is a poignant doubt in a country where -the Anglo-Saxon strain enjoys a prestige out of all proportion to its -population quota. The strain may derive what comfort it can from the -reflection that the exit of the Indian was probably not due to birth -control. - -Still, birth control is not new. If it did not originate with the -Indians, it did at least with the Puritans. As the census books -and genealogy books show, every succeeding American generation has -manifested a tendency to reduce the birth-rate. The new aspects of the -situation are the acceleration of the tendency and the propaganda for -family limitation by artificial methods. In the birth registration -area, which includes twenty-three States, the number of births for the -year 1919 compared with those for 1918 showed a slump of seven per -cent. Also the current assumption that children are more numerous on -farms, where they are an economic asset, than they are in cities, where -they became an economic handicap, has recently received a startling -correction through a survey made by the Department of Agriculture. -Among the surprises of the study, says the report, was the small -number of children in farm homes:--“Child life is at a premium in -rural districts.” The farm is not the national child reserve it has -been supposed to be. As far as the salaried class is concerned, it -has stood out as the national pace-setter in family limitation. The -editorial writer of the New York _Times_, who may be trusted for a -fairly accurate statement of the standards of this group, justifies -its conduct thus: “Unless the brain-worker is willing to disclass his -children, to subject them to humiliation, he must be willing to feed, -clothe, and educate them during many years. In such circumstances, to -refuse parenthood is only human.” It therefore remains for the manual -worker, who cannot obtain from his Church the same absolution that the -suburban resident can obtain from his _Times_, to produce the bulk of -the population. This, as a whole, is not yet stationary; the recent -census estimates an annual excess of births over deaths throughout -the United States amounting to about one per cent. What will the next -decade do with it? - -A peculiar feature of the American propaganda for birth control is its -specific advocacy of artificial methods. The defenders of this cause -have been compelled, it appears, to define a position which would be -self-evident in any society not incorrigibly Puritan. People who regard -celibacy as a state of grace and celibacy within marriage as a supreme -moral victory are still growing, it would seem, on every bush. This -unwholesome belief must have its effect upon the birth control methods -of the married population. It is a matter of speculation how many -marriages succumb to its influence, especially after the birth of a -second or third child; but there is reason to believe that the ascetic -method is by no means uncommon. You cannot hold up an ideal before -people steadily for forty years without expecting some of them to try -to follow it. This kind of rigorous negativism passes for morality in -America and finds its strongest devotees among the middle-aged and the -heads of families. Such people are greatly shocked at the wild conduct -of the young who are certainly out of bounds since the war; but the -most striking feature of the current wave of so-called immorality is -the exposure of the bankruptcy of ideals among the older generation. -There are thirty million families in the United States; presumably -there are at least sixty million adults who have experimented with -the sexual relationship with the sanction of society. But experience -has taught them nothing if one may judge by the patented and soulless -concepts which still pass for sexual morality among people who are -surely old enough to have learned about life from living it. - -The population policies of the government are confined to the supply -through immigration. A few years ago, an American president enunciated -population policies of his own and conducted an energetic though -solitary campaign against “race suicide.” But no faction rallied to his -standard, no organization rose up to speed his message. His bugle-call -was politely disregarded as the personal idiosyncrasy of a popular -president who happened to be the proud father of six children. Mr. -Roosevelt was evidently out of tune with his own generation, as, no -doubt, Mr. Washington was with his, for exactly the opposite reason. -But the more retiring nature of our first president saved him from the -egoistic error of regarding his own familial situation as the only -proper and desirable example. The complete failure of Mr. Roosevelt’s -crusade is significant. There are clerical influences in America which -actively fight race suicide, but with these obscurantist allies the -doughty son of a Dutch Reform family had too little else in common. -Among the men of his own class he stirred not an echo. Is it because -the American husband is too uxorious or too indifferent? I have heard -a married man say, “It is too much to expert of any woman;” and still -another one explain, “The Missis said it was my turn next and so we -stopped with one.” Or is there any explanation in the fact that the -American father tends more and more to spend his life in a salaried job -and has little land or business to bequeath? Whatever the reason, the -Business Man is in accord with the Club Woman on the subject of birth -control, in practice if not in theory. - -So far as relative distribution of income is concerned, the families -of the United States fare much as those in the industrial countries -of Europe. In 1910, the same relative inequality of wealth and income -existed in feudal Prussia and democratic America. The richest fifth of -the families in each country claimed about half the income while the -poorest two-thirds of the families were thankful for about one-third. -The same law of economic relativity falls alike on the just American -and the unjust Prussian. But the American family, it appears, is -in every case two or three times better off than the corresponding -family in Prussia. You must multiply Herr Stinnes by two to get a -Judge Gary and the wealth of a Silesian child labourer is only half -that of a Georgia mill-child. This economic advantage of our American -rich and poor alike is measured chiefly in dollars and marks and not -in actual standards of living. It is apparently difficult to get real -standards of living out into the open; otherwise the superior fortune -of American families of every estate might be less evident. Some of us -who may have visited middle-class Prussian people only half as well -off as ourselves probably did not commiserate the poor things as they -deserved. My hostess, I recall, had eight hundred dollars a year on -which she maintained an apartment of two rooms, bath, and kitchen; -kept a part-time maid; bought two new suits’ a year; drove out in a -hired carriage on Sunday; and contributed generously to a society -which stirred up women to call themselves Frau instead of Fräulein. -Any “single woman” in an American city of equal size who could have -managed as much in those days on fifteen hundred a year would certainly -have deserved a thumping thrift-prize.... And then there were all -those poor little children in a Black Forest village, who had to -put up with rye bread six days in the week and white bread only on -Sundays. Transported to America, they might have had package crackers -every day and ice-cream sandwiches on Sunday. One wonders whether the -larger income of the American family is not largely spent on things of -doubtful value and pinchbeck quality. - -According to theory, the income of the family normally belongs to the -man of the house. According to theory, he has earned it or derived -it from some lawful business enterprise. “The head of the family -ordinarily divides income between himself and his various dependents -in the proportion that he deems best,” says Mr. Willford King. -The American husband has a peculiarly unblemished reputation as a -provider--and probably deserves it. Certainly few husbands in the world -are so thoughtful of their widows; they invest extensively in life -insurance but rarely in annuities against a period of retirement. Trust -Companies remind them through advertisements every day to make their -wills, and cemetery corporations nag them incessantly to buy their -graves. “Statistics show that women outlive men!” says the promoter -of America’s Burial Park. “They show that the man who puts off the -selection of a burial place leaves the task to the widow in her grief. -For the man it is easy now--for the woman an ordeal then.” The chivalry -of the business man leads him to contrive all sorts of financial -mechanisms for his widow’s convenience and protection. His will, like -his insurance policy, is in her favour. Unlike the European husband, he -hates to leave the man’s world of business and to spend his declining -years in the society of his wife. After he is dead, she is welcome to -his all, but so long as he lives he keeps business between them. - -Though in life and death a generous provider, he is not a systematic -one. Financial arrangements between husband and wife are extremely -casual. As the dowry hardly exists, so a regular cash allowance is -very rare. He loves to hold the purse-strings and let her run the -bills. This tendency is known in the outside business world, and the -American wife, therefore, enjoys a command of credit which would amaze -any solvent foreign housekeeper. She has accounts on every hand. She -orders food by telephone or through the grocer’s boy and “charges it.” -The department store expects her to have a charge account, and gives -her better service if she does. For instance, the self-supporting woman -who is, for obvious reasons, more inclined to pay as she goes, finds -herself discriminated against in the matter of returning or exchanging -goods. In numerous ways, the charge account has the inside track. This -would not seem strange if credit were limited to the richest fraction. -But that is not the case; almost every housewife in the country has -credit, from the Newport ladies to the miners’ wives who “trade at the -company store.” The only difference is that, in the case of these two -extremes--Newport and the company store--longer credit than ususal -seems to be the rule. In the meantime, the preaching of thrift to the -American housewife goes on incessantly by apostles from a business -world which is largely organized on the assumption that she does not -possess it and which would be highly disconcerted if she actually -developed it. American business loves the housewife for the same reason -that it loves China--that is, for her economic backwardness. - -The record of the American husband as a provider is not uniform for -all classes. In Congress it is now and then asserted with appropriate -oratory that there are no classes in America. This is more or less true -from the point of view of a Cabin Creek vote-getter, who lives in a -factitious political world, where economic realities fail to penetrate; -to him middle-class and working-class are much the same since they -have equal rights not to “scratch the ticket.” But the economist finds -it convenient, as has been said, to classify the totality of American -families in definite income-groups corresponding to the Prussian -classes. As one descends the income scale one finds that the American -husband no longer fulfils his reputation for being sole provider for -his family. According to Edgar Sydenstricker, “less than half of the -wage-earners’ families in the United States, whose heads are at work, -have been found to be supported by the earnings of the husband or -father.” The earnings of the mother and the children are a necessary -supplement to bring the family income up to the subsistence level. Half -the workingmen, who have dutifully “founded” families, cannot support -them. According to the latest figures published, it costs $2,334 a year -to keep a family of five in New York. Have the young Lochinvars of the -tenements never heard of those appalling figures? Very likely they have -a premonition, if not an actual picture of the digits. In any case they -have their mothers to warn them. “Henry’s brought it on himself,” said -the janitress. “He had a right not to get married. He had his mother -to take care of him.” If he had only chosen bachelorhood, he might -have lived at home in comfort and peace on his twenty-five a week. But -having chosen, or been chosen by, Mrs. Henry instead, it is now up -to the latter to go out office-cleaning or operating, which she very -extensively does. It is estimated that since the war fully one-third of -all American women in industry are married. - -Going back up the scale to the middle-class wife, we find new -influences at work upon her situation. Custom has relaxed its -condemnation of the economically independent wife, and perhaps it -is just as well that it has done so. For this is the class which -has suffered the greatest comparative loss of fortune, during the -last fifteen years. “If all estimates cited are correct,” writes Mr. -Willford King, “it indicates that, since 1896, there has occurred a -marked concentration of income in the hands of the very rich; that -the poor have relatively lost but little; but that the middle class -has been the principal sufferer.” It is, then, through the sacrifices -of our middle-class families that our very richest families have -been able to improve their standard of living. The poor, of course, -have had no margin on which to practise such benevolence, but the -generous middle-class has given till it hurts. The deficit had to be -relieved, the only possible way being through the economic utilization -of the women. At first daughters became self-supporting, while wives -still tarried in the odour of domestic sanctity; then wives came to -be sporadically self-supporting. The war, like peace still bearing -hardest on the middle-class, enhanced all this. Nine months after the -armistice, fifty per cent. more women were employed in industry than -there were in the year before the war. - -In America, we have no surplus women. The countries of western Europe -are each encumbered with a million or two, and their existence is -regarded as the source of acute social problems. What shall be done -with them is a matter of earnest consideration and anxious statecraft. -America has been spared all this. She has also no surplus men--or none -that anybody has ever heard of. It is true that the population in 1910 -consisted of ninety-one millions, of whom forty-seven millions were -men and forty-four were women. There were three million more men than -women, but for some reason they were not surplus or “odd” men and they -have never been a “problem.” The population figures for 1920,--one -hundred and five millions,--have not yet been divided by sexes, but the -chances are that there is still a man for every woman in the country, -and two men apiece for a great number of them. However, no one seems to -fear polyandry for America as polygamy is now feared in Europe. - -The situation is exceptional in New England where the typical European -condition is duplicated. Beyond the Berkshire Hills, all the surplus -women of America are concentrated. In the United States as a whole -there are a hundred and five men for each one hundred women, but in -New England the balance shifts suddenly to the other side. Within the -present century, a gradual increase has taken place in the masculine -contingent owing to immigration. But the chances of marriage have not -correspondingly improved, for matches are rarely made between New -England spinsters and Armenian weavers or Neapolitan bootblacks. - -In America only the very rich and the very poor marry early. Factory -girls and heiresses are, as a rule, the youngest brides. It is -generally assumed that twenty-four for women and twenty-nine for -men are the usual ages for marriage the country over. Custom varies -enormously, of course, in so polyglot a population. Now and then an -Italian daughter acquires a husband before the compulsory education -law is through with her. In such cases, however, there is apparently a -gentleman’s agreement between the truant officer and the lady’s husband -which solves the dilemma. At the opposite extreme from these little -working-class Juliets are the mature brides of Boston. As the result -of a survey covering the last ten years, the registrar of marriage -licenses discovered that the women married between twenty-seven and -thirty-three and the men between thirty and forty. Boston’s average -marriage age for both sexes is over thirty. This does not represent -an inordinate advance upon the practice of the primitive Bostonians. -According to certain American genealogists, the Puritans of the 17th -century were in no great haste to wed--the average age of the bride -being twenty-one and of the bridegroom twenty-five. The marriage -age in the oldest American city has moved up about ten years in a -couple of centuries. The change is usually ascribed to increasing -economic obstacles, and nobody questions its desirability. Provided -that celibacy is all that it seems to be, the public stands ready to -admire every further postponement of the marriage age as evidence of an -ever-growing self-control and the triumphant march of civilization. - -In the majority of marriages, the American wife outlives her husband. -This is partly because he is several years older than she and partly -because she tends to be longer-lived than he. Americans of the second -and third generation are characterized by great longevity,--the -American woman of American descent being the longest-lived human being -on earth. Consequently the survivors of marriage are more likely to -be widows than widowers. In the census of 1910, there were about two -million and a half widows of forty-five or over as compared with about -one million widowers of corresponding age. Nor do they sit by the -fire and knit as once upon a time; they too must “hustle.” Among the -working women of the country are a million and a quarter who are more -than forty-five and who are probably to a very large extent--though -the census provides no data on the subject--economically independent -widows. As was said before, “Grandma” too is on her own nowadays. - -The widow enjoys great honour in American public life, although it -usually turns out to be rather a spurious and sentimental homage. -Political orators easily grow tearful over her misfortunes. For -generations after the Civil War, the Republican Party throve on a -pension-system which gathered in the youngest widow of the oldest -veteran, and Tammany has always understood how to profit from its -ostentatious alms-giving to widows and orphans. From my earliest -childhood, I can recollect how the town-beautifiers, who wanted to -take down the crazy board fences, were utterly routed by the aldermen -who said the widow’s cow must range and people must therefore keep -up their fences. Similarly, the Southern States have never been able -to put through adequate child labour laws because the widow’s child -had to be allowed to earn in order to support his mother. All this -sentimentalism proved to be in time an excellent springboard for a -genuine economic reform--the widow’s pension systems of the several -states which would be more accurately described as children’s pensions. -The legislatures were in no position to resist an appeal on behalf of -the poor widow and so nicely narcotized were they by their traditional -tender-heartedness that they failed to perceive the socialistic -basis of this new kind of widow’s pensions. Consequently America has -achieved the curious honour of leading in a socialistic innovation -which European States are now only just beginning to copy. Maternity -insurance, on the other hand, has made no headway in America although -adopted years and even decades ago in European countries. With us the -obstacle seems to be prudishness rather than capitalism--it makes a -legislator blush to hear childbirth spoken of in public while it only -makes him cry to hear of widowhood. - -One aspect of widowhood is seldom touched upon and that is its -prevention. Aged widows, on the whole, in spite of their soap-boxing -and their wage-earning, are a very lonely race. Why must they bring -it on themselves by marrying men whose expectation of life is so much -less than theirs? And yet so anxious are the marrying people to observe -this conventional disparity of age, that if the bride happens to be -but by three months the senior of the bridegroom, they conceal it -henceforth as a sort of family disgrace. Even if this convention should -prove to be immutable, is there nothing to be done about the lesser -longevity of the American male? There is a life extension institute -with an ex-president at the head but, as far as I am aware, it has -never enlisted the support of the millions reported by the census as -widows, who surely, if anybody, should realize the importance of such -a movement. It is commonly assumed that the earlier demise of husbands -is due to the hazardous life they lead in business and in industry; -but domestic life is not without its hazards, and child-bearing is an -especially dangerous trade in the United States, which has the highest -maternal death-rate of seventeen civilized countries. If American -husbands were less philosophical about the hardships of child-bed--the -judgment of Eve and all that sort of thing--and American wives were -less philosophical about burying their husbands--the Lord hath given -and the Lord hath taken away and so on--it might result in greater -health and happiness for all concerned. - -But the main trouble with American marriage, as all the world knows, is -that divorce so often separates the twain before death has any chance -to discriminate between them. The growing prevalence of divorce is -statistically set forth in a series of census investigations. In 1890, -there was one divorce to every sixteen marriages; in 1900, there was -one to every twelve marriages; and in 1916, there was one to every nine -marriages. The number of marriages in proportion to the population -has also increased during the same period, though not at a rate equal -to that of divorce. But divorce, being so much younger than marriage, -has had more room to grow from its first humble scared beginnings of -fifty years ago. Queen Victoria’s frown had a very discouraging effect -on divorce in America; and Mrs. Humphry Ward, studying the question -among us in the early 20th century, lent her personal influence -towards the arrest of the American evil. We also have raised up on -this side of the water our own apostles against divorce, among whom -Mr. Horace Greeley perhaps occupies the first and most distinguished -place. But in spite of all heroic crusades, divorce has continued to -grow. One even suspects that the marked increase in the marriage rate -is partly--perhaps largely--due to the remarriage of the divorced. At -any rate, they constitute new and eligible material for marriage which -formerly was lacking. - -The true cause of the increase of divorce in America is not easy to -come by. Commissions and investigations have worried the question to -no profitable end, and have triumphantly come out by the same door by -which they went in. That seems to be the test of a successful divorce -inquiry; and no wonder, for the real quest means a conflict with -hypocrisy and prejudice, fear and taboo, which only the intrepid spirit -of a John Milton or a Susan B. Anthony is able to sustain. The people -who want divorces and who can pay for them seem to be able to get them -nowadays, and since it is the truth only that suffers the situation has -grown more tolerable. - -In the meantime, there are popular impressions and assumptions which -do not tally with the known facts. It is assumed that divorce is -frequent in America because it is easy, and that the logical way to -reduce it would be to make it difficult. Certain States of the West -have lenient divorce laws but other States have stringent laws, while -South Carolina abolished divorce entirely in 1878. On the whole, our -laws are not so lenient as those of Scandinavia, whose divorce rate is -still far behind that of the United States. Neither is divorce cheap -in America; it is enormously expensive. Therefore for the poor it is -practically inaccessible. The Domestic Relations Courts do not grant -divorce and the Legal Aid Societies will not touch it. The wage-earning -class, like the inhabitants of South Carolina, just have to learn to -get along without it. Then there is another belief, hardly justified by -the facts, that most divorced wives get alimony. Among all the divorces -granted in 1916, alimony was not even asked for by 73 per cent. of the -wives and it was received altogether by less than 20 per cent. of them. -The statistics do not tell us whether the actual recipients of alimony -were the mothers of young children or whether they were able-bodied -ladies without offspring. The average American divorce court could not -be trusted to see any difference between them. - -The war has naturally multiplied the actions for divorce in every -country. It was not for nothing that the British government called the -stipends paid to soldiers’ wives “separation allowances.” The war-time -conditions had a tendency to unmake marriages as well as to make them. -The momentary spread of divorce has revived again the idea of a uniform -divorce law embodied in an amendment to the Federal Constitution. As -no reasonable law can possibly be hoped for, the present state of -confusion is infinitely to be preferred as affording at least some -choice of resources to the individual who is seeking relief. If -there were any tendency to take divorce cases out of the hands of the -lawyers, as has been done with industrial accidents, and to put it into -domestic relations courts where it belongs; if there were the least -possibility of curbing the vested interest of the newspapers in divorce -news; if there were any dawning appreciation of the absurdity of -penalizing as connivance the most unanswerable reason for divorce, that -is, mutual consent; if there were any likelihood that the lying and -spying upon which divorce action must usually depend for its success -would be viewed as the grossest immorality in the whole situation; -if there were any hope whatever that a statesman might rise up in -Congress and, like Johan Castberg of Norway, defend a legal measure -which would help ordinary men and women to speak the truth in their -personal relationships--if there were any prospect that any of these -influences would have any weight in the deliberations of Congress, -one might regard the possibilities of Federal action with a gleam of -hope. But since nothing of the kind can be expected, the best that -can happen in regard to divorce in the near future is for Congress to -leave it alone. There is a strong tradition in the historical suffrage -movement of America which favours liberal divorce laws and which makes -it improbable that a reactionary measure could gain sufficient support -from the feminine electorate. Since the majority of those who seek -divorce in this country are women, it seems to put them logically on -the side of dissoluble marriage. - -Though home is a sacred word in America, it is a portable affair. -Migration is a national habit, handed down and still retained from -the days when each generation went out to break new ground. The -disasters of the Civil War sent Southern families and New England -families scurrying to the far West. The development of the railway -and express systems produced as a by-product a type of family life -that was necessarily nomadic. The men of the railway “Brotherhoods” -have always been marrying men, and their families acquired the art of -living on wheels, as it were. Rich farmers of the Middle West retire -to spend their old age in a California cottage surrounded by an orange -grove--and the young farmers move to the city. The American family -travels on any and every excuse. The neurotic pursuit of health has -built up large communities in Colorado, Arizona, and other points West. -Whole families “picked up,” as the saying goes, and set out for the -miraculous climate that was to save one of its members from the dreaded -tuberculosis--and then later had to move again because somebody’s -heart couldn’t stand the “altitude.” The extreme examples of this -nomadic habit are found among the families of the very poor and the -very rich, who have regular seasonal migrations. The oyster canners -and strawberry-pickers have a mobility which is only equalled by that -of the Palm Beachers. And finally there is the curious practice of New -England which keeps boarders in the summer-time in order that it may be -boarded by Florida in the winter-time. - -By contrast with all this geographical instability, the stable sway -of convention and custom stands out impressively. With each change -of environment, family tradition became more sacred. Unitarians who -moved to Kansas were more zealous in the faith than ever, and F.F.V.’s -who settled in Texas were fiercely and undyingly loyal to the memory -of Pocahontas. Families that were always losing their background, -tried to fixate in some form the ancestral prestige which threatened -always to evaporate. Organizations composed of the Sons and Daughters -of the Revolution, of the descendants of the Pilgrims, of Civil War -Veterans, of the Scions of the Confederacy, and so on, sprang up and -flourished on the abundant soil of family pride. All of which means -that pioneering brought no spiritual independence or intellectual -rebirth, and that new conditions were anxiously reformulated under -the sanction of the old. Above all, sanction was important. That -incredible institution, the “society column” of the local newspaper, -took up the responsibility where the Past laid it down. Stereotyped -values of yesterday gave way to stereotyped values of to-day. This -was the commercial opportunity of a multitude of home journals and -women’s magazines which undertook--by means of stories, pictures, and -advertisements--to regiment the last detail of home life. But the -perforated patterns, the foods “shot from guns,” and all the rest -of the labour-saving ingenuities which came pouring into the home -and which were supposed to mean emancipation for mothers and their -families, brought little of the real spirit of freedom in their wake. -Our materialistic civilization finds it hard to understand that liberty -is not achieved through time-saving devices but only through the love -of it. - -But the notorious spoiling of the American child--some one says--is -not that a proper cradle of liberty for the personality? A spoilt -child may be a nuisance, but if he is on the way towards becoming a -self-reliant, self-expressive adult, the “American way” of bringing -up children may have its peculiar advantages. But a spoilt child is -really a babyish child, and by that token he is on the way towards -becoming a childish adult. Neither is his case disposed of simply by -adjudging him a nuisance; the consequence of his spoiling carry much -further than that. They are seen, for instance, in malnutrition of -the children of the American rich--a fact which has but recently been -discovered and which came as a great surprise to the experts. “In -Chicago,” one of them tells us, “it was found that a group of foreign -children near the stockyards were only 17 per cent. underweight, while -in the all-American group near the University of Chicago they were 57 -per cent. below normal.” The same condition of things was found in a -select and expensive boarding school in the neighbourhood of Boston. -A pathetic commentary--is it not?--on a country which leads the world -in food-packing and food-profits, that it should contain so many -parents who, with all the resources of the earth at their command, do -not know how to feed their own children. Surely, the famous American -spoiling has something to do with this. Whether it may not also be -behind the vast amount of mental disturbance in the population may well -be considered. The asylums are suddenly over-crowded. The National -Committee for Mental Hygiene suggests for our consolation that this may -be because the asylums are so much more humane than they used to be and -the families of the sufferers are more willing than formerly to consign -them to institutions. - -It is the fashion to attribute all these mental tragedies to the strain -of business life and industry, and more recently to war-shock. But if -we are to accept the results of the latest psychological research, -the family must receive the lion’s share of blame. The groundwork -for fatal ruptures in the adult personality is laid in childhood and -in the home which produced the victim. For many years the discussion -of American nerves has hinged on the hectic haste of business and -industrial life, on the noise and bustle and lack of repose in the -national atmosphere. But we have neglected to accuse the family to its -face of failing to protect the child against the cataclysms of the -future while it had the chance. - -The tremendous influence of the family on the individuals, old and -young, composing it is not merely a pious belief. We are, alas, -what our families make us. This is not a pleasant thought to many -individuals who have learned through bitter experience to look on -family relationships as a form of soul imprisonment. Yet it seems to be -an incontestable fact that personality is first formed--or deformed--in -the family constellation. The home really does the job for which the -school, the press, the church, and the State later get the credit. -It is a smoothly articulated course from the cradle onward, however, -in which the subjugated parent produces a subjugated child, not so -much by the rod of discipline--which figures very little in American -family life--but by the more powerful and pervasive force of habit and -attitude. Parents allow themselves to be a medium for transmitting the -incessant pressure of standards which allow no room for impulse and -initiative; they become the willing instrument of a public mania for -standardization which tries to make every human soul into the image -of a folded pattern. The babe is moulded in his cradle into the man -who will drop a sentimental tear, wear a white carnation, and send a -telegram on Mother’s Day--that travesty of a family festival which -shames affection and puts spontaneous feeling to the blush. - -As the family itself grows smaller, this pressure of mechanistic and -conventional standards encroaches more closely upon the child. A -sizeable group of brothers and sisters create for themselves a savage -world which is their best protection against the civilization that -awaits them. But with one or two children, or a widely scattered -series, this natural protection is lost. The youngster is prematurely -assimilated to the adult world of parents who are nowadays, owing to -later marriage, not even quite so young as formerly they were. It -is a peculiarity of parents, especially of mothers, that they never -entertain a modest doubt as to whether they might be the best of all -possible company for their children. And obviously the tired business -man cannot properly substitute in the evenings for a roistering, -shouting brother who never came into the world at all; nor can all the -concentrated care of the most devoted mother take the place of the -companionship and discipline which children get from other children. -These considerations deserve more attention than they usually receive -in connection with the falling birth-rate. The figures mean that the -environment of the young child is being altered in a fundamental -respect. Parents of small families need to take effective steps to -counteract the loss. Practical things, like nursery schools, would be a -help. But, chiefly, if parents will insist on being companions of their -children, they need themselves to understand and practise the art of -common joy and happiness. - - KATHARINE ANTHONY - - - - -THE ALIEN - - -The immigrant alien has been discussed by the Anglo-Saxon as -though he were an Anglo-Saxon “problem.” He has been discussed by -labour as though he were a labour “problem”; by interpreters of -American institutions as though man existed for institutions and for -institutions which the class interpreting them found advantageous -to its class. Occasionally the alien has been discussed from the -point of view of the alien and but rarely from the point of view of -democracy. The “problem” of the alien is largely a problem of setting -our own house in order. It is the “problem” of Americanizing America. -The outstanding fact of three centuries of immigration is that the -immigrant alien ceases to be an alien when economic conditions are such -as properly to assimilate him. - -There is something rather humorous about the way America discusses “the -alien.” For we are all aliens. And what is less to our liking we are -almost all descended from the peasant classes of Europe. We are here -because our forebears were poor. They did not rule over there. They -were oppressed; they were often owned. And with but few exceptions -they came because of their poverty. For the rich rarely emigrate. And -in the 17th and 18th centuries there was probably a smaller percentage -of immigrants who could pass the literacy test than there are to-day. -Moreover, in the early days only suffering could drive the poor of -Europe from their poverty. For the conditions of travel were hazardous. -The death toll from disease was very high. It required more fortitude -to cross the Atlantic and pass by the ring of settlers out onto the -unbroken frontier than it does to pass Ellis Island and the exploiters -round about it to-day. - -The immigration question has arisen because America, too, has created a -master class, a class which owns and employs and rules. And the alien -in America is faced by a class opinion, born of the change which has -come over America rather than any change in the alien himself. America -has changed. The alien remains much the same. And the most significant -phase of the immigration problem is the way we treat the alien and the -hypocrisy of our discussion of the subject. - -Sociologists have given us a classification of the immigrant alien. -They speak of the “old immigration” and the “new immigration.” -The former is the immigration of the 17th and 18th and the first -three-quarters of the 19th centuries. It was English, Scotch, Irish, -German, Scandinavian with a sprinkling of French, Swiss, and other -nationalities. From the beginning, the preponderance was British. -During the 18th century there was a heavy Scotch inflow and during the -first half of the 19th a heavy Irish and German immigration. The Irish -came because of the famine of 1848, the Scotch in large part because of -the enclosure acts and the driving of the people from the land to make -way for deer preserves and grazing lands for the British aristocracy. -Most of the British immigration was the result of oppressive land laws -of one kind or another. The population of Ireland was reduced from -eight million to slightly over four million in three-quarters of a -century. The British immigrant of the 17th century, like the recent -Russian immigration, was driven from home by economic oppression. Only -a handful came to escape religious oppression or to secure political -liberty. The cause of immigration has remained the same from the -beginning until now. - -The “old immigration” was from the North of Europe. It was of Germanic -stock. It was predominantly Protestant. But the most important fact -of all and the fact most usually ignored is an economic fact. The -early immigrant found a broad continent awaiting him, peopled only -by Indians. He became a free man. He took up a homestead. He ceased -to belong to any one else. He built for himself. He paid no rent, he -took no orders, he kept what he produced, and was inspired by hope and -ambition to develop his powers. It was economic, not political, freedom -that distinguishes the “old immigration” from the “new.” - -The “new immigration” is from Southern and Central Europe. It is -Latin and Slavic. It is largely Catholic. It, too, is poor. It, too, -is driven out by oppression, mostly economic and for the most part -landed. Almost every wave of immigration has been in some way related -to changes for the worse in the landed systems of Europe. Wherever -the poverty has been the most distressing, there the impulse to move -has been the strongest. It has been the poverty of Europe that has -determined our immigration from the 17th century until now. - -The ethnic difference is secondary. So is the religious. The -fundamental fact that distinguishes the “old immigration” from the -“new” is economic. The “new immigration” works for the “old.” It -found the free land all taken up. The public domain had passed into -the hand of the Pacific railroads, into great manorial estates. Land -thieves had repeated the acts of the British Parliament of the 18th -century. The Westward movement of peoples that had been going on from -the beginning of time came to an end when the pioneer of the 80’s and -90’s found only the bad lands left for settlement. That ended an era. -It closed the land to settlement and sent the immigrant to the city. -The peasant of Europe has become the miner and the mill worker. He left -one kind of serfdom to take up another. It is this that distinguishes -the “old immigrant” from the “new.” It is this that distinguishes the -old America from the America of to-day. And the problem of immigration, -like the problem of America, is the re-establishment of economic -democracy. The protective tariff bred exotic industry. The employer -wanted cheap labour. The mine owners and mill owners combined with the -steamship companies to stimulate immigration. They sent agents abroad. -They brought in gangs from Southern and Central Europe. They herded -them in mining camps, in mill towns, in the tenements. The closing of -the public domain and the rise of monopoly industry marks the turning -point in immigration. It marks the beginning of the immigration -“problem.” It is partly ethnic, but largely economic. - -The “new immigration” from Southern and Central Europe began to -increase in volume about 1890. It came from Southern rather than -Northern Italy, from Poland, Hungary, Bohemia, Russia, the Balkans, -and the Levant. There was a sprinkling of Spanish and Portuguese -immigrants. In 1914 South and Central European immigration amounted -to 683,000, while the North European immigration was but 220,000. Of -the former 296,000 came from Italy, 123,000 from Poland, 45,000 from -Russia, and 45,000 from Hungary. These figures do not include Jewish -immigrants, who numbered 138,000. Of the North European immigrants -105,000 came from the British Isles, 80,000 came from Germany, and -36,000 from the Scandinavian countries. - -Of the 14,000,000 persons of foreign birth now in the country, a very -large percentage is of South and Central European stock. - -We are accustomed to think of the old immigration and the new -immigration in terms of races and religions. And much of the -present-day hostility to immigration comes from the inexplicable -prejudice which has recently sprung up against persons of differing -races and religions. It is assumed that the new immigration is poor -and ignorant because it is ethnically unfitted for anything different -and that it prefers the tenement and the mining camp to American -standards of living and culture. But the newly arrived immigrant goes -to the mines and the crowded city not from choice but from necessity. -He lives in colonies with his fellows largely because the employing -class prefers that he be segregated and has no interest in his physical -comfort or welfare. The alien has been a commodity, not a human being; -he has been far cheaper than a machine because he provided his own -capital cost and makes provision for his own depreciation and decay. He -has been bought in the slums of Europe for his passage money and he can -be left to starve when bad times or industrial power throws him on his -own resources. The important difference between the “old immigration” -and the “new immigration” is not ethnic. It is not religious. It is -economic. The “old immigration” has become the owning and employing -class, while the “new immigration” is the servile and dependent -class. This is the real, the important difference between the “old -immigration” and the “new.” The former owns the resources of America. -The economic division coincides roughly with the race division. - -When economic privilege becomes ascendant fear is born. It is born of -a subconscious realization on the part of the privileged classes that -their privileges rest on an unjust if not an unstable foundation. Fear -is the parent of hate, and back of other explanations of the present -demand for exclusion of the alien is fear. It is fear that gave birth -to the persecution and ruthless official and semi-official activity -first against all aliens under the White Slave Act and similar laws, -next against the Germans, and later against the “reds.” An economic -psychology born of injustice explains our present attitude toward the -alien just as a different economic psychology explained our attitude -during the first two and a half centuries of our life when it was the -consuming desire of statesmen, real-estate speculators, and exploiters -to people the continent and develop our industries and resources as -rapidly as possible. - -The “immigration problem,” so called, has always been and always will -be an economic problem. There are many people who feel that there -is an inherent superiority in the Anglo-Saxon race; that it has a -better mind, greater virtue, and a better reason for existence and -expansion than any other race. They insist there are eugenic reasons -for excluding immigration from South and Central Europe; they would -preserve America for people of Anglo-Saxon stock. As an immigration -official I presided over Ellis Island for five years. During this -time probably a million immigrants arrived at the port of New York. -They were for the most part poor. They had that in common with the -early immigrant. They had other qualities in common. They were -ambitious and filled with hope. They were for the most part kindly -and moved by the same human and domestic virtues as other peoples. -And it is to me an open question whether the “new immigration,” if -given a virgin continent, and the hope and stimulus which springs -from such opportunity, would not develop the same qualities of mind -and of character that we assume to be the more or less exclusive -characteristics of the Anglo-Saxon race. There is also reason for -believing that the warmer temperament, the emotional qualities, and the -love of the arts that characterize the South and Central European would -produce a race blend, under proper economic conditions, that would -result in a better race than one of pure Northern extraction. For it is -to be remembered that it was not political liberty, religious liberty, -or personal liberty that changed the early immigrant of Northern -Europe into the American of to-day. His qualities were born of economic -conditions, of a free continent, of land to be had for the asking, of -equal opportunity with his fellows to make his life what he would have -it to be. The old immigrant recognized no master but himself. He was -the equal of his neighbours in every respect. He knew no inferiority -complex born of a servile relationship. It was this rather than our -constitutions and laws that made the American of the first three -centuries what he was. It was this alchemy that changed the serf of -Northern Europe into the self-reliant freeman of America. - -The immigration problem was born when this early economic opportunity -came to an end. When the free land was all gone, the immigrant had to -work for somebody else. He went to the mines and the city tenement -not from the choice but from necessity. He took the first job that -offered. When established he sent for his brother, his neighbour, or -his friend. He, too, went to the mining camp or the slum. Colonies -appeared. The alien became segregated. He lived by himself. And he -developed the qualities that would be developed by any race under -similar conditions. He, too, feared. He was known as a Dago, Wop, -Hunkie. To him government meant a policeman, a health officer, and an -immigration inspector--all agencies to be feared. He slowly learned to -unionize. He came to understand group action. He found in his craft -organization the only protection against the employers, and in the -political boss the only protection against agencies that interfered -with his personal and domestic life. The immigrant soon learned that -our immigration laws were shaped by economic motives. He learned that -he was in danger of being deported if he did not work. The menace which -hangs over the immigrant during his early years is the phrase “likely -to become a public charge.” And this alleged reason for deportation -covers a multitude of other excuses which can be used as it is used--as -a drag-net accusation. So the immigrant feels and justly feels that -what we want of him is to work, to work for some one else, and to -accept what is offered and be content. For within the last few years -the doctrine has become accepted by him and by the nation as well that -the alien must not complain, he must not be an agitator, he must not -protest against the established industrial order or the place which he -occupies within it. This has heightened his fear complex. It has tended -to establish his inferiority relationship. - -Our legislative attitude toward the alien has mirrored the economic -conditions of the country. Up to about the middle of the last century -we had no restrictive laws of any kind. America was free to all comers. -We wanted population. Western States pleaded for settlers. They drew -them from the East as they drew them from Europe. We were hospitable -to the oppressed. We opened our arms to revolutionary leaders. We had -no fears. Experience had shown that the poorest of Europe, even the -classified criminals of Europe, would quickly Americanize themselves -under the stimulus of new opportunity in a virgin land where all -men were potentially equal. For generations there was fear that the -American continent could never be fully peopled. - -But the free lands were all gone about 1890. The Western drift of -peoples, which had been in movement since the earliest times, came -to an end. Population closed in on the Pacific. Cities grew with -unprecedented rapidity. Factories needed men. Employers looked to -Europe. They sent agents abroad who employed them in gangs. Often -they were used to displace American-born workers. They were used to -break up labour organizations. The aliens were mixed to prevent them -organizing. Wages were temporarily at least forced down. For some years -our immigration policy was shaped by the big industrials who combined -with the steamship companies to induce immigration. - -Organized labour began to protest. It, too, was moved by economic -motives. It secured the passage of the contract labour law, which -prevents the landing of any worker for whom employment has been -provided in advance by an employer. Organized labour began to demand -restrictive legislation to protect its standard of living. But the -country was not ready for restrictive legislation. Congress instead -adopted a selective policy. We excluded paupers, the insane and -diseased, criminals, immoral persons, and those who were likely to -become a public charge. Later we extended the selective idea to -persons who did not believe in organized government, to anarchists, -and to persons of revolutionary beliefs. We now exclude and deport for -opinions as well as for physical and mental conditions. The percentage -of rejections under these selective laws was not great. Of the -1,200,000 aliens who came to the country in 1914 only one and one-third -per cent. were denied admission by the immigration authorities. - -The war stimulated the anti-alien feeling. It provided an opportunity -for crusades. The press aided the hue and cry. In 1915 there was a -nation-wide round-up of immoral cases. Thousands of prostitutes, of -procurers, and of persons guilty of some personal irregularity were -arrested all over the country. Many of them were deported. The demand -for restrictive legislation was supported by many different groups. It -had the backing of organized labour, of the Southern States, of many -protestant organization and churches. It was strongly supported in the -West. - -The “literacy test,” which went into effect in 1917, requiring of the -alien an ability to read some language selected by him, was the first -restrictive measure enacted. Its purpose was to check the South and -Central European inflow. For in these countries illiteracy is very -high. It rises as high as sixty and seventy per cent. in the Central -European states. With the test of literacy applied it was felt that -the old immigration from Northern Europe would reassert itself. Our -industrial needs would be supplied from Great Britain, from Germany and -from the Scandinavian countries. The same motive underlies the recently -enacted law which arbitrarily fixes the number who may come in any one -year from any one country to three per cent. of the aliens already here -from that country. This will still further shift the immigration to the -Northern countries, and if continued as the permanent policy of the -Government will insure a predominant Anglo-Saxon-Germanic-Scandinavian -stock as the racial stock of America. - -Despite all of the Congressional concern over the alien and the recent -nation-wide movement for his Americanization, there has never been any -official concern for the alien, for his protection from exploitation -and abuse, or any attempt to work out a policy of real Americanization. -Not that the task is impossible. Not that it is even experimental. -Australia, Brazil, and Canada have more or less well-developed agencies -for aiding the alien on landing, for protecting him until he is able -to protect himself, and for adjusting him as speedily as possible -to new conditions of life. In all of these countries the aim of the -government is to give the immigrant a stake in the land, to bring about -his permanent residence in the country, and, if possible, to induce him -to become a farmer rather than an industrial worker. This has not been -done by agencies of distribution alone, but by conscious selection in -the country from which the immigrant comes, by grants of land to those -who are ready to take up land holdings, and by the extension of credit -from state agencies to enable the settlers to stock and equip their -farms. The policy of Brazil has been so successful that many colonies -of Northern Italians have been induced to settle there who have become -prosperous and contented farmers. In other words, these countries have -consciously aimed to work out a continuing policy similar to that which -prevailed in this country up to about 1890 when the immigrant drifted -naturally to the land as a means of securing the freedom from the -exploiting class that had driven him from Europe. - -It is not to be inferred that our policy of hands off the alien -after his landing has worked only evil. Viewed in the perspective -of two centuries, it has worked amazingly well. The rapidity with -which practically all immigrants rise in the world in spite of the -obstacles of poverty, illiteracy, and unfamiliarity with our language -is little short of a miracle. This is true of the older generation as -it is of the younger. It is most true in the cities, least true in -the mining camps and smaller industrial centres about the steel mills -and slaughter houses where the tyranny of the employing class is most -pronounced. For the newcomer speedily acquires the wants of those with -whom he associates. He becomes dissatisfied with his shack. He demands -more and better food and clothes. He almost always wants his children -to have a schooling and to rise in the scale, which to him means -getting out of the hod-carrying, day-labour, or even artisan class. -And the next generation does rise. It rises only less rapidly than did -the early immigrant. It increases its wants and demands. It finds the -trades union a weapon with which it can combat the employer who seeks -to bring about a confusion of tongues, a confusion of religion, and -a confusion of races as a means of maintaining the open shop. As an -evidence of this, the Amalgamated Clothing Workers of America is almost -exclusively Jewish, Italian, and Latin in its membership. It is the -most intelligent, the most social-minded, and the most highly developed -labour organization in the country. The coal miners are largely men of -foreign birth. They, too, have adopted an advanced social programme. -The alien has found the trades union the most efficient if not the only -agency through which he can Americanize himself. And in Americanizing -himself he is merely doing what the aliens of earlier centuries who -preceded him have done--he is seeking for economic freedom from a -master class. - -America is a marvellous demonstration of the economic foundations of -all life. It is a demonstration of what happens to men when economic -opportunities call forth their resourcefulness and latent ability on -one hand and when the State, on the other, keeps its hands off them in -their personal relationships. For the alien quickly adopts a higher -standard of culture as he rises in the industrial scale, while his -morals, whatever they may have been, quickly take on the colour of -his new environment, whatever that may be. And if all of the elements -which should enter into a consideration of the subject were included, -I am of the opinion it would be found that the morals, the prevalence -of vice and crime among the alien population is substantially that of -the economic class in which he is found rather than the race from which -he springs. In other words, the alleged prevalence of crime among the -alien population is traceable to poverty and bad conditions of living -rather than to ethnic causes, and in so far as it exists it tends -disappear as the conditions which breed it pass away. - -Despite the fact that our hands-off policy of the past has worked -amazingly well, the time has come when it must be changed. Not because -of any change in the character of the alien, but because of the change -which has taken place in our own internal life. Economic conditions -make it impossible for the alien, as it does for the native born, to -become a farmer. Exploiting agencies are making it difficult and -often impossible for the farmer to make a living. Land speculation has -shot up the price of farm land to prohibitive figures. The railroads -and middle men and banking agencies are putting the American farmer -into a semi-servile status. He is unable to market his crop after it -is produced or he markets it at a figure that ultimately reduces him -to bankruptcy. The immigration problem remains an economic problem. -It has become an American problem. The policy we should adopt for -Americanizing the alien is a policy we should adopt for our own people -as well, for when economic opportunity came to an end for our own -people, it created not only an immigration problem, but a domestic -problem. The solution of one is the solution of the other. - -The alien will Americanize himself if he is given the opportunity to -do so. The bird of passage will cease to migrate when he possesses a -stake in the land of his adoption. The best cure for Bolshevism is -not deportation but a home, a farm, a governmental policy of land -settlement. A constructive immigration policy and Americanization -policy is one that will: - -1. Direct the alien as well as the native born to opportunities of -employment and especially to agencies that will enable them to become -home owners and farm owners; - -2. Provide government grants, as is done in Australia, Denmark, and -some of the South American countries, to which the would-be farmer or -home owner can go for financial assistance. In Denmark and Australia -any man who shows aptitude and desire for farming and who is able to -satisfy a local commission of his abilities, can secure a small farm -in a farm colony, fully equipped for planting. The grant includes a -house and barn, some cattle and machinery, and sufficient capital to -carry the settler over the first season. The applicant must provide a -certain portion of the initial outlay himself. He is aided by experts -from the colony, he is advised as to what to plant and how to care -for his cattle. His produce is marketed co-operatively, while much -of the machinery is owned either by the community or by co-operative -agencies identified with the community. The land is purchased in large -tracts by the State in advance of settlement to prevent speculation, -while settlers are required to develop their holdings. They may not -purchase for speculative purposes. The State of Denmark has planted -thousands of home-owning farmers in this way and has all but ended farm -tenancy in a generation’s time. The farm tenant and farm labourer have -become owners. A similar policy has been developed in Australia, where -millions of dollars have been advanced by the State to settlers. In -both of these countries the land settlement colonies have been a great -success. There have been few failures and no losses to the State. - -3. The savings of the alien should be used for the benefit of the -alien. Hundreds of millions of dollars leave this country annually in -the form of remittances. Much of it goes abroad because of fear of -American banks. Many millions more are in hiding for the same reason. -The deposits in the Postal Savings banks are largely the deposits of -the immigrant. They are turned over to the National banks and find -their way into commercial activities. If these funds were mobilized in -co-operative banks, as is done all over Europe, or if the Government -would dedicate them to a revolving fund for aiding persons to build -homes, to buy farms, and to aid the alien with credit, which he now has -no means of securing; he would be lured from the city to the land, he -would become a home and farm owner rather than an industrial worker, -and would rapidly develop those qualities of mind and character that -are associated in our minds with the early Anglo-Saxon settler but -which are rather the qualities which spring up of themselves when the -economic conditions encourage them. - -4. Our deportation laws are a disgrace to any country. They are an -adaptation of the fugitive slave laws. The offending alien is subject -to lynch law sanctioned by the State. He is arrested on complaint by an -inspector. He is then tried by the man who arrests him. His friends and -relatives are excluded from the trial. The judge who made the arrest -is often the interpreter and the clerk who transcribes the testimony. -He also is his jailer. He can and does hold the alien incommunicado. -Often the alien scarcely knows why he has been arrested. Often he does -not understand the testimony. The local findings have to be approved -at Washington by the Department of Labour. But the approval is by a -clerk who, like the inspector, often wants to make a record. The -opportunity for collusion with police, with crusaders, with employers, -with Chambers of Commerce, and with organization bent on “ridding the -country of disturbers” is manifest. Often men are arrested, tried, -convicted, and possibly placed on ships for their home countries before -their families are aware of what has happened to them. - -The alien is denied every protection of our constitution. The Bill of -Rights does not apply to him. He has no presentment before a Grand -Jury, there is no jury trial, he rarely has counsel, and he is often -held incommunicado by the official who has taken him into custody and -who wants to justify his arrest. The only recourse the alien has is -the writ of habeas corpus. But this is of practically no avail. For -the courts have held that if there is a scintilla of evidence on which -the inspector could act the court will not review the finding. And -a scintilla is any evidence at all. When to this is added the fact -that the charge “likely to become a public charge” has come to cover -almost any condition that might arise, and as this charge is usually -added to the others as a recourse on which the inspector may fall -back, the chance of relief in the court is practically nil. Under the -laws as they now exist the alien is a man without a country. He has no -protection from the constitution and little protection under the laws. -The alien knows this. He feels that he is defenceless. American liberty -to him means the liberty of a policeman, a health or school official, -an immigration inspector, and agents of the department of justice to -invade his home, to seize his papers, to arrest without warrant, to -hold incommunicado, and to deport on a charge that is often as foreign -to the facts as anything could be. - -It is this more than anything else that has embittered the alien -towards America during the last few years. It is this that makes him -feel that he is not wanted here. It is this that is sending hundreds of -thousands back to Europe, many of them among the best of the aliens and -many of them worthy in every way of our confidence and welcome. - -A proper immigration policy should be a national policy. Not something -for the alien alone but for our own people. For the immigration problem -is merely another form of the domestic problem. When we are ready to -settle the one we will settle the other. A cross section of one branch -of our political State is a cross section of another. The alien of -to-day is not very different from the alien of yesterday. He has the -same instincts and desires as did those who came in the _Mayflower_. -Only those who came in the _Mayflower_ made their own laws and their -own fortunes. Those who come to-day have their laws made for them by -the class that employs them and they make their own fortunes only as -those aliens who came first permit them to do so. - - FREDERIC C. HOWE - - - - -RACIAL MINORITIES - - “... not to laugh at the actions of men, nor yet to deplore or - detest them, but simply to understand them.”--_Spinoza._ - - -In America, the race-problem is not only without answer; thus far it is -even without formulation. In the face of ordinary economic, political, -and religious difficulties, people habitually formulate creeds -which give a kind of rhyme and reason to their actions; but where -inter-racial relations are concerned, the leaders go pussy-footing -all around the fundamental question, while the emotions of the masses -translate themselves into action, and action back again into emotion, -with less consideration of means and ends than one expects of the -maddest bomb-thrower. Everybody has some notion of the millennial aims -of the Communist Party, the National Association of Manufacturers, the -W.C.T.U., the Holy Rollers; but what are the Southerners getting at, -when they educate the Negro, and refuse him the ballot; what ultimate -result does the North expect from the granting of the franchise and -the denial of social equality? Do both the North and the South hope -to maintain a permanent racial division of the country’s population? -If so, are the Indians, the Jews and the Asiatics to be classed -with the Negroes, as unassimilable minorities? How is the conduct -of the American majority suited to this aim, if it is an aim? How -can permanent division be maintained, except by permanent prejudice? -What do the racial liberators, ameliorators, uplifters, and general -optimists think about it; or do they think about it at all? - -From the moment of initial contact between the mass of the American -population and the country’s most important racial minorities--the -Indian, the Jew, the Oriental, and the Negro--the self-congratulatory -feelings of the majority have always found a partial or complete -counterpart everywhere except among the slaves and the children of -the slaves. The long delay in the inception of All-Africanism in -America, and the groping uncertainty which still characterizes its -manifestations, are due in large part to the cultural youthfulness of -the American Negro. Biologically, the black race was matured in Africa; -culturally it had made considerable advances there, before the days of -the slave-trade. The process of enslavement could not strip away the -physical characteristics of the race, but in all that has to do with -cultural life and social inheritance, the Negro was re-born naked in -the new world. - -When one compares the condition of the Negro with that of the other -three racial minorities at the moment of contact with the miscellaneous -white population, the Indian seems closer to the Jew and the Oriental -than to the slave. In a general way, the condition of the Indian -tribes resembled that of the Negroes in Africa, but the Indians were -left in possession of most of the elements of savage culture and were -never entirely deprived of the means of maintaining themselves in this -stage of development. Needless to say, the Jews and the Orientals were -in still better case than the Indians, for their imported cultural -equipment was far more elaborate and substantial, and their economic -position much better. - -The four racial minorities thus varied widely in the degree of their -self-sufficiency, and likewise, inversely, in the degree of their need -for absorption into the current of American life. Quite obviously the -Negro was least independent and most in need of assimilation. However, -the necessity of the alien group has not been the only factor of -importance in this matter of assimilation. Each of the minorities has -been from the beginning subjected to the prejudice of the majority, and -that group which first lost all life of its own through contact with -the whites has been singled out for the maximum amount of persecution. - -The standard explanation or excuse for race-prejudice is the theory -of the inequality of racial stocks. However, for all their eagerness -to bolster up a foregone conclusion, the race-patriots have not been -able to prove by any sort of evidence, historical, biological, or -psychological, that racial differences are not simply indications -of unlikeness, rather than of inherent superiority or inferiority. -The anthropologists are pretty well agreed that physical differences -divide mankind into three major groups, European (including the Jews), -Mongoloid (including the American Indians), and Negroid; but science -has set no definite limit to the respective potentialities of these -groups. In other words, it has remained for race-prejudice to assume an -unproved inferiority, and to devise all possible measures for making -the life of the objectionable races exactly what it would be, in the -absence of interference, if the assumed inferiority were real. - -To accept the term “race-prejudice” as accurately descriptive of the -feelings to which it is usually applied, is to assume that these -feelings originate in race-differences, if not in the inequality -of races. This, however, is still to be proved. Race-differences -are a factor of the situation wherever two races are in contact, -but it is a matter of common knowledge that the members of two -or more racial groups sometimes intermingle on terms of greatest -friendliness. To attribute “race-prejudice” to race-difference, and -to leave race-friendliness entirely unexplained, is to blind oneself -deliberately to the existence of variable causes which alone can -account for the variable results that appear in the presence of racial -constants. Racial inequality of intelligence, if it actually exists, -is simply one of a number of ever-present race-differences, and in all -these differences taken together one can find no adequate explanation -of the variable phenomenon commonly called “race-prejudice,” but so -designated here only for the sake of convenience. - -Any serious attempt to get at the non-racial causes of “race-prejudice” -in America would necessarily involve the comparison, point by point, -of economic, social, political, and intellectual conditions in various -localities in the United States with corresponding local conditions -in other countries where the races here in conflict are more nearly -at peace. In the present state of knowledge, the racial theory of -race-prejudice is demonstrably inadequate, while the non-racial theory -is an hypothesis which can neither be proved nor disproved. Such being -the case, the haphazard speculations which follow are not offered as -a proof of this hypothesis, or as an explanation of the existence of -race-prejudice in America, but simply as a stimulus to inquiry. - -Beginning with these speculations, it may be said that the goods and -opportunities of the material life, unlike those of the intellectual -life, are frequently incapable of division without loss to the original -possessor. On this account, competition is likely to be particularly -keen and vindictive where material interests are given the foremost -place. It is also perhaps safe to say that the long preoccupation of -the American majority with the development of its material inheritance -has brought to the majority a heavy heritage of materialism. One may -hazard the statement that the prejudice of America’s native white -majority against the Negroes, the Indians, the Jews and the Asiatics, -is now and has always been in some sense attributable and proportional -to the majority’s fear of some action on the part of the minority -which might injure the material interests of the majority, while the -only race-differences which have had any real importance are those -superficial ones which serve to make the members of the minorities -recognizable at sight. At any rate, an examination of some of the facts -that come most easily to hand shows an interesting coincidence between -the prejudice of the majority and the power of the minority. - -Before the Civil War, the structure of Southern society was bottomed -on slavery, and the fear of any humanization of the Negro which would -make him appear worthy of emancipation was strong enough to arouse any -degree of prejudice, and any amount of repression. The prejudice of -the Southern white populace as a whole reached its maximum intensity -when emancipation threatened to place the blacks in permanent -political and economic control of certain portions of the South. -Even to-day, fear of the political power of the Negroes, and perhaps -also the over-emphasized fear of black “outrages,” still acts upon -the white population as a unifying force; but in spite of this fact, -class-interests have become plainly visible. When Black Republicanism -had once been driven to cover, the masters set about rebuilding their -privileges upon the foundation of Negro labour which is still their -chief support. Only a few Negroes have been able to compete directly -for a share in these privileges, and accordingly most of the fears -of the well-to-do people of the South are anticipatory rather than -immediate. - -With the “poor whites,” the case is altogether different. Here there -is no question of keeping the Negro in his place, for ever since the -Emancipation the place of the Negro has been very much that of the poor -white himself, at least in so far as economic status is concerned. In -the view of the white labourer, the Negro rises too high the moment -he becomes a competitor for a job, and every Negro is potentially -just that. Accordingly, the prejudice of the poorer whites is bitter -and indiscriminate, and is certainly not tending to decrease with the -cityward drift of the Negro population. - -With the appearance of Negro workers in large numbers in Northern -industrial centres, race-prejudice has begun to manifest itself -strongly among the white workers. The Northern masters have, however, -shown little tendency to reproduce the sentiments of their Southern -peers, for in the North there is no fear of political dominance by the -blacks, and a supply of cheap labour is as much appreciated as it is -south of the Line. - -In spite of the fact that the proportion of Negroes in the total -population of the United States has declined steadily from 15.7 -per cent. in 1850 to 9.9 per cent. in 1920, the attitude of both -Northerners and Southerners is somewhat coloured by the fear that -the blacks will eventually overrun the country. If prejudice had no -other basis than this, there would perhaps be no great difficulty in -effecting its cure. As a matter of course, immigration accounts in -part for the increasing predominance of the white population; but this -hardly disposes of the fact that throughout the South, during the -years 1890–1910, the percentage of native whites of native parentage -advanced in both urban and rural communities. Discussion of comparative -birth-rates also gives rise to numerous alarums and excursions, but the -figures scarcely justify the fears expressed. Statistics show that, -in spite of the best efforts of the people who attempt to hold the -black man down, and then fear him all the more because he breeds too -generously, the improvement in the material condition of the Negro is -operating inevitably to check the process of multiplication. - -If the case of the Negro is complicated in the extreme, that of the -Indian is comparatively simple. Here race-prejudice has always followed -the frontier. As long as the Indian interfered with the exploitation -of the country, the pioneers feared him, and disliked him cordially. -Their feelings worked themselves out in all manner of personal cruelty, -as well as in a process of wholesale expropriation, but as soon as the -tribes had been cooped up on reservations, the white man’s dislike -for the Indian began to cool off perceptibly. From the beginning, the -Indian interfered with expansion, not as an economic competitor, but as -a military enemy; when the dread of him as a fighter disappeared, there -was no new fear to take its place. During the years 1910 to 1920 the -Indian population actually decreased 8.6 per cent. - -If the Indian has neither shared the privileges nor paid the price -of a generous participation in American life, the Jew has certainly -done both. In every important field of activity, the members of this -minority have proved themselves quite able to compete with the native -majority, and accordingly the prejudice against them is not confined -to any one social class, but is concentrated rather in those regions -where the presence of Jews in considerable numbers predicates their -competitive contact with individuals of all classes. Although as a -member of one branch of the European racial family, the Jew is by -no means so definitely distinguished by physical characteristics as -are the members of the other minorities here under discussion, it -is nevertheless true that when the Jew has been identified by his -appearance, or has chosen to identify himself, the anti-Semite takes on -most of the airs of superiority which characterize the manifestations -of prejudice towards the other minorities. Nevertheless, the ordinary -run of anti-Semitic talk contains frequent admissions of jealousy -and fear, and it is safe to say that one must look chiefly to such -emotions, as intensified by the rapid increase of the Jewish population -from 1,500,000 in 1906 to 3,300,000 in 1918, rather than to the -heritage of European prejudice, for an explanation of the growth of -anti-Semitism in America. The inclusion of anti-Semitism with the -other types of race-prejudice here under discussion follows naturally -enough from the fact that the Jew is thought of as primarily a Jew, -whatever the country of his origin may have been, while the Slav, -for instance, is popularly regarded as a Russian, a Pole, a Serb--a -_national_ rather than a _racial_ alien. - -Like the Jew, the Oriental has come into the United States as a -“foreigner,” as well as a member of an alien race. The absence of this -special disqualification has not particularly benefitted the Negro -and the Indian, but its presence in the case of the Japanese has been -of considerable service to the agitators. The prevalent dislike and -fear of the new Japan as a world-power has naturally coloured the -attitude of the American majority toward the Japanese settlers in this -country; but this in itself hardly explains why the Californians, who -were burning Chinamen out of house and home in the ’seventies, are now -centring their prejudice upon the Japanese agriculturist. The fact is -that since the passage of the Exclusion Laws the Chinese population -of the United States has fallen off more than 40 per cent., and the -importance of Chinese competition has decreased accordingly, while on -the other hand the number of Japanese increased 53.9 per cent. between -1910 and 1920, and the new competitors are showing themselves more -than a match for the white farmers. With a frankness that neither -Negrophobia nor anti-Semitism has made us familiar with, many of the -Californians have rested their case against the Japanese on an economic -foundation, and have confessed that they are unable to compete with -the Japanese on even terms. As a matter of course, there is the usual -flow of talk about the inferiority of the alien race, but the fear of -competition, here so frankly admitted, would be enough in itself to -account for this new outbreak of “race-prejudice.” - -When one considers thus the course that prejudice has taken in the -case of the Negro, the Indian, the Jew, and the Oriental, it begins -to appear that this sentiment may wax and wane and change about -astonishingly in the presence of racial factors that remain always -the same. Such being the case, one is led to wonder what the attitude -of the native majority would be, if the minorities were recognizable -simply as groups, but _not_ as _racial_ groups. In other words, what -would be the result if the racial factor were reduced simply to -recognizability? The question has a more than speculative interest. - - * * * * * - -If the causes of race-prejudice lie quite beyond the reach of any -simple explanation, the manifestation of this prejudice on the part of -the American majority are perhaps capable of an analysis which will -render the whole situation somewhat more comprehensible. By and large, -and with all due allowance for exceptions, it may be said that, in its -more familiar manifestations, race-prejudice takes a direction exactly -opposite to that taken by prejudice against the ordinary immigrant -of European stock; in the former case, a conscious effort is made to -magnify the differences between the majority and the minority, while -in the latter, a vast amount of energy is expended in the obliteration -of these differences. Thus race-prejudice aspires to preserve and even -to increase that degree of unlikeness which is its excuse for being, -while alien-prejudice works itself out of a job, by “Americanizing” -the immigrant and making him over into an unrecognizable member of -the majority. On one hand, enforced diversity remains as a source of -friction, while on the other, enforced uniformity is demanded as the -price of peace. - -Although no purpose can be served by cataloguing here all the means -employed in the South to keep the black man in his place, a few -examples may be cited, in order to show the scope of these measures -of repression. In the economic field, there is a pronounced tendency -to restrict Negro workers to the humblest occupations, and in the -agricultural areas the system of peonage or debt-slavery is widely -employed for the purpose of attaching Negro families to the soil. -Residence-districts are regularly segregated, Jim Crow regulations -are everywhere in force, and inter-racial marriages are prohibited -by law in all the States of the South. The administration of justice -is in the hands of white judges and white juries, and the Negro’s -chances in such company are notoriously small. In nearly one-fourth of -the counties of the South, the population is half, or more than half -black, but the denial of the ballot excludes the Negroes from local, -State, and national political activities. In religious organizations, -segregation is the invariable rule. Theatres and even public libraries -are regularly closed to the Negro, and in every State in the South -segregation in schools is prescribed by law. Some idea of the -significance of the latter provision may be drawn from O. G. Ferguson’s -study of white and Negro schools in Virginia. In this comparatively -progressive State, the general rating of the white schools is 40.8, as -against 22.3 for the coloured schools, the latter figure being seven -points lower than the lowest general rating for any State in the Union. - -Such are some of the legal, extra-legal, and illegal manifestations of -that prejudice which finds its supreme expression in the activities of -the lynching-mob and the Ku Klux Klan. There is still a considerable -annual output of lynchings in this country (in 1920 the victims -numbered sixty-five, of whom fifty were Negroes done to death in -the South), but the casualty-list for the South and for the country -as a whole has decreased steadily and markedly since 1889, and the -proportion of Negro victims who were accused of rape or attacks on -women has also decreased, from 31.8 per cent. in 1889–1893 to 19.8 per -cent. in 1914–1918. - -On the other hand, the Ku Klux Klan has now re-commenced its -ghost-walking activities under the command of an “Imperial Wizard” who -claims that he has already enlisted 100,000 followers in the fight to -maintain the “God-ordained” pre-eminence of the Anglo-Saxon race in -America. Other statements from the lips of the Wizard seem to indicate -that his organization is not only anti-African, but anti-Semitic, -anti-Catholic, and anti-Bolshevik as well. Indeed, the bearers of the -fiery cross seem bent upon organizing an all-American hate society, and -the expansion of the Klan in the North is already under way. - -However, the Klansmen might have succeeded in carrying the war into the -enemy’s country even without adding new prejudices to their platform. -There has always been some feeling against the Negro in the North, and -the war-time migration of the blacks to Northern industrial centres -certainly has not resulted in any diminution of existing prejudice. -The National Urban League estimates that the recent exodus from -Dixie has produced a net increase of a quarter of a million in the -coloured population of twelve cities above the Line. This movement has -brought black and white workers into competition in many industries -where Negroes have hitherto been entirely unknown, and frequently the -relations between the two groups have been anything but friendly. Since -about half the “internationals” affiliated with the American Federation -of Labour still refuse to accept Negro members, the unions themselves -are in no small part to blame for the use that employers have made of -Negro workers as strike-breakers. - -In twelve Northern and Western States there are laws on the -statute-books prohibiting marriage between whites and blacks. Jim -Crow regulations are not in force north of Maryland, but in most of -the cities there has been a continuous effort to maintain residential -segregation, and the practice of discrimination in hotels and -restaurants is the rule rather than the exception. Lynchings are -infrequent, but the great riots of Washington and Chicago were not -exactly indicative of good feeling between the races. One situation -which revealed a remarkable similarity of temper between the North -and the South was that which arose in the army during the war. It is -notorious that Northerners in uniform fell in easily with the Southern -spirit, and gave all possible assistance in an energetic Jim-Crowing of -the Negroes of Michigan and the Negroes of Mississippi, from the first -day of their service right through to the last. - -The treatment of the Negro in literature and on the stage also reveals -an unconscious but all the more important unanimity of opinion. It is -true the North has produced no Thomas Dixons, but it is also true that -the gentle and unassuming Uncle Tom of Northern song and story is none -other than the Uncle Remus whom the South loves so much. In Boston, as -in Baton Rouge, the Negro who is best liked is the loyal, humble, and -not too able mammie or uncle of the good old days before the war. If -an exception be made in the case of Eugene O’Neill’s “Emperor Jones,” -it may be said that American literature has not yet cast a strong, -upstanding black man for any other rôle than that of beast and villain. - -And yet all these forms of discrimination and repression are not fully -expressive of the attitude of the white population. The people of the -South are fully sensible of the necessity of keeping the Negro in his -place; still they do not keep him from attending school. Educational -facilities, of a sort, are provided, however reluctantly, and in half -the States of the South school attendance is even made compulsory by -laws (which may or may not be enforced). The schooling is not of a kind -that will fit the Negroes for the permanent and contented occupancy of -a servile position. Generally speaking, the coloured children do not -receive a vocational education that will keep them in their place, but -an old-style three-R training that prepares for nothing but unrest. -If unrest leads to urbanization, the half-hearted education of the -Negro perhaps serves the interests of the new industrialists; but -these industrial employers are so few in number that their influence -cannot outweigh that of the planters who lose their peons, and the -poor whites who find the Negro with one grain of knowledge a somewhat -more dangerous competitor than the Negro with none. Hence there is -every reason to believe that if the white South had rationalized -this situation, the Negro would be as ruthlessly excluded from the -school as he now is from the ballot-box. In fact, the education of the -Negro seems quite inconsistent with race-prejudice as it is generally -preached and practised in the South. - -In the North there is no discrimination in the schools, and black -children and white are put through the same mill. In the industrial -field, prejudice cannot effectually close to the Negroes all those -openings which are created by general economic conditions, and in -politics the Northern Negro also finds some outlet for his energies. - -While it would be quite impossible to show that the existence of these -miscellaneous educational, industrial, and political opportunities -is due to any general desire upon the part of the members of the -white majority to minimize the differences between themselves and the -Negroes, it is certainly true that this desire exists in a limited -section of the white population. At the present time, white friends of -the Negro are actively engaged in efforts to eliminate certain legal -and illegal forms of discrimination and persecution, and are giving -financial support to much of the religious work and most of the -private educational institutions among the blacks. The Inter-racial -Committee of the War Work Council of the Y.M.C.A. has listed -thirty-three social and economic agencies, and twenty-three religious -agencies, in which members of both races are working co-operatively. -It must be admitted, however, that many, if not most, of the white -participants in work of this sort are affected by race-prejudice to the -extent that they desire simply to ameliorate the lowly condition of the -Negro, without altogether doing away with a certain wholesome degree -of racial segregation. For the complete elimination of the flavour -of condescension, one must usually seek out those extreme socialist -and syndicalist agitators who preach political or non-political -class-organization, as a substitute for the familiar national and -racial groupings. - -In the case of the American Indian, the prejudice and self-interest of -the white majority have placed the emphasis on geographic rather than -social segregation. Here the demand of the whites has been for land -rather than for labour, and by consequence servility has never been -regarded as a prime virtue of Indian character. - -If the early white settlers had so desired, they of course could -have enslaved a considerable portion of the Indian population, just -as the Spaniards did, in regions farther to the southward. However, -the Americans chose to drive the Indians inland, and to replace them -in certain regions with African tribesmen who in their native state -had been perhaps as war-like as the Indians themselves. Thus in the -natural course of events the African warrior was lost in the slave, -while the Indian chief continued to be the military opponent rather -than the economic servant of exploitation, and eventually gained -romantic interest by virtue of this fact. The nature of this operation -of debasement on one hand, and ennoblement on the other, is plainly -revealed in American literature. The latter phase of the work is -carried forward to-day with great enthusiasm by the Camp Fire Girls and -the Boy Scouts, whose devotion to the romantic ideal of Indian life is -nowhere paralleled by a similar interest in African tribal lore. - -If the Indian has been glorified by remote admirers, he has also -been cordially disliked by some of his nearest neighbours, and indeed -the treatment he has received at the hands of the Government seems to -reflect the latter attitude rather than the former. In theory, most of -the Indian reservations are still regarded as subject principalities, -and the Indians confined within their boundaries are almost entirely -cut off from the economic, social, and political life of the -neighbouring white communities. Many of the tribes still receive yearly -governmental grants of food, clothing, arms, and ammunition, but these -allowances only serve to maintain them in a condition of dependence, -without providing any means of exit from it. In justice it should be -said, however, that the Government has declared an intention to make -the Indian self-supporting, and accordingly it restricts the grants, -in principle, to the old and the destitute. Several States have shown -their complete sympathy with the system of segregation by enacting laws -prohibiting the inter-marriage of Indians and whites. - -On the other hand, the mental and moral Americanization of the red -man has been undertaken by Protestant and Catholic missions, and more -recently by Government schools. The agencies of the latter sort are -especially systematic in their work of depriving the Indian of most of -the qualities for which he has been glorified in romance, as well as -those for which he has been disliked by his neighbours. Many a Western -town enjoys several times each year the spectacle of Indian school-boys -in blue uniforms and Indian school-girls in pigtails and pinafores, -marching in military formation through its streets. As long as these -marchers are destined for a return to the reservation, the townsmen -can afford to look upon them with mild curiosity. The time for a new -adjustment of inter-racial relations will not come until the procession -turns towards the white man’s job on the farm and in the factory--if it -ever does turn that way. - -Attention has already been called to the fact that the Jewish immigrant -normally marches from the dock directly to the arena of economic -competition. Accordingly his progress is not likely to be at any time -the object of mere curiosity. On the other hand, the manifestations -of prejudice against the Jew have been less aggressive and much less -systematic than those repressive activities which affect the other -minorities. Where anti-Semitism is present in America, it seems to -express itself almost entirely in social discrimination, in the -narrow sense. On the other hand, economic, political, and educational -opportunities are opened to the Jews with a certain amount of -reluctance. A major exception to this rule of discrimination must be -made in the case of those socialists, syndicalists and trade-unionists -who have diligently sought the support of the Jewish workers. - -The Chinaman has also some friends now among the people who once -regarded him as the blackest of villains. Indeed, the Californian’s -attitude toward the Orientals has in it an element of unconscious irony -which somewhat illuminates the character of the race-problem. The -average Easterner will perhaps be surprised to learn that in Western -eyes the Chinaman is an inferior, of course, but nevertheless an honest -man, noted for square dealing and the prompt payment of his debts, -while the Jap is a tricky person whom one should never trust on any -account. - -In California the baiting of the Japanese is now almost as much a part -of political electioneering as is the abuse of the Negro in the South. -The Native Sons of the Golden West and the American Legion have gone on -record in determined opposition to any expansion of Japanese interests -in California, while the Japanese Exclusion League is particularly -active in trouble-making propaganda. Economic discrimination has taken -statutory form in the Alien Land Laws of 1913 and 1920; discriminatory -legislation of the same general type has been proposed in Texas and -Oregon; a bill providing for educational segregation has been presented -for a second time at Sacramento; Congress has been urged to replace -the “gentlemen’s agreement” with an absolute prohibition of Japanese -immigration; and there is even a demand for a constitutional amendment -which will deny citizenship to the American-born children of aliens who -are themselves ineligible for naturalization. The method of legislation -is perhaps preferable to the method of force and violence, but if the -previous history of race-prejudice means anything, it means that force -will be resorted to if legislation fails. At bottom, the spirit of -the California Land Laws is more than a little like that of a Georgia -lynching; in the one case as in the other, the dominant race attempts -to maintain its position, not by a man-to-man contest, with fair -chances all around, but by depositing itself bodily and _en masse_ on -top of the subject people and crushing them. - -If in the realm of individual conduct this sort of behaviour works -injury to the oppressor, as well as to the oppressed, it is not -otherwise where masses of men are concerned. Stephen Graham, in his -recent book, “The Soul of John Brown,” says that “in America to-day, -and especially in the South, there is a hereditary taint left by -slavery, and it is to be observed in the descendants of the masters -as much as in the descendants of the slaves. It would be a mistake to -think of this American problem as exclusively a Negro problem.” Indeed, -it is true that in every case the race-problem is the problem of the -majority as well as of the minority, for the former can no more escape -the reaction of prejudice than the latter can escape its direct effects. - -To-day the white South is still under the influence of a system of -life and thought that is far more enduring than the one institution -which gave it most complete expression. The Emancipation abolished -slavery, but it did not rid the master of the idea that it is his -right to live by the labour of the slave. The black man is not yet -relieved of the duty of supporting a certain proportion of the white -population in leisure; nor does it appear that the leisured Southerner -of to-day makes a better use of his time than his ancestors did before -him. Indeed, an historian who judged the peoples chiefly by their -contribution to science and the arts would still be obliged to condemn -the white South, not for enslaving the Negro, but for dissipating in -the practices of a barren gentility the leisure that Negro labour -created, and still creates, so abundantly. It is notorious also that in -the South the airs of gentility have been more widely broadcast among -the white population than the leisure necessary for their practice, -with the result that much honest work which could not be imposed upon -the black man has been passed on to posterity, and still remains -undone. - -Any one who seeks to discover the cause of the mental lethargy that -has converted the leisure of the South so largely into mere laziness -must take some account of a factor that is always present where -race-prejudice exists. The race which pretends to superiority may not -always succeed in superimposing itself economically upon the inferior -group; and yet the pride and self-satisfaction of the members of the -“superior” race will pretty surely make for indolence and the deadening -of the creative spirit. This will almost inevitably be true where the -superiority of the one race is acknowledged by the other, and where no -contest of wits is necessary for the maintenance of the _status quo_. -This is the condition that has always obtained, and still obtains in -most of the old slave territory. In Dixie it is a career simply to go -through life inside of a white skin. However ignorant and worthless -the white man may be, it is still his privilege to proclaim on any -street corner that he is in all respects a finer creature than any -one of several million human beings whom he classes all together as -“good-for-nothin’ niggers.” If the mere statement of this fact is not -enough to bring warm applause from all the blacks in the neighbourhood, -the white man is often more than willing to use fire and sword to -demonstrate a superiority which he seldom stoops to prove in any -other fashion. Naturally this feeling of God-given primacy tends to -make its possessors indolent, immune to new ideas of every sort, and -quite willing to apply “the short way with the nigger” to any one who -threatens the established order of the universe. - -It would be foolish indeed to suppose that the general intolerance, -bigotry, and backwardness which grow out of race-prejudice have -affected the South alone. The North and the West have their prejudices -too, their consciousness of a full-blooded American superiority that -does not have to be proved, their lazy-mindedness, their righteous -anger, their own short way with what is new and strange. No sane man -will attribute the origin of all these evils to race-prejudice alone, -but no honest man will deny that the practice of discrimination against -the racial minorities has helped to infect the whole life and thought -of the country with a cocky and stupefying provincialism. - -Perhaps the most interesting phase of the whole racial situation in -America is the attitude which the minorities themselves have maintained -in the presence of a dominant prejudice which has constantly emphasized -and magnified the differences between the minorities and majority, and -has even maintained the spirit of condescension, and the principle of -segregation in such assimilative activities as education and Christian -mission work. One would naturally expect that such an attitude on -the part of the majority would stimulate a counter race-prejudice in -each of the minorities, which would render them also intent upon the -maintenance of differentiation. - -Although such a counter prejudice has existed from the beginning among -the Indians, the Jews, and the Asiatics, it is only now beginning to -take form among the Negroes. The conditions of the contact between the -black minority and the white majority have thus been substantially -different from those which existed in the other cases, and the results -of this contact seem to justify the statement that, so long as it -remains _one-sided_, the strongest race-prejudice cannot prevent the -cultural and even the biological assimilation of one race to another. -In other words, prejudice defeats itself, in a measure, just so long -as one of the parties accepts an inferior position; in fact, it -becomes fully effective only when the despised group denies its own -inferiority, and throws the reproach back upon those with whom it -originated. Thus the new racial self-consciousness of a small section -of the Negro population gives the prejudiced whites a full measure of -the differentiation they desire, coupled with an absolute denial of the -inferiority which is supposed to justify segregation. - -It has already been pointed out that the enslavement of the Negroes -deprived them of practically everything to which racial pride might -attach itself, and left them with no foundation of their own on which -to build. Thus they could make no advances of any sort except in so -far as they were permitted to assimilate the culture of the white man. -In the natural course of events, the adoption of the English language -came first, and then shortly the Negro was granted such a share in the -white man’s heaven as he has never yet received of the white man’s -earth. As the only available means of self-expression, religion took a -tremendous hold upon the slaves, and from that day to this, the black -South has wailed its heart out in appeals to the white man’s God for -deliverance from the white man’s burden. The Negro “spirituals” are not -the songs of African tribesmen, the chants of free warriors. Indeed, -the white man may claim full credit for the sadness that darkens the -Negro’s music, and put such words as these into the mouth of the Lord: - - Go down, Moses, - Way down in Egyp’ lan’ - Tell ole Pharaoh - Le’ ma people go! - Israel was in Egyp’ lan’ - Oppres’ so hard dey could not stan’, - Le’ ma people go! - -When casual observers say that the black man is naturally more -religious than the white, they lose sight of the fact that the number -of church-members per thousand individuals in the Negro population is -about the same as the average for the United States as a whole; and -they forget also the more important fact that the Negro has never had -all he wanted of anything except religion--and in segregated churches -at that. It is more true of the black men than of Engel’s proletarians, -that they have been put off for a very long time with checks on the -bank of Heaven. - -Emancipation and the Fourteenth Amendment seemed to open the path to -an earthly paradise; but this vision was soon eclipsed by a second -Civil War that resulted in a substantial victory for the white South. -Economic repression could not be made entirely effective, however, and -in the fifty-three years from 1866 to 1919 the number of American Negro -homeowners increased from 12,000 to 600,000 and the number of Negroes -operating farms from 20,000 to 1,000,000. In 1910 the Negro population -still remained 72.6 per cent. rural, but the cityward movement of the -blacks during the years 1890 to 1910 was more rapid than that of the -whites. Education has directly facilitated economic progress, and has -resulted in an increase of literacy among the Negroes from ten per -cent. in 1866 to eighty per cent. in 1919. During the period 1900 to -1910, the _rate_ of increase of literacy among the blacks was much more -rapid than that among the whites. Thus from the day he was cut off from -his own inheritance, the American Negro has reached out eagerly for an -alien substitute, until to-day, in practically everything that has to -do with culture, he is not black but white--and artificially retarded. - -Since America has deprived the Negro of the opportunity to grow up as -an African, and at the same time has denied him the right to grow up -as a white man, it is not surprising that a few daring spirits among -the Negroes have been driven at last to the conclusion that there is no -hope for their race except in an exodus from the white man’s culture -and the white man’s continent. The war did a great deal to prepare -the way for this new movement; the Negroes of America heard much -talk of democracy not meant for their ears; their list of wrongs was -lengthened, but at the same time their economic power increased; and -many of them learned for the first time what it meant to fight back. -Some of them armed themselves, and began to talk of taking two lives -for one when the lynching-mob came. Then trouble broke in Chicago and -Washington--and the casualties were not all of one sort. Out of this -welter of unrest and rebellion new voices arose, some of them calling -upon the Negro workers to join forces with their white brothers; -some fierce and vengeful, as bitterly denunciatory of socialism and -syndicalism as of everything else that had felt the touch of the white -man’s hand; some intoxicated, ecstatic with a new religion, preaching -the glory of the black race and the hope of the black exodus. - -With much travail, there finally came forth, as an embodiment of the -extreme of race-consciousness, an organization called the Universal -Negro Improvement Association and African Communities League. This clan -lays claim to a million members in the United States, the West Indies, -South America and South Africa, and announces as its final object the -establishment of a black empire in Africa. Connected with the U.N.I.A. -are the Black Star Line, capitalized at $10,000,000, and the Negro -Factories Corporation, capitalized at $2,000,000. Just what these -astonishing figures mean in actual cash it is impossible to say, but -this much is certain: the Black Star Line already owns three of the -many vessels which--say the prophets of the movement--will some day ply -among the Negro lands of the world. - -To cap the climax, the U.N.I.A. held in New York City during the month -of August, 1920, “the first International Negro Convention,” which drew -up a Negro Declaration of Independence, adopted a national flag and -a national anthem, and elected “a Provisional President of Africa, a -leader for the American Negroes, and two leaders for the Negroes of the -West Indies, Central and South America.” - -The best testimony of the nature of this new movement is to be found -in an astonishing pamphlet called the “Universal Negro Catechism,” and -issued “by authority of the High Executive Council of the Universal -Negro Improvement Association.” In this catechism one discovers such -items as the following, under the head of “Religious Knowledge”: - - Q. Did God make any group or race of men superior to another? - - A. No; He created all races equal, and of one blood, to dwell - on all the face of the earth. - - * * * * * - - Q. What is the colour of God? - - A. A spirit has neither colour, nor other natural parts, nor - qualities. - - * * * * * - - Q. If ... you had to think or speak of the colour of God, how - would you describe it? - - A. As black; since we are created in His image and likeness. - - * * * * * - - Q. What did Jesus Christ teach as the essential principle of - true religion? - - A. The universal brotherhood of man growing out of the - universal Fatherhood of God. - - * * * * * - - Q. Who is responsible for the colour of the Ethiopians? - - A. The Creator; and what He has done cannot be changed. Read - Jeremiah 13:23. - - * * * * * - - Q. What prediction made in the 68th Psalm and the 31st Verse is - now being fulfilled? - - A. “Princes shall come out of Egypt, Ethiopia shall soon - stretch out her hands unto God.” - - * * * * * - - Q. What does this verse prove? - - A. That Negroes will set up their own government in Africa with - rulers of their own race. - - * * * * * - - Q. Will Negroes ever be given equal opportunity and treatment - in countries ruled by white men? - - A. No; they will enjoy the full rights of manhood and liberty - only when they establish their own nation and government in - Africa. - -Perhaps enough has already been said to make it clear that there exists -in America no distinctive black culture which could spontaneously give -rise to such a movement as this. Culturally the black man is American; -biologically he is African. It is solely and entirely the prejudice of -the American majority that has forced this group of Negroes to attempt -to reconstruct a cultural and sentimental connection that was destroyed -long ago. The task which faces the leaders of the new movement is one -of almost insurmountable difficulty, for in spite of every sort of -persecution, the general life and thought of America are still far more -easily accessible to the Negro than is anything distinctively his own. - -The cultural shipwreck of the Negro on the American shore has thus -placed him more completely at the mercy of the majority than the other -minorities have ever been. In the case of the Indians, the Jews, and -the Orientals, the race-name has not stood simply for an incomplete -Americanism, but for a positive cultural quality which has persisted in -the face of all misfortune. These races were provisioned, so to speak, -for a long siege, while the Negro had no choice but to eat out of the -white man’s hand, or starve. - -The reservation-system has reduced many of the Indian tribes to a -state of economic dependence, but it has also helped to preserve -their cultural autonomy. In most cases the isolated communities on -the reservations are distinctly Indian communities. The non-material -inheritance of the past has come down to the present generation in a -fairly complete form, with the result that the Indian of to-day may -usually take his choice between Indian culture and white. Under these -conditions the labours of missionaries and educators have not been -phenomenally successful, as is witnessed by the fact that the number -of Protestant Christians per thousand Indians is still only about -one-seventh as large as that for the Negroes, while the percentage -of illiterates is much larger among the Indians. However, school -attendance is increasing at a more rapid rate than among the whites, -and the prospect is that the Government schools will eventually deprive -the country of all that is attractive in Indian life. - -Toward the close of the 19th century, the Indian’s resentment of -the white man’s overbearing actions found expression in a religious -movement which originated in Nevada and spread eastward till it -numbered among its adherents nearly all the natives between the Rocky -Mountains and the Missouri River. This messianic faith bore the name -of a ceremonial connected with it, the Ghost Dance, and was based upon -a divine revelation which promised the complete restoration of the -Indian’s inheritance. Such doctrines have, of course, been preached -in many forms and in many lands, but it is no great compliment to the -amiability of American civilization that the gospel of deliverance has -found so many followers among the Negroes, the Indians, and the Jews -who dwell within the borders of the country. - -It does not seem likely that the Zionist version of this gospel will -produce any general exodus of the last-named minority from this -country, for in spite of prejudice, the Jews have been able to make a -large place for themselves in the United States. Since the movements -of the Jews have not been systematically restricted, as those of the -Negroes and the Indians have been, the great concentration of the -Jewish population in the cities of the East would seem to be due in -large measure to the choice of the Jews themselves. At the present time -they dominate the clothing industry, the management of the theatre, -and the production of motion-pictures. Approximately one-tenth of -the trade-unionists in the United States are Jews, and the adherence -of a considerable number of Jews to the doctrines of socialism and -syndicalism has unquestionably been one of the causes of prejudice -against the race. - -In matters that pertain more directly to the intellectual life, the -Jews have exhibited every degree of eagerness for, and opposition to, -assimilation. There are among them many schools for the teaching of -the Hebrew language, and some other schools--private and expensive -ones--in which only non-Jewish, “all-American” teachers are employed. -Of the seventy-eight Jewish periodicals published in the United States, -forty-eight are printed in English. In every Jewish centre, Yiddish -theatres have been established for the amusement of the people; but -Jewish managers, producers, actors, and playwrights have also had a -large part in the general dramatic activities of the country. Finally, -in the matter of religion, the response of the Jews to Christian -missionary work has been very slight indeed, while, on the other -hand, the number of synagogue-members per thousand Jews is only about -one-fourth the general average of religious affiliation for the United -States as a whole. When one considers the fact that in some fields the -Jews have thus made advances in spite of opposition, while in others -they have refused opportunities offered to them, it seems at least -probable that the incompleteness of their cultural assimilation is due -as much to their own racial pride as to the prejudice of the majority. - -Similarly in the case of the Orientals, the pride and self-sufficiency -of the minority has helped to preserve for it a measure of cultural -autonomy. In the absence of such a disposition on the part of the -Chinese, it would be difficult to account for the fact that their -native costume has not disappeared during the thirty-nine years -since the stoppage of immigration. San Francisco’s Chinatown still -remains very markedly Chinese in dress largely because the Chinese -themselves have chosen to keep it so. The Japanese have taken much -more kindly to the conventional American costume, but one is hardly -justified in inferring from this that they are more desirous for -general assimilation. Indeed, one would expect the opposite to be the -case, for most of the Japanese in America had felt the impress of -the nationalistic revival in Japan before their departure from that -country. In a measure this accounts for the fact that Japanese settlers -have established a number of Buddhist temples and Japanese-language -schools in the United States. However, figures furnished by the “Joint -Committee on Foreign Language Publications,” which represents a number -of Evangelical denominations, seem to indicate that the Japanese in the -United States are much more easily Christianized than the Chinese, and -are even less attached to Buddhism than are the Jews to their native -faith. In the nature of things, the domestic practice of Shinto-worship -among the Japanese is incapable of statistical treatment. - -Thus the combination of all the internal and external forces that -affect the racial minorities in America has produced a partial, but by -no means a complete, remodelling of minority-life in accordance with -standards set by the majority. Prejudice and counter-prejudice have not -prevented this change, and there is no accounting for the condition of -the American minorities to-day without due attention to the positive -factor of cultural assimilation, as well as to the negative factor of -prejudice. - - * * * * * - -Since it has already been implied that a greater or less assimilation -by the minorities of the culture of the majority is inevitable, it -is apparent that the relation of this assimilative change to the -biological fusion of the groups is a matter of ultimate and absolute -importance. Wherever friction exists between racial groups, the mere -mention of biological fusion is likely to stir up so much fire and -smoke that all facts are completely lost to sight; and yet it is quite -obvious that the forces of attraction and repulsion which play upon the -several races in America have produced biological as well as cultural -results. - -The mulatto population of the United States is the physical embodiment -of a one-sided race-prejudice. By law, by custom, even by the -visitation of sudden and violent death, the master-class of the South -expresses a disapproval of relations between white women and coloured -men, which does not apply in any forcible way to similar relations -between white men and coloured women. The white male is in fact the -go-between for the races. The Negroes have not the power, and sometimes -not even the will, to protect themselves against his advances, and the -result is that illegitimate mulatto children in great numbers are born -of Negro mothers and left to share the lot of the coloured race. - -If the infusion of white blood were stopped entirely, the proportion -of mulattoes in the Negro race would nevertheless go on increasing, -since the children of a mulatto are usually mulattoes, whether the -other parent be mulatto or black. There is, however, no reason for -supposing that under such conditions the proportion of mulattoes to -blacks would increase _more_ rapidly in one geographic area than in -another. The fact is that during the period 1890 to 1910 the number of -mulattoes per 1,000 blacks _decreased_ in the North from 390 to 363, -and _increased_ in the South from 159 to 252; the inference as to white -parenthood is obvious. During the same period the black population of -the entire United States increased 22.7 per cent., while the mulatto -population increased 81.1 per cent. The mulatto group is thus growing -far more rapidly than either the black or the white, and the male -white population of the South is largely responsible for the present -expansion of this class, as well as for its historical origin. - -Thus the South couples a maximum of repression with a maximum of racial -intermixture; indeed, the one is naturally and intimately associated -with the other. The white population as a whole employs all manner -of devices to keep the Negro in the social and economic status most -favourable to sexual promiscuity, and aggressive white males take full -advantage of the situation thus created. - -While it is not generally admitted in the South that the progressive -whitening of the black race is a natural result of the maintenance of -a system of slavery and subjection, the converse of this proposition -is stated and defended with all possible ardour. That is to say, it -is argued that any general improvement in the condition of the Negro -will increase the likelihood of racial intermixture on a higher level, -through inter-marriage. The Southerners who put forth this argument -know very well that inter-marriage is not likely to take place in the -presence of strong race-prejudice, and they know, too, that the Negro -who most arouses their animosity is the “improved” Negro who will not -keep his place. They are unwilling to admit that this increase in -prejudice is due largely, if not wholly, to the greater competitive -strength of the improved Negro; and likewise they prefer to disregard -the fact that such a Negro resents white prejudice keenly, and tends to -exhibit on his own part a counter prejudice which in itself acts as an -additional obstacle to inter-marriage. - -In the absence of such factors as Negro self-consciousness and -inter-racial competition, it would be difficult to account for the -extreme rarity of marriages between blacks and whites in the Northern -States. No comprehensive study of this subject has been made, but an -investigation conducted by Julius Drachsler has shown that of all the -marriages contracted by Negroes in New York City during the years -1908 to 1912, only 0.93 per cent. were mixed. The same investigation -revealed the fact that Negro men contracted mixed marriages about four -times as frequently as Negro women. - -Marriages between whites and Indians have not been so vigorously -condemned by the American majority as those between whites and Negroes, -and the presumption is that the former have been much more frequent. -However, it appears that no systematic investigation of Indian mixed -marriages has been made, and certainly no census previous to that of -1910 gives any data of value on the subject of mixed blood among the -Indians. The enumeration of 1910 showed that 56.5 per cent. of the -Indians were full-blooded, 35.2 per cent. were of mixed blood, and -8.4 per cent. were unclassified. Although it is impossible to fix the -responsibility as definitely here as in the case of the Negro, it is -obvious that an infusion of white blood half again as great as that -among the Negroes cannot be accounted for in any large part by racial -inter-marriages. Without question, it is chiefly due to the same sort -of promiscuity that has been so common in the South, and the present -and potential checks upon the process of infusion are similar to those -already discussed. - -In the case of the Jews and the Asiatics, it seems that the only -figures available are those gathered by Drachsler. He found that only -1.17 per cent. of the marriages contracted by Jews in New York City -during the years 1908 to 1912 were classifiable as “mixed,” while -the corresponding percentages for the Chinese and the Japanese were -55.56 and 72.41 respectively. The largeness of the figures in the -case of Orientals is accounted for in part by the fact that there are -comparatively few women of Mongolian race in New York City. Besides -this, it must be remembered that, whatever the degree of their cultural -assimilation, the Chinese and Japanese residents of the metropolis are -not sufficiently numerous to form important competitive groups, while -the Jews constitute one-quarter of the entire population of the city. -Does any one doubt that the situation in regard to mixed marriages -would be partially reversed in San Francisco? - -When due allowance is made for special conditions, Drachsler’s -figures do not seem to run contrary to the general proposition that -an improvement in the economic and social condition of one of the -minorities, and a partial or complete adoption by the minority of the -culture of the majority, does not necessarily prepare the way for -racial fusion, but seems to produce exactly the opposite effect by -increasing the competitive power of the minority, the majority’s fear -of its rivals, and the prejudice of each against the other. - -In spite of all that prejudice can do to prevent it, the economic, -social, and intellectual condition of the minorities is becoming -increasingly like that of the majority; and yet it is not to be -expected that as long as the minorities remain physically recognizable -this change will result in the elimination of prejudice, nor is it -likely that the cultural assimilation which checks the process of -racial intermixture through promiscuous intercourse will result -automatically in intermixture on a higher level, and the consequent -disappearance of the recognizability of the minorities. Prejudice does -not altogether prevent cultural assimilation; cultural assimilation -increases competitive strength without eliminating recognizability; -competitive strength _plus_ recognizability produces more prejudice; -and so on ... and so on.... Thus it seems probable that race-prejudice -will persist in America as long as the general economic, social, -political, and intellectual system which has nurtured it endures. No -direct attack upon the race-problem, as such, can alter this system in -any essential way. - -Is this conception sound, or not? It stands very high upon a slim -scaffolding of facts, put together in pure contrariness after it had -been stated that no adequate foundation for such a structure could be -found anywhere. But, after all, it is no great matter what happens -to the notion that race-prejudice can be remedied only incidentally. -If the conditions which surround race-prejudice are only studied -comparatively, this notion and others like it will get all the -attention they deserve. - - -_RACE PROBLEMS_ - -(The answers are merely by way of suggestion, but the questions may -prove to be worthy of serious attention.) - - Q. Has the inherent inferiority of any human race been - established by historical, biological or psychological evidence? - - A. No. - - * * * * * - - Q. Does the theory of the inequality of human races offer a - satisfactory explanation of the existence of race-prejudice? - - A. No. - - * * * * * - - Q. Do physical characteristics make the members of the several - races recognizable? - - A. Yes. - - * * * * * - - Q. Is race-prejudice inherent and inevitable, in the sense that - it always exists where two recognizably different races are in - contact? - - A. No. - - * * * * * - - Q. How does it happen that in the presence of _racial_ - factors which remain constant, race-prejudice exists in some - localities, and is absent in others? - - A. No satisfactory explanation of these local variations in - inter-racial feeling has yet been given; however, the existence - of the variations themselves would seem to indicate that - the primary causes of race-prejudice are _not racial_ but - _regional_. - - * * * * * - - Q. What study will lead most directly to an understanding of - race-prejudice--that of universal racial differences, or that - of regional environmental differences which are associated with - the existence and non-existence of racial prejudice? - - A. The latter. - - * * * * * - - Q. Does the systematic study of regional environmental - differences in the United States, in their relation to - race-prejudice, yield any results of importance? - - A. No such systematic study has ever been made; a casual - glance seems to reveal an interesting coincidence between - race-prejudice and the fear of competition. - - * * * * * - - Q. Is competition more likely to produce race-prejudice in the - United States than elsewhere? - - A. Because of the general preoccupation of the American people - with material affairs, _economic_ competition is likely to - produce unusually sharp antagonisms. - - * * * * * - - Q. Does the coincidence between race-prejudice and the fear of - competition offer a complete explanation of the existence and - strength of race-prejudice in the United States? - - A. No; no such claim has been advanced. - - * * * * * - - Q. Is the assimilation by the minorities of the culture of the - majority taking place continuously, in spite of the prejudice - of the majority and the counter-prejudice of three of the - minorities? - - A. Yes. - - * * * * * - - Q. Does this cultural assimilation make for better inter-racial - feeling? - - A. Probably not, because as long as physical race-differences - remain, cultural assimilation increases the strength of the - minority as a _recognizable_ competitive group, and hence - it also increases the keenness of the rivalry between the - minorities and the majority. - - Q. How can the recognizability of the minorities be eliminated? - - A. By blood-fusion with the majority. - - Q. How can blood-fusion come about if cultural assimilation - increases rivalry and prejudice? - - A. ............................... . - - Q. Is it then true that, as things stand, the future of - inter-racial relations in the United States depends upon the - ratio between cultural assimilation, which seems inevitable, - and biological assimilation, which seems unlikely? - - A. It so appears. - - Q. Does the race-problem in the United States then seem - practically insoluble as a separate problem? - - A. It does. - - Q. Has the race-problem ever been solved anywhere by direct - attack upon it as a _race_ problem? - - A. Probably not. - - Q. Does not this conclusion involve a return to the assumption - that race-prejudice is inevitable wherever race-differences - exist; and has this not been emphatically denied? - - A. On the contrary, the implication is that race-prejudice is - inevitable where _race-prejudice_ exists. The conclusion in - regard to the United States is based on the single assumption - that the _non-racial_ conditions under which race-prejudice has - arisen will remain practically unchanged. - - Q. Is it then conceivable that a complete alteration of - non-racial conditions--as, for instance, an economic - revolution which would change the whole meaning of the word - “competition”--might entirely revise the terms of the problem? - - A. It is barely conceivable--but this paper is not an accepted - channel for divine revelation. - - GEROID TANQUARY ROBINSON - - - - -ADVERTISING - - -Do I understand you to say that you do not believe in advertising? -Indeed! Soon you will be telling me that you do not believe in God. -Though, to be sure, in so doing you would be committing less of a crime -against the tenets of modern American civilization than in doubting -the existence of a power so great that overnight it can raise up in -our midst gods, kings, and other potentates, creating a world which -for splendour and opulence far surpasses our own poor mortal sphere--a -world in which every prospect pleases and only the reluctant spender is -vile. - -True, we can only catch a fleeting glimpse of its many marvels. True, -we have scarcely time to admire a millionth part of the joys and -magnificence of one before a new and greatly improved universe floats -across the horizon, and, from every corner news-stand, smilingly -bids us enter its portals. True, I repeat, our inability to grasp or -appreciate the full wonder of these constantly arriving creations, -yet even the narrow limitations of our savage and untutored minds can -hardly prevent us from acclaiming a miracle we fail to understand. - -If it were only given me to live the life led by any one of the -fortunate creatures that dwell in these advertising worlds, I should -gladly renounce my home, my wife, and my evil ways and become the -super-snob of a mock creation. All day long should I stand smartly -clad in a perfectly fitting union-suit just for the sport of keeping -my obsequious butler waiting painfully for me with my lounging-gown -over his exhausted arm. On other days I should be found sitting in mute -adoration before a bulging bowl of breakfast food, and, if any one -should chance to be listening at the keyhole, they might even catch me -in the act of repeating reverently and with an avid smile on my lips, -“I can never stir from the table until I have completely crammed myself -with Red-Blooded American Shucks,” adding in a mysterious whisper, “To -be had at all good grocers.” - -There would be other days of course, days when I should ride in a -motor of unrivalled power with companions of unrivalled beauty, across -canyons of unrivalled depth and mountains of unrivalled height. Then -would follow still other days, the most perfect days of all, days when -the snow-sheathed earth cracks in the clutches of an appalling winter -and only the lower classes stir abroad. This would be the time that I -should select for removing the lounging gown from my butler’s arm and -bask in the glowing warmth of my perfect heater, with my chair placed -in such a position as to enable me to observe the miserable plight of -my neighbours across the way as they strive pitifully to keep life in -their bodies over the dying embers of an anæmic fire. The sight of -the sobbing baby and haggard mother would only serve to intensify my -satisfaction in having been so fortunate and far-sighted as to have -possessed myself of a Kill Kold Liquid Heat Projector--That Keeps the -Family Snug. - -What days I should spend! Take the literary days, for instance. Could -anything be more edifying than to dip discriminatingly into a six-inch -bookshelf with the absolute assurance that a few minutes spent thus -each day in dipping would, in due course of time, give me complete -mastery of all the best literature of the world--and incidentally -gain for me a substantial raise at the office? Nor could any of the -literature of the past ages equal my hidden library of books containing -Vital Secrets. In this room there would linger a never-failing thrill. -Here I should retreat to learn the secret of success, the secret of -salesmanship, the secret of vigour, the secret of bull-dozing one’s -boss, the secret of spell-binding, the secret of personality and social -charm, all bearing a material value measured in dollars and cents. In -time I should so seethe with secrets that, unable to bear them any -longer, I should break down before my friends and give the whole game -away. - -But why should I lacerate my heart in the contemplation of happiness I -shall never experience? Why should I dwell upon the pipe-filling days, -or the days when I should send for samples? Why torture my mind with -those exquisitely tailored days when, with a tennis racket in one hand -and a varsity crew captain on my shoulder, I should parade across the -good old campus in a suit bereft of wrinkles and a hat that destroyed -the last shreds of restraint in all beholding women? No, I can go no -further. - -For when I consider the remarkable characters that so charmingly infest -my paradise never found, I cannot help asking myself, “How do they -get that way?” How do the men’s legs grow so slim and long and their -chins so smooth and square? Why have the women always such perfect -limbs and such innocent but alluring smiles? Why are families always -happy and children always good? What miracle has banished the petty -irritations and deficiencies of life and smoothed out the problems of -living? How and why--is there an answer? Can it all be laid at the door -of advertising, or do we who read, the great, sweltering mass of us, -insist upon such things and demand a world of artificial glamour and -perfectly impossible people? The crime is committed by collusion, I am -forced to conclude. Advertising, for the most part, makes its appeal to -all that is superficial and snobbish in us, and we as a solid phalanx -are only too glad to be appealed to in such a manner. - -In only the most unscholarly way can I lay my reflections before you, -and the first one is this: advertising is America’s crudest and most -ruthless sport, religion, or profession, or whatever you choose to call -it. With an accurate stroke, but with a perverted intent, it coddles -and toys with all that is base and gross in our physical and spiritual -compositions. The comforts and happiness it holds out to the reader -are for ever contrasted with the misery and misfortune of another. -Thus, if I ride in a certain make of motor, I have the satisfaction of -knowing that every one who rides in a motor of another make is of a -lower caste than myself and will certainly eat dust for the rest of his -life. There is a real joy in this knowledge. Again, if I wear a certain -advertised brand of underwear, I have the pleasure of knowing that my -fellow-men not so fortunately clad are undoubtedly foolish swine who -will eventually die of sunstroke, after a life devoted entirely to -sweating. Here, too, is a joy of rare order. If I brush my teeth with -an advertised tooth paste, my satisfaction is enhanced by the knowledge -that all other persons who fail to use this particular paste will in a -very short time lose all of their teeth. In this there is a savage, but -authentic delight. Even if I select a certain classic from my cherished -six-inch bookshelf, I shall have a buoyant feeling in knowing that all -men, who, after the fatigue of the day, take comfort in the latest -murder or ball-game, are of inferior intellect and will never succeed -in the world of business. - -This is one of the most successful weapons used in advertising, and -there is no denying that a great majority of people take pleasure -in being struck by it. It is a pleasure drawn from the same source -that feeds so many people’s sense of satisfaction when they attend -a funeral, or call on a sick friend, or a friend in misfortune -and disgrace. It was the same source of inner satisfaction which -made it possible for many loyal citizens to bear not only with -fortitude, but with bliss, the sorrows of the late war. It is the -instinct of self-preservation, toned down to a spirit of complacent -self-congratulation, and it responds most readily to the appeal of -selfishness and snobbery. Advertising did not create this instinct, -nor did it discover it, but advertising uses it for its own ends. Who -is to blame, the reader or the advertiser, hardly enters in at this -point. The solid fact to take into consideration is that day in and day -out the susceptible public is being worked upon in an unhealthy and -neurotic manner which cannot fail to effect harmful results. - -At this tragic moment I purpose briefly to digress to the people who -create advertisements, before returning to a consideration of the -effects of their creations. - -To begin with, let it never be forgotten that advertising -is a red-blooded, two-fisted occupation, engaged in for the -most part by upstanding Americans of the kiss-the-flag or -knock-’em-down-and-drag-’em-out variety. Yet years of contact with -the profession compel me for the sake of truth to temper this remark -by adding that it also contains, or rather confines, within its -mystic circle a group of reluctant and recalcitrant “creatures that -once were men,” who, moving through a phantasmagoria of perverted -idealism, flabby optimism, and unexamined motives, either deaden their -conscience in the twilight of the “Ad. Men’s Club,” or else become so -blindly embittered or debauched that their usefulness is lost to all -constructive movements. - -Generally speaking, however, advertising is the graveyard of literary -aspiration in which the spirits of the defeated aspirants, wielding a -momentary power over a public that rejected their efforts, blackjack -it into buying the most amazing assortment of purely useless and -cheaply manufactured commodities that has ever marked the decline of -culture and common sense. These men are either caught early after -their flight from college, or else recruited from the newspaper world. -Some--the most serious and determined--are products of correspondence -schools. Others are merely robust spirits whose daily contact with -their fellow-men does not give them sufficient opportunity to disgorge -themselves of the abundance of misinformation that their imaginations -manufacture in wholesale quantities. This advertising brotherhood is -composed of a heterogeneous mass of humanity that is rapidly converted -into a narrow-minded wedge of fanatics. And this wedge is continually -boring into the pocketbook of the public and extracting therefrom a -goodly quantity of gold and silver. Have you ever conversed with one -of the more successful and important members of this vast body? If -so have you been able to quit the conversation with an intelligent -impression of its subject-matter? For example: do you happen to know -what a visualizer is? If not, you would be completely at the mercy of a -true advertising exponent. Returning to my Edisonian method of attack, -do you happen to know by any chance what a rough-out man is, or what is -the meaning of dealer mortality, quality appeal, class circulation, or -institutional copy? Probably not, for there is at bottom very little -meaning to them; nevertheless, they are terms that are sacred to a -great number of advertising men, and which, if unknown, would render -all intelligent communication with them quite impossible. - -If you should ever attend a session of these gentlemen in full cry--and -may God spare you this--you would return from it with the impression -that all was not well with the world. You would have heard speeches on -the idealism of meat-packing, and other kindred subjects. The idealism -would be transmitted to you through the medium of a hireling of some -large packing organization, a live-wire, God-bless-you, hail-fellow -type. Assuming that you had been there, you would have witnessed this -large fellow with a virile exhalation of cigar-smoke, heave himself -from his chair; you would have observed a good-natured smile play -across his lips, and then you would have suddenly been taken aback -by the tenderly earnest and masterfully restrained expression that -transformed our buffoon into a suffering martyr, as, flinging out his -arms, he tragically exclaimed, “Gentlemen, you little know the soul -of the man who has given the Dreadnought Ham to the world!” From this -moment on your sense of guilt would have increased by leaps and bounds -until at last you would have broken down completely and agreed with -everything the prophet said, as long as he refrained from depriving -you of an opportunity to make it up to the god-like man who gave -Dreadnought Hams to the world. - -The orator would go on to tell you about the happiness and sunlight -that flood the slaughter-house in which Dreadnought Hams are made. -You would hear about the lovely, whimsical old character, who, one -day, when in the act of polishing off a pig, stood in a position -of suspended animation with knife poised above the twitching ear -of the unfortunate swine, and seizing the hand of the owner as he -passed benevolently by, kissed it fervently and left on it a tear of -gratitude. Perhaps you would not hear that in the ardour of loyal -zeal this lovable old person practically cut the pig to ribbons, thus -saving it from a nervous collapse, nor would you be permitted to hear a -repetition of the imprecations the old man muttered after the departing -back of the owner, for these things should not be heard,--in fact, -they do not exist in the world of advertising. Nothing would be said -about the red death of the pig, the control of the stock-raiser, the -underpaying of the workers, the daughter who visits home when papa is -out and the neighbours are not looking, the long years of service and -the short shrift of age, the rottenness and hypocrisy of the whole -business--no, nothing should be said about such things. But to make up -for the omission, you would be told in honied words of the workers who -lovingly kiss each ham as it is reverently carried from the plant to -receive the patriarchal blessing of the owner before it is offered up -as a sacrifice to a grateful but greedy public. The whole affair would -suggest to you a sort of Passion Play in which there was neither Judas -nor Pilot, but just a great, big happy family of ham producers. - -This speech, as I have said, would soon appear in the principal papers -of the country. It would be published in installments, each one bearing -its message of peace on earth, good-will to men, and the public--always -preferring Pollyanna to Blue Beard--would be given an altogether false -impression of Dreadnought Hams, and the conditions under which they -were produced. But this particular speech would be only a small part of -the idealism you would be permitted to absorb. There would also be a -patriotic speech about Old Glory, which would somehow become entangled -with the necessity for creating a wider demand for a certain brand of -socks. There would perhaps be a speech on the sacredness of the home, -linked cunningly with the ability of a certain type of talking-machine -to keep the family in at nights and thus make the home even more -sacred. There would be speeches without end, and idealism without -stint, and at last every one would shake hands with every one else and -the glorious occasion would come to an end only to be repeated with -renewed vigour and replenished optimism on the following Friday. - -But the actual work of creating advertisements is seldom done in this -rarefied and rose-tinted atmosphere; it is done in the more prosaic -atmosphere of the advertising agency. (And let it be said at once that -although, even in the case of agencies engaging in “Honest Advertising” -campaigns, many such firms indulge in the unscrupulous competitive -practice of splitting their regular commission with their clients in -order to keep and secure accounts, there are still honest advertising -agencies.) - -Now there are two important classes of workers in most agencies--the -copy-writer and the solicitor--the man who writes the advertisements -and the man who gets the business. This latter class contains the -wolves of advertising, the restless stalkers through the forests -of industry and the fields of trade. They are leather-lunged and -full-throated; death alone can save their victims from hearing their -stories out. Copywriters, on the other hand, are really not bad at -heart; sometimes they even possess a small saving spark of humour, and -frequently they attempt to read something other than _Printer’s Ink_. -But the full-fledged solicitor is beyond all hope. Coming in close -touch with the client who usually is an industrialist, capitalist, -stand-patter, and high-tariff enthusiast, the solicitor gradually -becomes a small edition of the man he serves, and reflects his ideas -in an even more brutal and unenlightened manner. In their minds there -is no room for change, unless it be change to a new kind of automobile -they are advertising, for new furniture, unless it be the collapsible -table of their latest client, for spring cleaning, unless thereby one -is introduced to the virtues of Germ-Destroying Soap. Things must -remain as they are and the leaders of commerce and industry must be -protected at all costs. To them there are no under-paid workers, no -social evil, no subsidized press, no restraint of free speech, no -insanitary plants, no child-labour, no infant mortality due to an -absence of maternity legislation, no good strikers, and no questionable -public utility corporations. Everything is as it should be, and any one -who attempts to effect a change is a socialist, and that ends it all. - -Advertising is very largely controlled by men of this type. Is it any -wonder that it is of a reactionary and artificial nature, and that any -irresponsible promoter with money to spend and an article to sell, will -find a sympathetic and wily minister to execute his plans for him, -regardless of their effect on the economic or social life of the nation? - -Turning, for the moment, from the people who create advertisements to -advertising as an institution, what is there to be said for or against -it? What is there to advance in justification of its existence, or -in favour of its suppression? Not knowing on which side the devil’s -advocate pleads his case, I shall take the liberty of representing -both sides, presenting as impartially as possible the cases for the -prosecution and defence and allowing the reader to bring in the verdict -in accordance with the evidence. - -The first charge--that the low state of the press and the magazine -world is due solely to advertising--is not, I believe, wholly -fair. There is no use denying that advertising is responsible for -the limitation of free utterance and the nonexistence of various -independent and amusing publications. However, assuming that -advertising were utterly banished from the face of the earth, would -the murky atmosphere be cleared thereby? Would the press become free -and unafraid, and would the ideal magazine at last draw breath in the -full light of day? I think not. Years before advertising had attained -the importance it now enjoys, public service corporations and other -powerful vested interests had found other and equally effective methods -of shaping the news and controlling editorial policies. The fact -remains however, and it is a sufficiently black one, that advertising -is responsible for much of the corruption of our papers and other -publications, as well as for the absence of the type of periodicals -that make for the culture of a people and the enjoyment of good -literature. When a profiteering owner of a large department store -can succeed in keeping the fact of his conviction from appearing in -the news, while a number of smaller offenders are held up as horrid -examples, it is not difficult to decide whether or not it pays to -advertise. When any number of large but loosely conducted corporations -upon which the people and the nation depend, can prevent from -appearing in the press any information concerning their mismanagement, -inefficiency, and extravagance, or any editorial advocating government -control, one does not have to ponder deeply to determine the efficacy -of advertising. When articles or stories dealing with the unholy -conditions existing in certain industries, or touching on the risks of -motoring, the dangers of eating canned goods, or the impossibility of -receiving a dollar’s value for a dollar spent in a modern department -store, are rejected by many publications, regardless of their merit, -one does not have to turn to the back pages of the magazine in order -to discover the names and products of the advertisers paying for the -space. Indeed, one of the most regrettable features of advertising is -that it makes so many things possible for editors who will be good, -and so many things impossible for editors who are too honest and too -independent to tolerate dictation. - -Another charge against advertising is that it promotes and encourages -the production of a vast quantity of costly articles many of which -duplicate themselves, and that this over-production of commodities, -many of them of highly questionable value, is injurious to the country -and economically unsound. This charge seems to be well founded in -fact, and illustrated only too convincingly in the list of our daily -purchases. Admitting that a certain amount of competition creates a -stimulating and healthy reaction, it still seems hardly reasonable that -a nation, to appear with a clean face each morning, should require the -services of a dozen producers of safety razors, and several hundred -producers of soap, and that the producers of razors and soap should -spend millions of dollars each year in advertising in order to remind -people to wash and shave. Nor does it seem to be a well-balanced -system of production when such commodities as automobiles, sewing -machines, face powders, toilet accessories, food products, wearing -apparel, candy, paint, furniture, rugs, tonics, machinery, and so -on _ad infinitum_ can exist in such lavish abundance. With so many -things of the same kind to choose from, there is scarcely any reason -to wonder that the purchasing public becomes addle-brained and fickle. -The over-production of both the essentials and non-essentials of -life is indubitably stimulated by advertising, with the result that -whenever business depression threatens the country, much unnecessary -unemployment and hardship arises because of an over-burdened market and -an industrial world crowded with moribund manufacturing plants. “Give -me a strong enough motor and I will make that table fly,” an aviator -once remarked. It could be said with equal truth, “Give me money enough -to spend in advertising and I will make any product sell.” Flying -tables, however, are not nearly so objectionable as a market glutted -with useless and over-priced wares, and an army of labour dependent for -its existence upon an artificially stimulated demand. - -The claim that advertising undermines the habits of thrift of a -nation requires no defence. Products are made to be sold and it -is the principal function of advertising to sell them regardless -of their merits or the requirements of the people. Men and women -purchase articles to-day that would have no place in any socially and -economically safe civilization. As long as this condition continues, -money will be drawn out of the savings accounts of the many and -deposited in the commercial accounts of the few--a situation which -hardly makes for happy and healthy families. - -It has been asserted by many that advertising is injurious to literary -style. I am far from convinced that this charge is true. In my belief -it has been neither an injurious nor helpful influence. If anything, -it has forced a number of writers to say a great deal in a few words, -which is not in itself an undesirable accomplishment. Nor do I believe -that advertising has recruited to its ranks a number of writers or -potential writers who might otherwise have given pearls of faith to the -world. However, if it has attracted any first-calibre writers, they -have only themselves to blame and there is still an opportunity for -them to scale the heights of literary eminence. - -The worst has been said of advertising, I feel, when we agree that -it has contributed to the corruption of the press, that it does help -to endanger the economic safety of the nation, and that, to a great -extent, it appeals to the public in a false and unhealthy manner. These -charges certainly are sufficiently damaging. For the rest, let us admit -that advertising is more or less like all other businesses, subject to -the same criticisms and guilty of the same mistakes. Having admitted -this, let us assume the rôle of the attorney for the defence and see -what we can marshal in favour of our client. - -First of all, I submit the fact that advertising has kept many artists -alive--not that I am thoroughly convinced that artists should be kept -alive, any more than poets or any other un-American breed; but for -all that I appeal to your humanitarian instincts when I offer this -fact in support of advertising, and I trust you will remember it when -considering the evidence. - -In the second place, advertising is largely responsible for the -remarkable strides we have taken in the art of typography. If you will -examine much of the literature produced by advertising, you will find -there many excellent examples of what can be done with type. To-day no -country in the world is producing more artistic and authentic specimens -of typography than America, and this, I repeat, is largely due to the -influence of advertising. - -We can also advance as an argument in favour of advertising that it has -contributed materially to a greater use of the tooth-brush and a more -diligent application of soap. Advertising has preached cleanliness, -preached frantically, selfishly and for its own ends, no doubt, but -nevertheless it has preached convincingly. It matters little what -means are used to achieve the end of cleanliness as long as the end is -achieved. This, advertising has helped to accomplish. The cleanliness -of the body and the cleanliness of the home as desirable virtues are -constantly being held up before the readers of papers and magazines. As -has been said, there are altogether too many different makes of soap -and other sanitary articles, but in this case permit us to modify the -statement by adding that it is much better to have too many of such -articles than too few. This third point in favour of advertising is no -small point to consider. The profession cannot be wholly useless, if -it has helped to make teeth white, faces clean, bodies healthy, homes -fresh and sanitary, and people more concerned with their bodies and the -way they treat them. - -The fourth point in favour of advertising is that through the medium -of paid space in the papers and magazines certain deserving movements -have been able to reach a larger public and thus recruit from it new -and valuable members. This example illustrates the value of advertising -when applied to worthy ends. In all fairness we are forced to conclude, -that, after all, there is much in advertising that is not totally -depraved. - -Now that we are about to rest the case, let us gaze once more through -the magic portals of the advertising world and refresh our eyes with -its beauty. On second glance we find there is something strangely -pathetic and wistfully human about this World That Never Was. It is -a world very much after our own creation, peopled and arranged after -our own yearnings and desires. It is a world of well regulated bowels, -cornless feet, and unblemished complexions, a world of perfectly -fitting clothes, completely equipped kitchens, and always upright and -smiling husbands. To this world of splendid country homes, humming -motors, and agreeable companions, prisoners on our own poor weary -world of reality may escape for a while to live a few short moments of -unqualified comfort and happiness. Even if they do return from their -flight with pockets empty and arms laden with a number of useless -purchases, they have had at least some small reward for their folly. -They have dwelt and sported with fascinating people in surroundings of -unsurpassed beauty. True, it is not such a world as Rembrandt would -have created, but he was a grim old realist, who, when he wanted to -paint a picture of a person cutting the nails, selected for his model -an old and unscrupulous woman, and cast around her such an atmosphere -of reality that one can almost hear the snip of the scissors as it -proceeds on its revolting business. How much better it would be done -in the advertising world! Here we would be shown a young and beautiful -girl sitting gracefully before her mirror and displaying just enough -of her body to convince the beholder that she was neither crippled nor -chicken-breasted, and all day long for ever and for ever she would sit -thus smiling tenderly as she clipped the pink little moon-flecked nails -from her pink little pointed fingers. - -Yes, I fear it is a world of our own creation. Only a few persons -would stand long before Rembrandt’s crude example, while many would -dwell with delight on the curves and allurements of the maid in the -advertising world. Of course one might forget or never even discover -what she was doing, and assuming that one did, one would hardly dwell -upon such an unromantic occupation in connection with a creature so -fair and refined as this ideal young woman; but for all that, one would -at least have had the pleasure of contemplating her loveliness. - -So many of us are poor and ill-favoured in this world of ours, so many -girls are not honestly able to purchase more than one frock or one hat -a year, that the occasion of the purchase takes on an importance far -beyond the appreciation of the average well-to-do person. It is fun, -therefore, to dwell upon the lines and features of a perfectly gowned -woman and to imagine that even though poor and ill-favoured, one might -possibly resemble in a modified way, the splendid model, if one could -only get an extra fifteen minutes off at lunch-time in order to attend -the bargain sale. There are some of us who are so very poor that from -a great distance we can enjoy without hope of participation the glory -and triumph of others. The advertising world supplies us with just this -sort of vicarious enjoyment, and, like all other kinds of fiction, -enables us to play for a moment an altogether pleasing rôle in a world -of high adventure. - -Therefore let us not be too uncharitable to the advertising world. -While not forgetting its faults, let us also strive to remember its -virtues. Some things we cannot forgive it, some things we would prefer -to forget, but there are others which require less toleration and -fortitude to accept when once they have been understood. - -As long as the printed word is utilized and goods are bought and sold, -there will be a place and a reason for advertising--not advertising -as we know it to-day, but of a saner and more useful nature. He would -be a doughty champion of the limitation of free speech who would -deny a man the right to tell the world that he is the manufacturer -of monkey-wrenches, and that he has several thousands of these same -wrenches on hand, all of which he is extremely anxious to sell. - -Advertising, although a precocious child, is but in its infancy. In -spite of its rapid development and its robust constitution, it has not -yet advanced beyond the savage and bragging age. It will appeal to our -instincts of greed as quickly as to our instincts of home-building. -It will make friends with the snob that is in us, as readily as it -will avail itself of the companionship of our desire to be generous -and well-liked. It will frighten and bulldoze us into all sorts of -extravagant purchases with the same singleness of purpose that it will -plead with our self-respect in urging us to live cleaner and better -lives. It will use our pride and vanity for its own ends as coolly as -it will use our good nature or community spirit. It will run through -the whole gamut of human emotions, selecting therefrom those best -suited to its immediate ends. Education alone will make the child -behave--not the education of the child so much as the education of the -reader. - -Advertising thrives to-day in the shadows created by big business, -and, as a consequence, if it would retain its master’s favour it must -justify his methods, and practise his evil ways. Here it must be -added that there are some honest advertising agencies which refuse to -accept the business of dishonest concerns. It must also be added that -there are some magazines and newspapers which will refuse to accept -unscrupulous advertisements. These advertisements must be notoriously -unscrupulous, however, before they meet this fate. There are even such -creatures as honest manufacturers, but unfortunately for the profession -they too rarely advertise. As a whole, advertising is committed to the -ways of business, and as the ways of business are seldom straight and -narrow, advertising perforce must follow a dubious path. We shall let -it rest at that. - -We have made no attempt in this article to take up the subject of -out-door advertising. There is nothing to say about this branch of -the profession save that it is bad beyond expression, and should be -removed from sight with all possible haste. In revolting against the -sign-board, direct action assumes the dignity of conservatism, and -although I do not recommend an immediate assault on all sign-boards, -I should be delighted if such an assault took place. Were I a judge -sitting on the case of a man apprehended in the act of destroying one -of these eyesores, I should give him the key to my private stock, and -adjourn the court for a week. - - J. THORNE SMITH - - - - -BUSINESS - - -Modern business derives from three passions in this order, namely: The -passion for things, the passion for personal grandeur and the passion -for power. Things are multiplied in use and possession when people -exchange with each other the products of specialized labour. Personal -grandeur may be realized in wealth. Gratification of the third passion -in this way is new. Only in recent times has business become a means to -great power, a kind of substitute for kingship, wherein man may sate -his love of conquest, practise private vengeance, and gain dominion -over people. - -These passions are feeble on the Oriental side of the world, strong -in parts of Europe, powerful in America. Hence the character of -American business. It is unique, wherein it is so, not in principle -but in degree of phenomena. For natural reasons the large objects of -business are most attainable in this country. Yet this is not the -essential difference. In the pursuit of them there is a characteristic -American manner, as to which one may not unreasonably prefer a romantic -explanation. No white man lives on this continent who has not himself -or in his ancestry the will that makes desire overt and dynamic, the -solitary strength to push his dream across seas. Islands had been -peopled before by this kind of selection, notably England; never a -continent. A reckless, egoistic, experimental spirit governs, betrays, -and preserves us still. - -The elemental hunger for food, warmth, and refuge gives no direct -motive to business. People may live and reproduce without business. -Civilization of a sort may exist without its offices. The settler who -disappears into the wilderness with a wife, a gun, a few tools, and -some pairs of domestic beasts, may create him an idyllic habitation, -amid orchards and fields, self-contained in rude plenty; but he is lost -to business until he produces a money crop, that is, a surplus of the -fruits of husbandry to exchange for fancy hardware, tea, window glass, -muslin, china, and luxuries. - -The American wilderness swallowed up hundreds of thousands of such -hearth-bearers. Business was slow to touch them. What they had to sell -was bulky. The cost of transportation was prohibitive. There were no -highways, only rivers, for traffic to go upon. Food was cheap, because -the earth in a simple way was bounteous; but the things for which food -could be exchanged were dear. This would naturally be true in a new -country, where craft industry must develop slowly. It was true also -for another reason, which was that the Mother Country regarded the New -World as a plantation to be exploited for the benefit of its own trade -and manufactures. - -Great Britain’s claim to proprietary interest in America having been -established against European rivals by the end of the 17th century, her -struggle with the colonists began. The English wanted (1) raw materials -upon which to bestow their high craft labour, (2) an exclusive market -for the output of their mills and factories, and (3) a monopoly of -the carrying trade. The colonists wanted industrial freedom. As long -as they held themselves to chimney-corner industries, making nails, -shoes, hats, and coarse cloth for their own use, there was no quarrel. -But when labour even in a small way began to devote itself exclusively -to handicraft, so that domestic manufactures were offered for sale in -competition with imported English goods, that was business--and the -British Parliament voted measures to crush it. The weaving of cloth for -sale was forbidden, lest the colonists become independent of English -fabrics. So was the making of beaver hats; the English were hatters. -It was forbidden to set up an iron rolling-mill in America, because -the English required pig iron and wished to work it themselves. To all -these acts of Parliament the colonists opposed subterfuge until they -were strong enough to be defiant. That impatience of legal restraints -which is one of the most obstinate traits of American business was then -a patriotic virtue. - -Meanwhile the New England trader had appeared--that adorable, hymning, -unconscious pirate who bought molasses in the French West Indies, -swapped it for rum at Salem, Mass., traded the rum for Negroes on the -African coast, exchanged the Negroes for tobacco in Virginia, and sold -the tobacco for money in Europe, at a profit to be settled with God. -This trade brought a great deal of money to the colonies; and they -needed money almost more than anything else. Then the British laid a -ban on trade with the French West Indies, put a tax upon coastwise -traffic between the colonies; and decreed that American tobacco should -be exported nowhere but to English ports, although--or because--tobacco -prices were higher everywhere else in Europe. The natural consequence -of this restrictive British legislation was to make American business -utterly lawless. As much as a third of it was notoriously conducted in -defiance of law. Smuggling both in domestic and foreign trade became -a folk custom. John Hancock, the first signer of the Declaration of -Independence, was a celebrated smuggler. - -During the War of Independence domestic craft industry was stimulated -by necessity. But the means were crude and the products imperfect; and -when, after peace, British merchants with an accumulation of goods -on their hands began to offer them for sale in the United States at -low prices, hoping to recover their new-world trade in competitive -terms, the infant industries cried out for protection. They got -it. One of the first acts of the American Congress was to erect a -tariff against foreign-made goods in order that the country might -become self-sufficing in manufactures. This was the beginning of our -protectionist policy. - -Fewer than four million unbusiness-like people coming into free -possession of that part of the North American continent which is -named America was a fabulous business event. We cannot even now -comprehend it. They had not the dimmest notion of what it was they were -possessed of, nor what it meant economically. Geography ran out at the -Mississippi. The tide of Westward immigration was just beginning to -break over the crest of the Alleghany mountains. - -Over-seas trade grew rapidly, as there was always a surplus of food and -raw materials to be exchanged abroad for things which American industry -was unable to provide. Foreign commerce was an important source of -group-wealth and public interest was much concerned with it. Besides, -it was easier to trade across seas than inland. Philadelphia until -about 1835 was nearer London than Pittsburgh, not as the crow flies -but as freight moves. Domestic business, arising from the internal -exchange of goods, developed slowly, owing partly to the wretched state -of transportation and partly to the self-contained nature of families -and communities. The population was more than nine-tenths rural; rural -habits survived even in the towns, where people kept cows and pigs, -cured their own meats, preserved their own fruits and vegetables, and -thought ready-made garments a shocking extravagance. Business under -these conditions performed a subservient function. People’s relations -with it were in large measure voluntary. Its uses were more luxurious -than vital. There was not then, nor could any one at this time have -imagined, that interdependence of individuals, groups, communities, -and geographical sections which it is the blind aim of business -increasingly to promote, so that at length the case is reversed and -people are subservient to business. - -In Southern New Jersey you may see a farm, now prosperously devoted to -berry and fruit crops, on which, still in good repair, are the cedar -rail fences built by a farmer whose contacts with business were six or -eight trips a year over a sand road to Trenton with surplus food to -exchange for some new tools, tea, coffee, and store luxuries. That old -sand road has become a cement pavement--a motor highway. Each morning -a New York baking corporation’s motor stops at the farm-house and the -driver hands in some fresh loaves. Presently a butcher’s motor stops -with fresh meat, then another one with dry groceries, and yet another -from a New York department store with parcels containing ready-made -garments, stockings and shoes. - -Consider what these four motors symbolize. - -First is an automobile industry and a system for producing, refining -and distributing oil which together are worth as much as the whole -estimated wealth of America three generations ago. - -Back of the bakery wagon what a vista! An incorporated baking industry, -mixing, kneading, roasting, and wrapping the loaf in paraffine paper -without touch of human hands, all by automatic machinery. Beyond the -Mississippi, in a country undiscovered until 1804, the wheat fields -that are ploughed, sown, reaped by power-driven machinery. In Minnesota -a milling industry in which the miller has become an impersonal flour -trust. A railroad system that transports first the grain and then the -flour over vast distances at rates so low that the cost of two or three -thousand miles of transportation in the loaf of bread delivered to the -New Jersey farm-house is inexpressible.... Back of the butcher’s motor -is a meat-packing industry concentrated at Chicago. It sends fresh meat -a thousand miles in iced cars and sells it to a New Jersey farmer for -a price at which he can better afford to buy it than to bother about -producing it for himself.... Back of the grocer’s motor are the food -products and canning industries. By means of machinery they shred, -peel, hull, macerate, roll, cook, cool, and pack fruits, cereals, and -vegetables in cartons and containers which are made, labelled, and -sealed by other automatic machinery.... And back of the department -store motor are the garment-making, shoe-making, textile, and knitting -industries. - -If one link in all this ramified scheme of business breaks there is -chaos. If the State of New Jersey were suddenly cut off from the -offices of business for six months, a third of her population might -perish; not that the State is unable potentially to sustain her own, -but that the people have formed habits of dependence upon others, as -others depend upon them, for the vital products of specialized labour. - -All this has happened in the life of one cedar rail fence. You say -that is only fifty or sixty years. Nevertheless it is literally so. -The system under which we live has been evolved since 1860. The -transformation was sudden. Never in the world were the physical -conditions of a nation’s life altered so fast by economic means. Yet -it did not happen for many years. The work of unconscious preparation -occupied three-quarters of a century. - -Man acts upon his environment with hands, tools, and imagination; and -business requires above everything else the means of cheap and rapid -transportation. In all the major particulars save one the founders -were ill-equipped for their independent attack upon the American -environment. At the beginning of the 19th century there were no -roads, merely a few trails fit only for horseback travel. There were -no canals yet. And the labour wherewith to perform heavy, monotonous -tasks was dear and scarce and largely self-employed. Though the hands -of the pioneer are restless they are not patiently industrious. There -was need of machinery such as had already begun to revolutionize -British industry, but the English jealously protected their mechanical -knowledge. - -There is a tradition that the Americans were marvellously inventive -with labour-saving devices. That is to be qualified. Their special -genius lay rather in the adaptation and enthusiastic use of such -devices. The introduction of them was not resisted as in the older -countries by labour unwilling to change its habits and fearful of -unemployment. This was an important advantage. - -The American textile industry was founded by British artisans who -came to this country carrying contraband in their heads, that is, the -plans of weaving, spinning, and knitting machines which the English -guarded as carefully as military secrets.... The pre-eminence of this -country in the manufacture and use of agricultural implements is set -out in elementary school-books as proof of American inventiveness; yet -the essential principles of the reaper were evolved in Great Britain -forty years before the appearance of the historic McCormick reaper -(1831) in this country, and threshing-machines were in general use in -England while primitive methods of flailing, trampling, and dragging -prevailed in America. As recently as 1850 the scythe and cradle reaped -the American harvest and there still existed the superstition that -an iron plough poisoned the soil and stimulated weeds. Of all the -tools invented or adopted the one which Americans were to make the -most prodigious use of was the railroad; yet the first locomotive was -brought from England in 1829, the embargo on machinery having by this -time been lifted--and it failed because it was too heavy! - -Twenty years passed and still the possibilities of rail transportation -were unperceived, which is perhaps somewhat explained by the fact -that the one largest vested interest of that time existed in canals. -On the map of 1850 the railroads resemble earthworms afraid to leave -water and go inland. The notion of a railroad was that it supplemented -water transportation, connecting lake, canal, and river routes, helping -traffic over the high places. - -But in the next ten years--1850 to 1860--destiny surrendered. There -was that rare coincidence of seed, weather, deep ploughing, and -mysterious sanction which the miracle requires. The essential power of -the American was suddenly liberated. There was the discovery of gold -in California. There was the Crimean War, which created a high demand -abroad for our commodities. The telegraph put its indignities upon -time and space. The idea of a railroad as a tool of empire seized the -imagination. Railroads were deliriously constructed. The map of 1860 -shows a glistening steel web from the seaboard to the Mississippi. - -The gigantesque was enthroned as the national fetich. Votive offerings -were mass, velocity, quantity. True cities began. The spirit of Chicago -was born. Bigness and be-damnedness. In this decade the outlines of our -economic development were cast for good. - -In the exclusive perspective of business the Civil War is an indistinct -episode. It stimulated industry in the North, shattered it in the -South. The net result in a purely economic sense is a matter of free -opinion. The Morse telegraph code probably created more wealth than the -war directly destroyed. Or the bitter sectional row over the route of -the first transcontinental railroad which postponed that project for -ten years possibly cost the country more than the struggle to preserve -the Union. But that is all forgotten. - -After 1860 the momentum of growth, notwithstanding the war and two -terrible panics, was cumulative. In the next fifty years, down to -1910, we built half as much railroad mileage as all the rest of -the world. Population trebled. This fact stands alone in the data -of vital statistics. Yet even more remarkable were the alterations -of human activity. The number of city dwellers increased 3½ times -faster than the population; the number of wage-earners, 2 times -faster; clerks, salesmen, and typists, 6½ times faster; banks, 7 -times faster; corporations, 6½ times faster; miners, 3 times faster; -transportation-workers, 20 times faster, and the number of independent -farmers decreased. Wealth in this time increased from about $500 to -more than $1,500 _per capita_. - -If America in its present state of being had been revealed to the -imagination of any hard-headed economist in, say, 1850, as a mirage or -dream, he would have said: “There is in all the world not enough labour -and capital to do it.” He could not have guessed how the power of both -would be multiplied. - -First there was the enormous simple addition to the labour supply -in the form of immigration. Then the evolution of machinery and -time-saving methods incredibly increased the productivity of labour -per human unit. Thirdly, the application of power to agriculture and -the opening of all that virgin country west of the Mississippi to -bonanza-farming so greatly increased the production of food per unit -of rural labour that at length it required only half the population to -feed the whole. The other half was free. Business and industry absorbed -it. - -Of what happened at the same time to capital, in which term we include -also credit, there could have been no prescience at all. Even now when -we think of building a railroad, a telephone system, or an automobile -factory the thought is that it will take capital, as of course it will -at first, but one should consider also how anything that increases the -velocity with which goods are exchanged, or reduces the time in which -a given amount of business may be transacted, adds to the functioning -power of capital. To illustrate this: the merchant of 1850 did business -very largely with his own capital unaided. He was obliged to invest -heavily in merchandise stocks. The turn-over was slow. His margin -of profit necessarily had to be large. But with the development of -transportation and means of communication--the railroad, telegraph, -and telephone--and with the parallel growth of banking facilities, -the conditions of doing business were fundamentally changed. All the -time-factors were foreshortened. - -A merchant now has to lock up much less capital in merchandise, since -his stocks are easily and swiftly replenished. The turn-over is -much faster because people using suburban railways and street-cars -go oftener to shop. And not only is it possible for these reasons to -do a larger volume of business with a given amount of capital, but -the merchant now borrows two-thirds, maybe three-quarters, of his -capital at the bank in the form of credit. The same is true of the -manufacturer. Formerly he locked up his capital, first in raw materials -and then in finished products to be sold in season as the demand was; -and there was great risk of loss in this way of matching supply to -an estimated demand. Now he sells his goods before he makes them, -borrows credit at the bank to buy his raw materials, even to pay his -labour through the processes of manufacture, and when the customer -pays on delivery of the goods with credit which he also has borrowed -at the bank, the manufacturer settles with _his_ bank and keeps the -difference. An exporter was formerly one who bought commodities with -his own money, loaded them on ship, sent them on chance to a foreign -market, and waited for his capital to come back with a profit. Now he -first sells the goods to a foreign customer by cable, then buys them on -credit, loads them on ship, sells the bill of lading to a bank, uses -the proceeds to pay for the goods, and counts his profit. All large -business now is transacted in this way with phantom capital, called -credit; money is employed to settle differences only. - -The effect of this revolution of methods upon the morals and manners -of business was tremendous. It destroyed the aristocracy of business -by throwing the field open to men without capital. Traders and brokers -over-ran it. The man doing business on borrowed capital could out-trade -one doing business on his own. The more he borrowed, the harder he -could trade. Salesmanship became a specialized, conscienceless art. -There was no rule but to take all the traffic would bear: let the -buyer look out. Dishonesty in business became so gross that it had -to be sublimated in the national sense of humour. There are many -still living who remember what shopping was like even in the largest -city stores when nobody dreamed of paying the price first asked and -counter-higgling was a universal custom. Indeed, so ingrained it -was that when A. T. Stewart in New York announced the experiment of -treating all buyers alike on a one-price basis his ruin was predicted -by the whole merchant community. - -As credit both increases competition and enables a larger business -to be done on a small base of invested capital, the margin of profit -in business tends to fall. Under conditions of intense rivalry among -merchants and manufacturers operating more and more with phantom -capital the margin of profit did fall until it was very thin indeed. -This led to the abasement of goods by adulteration and tricks of -manufacture, which became at length so great an evil that the -government had to interfere with pure-food acts and laws forbidding -wilful misrepresentation. - -There was a limit beyond which the cost of production could not be -reduced by degradation of quality. It was impossible to control prices -with competition so wild and spontaneous and with cheapness the -touchword of success. Therefore the wages of business were low, and -things apparently had come to an impasse. Yet out of this chaos arose -what now we know as big business. The idea was simple--mass production -of standardized foods. The small, fierce units of business began to be -amalgamated. As society is integrated by steps--clan, tribe, nation, -State--so big business passed through mergers, combines, and trusts -toward the goal of monopoly. - -When a number of competing manufacturers unite to produce standard -commodities in quantity, much duplication of effort is eliminated, -time-saving methods are possible as not before, the cost of production -is reduced. There are other advantages. They are stronger than they -were separately, not only as buyers of labour, raw materials, and -transportation, but as borrowers of capital. The individual or firm -is the customer of a bank. The corporation makes a partnership with -finance. - -Now a curious thing happens. The corporation with its mass production -restores the quality of goods. It is responsible for its products and -guarantees them by brands, labels and trade-marks. Sugar and oatmeal -come out of the anonymous barrel behind the grocer’s counter and go -into attractive cartons on his shelf, bearing the name of the producer. -Gloves, shirts, stockings, cutlery, furniture, meat products, jams, -watches, fabrics, everything in fact becomes standardized by name -and price and is advertised by the producer directly to the public -over the retailer’s head, so that the small retailer is no longer a -merchant in the old sense but a grumbling commission-man. Big business -has delivered itself from the impasse; it has recovered control of -its profits; but now the retailer’s margin of profit tends to become -fixed. What does the retailer do? He applies the same principle to the -last act of selling. Enter the chain-store. Obviously a corporation -owning a chain of several hundred stores and working, like the -manufacturer, with borrowed capital, is stronger than any one retailer -to bargain with the powerful producers, and as the chain-store tends -to displace the little retailer a balance is restored between the -business of production and the business of retailing. Mass production -is met by mass selling. The consumer as the last subject may resort to -legislation for his protection. - -Big business could not have evolved in this way without the aid of the -railroads. Their dilemma was similar. Strife and competition had ruined -their profits. To begin with, nobody knew what it cost to produce -transportation. When a new line was opened it made rates according to -circumstances. At points where it met water competition it charged -very little, sometimes less than the cost of its fuel, and at points -where there was no competition it charged all the traffic would stand. -Then as competitive railroad-building excessively increased the high -rates steadily fell. Once they got started people were obsessed to make -railroads. They made them for speculative reasons, for feudal reasons, -for political reasons, for any reason at all. Two men might quarrel in -Wall Street, and one would build a thousand miles of railroad to spite -the other--build it with the proceeds of shares sold to the public or -hypothecated at the bank. Then there would be two roads to divide the -business of one. Railroads under these conditions were unscientifically -planned and over-built. The profit was rather in the building than -in the working of them. There was scandal both ways. Quantities of -fictitious capital were created and sold to the public. And when a -railroad was built it became the plaything of its traffic manager, who -conspired with other traffic managers to sell favours to shippers and -to invent disastrous rate-wars in order to profit by the fall of shares -on the stock market. - -Rates could not be raised or held up, owing to the irresponsible -nature of the competition. Transportation is a commodity that cannot -be adulterated. How was the profit to be restored in this field of -business? Why, by the same method as in industry. That is, by mass -production. - -Some one discovered that once you got a loaded train out of the -terminal and rolling on the right-of-way it cost almost nothing to -keep it moving. There was no money in hauling small lots of freight -short distances at the highest rates that could be charged; but there -was profit in moving large quantities of freight in full cars over -long distances at very low rates. At this the railroad people went mad -over the long, heavy haul. Here was industry seeking to concentrate -itself in fewer places for purposes of mass production; and here were -the railroads wanting masses of freight to move long distances. Their -problems coincided. - -Result: mass production gravitates to those far-apart long-haul points -to get the benefit of low rates, there is congestion of industrial -population at those points, industry at intermediate points is -penalized by higher freight rates, and the railroads henceforth equip -themselves with mass tonnage primarily in view. You begin now to have -steel towns, meat towns, flour towns, textile towns, garment towns, and -so on. That interdependence of communities and geographical sections -which makes business is in full development. - -However, the second state of the railroad is worse than the first. It -is overwhelmed by the monster it has suckled. It is at the mercy of -a few big shippers, masters of mass production, who bully it, extort -lower and lower rates still, and at length secret rebates, under threat -of transferring their tonnage to another railroad or in some cases of -building their own railroad, which now they are powerful enough to do. -The railroad yields; and whereas before only such industry as survived -at intermediate points was penalized by higher freight rates, now -all industry outside of big business is at a disadvantage, since big -business is receiving secret benefits from the railroads. - -There was no philosophy in any of this, not even a high order of -intelligence. The will of business is anarchistic; its religion is -fatalism. If let alone, it will seek its profit by any means that serve -and then view the consequences as acts of Providence. - -It has been noted that big business, going in for mass production, -restored the honesty of goods. The motive was not ethical. It paid. The -public’s good will toward a brand or a trade-mark was an asset that -could be capitalized, sometimes for more than plant and equipment, and -the shares representing such capitalization could be sold to the public -on the Stock Exchange. But what was gained for morality in the honesty -of goods was lost again in new forms of dishonesty. Standard Oil -products were always cheap and honest; its oil was never watered. But -the means by which the Standard Oil Company gained its dangerous trade -eminence were dishonest, and the trust was dissolved for that reason by -the United States Supreme Court. It happens to be only the most notable -instance. There were and are still many others--combines and trusts -whose products are honest but whose tradeways are either illegal or -ethically repugnant. - -One cannot say that business is either honest or dishonest. It is both. -Evidence of permanent gain in a kind of intrinsic commercial honesty is -abundant. Wild-cat banking has disappeared. A simple book entry between -merchants is as good as a promissory note. The integrity of merchandise -now is a trade custom. Vulgar misrepresentations have ceased save in -the slums of business. The practice of making open prices to all buyers -alike, wholesale and retail, is universal. It is no longer possible to -print railroad shares surreptitiously overnight and flood the Stock -Exchange with them the next morning, as once happened in Erie. Nowhere -is character more esteemed than in business. - -And yet, in spite of all this and parallel with it, runs a bitter feud -between society and business. People are continually acting upon big -business through the agencies of government to make it behave. What is -the explanation? - -Well, in the first place, the improvement in commercial honesty -has been owing not so much to ethical enlightenment as to internal -necessity. Big business must do its work on credit; there is no other -way. Therefore credit is a sacred thing, to be preserved by all -means. Men know that unless they are scrupulous in fulfilling their -obligations toward it, the system will collapse. As the use of credit -increases the code of business become more rigid. It must. One who -breaks faith with the code is not merely dishonest, man to man; he is -an enemy of credit. - -If a stock-market coterie of this day could print Erie shares without -notice and sell them the public would suffer of course but Wall Street -would suffer much more. Its own affairs would fall into hopeless -disorder. That kind of thing cannot happen again. The code has been -improved. You now may be sure that anything you buy on the Stock -Exchange has been regularly issued and listed. No institution is more -jealous of the integrity of its transactions--transactions as such. -Purchases and sales involving millions are consummated with a nod -of the head and simple dishonesty is unknown. Nevertheless, it is a -notorious fact that the amount of money nowadays lost on the Stock -Exchange by the unwary public is vastly greater than in Jay Gould’s -time. There is, you see, an important difference between formal and -moral honesty. - -Secondly, business morality is a term without meaning. There is no -such thing. Business is neither moral nor immoral. It represents man’s -acquisitive instinct acting outside of humanistic motives. Morals are -personal and social. Business is impersonal and unsocial. - -So far we come clear. Only now, what shall be said of the man in -business? He is not a race apart. He may be any of us. How then shall -we account for the fact that those evils and tyrannies of big business -with which the Congress, the Interstate Commerce Commission, the -Department of Justice, the Federal Trade Board, and other agencies -of the social will keep open war are not inhibited at the head by an -innate social sense? Does the business man lose that sense? Or by -reason of the material in which he works does he become an unsocial -being? No. The answer is that the kind of business we now are talking -about is not conducted by men. It is conducted by corporations. - -A thing of policy purely, with only legal responsibilities and no -personality, free from hope of heaven or fear of hell, the corporation -is both a perfect instrument for the impersonal ends of business and a -cave of refuge for the conscience. Business by corporations is highly -responsible in all that pertains to business. Business by corporations -is in all ethical respects anonymous. A corporation does many things -which no one of its directors would do as an individual. The head -of a corporation says: “If it were my own business, I should handle -this labour problem very differently. But it isn’t. I am a trustee, -answerable to five thousand stockholders for the security of their -dividends.” Each of the five thousand stockholders says: “It isn’t my -business. I am merely one of a great number of stockholders. What can I -do about it?” - -Nobody is personally responsible. - -More than two-thirds of our national wealth is owned by corporations. -They control at some point every process of economic life. Their power -is so great that many have wondered whether in time it might not -overwhelm popular government. Yet in all this realm of power there is -nowhere that sense of personal moral liability which is acknowledged -between men and without which civilized human relationships would -become utterly impossible. A corporation is like a State in this -respect: it cannot, if it would, make moral decisions. The right to do -that is not delegated by people to a State nor by stockholders to a -corporation. Both therefore are limited to material decisions. - -It is probably owing as much to the power-thirsty, law-baiting -temperament of the American in business as to the magnitude of the -work to be done that the use of the corporation, like the use of -labour-saving machinery, has been carried further here than in any -other country. Railroads naturally were the first great corporations. -The amount of capital required to build a railroad is beyond the -resources of any small group of individuals; it must be gathered from -a large number, who become shareholders. The original railroads were -subsidized by the government with loans of money and enormous grants -of land. Industrial and trading corporations came later. For a long -time America was to all corporations a Garden of Eden. They were -encouraged, not precisely that they were presumed to be innocent but -because they were indispensable. Then they ate of the Tree of Political -Power and the feud was on. When people began really to fear them their -roots were already very deep and touched nearly everything that was -solid. The sinister alliance between big business and high finance was -accomplished. - -One of the absurdities of the case was and is that any State according -to its own laws may grant corporation-charters which carry rights of -eminent domain in all other states. The Standard Oil Company was once -dissolved in Ohio. It took out a new charter in New Jersey, and went on -as before, even in Ohio. - -Every attempt to reform their oppressive ways by law they have resisted -under the constitution as an attack upon the rights of property. And -there has always been much confusion as to what the law was. In one -case it was construed by the United States Supreme Court to mean that -bigness itself, the mere power of evil, was illegal whether it had been -exercised or not; in another, that each instance must be treated on its -merits by a rule of reason, and, in still another, that the potential -power to restrain trade in a monopolistic manner was not in itself -illegal provided it had never been used. - -Nevertheless the doubt as to which should control the other--the State -the corporations or the corporations the State--has been resolved. -Gradually the authority of the State has been asserted. The hand of the -corporation in national politics is branded. The Federal Government’s -control over the rates and practices of the railroads is complete; so -likewise is the control of many of the several separate States over the -rates and practices of public-utility corporations. Federal authority -over the tradeways of the great industrial and trading corporations -whose operations are either so large or so essential, to economic -life as to become clothed with public interest is far advanced; and -supervision of profits is beginning. - -Now what manner of profit and loss account may we write with American -business? - -Given to begin with an environment superb, it has made wealth available -to an aggregate extent hitherto unimaginable in the world. But in doing -this it has created a conscious, implacable proletariat in revolt -against private profit. - -In production it has brought about a marvellous economy of human -effort. At the same time it has created colossal forms of social -waste. It wastes the spirit by depriving the individual of that sense -of personal achievement, that feeling of participation in the final -result, which is the whole joy of craftsmanship, so that the mind is -bored and the heart is seared. It wastes all things prodigally in the -effort to create new and extravagant wants, reserving its most dazzling -rewards for him that can make two glittering baubles to sell where only -one was sold before. It wastes the living machine in recurring periods -of frightful and unnecessary idleness. - -For the distribution of goods it has perfected a web of exchange, so -elaborate that the breaking of one strand is a disaster and yet so -trustworthy that we take its conveniences every day for granted and -never worry. But the adjustment of supply to demand is so rude and -uncontrolled that we suffer periodic economic calamities, extreme -trade depression, and social distress, because there has been an -over-production of some things at a price-impasse between producer and -consumer. - -In the field of finance and credit it has evolved a mechanism of the -highest dynamic intensity known; yet the speculative abuse of credit is -an unmitigated scandal, and nothing whatever has been done to eliminate -or diminish those alternations of high and low prices, inflation and -deflation, which produce panics and perilous political disorder. On the -contrary, business continues fast in the antique superstition that such -things happen in obedience to inexorable laws. - -In the Great War American business amazed the world, itself included. -In 1914 the United States was a debtor nation, owing Europe 3 billions -of dollars. By the end of 1920 we were the largest creditor nation -on earth, other nations owing us 15 billions. This means simply -that in six years this country produced in excess of its own needs -and sent abroad commodities amounting to 18 billions of dollars. In -1921, to the naïve astonishment of business, the foreign demand -for American goods slumped because foreign countries had not the -means to go on buying at any such rate. The result was an acute -panic in prices here, trade prostration, unemployment, and sounds of -despair. The case was stated by leaders of business and finance in -these ominous terms: “America is over-equipped. It has the capacity -to produce more of everything than it needs. Therefore unless we -continuously sell our surplus abroad, unless the American government -will lend foreign countries the credit with which to buy our excess -production, prosperity is shattered. Factories will shut up, fields -will lie fallow, labour will suffer for want of work. Moreover, we are -threatened with a deluge of foreign goods, for presently the countries -that owe us 18 billions of dollars will be trying to pay us with -commodities. If we open our markets to their goods our own industries -will be ruined. So we must have high tariffs to protect American -producers from the competition of foreign merchandise.” - -Ruined by over-plenty! - -We are equipped to produce more of the goods that satisfy human wants -than we can use, our command over the labour of foreign countries by -reason of the debt they owe us is enormous, and _business desponds_. - -Attend. To keep our prosperity we must sell away our surplus, or if -necessary give it away to foreign countries on credit, and then protect -ourselves against their efforts to repay us! The simple absurdity -of this proposition is self-evident. We mention it only for what -it signifies. And it signifies that business is a blind, momentous -sequence, with extravagant reflex powers of accommodation and extension -and almost no faculty of original imagination. - -American business despairing at over-production and the American Indian -shivering on top of the Pennsylvania coalfields--these are twin ironies. - -John Law’s Mississippi Bubble dream three centuries ago was a phantasy -of escape from the boredom of toil. The bubble itself has been -captured. That is the story of American business. But who has escaped, -save always a few at the expense of many? There may be in fact no other -way. Still, the phantasy will not lie. And nobody knows for sure what -will happen when business is no longer a feudal-minded thing, with -rights and institutions apart, seeking its own profit as the consummate -end, and perceives itself in the light of a subordinate human function, -justified by service. - - GARET GARRETT - - - - -ENGINEERING - - -American engineering made its beginning almost immediately after -the end of the War for Independence. The pursuits of the colonists -under British domination were mainly agricultural. Manufacturing was -systematically thwarted in order that the Colonies might become a -market for the finished goods of England. Objection to this form of -sabotage subsequently developed into one of the main causes of the -Revolutionary War. It was but natural, therefore, as soon as the -artificial restrictions imposed upon Colonial enterprise were removed, -for the new citizens of America to devise machinery, build roads and -canals, and plan cities. - -The early engineers who carried on this work were seldom formally -trained. They were little more than higher types of artisans. It was -only after thirty-odd years of discussion and agitation that the first -scientific schools were established in this country--two in number. And -it was only after the enactment of the Morrill Act by Congress (1862) -that formal engineering training as we know it to-day was put on a firm -national basis. By 1870, 866 engineers had been graduated from American -technical schools and colleges. The real advent of the typical American -engineer, however, has only occurred since 1870. At present he is being -supplied to the industries of the country at the rate of 5,000 a year. - -The coming of the formally trained technologist or scientist of -industry lagged somewhat behind the development of the industrial -revolution. This was particularly true in America. Originally all -attention was centered on the training of so-called civil engineers, -i.e., canal, bridge, road, dam and building designers and constructors. -The rapid rise of the mechanical arts after the Civil War focused -attention on the training of engineers expert in manufacturing. To-day -the mechanical and electrical engineers are more numerous than any -other group and have far outstripped the civil engineers. - -The original function of the engineer, especially in the first -days of his systematic training, was to deal scientifically with -purely mechanical problems. Thus the oft quoted definition of the -British Institution of Civil Engineers that “Engineering is the art -of directing the great sources of power in nature for the use and -convenience of man” reveals quite clearly the legitimate field within -which the engineer was supposed to operate. He was to harness the -untamed energies of nature. That this conception was then sufficient, -and that the careers of most engineers were shaped accordingly, is -hardly to be disputed. Nor, judging from the achievement of American -engineers in the last fifty years, can it be contended that their -function was conceived in too narrow a light. Undoubtedly, the problems -of mechanical production, power-creation and transmission, bridge and -building construction, and railway and marine transportation, during -this period were largely material ones, and the opportunities for -their solution were especially good. To these the engineers directed -their attention. Thanks to their training, technique, and accumulated -experience, they became more and more successful in solving them. -At the same time, their relative freedom of thought and action with -reference to technological problems brought them into more or less -coherent groups which, as time went on, began to conceive a larger -function for the engineer--service to society as a whole rather than -the solving of mere concrete, specific difficulties. - -For while the material problems of production are undoubtedly as -important as ever, the present-day industrial system has begun to -reveal new problems which the engineer in America has, to a limited -extent, come to realize must be faced. These new problems are not -material in the old sense of the word; they concern themselves with the -control and administration of the units of our producing system. Their -nature is psychological and economic. - -Certain groups in the American engineering profession have become quite -conscious that these deeper problems are not being solved; at the same -time they consider it a necessary duty to help in their solution, -inasmuch as the engineer, they feel, is peculiarly fitted to see his -way clearly through them. Thus is being split off from the main body -of old-line engineers, a new wing not so much concerned with wringing -power from nature as with adjusting power to legitimate social needs. -As against the old engineer, concerned primarily with design and -construction, there is to be recognized the new engineer, concerned -mainly with industrial management. - -Unfortunately, however, a strict evaluation of the engineer’s status -with reference to the influence he may have on the solution of these -social and economic problems causes serious doubts to arise regarding -his ultimate possibilities in this field. Despite his great value and -recognized indispensability as a technologist, expert in problems -of materials and processes of manufacture, he can at best but serve -in an advisory capacity on questions affecting the division of the -national surplus or the control of industry. Nevertheless, it is of -fundamental significance that the American engineering profession has -of late considerably widened the scope of the British Institution of -Civil Engineers’ definition of engineering, namely, to the effect that -“Engineering is the science of controlling the forces and utilizing the -materials of nature for the benefit of man _and the art of organizing -and of directing human activities in connection therewith_.” The -implications of this much broader definition, if widely accepted, -will bring the American engineers sooner or later squarely before a -fundamental issue. - -The ideal of service is profoundly inherent in the profession of -engineering. But so, also, is the ideal of creative work. The -achievements of engineering enterprise are easily visualized and -understood, and from them the engineer is wont to derive a great -deal of satisfaction. Recently, however, the exactions of the modern -complex economic system, in which the engineer finds himself relatively -unimportant compared with, say, the financier, have contrived to rob -him of this satisfaction. And as his creative instincts have been -thwarted, he has turned upon business enterprise itself a sharp and -inquiring eye. From isolated criticisms of wastes and inefficiencies in -industry, for instance, he has not found it a long or difficult step to -the investigation of industry on a national basis for the purpose of -exposing technical and managerial shortcomings. - -It appears, however, that the majority of American engineers -to-day believe that their position as a class is such that they can -effectively maintain an impartial position when differences which arise -between large economic groups of society such as those of the merchant, -the manufacturer, the labourer, the farmer, although these differences -frequently lead to economic waste and loss. At all events, it is on -this basis that attempts are being made to formulate a general policy -for engineers as a class to pursue. It is very doubtful, however, -whether a group such as the engineers, constituting the “indispensable -general staff of industry,” can long take an impartial attitude towards -two such conflicting forces as capital and labour so long as they (the -engineers) adhere to the ideal of maximum service and efficiency. The -pickets of the fence may eventually prove unduly sharp. - -A minority group which believes otherwise has already organized -into an international federation of technicians affiliated with the -standard organized labour movement of America. This group holds that -the engineer is a wage-earner like all other industrial workers, and -that his economic welfare in many instances is no better than that -of ordinary wage-earners. In addition, this group maintains that in -the last analysis it is flatly impossible for engineers to take an -impartial attitude in the struggle between capital and labour. Hence -they advocate the engineer affiliating with the organized labour -movement like other wage earners and, in times of crisis, throwing his -influence with the workers of industry. - -The organized labour movement of America has indicated in clear terms -its estimate of the American engineer’s true value and opportunity. The -American Federation of Labour in 1919 issued the following statement: - - “To promote further the production of an adequate supply of the - world’s needs for use and higher standards of life, we urge - that there be established co-operation between the scientist of - industry and the representatives of the organized workers.” - -This conviction has also been expressed in the following terms: - - “The trades-union movement of America understands fully the - necessity for adequate production of the necessities of life. - American labour understands, perhaps more fully than do - American statesmen, the needs of the world in this hour, and it - is exerting every effort to see that those needs are met with - intelligence and with promptness. The question of increased - productivity is not a question of putting upon the toilers - a more severe strain; it is a question of vast fundamental - changes in the management of industry; a question of the - elimination of outworn policies; a question of the introduction - of the very best in machinery and methods of management.” - -The fundamental significance of these attitudes of the engineers and -the organized workers of the country will perhaps be better understood -when it is realized how indispensable the engineers have become in -the conduct of industrial affairs to-day. While virtually the product -of the last fifty years, they have already fallen heir to one of the -most strategic positions in society. To them are entrusted the real -“trade secrets” of industry. Only they understand how far the intricate -material processes of manufacture are interdependent, and how they can -be kept in harmony. The engineers have the skill and the understanding -which is absolutely necessary for industrial management. Without their -guidance the present highly complicated system of production would -quickly tumble into chaos. - -The ownership of industry has frequently been suggested as the key -to the true emancipation of the great mass of workers of a nation. -Leastwise many theoretical arguments on the process of workers’ -liberation have been premised on the necessity of eventually -liquidating the institution of private property. How futile such a -programme is without recognizing the indispensable part which technical -and managerial skill plays in any system of production has been -emphasized again and again by individuals, notably in Russia and Italy, -where the experiment of securing production without the assistance -of adequate technical control has been tried. In fact, the whole -question of property control is secondary when once the true value of -engineering management is understood. In so far as the American workers -see this, and make it possible for American engineers to co-operate -with them in their struggle for liberation, will they make the task -of the worker more easy and avoid the frequent recurrence of wasteful -and often tragic conflict. The burden, however, is equally upon the -shoulders of the engineer to meet labour half way in this enterprise. - -It is very much to be doubted if most American engineers really have -a clear understanding of the position in which they find themselves, -beyond a general conception of their apparent impartiality. The -progressive economic concepts and activities which have been outlined, -while advanced by representatives of national associations of -engineers, are not necessarily the reflection of the great mass of -American engineers to-day, over 200,000 strong. Nevertheless, it is -fortunate that an otherwise conservative and socially timid body of -individuals, such as the engineers frequently have been in the past, -should now find itself represented by a few spokesmen at least who are -able to promulgate clear statements on fundamental issues. The rank and -file of engineers have a long road to travel before they will be in a -position to command adequate consideration for their basic ideals and -purposes as expressed in their new definition of engineering, and as -proposed by some of their leaders. - -It is, indeed, seriously to be doubted if many engineers of America -have really had the training to grasp the relation of their position -to the economic developments of to-day. Conventional engineering -education has been entirely too narrow in its purpose. It has succeeded -in turning out good technical practitioners, not far-seeing economic -statesmen. In recent years many engineering schools have placed -emphasis on what has aptly been termed “The business features of -engineering practice.” This, while conceivably a good thing from the -standpoint of the limits within which engineering enterprise must -ordinarily function to-day, is bound to over-emphasize the _status -quo_, and so confine the vision of the engineer. - -Engineers in this country have frequently taken a sort of pharisaic -attitude on the desirability--offhand--of delegating the entire running -of things human to technical experts. While such experts may usually -have been quite successful in operating engineering enterprises, it -hardly follows that this necessarily qualifies them for the wholesale -conduct of the affairs of society. - -Yet the demand on the part of certain engineers for a more fundamental -participation in the conduct of the larger economic and political -affairs of society should be construed as a healthy sign. It is an -outgrowth of an intellectual unrest among the profession, precipitated -by the thwarting of a genuine desire to build and serve. This unrest, -in the absence of a constructive outlet combined with the past failure -of engineering education to provide a real intellectual background, has -resulted from time to time in some amusing phenomena. Thus not a few -engineers have developed a sort of symbolism or mysticism, expressed -in the terminology of their profession, with a view to building a -new heaven and a new earth whose directing head they propose to be. -From this they derive a peculiar satisfaction and perhaps temporary -inspiration, and incidentally they often seem to confound laymen who -do not understand the meaning of their terms. Instead of deriving -comfort from symbolic speculations and futurist engineering diagrams, -one would rather expect engineers to be realists, especially in the -larger affairs of their profession. The seriousness with which the -speculations concerning “space-binding” and “time-binding” have been -taken is an example of how engineers with their present one-sided -intellectual development may seize upon metaphysical cobwebs for -spiritual solace in their predicament. - -Another aspect of the intellectual limitations of many American -engineers is revealed by some of the controversies which engage the -technical societies and the technical periodicals. A notable and -recurring instance is the debate concerning the relative merits of -steam and electrical operation of railways. The real question which -underlies replacing a going system with one which is better but more -costly in capital outlay is primarily economic in nature. Consequently -such a change is contingent upon a revised distribution of the national -surplus rather than on the comparative merits of detail parts. This -fact seldom seems to get home to the engineers. They have been arguing -for the last fifteen years the relative advantages of this or that -detail, failing all the while to understand that the best, in the -large, from an engineering standpoint, can be secured only when -unrestricted, free enterprise has given way to some form of enterprise -regulated principally in the interest of public service. - -The profession of engineering, especially in America, is still young -enough not to have become ridden with tradition and convention. It has -developed rapidly along essentially pragmatic though perhaps narrow -lines. Certainly it is not bound and circumscribed by precedent and -convention like the legal profession, or even the medical profession. -Above all, it derives its inspiration from powerful physical realities, -and this constitutes its bulwark. - -What the profession really lacks are two fundamentals, absolutely -necessary for any group strategically located and desirous of -leadership in society. These are: (1) an intellectual background based -squarely upon a comprehensive study of the economic and political -institutions of society, their history, growth, and function, together -with a study of the larger aspects of human behaviour and rights; -and, (2) the development of a facility for intelligent criticism, -especially of engineering and economic enterprises. A wholesome -intellectual background is necessary to interpret the new position and -its prerogatives which the application of science has created for the -engineer. A development of the critical faculty is desirable in order -to enable him to detect the blandishments of cult, the temptations of -formulas and systems expressed in indefinable abstractions, and the -pitfalls of the _status quo_. - -The responsibility for the American engineer’s function in society -rests largely upon the schools which train him. Engineering education -in America has done its task relatively well considered from the simple -technical point of view. Of late, progressive engineering educators -have stressed the necessity for paying more attention to the humanistic -studies in the engineering curriculum. The beginning made in this -respect is, however, entirely too meagre to warrant much hope that -younger American engineers will soon acquire either that intellectual -background or genuine critical faculty which will entitle them to a -larger share of responsibility for the affairs of men. - -The most hopeful sign in this direction is rather the fusion of the -engineers into a large federation of societies, with service to the -community, State, and Nation as their motto; a growing tendency, -collectively, at least, to investigate the conduct of national -industrial enterprises; and, finally, an attempt at a rapprochement, -in the interest of society, between labour and the engineers. Ere -long these developments will reflect themselves in the schools of -engineering, and then, it is reasonable to expect, will the process of -developing a truly worthy class of industrial leaders in this country -really make its beginning. In America to-day no such leadership exists. - - - O. S. BEYER, JR. - - - - -NERVES - - -Young as America is, she is nevertheless old enough to have known the -time when there were no such things as nerves. Our earliest settlers -and colonists, our proverbially hardy pioneers apparently managed to -get along with a very modest repertory of diseases. They died, if -not from malnutrition or exposure or from Indians, then from some -old-fashioned, heaven-sent seizure or sudden pain, not to mention -from “old age,” long a favourite diagnosis of a pious and not too -inquisitive school of medicine even where the patient’s age had to be -entered by the coroner as of forty or thereabouts. As for the various -forms of nervousness which belong to our age of indulgence and luxury, -they were unknown to those sturdier times, and would undoubtedly have -put their unhappy victims under the quick suspicion of having had -forbidden converse with the Devil. - -If, nevertheless, we feel justified in assuming that this golden age -of health and disease probably hid beneath its tinsel a good many of -the nervous afflictions which had already made the Middle Ages so -interesting, we must bear in mind that the pioneer neurotic of those -days had at his command a number of disguises and evasions to which -his fellow-sufferer of to-day can no longer have recourse. One of his -favourite expedients for concealing his neurotic maladjustment was to -take refuge in some form of religion or rather in some new variation of -religious belief or practice, for it is, of course, not claimed here -that religion itself can be exhaustively explained as a manifestation -of nervous maladjustment. But the colonial period was an era when it -was still good form, so to speak, for a neurosis to express itself -in some religious peculiarity, and as this was a country without -monasteries (which had proved to be such a haven for the neurotically -afflicted during the Middle Ages), the neurotic was forced to exhibit -his neo-religionism in the open. Often he blossomed forth in some new -form of religious segregation, which allowed him to compensate for his -social defect and often gave him positive advantages. - -The neurotic legacy which he thus bequeathed to the nation can still -be seen all around us to-day in the extraordinary multiplicity of -religious variations, not to say eccentricities, which dot the -theological heavens in America. For the neurotic as a religion -founder--or better, inventor--quickly gathered similarly inclined -adherents, formed a sect, and moved a little further West, so that -the country was rather plentifully sown with strange creeds. He was -thus freed from the criticism which would have overtaken him in a more -settled society and his neurotic disguise remained undetected to a -degree no longer possible to-day. For if nowadays we still occasionally -encounter a brand-new and crassly individual religion all registered -and patented like any temperance elixir, we usually discover that its -prophet is either a defective or even an illiterate person who has -distorted some biblical text in favour of a bizarre interpretation, -or else a psychopathic individual who already has highly systematized -ideas of the delusioned type. This class of neurotic has tended -to disappear by somewhat the same process through which the more -flamboyant type of hysteric such as flourished in the Middle Ages has -gradually succumbed to progressive exposure--an analogy to which I -refer with some diffidence in the face of one of the supreme ironies -of the 20th century, namely, the canonization of Joan of Arc. But that -lapse into the darkness of mediævalism is probably to be explained as a -by-product of the war mind. - -The other great loophole for the early American neurotic was purely -geographical. He could always move on. In view of the tendency towards -social avoidance so characteristic of the neurotic, this was of -inestimable advantage. It is, of course, generally supposed that when -the embryonic American trekked Westward it was either in response to -some external pressure of political oppression or religious intolerance -or to the glad, free call of wider horizons and more alluring -opportunities, as was the case with the earliest colonists in their -flight from Europe. In both cases, however, the assumption may be -challenged as a sufficient explanation. For it is extremely probable -that a good many of these pioneers were, like Mr. Cohan’s “Vagabond,” -fugitives from their own thoughts quite as much as from the tyranny -of others. They felt an urge within them that made a further abidance -in their social environment intolerable. This geographical flight of -the neurotic has always been the most natural and the most obvious, -checked though it is to-day to a large extent by the disappearance of -further virgin territory and the sophistication born of the knowledge -wrought by a world-wide intercommunication which says that mankind is -everywhere much the same, a truth which can again be translated into an -internal realization that we cannot escape from ourselves. - -Certainly our pioneers have been too much romanticized. The neurotic -legacy which they bequeathed to us can plainly be seen in many -characteristics of our uncouth Westerners with their alternate coldness -towards visitors and their undignified warmth towards the casual -stranger who really cannot mean anything to them. There is something -wrong about man as a social animal when he cannot live happily in a -valley where he sees more than the distant smoke of his neighbour’s -chimney. When at last the pressure of population forces him to live -socially his suspicion and distrust are likely to turn him into a -zealot and reformer and make possible the domination in American life -of such a sub-cultural type as Bryan or the beatitudes of a State -like Kansas. The favourite Western exhortation to be able to look a -man in the eye and tell him to go to Hell is worthy of an anti-social -community of ex-convicts, and the maxim about minding your own business -can only be understood as a defence against the prevalent tendency of -everybody to mind his neighbour’s business. Thus the self-isolating -neurotic ends by revenging himself upon society by making it -intolerable. - -But this is to anticipate. It must be said that until after the Civil -War America remained singularly free from “nerves.” This is perhaps -largely due to the fact, as I have tried to show, that they were not -known as such. The only serious epidemic was the witchcraft hunting of -the 17th century. It is certainly most charitable towards a religion -which had so many other repellent features to characterize this as an -hysterical epidemic and let it go at that, though it also freshly -illustrates the time-worn truth that intolerance does not seem to -make its victims any more tolerant in their turn. The passing of this -epidemic also marked the last irruption of State intolerance towards -religion, with the exception of later incidents in connection with the -Mormon Church, though it has rarely been understood that especially -in this country State tolerance of religion was compensated for by -individual and social intolerance in matters that quite transcended the -religious sphere. The vast importance of this phenomenon in relation to -our modern nervous tension will be referred to again later on. - -The first typical manifestation of American nerves on an imposing scale -began to develop in the sixties and seventies of the last century in -the form of neurasthenia. Until then the typical American, despite -his religious obsessions and his social deficiencies, had, to a large -extent, remained externally minded, a fact which is sufficiently -attested by his contempt for the arts and his glorification of his -purely material achievements. He had been on the make, an absorbing -process while it lasts, though rather dangerous in the long run because -it never comes to an end. Neurasthenia developed rapidly as soon as it -had been properly labelled, and claimed a notable number of victims -among our captains of industry and high-pressure men: indeed, the -number might easily lead to the perhaps rather unkindly conclusion that -business dishonesty, even though successful, is likely to result in -nervous breakdown in a generation piously reared on the unimpeachable -maxims of a Benjamin Franklin or a Herbert Smiley. More fundamentally -it was, of course, the logical penalty for cultivating the purely -energetic side of man at the expense of his contemplative nature. The -philosophy of hurry and hustle had begun to totter. - -The discoverer, expounder, and popularizer of neurasthenia was Doctor -George M. Beard, under whose ægis neurasthenia came to be known as -“the American disease.” Dr. Beard was a sound neurologist within -the limits of his generation of medicine, but with a dangerous gift -of imagination. His conception of neurasthenia was truly grandiose. -According to him this fascinating disease was endemic in the United -States and was the result of our peculiar social conditions. Its -cause, he claimed, was “modern civilization, which has these five -characteristics--steam power, the periodical press, the telegraph, -the sciences, the mental activity of women.” Among the secondary -and tertiary causes of neurasthenia or nervousness he threw in such -things as climate, the dryness of our air and the extremes of heat -and cold, civil and religious liberty, our institutions as a whole, -inebriety, and the general indulgence of our appetites and passions. -In a remarkable chapter he also assigned as one of the causes of our -nervousness the remarkable beauty of American women, though he does -not clearly state whether this made only the men nervous or the women -as well. Such a diagnosis was to turn sociologist with a vengeance and -Doctor Beard lived up to his implications by saying that the cure of -neurasthenia would mean “to solve the problem of sociology itself.” - -The inevitable result of such a broad and confident diagnosis was to -make of neurasthenia a kind of _omnium gatherum_ of all the ills of -mankind less obvious than a broken leg. To explain the affliction -in terms of America rather than in terms of the patient and his -symptoms had about the value of a foreigner’s book about America -written on his home-bound steamer after a six-weeks’ sojourn in -this country. In fact, the wildest diagnoses were made, and such -perfectly well-defined medical entities as tabes, arteriosclerosis, -parathyroidism, myasthenia, and incipient tumours of the brain were -frequently given the neurasthenic label. Various theories of exhaustion -and nervous strain were also advanced and the attempt was made to feed -and strengthen the nervous system directly on the analogy of Professor -Agassiz’s famous assumption that the phosphates in fish could be -directly absorbed as material for brain-cells, a theory which did not -account for the fact that comparatively few intellectual giants have -sprung from fisher-folk. This naturally opened up a wide field for -quackery and ushered in the era of “nerve tonics” which are still with -us to-day. The craze for sanitariums also started at about this time, -and with every doctor having a little sanitarium of his own the public -was pretty well fleeced both by its “medicine men” and its men of -medicine. - -Of course no treatment could possibly be successful in curing such -a wide variety of diseases the very existence of many of which was -hidden from the physician under the blanket term of neurasthenia; -and in those cases where an actual neurasthenia was present the -treatment as developed by Beard and his followers made only superficial -progress. The S. Weir Mitchell formula, for instance, with its emphasis -upon quiet, diet, and rest, remained, in the majority of cases, -essentially a treatment of symptoms rather than of causes. The tired -and over-wrought business man was given a pacifying vacation from his -dubious labours and was then promptly sent back to them, like a dog to -his vomit. The American woman, grown nervous from being insufficiently -occupied, was initiated into a different form of doing nothing, whereat -she felt much relieved for a time. Neurasthenia was soon moving in a -vicious and ever-widening circle; the more it spread the more it had -to include and thus became less and less digested medically; it played -havoc especially among American women who exploited their “nervousness” -much as their European sisters had exploited their “migraine” or -their “vapours” in previous generations. By the nineties, however, -neurasthenia had run its course as a fashionable affliction, other -countries had succeeded in surviving without erecting a quarantine -against it, and medical circles had begun to debate whether there was -such a thing as neurasthenia at all. - -But, despite the breakdown of neurasthenia and the sins that were -committed in its name, it would be a mistake to be merely amused at -Doctor Beard for the pretentiousness of his concept or to criticize -him too severely for being too much of a medical popularizer. His -insight was, after all, of considerable value. For he realized, however -imperfectly, that the neuroses as a class are cultural diseases and -that they cannot be properly understood without taking into account the -background of modern civilization. This is a rare virtue in American -medicine where the specialist is constantly in danger of isolating -himself, a tendency which is particularly harmful in the study of the -mental sciences. Unfortunately Doctor Beard did not follow through. He -seems to have become frightened at his own diagnosis. For no sooner -had he drawn the worst possible picture of American civilization as -a breeder of neurasthenia than he turned around and assured the -public that things were not so bad after all. He accomplished this by -enriching his sociology with a philosophy which is a prodigy in itself. -This philosophy of his he called the “omnistic philosophy” and claimed -for it the peculiar virtue of being able to include “optimism on the -one hand and pessimism on the other and make the best of both,” which -is undoubtedly as uplifting a piece of American metaphysics as one is -likely to find on the whole Chautauqua circuit. In criticizing the slow -advance of American medicine as a whole it is always well to remember -the atmosphere of intellectual quackery in which our physicians no less -than our early metaphysicians so confidently moved. - -By the end of the 19th century the study of functional nervous -disorders in America was, as I have said, pretty well strewn with the -_disjecta membra_ of neurasthenia which still breathed slightly under -the stimulus of electro- and hydrotherapeutics and of the “health -foods” industry. Meanwhile hypnotism also had come to do its turn upon -the American medical stage, where it ran through a swift cycle of use -and abuse. Neurology as a special department, like the rest of American -medicine, had been greatly enriched by contact with continental -medicine, and the works of Kraepelin had come into honour among the -psychiatrists. Dr. Morton Prince had begun to publish some interesting -studies of double personalities, and a number of tentative systems of -psycho-therapy based on a rather mixed procedure had been set up only -to be knocked down again as a beneficial exercise for the critical -faculty. - -But now the stage was set for the appearance of the two modern theories -of the neuroses as presented in Europe by Janet and Freud. In the -rivalry that immediately ensued between these two opposing theories -that of Janet was soon outdistanced. His fundamental conception of -hysteria as a form of degeneration was in a way quite as repugnant -to American optimism as the sexual interpretation of Freud was to -American prudery. Janet had indeed been of invaluable help to the -hysteric by taking him seriously, but his presentation of the subject -was so narrow and his theory in the end proved so static that his views -have made little headway. Janet was also under the disadvantage of -working as an isolated figure in a prescribed field and did not come -into any revolutionary relation to psychology as a whole or find those -immensely suggestive analogies in the field of psychiatry, especially -in dementia præcox and paranoia, which have given the work of Freud -such a wide range. He had, besides, the defects common to so much of -French medicine which is often so peculiarly insular and, so to speak, -not made for export. His contribution more or less began and ended -with the theory of the dissociation of the personality which is not -characteristic of hysteria alone and could not successfully be grafted -upon the old psychology to which Janet clung. - -On the other hand, Freud after an initial resistance rapidly became -epidemic in America. As was the case in Europe, he enjoyed considerable -vogue among the lay public while still violently opposed in medical -circles. His visit to America, however, in 1909, on the occasion -of the twentieth anniversary of Clark University, created a very -favourable impression and brought him to the attention of such American -psychologists as William James, Edwin B. Holt, Adolf Meyer, and others. -His works appeared in this country in translations by Doctor A. A. -Brill, and in a short while Freud was “taken up” with a vengeance. - -He has had both the advantages and the handicaps of a boom. His -admirers have obscured or exaggerated him and his enemies have derided -his popularity as proof of a reputation based upon sensationalism. In -fact, Freud met with three fates: he was either wildly embraced, or -rejected in toto with an appropriate academic lynching, or else he was -accepted with “improvements.” - -He was fortified by previous experience against the second alternative -and probably resigned to the third: it was the embrace that most nearly -proved fatal to him. For America was to see the most extravagant -development of the so-called “wild” psychoanalysis, a danger against -which Freud himself had issued a warning. In 1916, for instance, an -informal canvas revealed that approximately five hundred individuals -were quite willing to psychoanalyze patients in the city of New -York alone, whereas there were probably not more than six properly -qualified medical practitioners in the whole State. Advertisements -offered to teach the psychoanalytic technique by mail and instructors -in chiropractic included it in their curriculum. This gross abuse was -due to the general laxness of medical law in this country which still -remains to be remedied. It was not only the amateurs that offended; -doctors themselves were often at fault. For it cannot be too often -emphasized that a psychoanalyst must have something more than the -conceit of psychological subtlety common to most of us; he must be -a trained neurologist and must have had considerable experience -in psychiatry if he would escape the pitfalls of differential -diagnosis--a case of hysteria can be dangerously like an incipient -tumour of the brain and a compulsion-neurosis may simulate a paranoid -condition. These abuses are, of course, no criticism of the intrinsic -value of psychoanalysis. It has been the history of so many medical -discoveries that they are recommended as a cure-all; we need but -recall vaccination, or the present vitamine craze. On the other hand, -it is regrettable that the direct attack upon Freud in this country -has rarely risen above the level of denunciation. Quite recently, for -instance, one of our socially eminent neurologists allowed himself -to indulge in the teleological, or rather disguised theological, -argument that if the unconscious is really so full of dreadful things -as Freud says, they should be left there. And yet it is just serious -and sympathetic criticism of which the science of psychoanalysis stands -most in need. - -The attempts to assimilate Freud were of two kinds. The first of these, -like Professor Holt’s book on “The Freudian Wish” or Doctor Edward J. -Kempf’s “The Autonomic Functions and the Personality,” were sincere -attempts of critical dignity to relate psychoanalysis to American -behaviouristic psychology on the part of men who are not altogether -professed Freudians. The second were more in the nature of somewhat -pompous criticisms which attempted to reconcile and soften what seemed -to be the more repellent features of the Freudian theories. There is a -prevalent tendency among medical men in America to indulge in criticism -without any due regard to the proportions between the magnitude of a -subject and their familiarity with it, somewhat after the manner of the -green theological student who is confident of his ability to subvert -the theory of evolution in a casual thesis of his own. The scientist in -many fields is constantly facing this debasement of standards, making -science not too scientific or logic not too logical lest it should -be misunderstood; it is certainly a commentary that the majority of -Americans, for instance, look upon Edison as our greatest scientist. -The tendency to sweeten and refine Freud has taken some peculiar forms, -due, in great part, to Doctor Jung who, on having re-introduced the -libido theory to American audiences with a number of philosophical -and mystical trimmings of his own, felt that he had made Freud more -palatable over here. - -Ironically enough, it would have been a very simple matter to “put -over” Freud in this country with all the éclat of the Bergsonian -craze which just preceded him. It was merely a question of the right -kind of publicity, for the problem of how to handle sex in America -has been solved long ago. The way to do it is to sentimentalize it. -If Freud, instead of saying that the incestuous longing of the child -for the parent of opposite sex is a natural impulse, though normally -sublimated during the period of adolescence, had put the same idea into -the phraseology of so many of our popular songs which reiterate the -theme about mother being her boy’s first and last and truest love, he -would have encountered no opposition. And if he had given his theory -of the unconscious a slightly religious setting by emphasizing the -fact that the unconscious has no sense of the passage of time and -cannot conceive its own annihilation, he would have been hailed as the -latest demonstrator of the immortality of the soul. A little personal -press-agenting to the effect that he led a chaste life and was the -father of a flourishing family would have completed the prescription. -He would have gone over with a bang, though he probably would have been -quite as amiably misunderstood as he is now viciously misunderstood. - -Freud, however, presented his case at its own value and, aside from -informing an astonished American audience that Doctor Sanford Bell had -preceded him in announcing the preadolescent sexuality of children, -shouldered the responsibility for his theories. What he has said, -carefully and repeatedly, is that ever since, for a long period in our -development, the difficulties of satisfying the hunger impulse have -been overcome in so far as civilized man has pretty well solved the -problem of nutrition; it is the sex impulse to which the individual -has the greatest difficulty in adjusting himself. This difficulty -increases rather than decreases with the advance of culture and at -certain stages leads to the group of diseases known as the neuroses. In -a normal sexual life there is no neurosis. But our civilization has in -many ways become so perverse that we find something akin to an official -preference for a neurosis rather than a normal sexual life, in spite -of the fact that the neurosis ultimately will destroy civilization. -This is the vicious circle which Freud attacked. In doing so he -had first to enlarge the concept of sexuality and show its complex -relation to our whole culture. In studying civilization at its breaking -point he naturally had to study what was breaking it up, namely, the -individual’s maladjustment to his sexual impulses. But he has never -attempted to sexualize the universe, as has been claimed, nor has he -ever lost sight of the fact that while man as an egocentric being must -put the self-regarding instincts first, man regarded as one of the -processes of nature remains to be studied in terms of his reproductive -instincts. Freud has been persistently oversexualized both by his -admirers and his opponents, and the degree to which this has been done -in America is at least some indication of how close he has come home to -conditions here. - -Freudian research in this country has been limited almost entirely -to cases. Our physicians who practise psychoanalysis have lacked -either the leisure or the culture to apply their science to wider -cultural questions to which the Freudian psychology applies, and -among the lay scholars using the psychoanalytic technique there has -been no outstanding figure like that of Otto Rank who has done such -notable work in Vienna. But the study of specific cases of hysteria -and neurosis as they occur in America already permit of some general -conclusions as to the character of the national matrix from which they -spring. One of the most striking features of our emotional life is -the exaggerated mother-love so frequently displayed by Americans. The -average American, whether drunk or sober, can grow maudlin about his -mother’s perfections and his devotion to her in a way that must shock -the European observer. Not that the European loves his mother less: -it is simply that he is more reticent about expressing an emotion -which he feels has a certain private sanctity; he would experience -a decided constraint or αἰδώς in boasting about it, just as a woman -of breeding would not parade her virtue. The American adult knows no -such restraint; he will “tell the world” how much he loves his mother, -will sing sentimental songs about her and cheerfully subscribe to the -advice to “choose a girl like your mother if you want to be happily -married,” and then grows violent when the incest-complex is mentioned. -This excessive mother worship has reached almost cultic proportions. It -is reflected in our fiction, in our motion-pictures, in the inferior -position of the American husband, and in such purely matriarchal -religions as Christian Science where a form of healing is practised -which is not very far removed from a mother’s consolation to her boy -when he has bruised his knees. All this points to a persistent sexual -infantilism and an incomplete sublimation, which are such fertile -breeders of hysteria. One is involuntarily reminded of Doctor Beard’s -rather enigmatic statement that the extraordinary beauty of our women -is one of the causes of nervousness in America. In so far as they -offer a maximum of enticement with a minimum of conjugal satisfaction -the charge is certainly justified. It is as if they did not even know -their own business in terms of their sexual function of weaning their -husbands from their mothers and thus completing the necessary exogamic -process. We thus have the condition where the husband, in further -seeking to overcome his incest-complex, becomes everything in his -business and nothing in his home, with an ultimate neurotic breakdown -or a belated plunge into promiscuity. The wife, on her part, either -becomes hysterical or falls a victim to religious or reformatory -charlatanism. - -The study of compulsion-neuroses and allied paranoid states which are -so prevalent among us has given us further insights into the neurotic -character of the American temperament. One of the most valuable of -these is the recognition of the compulsive nature of so much of our -thinking. This has also been well observed by a foreign critic like -Santayana who says of America, “Though it calls itself the land of -freedom, it is really the land of compulsions, and one of the greatest -compulsions is that we must think and feel alike.” This is a rather -fatal indictment of our boasted individualism, which is, as a matter of -fact, an individualism born of fear and distrust such as already marked -our early pioneers. We are indeed ultra-conformists, and our fear of -other-mindedness amounts almost to a phobia. But such an atmosphere -constitutes a paradise for the compulsion-neurotic because he finds -it easy to impose his compulsions upon the rest of society. The fact -that compulsion-neurotics are constantly indulging in neo-religious -formations through which they are enabled temporarily to accommodate -their taboos and phobias in religious ceremonials, enables them to make -use of the general religious sanctions of society in order to impose -their compulsions upon their fellow-beings. - -Herein probably lies a better explanation of American intolerance -than in the indictment of Puritanism which furnishes such a favourite -invective for our iconoclasts. Puritanism has become a literary -catchword and by no means covers the case. For it must be remembered -that we are dealing with offshoots of deteriorated religions which -spring from a very wide range of individuals. Religion, having been -cut off from direct interference with the State, and having gradually -lost its primitive anthropomorphism which really was one of its sources -of strength, proceeded to project itself more and more outwardly upon -social questions. As the personality of God grew dim the figure of the -Devil also lost its vividness and the problem between good and evil -could not longer be fought out entirely in the individual’s own bosom; -he was no longer tempted by the figure of the Devil appearing to him -in person. Christian religion in its prime saw very clearly that the -soul must put its own salvation to the fore, and constantly used many -apt similes, such as the beam in our own eye, to remind us that while -our neighbour might also have his hands full in fighting the Devil, he -probably was capable of taking care of himself. Our modern reformer -has no use for any such simile; he would have to go out of business -if he could not keep picking at the mote in his neighbour’s eye. He -finds the equivalent of the Devil in our social vices, in alcohol, in -tobacco, in tea and coffee, in practically all forms of amusements. He -preaches a crusade which no longer has an ideal object, and enlists -a vague religious emotion which is inaccessible to reason and mocks -intellectual criticism. The device of using religious associations as -carriers of propaganda has often been used for political purposes with -consummate skill. Bryan’s famous Cross of Gold speech and Roosevelt’s -Armageddon appeal are excellent examples of it. - -The question has often arisen why the fanatical reformer is so -omnipotent in America. Why does he succeed so well in imposing his -compulsions upon others? Why are we so defenceless against his -blackmail? Why, in plain language, do we stand for him? Foreign -observers have frequently commented upon the enormous docility of the -American public. And it is all the more curious because ordinarily -the average American prides himself upon his assertiveness and his -quickness in detecting false pretensions. Yet it is a common occurrence -to meet people with valid claims to hard-headedness who nevertheless -submit to every form of compulsion. They do not believe in prohibition -but vote for it, they smoke but think smoking ought to be stopped, they -admit the fanatical nature of reform movements and yet continue their -subscriptions. - -In giving what can at best be only a partial answer to this national -enigma, we may briefly consider two types which profoundly contribute -to our atmosphere of compulsion: our immigrant and our native -aristocrat. The first, from the very nature of the case, becomes the -victim of compulsion, while the second imposes the compulsion and then -in turn, however unwillingly, succumbs to it himself. Our society, -with its kaleidoscopic changes of fortune and its unchannelled social -distinctions, presents a problem of adjustment with which even those -who are at home in America find it difficult to cope. People on the -make, people who are not sure of themselves on a new social ladder, are -likely to conform: we find an astonishing amount of social imitation, -in its milder and more ludicrous form, in all our pioneer communities. -The immigrant faces the same problem to an intensified degree. He -comes to us in an uprooted state of mind, with many of his emotional -allegiances still lingering in his native country, and often with an -entirely alien tradition. His mind is set to conform, to obey at first -without much asking. He is like a traveller arriving in a strange -town who follows the new traffic directions even though he does not -understand their purpose. But even with the best of will he cannot -entirely conform. He finds himself in a new world where what formerly -seemed right to him is now considered wrong, his household gods have -lost their power, his conscience is no longer an infallible guide. -It is a sign of character in him to resist, to refuse to sink his -individuality entirely, to struggle somewhat against the democratic -degradation which threatens to engulf him too suddenly. But his -struggle leads to a neurotic conflict which is often not resolved -until the third generation. It is thus quite permissible to talk of an -immigrant’s neurosis, which has considerable sociological importance -even though it does not present an integral clinical picture. It leads -either to the formation of large segments of undigested foreigners -in American society who sullenly accept the forms we impose upon -them while remaining comparatively inarticulate in our cultural and -political life, or else it produces a type of whom our melting-pot -romanticists are foolishly proud, the pseudo-American who has sunk from -individualism to the level of the mob, where he conforms to excess in -order to cover his antecedents and becomes intolerant in order that he -may be tolerated. - -Ordinarily, the mob tyranny which has become such an alarming feature -of our public life would be checked by the aristocratic element in -society. It is part of the aristocratic function to foster cultural -tolerance and to resist herd suggestion: the aristocratic or dominant -type, in enjoying the most privileges, is normally least subject to -compulsions and taboos. With us that is not the case. The Southerner, -for instance, our most traditional aristocrat, finds himself paralyzed -by the consciousness of a black shadow behind him who constantly -threatens both his political and his sexual superiority. He moves in -an atmosphere of taboos from which he himself cannot escape, for it -is an established fact that interdiction in one line of thought has -a crippling effect upon a man’s intellectual activity as a whole. -Elsewhere our native aristocrat frequently finds himself in the -position of a lonely outpost of a thin Anglo-Saxon tradition which he -must defend against the constant onslaughts of alien civilizations, in -the desperate attempt to uphold the fiction that spiritually, at least, -we are still an English colony. He is in a state of tension where he -himself cannot move with any of the freedom which he vaunts as one of -the outstanding characteristics of the country of his fathers. In his -hands his own latest hope, our war-born Americanization programme, -which should really be an initiation into freedom, has quickly become -little more than a forced observance of sterile rites with which to -impress the alien. He already sees its failure, and, like a general who -is afraid of his own army, he does not sleep very well. - - ALFRED B. KUTTNER - - - - -MEDICINE - - -From time immemorial the doctor has been the object of respect and awe -by the generality of mankind. It is true that he has occasionally been -made the butt of the satirical humour of such dramatists as Molière and -Shaw, but the majority of people have regarded these jests as amiable -buffooneries, and not as penetrating criticisms. In ancient days the -veneration of the medico was based upon his supposed association with -gods and devils, and upon the belief that he could cure disease by -wheedling propitiation of _deus_, or by the exorcism of _diabolus_. In -modern times he holds sway by his supposed possession of the secrets of -science. - -In spite of his pretension to scientific attainment, many vestiges -of his former priesthood remain, and this _mélange_ of scientist and -priest has produced curious contradictions and absurdities. But these -absurdities must by an inexorable law remain concealed from all save -a few, and the general failure to recognize them has led to a great -increase in the importance and prosperity of the medical cult. In -America, of all civilized nations, medical magnificence has reached its -most formidable proportions. This exaggeration, characteristic of all -social phenomena in the new world, makes the real importance of the -doctor to society easy to inspect and to analyze. - -A friend not long ago asked me to explain the co-existence, in the same -city, of the elaborate installation of the Harvard Medical School and -the magnificent temple of the religion of Mrs. Eddy. “What is it in our -culture,” said he, “that permits the symbol of such obvious quackery -as that of Mrs. Eddy to flourish within a stone’s throw of such an -embodiment of scientific enlightenment as the medical college?” - -I replied that the reason for this must be sought in the gullibility -of our citizens, who are capable of entertaining most incompatible and -contradictory credos. Thus, the average American can believe firmly and -simultaneously in the therapeutic excellence of yeast, the salubrious -cathartic effects of a famous mineral oil, the healing powers of -chiropractors, and in the merits of the regimen of the Corrective -Eating Society. His catholicity of belief permits him to consider such -palpable frauds seriously, and at the same time to admire and respect -authentic medical education and even the scientific study of disease. -But the teachers, students, and alumni of medical colleges are drawn -from our excessively credulous populace. So it is dangerous to consider -the votaries of the profession of medicine as sceptical and open-minded -_savants_, in contrast to the promulgators of the afore-mentioned -imbecilities and to _Homo sapiens americanus_, who is the unconscious -victim of such charlatanry. In reality the great majority of the -medical profession is credulous and must always remain so, even in -matters of health and disease. - -The tendency to consider physicians in general as men of science is -fostered by the doctors themselves. Even the most eminent among them -are guilty in this respect. Thus the Director of the Hospital of the -Rockefeller Institute maintains that medicine must be considered -not as an applied science but as an independent science (R. Cole, -_Science_, N. S., Vol. LI, p. 329). And an eminent ex-President of the -American Medical Association holds a similar view, at the same time -preposterously asserting that “medicine has done more for the growth of -science than any other profession, and that its best representatives -have been among the leaders in the advancement of knowledge....” (V. C. -Vaughan, _Journal_, A. M. A., 1914, Vol. LXII, p. 2003.) - -Such pronunciamentoes rest upon the almost universal confusion of the -_art_ of the practice of medicine with the _science_ of the study of -disease. Science, in its modern definition, is concerned with the -quantitative relationship of the factors governing natural phenomena. -No favourites are to be played among these factors. They are to be -weighed and measured meticulously and coldly, without enthusiasm -for one, or disdain and enmity toward another. Now, in the case of -relationship of doctor to patient, it is clear that such emotions must -enter. The physician must entertain enthusiasm for the defensive powers -of his patient, John Smith, and at the same time hate virulently the -pneumococcus that attacks him. This emotional state of the soldier of -health prevents the employment of what is known in the language of the -laboratory as the “control.” For example, a doctor wishes to test the -efficacy of a serum against pneumonia. In America it is practically -unknown for him to divide his cases of pneumonia into two groups of -equal size, to administer his serum to group A and to leave group B -untreated. He almost invariably has a _parti-pris_ that the serum will -work, and he reflects with horror that if he holds his remedy from -group B, some members of this group will die, who might otherwise have -been saved. So he injects his serum into all of his patients (A and B), -and if the mortality in the entire group appears to him to be lower by -statistics than that observed in previous series of cases, he concludes -that the value of his nostrum is proved. This is an illustration of the -fallacy of the notion that medicine is a science in the modern sense. - -Modern study of disease, conducted in the laboratory upon experimental -animals, has furnished medical practitioners with a few therapeutic -and prophylactic weapons. In the use of these the American medico -has not lagged behind his European colleague. But the great majority -of the malaises that plague us are not amenable to cure, and it is -with these that the doctor has since the beginning of time played -his most important rôle, i.e., that of a “professional sympathizer.” -The encouraging conversation with the family of the sufferer; the -mumbling of recondite Latin phrases; the reassuring hopeful hand on -the patient’s shoulder; the grave use of complicated gimcracks; the -prescription of ineffective but also innocuous drugs or of water -tinted to pleasing hues; all these are of incalculable value to the -_ménage_ stricken by disease. It is my lamentable duty to point out -the danger of the decline of this essential rôle among the doctors of -America. The general practitioner of the _ancien régime_ was sincere -in his performance of his quasi-religious function. He was unsparing -of his energies, stern in his devotion to duty, deeply altruistic in -sentiment, and charmingly negligent in economic matters. - -But at the present time this adorable figure is disappearing from the -land, to be replaced by another, more sinister type, actually less -learned in the important folklore of the bedside, pseudo-scientific, -given to rigidly defined office hours, and painfully exact in the -extortion of his emolument. What are the factors that give rise to -the appearance of this new figure on the American scene? The most -important of these is to be found in the high development of the craft -of surgery in the United States. Of all the dread afflictions that -plague us, a few may be cured or ameliorated by the administration of -remedies, and an equally small number improved or abolished by surgical -interference. But in spite of the relatively few diseases to which -surgery is beneficial, the number of surgeons that flourish in the land -is enormous. The fundamental discoveries of Pasteur and their brilliant -application by Lister were quickly seized upon in America. The names -of Bull, Halstead, Murphy, the brothers Mayo, Cushing, and Finney are -to be ranked with those of the best surgeons of any nation. In fact, -we may be said to lead the world--to use an apt Americanism--in the -production of surgeons, just as we do in that of automobiles, baby -carriages, and antique furniture. - -The success of these protagonists in the higher carpentry at once -attracted a horde of smaller fry, imitators, men of inferior ability. -The rapid advances made by the leaders resulted in the development of -a diversified and complicated technic, which the ordinary surgeon was -able to master in sections but not _in toto_. From this, specialization -in surgery has developed rapidly and naturally, so that now certain men -devote their lives exclusively to the enthusiastic and indiscriminate -removal of tonsils, others are death on gall bladders, some the foes of -the vermiform appendix, and yet others practise exclusively the radical -cure of phimosis. It is obvious that such narrow specialization, -practised in isolation, would lead to most amusing results, which -may best be left to the imagination. But these absurdities were -finally apparent even to the surgeons themselves, with the resulting -development of what is now known as “group medicine.” - -In brief, surgeons with special _penchants_ for the removal of various -organs, form partnerships, calling to their aid the internist for the -diagnosis of their prospective victims. The internist gathers about -him, in turn, a group of less important fry, known as radiographers, -bacteriologists, pathologists, and serologists. Frequently a dentist -is added to the coterie. The entire organization is welded into a -business partnership of typically American efficiency. These groups are -forming over the entire nation, are appearing even in the tank-towns -of the hinterland. They occupy elegant suites in important office -buildings, their members are generally considered the arbiters of the -medical opinion of the community. Their more or less intelligent use -of the paraphernalia of pathology, bacteriology, _et cetera_, gives -them an enormous advantage over their more humble brother, the general -practitioner. This last, indeed, is being rapidly routed in his battle -with such associations of “best minds,” equipped with the armamentarium -of modern science. - -The remuneration required by the “super-docs” of group medicine is -naturally far in excess of that demanded by the general practitioner. -It is right that this should be so, if not for the results obtained, -then by reason of the elaborate organization and expensive equipment -that the group system demands. This increase in reward has made the -profession of medicine in America what it never was before, a paying -proposition--again to use an apt Americanism. The result of this entry -of crass materialism into a previously free-and-easy, altruistic, -anything but business-like profession is, once more, better left to the -imagination than described. The brigandage of many of these medical -banditti is too painful even to think about. It will be apparent that -relatively few of our citizens are able to pay for group medicine. -So, it is interesting to observe that the best in medical treatment -and advice is accessible only to the highest and lowest castes of our -plutocracy. The rich receive this at the elegant offices and private -hospitals of the groups, the miserably poor at the teaching hospitals -of medical colleges. - -The service of the “super-doc” to such of our citizens as can afford -him cannot at this time be properly estimated. It is true that he -is progressive, that he leans heavily upon the subsidiary sciences -of pathology, _et cetera_, that he publishes papers in medical -periodicals, that he visits medical libraries, frequents medical -congresses. It has just been insisted that the doctor has benefitted -himself to a great extent economically by forming the group; it is -for the future to divulge whether his ministrations have resulted in -a perceptible reduction of human suffering or in a prolongation of -human life. Certainly he has perpetrated some astounding hoaxes, the -kind-hearted will say unwittingly. Probably the most interesting of -these is to be observed in the focal infection mania just now subsiding. - -Focal infection came into prominence as the theory, so called, of a -group of eminent physicians in Chicago. It is, in brief, the doctrine -that many of our aches and pains whose direct etiology it is impossible -to demonstrate are due to the presence in the body of foci of harmful -microbes, at the roots of the teeth, in the tonsils, accessory sinuses, -or the appendix. Discover the focus, remove it, and presto!--the ache -disappears like the card up the sleeve of the expert American poker -player. The advantages of this theory to the various specialists of -a group will be obvious. To illustrate. Henry Doolittle is plagued -by a persistent and annoying pain over his left shoulder-blade. He -goes to the office of a group of “super-docs,” is referred to the -diagnostician, who makes a careful record of his _status præsens_, then -orders his satellites to perform the Wassermann reaction, make the -luetin test, do differential blood counts, perform the determination -of his blood urea, and carry out a thorough chemical study of his -basal metabolism. If the results of these tests show no departure from -the normal, or if they seriously contradict each other, the cause of -the pain is probably focal infection. The patient is then subjected -to examination by X-ray, his teeth are pulled by the dentist, his -tonsils excised by the otolaryngolist, who also takes a swipe, in -passing, at his accessory sinuses, and should these mutilations fail -to relieve him, his appendix is removed by the abdominal surgeon. If -relief still fails to occur, the theory is not given up, but the focus -is presumed to exist elsewhere. If Mr. Doolittle’s patience is equal -to the test, and if his purse is not by this time completely empty, -additional operations are advised. These continue until all organs and -appendages not actually necessary to mere existence have been removed. -Henry then returns to his former mode of life, depleted and deformed, -it is true, but occasionally minus his original pain. It is not the -intention to deny that infected teeth and tonsils have no significance -in pathology. But it is certain that their importance has been greatly -exaggerated by many physicians. The question needs more investigation, -with fewer preconceived ideas. The “science” underlying this astounding -practice is admirably outlined in the book of Billings called “Focal -Infection.” It is the most striking example of medical _Ga-Ga-ism_ -that has appeared in our country. It is, as its author himself admits, -a triumph of the new idea of team-work and co-operative research in -medicine. The factors giving rise to this lamentable _Ga-Ga_ are the -gullibility of patient and doctor, the emotional element entering into -the interpretation of all of the phenomena observed by the physician, -commercialism, and, finally, the self-limiting nature of most disease. - -So much for the Art of Healing as practised by the physicians of -America. What of our activities in the second aim of medicine, that -is, the prevention of disease? While superficial examination is enough -to lay bare the many hollow pretensions of the practice of medicine, -it would appear _a priori_ that the work of disease prevention might -at least approach the category of the applied sciences. This would -seem to be so, since the greater part of this field must of necessity -concern itself with infectious disease. Now the etiologic agents of the -majority of infectious diseases are known. It is easy to see that the -labour of their prevention rests upon an exact knowledge of the nature -of the disease-producing microbes, the analysis of the delicate balance -between the virulence of the microbic invader and the resistance of the -human host, and, most important of all, upon the exact path by which -the germ in question travels from one individual to another. - -In the early days of preventive medicine, following shortly upon the -fundamental researches of Pasteur, several important contributions -were made by Americans. These include the brilliant investigations -of Theobald Smith on the etiology and mode of transmission of the -Texas fever of cattle, and, later on, the differentiation of bovine -and human tuberculosis. America had again reason to be proud when, -in 1901, Reed, Carroll, Agramonte, and Lazear demonstrated that -yellow fever was spread exclusively by the mosquito, _Ædes calopus_. -These investigators showed a beautiful spirit of self-sacrifice and -devotion to their science. The construction of the Panama Canal was -made possible by the application of these researches by Gorgas. Again, -the American Russell was the first to show that vaccination against -typhoid and allied infections is feasible. In the New York Board of -Health, Park, Krumwiede, and their associates have made careful and -valuable studies on the prevention of diphtheria. These constitute the -high lights of American achievement in preventive medicine. It must be -admitted that the majority of these examples are to be placed in the -category of the science of the study of disease, rather than in that of -its application--preventive medicine. - -It is noticeable even by cursory survey of recent American work that -such striking achievements have become distinctly fewer in recent -years, despite an enormous increase in personnel, equipment, and money -devoted to the prevention of disease. Along with this decrease in solid -contributions there has been an augmentation of fatuous propaganda and -windy theory. All of the judicious must view this tendency with alarm -and sadness, since it seemed for a time that science was really about -to remove the vestigia of witchcraft and high-priesthood from this -branch of medicine at least. - -What is the cause of this retrogression? It must be laid at the door -of _Religio Sanitatis_, the Crusade of Health. This is one of the most -striking examples of the delusion of most Americans that they are the -Heaven-appointed uplifters of the human race. Just as all Baptists, -Presbyterians, and Methodists deprecate the heathen happiness of -the benighted Oriental, so the International Health Board seeks to -mitigate his contented squalour and to eradicate his fatalistically -born disease. Just as Billy Sunday rages against John Barleycorn and -the Dionysians who worship him, so the Great Hygienists seek to point -out the multiform malaises arising from such worship. Just as the now -extinct Wilson strove to show the world that it was horrid and wrong to -fight, so the Public Health Service seeks to propagate the notion that -chastity and adherence to marital vows are the sole alternatives to a -universal syphilization. - -Thus we observe with horror the gradual replacement of those Nestors -of preventive medicine who had the dispassionate view of science, -and who applied its methods of cold analysis, by a group of dubious -Messiahs who combine the zealous fanaticism of the missionary with the -Jesuitical cynicism of the politician. For most of the organizations -for the promotion of health are closely dependent upon state and -municipal politics, and must become contaminated with the obscenity of -political practice. Finally, it is apparent that the great privately -endowed foundations are animated by the spirit of proselytism common -to the majority of religions, but especially to Baptists. It will be -objected that such charges are vague generalizations. It is necessary, -therefore, to bring forward one or two specific instances in support of -these contentions. - -The soldiers of the recent successful campaign for national prohibition -were supported by battalions of noted hygienists who made excellent -practice with a heavy artillery of so-called scientific evidence upon -the confused ranks of brewers, distillers, and their customers, the -American bibuli. What is the value of their “scientific evidence”? Two -charges are made against the use of alcohol as a beverage. _Primo_, -that its moderate or excessive use is the direct cause of various -maladies. _Secondo_, that the children of alcoholic parents are often -deformed, degenerates, or imbeciles, and that such lamentable stigmata -are the direct results of the imbibitions of their parents. - -Now it is vain to argue that alcohol, taken in great excess, is not -injurious. Mania a potu (Korsakow’s disease) is without doubt its -direct result, at least in some instances. On the other hand, excessive -indulgence in water is also not without its harmful effects, and I, -for one, would predict evil days for our Great Commoner, should he so -far lose control of himself as to imbibe a gallon of grape juice _per -diem_. Many enthusiastic hygienists advance the opinion that alcohol is -filling our insane asylums! This generalization is a gorgeous example -of _post hoc propter hoc_ reasoning, and is based upon the idiotic -statistical research which forms so large a part of the activity of -the minions of public health. The recent careful work of Clouston and -others tends more and more to indicate that chronic alcoholics do -not go crazy because they drink, but become alcoholics because they -already were crazy, or had the inherited tendency toward insanity. -This embarrassing fact is carefully suppressed by the medico-hygienic -heavy artillerists of the prohibition army. What is more, diseases with -definite pathologic pictures, such as cirrhosis of the liver, have by -no means been definitely proved to be caused by alcohol. Indeed, the -researches of Friedenwald, who endeavoured to produce such effects by -direct experiment, have led to negative results. - -The second indictment, i.e., that alcoholism in parents causes -degenerate offspring, rests upon still more dubious scientific -foundations. The most important animal experimentation in this field -is that of Stockard, who used guinea-pigs as his subjects, and of -Pearl, who had recourse to chickens. Both of these researches are -sound in scientific method. Unfortunately for hygienists, they lead to -completely contradictory conclusions. Stockard and his collaborators -found the offspring of alcoholic guinea-pigs to be fewer in number -than those of his normal controls. What is more, the children of the -alcoholics were frequently smaller, had a higher post-natal mortality, -and were prone to suffer from epileptiform convulsions. These results -brought forth _banzais_ from the hygienists and were extensively -quoted, though their application by analogy to the problems of human -heredity is not to be made too hastily. - -Pearl, on the other hand, discovered that while the number of offspring -from his inebriated chickens was distinctly fewer, yet these were -unquestionably superior to normal chickens in eight of the twelve -hereditary characters amenable to quantitative measurement. Now if -one can generalize Stockard’s results to human beings, then it is -equally permissible to do the same with Pearl’s. Of the two, the latter -generalization would be preferable, and of greater benefit to the -human race, were the analogy valid. For who will not whoop for “fewer -children, but better ones”? Do the votaries of preventive medicine -place the results of Pearl along side of those of Stockard? Indeed, -who even mentions Pearl’s results at all? If satisfactory evidence is -adduced that this has been done, I hereby promise to contribute one -hundred dollars in cash toward the foundation of a home for inebriated -prohibition agents. Again, while much is heard of the results of -Bezzola in regard to the _Rauschkinder_ resulting from the Swiss -bacchanalia, the negative findings of Ireland in similar investigations -of the seasonal debauches of Scotland are carefully avoided. Once more, -Elderton and Karl Pearson have failed utterly to find increase in the -stigmata of degeneracy among the children of alcoholic parents as -compared with those of non-alcoholics. This research, published in a -monograph of the Francis Galton Laboratory of London, is the one really -careful one that has been made in the case of human beings. It was -directed by Pearson, admittedly a master of biometrical science. Yet, -turning to Rosenau’s “Preventive Medicine and Hygiene,” the bible of -this branch, I find the Elderton-Pearson report relegated to a footnote -in the edition of 1913, _and omitted completely from the 1920 edition_. - -A discussion of the fatuity to which American preventive medicine -descends cannot be terminated without touching upon the current -propaganda of the syphilophobes. For just as practitioners of medicine -exploit human credulity, so the preventers of disease play upon -the equally universal instinct of fear. There is no intention of -minimizing the seriousness of syphilis. Along with cancer, pneumonia, -and tuberculosis, it is one of the major afflictions of humanity. It -causes thousands of deaths yearly; it leads to great misery. Paresis, -one of the important psychoses, is definitely known to be one of its -manifestations. It is obvious, therefore, that its eradication is one -of the major tasks of social hygiene. - -But by what means? Let one of the most noted of our American -syphilophobes give the answer! This gentleman, a professor of pathology -in one of the most important medical schools of the Middle West, yearly -lectures over the length and breadth of the land on the venereal -peril. He begins his expostulation with reduction of his audiences to -a state of terror by a lantern-slide display of the more loathsome -manifestations of the disease. He does not state that modern treatment -makes these more and more rare. He insists upon the utter impossibility -of its cure, a fact by no means established. He advocates early -marriage to a non-syphilitic maiden as the best means of prevention, -and failing that, advises that chastity is both possible and -salubrious. Then follows a master stroke of advice by innuendo--_the -current belief that masturbation causes insanity is probably untrue_. -Finally he denies the value of venereal prophylaxis, which was first -experimentally demonstrated by Metchnikoff and Roux, and which the -medical department of the Army and Navy know to be of almost perfect -efficacy when applied early and thoroughly. - -Lack of space prevents the display of further examples of the new -phenomenon of the entrance of religion and morals into medicine. It is -not my intention for a moment to adopt a nihilistic attitude toward the -achievement of preventive medicine. But it is necessary to point out -that its contamination by moralism, Puritanism, proselytism, in brief, -_by religion_, threatens to reduce it to absurdity, and to shake its -authority in instances where its functions are of unmistakable value to -our republic. At present the medical profession plays a minor rôle in -the more important functions of this branch. These are performed in the -first place by bacteriologists who need not be doctors at all, and in -the second by sanitary engineers, whose splendid achievements in water -supply and sewage disposal lead those of all other nations. - -It has been remarked above that one of the chief causes of the -unscientific nature of medicine and the anti-scientific character -of doctors lies in their innate credulity and inability to think -independently. This contention is supported by the report on the -intelligence of physicians recently published by the National Research -Council. They are found by more or less trustworthy psychologic tests -to be the lowest in intelligence of all of the professional men -excepting only dentists and horse doctors. Dentists and horse doctors -are ten per cent. less intelligent. But since the quantitative methods -employed certainly carry an experimental error of ten per cent. or even -higher, it is not certain that the members of the two more humble -professions have not equal or even greater intellectual ability. It is -significant that engineers head the list in intelligence. - -In fact, they are rated sixty per cent. higher than doctors. This -wide disparity leads to a temptation to interesting psychological -probings. Is not the lamentable lack of intelligence of the doctor -due to lack of necessity for rigid intellectual discipline? Many -conditions conspire to make him an intellectual cheat. Fortunately -for us, most diseases are self-limiting. But it is natural for the -physician to turn this dispensation of nature to his advantage and -to intimate that _he_ has cured John Smith, when actually nature has -done the trick. On the contrary, should Smith die, the good doctor can -assume a pious expression and suggest that, despite his own incredible -skill and tremendous effort, it was God’s (or Nature’s) will that John -should pass beyond. Now the engineer is open to no such temptation. He -builds a bridge or erects a building, and disaster is sure to follow -any mis-step in calculation or fault in construction. Should such a -calamity occur, he is presently discredited and disappears from view. -Thus he is held up to a high mark of intellectual rigour and discipline -that is utterly unknown in the world the doctor inhabits. - -A survey of the present condition of American medical education offers -little hope for a higher intellectual status of the medical profession -or of any fundamental tendency to turn medicine as a whole from a -_mélange_ of religious ritual, more or less accurate folk-lore, and -commercial cunning, toward the rarer heights of the applied sciences. - -Such a reform depends absolutely upon the recognition that the -bodies of all the fauna of the earth (including _Homo sapiens_) are -essentially physico-chemical mechanisms; that disease is a derangement -of one sort or another of this mechanism; and that real progress -in knowledge of disease can only come from quantitatively exact -investigation of such derangements. - -Up to the present, the number of professors in any branch of medicine -who are aware of this fact is pitifully few. The men, who, being -aware of it, have the training in physics and chemistry to put their -convictions into practice are less in number. So, it is vain to hope -that medical students are being educated from this point of view. - -This casual glance at American medicine may be thought to be an unduly -pessimistic one. It has not been my intention to be pessimistic or to -be impertinently critical. Indeed, turning from the art of the practice -of medicine, and the religion and folk-lore of sanitation, to the -science of the study of disease, we have much of which to be proud. -American biochemists of the type of Van Slyke and Folin are actually in -the lead of their European brothers. Their precise quantitative methods -furnish invaluable tools in the exact study of the ills that afflict us. - -Finally, the greatest figure of all, Jacques Loeb, working in -an institution that declares its purpose to be the dubious one -of _medical_ research, has in the last three years published -investigations which throw a flood of light upon the dark problems -of the chemistry of proteins. His work is of most fundamental -significance, will have far-reaching results, and is measurably in -advance of that of any European in the same field. Loeb, like all men -of the first rank, has no spirit of propaganda or proselytism. His -exact quantitative experiments rob biology of much of its confused -romantic glamour. The comprehension of his researches demands thorough -knowledge of physical chemistry. However, it is encouraging to note -that among a few younger investigators his point of view is being -accepted with fervour and enthusiasm. But it is time to stop. We are -straying from our subject which was, if I remember, American medicine. - - ANONYMOUS - - - - -SPORT AND PLAY - - -Bartlett does not tell us who pulled the one about all work and no -play, but it probably was the man who said that the longest way round -was the shortest way home. There is as much sense in one remark as in -the other. - -Give me an even start with George M. Cohan, who lives in Great Neck, -where I also live, without his suspecting it--give us an even start in -the Pennsylvania Station and route me on a Long Island train through -Flushing and Bayside while he travels via San Francisco and Yokohama, -and I shall undertake to beat him home, even in a blizzard. So much for -“the longest way round.” Now for the other. If it were your ambition to -spend an evening with a dull boy, whom would you choose, H. G. Wells, -whose output indicates that he doesn’t even take time off to sleep, or -the man that closes his desk at two o’clock every afternoon and goes to -the ball-game? - -You may argue that watching ball-games is not play. It is the American -idea of play, which amounts to the same thing, and seventy-five per -cent, of the three hundred thousand citizens who do it daily, in -season, will tell you seriously that it is all the recreation they get; -moreover, that deprived of it, their brain would crack under the strain -of “business,” that, on account of it, they are able to do more work in -the forenoon, and do it better, than would be possible in two or three -full days of close sticking on the job. If you believe them, inveterate -baseball fans can, in a single morning, dictate as many as four or five -twenty-word letters to customers or salesmen, and finish as fresh as a -daisy; whereas the non-fan, the grind, is logy and torpid by the time -he reaches the second “In reply to same.” - -But if you won’t concede, in the face of the fans’ own statement, that -it is recreation to look on at baseball or any other sport, then let -me ask you to invite to your home some evening, not a mere spectator, -but an active participant in any of our popular games--say a champion -or near-champion golfer, or a first string pitcher on a big league -baseball club. The golfer, let us say, sells insurance half the year -and golfs the rest. The pitcher plays eight months of the year and -loafs the other four. Bar conversation about their specialty, and -you won’t find two duller boys than those outside the motion-picture -studios. - -No, brothers, the bright minds of this or any other country are owned -by the men who leave off work only to eat or go to bed. The doodles are -the boys who divide their time fifty-fifty between work and play, or -who play all the time and don’t even pretend to work. Proper exercise -undoubtedly promotes good health, but the theory that good health -and an active brain are inseparable can be shot full of holes by the -mention of two names--Stanislaus Zbyzsk and Robert Louis Stevenson. - -It is silly, then, to propound that sport is of mental benefit. Its -true, basic function is the cultivation of bodily vigour, with a view -to longevity. And longevity, despite the fact that we profess belief -in a post-mortem existence that makes this one look sick, is a thing -we poignantly desire. Bonehead and wise guy, believer and sceptic--all -of us want to postpone as long as possible the promised joy-ride to -the Great Beyond. If to participate in sport helps us to do that, then -there is good reason to participate in sport. - -Well, how many “grown-ups” (normal human beings of twenty-two and under -need not be considered; they get all the exercise they require, and -then some) in this country, a country that boasts champions in nearly -every branch of athletics, derive from play the physical benefit there -is in it? What percentage take an active part in what the sporting -editors call “the five major sports”--baseball, football, boxing, -horse racing, and golf? Let us take them one by one and figure it out, -beginning with “the national pastime.” - -_Baseball._ Twenty or twenty-one play. Three hundred to forty thousand -look on. The latter are, for two hours, “out in the open air,” and -this, when the air is not so open as to give them pneumonia and when -they don’t catch something as bad or worse in the street-car or subway -train that takes them and brings them back, is a physical benefit. -Moreover, the habitual attendant at ball-games is not likely to die of -brain fever. But otherwise, the only ones whose health is appreciably -promoted are the twenty or twenty-one who play. And they are not doing -it for their health. - -_Football._ Thirty play. Thirty thousand look on. One or two of the -thirty may be killed or suffer a broken bone, but the general health -of the other twenty-nine or twenty-eight is improved by the exercise. -As for the thirty thousand, all they get is the open air--usually a -little too much of it--and, unless they are hardened to the present-day -cheer-leader, a slight feeling of nausea. - -_Boxing._ Eight to ten play. Five thousand to sixty thousand look -on. Those of the participants who are masters of defence may profit -physically by the training, though the rigorous methods sometimes -employed to make an unnatural weight are certainly inimical to health. -The ones not expert in defensive boxing, the ones who succeed in the -game through their ability to “take punishment” (a trait that usually -goes with a low mentality) die, as a rule, before reaching old age, -as a result of the “gameness” that made them “successful.” There is a -limit to the number of punches one can “take” and retain one’s health. -The five or sixty thousand cannot boast that they even get the air. All -but a few of the shows are given indoors, in an atmosphere as fresh and -clean as that of the Gopher Prairie day-coach. - -_Horse Racing._ Fifty horses and twenty-five jockeys play. Ten thousand -people look on. I can’t speak for the horses, but if a jockey wants to -remain a jockey, he must, as a rule, eat a great deal less than his -little stomach craves, and I don’t know of any doctor who prescribes -constant underfeeding as conducive to good health in a growing boy. - -Racing fans, of course, are out for financial, not physical, gain. -They, like the jockeys, are likely to starve to death while still young. - -_Golf._ Here is a pastime in which the players far outnumber the -lookers-on. It is a game, if it is a game, that not only takes you out -in the open air, but makes you walk, and walking, the doctors say, is -all the exercise you need, if you walk five miles or more a day. Golf, -then, is really beneficial, and it costs you about $25.00 a week the -year round. - -So much for our “five major sports.” We look on at four of them, and if -we can support the family, and pay taxes and insurance, on $1250 a year -less than we earn, we take part in the fifth. - -The minor sports, as the editor will tell you, are tennis, boating, -polo, track athletics, trap-shooting, archery, hockey, soccer, and so -on. Not to mention games like poker, bridge, bowling, billiards, and -pool (now officially known as “pocket billiards” because the Ladies’ -Guild thought “pool” must have something to do with betting), which we -may dismiss as being of doubtful physical benefit, since they are all -played indoors and in a fog of Camel smoke. - -Of the outdoor “minors,” tennis is unquestionably the most popular. And -it is one whale of a game--if you can stand it. But what percentage -of grown-ups play it? I have no statistics at hand, and must guess. -The number of adult persons with whom I am acquainted, intimately or -casually, is possibly two thousand. I can think of ten who play as many -as five sets of tennis a year. - -How many of the two thousand play polo or have ever played polo? One. -How many are trap-shooters? Two. How many have boats? Six or seven. How -many run footraces or jump? None. How many are archers? None. How many -play hockey, soccer, la crosse? None. - -If I felt like indulging in a game of cricket, which God forbid, whom -should I call up and invite to join me? - -Now, how many of my two thousand acquaintances are occasional or -habitual spectators at baseball games, football games, boxing matches, -or horse races? All but three or four. The people I know (I do not -include ball-players, boxers, and wrestlers, who make their living -from sport) are average people; they are the people you know. And the -overwhelming majority of them don’t play. - -Why not? If regular participation in a more or less interesting outdoor -game is going to lengthen our lives, why don’t we participate? Is it -because we haven’t time? It takes just as much time to look on, and we -do that. Is it because we can’t afford it? We can play tennis for as -little as it costs to go to the bail-game and infinitely less than it -costs to go to the races. - -We don’t play because (1) we lack imagination, and because (2) we are a -nation of hero-worshippers. - -When we were kids, the nurse and the minister taught us that, if we -weren’t good, our next stop would be hell. But, to us, there was no -chance of the train’s starting for seventy years. And we couldn’t -visualize an infernal excursion that far off. It was too vague to be -scary. We kept right on swiping the old man’s cigars and giggling in -the choir. If they had said that misdemeanours such as those would -spell death and eternal fire, not when we were old, but to-morrow, most -of us would have respected father’s property rights and sat through -the service with a sour pan. If the family doctor were to tell us now -that unless we got outdoors and exercised every afternoon this week, -we should die next Tuesday before lunch, you can bet we should get -outdoors and exercise every afternoon this week. But when he tells us -that, without healthful outdoor sport, we shall die in 1945 instead of -1949, why, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s a chimera, a myth, like the -next war. - -But hero-worship is the national disease that does most to keep the -grandstands full and the playgrounds empty. To hell with those four -extra years of life, if they are going to cut in on our afternoon at -the Polo Grounds, where, in blissful asininity, we may feast our eyes -on the swarthy Champion of Swat, shouting now and then in an excess -of anile idolatry, “Come on, you Babe. Come on, you Baby Doll!” And -if an hour of tennis is going to make us late at the Garden, perhaps -keep us out of our ringside seats, so close to Dempsey’s corner that -(O bounteous God!) a drop of the divine perspiration may splash our -undeserving snout--Hang up, liver! You’re on a busy wire! - - RING W. LARDNER - - - - -HUMOUR - - -With the aid of a competent bibliographer for about five days I believe -I could supply the proof to any unreflecting person in need of it that -there is no such thing as an American gift of humorous expression, that -the sense of humour does not exist among our upper classes, especially -our upper literary class, that in many respects almost every other -civilized country in the world has more of it, that quiet New England -humour is exceedingly loud and does not belong to New England, that -British incomprehension of our jokes is as a rule commendable, the -sense of humour generally beginning where our jokes leave off. And -while you can prove anything about a race or about all races with the -aid of a bibliographer for five days, as contemporary sociologists are -now showing, I believe these things are true. Belief in American humour -is a superstition that seldom outlasts youth in persons who have been -exposed to American practice, and hardly ever if they know anything -of the practice elsewhere. Of course I am not speaking of the sad -formalism of the usual thing as we see it in newspapers and on movie -screens or of the ritual of magazines wholly or in part sanctified to -our solemn god of fun. I mean the best of it. - -In the books and passages collated by my bibliographer the American -gift of humour would be distributed over areas of time so vast and -among peoples so numerous, remote, or savage, that no American -would have the heart to press his claim. The quaintness, dryness, -ultra-solemnity with or without the wink, exaggeration, surprise, -contrast, assumption of common misunderstanding, hyperbolical -innocence, quiet chuckle, upsetting of dignity, _éclat_ of spontaneity -with appeals to the everlasting, dislocation of elegance or -familiarity, imperturbability, and twinkle--whatever the qualities -may be as enumerated by the bacteriologists who alone have ever -written on the subject, the most American of them would be shown in -my bibliographer’s report to be to a far greater degree un-American. -Patriotic exultation in their ownership is like patriotic exultation -in the possession of the parts of speech. Humour is no more altered -by local reference than grammar is altered by being spoken through -the nose. And if the bibliography is an ideal one it will not only -present American humour at all times and places but will produce almost -verbatim long passages of American humorous text dated at any time and -place, and will show how by a few simple changes in local terms they -may be made wholly verbatim and American. It will show that American -humorous writing did in fact begin everywhere but only at certain -periods was permitted to continue and that these periods were by no -means the happiest in history. I have time to mention here only the -laborious section that it will probably devote to Mark Twain in the Age -of Pericles, though for the more active reader the one on Mr. Cobb, -Mr. Butler, and others around the walls of Troy might be of greater -contemporary interest. - -Mark Twain, according to the citations in this section, would seem -actually to have begun all of his longer stories, including “Pudd’nhead -Wilson,” and most of the shorter ones, essays, and other papers, at -Athens or thereabouts during this period, but not to have finished a -single one, not even the briefest of them. He started, gave a clear -hint as to how the thing would naturally run, and then he stopped. -The reason for this was that owing to the trained imagination of the -people for whom he wrote, the beginning and the hint were sufficient, -and from that point on they could amuse themselves along the line -that Mark Twain indicated better than he would have amused them, had -he continued. Mark Twain finally saw this and that is why he stopped, -realizing that there was no need of his keeping the ball rolling when -to their imaginative intelligence the ball would roll of itself. He did -at first try to keep on, and being lively and observant and voluble -even for a Greek he held large crowds on street-corners by the sheer -repetition of a single gesture of the mind throughout long narratives -of varied circumstance. In good society this was not tolerated even -after supper, and there was never the slightest chance of publication. -But the streets of Athens were full of the suppressed writings of Mark -Twain. - -Every man of taste in Athens loved Mark Twain for the first push of his -fancy but none could endure the unmitigated constancy of his pushing -of it, and as Mark Twain went everywhere and was most persistent, -the compression of his narrative flow within the limits of the good -breeding of the period was an embarrassing problem to hosts, unwilling -to be downright rude to him. Finally he was snubbed in public by his -friends and a few of the more intimate explained to him afterwards the -reason why. - -The gist of their explanation was evidently this: The hypothesis of -the best society in town nowadays is that the prolongation of a single -posture of the mind is intolerable, no matter how variegated the -substance in which the mind reposes. That sort of thing belongs to an -earlier day than ours, although, as you have found, it is still much -relished in the streets. If all the slaves were writers; if readers -bred like rabbits so that the pleasing of them assured great wealth; -if the banausic element in our life should absorb all the rest of it -and if, lost in the external labour process, with the mechanism of it -running in our minds, we turned only a sleepy eye to pleasure; then -we might need the single thought strung with adventures, passions, -incidents and need only that--infinitudes of detail easily guessed but -inexorably recounted; long lists of sentiments with human countenances -doing this and that; physiological acts in millions of pages and -unchanging phrase; volumes of imaginary events without a thought among -them; invented public documents equalling the real; enormous anecdotes; -and all in a strange reiterated gesture, caught from machines, -disposing the mind to nod itself to sleep repeating the names of what -it saw while awake. But the bedside writer for the men in bed is not -desired at the present moment in our best society. - -All these things are now carried in ellipsis to the reader’s head, -if the reader’s head desires them; they are implied in dots at ends -of sentences. We guess long narratives merely from a comma; we do -not write them out. In this space left free by us with deliberate -aposiopesis, a literature of countless simplicities may some day -arise. At present we do not feel the need of it. And in respect to -humour the rule of the present day is this: never do for another what -he can do for himself. A simple process of the fancy as in contrast, -incongruity, exaggeration, impossibility, must be confined in public -to one or two displays. Let us take the simplest of illustrations--a -cow in the dining-room, for example--and proceed with it as simply as -we can. If by a happy stroke of fancy a cow in the dining-room is made -pleasing to the mind, never argue that the pleasure is doubled by the -successive portrayal of two cows in two dining-rooms, assuming that the -stroke of fancy remains the same. Realize rather that it diminishes, -and that with the presentation of nine cows in nine dining-rooms it has -changed to pain. Now if for cows in dining-rooms be substituted gods in -tailor shops, tailors in the houses of gods, cobblers at king’s courts, -Thebans before masterpieces, one class against another, one age against -another, and so on through incalculable details, however bizarre, all -in simple combination, all easily gathered, without a shift of thought -or wider imagery, the fancy mechanistically placing the objects side -by side, picked from the world as from a catalogue--even then the -situation to our present thinking is not improved. - -“Distiktos,” said they, playfully turning the name of the humourist -into the argot of the street, “we find you charming just at the turn of -the tide, but when the flood comes in, _ne Dia!_ you are certainly _de -trop_. And in your own private interest, Distiktos, unless you really -want to lead a life totally anexetastic and forlorn, how can you go on -in that manner?” - - FRANK MOORE COLBY - - - - -_American Civilization from the Foreign Point of View_ - - I. ENGLISH - II. IRISH - III. ITALIAN - - - - -I. AS AN ENGLISHMAN SEES IT - - -A little less than two years ago--on the 14 July, 1919, to be exact--it -fell to my lot, as an officer attached to one of the many military -missions in Paris, to “assist,” from a reserved seat in a balcony of -the Hotel Astoria, at the _défilé_, or triumphal entry of the Allied -troops into Paris. - -The march _à Berlin_ not having eventuated owing to the upset in -schedule brought about by the entry of dispassionate allies at the -eleventh hour, it was felt that the French must be offered something -in exchange, and this took the happy form of a sort of community march -along the route once desecrated by Prussian hoof-beats--a vast military -_corbeille_ of the allied contingents, with flags, drums, trumpets, and -all the rest of the paraphernalia that had been kept in cold storage -during four years of gas, shell, and barbed wire. Such a _défilé_, it -was calculated, would be something more than a frugal gratification -to the French army and people. It would offer to the world at large, -through the medium of a now unmuzzled press, a striking object lesson -in allied good feeling and similarity of aims. - -My purpose in referring to the _défilé_ is merely to record one -unrehearsed incident in it but I would say in passing that the -affair, “for an affair,” as the French say, was extraordinarily well -stage-managed. A particularly happy thought was the marshalling of the -allied contingents by alphabetical order. This not only obviated any -international pique on what we all wanted to be France’s day, but left -the lead of the procession where everybody, in the rapture of delivery, -was well content it should remain. Handled with a little tact, the -alphabet had once more justified itself as an impartial guide: - - B is for Britain, Great. - A is for America, United States of. - - * * * * * - -For impressiveness I frankly and freely allot the palm to what it was -the fashion then to term the American effort. Different contingents -were impressive in different ways. The Republican Guard, jack-booted, -with buckskin breeches, gleaming helmets, flowing _crinières_, and -sabres _au clair_, lent just the right subtle touch of the _épopée_ of -Austerlitz and Jena to make us feel 1871 had been an evil dream; the -Highlanders, the voice of the hydra squalling and clanging from their -immemorial pipes, stirred all sorts of atavistic impulses and memories. -Nevertheless, had I been present that day in Paris as a newspaper man -instead of as the humblest and most obscure of soldiers, neither one -nor the other would have misled my journalistic instinct. I should have -put the lead of my “story” where alphabetical skill had put the lead of -the procession--in the American infantry. - -In front the generalissimo, martial and urbane, on a bright coated -horse that pranced, curvetted, “passaged” from side to side under -a practised hand. At his back the band, its monster uncurved horns -of brass blaring out the Broadway air before which “over there” -the walls of pacifism had toppled into dust in a day. Behind them, -platoon by platoon, the clean shaved, physically perfect fighting -youth of the great republic. All six feet high--there was not one, -it was whispered, but had earned his place in the contingent by a -rigorous physical selection: moving with the alignment of pistons in -some deadly machine--they had been drilled, we were told, intensively -for a month back. In spotless khaki, varnished trench helmets, spick -and span, scarcely touched by the withering breath of war. Whenever -the procession was checked, platoon after platoon moved on to the -regulation distance and marked time. When it resumed, they opened out -link by link with the same almost inhuman precision, and resumed their -portentous progress. How others saw them you shall hear, but to me they -were no mere thousand fighting men; rather the head of a vast battering -ram, the simple threat of which, aimed at the over-taxed heart of the -German Empire, had ended war. A French _planton_ of the Astoria staff, -who had edged his way into the ticketed group was at my back. “Les -voilà qui les attendaient,” he almost whispered. “Look what was waiting -for _them_.” - -The next balcony to mine had been reserved for the civil employés -of British missions, and here was gathered a little knot of average -English men and women--stenographers, typists, clerks, cogs of -commercialism pressed into the mechanical work of post-war settlement. -As the Americans moved on after one of the impressive checks of which -I have just spoken, something caught my ears that made me turn my head -quickly, even from a spectacle every lost moment of which I grudged. It -was, of all sounds that come from the human heart, the lowest and the -most ominous--the sound that makes the unwary walker through tropical -long grass look swiftly round his feet and take a firmer grasp on the -stick he has been wise enough to carry. - -It is impossible--it is inconceivable--and it’s true. On this great -day of international congratulation, one of the two branches of the -Anglo-Saxon race was hissing the other. - - * * * * * - -I spoke about the matter later to a friend and former chief, whom I -liked but whose position and character were no guarantee of tact or -good judgment. I said I thought it rather an ominous incident, but -he refused to be “rattled.” With that British imperturbability which -Americans have noted and filed on the card index of their impressions -he dismissed the whole thing as of slight import. - -“Very natural, I dare say. Fine show all the same. Perhaps your friends -on the other balcony thought they were slopping over in front.” - -“‘Slopping over...?’” - -“Well--going a little too far. Efficiency and all that. Bit out of step -with the rest of the procession.” - -I have often wondered since whether this homely phrase, uttered by a -simple soldier man, did not come nearer to the root of the divergence -between British and American character than all the mystifying and -laborious estimates which nine out of ten of our great or near-great -writers seem to think is due at a certain period in their popularity. - -To achieve discord, you see, it is not necessary that two instruments -should play different tunes. It is quite sufficient that the tempo of -one should differ from the tempo of the other. All I want to indicate -in the brief space which the scope of this work, leaves at my disposal -are just a few of the conjunctures at which I think the beat of the -national heart, here and across the Atlantic, is likely to find itself -out of accord. - - * * * * * - -Englishmen do not emigrate to the United States in any large numbers, -and it is many years since their arrival contributed anything but an -insignificant racial element to the “melting pot.” They do not come -partly because their own Colonies offer a superior attraction, and -partly because British labour is now aware that the economic stress is -fiercer in the larger country and the material rewards proportionately -no greater. Those who still come, come as a rule prepared to take -executive positions, or as specialists in their several lines. Their -unwillingness to assume American citizenship is notorious, and I think -significant; but it is only within quite recent years that it has been -made any ground of accusation--and among the class with which their -activities bring them into closest contact it is, or was until a year -or two ago, tacitly and tactfully ignored. During a review of the -“foreign element” in Boston to which I was assigned two years before -the war, I found business men of British birth not only reluctant to -yield “copy” but resentful of the publicity to which the enterprise of -my journal was subjecting them. - -There are many reasons why eminent English writers and publicists are -of little value in arriving at an estimate of “how Americans strike an -Englishman.” While not asserting anything so crude as that commercial -motives are felt as a restraining force when the temptation arises to -pass adverse judgment on the things they see and hear, it is evident -that the conditions under which they come--men of achievement in their -own country accredited to men of achievement here--keep them isolated -from much that is restless, unstable, but vitally significant in -American life. None of them, so far as I know, have had the courage or -the enterprise to come to America, unheralded and anonymous, and to pay -with a few months of economic struggle for an estimate that might have -real value. - -To this lack of real contact between the masses in America and Great -Britain is due the intrinsic falsity of the language in which the -racial bond is celebrated on the occasions when some political crisis -calls for its reiteration. It is felt easier and safer to utter it -in consecrated _clichés_--to refer to the specific gravity of blood -and water, or the philological roots of the medium used by Milton -and Arthur Brisbane. The banality, the insincerity, of the public -utterances at the time that America’s entry into the European struggle -first loomed as a possible solution of the agony on the Western Front -was almost unbelievable. Any one who cares to turn up the files of the -great dailies between September, 1916, and March, 1918, may find them -for himself. - -To a mind not clouded by the will to believe, this constant invocation -of common aims, this perpetual tug at the bond to ensure that it has -not parted overnight, would be strong corroboration of a suspicion -that the two vessels were drifting apart, borne on currents that flow -in different directions. It is not upon the after-dinner banalities of -wealthy and class-conscious “pilgrims” nor the sonorous platitudes of -discredited laggards on the political scene, still less is it upon the -sporting proclivities of titled hoydens and hawbucks to whom American -sweat and dollars have arrived in a revivifying stream, that we shall -have to rely should the cable really part and the two great vessels of -State grope for one another on a dark and uncharted sea. It is upon -the sheer and unassisted fact of how American and Englishman like or -dislike one another. - -It is a truism almost too stale to restate that we are standing to-day -on the threshold of great changes. What is not so well realized is -that many of these changes have already taken place. The passing of -gold in shipment after shipment from the Eastern to the Western side -of the Atlantic and the feverish hunt for new and untapped sources -of exploitation are only the outward signs of a profound European -impoverishment in which Britain for the first time in her history has -been called upon to bear her full share. The strikes and lock-outs that -have followed the peace in such rapid succession might possibly be -written off as inevitable _sequelæ_ of a great war. The feeble response -to the call for production as a means of salvation, the general change -in the English temper faced with its heavy task are far more vital and -significant matters. They seem to mark a shift in moral values--a -change in the faith by which nations, each in the sphere that character -and circumstance allot, wax and flourish. - -Confronted with inevitable competition by a nation more populous, -more cohesive, and richer than itself, it seems to me that there are -three courses which the older section of the English race may elect -to follow. One is war, before the forces grow too disparate, and on -the day that war is declared one phase of our civilization will end. -It will really not matter much, to the world at large, who wins an -Anglo-American world conflict. The second, which is being preached -in and out of season by our politicians and publicists, who seldom, -however, dare to speak their full thought, is a girding up of the -national loins, a renewed consecration to the gospel of effort, a -curtailment, if necessary--though this is up to now only vaguely -hinted--of political liberties bestowed in easier and less strenuous -days. The third course may easily be guessed. It is a persistence in -proclivities, always latent as I believe in the English temperament, -but which have only revealed themselves openly since the great war, -a clearer questioning of values till now held as unimpeachable, a -readier ear to the muttering and murmuring of the masses in Continental -Europe, internationalism--revolution. No thoughtful man in England -to-day denies the danger. Even references to that saving factor, the -“common sense of the British workman,” no longer allays the spectre of -a problem the issues of which have only to be stated to stand forth in -all their hopeless irreconcilability. Years ago, long before the shadow -fell on the world, in a moment of depression or inspiration, I wrote -that cravings were stirring in the human heart on the very eve of the -day when the call would be to sacrifice. That is the riddle, nakedly -stated, to which workers and rulers alike are asked to find an answer -to-day. - -In this choice that lies before the British worker a great deal may -depend upon how American experiments and American achievements strike -him. In England now there is no escaping from the big transatlantic -sister. Politicians use her example as a justification; employers hold -up her achievements as a reproach. A British premier dare not face the -House of Commons on an “Irish night” unequipped with artful analogies -culled from the history of the war of secession. The number of bricks -per hour America’s bricklayers will lay or the tons of coal per week -her stolid colliers will hew are the despair of the contractor face -to face with the loafing and pleasure-loving native born. You will -hear no more jokes to-day in high coalition places over her political -machine replacing regularly and without the litter and disorder of a -general election tweedledum Democrat by a tweedledee Republican. She is -recognized--and this, I think, is the final value placed upon her by -the entire ruling and possessing classes in my own country--as better -equipped in her institutions, her character, and her population for the -big economic struggle that is ahead of us. - -This is the secret of the unceasing court paid to Washington by all -countries, but pre-eminently by Britain. It is not fear of her power, -nor hunger for her money bags and harvests, nor desire to be “on the -band-wagon,” as light-hearted cartoonists see it, that prompts the -nervous susceptibility and the instantaneous response to anything that -will offend those in high places on the banks of the Potomac. It is the -sense, among all men with a strong interest in maintaining the present -economic order, that the support in their own countries is crumbling -under their hands, and that that fresh support, stronger and surer, is -to be found in a new country with a simpler faith and a cleaner, or -at any rate a shorter, record. To fight proletarianism with democracy -is a method so obvious and safe that one only wonders its discovery -had to wait upon to-day. Its salient characteristic is a newly aroused -interest and enthusiasm in one country for the political forces that -seem to make stability their watchword in the other. The coalition has -become the hero of the New York _Times_ and _Tribune_--the triumph -of the Republican party was hailed almost as a national victory in -the London _Times_ and Birmingham _Post_. Intransigeance in foreign -policies finds ready forgiveness in London; in return, a blind eye is -turned to schemes of territorial aggrandisement at Washington. - -If a flaw is to be discerned in what at first sight seems a perfectly -adjusted instrument for international comity, it is that this new -Anglo-American understanding seems to be founded on class rather -than on national sympathy. Even offhand some inherent inconsistency -would seem to be sensed from the fact that the appeal of the great -republic comes most home, in the parent country, to the class that is -least attached to democratic forms and the most fearful of change. -References to America arouse no enthusiasm at meetings of the labour -element in England, and it is still felt unwise to expose the Union -Jack to possible humiliation in parades on a large scale in New York or -Chicago. A sympathy that flowers into rhetoric at commercial banquets -or at meetings of the archæologically inclined may have its roots in -the soundest political wisdom. But to infer from such demonstrations -of class solidarity any national community of thought or aim is both -unwarranted and unsafe. This much is evident, that should a class -subversion, always possible in a country the political fluidity of -which is great, leave the destinies of Great Britain in the hands of -the class that is silent or hostile to-day when the name of America is -mentioned, an entire re-statement of Anglo-American unity would become -necessary, in terms palatable to the average Englishman. - - * * * * * - -This average Englishman is a highly complicated being. Through the -overlay which industrialism has imposed on him, he has preserved to -quite an extraordinary extent the asperities, the generosities, the -occasional eccentricities of the days when he was a free man in a free -land. No melting process has ever subdued the sharp bright hues of -his individuality into the universal, all-pervading drab that is the -result of blending primary colours. No man who has employed him to -useful purpose has ever succeeded in reducing his personality to the -proportions of a number on a brass tag. The pirate and rover who looked -upon Roman villadom and found it not good, the archer who brought the -steel-clad hierarchy of France toppling from their blooded horses at -Crécy and Agincourt, the churl who struck off the heads of lawyers in -Westminster Palace yard survive in him. - -If I am stressing this kink in the British character it is because one -of its results has been to make the Englishman of all men the least -impressed by scale, and the one to whom appeals made on the size of an -experiment or the vastness of a vision will evoke the least response, -and especially because I think I perceive a tendency to approach him -in the interests of Anglo-American unity precisely from the angle that -will awake antagonism where co-operation is sought. The attachment of -the Englishman to little things and to hidden things, which no one -except Chesterton has had the insight to perceive, or at all events -which Chesterton was the first to place in its full relation to his -inconsistencies, explains his strangely detached attitude to that -British Empire of which his country is the core. Its discovery as -an entity calling for a special quality in thought and action dates -no further back than that strange interlude in history, when the -personality of Roosevelt and the vision of Kipling held the imagination -of the world. - -This refusal to be impressed by greatness, whether his own or others’, -has its disadvantages, but at least it has one saving element. It -leaves an Englishman quite capable of perceiving that it is possible -for a thing to be grandiose in scale and mean in quality. It leaves -intact his frank and childlike confidence that the little things of -the world confound the strong; his implicit conviction that David -will always floor Goliath, and that Jack’s is the destined sword to -smite off the giant’s head. The grotesqueness of the Kaiser’s upturned -moustaches, the inadequacy of a mythical “William the Weed” to achieve -results that would count, were his guiding lights to victory, the -touchstones by which he tested in advance the vast machine that finally -cracked and broke under its own weight. It was the “contemptible” -little army of shopmen and colliers which seized his imagination and -held his affection throughout, not the efficient mechanical naval -machine that fought one great sea battle, which was a revelation of -the risks inherent in its own monstrousness and complexity, and made -its headquarters in Scapa Flow. I recall the comments heard at the -time of Jutland in the artillery camp where fate had throwm me. They -served to confirm a dawning conviction that the navy, while it still -awes and impresses, lost its hold on the British heart the day wooden -walls were exchanged for iron and steel. It is perhaps the “silent -service” to-day because its appeal awakes so little response. It has -been specialized and magnified out of the average Englishman’s power to -love it. - -In America the contrary seems the case. The American heart appears to -go out to bulk, to scale, and to efficiency. The American has neither -the time nor the temperament to test and weigh. His affections, even -his loyalties, seem to be at the mercy of aspects that impose and -impress. I know no other country where the word “big” is used so -constantly as a token of affection. Every community has its “Big Tims,” -“Big Bills,” “Big Jacks,” great hearty fellows who gambol and spout on -public occasions with the abandonment of a school of whales. Gargantuan -“Babe Ruth,” mountainous Jack Dempsey are the idols of its sport-loving -crowds. “Mammoth in character,” the qualification which on the lips of -the late Mr. Morgan Richards stirred laughter throughout England, is to -the American no inconsequential or slipshod phrase. He does perceive a -character and justification in bigness. It was perhaps to this trait -in his mental make-up that the puzzling shift of allegiance to the -beginning of the great war was due. The scale and completeness of the -German effort laid hold of his imagination to an extent that only -those who spent the first few months of agonizing doubt in the West -and the Middle West can appreciate. Something that was obscurely akin, -something that transcended racial affinities and antipathies, awoke -in him at the steady ordered flow of the field-grey legions Westward, -so adequately pictured for him by Richard Harding Davis. He is quite -merciless to defeat. - -Nothing conceived on such a scale can indulge complexities. Its ideals -must be ample, rugged, and primitive, adequate to the vast task. Hence -the velocity, the thoroughness, the apparent ruthlessness with which -American enterprises are put through. It is the fashion among a certain -school of thought to call America the country of inhibitions. But there -is little inhibition to be perceived on that side of his temperament, -which the American has chosen to cultivate, leaving all else to those -who find perverse attraction in weed and ruin. His language--and he is -amazingly vocal--is as simple and direct as his thought. The appeals -and admonitions of his leaders reverberate from vast and resonant -lungs. They are calculated rather to carry far than to penetrate -deeply. They are statements and re-statements rather than arguments. If -their verbiage often aims at and sometimes seems to attain the sublime, -if the American leader is forever dedicating, consecrating, inspiring -something, the altitude is like the elevation given a shell in order -that it may travel further. The nimble presentation of antithesis -of a Lloyd George, the dagger-play of sarcasm of an Asquith, are -conspicuously absent from the speeches of American leaders. There is -something arrogant and ominous, like the clenching of a fist before -the arm is raised, in this sonorous presentation of a faith already -securely rooted in the hearts of all its hearers. - -This primitiveness and single-mindedness of the American seem to -intensify as his historical origins recede further and further into -the past. It is idle to speculate on what might have happened had the -development of his country remained normal and homogeneous, as, up to -the Civil War, it admittedly did. It is an even less grateful task to -look back on the literature of the Transcendental period and register -all that American thought seems to have lost since in subtlety and -essential catholicity. What is really important is to realize that -not only the language but the essence of Occidental civilization has -called for simplification, for sacrifice, year by year. It is hard to -see what other choice has lain before the American, as wave after wave -of immigration diluted his homogeneity, than to put his concepts into -terms easily understood and quickly grasped, with the philological -economy of the traveller’s pocket manual and the categorical precision -of the drill book. If in the very nature of things, this evangel is -oftener pointed with a threat than made palatable with the honey of -reason and sympathy, the task and not the taskmaster is to blame. On -no other country has ever been imposed similar drudgery on a similar -scale. It is idle to talk about the spiritual contribution of the -foreigner when his first duty is to cast that contribution into the -discard. It is futile to appeal to his traditions where the barrier of -language rears itself in a few years between parents who have never -learnt the new tongue and children who are unable or ashamed to speak -the old. - -But such a régime cannot endure for many years without a profound -influence, not only on those to whom it is prescribed, but on those -who administer it. The most heaven-born leader of men, put into a -receiving depot to which monthly and fortnightly contingents of bemused -recruits arrive, quickly deteriorates into something like a glorified -and commissioned drill sergeant. The schoolmaster is notoriously a -social failure in circles where intercourse must be held on the level -to which the elevation of his _estrade_ has dishabituated him. Exact -values--visions, to use a word that misuse has made hateful--disappear -under a multiplicity of minor tasks. It is one of the revenges taken by -fate that those who must harass and drive become harassed and sterile -in turn. - -No one yet, so far as I know, has sought to place this amazing -simplification in its true relation to the aridity of American life, -an aridity so marked that it creates a positive thirst for softer and -milder civilizations, not only in the foreigner who has tasted of -them, but at a certain moment in their life in almost every one of the -native born whose work lies outside the realm of material production. -It is not that in England, as in every community, entire classes do -not exist who seek material success by the limitation of interests -and the retrenchment of sympathies. But in so doing they sacrifice -to a domestic, not a national God; they follow personal not racial -proclivities. There is no conscious subscription to a national ideal -in their abandonment of æsthetic impulses. Side by side with them -live other men whose apparent contentment with insecure and unstable -lives at once redresses their pride and curtails their influence. They -are conscious of the existence around them of a whole alien world, -the material returns from which are negligible but in which other -men somehow manage to achieve a fullness of experience and maintain -self-respect. This other world reacts not only on employer but on -employed. For the worker it abates the fervour and stress of his task, -lends meaning and justification to his demand for leisure in the face -of economic demands that threaten or deny. No one in England has yet -dared to erect into an evangel the obvious truth that poor men must -work. No compulsion sets the mental attitude a man may choose when -faced with his task. The speeder-up and the efficiency expert is -hateful and alien. “A fair day’s wage for a fair day’s work” may seem -a loose and questionable phrase, but its implications go very deep. It -sets a boundary mark on the frontier between flesh and spirit by which -encroachments are registered as they occur. - -In America no such frontier exists. Here the invasion seems to be -complete. The spirit that would disentangle material from immaterial -aims wanders baffled and perplexed through a maze of loftily conceived -phrases and exhortations each one of which holds the promise of rescue -from the drudgery of visionless life, yet each one of which leads back -to an altar where production is enthroned as God. Manuals and primers, -one had almost written psalters, pour out from the printing presses -in which such words as “inspiration,” “dedication,” “consecration” -urge American youth not to the renunciation of material aims but to -their intensive pursuit. This naïve and simple creed is quite free of -self-consciousness or hypocrisy. In its occasional abrupt transitions -from the language of prayer to such conscience-searching questions -as “Could you hold down a $100.00 a week job?” or “Would you hire -yourself?” no lapse from the sublime to the ridiculous, far less to the -squalid, is felt. It has the childlike gravity and reverence of all -religions that are held in the heart. - -But its God is a jealous God. No faltering in his service, no divided -allegiance is permitted. His rewards are concrete and his punishments -can be overwhelming. For open rebellion, outlawry; for secret revolt, -contempt and misunderstanding are his inevitable visitations. For -this reason those who escape into heresy not unfrequently lose their -integrity and are gibbeted or pilloried for the edification of the -faithful. The man who will not serve because the service starves and -stunts his soul is all too likely to find himself dependent for company -upon the man who will not serve because his will is too weak or his -habits too dissipated. - -That this service is a hard one, its most ardent advocates make no -attempt to conceal. Its very stringency is made the text of appeals for -ever and ever fresh efficiency, intensive training, specialization. -“The pace they must travel is so swift,” one advocate of strenuousness -warns his disciples, “competition has become so fierce that brains -and vision are not enough. One must have the _punch_ to put things -through.” The impression grows that the American business man, new -style, is a sombre gladiator, equipped for his struggle by rigorous -physical and mental discipline. The impression is helped by a host -of axioms, plain and pictured, that feature a sort of new cant of -virility. “Red-blooded men,” “Two-fisted men,” “Men who do things,” -“Get-there fellows,” are a few headliners in this gospel of push and -shove. - -The service is made still more difficult by its uncertainty, since no -gospel of efficiency can greatly change the proportion of rewards, -though it can make the contest harder and the marking higher. Year in -year out, while competition intensifies and resources are fenced off, -insecurity of employment remains, an evil tradition from days when -opportunity was really boundless and competition could be escaped by -a move of a few score miles Westward. Continuity in one employment -still remains the exception rather than the rule, and when death or -retirement reveals an instance it is still thought worthy of space in -local journals. “Can you use me?” remains the customary gambit for the -seeker after employment. The contempt of a settled prospect, of routine -work, the conception of business as something to work _up_ rather -than to work _at_ is still latent in the imagination of atavistic and -ambitious young America. Of late years this restlessness, even though -in so worthy a cause as “getting on,” has been felt as a hindrance to -full efficiency, and the happy idea has been conceived of applying the -adventurous element of competition at home. Territorial or departmental -spheres are allotted within or without the “concern” to each employé; -the results attained by A, B, and C are then totalled, analyzed, -charted, and posted in conspicuous places where all may see, admire, -and take warning. In the majority of up-to-date houses “suggestions” -for the expansion or improvement of the business are not only welcomed -but expected, and the employé who does not produce them in reasonable -bulk and quality is slated for the “discard.” When inventiveness -tires, “shake-ups” on a scale unknown in England take place, and new -aspirants eager to “make good” step into the shoes of the old. The -business athletes strain and pant toward the goal. There is no rest for -the young man “consecrated” to merchandising effort. Like the fly in -the fable, he must struggle and swim until the milk around his legs is -churned into the butter of executive position. - -The American press, hybrid, highly coloured, and often written by men -of erratic genius who prefer the poor rewards of news writing to the -commercial yoke, conveys but a partial idea of this absorption of an -entire race in a single function. A far more vivid impression is to be -gained from the “house organs,” and publicity pamphlets which pour from -the press in an unceasing stream and the production of which within -recent years has become a large and lucrative industry. Here articles -and symposia on such themes as “Building Character into Salesmanship,” -“Hidden Forces that bring Sales,” and “Capitalizing Individuality,” -often adorned with half-tones of tense and joyless faces, recur on -every page. No sanctuary is inviolable, no recess unexplored. The -demand of the commercial God is for the soul, and he will be content -with no less. - -This demand implies a revised conception of the relation between -employé and employer. The old contract under which time and effort -were hired for so many hours a day at a stated remuneration, leaving -life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness outside those hours a -matter of personal predilection, is now abrogated, or at least sharply -questioned. It is recognized, and with entire logic, that the measure -of accomplishment within working hours will depend largely on the -environment amid which hours of recreation are spent; and that though -detection of inefficiency is a task of keen brains that seldom fail, -this detection, in the nature of things, may not take place until -damage has been done the commercial structure. This is the real -inwardness of a whole new gospel of “Welfare” and “Uplift,” under whose -dispensation employés are provided with simple and tested specifics -for recreation, with the watchful and benevolent eye of department -heads upon them, in which it is presumed and stated with entire candour -that the physical, moral, and mental efficiency of the staffs and -“salesforce” has become the concern of the organization that has -allotted them a place in its economy. The organism works, plays, rests, -moves on together. - -Nothing is more terrifying, as that master of terror, Edgar Allan -Poe, perceived, than an organism that is at once mean and colossal. -Properties of efficiency and adaptation to one definite end are -bestowed in an eminent degree only on the lower orders of animal life. -With rigid bodies, encasing organs that are designed for simple, -metabolic purposes, armed with an elaborate mechanism of claws, hinges, -borers, valves, and suckers the lepidoptera are living tools that fly -or creep. Absorbed in one tireless function, with all distractions of -love and war delegated to specialized subspecies, they neither love, -hate, nor rebel. As the scale ascends, efficiency dwindles, until in -the litter and loneliness of the den, lazy domesticity with dam and -cubs, the joy of prey hunt and love hunt, between the belly pinch of -hunger and the sleep of repletion, the lives of the big carnivora pass -in a sheer joy of living for living’s sake until the gun of the hunter -ends the day dream. - -It has been left for man--hapless and inventive--to realize a life -that touches both ends of the scale, to feel at his heart the pull of -hive-life and jungle-life in turn. Something of the ant and something -of the tiger lurks in every normal human creature. If he has immense -powers of assertion, his faculty for abdication seems to be as -limitless. It is just this dual nature in man that makes prophecy as to -what “will happen the world” so difficult and unsafe. But one prophecy -may be ventured on and that is, that in proportion as acquiescence or -revolt seize the imaginations of separated nations will those nations -coalesce or drift apart into antagonism. - -If a life spent during the last twenty years between England and -the United States is any title to judge, I should say that at the -present moment the dominant note in America is acquiescence in, and in -England revolt against the inordinate demands of commercialism. Here, -to all appearances, the surrender for the moment is complete. There -are revolts, but they are sporadic and misguided and their speedy -suppression seems to stir no indignation and to awaken no thrill of -common danger among the body of workers. Strikes confined to wage -issues are treated more indulgently, but even they are generally -strangled at their birth by injunctions, and a sour or hostile attitude -of authority makes success difficult. In any display of opposition -to established conditions, even when based on the most technical -grounds, authority appears to sense a challenge to larger issues and -to meet them half way with a display of force that to an Englishman -appears strangely over-adequate. It is evident the ground is being -tested. Interpretations of liberty that date from easier and roomier -days are under revision, and where they are found at variance with -a conception of society as a disciplined and productive force, they -are being roughly retrenched. The prevailing character of the labour -mass, at once heterogeneous and amorphous, makes it a safe and ductile -medium for almost any social experiment. “If you don’t like it, go -back,” is an argument to which no answer has been found. Native-born -labour shares in the universal dis-esteem and takes refuge from it -in aristocratic and doctrinaire federations whose ineffectiveness is -apparent whenever a labour issue arises. For the rebel who, under these -conditions, chooses to fight on, rougher methods are found. He may -become _fera natura_. Tarring and feathering, ducking and rubbing with -acid, and deportation from State to State may be his portion. Under any -social condition conformity is the easiest course. When the prison cell -and social pillory are its alternatives, to resist requires a degree -of fanatical courage and interior moral resources possessed only by a -handful of men in a generation. - -To this conception of a disciplined community harnessed to the purpose -of production, thousands of the possessing and capitalistic classes -look wistfully from the other side of the Atlantic. But there are many -obstacles to its realization in England. The English proletarian is no -uprooted orphan, paying with docile and silent work for the citizenship -of his children and grandchildren. That great going concern, the -British Empire, is his personal work, built on the bones and cemented -with the blood of his forebears. His enfranchisement is as complete as -his disinheritance, and the impoverishment of his country, evidenced -in the stream of gold that pours Westward like arterial blood, has -not reached to his spirit. Even the Great War, with its revelation -to him of how ruthless and comprehensive the demands of the State on -the individual can be, has only reinforced his sense of being a very -deserving person and has added to the long debt which he is frankly -out to collect. The promises, the appeals to national pride and -tradition with which he had to be appeased while, for the first time -in his history, the yoke of universal service was laid upon his neck, -trip up the feet of his rulers to-day. It is difficult to tell him to -go elsewhere, for he “belongs” in England. Even suggestions that he -should emigrate wholesale to British colonies in order to relieve the -congested labour market are received with mocking laughter in which a -threat lurks. He is, I am sure, because I know him, looking on with a -certain sardonic relish and enjoyment at the flurries, the perplexities -of his rulers, their displays of force alternated with appeals to -sweet reason, their brave words succeeded by abject denials and -qualifications. He is waiting until the naked economic question, which -he knows well underlies all the rhodomontade of national greatness -and imperial heritage, shall be put to him. It will be a great and -momentous day when the Englishman is given his choice. A choice it must -be. The means to compulsion are not here. - - * * * * * - -To America just now Europeans as a whole must seem a helpless race, -bewildered actors in a vast and tragic blunder. To thousands of -Red Cross workers, Knights of Columbus, and welfare auxiliaries in -devastated districts, the spectacle of suffering and want must have -come home to reinforce impressions already gained from sights witnessed -at Ellis Island or Long Wharf. None the less, it is an historical -misfortune that the first real contact between the people of the two -continents should have come at a time when the older was bankrupt and -had little to show save the rags and tatters of its civilization. The -reverse of the tenderness to the stricken European abroad has been a -hardening of the heart to the immigrant at home, and it is difficult -for the American, schoolmaster and lawgiver to so many alien peoples -in his own country, to divest himself of a didactic character in his -foreign relations. To many countries he is “saying it with flour,” and -those who accept the dole can do little else than swallow the sermon. -Even to those countries who were his allies he does shine forth in a -certain splendour of righteousness. His sacrifice was deliberate--which -is, perhaps, its best excuse for being a little conscious. It was -self-imposed, and fifty thousand of his dead, wrested from productive -enterprises to lie in France, attest its sincerity. No Englishman, -at any rate, believes in his heart that its material reward, great -and inevitable as it is now seen to be, was the driving force at the -time the sacrifice was accepted. There are a host of reasons, some -creditable, others less so, that make Europe curb its restiveness under -American homilies. - -With England the case is different. No one knows just how hard Britain -has been hit, but she is managing to put a good face on her wounds. -No relief organization from the big sister has landed its khaki-clad -apostles of hygiene and its grey-cloaked sisters of mercy on English -shores. The façade is intact, the old masters in possession. With a -few shifts and changes in political labelling that are a matter of -domestic concern, those who steered the big concern into the bankruptcy -of war are still entrusted with its extrication. No great subversion -stands as a witness of a change of national faith. The destinies, the -foreign relations, the aspects that attract or antagonize remain in the -hands of men who secured a fresh lease of power by a clever political -trick. The skeleton at the feast of racial reunion is not Ireland, nor -Mesopotamia, nor Yap, nor the control of the seas. It is the emergence -into political power, sooner or later, but inevitably from the very -nature of British political institutions, of the British proletariat. - -Frankly I do not see, when this moment arrives, who is going to -put the gospel of American civilization into terms that will be, I -shall not say acceptable, but even significant, to the emancipated -British worker. Ruling classes in the older country who rely on -a steadying force from across the Atlantic in possible political -upheavals must have strange misgivings when they take account of -their own stewardship. It will be an ungrateful task to preach the -doctrine of salvation through work to a people that has tried it -out so logically and completely that the century which has seen the -commercial supremacy of their country has witnessed the progressive -impoverishment and proletarization of its people. Homilies on -discipline will sound strangely in the ears of those who, while America -was enjoying her brief carnival of spacious and fruitful endeavour in -a virgin land, went under an industrial yoke that has galled their -necks and stunted their physical growth. Appeals to pride of race -will have little meaning coming from a stock that has ceased through -self-indulgence or economic upward pressure to resist ethnologically -and whose characteristics are disappearing in the general amalgam. - -The salient fact that stands out from all history is that -inordinateness of any sort has never failed to act upon the English -character as a challenge. His successes, whatever his libellists may -seek to believe, have seldom been against the small or weak. It has -been his destiny, in one recurrent crisis after another, to find -himself face to face with some claimant to world power, some “cock of -the walk.” To use a homely phrase, it has always been “up to him.” -And the vision of his adversary which has nerved his arm has always -been an excess in some quality easily understandable by the average -man. Bigotry is not the monopoly of the Spaniard, nor commercial greed -of the Hollander, nor vanity of the Frenchman, nor pomposity of the -German. It would be an easy task to convict the Englishman of some -share in each vice. Nevertheless history in the main has justified his -instinct for proportion, his dislike for “slopping over.” In something -far beyond the accepted phrase, the English struggle has been a -struggle for the “balance of power.” - - HENRY L. STUART - - - - -II. AS AN IRISHMAN SEES IT - - -The application of the term “shirt-sleeve” to American diplomacy -is perhaps the most concise expression of the conception we have -formed in Europe of life in the United States. We imagine that it is -only necessary to cross the Atlantic Ocean to find a people young -and vigorous in its emancipation from ancient forms and obsolete -ceremonies. The average visitor returns, after a brief tour through -the more urbane centres of European imitation, and tries to startle -us with a narrative in which a few picturesque crudities are supposed -to indicate the democratic ease of American civilization. His mind is -filled with an incoherent jumble of skyscrapers, express elevators, -ice water, chewing-gum, and elevated railroads, so that his inevitable -contribution to the literature relating to America becomes the -mere chronicle of a tourist’s experiences. Every deviation from -European practice is emphasized, and in proportion to the writer’s -consequent personal discomfort, he will conjure up a hideous picture -of uncouthness, whose effect is to confirm us in our estimate of -American progress ... or barbarism, as the case may be. If the critical -stranger happens to be a well-known poet or dramatist, he will probably -succeed in passing lightly over those minor inconveniences, which the -generosity of wealthy admirers has prevented him from experiencing at -first hand. - -The consequence is that there is no subject more hopelessly involved in -a cloud of voluminous complaint and banal laudation than American life -as seen by the foreigner. Neither the enthusiasts nor the fault-finders -have contributed much of any assistance either to Europeans or to the -Americans themselves. The former accept America at its own valuation, -the latter complain of precisely those things upon which the average -citizen prides himself. It is not easy to decide which class of critics -has helped most effectively to perpetuate the legend of American -freedom; the minor commentators who hold democracy to be the cause of -every offence, or the higher critics, like Viscount Bryce, who, finding -no American commonwealth, proceeded to invent one. The objectors are -dismissed as witnesses to the incapacity of the servile European to -appreciate true liberty and equality; the well-disposed are gratefully -received as evangelists of a gospel to which Americans subscribe -without excessive introspection. There is something touching in the -gratitude felt towards the author of “The American Commonwealth.” Who -would have believed that a foreigner, and a Britisher at that, could -make a monument of such imposing brick with the straws of political -oratory in the United States? - -On one point all observers have involuntarily agreed. Whether with -approval or disapproval, they have depicted for us a society which -presents such marked divergencies from our own manners and customs that -there is not one of us but comes to America believing that his best or -worst hopes will be confirmed. It is, therefore, somewhat disconcerting -to confess that neither presentment has been realized. To have passed -from Continental Europe to New York, via London, is to deprive oneself -of that social and intellectual shock which is responsible for the -uniformly profound impression which transatlantic conditions make -upon the European mind. So many continentals enjoy in the United -States their first direct contact with Anglo-Saxon institutions and -modes of thought that the revelation cannot fail to stimulate them. -Their writings frequently testify to a naïve ignorance of the prior -existence in England of what excites their dismay or admiration in -America. If it be asked why, then, have Englishmen similarly reacted -to the same stimuli, if acquaintance with England blunts the fine -edge of perception, the reply must be: the quality of their emotion -is different. The impression made upon a mind formed by purely Latin -traditions necessarily differs from that received by a mind previously -subjected to Anglo-Saxon influences. Consequently, the student of -American life who has neither the motive of what might be called -family jealousy, in the Englishman, nor the mentality, wholly innocent -of alien culture, of the Latin, would seem well equipped to view the -subject from another angle. - -To the good European the most striking characteristic of the United -States is a widespread intellectual anæmia. So far from exhibiting -those traits of freedom and progress which harrow the souls of -sensitive aristocrats in Europe, the American people alarm the outsider -in search of stimulating ideas by their devotion to conventions -and formulæ. As soon as one has learnt to discount those lesser -manifestations of independence, whose perilous proximity to discourtesy -gives them an exaggerated importance in the eyes of superficial -critics, the conventionality of the American becomes increasingly -evident. So many foreigners have been misled--mainly because of an -apparent rudeness--by this show of equality, this ungraciousness -in matters of service, that one hesitates at first to dismiss the -unconventional American as a myth closely related to that of the -“immoral Frenchman.” It is only when prolonged association has revealed -the timid respectability beneath this veneer of informality that it -becomes possible to understand the true position of America. From -questioning individuals one proceeds to an examination of the public -utterances of prominent men, and the transition from the press to -literature is easily made. At length comes the discovery that mentally -the United States is a generation or two behind Western Europe. The -rude and vigorous young democracy, cited by its admirers in extenuation -of æsthetic sins of omission and commission, suddenly stands forth -attired in the garment of ideas which clothed early Victorian England. - -This condition is largely due to the absence of an educated class -accustomed to leisure. To the American work for work’s sake has a -dignity unknown in Europe, where it is rare to find anybody working -for mere wages if he has any means of independent subsistence, however -small. In America the contrary is the case, and people who could afford -to cultivate their own personalities prefer to waste their energies -upon some definite business. Almost all the best that has come out -of Europe has been developed in that peculiar class which sacrificed -money-making for the privilege of leisure and relative independence. -The only corresponding class in the United States is that of the -college professors, who are an omnipresent menace to the free interplay -of ideas. Terrorized by economic fears and intellectual inhibitions, -they have no independence. They are despised by the plain people -because of their failure to make money; and to them are relegated all -matters which are considered of slight moment, namely, learning and -the arts. In these fields the pedants rule unchallenged, save when -some irate railroad presidents discover in their teachings the heresy -of radicalism. Æsthetics is a science as incomprehensible to them as -beauty, and they prefer to substitute the more homely Christian ethics. -Moral preoccupations are their sole test of excellence. The views of -these gentlemen and their favourite pupils fill the bookshelves and the -news-stands. - -The professorial guardians of Colonial precedents and traditions -determine what the intellectual life of America shall be. Hence the -cult of anæmia. Instead of writing out of themselves and their own -lives, they aspire to nothing greater than to be classed as English. -They are obsessed by the standards imposed from without, and their -possible achievement is thwarted. While they are still shaking their -heads over Poe, and trying to decide whether Whitman is respectable, a -national literature is growing up without the guidance and help which -it should expect from them. At the same time, as the official pundits -have the ear of Europe, and particularly of England, American culture -is known only as they reflect it. It is natural, therefore, that the -European attitude should be as contemptuous as it so often is. - -When the reviews publish some ignorant and patronizing dissertation on -the American novel or American poetry, by an English writer, they are -pained by the evident lack of appreciation. The ladies and gentlemen -whose works are respectfully discussed by the professors, and warmly -recommended by the reviewers, do not seem to receive the consideration -due to them for their unflinching adherence to the noblest standards -of academic criticism. When these torch-bearers of the purest Colonial -tradition are submitted to the judgment of their “big” cousins in -England, there is a noticeable condescension in those foreigners. -But why should they profess to admire as the brightest stars in the -American firmament what are, after all, the phosphorescent gleams of -literary ghosts? Is it any wonder that the majority of Britishers -can continue in the comfortable belief that there is practically no -American literature worthy of serious attention? - -The academic labours of American professors of literature are an -easy and constant butt for English critics. Yet, they rarely think -of questioning the presentation of literary America for which these -gentlemen are so largely responsible. When have the Stuart Shermans and -Paul Elmer Mores (and their diminutives) recognized the existence of -a living American writer of genius, originality, or distinction? The -only justification for their existences is their alleged capacity to -estimate literary values. If they cannot do so, it is hardly surprising -that their English patrons, who imagine that they are representative -men, do not often penetrate the veil of Colonialism. Whatever their -outward professions, the majority of Englishmen regard all other -English-speaking countries as Colonies. Since they are stubborn enough -when faced with undeniable proof of the contrary, as in Ireland, it is -unlikely they will persuade themselves unaided that they are mistaken. -When will American criticism have the courage to base the claims of -contemporary literature on those works which are essentially and -unmistakably American? - -The mandarins, of course, have stood for reaction in all countries, -and there is no intention here to acquit the European of the species. -So many of his worst outrages are matters of history that it would be -futile to pretend that he is untrue to type. Nevertheless, his position -in Europe is measurably more human than in this country, owing to the -greater freedom of intellectual intercourse. In America the mandarin is -firmly established on a pedestal which rests upon the vast unculture -of an immense immigrant population, enjoying for the first time the -benefits of sufficient food and heat. He is obviously secure in his -conviction that those qualified to challenge him--except perhaps -some isolated individual--are not likely to do so, being of the same -convention as himself. He belongs to the most perfect trade-union, one -which has a practical monopoly of its labour. His European colleagues, -on the contrary, live in constant dread of traitors from their ranks, -or worse still, the advance of an opposing force manned with brains of -no inferior calibre. France, for example, can boast of a remarkable -roll of names which never adorned the councils of pedantry, or not -until they had imposed a new tradition. The two finest minds of -modern French literature, Anatole France and Rémy de Gourmont, are -illustrations of this fact. France has never allowed his academic -honours to restrict the daring play of his ideas; Gourmont died in the -admiration of all cultivated men, although his life was a prolonged -protest against the orthodox, who never succeeded in taming him. - -What America requires is an unofficial _intelligentsia_ as strong and -as articulate as the political and literary pundits, whose purely -negative attitude first exasperates, and finally sterilizes, every -impulse towards originality. Only when a survey is made of the leading -figures in the various departments of American life is it possible -fully to realize the weight of inertia which presses upon the intellect -of the country. While the spirit of enterprise and progress is -stimulated and encouraged in all that relates to material advancement, -the artistic and reasoning faculties are deadened. Scientific study, -when directed to obviously practical ends, is the only form of mental -effort which can count upon recognition and reward. It is not without -its significance that the Johns Hopkins Medical School is the one -learned institution in America whose fame is world-wide amongst -those who appreciate original research, otherwise the names of few -universities are mentioned outside academic circles. Even in the field -of orthodox literary culture the mandarins have, in the main, failed -to do anything positive. They have preferred to bury their talent -in anæmic commentary. The reputed intellectuals are still living on -a tradition bequeathed by the attenuated transcendentalism of the -Bostonian era. - -That tradition was, after all, but a refinement of the notorious -Puritanism of New England. Having lost whatever semblance of -dignity the Emersons and Thoreaus conferred upon it, its subsequent -manifestations have been a decadent reversion to aboriginal barbarism. -This retrograde movement, so far as it affects social life, is -noticeable in the ever-increasing number of crusades and taboos, the -constant probing of moral and industrial conditions, unrelated to any -well-considered desire for improvement, or intelligent conception of -progress. The orgies of prohibition and suppression are unbelievable to -the civilized European, who has no experience of a community in which -everything from alcohol to Sunday tennis has attracted the attention -of the “virtuosi of vice”--to quote the phrase of a discerning critic. -Innumerable commissions, committees, and boards of enquiry supplement -the muck-raking of yellow journalism, and encourage espionage in social -reformers. But what has the country to show for this? Probably the -greatest number of bungled, unsolved, and misunderstood problems of all -industrial nations of the same rank. - -These debauches of virtue, however, are the direct outcome of the -mental conditions fostered by those who are in a position to mould -public opinion. The crowd which tolerates, or participates in, the -Puritanical frenzy is merely reflecting the current political and -social doctrine of the time. Occasionally the newspapers will hold a -symposium, or the reviews will invite the aid of some foreign critic, -to ascertain the reasons for the prevailing puerility of American -fiction. Invariably it is urged, and rightly, that the novel is -written by women for women. Where almost all articles of luxury are -produced for female consumption, and the arts are deemed unessential to -progress, the latter are naturally classed with uneconomic production -destined to amuse the idle. They are left to the women, as the men -explain, who have not yet understood the true dignity of leisure. -They are abandoned, in other words, to the most unreal section of the -community, to those centres of culture, the drama leagues and literary -clubs, composed of male and female spinsters. Needless to say, any -phrase or idea likely to have disturbed a mid-Victorian vicarage will -be ruled out as unseemly. - -The malady of intellectual anæmia is not restricted to any one -department of American life. In politics, as in art and literature, -there is a dread of reality. The emasculation of thought in general -is such as to render colourless the ideas commonly brought to the -attention of the public. Perhaps the most palpable example of -this penchant for platitude is the substantial literature of a -pseudo-philosophic character which encumbers the book-stores, and is -read by thousands of right-thinking citizens. Namby-pamby works, it -is true, exist to some extent in all Protestant countries, but their -number, prevalence, and cost in America are evidence of the demand they -must meet. It is not for nothing that the books of thoughtful writers -are crowded from shelves amply stocked with the meditations of an -Orison Swett Marden, a Henry van Dyke, or a Hamilton Wright Mabie--to -mention at random some typical authors. - -These moral soothsayers successfully compete with moving-picture -actors, and novelists whose claim to distinction is their ability to -write the best-seller of the season. If they addressed themselves only -to the conventicles, the phenomenon would have less significance, -but the conventicles have their own minor prophets. The conclusion, -therefore, suggests itself, that these must be the leaders and moulders -of American thought. The suspicion is confirmed when men of the same -stamp, sometimes, indeed, the actual authors of this evangelical -literature, are found holding the most important public offices. -To have written a methodist-tract would appear to be an unfailing -recommendation for promotion. It is rare to find the possessor of such -a mentality relegated to the obscurity he deserves. - -A wish to forestall the accusation of exaggeration or inaccuracy -imposes the painful obligation of citing specific instances of the -tendency described. Who are the leading public men of this country, -and what have they written? Besides the classic volumes of Thiers and -Guizot must we set such amiable puerilities as “The New Freedom,” “On -Being Human,” and “When a Man Comes to Himself.” Even the essays of -Raymond Poincaré do not sound the depths indicated by the mere titles -of these presidential works. But the author of “The State,” for all -his antiquated theories of government, writes measurably above the -level of that diplomatist whose copious bibliography includes numerous -variations upon such themes as “The Gospel for a World of Sin,” “The -First Christmas Tree,” and “The Blue Flower.” A search through the -underworld of parish magazines in England, France, and Germany would -probably reveal something to be classed with the works of Dr. Lyman -Abbott, but the authors would not be entrusted with the editorship of -a leading weekly review. As for the writings of his associate, the -existence of his book on Shakespeare is a testimony to Anglo-Saxon -indifference to the supreme genius of the race. - -It is hardly necessary to dwell upon the literary labours of William -Jennings Bryan, ex-Secretary of State, except to wonder that they did -not alone suffice to disqualify him for such an office. They belong -to the same category as those volumes of popular American philosophy -whose titles are: “Character the Grandest Thing in the World,” -“Cheerfulness as a Life Power,” and “The Miracle of Right Thought.” If -those quoted are to be laid to the charge of Mr. Orison Swett Marden, -every department of American life contains prominent men who might say: -There, but for the grace of God, speak I. The sanctimonious breath of -the uplifter tarnishes the currency of ideas in almost every circle of -society. Irrespective of party, Republicans, Democrats, and Socialists -help to build up this monument of platitude which may one day mark -the resting place of the American brain. Books, reviews, magazines, -and newspapers are largely conceived in the evangelical spirit. The -average contributor, when not a foreigner, suggests a Sunday-school -superintendent who has (perhaps) missed his vocation. Where the -subject excludes the pedantry of the professors, the tone is intensely -moral, and the more it is so the surer one may be that the writer is -a colonel, a rear-admiral, or a civil officer of the State or Federal -government. Imagination refuses to conceive these functionaries as -fulfilling their duties efficiently in any service, other than that of -the Salvation Army or a revivalist campaign. - -The stage of culture which these phenomena presuppose cannot but be -hostile to artistic development in such as escape contamination. It has -already been postulated that the just claims of ethics and æsthetics -are hopelessly confounded in America, to the evident detriment of art -in all its branches. To the poor quality of the current political and -social philosophy corresponds an equally mediocre body of literary -criticism. A recent historian of American literature accords a high -place amongst contemporary critics, to the author of “Shelburne -Essays,” and other works. These volumes are dignified as “our nearest -approach to those ‘Causeries du Lundi’ of an earlier age,” and may well -be taken as representative. Typical of the cold inhumanity which a -certain type of “cultured person” deems essential is the circumstance -related, by Mr. Paul Elmer More himself, in explanation of the genesis -of these essays. “In a secluded spot,” he writes, “in the peaceful -valley of the Androscoggin I took upon myself to live two years as -a hermit,” and “Shelburne Essays” was the fruit of his solitary -mediations. The historian is mightily impressed by this evidence of -superiority. “In another and far more unusual way he qualified himself -for his high office of critic,” says Professor Pattee, “he immured -himself for two years in solitude.”... “The period gave him time to -read leisurely, thoughtfully, with no nervous subconsciousness that the -product of that reading was to be marketable.” - -What a revelation of combined timidity and intellectual snobbishness -there is in this attitude so fatuously endorsed by a writer for the -schools! We can imagine what the effect of such a pose must be upon the -minds of the students whom the professor would constrain to respect. -Only a young prig could pretend to be favourably impressed by this -pseudo-Thoreau in the literary backwoods. The impulse of most healthy -young men would be to turn in contempt from an art so unnatural as this -conception of criticism implies. How are they to know that the Taines, -Sainte-Beuves, Brunetières, and Arnolds of the world are not produced -by expedients so primitive as to suggest the _mise en scène_ of some -latter-day Messiah, a Dowie, or a Mrs. Baker Eddy? The heralds of new -theologies may find the paraphernalia of asceticism and aloofness a -useful part of their stock in trade--neither is associated with the -great criticism of literature. The _causeries_ of Sainte-Beuve were not -written in an ivory tower, yet they show no traces of that “nervous -subconsciousness” which our professor finds inseparable from reading -that is “marketable.” - -The suspicion of insincerity in this craving for the wilderness will be -strengthened by reference to the first of Mr. More’s volumes. Whatever -may have been the case of its successors, this work was certainly -the product of his retirement. What, then, are the subjects of such -a delicate nature that they could not be discussed within the sound -of “the noisy jargon of the market-place”? Of the eleven essays, only -four deal with writers whose proximity to the critic’s own age might -justify a retreat, in order that they be judged impartially, and -without reference to popular enthusiasm and the prevalent fashion of -the moment. The seven most substantial studies in the book are devoted -to flogging horses so dead that no fear of their kicking existed. “A -Hermit’s Notes on Thoreau,” “The Solitude of Nathaniel Hawthorne,” “The -Origins of Hawthorne and Poe,” “The Influence of Emerson,” “The Spirit -of Carlyle”--these are a few of the startling topics which Mr. More -could discuss only with fasting and prayer! Any European schoolmaster -could have written these essays in the leisure moments of his Sunday -afternoons or Easter vacation. - -No more remarkable profundity or originality will be found in the -critic’s essays in contemporary literature. His strictures upon Lady -Gregory’s versions of the Irish epic, and his comments upon the Celtic -Renaissance in general are the commonplaces of all hostile English -criticism. “The shimmering hues of decadence rather than the strong -colours of life” is the phrase in which he attempts to estimate the -poetry of the Literary Revival in Ireland. In fact, for all his -isolation Mr. More was obsessed by the critical cant of the hour, as -witness his readiness to apply the term “decadent” to all and sundry. -The work of Arthur Symons is illuminated by this appellation, as is -also that of W. B. Yeats. The jargon of the literary market-place, -to vary Mr. More’s own _cliché_, is all that he seems to have found -in that “peaceful valley of the Androscoggin.” Even poor Tolstoy -is branded as “a decadent with the humanitarian superimposed,” -an application of the word which renders its previous employment -meaningless. As a crowning example of incomprehension may be cited Mr. -More’s opinion that the English poet, Lionel Johnson, is “the one great -... and genuinely significant poet of the present Gaelic movement.” -In the circumstances, it is not surprising that he should pronounce -Irishmen incapable of exploiting adequately the themes of Celtic -literature. For this task he considers the Saxon genius more qualified. - -With these examples before us it is unnecessary to examine the -remaining volumes of “Shelburne Essays.” Having started with a -distorted conception of the critical office, the author naturally -contributed nothing helpful to the literature of American criticism. -His laborious platitudes do not help us to a better appreciation of -the dead, his dogmatic hostility nullifies his judgments upon the -living. Not once has he a word of discerning censure or encouragement -for any rising talent. Like most of his colleagues, Mr. More prefers -to exercise his faculties at the expense of reputations already -established, save when he condescends to repeat the commonplaces of -complaint against certain of the better known modern writers. He is so -busy with Mrs. Gaskell, Charles Lamb, Milton, Plato, and Dickens that -he can find time to mention only some fifteen Americans, not one of -them living. - -Such is the critic whom Professor Pattee salutes as “consistent” and -“courageous,” having “standards of criticism” which make him comparable -to Sainte-Beuve. As editor of “the leading critical review of America,” -we are assured that Mr. More had “a dominating clientèle and a leader’s -authority.” Alas! There can be no doubt as to this, though it is very -doubtful if the fact can be regarded as “one of the most promising -signs for that new literary era which already is overdue.” That era -will long continue overdue while criticism remains absorbed in the -past, aloof from life and implacably hostile to every manifestation of -originality. If the new literary generation were merely ignored its lot -would be comparatively happy. But the mandarins come down periodically -from their Olympic communings with George Eliot and Socrates, to fill -the reviews with verbose denunciations of whatever is being written -independently of their idols. The oracles having spoken, the newcomers -are left with an additional obstacle in the way of their reaching -the indifferent ear of the crowd. The crowd wallows in each season’s -literary novelties, satisfied that whatever is well advertised is good. -Rather than face the subjects endorsed by the frigid enthusiasm of Mr. -Paul Elmer More or Stuart Sherman, Mr. W. C. Brownell and Professor -Brander Matthews, it takes refuge in fields where the writ of pedantry -does not run. Meanwhile, the task of welcoming new talent is left to -amiable journalists, whose casual recommendations, usually without any -background of critical experience, are accepted as the judgments of -competent experts. The “colyumist” has to perform the true function of -the critic. - -Although anæmia is the dominant characteristic of intellectual life in -the United States, the reaction against that condition is none the less -worthy of notice. When we remember that the fervour of righteousness -is the very breath of current philosophy, we are also reminded that -crudeness, sensationalism, and novelty are commonly held by Europeans -to be the quintessence of America. It might be replied, in answer to -this objection, that Hearst newspapers, and the vaudeville theology of -Billy Sunday, are the only alternatives to the prim conventionality of -authoritative journalism, and the sanctimoniousness of popular leaders. -The man in the street obtains the illusion of strenuous cerebral -activity when he contrasts the homely qualities of those prophets of -democracy with the spinster-like propriety and beatific purity of -prominent publicists and statesmen. He likes to hear his master’s -voice, it is true, but he likes even more to hear his own, especially -where his personal interests are at issue. The æsthetic _obiter dicta_ -of the professors, like the language of diplomacy, are concerned with -questions sufficiently remote to make sonority an acceptable substitute -for thought. - -In the realm of ideas, nevertheless, there is a more or less articulate -expression of reaction, mainly concentrated in the larger cities of the -East. There the professional supermen and their female counterparts -have come together by tacit agreement, and have attempted to shake off -the incubus of respectability. The extremists impress one as being -overpowered by a sense of their own sinful identity. In a wild burst of -hysterical revolt they are plunged into a debauch of ideas from which -they are emerging in a very shaken and parlous condition. For the most -part their adventures, mental and otherwise, have been in the domain -of sex, with a resultant flooding of the “radical” market by varied -tomes upon the subject. What the bookstores naïvely catalogue as the -literature of advanced thought is a truly wonderful _salade russe_, in -which Krafft-Ebbing and Forel compete with Freud and Eugene Debs. Karl -Marx, and Signora Montessori, Professor Scott Nearing, and Havelock -Ellis engage the same attention as the neo-Malthusian pamphleteers, -and the young ladies whose novels tell of what Flaubert called “_les -souillures du mariage et les platitudes de l’adultère_.” - -The natural morbidity of the Puritan mind is exasperated in advanced -circles, whose interest is nothing if not catholic. Let Brieux -discourse of venereal disease, or Strindberg expound his tragedies of -prurience, their success is assured amongst those who would believe -them geniuses, rather than risk the ignominy of agreement with the -champions of orthodoxy. So long as our European pornographers are -serious and inartistic, they need have no fear of America. Unbalanced -by prolonged contemplation of the tedious virtues of New England, a -generation has arisen whose great illusion is that the transvaluation -of all values may be effected by promiscuity. Lest they should ever -incur the suspicion of conservatism the emancipated have a permanent -welcome for everything that is strange or new. The blush on the cheek -of the vice-crusader is their criterion of excellence. - -By an irony of fate, however, they are condemned to the disheartening -spectacle of their moral bogies being received into a society but one -removed from the Olympians themselves. In recent years it has been -the practice of the latter to accept certain reputations, when they -have passed through the sieve of the literary clubs and drama leagues. -In fact, candidates for academic immortality frequently serve on the -board of these literary filtration plants. While the mandarins execute -their ritual in the cult of Longfellow and Bryant, and excommunicate -heretical moderns, their servitors are engaged upon an ingenious task. -They discover the more innocuous subjects of “radical” enthusiasm, -deprive them of whatever sting of originality their work possessed, -and then submit the result discreetly to the official pundits. When -these judges have satisfied themselves as to the sterility of the -innovations, their imprimatur is granted, and another mediocrity is -canonized. Ibsen is saluted because of his “message,” and “Anna -Karenina” becomes a masterpiece, because Tolstoy was a Christian. While -remarkable talents at home are ignored or vilified, the fifth-rate -European is in the process of literary naturalization. Mr. Masefield -receives the benediction of Paul Elmer More, who in the same breath -tries to convince us that he is qualified to pronounce “The Spoon River -Anthology” a bad joke. - -Nothing more clearly demonstrates the futility and disrepute of -criticism in this country than the constant surrenders to the prestige -of the foreigner. A cheap fashion in European literature has only to be -thrust with sufficient publicity upon the women’s literary clubs, and -parish meeting-houses, to ensnare the uneasy wearers of the academic -crown. Give them time and they will be found praising a translated -French poet for precisely those qualities which offend them in the -protégés of Miss Harriet Monroe. The young Englishman, Rupert Brooke, -might have contributed to “Poetry” for ten years without securing any -more recognition than did the American, Robert Frost. But now both -reputations, made in England, are widely accepted, and the inevitable -professor is found to tread respectfully where Henry James rushed in. -Compare the critical essays which James wrote during a period of thirty -years with the stereotyped Bostonian theses of the men he left behind -him. Yet nobody will accuse James of a disregard for tradition. - -The American word “standpatter” is curiously precise as a designation -of the species. The conservative critic in Europe, Brunetière, for -example, is never so purely negative as his counterpart on this side -of the Atlantic. When Brunetière adversely criticized the Symbolist -movement in French poetry he did so intelligently, not in that -laboriously facetious fashion which is affected by the Stuart Shermans -and W. H. Boyntons when they are moved to discuss _les jeunes_. -Brunetière, in a word, was a man of education and culture, capable of -defending rationally his own theories, without suggesting that the -unfamiliar was necessarily bad. He condemned the excesses of the new -school, not the school itself. If he had been in America, he would -have denied the Symbolists even the right to exist. Edward Dowden -might also be cited as a similar example, in English literature, of -enlightened conservatism. Dowden was partly responsible for bringing -Whitman to the favourable notice of the English public, and his work -stands as a proof that respect for the classics does not involve -hostility to the moderns. Just as he was able to write a masterpiece -of Shakespearean criticism without retiring into hermitage, so he was -qualified to appreciate original genius when it presented itself. He -was not paralyzed, in short, by the weight of his literary traditions -and conventions. - -A thousand and one reasons have been advanced to explain the absence -of a genuine American literature, and all of them are probably true. -The country is comparatively young, and its energies have been, are -still, directed chiefly towards the exploitation of material resources -and the conquest of natural difficulties. Racially the nation is -in an embryonic stage, and until some homogeneity is attained the -creation of a native tradition must be slow. Moreover, the conflict -of diverse races implies, in a broad sense, the clash of two or more -civilizations, one of which must impose its culture if any organized -progress is to be made. The language of the Hyphenated States is -English, but to what extent will the nation in being evolve in -accordance with this linguistic impulse? Will it be Anglo-Saxon, -Teutonic, Latin, or Slav? These are a few of the problems which have a -direct bearing upon the intellectual development of the country. They -must be solved before America can give her imprint to the arts. They -cannot be solved by the assumption that the Anglo-Saxon hyphen is alone -authentic. The permanent hypothesis of Colonialism must be abandoned, -if “Americanization” is ever to be more than the silliest political -cant. Puritanism must be confined to the conventicles, to its natural -habitat. It must not be allowed to masquerade as art, philosophy, and -statesmanship. The evangelical tyranny exists elsewhere, but only in -America has it invaded every branch of the national life. In the more -impatient and realistic generation which has emerged from the world -war this monstrous extension of prohibitions is arousing a violent -reaction. It is rare now to find a young American who does not cry out -against American civilization. - -To the disinterested European, this spectacle is an affecting -illustration of what may be called the enchantment of distance. -Evidently these disconsolate citizens imagine that there is a way of -escape from the Presbyterian wilderness, an oasis in the desert of one -hundred per cent. Americanism, where every prospect pleases and man is -only relatively vile. One listens to the _intelligentsia_, rendered -more than usually loquacious by generous potations of unconstitutional -Scotch whiskey, cursing the subtle blow to the arts administered by the -Volstead denial of the necessary ambrosia. Advanced thinkers revelling -in the delights of a well-organized polygamy, have taken me aside to -explain how the prophets of Methodism have laid waste this fair land. -I have read desperate appeals to all young men of spirit to shake off -the yoke of evangelistic philistinism by expatriation to more urbane -centres of culture. - -These are brave words, coming as they do, for the most part, from those -who are in no wise incommoded by the ukases of the gospel-tent tyrants, -and who have taken appropriate measures to defeat the Eighteenth -Amendment. Back of all their plaints is the superstition that Europe -is free from the blight which makes America intolerable in their eyes. -They do not know that the war has almost destroyed the Europe of a -civilized man’s affections. Socially, politically, and intellectually -that distracted continent is rapidly expiring in the arms of profiteers -and class-conscious proletarians, who have decided between them to -leave not a blade of culture upstanding. The leisured class, which -was rarely the wealthiest, is being ground out of existence by the -plutocracy and the proletariat. That was the class which made the old -Europe possible, yet there are Americans who go on talking as if its -extinction did not knock the bottom out of their utopia. Most of these -disgruntled Americans are radicals, who strive to forward the designs -of the plain people and their advocates. - -Yet, every European knows that if prohibition is making the headway it -surely is, the chief reason must be sought in the growth of radicalism. -From Bernard Shaw to Trotsky, our revolutionaries are “dry.” Their -avowed ideal is a state of society in which the allurements of love -are reduced to a eugenic operation, the mellowing influences of liquor -are abolished, and compulsory labour on the Taylor efficiency plan of -scientific management is substituted. In fine, by the benign workings -of democratic progress Europe is moving steadily toward the state of -affairs attributed here by disillusioned intellectuals to the sinister -machinations of Wall Street and the evangelists. - -No doubt America was a purer and happier place in 1620 than in 1920. -No Sumner was needed to keep the eyes of the settlers from the dimpled -knees of Ziegfeld’s beauties, and the platitudes of the Wilsonian epoch -were the brightest flowers of wisdom in 1776. Alas! that it should be -so, and in every country of our Western World. If the Magna Charta were -to be offered for signature in London now, some nasty Bolshevik would -be sure to prove that the document was drawn up in a private conclave -of the international financiers. If Lincoln were to make his Gettysburg -speech to-day the world would snicker irreverently, and a dreadfully -superior person, with a Cambridge accent (like John Maynard Keynes, -C.B.), would publish the “Economic Consequences of the Civil War,” full -of sardonic gibes at the innocent evangelism of Springfield. As for the -Declaration of Independence--well, during “the late unpleasantness” we -saw what happened to such un-American sedition-mongers. In fine, things -are not what they used to be; we pine for what is not, and so forth. -Of this only we may be sure, that America corresponds neither more nor -less than any other country to the dreams of its ancestors. - -Indeed, to be more affirmative in this plea for America, it is probable -that this country has followed more closely the intentions of its -founders than the critics will admit. Unlike most European nations, the -Americans have preserved, with an almost incomprehensible reverence, -the constitution laid down to meet conditions entirely unlike those of -the 20th century. Ancestor worship is the cardinal virtue of America -and surpasses that of China and Japan, where revolutionary changes -have been made in the whole social and political structure. America -was created as a political democracy for the benefit of staunch -individualists, and both these ends have been achieved to perfection. -Everything against which the super-sensitive revolt has come about -_planmaessig_, and existed in the germ from the day when the Pilgrim -Fathers first brought the blessings of Anglo-Saxon civilization to the -shores of Cape Cod. - -In the South alone were traces of a _Weltanschauung_ which might have -given an impulse in another direction, but the South went under, in -obedience to the rules of democratic Darwinism. Once the dissatisfied -American can bring himself to look the facts of his own history and -of contemporary Europe in the face, he may be forced to relent. He -will grant, at least, that it is useless to cherish the notion that -the ills the American mind is heir to are spared to other peoples. He -may even come to recognize the positive virtues of this country, where -the stories in the _Saturday Evening Post_ actually come true. Here a -man can look his neighbour straight in the eye and subscribe--without -a smile--to the romantic credo that all men are equal, in so far as -it is possible by energy, hard work, and regular attendance at divine -service, to reach the highest post in any career. Class barriers are -almost unknown, and on all sides there is an endlessly generous desire -to learn, to help, and to encourage. The traditional boy can still -arrive from the slums of Europe and finish up in the editorial chair of -a wealthy newspaper. If he ever fails to do so it can only be because -he starts by reading the _Liberator_, and devotes to the deciphering -of Thorstein Veblen’s hieroglyphics of socialism the time which -should have been given to mastering the more profitable technique of -Americanism. - - ERNEST BOYD - - - - -III. AS AN ITALIAN SEES IT - - -In a typical form of primitive society, where institutions and ideals, -collective representations and individual reactions, coincide, no -distinction can be made between culture and civilization. Every element -of the practical culture is a spiritual symbol, and there is no other -logic or reason than that which is made manifest by the structure and -habits of the social group. Life is a religion, in the two meanings of -the word, that of a binding together of men, and the deeper one--of -gathering the manifold activities of the individual in one compact -spiritual mass. The mythical concepts, which limit and integrate the -data of experience, in a sphere which is neither purely imaginative nor -purely intellectual, present to the individual mind as irresistibly -as to the mind of the group, a world of complementary objects which -are of the same stuff as the apprehended data. Thought--practical, -æsthetic, ethical--is still undifferentiated, unindividualized, as if a -collective mind were an active reality, a gigantic, obscure, coherent -personality, entering into definite relations with a world homogeneous -with itself. - -Such an abstract, ideal scheme of the life of the human spirit before -it has any history, before it is even capable of history, affords, -in its hypothetical indistinction (within the group, within the -individual), a prefiguration of a certain higher relationship of -culture with civilization, of a _humana civilitas_, in which the -practical should be related to the spiritual, nature to the mind, -in the full light of consciousness, with a perfect awareness of the -processes of distinction and individualization. In the twilight and -perspective of historical knowledge, if not in their actuality, Greece -before Socrates, Rome before Christ, the Middle Ages before Saint -Francis (each of them, before the apparition of the disrupting and -illuminating element of growth), are successive attempts or _étapes_ -towards the creation of a civilization of such a kind--a human -civilization. - -Between these two limits--the primitive and the human--the ideal -beginning and the ideal end--we can recognize, at any given moment in -history, through the segmentation and aggregation of a multitude of -cultures, different ages and strata of culture coexisting in the same -social group; and the individual mind emerges at the confluence of -the practical cultures, with science and philosophy and the ethical, -non-tribal ideals, germs and _initia_, of the human civilization -remaining above the given society as a soul that never entirely -vivifies its own body. History begins where first the distinction -between civilization and culture appears, or, to state the same fact -from a different angle, where individual consciousness is born. It -ends, ideally, where the same distinction fades away into Utopia, or -death, or the Kingdom of Heaven; where the highest form of individual -consciousness is at no point higher than the consciousness of the group -from which it originally differentiated itself. - - * * * * * - -The writer of these pages belongs, by birth, education, and election, -to the civilization of Rome and to the culture, or cultures, of Italy. -The civilization of Rome, the _latina civilitas_, is a complex mind, -whose successive phases of growth are the abstract humanism of ancient -Greece, the civic and legal humanism of Rome, the moral and spiritual -humanism of the Latin church, the æsthetic and metaphysical humanism -of the Renaissance. Each phase is an integration of the preceding one -and the acquisition of a new universal principle, made independent of -the particular social body in which it has partially realized itself -before becoming a pure, intelligible ideal, an essential element of -the human mind. The first three phases, Greece, Rome, and the Church, -are still more or less closely associated, in relation to the forms of -humanism which are peculiar to each of them, with particular cultures. -But the last one, which, in its progress from the 13th century to -our days, has been assimilating, purifying, and clarifying all the -preceding ones, does not, at any given moment, directly connect itself -with any definite social body. In its inception, as a purely Italian -Renaissance, it may appear as the spiritual form of Italian society -from the 13th to the 15th century; but its apparition coincides -with the natural growth of the several, sharply defined European -nationalities, and very soon (and apart from the evident insufficiency -of any individual nation to fulfil its spiritual exigencies) it -manifests its intrinsic character of universality by overflowing the -frontiers of Italy and becoming the law of the whole Western European -world. - -The history of Europe during the last six centuries is the history -of the gradual penetration of that idea within the circle of the -passively or actively resistant, or inert, local, national cultures. -The Reformation, of all active resistances, is the strongest and -most important. The Germanic tribes rebel against the law of Rome, -because a delay of from five to ten centuries in the experience of -Christianity, and an experience of Christianity to be made not on a -Græco-Roman, but on an Odinic background, create in them the spiritual -need of an independent elaboration of the same universal principles. -Germany is practically untouched by the spirit of the Renaissance until -the 18th century, and Italy herself is for two centuries reduced to -spiritual and political servitude by the superior material strength -which accompanies and sustains the spiritual development of the -nations of the North. Through the whole continent, within the single -national units, as well as between nation and nation, the contrast and -collaboration of the Romanic and Germanic elements, of Renaissance and -Reformation, is the actual dialectic of the development of European -civilization: of the successive approximations of the single cultures, -or groups of cultures, in a multitude of more or less divergent -directions, with alternating accelerations and involutions, towards the -common form, the _humana civilitas_. - - * * * * * - -Of all the nations of Europe, Italy is the only one that, however -contingently and imperfectly, has actually realized all of the four -phases of humanism in a succession of historical cultures: Magna -Græcia, the Roman Empire, the Catholic Church, the Renaissance. And -as each of these successive cultures was trying to embody in itself -a universal, not a particular, principle, nationality in Italy is -not, as for other nations, the acceptance of certain spiritual limits -elaborated from within the social body, but a reaction to the pressure -of adjoining nationalities, which presented themselves as obstacles and -impediments, even within the life of Italy herself, to the realization -of a super-national principle. This is the process through which -the humanism of the Renaissance, after having received its abstract -political form at the hands of the thinkers and soldiers of the French -Revolution, becomes active and militant in Mazzini’s principle of -nationality, which is a heroic effort towards the utilization of the -natural growth of European nations for the purposes of a universal -civilization. - -The distance between that civilization and the actual cultures of the -nations of Europe can easily be measured by the observer of European -events during the last seven years. To that civilization belong the -ideals, to those cultures, the realities, of the Great War. And all of -us who have thought and fought in it have souls which are irremediably -divided between that civilization and those cultures. If we should -limit ourselves to the consideration of present facts and conditions, -we might well give way to despair: not for a good many years in the -past have nationalities been so impervious to the voice of the common -spirit as they are in Europe to-day. And the sharp contrast between -ideals and realities which has been made visible even to the blind by -the consequences of the war, has engendered a temper of violence and -cynicism even among those rare men and parties who succeeded in keeping -their ideals _au dessus de la mêlée_, and therefore did not put them to -the destructive test of a promise which had to be broken. - -The moral problem which every nation of Europe will have to labour at -in the immediate future, is that of the relations of its historical -culture or cultures with the exigencies of the _humana civilitas_. It -is the problem that presents itself more or less dimly to the most -earnest and thoughtful of Europeans, when they speak of the coming -“death of our civilization,” or of the “salvaging of civilization.” To -many of them, it is still a problem of institutions and technologies: -its essentially spiritual quality does not seem to have been thoroughly -grasped as yet. But it is also the problem that confronts, less -tragically, with less urgency, but not less inevitably, this great -European Commonwealth which has created its own life on the North -American continent for the space of the last three centuries. - - * * * * * - -This European Commonwealth of America owes its origin to a small number -of adventurers and pilgrims, who brought the seeds of English culture -to the new world. Let us very rapidly attempt a characterization of -that original culture. - -England holds as peculiar and distinctive a position among the nations -of Europe as Italy. She is the meeting-point of the Romanic and -Germanic elements in European history; and if her culture may appear -as belonging to the family of mediterranean cultures (to what we have -called the _latina civilitas_), to an English Catholic, like Cardinal -Newman, there was a time, and not very remote, when the Protestant -could be proud of its Teutonic associations. From a Catholic and -Franco-Norman mediæval England, logically emerges, by a process similar -to that exemplified by Italy and France and Spain, the England of Henry -VIII and Elizabeth, of Shakespeare and the Cavaliers: Renaissance -England. She flourishes between the suppression of the monasteries -and the suppression of the theatres. She moulds, for all centuries -to come, the æsthetic and political mind of the English people. But -she carries the germs of a widely different culture in her womb: she -borrows from them, already during the Elizabethan age, some traits that -differentiate her from all other Renaissance cultures. And these germs, -slowly gaining impetus through contrast and suppression, ultimately -work her overthrow with the short-lived triumph of Cromwell and the -Puritans. - -After 1688, the law of English life is a compromise between Puritan and -Cavalier, between Renaissance and Reformation, which sends the extreme -representatives of each type out of the country, builders of an Empire -of adventurers and pilgrims--while at home the moderate Cavalier, and -the moderate Puritan, the Tory and the Whig, establish a Republic with -a King, and a Parliamentary feudal régime. But the successive stages -of English culture do not interest us at this point, except in so far -as America has always remained closer to England than to any other -European nation, and has again and again relived in her own life the -social, political, spiritual experiences of the Mother Country. - -It is from the two main directions of English spiritual life that -America, through a double process of segmentation, Elizabethan or -Cavalier in the South, Puritan in the North, draws the origins of her -own life. It is in the Cavalier and the Puritan, still within the -circle of English life, that the germs of American culture must be -sought. The peculiar relations of the Cavalier and the Puritan to the -general design of European civilization define the original attitude of -this Commonwealth beyond the sea towards the other European cultures, -and are the origins of the curves which, modified in their development -by the addition of new elements and by the action of a new, distinctive -environment, American culture has described and will describe in the -future. - - * * * * * - -Puritanism is essentially a culture and not a civilization. The Puritan -mind, in its quest for an original Christian experience, falls upon -the Old Testament and the Ancient Law. The God of the tribes of Israel -becomes its God, a God finding a complete expression in the law that -rules his chosen people. A compact, immovable spiritual logic, a set -of fixed standards, a rhetoric of the virtues, the identification of -any element of growth and change with the power of evil, a dualistic -morality, and the consequent negation of a spiritually free will, -these are the characteristics of Puritanism, constituting at the same -time, and with the same elements, a system of truth and a system of -conduct. In both the meanings in which we have used the word religion -at the beginning of this essay, Puritanism is a perfect, final -religion. Transplanted to America when Europe was slowly becoming -conscious of the metaphysical implications of the destruction of the -old Cosmology--when the discovery of an infinite universe was depriving -a purely transcendent divinity of the place it had been given beyond -the limits of a finite universe--the infinite universe itself being -manifest, in the words of Bruno, as _lo specchio della infinita -deità_,--it gave birth to an intrinsically static culture, standing out -against a background of transcendental thought. - -The principles of growth in Puritanism were not specifically -Puritan: they were those universal values that Puritan discipline -succeeded in rediscovering because every moral discipline, however -fettered by its premises, will inevitably be led towards them. Quite -recently, a sincere and ardent apologist of Puritanism recognized -in a document which he considers as the highest expression of that -culture in America, a paraphrase of the Roman _dulce et decorum_. -The irrationality which breaks through the most hermetically closed -system of logic, in the process of life, asserts itself by extracting -from a narrowly institutional religion values which are not dependent -upon a particular set of institutions, nor are valid for one people -only. But we might detect the germs of that irrationality already in -the very beginnings of the system, when Milton adds the whole weight -of the Roman tradition to the Puritan conception of democracy--or -in the divine words of the Gospels, through which in all times and -places every _anima naturaliter christiana_ will hear the cry of Love -rebelling against the letter of the Ancient Law. - -What the Cavalier brought to America, we should have to investigate -only if we were tracing the history of divergent directions, of local -cultures: because the original soul of America is undoubtedly the -Puritanic soul of New England, and the South, even before the War of -Secession, in relation to the main direction, to the general culture, -has a merely episodical significance. Yet, though the founders of New -England were only Puritans, certain traits of the Cavalier spirit, -the adventurer in the pilgrim, will inevitably reappear in their -descendants, repeating the original dichotomy in the generations -issuing from an apparently pure stock: partly, because a difference -in beliefs is not always the mark of a fundamental difference in -temperaments, and partly because those traits correspond to some of the -generally human impulses suppressed by the choice of the Puritan. - -There is one element which is common to Puritan and Cavalier in -America, and which cannot be said to belong in precisely the same -fashion to their ancestors in England. It is, in England and the rest -of Europe, a mythology formed by similar hopes and desires, by a -similar necessity of giving an imaginary body to certain thoughts and -aspirations, on the part of the spirit of the Renaissance as well as -of the spirit of the Reformation: a mythology which, in the mind of -the European during the centuries between the discovery of America -and the French Revolution, inhabits such regions as the island of -Utopia, the city of the Sun, and the continent of America. In that -mythology, Utopism and American exoticism coincide. But the adventurer -and the pilgrim were actually and firmly setting their feet on one -of the lands mapped in that purely ideal geography, and thoughts and -aspirations confined by the European to the continent of dreams, became -the moral exigencies of the new Commonwealth. Thus America set herself -against Europe as the ideal against the real, the land of the free, -and the refuge of the oppressed; and was confirmed in such a position -by her natural opportunities, by the conditions of pioneer life, by -contrast to European despotism--finally, by the Revolution and the -Constitution, in which she felt that the initial moral exigencies were -ultimately fulfilled. It is to this myth of a Promised Land, which -is neither strictly Puritan nor strictly Cavalier, and yet at times -seems to coincide with the less static aspects of Puritanism, that a -peculiarly American idealism, unconquerable by defeat and even by the -evidence of facts, abstract, self-confident, energetic, youthful and -optimistic, owes its strength and its courage: an idealism which is -hardly conscious of what Europe has been taught by centuries of dire -experience--the irreparable contingency and imperfection of history; -and which believes, as firmly as the Puritan legislator believes it, -that such institutions have been devised, or can be devised, through -which the ideal law, when thought out and written, will not fail to -become the law of reality for all times to come. - -From two contrasting elements, a firm belief in a Law which was at the -beginning, and a romantic mythology, a third characteristic of the -American mind is thus engendered: a full confidence in the power of -intellect conceived as a mechanism apt to contrive practical schemes -for the accomplishment of ideal ends. This intellectual faith is -similar in its static nature to the moral faith of the Puritan: it is -the material weapon of Puritanism. Perfectibility is within its reach, -but not the actual processes of evolution. The intellect that does not -conceive itself as a process or function, but as a mechanism, can -tend towards, and theoretically possess, a state of perfection, but -will resent and condemn the gropings and failings of actual, imperfect -growth and change. Not without reason, the greatest individual tragedy -of the war, in a typically American mind confronted with the sins and -misery of Europe, was a tragedy of intellectual pride: of the inability -of a static intellect to become charitably active in the tragic flux of -European life; a tragedy which a little moral and intellectual humility -might well have spared to the generous hopes of America, and the -childish, messianic faith which irradiated for only too short a time -the bleeding soul of Europe. - - * * * * * - -If we have called Puritanism a culture, what name shall we reserve for -that vast and complicated collection of mechanical contrivances which -constitute the material body of American society to-day? We are in the -presence of a technology, a more highly developed one, perhaps (with -the possible exception of Germany before the war), than any that has -ever existed in the world. Technologies have a logic of their own, and -that logic is apt to take the place of higher spiritual constructions; -either when conditions of life lend a miraculous character to the -means of sustaining life itself and invest the practical actions of -hunting or agriculture with a religious significance; or when the -complexity of their organization is such that the workings of that -practical logic inevitably transcend the power of observation of the -individual agent, however highly placed in the machinery itself, and -moral or intellectual myths are born of an imperfect knowledge. This is -the case of America, and in America this technological or industrial -mythology has crushed out of existence the rival myths of the farms -and the prairie, allowing them a purely romantic value and decorative -function, through the industrially controlled power of the press. -Even pioneering, and the conquest of the West, a process in which -Americans of another age found an energetic, if partly vicarious, -satisfaction for certain moral and ideal yearnings, has receded, in the -mind of Americans of to-day, into the shades of a fabulous and solemn -background. - -The industrial revolution followed in America the lines of development -of its early English model. This commonwealth beyond the sea, -agricultural and democratic, found in itself the same elements which -gave birth in the original country to an industrial feudalism, grafting -itself, without any solution of continuity, on a feudalism of the -land. The ineradicable optimism of the American invested the whole -process with the same halo of moral romance which had coloured the age -of pioneering, and accepted as a useful substitute (or rather, as a -new content) for Puritanic moralism the philosophy of opportunity and -of success constantly commensurate with true merit. The conception of -intellect as a mechanism to be used for moral and ideal ends, gave -way to a similar though more complex conception, modelled not on the -methods of pure science, from whose early conquests the revolution -itself had been started, but on those of applied science or of -practical machinery. - -When, in the natural course of events, the bonds which kept together -the purely economic elements of the country became more powerful and -real than any system of political institutions, when, in fact, a -financial syndicalism became the structure underlying the apparent -organs of government, all the original ideals of America had already -gathered to the defence of the new order. Hence the extraordinary -solidity of the prevailing economic system in this country, when -compared with any European country. Economic, as well as political -systems, ultimately rest on convictions rather than on sheer force, -and the radical in America, in all spheres of thought, is constantly -in the necessity of fighting not mere institutions, as in Europe, but -institutionalized ideals, organisms and personalities which establish -their right on the same assumptions which prompt him in his rebellion. -There is less difference in fundamentals between a Carnegie and a Debs -than between any two individuals placed in similar positions in Europe. - -An interesting by-product of this particular development is the myth of -the captain of industry, possessed, in the popular imagination, of all -the virtues. And a consequence of this myth is an unavoidable revision -of the catalogue of virtues, from which some were expunged that do -not lead to industrial success, and others were admitted because -industrial success is thought to be impossible without them. This myth -is not believed in by the aspiring multitudes only, but by a good many -among the captains of industry themselves, who accept their wealth as a -social trust, and conceive of their function in a manner not dissimilar -from that of the old sovereign by the grace of God. - - * * * * * - -This transposition of ideals from the religious and moral field to the -practical and economic, leaves only a very thin ground for personal -piety and the religion of the Churches. Yet there is no country in -the world (again, with the only possible exception of Northern Africa -during the first centuries of the Christian Era) which has produced -such a wealth and such a variety of religious movements as America. The -substance of that very thin ground is diluted Puritanism, Puritanism -which, in a vast majority of the population, converts itself, strangely -enough, as we have seen, into social optimism, a belief sufficient to -the great active masses, but not to the needs of “the heart,” when the -heart is given enough leisure to consider itself, through either too -much wealth or too little hope: through the discovery of its emptiness, -when the possession of the means makes manifest the absence of an end, -or through the spasms of its hunger, when means are beyond reach, -in the hands of the supposed inferior and unworthy. In this second -case, even a purely sensual craving dignifies itself with the name -of the Spirit. The more or less official Churches, in an attempt to -retain the allegiance of their vast congregations, have followed the -masses in their evolution: they pride themselves essentially on their -social achievements, a little doubtfully, perhaps, knowing that their -particular God has no more reason to inhabit a church than a factory, -and that the highest possible embodiment of their doctrine is an -orderly and paternally governed industrial organization. - -To the needs of “the heart” minister the innumerable sects (and -here again, the American religious history repeats, in magnified -proportions, the characteristics of English religious life). But -because of the gradual impoverishment of the central religious -tradition of the country, because of the scanty cultural background -of both apostles and neophytes, it is hard to recognize in the whole -movement an intimate spiritual dialectic which might lend strength and -significance to the individual sects. A vague mysticism appropriates to -itself, in a haphazard and capricious fashion, shadows and ghosts of -religious experiences and opinions, whose germs of truth lie in other -ages and other climates. The only common feature seems to be a distrust -of intellect, derived from the original divorce of the intellectual -from the spiritual in the Puritan, a distrust which at times becomes -active in the denunciation of the supposed crimes of science. It is -this fundamental common feature which will for ever prevent any of them -from becoming what all sects fail to be, a religion. - -The two states of mind which are nearer to-day to being true religions -are, on one side, Americanism (a religion as a common bond), and on the -other, Radicalism (a religion as a personal experience). Americanism is -the more or less perfect expression of the common belief that American -ideals realize themselves in American society. Radicalism is the more -or less spasmodic protest against such a belief, sometimes coupled -with an individual attempt at realizing those ideals in one’s life -and actions. The sharpest contrast between the two attitudes is to be -found in their ideas of political and spiritual freedom; which to one -is a condition actually existing by the mere fact of the existence of -American society such as it is, and to the other a dynamic principle -which can never be permanently associated with any particular set of -institutions. - -The original spirit of Puritanism can hardly be said to be alive to-day -in America. In a few intellectuals, it confuses itself with other high -forms of moral discipline in the past, and reappears with a strange -fidelity to form rather than substance, as Platonism, Classicism, -Mediævalism, Catholicism, or any other set of fixed standards that can -be accepted as a whole, and can give the soul that sense of security -which is inherent in the illusion of possessing the final truth. -The consequence of such a deviation is that these truly religious -souls, after having satisfied themselves with a sufficiently vast and -beautiful interpretation of their creed, resent any cruder and more -dangerous form of intellectual experience much more keenly than they -resent crudities and dangers actually present in the nature of things. -They are intellectuals, but again, with no faith in intellect; they -are truly isolated among their fellow-countrymen, and yet they believe -in conformity, and assume the conformity of American society to be the -conformity of their dreams. - -Such a static apprehension of truth, such an identification of -universal spiritual values with one or another particular tradition, -is in fact as much an obstacle to the new life of the human spirit as -the external conformity enforced by social optimism. But the polemic -against the older intellectuals is carried on by younger men, many -of them of recent immigrant blood, but all of them reared in the -atmosphere of American culture, and who differ from them more in the -objects of their preference than in the vastness or depth of their -outlook. There is a way of clinging to the latest fashion in philosophy -or in art which is not a progress in any sense in relation to older -faiths; of combating a manifest logical fallacy by the use of the same -sophism; of embracing sin with the same moral enthusiasm that in less -enlightened times was kept in reserve for the highest virtues only. - -More important, for their influence on certain phases of American -life, than these intellectual echoes, are the moralistic remnants of -Puritanism. It is always possible, for small groups of people, strongly -endowed with the sense of other people’s duties, to intimidate large -sections of public opinion into accepting the logical consequences of -certain undisputed moral assumptions, however widely they may differ -from the realities of American life. It is under such circumstances -that the kind-hearted, easy-going American pays the penalty for his -identification of realities with ideals, by being deprived of some very -dear reality in the name of an ideal which had long since ceased to -have any meaning for him. - - * * * * * - -From whatever side we look at American culture, we are constantly -brought face to face with a disregard or distrust, or a narrow -conception, of purely intellectual values, which seems to be the common -characteristic of widely divergent spiritual attitudes. The American -does not, as the Englishman, glory in his capacity for muddling -through: he is proud of certain logical achievements, and has a -fondness for abstract schemes, an earnest belief in their validity and -efficiency; but no more than the English does he believe that intellect -is an integral part of the human personality. He recognizes the -identity of goodness and truth, provided that truth can be found out by -other means than purely intellectual: by common sense, by revelation, -by instinct, by imagination, but not by intellect. It is here that even -the defenders, among Americans, of the classical tradition miss the -true meaning of the message of Socrates and Plato, the foundation of -humanism. - -What is peculiarly American in the opinions of American philosophers is -a clear and distinct expression of the common attitude. The official -philosophy of America has repeated for a century the views of English -empiricists and of German idealists, sometimes with very interesting -and illuminating personal variations. It has even, and it is an -original achievement, brought them to lose their peculiar accents and -to coincide in new theories of knowledge. But the heart of American -philosophy is not there: it is in pragmatism, in instrumentalism, -in whatever other theory clearly establishes the purely functional -character of truth, the mechanical aspect of intellect. Having put the -criterion of truth outside the intellect, and considered intellect as -the mere mechanism of belief, these doctrines try to re-establish the -dignity of intellect by making of it a machine for the reproduction of -morally or socially useful beliefs. The operation is similar to that of -an anatomist who, having extracted the heart from a living body, would -presume to reconstruct the body by artificially promoting the movements -of the heart. The doctrine of the purely pragmatic or instrumental -nature of intellect, which is the logical clarification of the -popular conception, is a doctrine of radical scepticism, whatever the -particular declarations of faith of the philosophers themselves might -say to the contrary: it destroys not the objects of knowledge only, but -the instrument itself. - -American philosophers came to this doctrine through the psychological -and sociological approach to the problems of the mind. Such an -approach is in keeping with the general tendency towards assuming -the form of natural and mathematical sciences, which moral sciences -in American universities have been obeying during the last thirty or -forty years, partly under the influence of a certain kind of European -positivism, and partly because of the prestige that natural and -mathematical sciences gained from their practical applications. Even -now it is easier to find a truly humanistic mind, a sound conception -of intellectual values, among the great American scientists than among -the philosophers and philologists: but pure science has become the -most solitary of occupations, and the scientist the most remote of -men, since his place in society has been taken by the inventor and -by the popularizer. Psychology and sociology, those half-literary, -half-scientific disciplines, gave as a basis to philosophy not the -individual effort to understand and to think, but the positive -observation of the more or less involuntary processes of thought in -the multitude. Intellect was sacrificed to a democratic idea of the -equality of minds: how could the philosopher presume to think, I do -not say better or more efficiently than, but differently from the -multitude? To European philosophy the reproach has been made again and -again, and with some justice, of imposing laws upon reality which are -only the laws of individual philosophic thought; and yet what else -does the scientist ultimately do? But both scientist and philosopher -find their justification in their faith in the validity of their -instruments: in a spirit of devotion and humility, not in a gratuitous -presumption. The typical American philosopher has sold his birthright, -not for a pottage of lentils, but for mere love. - - * * * * * - -I am painfully aware of the fact that, through the meshes of this -necessarily abstract and sketchy analysis, a good deal of the beauty -and vastness, the vigour and good-humour of American life inevitably -escapes. The traveller from the old countries experiences here a sense -of great spaces and of practically unbounded possibilities, which -reflects itself in an unparalleled gaiety and openness of heart, and -freedom of social intercourse. The true meaning of the doctrine of -opportunity lies much more in these individual attitudes than in any -difference between the structures of American and European societies. -And I do not believe that the only explanation for them is in the -prosperity of America when compared to the misery of Europe, because -this generosity stands in no direct relation with individual wealth. -The lumberman and the longshoreman are as good as, if not better than, -the millionaire. - -These individual attitudes find their collective expression in the idea -of, and readiness for, service, which is universal in this country. -Churches, political parties, movements for social reform, fraternal -orders, industrial and business organizations, meet on this common -ground. There is no material interest or spiritual prejudice that -will not yield to an appeal for service: and whenever the object of -service is clearly defined, action follows the impulse, intolerant of -any delay. But Service is a means and not an end: you can serve a God, -or a man, or a group of men, and in that man or group of men what you -conceive to be his or their need, but you cannot serve Service. And -the common end can only be given by a clear intellectual vision of the -relations between a set of ideals and the realities of life. - -This intrinsic generosity of the American people is the motive of -the song, and the substance of the ideal, of the one great poet that -America has added to the small family of European poets: Walt Whitman. -In him that feeling and that impulse became a vision and a prophecy. -There is a habit on the part of American intellectuals to look with a -slight contempt on the admiration of Europeans for the poetry of Walt -Whitman, as just another symptom of their ignorance of American things. -But I, for one, will confess that what I have loved passionately, as -little more than a boy, in that poetry, is that same quality whose -presence I have now recognized as the human flower of American culture, -and which makes me love this country as passionately as I loved that -poetry. - -It is one of the many paradoxes of American intellectual life that -even the cultural preparation of a Walt Whitman should have been -deeper and more substantial, if not more systematic, than that of any -professor or writer of his times. These were minds which had as fully -imbibed European thought and imagination as any professor or writer in -Europe: but that thought, that imagination, transplanted to the new -country, stood in no real relation with the new practical and moral -surroundings, and were therefore thin and sterile. Walt Whitman knew -and understood the great traditions of European civilization, and tried -to express them in the original idiom, moral and literary, of his -America. - -But _nemo propheta_, and it takes centuries to understand a poet. Walt -Whitman still waits for his own generation. The modern schools of -American poetry, curious of all winds of fashion, working for the day -rather than for the times, have not yet fully grasped, I do not say -the spirit of his message, but even, for all their free-versifying, -the mystery of his magnificent rhythms. His successors are rather -among some of the younger novelists, and in a few men, spiritually -related to them, who approach the study of American conditions from a -combined economic and psychological point of view. The novelists are -busy in discovering the actual traits of the American physiognomy, with -sufficient faith in the future to describe the shades with as much care -as the lights, and with a deeper passion; the economists are making way -for the highest and purest American ideals by revealing the contingent -and merely psychological basis of the supposedly scientific axioms of -classical economics. - - * * * * * - -My own experience of American life, between the autumn of 1919 and the -summer of 1921, has brought me in contact with all sorts and manners of -people from one end to the other of the country, from the Atlantic to -the Pacific. It is from this direct intercourse with Americans, rather -than from my readings of American literature, continued for a much -longer time, that I have formed the opinions expressed in this paper. -But as my work has brought me in closer communion with colleges and -universities than with any other kind of institutions, I feel a little -more assured in writing of the educational aspect of the American -problem. - -A university is in any case more a _universitas studentium_ than -a corporation of professors. I have enjoyed my life in American -faculties, and I have gained a good deal from the many noble souls -and intellects that I have met among them; but, whenever it has been -possible to me, I have escaped from the faculties to the students and -tried to understand the tendencies of the coming generations. - -The students of the American college or university, from the -comparatively ancient institutions of the East, to the young -co-educational schools of the Middle and Far West, form a fairly -homogeneous, though very widely representative, cross-section of -the American community. They are, in a very precise and inclusive -meaning, young America, the America of to-morrow. A good many of their -intellectual and spiritual characteristics are the common traits of -American culture which we have studied in the preceding paragraphs; -and yet, because of the social separation of individuals according -to ages, which is carried in this country much farther than in any -European country, they develop also a number of independent traits, -which are peculiar to each one of the “younger generations” in their -turn. The life of the American boy or girl, up to the time of their -entrance into college, is mainly the life of a beautiful and healthy -young organism, not subject to any too strict intellectual or spiritual -discipline. The High Schools seem to understand their function in a -spirit which is substantially different from that of the European -secondary schools, owing especially to certain prevailing educational -doctrines founded on a fiction which is used also in many other fields -of American life, but which in the field of education has wrought -more harm than in any other one, the fiction of the public demand--in -this particular case of one or another type of education. A fiction -undoubtedly it is, and used to give prestige and authority to the -theories of individual educationalists, since in no country and in no -time there have existed educational opinions outside the circle of the -educators themselves. But this fiction has unfortunately had practical -consequences because American educators, subject to big business in the -private institutions, and to the politicians in the State schools and -universities, have not found in themselves the energy, except in a few -isolated instances, to resist what came to them strengthened by such -auspices. And the public itself was easily convinced that it wanted -what it was told that it wanted. The students, more sinned against -than sinning, enjoy the easy atmosphere of the school, and it is only -when they reach college that they become aware of their absolute -unpreparedness for the higher studies. - -This consciousness of their inferiority manifests itself in an attitude -of “low-browism,” which is not contempt of that which they think is -beyond them, but rather an unwillingness to pretend that they are -what they know they are not. It is practically impossible for them to -acquire any standards in matters of scholarship, and they are thus -forcibly thrown back on that which they know very well, the sports, and -social life among themselves. A Chinese friend of mine once quaintly -defined an American university as an athletic association in which -certain opportunities for study were provided for the feeble-bodied. -Now, in athletics and social life, the student finds something that -is real, and therefore is an education: there is no pretence or fraud -about football, and in their institutions within the college and the -university the students obey certain standards and rules which are -not as clearly justified as those of athletics, but still are made by -themselves, and therefore readily understood. They are standards and -rules that sometimes strangely resemble those of primitive society, -as it is only too natural when the ground on which they grow is a -community of the very young only, and yet undoubtedly they are a -preparation for a life after college in which similar features are -very far from being the exception. And besides, that social life -has a freedom and beauty of its own, evident in one at least of its -most hallowed institutions, the dance. American dances, with those -captivating and vital rhythms which American music has appropriated -for itself from the Negro, are a perfect expression of the mere joy -of life. The older generations are shocked and mystified by these -dances, and also by many other ways and by the implicit opinions of -the young; but so they have been in all ages and countries. To a -curious and passionate observer, the youth of America seems to be -obscurely labouring at a liberation of the sexual life from pretences -and unjustified inhibitions, and, through an original experience of -the elements of love, at a creation of new values, perhaps of a new -morality. - -But the student is an object of perplexity and wonder to the professor, -who generally ends by taking very seriously, very literally, as -something that cannot be changed, his attitude towards athletics and -the social life of the college. Starting from such an assumption, -the professor becomes shy of teaching; that is, he keeps for himself -whatever true intellectual and spiritual interests he may have, and -deals out to the students in the classroom rations of knowledge, which -go up to form a complicated system of units and credits symbolizing -the process of education. There is, to my mind, no more tragic -misunderstanding in American life. - -My own experience (and I give it for what it is worth) tells me that -athletics and the social life are vicarious satisfactions for much -deeper spiritual and intellectual needs. The student receives from -the common American tradition a desire for spiritual values; from his -individual reaction to that tradition, a craving for intellectual -clarity. But he is handicapped by his scholastic unpreparedness, and -disillusioned by the aloofness of the professor, by the intricacies -and aridity of the curriculum: by the fact, only too evident to him, -that what he is given is not science or thought, but their scholastic -version. Whenever a man stands before him, and without trying to “put -himself at his level,” talks to him as one talks to a man, thinking for -him as one thinks for oneself, there is no more ready and enthusiastic -response to be had than from the American student. He is not afraid of -the difficulties or dangers, but he must trust his guide, and know that -his guide trusts him. There is evidence for this in the cases which are -too frequent to be called mere exceptions, of those American professors -who are truly popular in the colleges and universities. But until many -more of them realize what splendid material is in their hands, what big -thirst there is for them to quench, and go back to their work with this -new faith, the gulf will not be bridged, and young America will have -to attempt to solve her own problems without the help of the spiritual -experience of the centuries. - - * * * * * - -This condition in the institutions of higher learning is a symbol and a -mirror of the condition of the country. With an impoverished religious -tradition, with an imperfect knowledge of the power of intellect, -America is starving for religious and intellectual truth. No other -country in the world has, as the phrase goes, a heart more full of -service: a heart that is constantly _quaerens quem amet_. With the war, -and after the war, America has wished to dedicate herself to the world, -and has only withdrawn from action when she has felt that she could not -trust her leaders, what was supposed to be her mind. - -In a few years, the children of the recent millions of immigrants -from all regions of Europe will come forward in American life and ask -for their share in the common inheritance of American tradition, in -the common work of American civilization. They will not have much to -contribute directly from their original cultures, but they will add an -unexampled variety of bloods, of intellectual and moral temperaments, -to the population of America. Their Americanization, in habits and -language and manners, is a natural process which, left to itself, -invariably takes place in the second generation. America must clarify -and intensify her tradition, the moral discipline of the Puritan, -the moral enthusiasm of the Discoverers and Pioneers, for them, and -they will gladly embrace her heritage; but this clarification and -intensification is only possible through the revision of the original -values in the light of the central humanistic tradition of European -thought. - -The dreams of the European founders of this Commonwealth of Utopia may -yet come true, in the way in which human dreams come true, by becoming -the active, all-pervading motive of spiritual effort, the substance -of life. Exiles, voluntary or forced, from England and Ireland, from -Russia and Italy, from Germany and Israel, children of one mother, -unified in America as they will not be unified for centuries to come -in Europe, will thus have a chance to anticipate, in the _civilitas -americana_, the future developments of the _humana civilitas_. - -And if this generation needs a motto, I would suggest one line of Dante: - - _luce intellettual piena d’amore_: - the light of intellect, in the fulness of love. - - RAFFAELLO PICCOLI - - - - -BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTES - - -THE CITY - -There is no adequate literature of cities in America. Some of the -larger cities possess guide-books and local histories; but the most -valuable illuminations on the history and development of the American -city lie buried in contemporary papers, narratives of travel, and -speeches. The reader who wishes to explore the ground farther should -dip into volumes and papers drawn from all periods. The recent editions -of “Valentine’s Manual” should be interesting to those who cannot -consult the original “Manual of the Common Council of New York.” -During the last twenty years a great many reports and surveys have -been printed, by city planning commissions and other bodies: these are -valuable both for showing the limitations of the established régime -and for giving hints of the forces that are working, more or less, -for improvement. “The Pittsburgh Survey” (Russell Sage Foundation) is -the great classic in this field. A compendious summary of American -city developments during the last generation is contained in Charles -Zueblin’s “American Municipal Progress” (Macmillan). Standing by -itself in this literature is a very able book by Paul Harlan Douglass, -called “The Little Town,” published by Macmillan. (A book which -shall deal similarly with the Great Town is badly needed.) The best -general approach to the city is that of Professor Patrick Geddes in -“Cities in Evolution” (Williams and Norgate, London.) Those who are -acquainted with Professor Geddes’s “A Study in City Development” or his -contributions to “Sociological Papers” (Macmillan, 1905, 1906, 1907) -will perhaps note my debt to him: I hasten heartily to acknowledge -this, as well as my debt, by personal intercourse, to his colleague, -Mr. Victor V. Branford. If the lay reader can learn nothing else -from Professor Geddes, he can learn the utility of throwing aside -the curtains of second-hand knowledge and studying cities and social -institutions by direct observation. The inadequacy of American civic -literature will not be altogether a handicap if it forces the reader to -obtain by personal explorations impressions which he would otherwise -get through the blur of the printed page. Every city and its region -is in a sense an exhibition of natural and social history. Let the -reader walk the streets of our cities, as through the halls of a -museum, and use the books that have been suggested only as so many -tickets and labels. Americans have a reputation in Europe as voracious -sightseers. One wonders what might not happen if Americans started to -see the sights at home--not the Grand Canyon and the Yosemite, but a -“Broadway,” and its back alleys, and the slums and suburbs that stretch -beyond. If observation led to criticism, and criticism to knowledge, -where might not knowledge lead? - - L. M. - - -POLITICS - -The standard works on the history of American politics are so well -known (and so few) that they scarcely need mention. Bryce, Ostrogorski -and de Tocqueville, I assume, have been read by all serious students, -as have also such personal memoirs as those of Blaine and John Sherman. -Bryce’s work is a favourite, but it suffers from the disingenuousness -of the man. Dr. Charles A. Beard’s “Economic Interpretation of the -Constitution” is less a complete treatise than a prospectus of a -history that is yet to be written. As far as I know, the valuable -suggestions in his preface have never inspired any investigation of -political origins by other American historians, most of whom are simply -unintelligent school-teachers, as their current “histories” of the -late war well show. All such inquiries are blocked by the timorousness -and stupidity that are so characteristic of American scholarship. Our -discussion of politics, like our discussion of economics, deals chiefly -with superficialities. Both subjects need ventilation by psychologists -not dependent upon college salaries, and hence free to speak. Certainly -the influence of religious enthusiasm upon American politics deserves -a careful study; nevertheless, I have never been able to find a book -upon it. Again, there is the difficult question of the relations -between politics and journalism. My belief is that the rising power of -newspapers has tended to drive intelligent and self-respecting men out -of politics, for the newspapers are chiefly operated by cads and no -such man wants to be at their mercy. But that sort of thing is never -studied in the United States. We even lack decent political biography, -so common in England. The best light to be obtained upon current -politics is in the _Congressional Record_. It costs $1.50 a month and -is well worth it. Soon or late the truth gets into the _Record_; it -even got there during the war. But it seldom gets into the newspapers -and it never gets into books. - - H. L. M. - - -JOURNALISM - -I know of no quite satisfactory book on American journalism. “History -of Journalism in the United States” by George Henry Payne and “History -of American Journalism” by James Melvin Lee are fairly good in their -treatment of the past, but neither of them shows any penetration in -analyzing present conditions. The innocence of Mr. Payne may be judged -by his opinion that the Kansas City _Star_, under Nelson, exemplifies -a healthier kind of “reform journalism” than the _Post_ under Godkin! -“Liberty and the News” by Walter Lippmann is suggestive, but it does -not pretend to contain any specific information. More specific in -naming names and giving modern instances is a short essay by Hamilton -Holt, “Commercialism and Journalism.” “The Brass Check” by Upton -Sinclair contains much valuable material, and perhaps what I have said -of it does not do it justice; certainly it should be read by everybody -interested in this subject. Will Irwin published in _Collier’s Weekly_ -from January to July, 1911, a valuable series of articles, “The -American Newspaper: A Study of Journalism.” I cannot find that these -articles have been reprinted in book form. There is some information -in autobiographies and biographies of important journalists, such as -“Recollections of a Busy Life” by Horace Greeley, “Life of Whitelaw -Reid” by Royal Cortissoz, “Life and Letters of E. L. Godkin” by -Rollo Ogden, “Life of Charles A. Dana” by J. H. Wilson, “Life and -Letters of John Hay” by William Roscoe Thayer, “An Adventure with -Genius: Recollections of Joseph Pulitzer,” by Alleyne Ireland; also -“The Story of the _Sun_” by Frank M. O’Brien. Biographies, however, -celebrate persons and only indirectly explain institutions. A useful -bibliography, which includes books and magazine articles, is “Daily -Newspapers in U. S.” by Wieder Callie of the Wisconsin University -School of Journalism. But after all the best source of information is -the daily newspaper, if one knows how to read it--and read between the -lines. - - J. M. - - -THE LAW - -“Bryce’s Modern Democracies,” Chapter XLIII, is a recent survey of the -American legal system; Raymond Fosdick, “American Police Systems,” -Chapter I, states the operation of criminal law. For legal procedure, -see Reginald Heber Smith, “Justice and the Poor,” published by the -Carnegie Endowment for the Advancement of Teaching and dealing with -legal aid societies and other methods of securing more adequate legal -relief; Charles W. Eliot and others, “Efficiency in the Administration -of Justice,” published by the National Economic League; Moorfield -Storey, “The Reform of Legal Procedure;” and many other books and -articles; the reports of the American and New York Bar Associations -are of especial value. John H. Wigmore, “Evidence,” vol. V (1915 -edition) discusses recent progress; see his “Cases on Torts, Preface,” -on substantive law. A very wide range of topics in American law, -philosophical, historical, procedural, and substantive, is covered -by the writings of Roscoe Pound, of which a list is given in “The -Centennial History of the Harvard Law School.” The same book deals with -many phases of legal education; see also “The Case Method in American -Law Schools,” Josef Redlich, Carnegie Endowment. For the position of -lawyers, the best book is, Charles Warren, “A History of the American -Bar;” a recent discussion of their work is Simeon E. Baldwin, “The -Young Man and the Law.” No one interested in this field should fail to -read the “Collected Legal Papers of Justice Holmes;” see also John H. -Wigmore, “Justice Holmes and the Law of Torts” and Felix Frankfurter, -“The Constitutional Opinions of Justice Holmes,” both in the -_Harvard Law Review_, April, 1916, and Roscoe Pound, “Judge Holmes’s -Contributions to the Science of Law,” _ibid._, March, 1921. A valuable -essay on Colonial legal history is Paul S. Reinsch, “English Common -Law in the Early American Colonies.” A mass of material will be found -in the law reviews, which are indexed through 1907 by Jones, “Index -to Legal Periodicals,” 3 vols., and afterwards in the _Law Library -Journal_, cumulative quarterly. - - Z. C., JR. - - -EDUCATION - -The ideas contained in the article are so commonplace and of such -general acceptance among educators that it is impossible to give -specific authority for them. In addition to the articles mentioned, -one of the latest by Dr. D. S. Miller, “The Great College Illusion” -in the _New Republic_ for June 22, 1921, should be referred to. For -the rest the report of the Committee of Ten of the National Education -Association, and the reports of President Eliot and President Lowell -of Harvard, President Meiklejohn of Amherst, and President Wilson of -Princeton, may be cited, with the recognition that any such selection -is invidious. - - R. M. L. - - -SCHOLARSHIP AND CRITICISM - -There has been no really fundamental discussion of American scholarship -or American criticism. Those who merely seek a good historical sketch -of our older literary scholarship, along conventional lines, will -find one in the fourth volume of the “Cambridge History of American -Literature” that is at all events vastly superior to the similar -chapters in the “Cambridge History of English Literature.” But more -illuminating than any formal treatise are the comments on our scholarly -ideals and methods in Emerson’s famous address on “The American -Scholar,” in “The Education of Henry Adams,” and in the “Letters” of -William James. The “Cambridge History of American Literature” contains -no separate chapter on American criticism, and the treatment of -individual critics is pathetically inadequate. The flavour of recent -criticism may be savoured in Ludwig Lewisohn’s interesting anthology, -“A Modern Book of Criticism,” where the most buoyant and “modern” of -our younger men are set side by side with all their unacademic masters -and compeers of the contemporary European world. All that can be said -in favour of the faded moralism of the older American criticism is -urged in an article on “The National Genius” in the _Atlantic Monthly_ -for January, 1921, the temper of which may be judged from this typical -excerpt: “When Mr. Spingarn declares that beauty is not concerned with -truth or morals or democracy, he makes a philosophical distinction -which I have no doubt that Charles the Second would have understood, -approved, and could, at need, have illustrated. But he says what the -American schoolboy knows to be false to the history of beauty in -this country. Beauty, whether we like it or not, has a heart full of -service.” The case against the conservative and traditional type of -criticism is presented with slapdash pungency in the two volumes of -H. L. Mencken’s “Prejudices.” But any one can make out a case for -himself by reading the work of any American classical scholar side by -side with a book by Gilbert Murray, or any history of literature by an -American side by side with Francesco de Sanctis’s “History of Italian -Literature,” or the work of any American critic side by side with the -books of the great critics of the world. - - J. E. S. - - -SCHOOL AND COLLEGE LIFE - -The “distinguished Englishman” to whom the Martian refers is of course -Viscount Bryce, whose “American Commonwealth” discusses the external -aspects of our uniformity, the similarity of our buildings, cities, -customs, and so on. Our spiritual unanimity has been most thoroughly -examined by George Santayana, both in his earlier essays--as notably in -“The Genteel Tradition”--and in his recent “Character and Opinion in -the United States.” - -For all the welter of writing about our educational establishment, -only infrequent and incidental consideration has been bestowed, either -favourably or unfavourably, on its regimental effect. As custodians of -a going concern, the educators have busied themselves with repairs and -replacements to the machinery rather than with the right of way; and -lay critics have pretty much confined themselves to selecting between -machines whose slightly differing routes all lie in the same general -direction. The exception that proves the rule is “Shackled Youth,” by -Edward Yeomans. - -But undergraduate life in America has a genre of its own, the form -of fiction known as “college stories.” Nearly every important school -has at some time had written round it a collection of tales that -exploit its peculiar legends, traditions, and customs--for the most -part a chafing-dish literature of pranks, patter, and athletic prowess -whose murky and often distorted reflection of student attitudes is -quite incidental to its business of entertaining. Owen Johnson’s -Lawrenceville stories--“The Prodigious Hickey,” “Tennessee Shad,” “The -Varmint,” “The Humming Bird”--are the classics of preparatory school -life. Harvard has “Pepper,” by H. E. Porter, “Harvard Episodes” and -“The Diary of a Freshman,” by Charles Flandrau, and Owen Wister’s -“Philosophy 4,” the best of all college yarns. Yale has the books -of Ralph D. Paine and of others. The Western universities have such -volumes as “Ann Arbor Tales,” by Karl Harriman, for Michigan, and -“Maroon Tales,” by W. J. Cuppy, for Chicago. George Fitch writes -amusingly about life in the smaller Western colleges in “Petey Simmons -at Siwash” and “At Good Old Siwash.” - -The catalogue of serious college fiction is brief, and most of the -novels are so propagandist that they are misrepresentative. For -example, Owen Johnson’s “Stover at Yale,” which was some years out of -date when it was published, misses the essential club spirit in New -Haven by almost as wide a margin as Arthur Train’s “The World and -Thomas Kelly” departs from the normal club life in Cambridge; both -authors set up the straw man of snobbery where snobs are an unimportant -minority. Two recent novels, however, deal more faithfully with -the college scene for the very reason that their authors were more -interested in character than in setting: “This Side of Paradise,” by -Scott Fitzgerald, is true enough to have provoked endless controversy -in Princeton; and “Salt: The Education of Griffith Adams,” by Charles -G. Norris, is a memorable appraisal of student ideals in a typical -co-educational institution. Dorothy Canfield’s “The Bent Twig” is -also laid in a co-educational college. Booth Tarkington’s “Ramsay -Milholland” attends a State University; and the hero of “Gold Shod,” by -Newton Fuessle, is a revelatory failure of the University of Chicago -regimen. To these add an autobiography--“An American in the Making, -The Life Story of an Immigrant,” by M. E. Ravage, whose candid report -on his fellows at the Missouri State University is a masterpiece of -sympathetic criticism. - - C. B. - - -THE INTELLECTUAL LIFE - -To attempt to give references to specific books on so general and -inclusive a topic would be an impertinence. But one may legitimately -suggest the trends of investigation one would like to see thoroughly -explored. In my own case they would be: (1) a study of the pioneer from -the point of view of his cultural and religious interests, correlating -those interests with his general economic status; (2) a study of the -revolutionary _feeling_ of America (not formulas) in psychological -terms and of its duration as an emotional driving force; (3) a study of -the effects of the post-Civil War period and the industrial expansion -upon the position of upper-class women in the United States; (4) a -study of sexual maladjustment in American family life, correlated -again with the economic status of the successful pioneer; (5) a very -careful study of the beginnings, rise, and spread of women’s clubs, -and their purposes and accomplishments, correlated chronologically -with the development of club life of men and the extent of vice, -gambling, and drunkenness; (6) a study of American religions in more -or less Freudian terms as compensations for neurotic maladjustment; -(7) a study of instrumentalism in philosophy and its implications for -reform; (8) a serious attempt to understand and appraise the more -or less disorganized _jeunes_, with some attention to comparing the -intensity of their bitterness or optimism with the places of birth and -upbringing. No special study of American educational systems or of the -school or college life would be necessary, it seems to me, beyond, of -course, a general knowledge. The intellectual life of the nation, after -all, has little relation to the academic life. - -When such special studies had been finished by sympathetic -investigators, probably one of several writers could synthesize the -results and give us a fairly definitive essay on the intellectual life -of America. Such studies, however, have not yet been done, and without -them I have had to write this essay to a certain extent _en plein air_. -Thus it has been impossible entirely to avoid giving the impression of -stating things dogmatically or intuitively. But as a matter of fact on -all the topics I have suggested for study I have already given much -thought and time, and consequently, whatever its literary form, the -essay is not pure impressionism. - - H. E. S. - - -SCIENCE - -There is no connected account of American achievement in science. -Strangely enough, the most pretentious American book on the history -of science, Sedgwick and Tyler’s “Short History of Science” (New -York: Macmillan, 1917), ignores the most notable figures among the -author’s countrymen. A useful biographical directory under the title of -“American Men of Science” (New York Science Press, 1910, 2d edition), -has been compiled by Professor James McKeen Cattell; a third revised -edition has been prepared and issued this year prior to the appearance -of the present volume. - -On the tendencies manifest in the United States there are several -important papers. An address by Henry A. Rowland entitled “A Plea -for Pure Science” (_Popular Science Monthly_, vol. LIX, 1901, pp. -170–188), is still eminently worth reading. The external conditions -under which American scientists labour have been repeatedly discussed -in recent years in such journals as _Science_ and _School and -Society_, both edited by Professor Cattell, who has himself appended -very important discussions to the above-cited biographical lexicon. -Against over-organization Professor William Morton Wheeler has recently -published a witty and vigorous protest (“The Organization of Research,” -_Science_, January 21, 1921, N. S. vol. LIII, pp. 53–67). - -In order to give an understanding of the essence of scientific activity -the general reader cannot do better than to trace the processes by -which the master-minds of the past have brought order into the chaos -that is at first blush presented by the world of reality. In this -respect the writings of the late Professor Ernst Mach are unsurpassed, -and even the least mathematically trained layman can derive much -insight from portions of his book “Die Mechanik” (Leipzig, 7th edition, -1912), accessible in T. J. McCormack’s translation under the title of -“The Science of Mechanics” (Chicago: Open Court Publishing Co.). The -section on Galileo may be specially recommended. Mach’s “Erkenntnis -und Irrtum” (Leipzig, 1906) contains most suggestive discussions of -the psychology of investigation, dealing with such questions as the -nature of a scientific problem, of experimentation, of hypothetical -assumptions, etc. Much may also be learned from the general sections -of P. Duhem’s “La theorie physique, son objet et sa structure” (Paris, -1906). E. Duclaux’s “Pasteur: Histoire d’un Esprit” has fortunately -been rendered accessible by Erwin F. Smith and Florence Hedges under -the title “Pasteur, the History of a Mind” (Philadelphia; Saunders, -1920). It reveals in masterly fashion the methods by which a great -thinker overcomes not only external opposition but the more baneful -obstacles of scientific folk-lore. - - R. H. L. - - -PHILOSOPHY - -The omission of Mr. Santayana’s philosophy from the above account -indicates no lack of appreciation of its merits. Although written -at Harvard, it is hardly an American philosophy. On one hand, Mr. -Santayana is free from the mystical religious longings that have -given our Idealisms life, and on the other, he is too confident of -the reality of culture and the value of the contemplative life to -sanction that dominance of the practical which is the stronghold of -instrumentalism. - -The only histories of American Philosophy are those by Professor -Woodbridge Riley. His “Early Schools” (Dodd, Mead & Co., 1907), is a -full treatment of the period in question, but his “American Thought -from Puritanism to Pragmatism” (H. Holt, 1915) is better reading and -comes down to date. These are best read in connection with some history -of American Literature such as Barrett Wendell’s “Literary History -of America” (Scribner’s Sons, 1914). Royce’s system is given in good -condensed form in the last four chapters of his “Spirit of Modern -Philosophy” (Houghton Mifflin, 1899). Its exhaustive statement is “The -World and the Individual” (2 vols., Macmillan, 1900–1). The “Philosophy -of Loyalty” (Macmillan, 1908) develops the ethics, and the “Problem of -Christianity” (2 vols., Macmillan, 1913), relates his philosophy to -Christianity. Hocking’s religious philosophy is given in his “Meaning -of God in Human Experience” (Yale University Press, 1912). His general -position is developed on one side in “Human Nature and Its Remaking” -(Yale University Press, 1918). Anything of James is good reading. His -chief work is the “Principles of Psychology” (H. Holt, 1890), but the -“Talks to Teachers on Psychology and Some of Life’s Ideals” (H. Holt, -1907) and the “Will to Believe” (Longmans, Green & Co., 1899), better -illustrate his attitude toward life. “Pragmatism” (Longmans, Green -& Co., 1907) introduces his technical philosophizing. His religious -attitude can be got from the “Varieties of Religious Experience” -(Longmans, Green & Co., 1902). Dewey has nowhere systematized his -philosophy. Its technical points are exhibited in the “Essays in -Experimental Logic” (University of Chicago Press, 1916). The “Influence -of Darwin on Philosophy” (H. Holt, 1910) has two especially readable -essays, one the title-essay, the other on “Intelligence and Morals.” -The full statement of his ethics is the “Ethics” (Dewey and Tufts, H. -Holt, 1908). He is at his best in “Education and Democracy” (Macmillan, -1916). “German Philosophy and Politics” (H. Holt, 1915) is a war-time -reaction giving an interesting point of view as to the significance -of German Philosophy. “The New Realism” (Macmillan, 1912) is a volume -of technical studies by the Six Realists. “Creative Intelligence” -(H. Holt, 1917), by John Dewey and others, is a similar volume of -pragmatic studies. The reviews are also announcing another co-operative -volume, “Essays in Critical Realism” by Santayana, Lovejoy and others. -In a technical fashion Perry has discussed the “Present Tendencies -in Philosophy” (Longmans, Green & Co., 1912), but the best critical -reaction to American philosophy is that of Santayana: “Character and -Opinion in the United States” (Scribner’s Sons, 1920). Santayana’s own -chief philosophic contributions are the “Sense of Beauty” (Scribner’s -Sons, 1896), and the “Life of Reason” (5 vols., Scribner’s Sons, -1905–6). The first two chapters of his “Winds of Doctrine” (Scribner’s -Sons, 1913), on the “Intellectual Temper of the Age” and “Modernism and -Christianity,” are also relevant. Brief but excellent expositions of -Royce, Dewey, James, and Santayana by Morris R. Cohen have appeared in -the _New Republic_, vols. XX-XXIII. - - H. C. B. - - -LITERATURE - -Perhaps the most illuminating books for any one interested in the -subject of the essay on literature are the private memorials of -certain modern European writers. For a sense of everything the -American literary life is _not_, one might read, for instance, -the Letters of Ibsen, Dostoievsky, Chekhov, Flaubert, Taine and -Leopardi--all of which have appeared, in whole or in part, in English. - - V. W. B. - - -MUSIC - -What little there is that is worth reading concerning American music is -scattered through magazine articles and chapters in books upon other -musical subjects. Daniel Gregory Mason has a sensible and illuminating -chapter, “Music in America,” in his “Contemporary Composers.” The -section, “America,” in Chapter XVI of the Stanford-Forsyth “History of -Music” contrives to be tactful and at the same time just. Two books -that should be read by any one interested in native composition are -Cecil Forsyth’s “Music and Nationalism” and Lawrence Gilman’s “Edward -MacDowell.” Rupert Hughes’s “Contemporary American Composers” is twenty -years old, but still interesting; it contains sympathetic--not to say -glowing--accounts of the lives and works of an incredibly large number -of Americans who do and did pursue the art of musical composition. To -know what an artist means when he asks to be understood read pages 240 -and 241 of Cabell’s “Jurgen”--if you can get it; also the volume, “La -Foire sur la Place,” of “Jean Christophe.” - - D. T. - - -POETRY - -Bodenheim, Maxwell: “Minna and Myself” (Pagan Publishing Co.); “Advice” -(Alfred A. Knopf). - -“H. D.”: “Sea-Garden” (Houghton Mifflin). - -Eliot, T. S.: “Poems” (Alfred A. Knopf). - -Fletcher, John Gould: “Irradiations: Sand and Spray” (Houghton -Mifflin); “Goblins and Pagodas” (Houghton Mifflin); “The Tree of Life” -(Macmillan); “Japanese Prints” (Four Seas Co.); “Breakers and Granite” -(Macmillan). - -Frost, Robert: “North of Boston” (Holt); “A Boy’s Will” (Holt); -“Mountain Interval” (Holt). - -Kreymborg, Alfred: “Plays for Poem-Mimes” (Others); “Blood of Things” -(Nicholas Brown); “Plays for Merry Andrews” (Sunwise Turn). - -Lindsay, Vachel: “The Congo” (Macmillan); “The Chinese Nightingale” -(Macmillan). - -Lowell, Amy: “Men, Women and Ghosts” (Houghton Mifflin); “Can Grande’s -Castle” (Houghton Mifflin); “Pictures of the Floating World” (Houghton -Mifflin); “Legends” (Houghton Mifflin). - -Masters, Edgar Lee: “Spoon River Anthology” (Macmillan); “The Great -Valley” (Macmillan); “Domesday Book” (Macmillan). - -Pound, Ezra: “Umbra” (Elkin Matthews); “Lustra” (Alfred A. Knopf). - -Robinson, Edwin Arlington: “Children of the Night” (Scribners); -“The Town Down the River” (Scribners); “The Man Against the Sky” -(Macmillan); “Merlin” (Macmillan); “Captain Craig” (Macmillan); “The -Three Taverns” (Macmillan); “Avon’s Harvest” (Macmillan); “Lancelot” -(Scott and Seltzer). - -Sandburg, Carl: “Smoke and Steel” (Harcourt, Brace & Co.). - -Stevens, Wallace: See “The New Poetry;” “Others” Anthology. - -Teasdale, Sara: “Rivers to the Sea” (Macmillan). - -Untermeyer, Louis: “The New Adam” (Harcourt, Brace & Co.); “Including -Horace” (Harcourt, Brace & Co.). - -Anthologies: “The New Poetry.” Edited by Harriet Monroe and Alice -Corbin Henderson (Macmillan); “An American Miscellany” (Harcourt, Brace -& Co.); “Others for 1919” edited by Alfred Kreymborg (A. A. Knopf); -“Some Imagist Poets” First, Second and Third Series (Houghton Mifflin). - -Criticism: Untermeyer, Louis, “The New Era in American Poetry” (Henry -Holt), a comprehensive, lively, but sometimes misleading survey. - - C. A. - - -ART - -The reader may obtain most of the data on the history of American -art from Samuel Isham’s “History of American Painting,” and Charles -H. Caffin’s “Story of American Painting.” Very little writing of an -analytical nature has been devoted to American art, and nearly all of -it is devoid of a sense of perspective and of anything approaching a -realization of the position that American work holds in relation to -that of Europe. Outside of the writing that is only incompetent, there -are the books and articles by men whose purpose is to “boost” the home -product for nationalistic or commercial reasons. In contrast with all -this is Mr. Roger E. Fry’s essay on Ryder, in the _Burlington Magazine_ -for April, 1908--a masterful appreciation of the artist. - - W. P. - - -THE THEATRE - -The bibliography of this subject is extensive, but in the main -unilluminating. It consists chiefly in a magnanimous waving aside of -what is, and an optimistic dream of what is to be. Into this category -fall most, if not all, of the many volumes written by the college -professors and such of their students as have, upon graduation, carried -with them into the world the college-professor manner of looking at -things. Nevertheless, Professor William Lyon Phelps’ “The Twentieth -Century Theatre,” for all its deviations from fact, and Professor -Thomas H. Dickinson’s “The Case of American Drama,” may be looked -into by the more curious. Mr. Arthur Ruhl’s “Second Nights,” with its -penetrating humour, contains several excellent pictures of certain -phases of the native theatre. Section IV of Mr. Walter Prichard Eaton’s -“Plays and Players,” Mr. George Bronson-Howard’s searching series of -papers entitled, “What’s Wrong with the Theatre,” and perhaps even Mr. -George Jean Nathan’s “The Popular Theatre,” “The Theatre, The Drama, -The Girls,” “Comedians All,” and “Mr. George Jean Nathan Presents” may -throw some light upon the subject. Miss Akins’ “Papa” and all of Mr. -O’Neill’s plays are available in book form. The bulk of inferior native -dramaturgy is similarly available to the curious-minded: there are -hundreds of these lowly specimens on view in the nearest book store. - - G. J. N. - - -ECONOMIC OPINION - -The literature of economic opinion in America is almost as voluminous -as the printed word. It ranges from the ponderous treatises of -professed economists, wherein “economic laws” are printed in italics, -to the sophisticated novels of the self-elect, in which economic -opinion is a by-product of clever conversation. Not only can one find -economic opinion to his taste, but he can have it in any form he likes. -Perhaps the most human and reasonable application of the philosophy -of laissez-faire to the problems of industrial society is to be found -in the pages of W. G. Sumner. Of particular interest are the essays -contained in the volumes entitled “Earth Hunger,” “The Challenge of -Facts,” and “The Forgotten Man.” The most subtle and articulate account -of the economic order as an automatic, self-regulating mechanism -is J. B. Clark, “The Distribution of Wealth.” An able and readable -treatise, characterized alike by a modified classical approach and -by a recognition of the facts of modern industrial society, is F. W. -Taussig, “The Principles of Economics.” The “case for capitalism” -has never been set forth as an articulate whole. The theoretical -framework of the defence is to be found in any of the older treatises -upon economic theory. A formal _apologia_ is to be found in the last -chapter of almost every text upon economics under some such title -as “A Critique of the Existing Order,” “Wealth and Welfare,” or -“Economic Progress.” A defence of “what is,” whatever it may chance -to be, characterized alike by brilliancy and ignorance, is P. E. -More’s “Aristocracy and Justice.” Contemporary opinion favourable to -capitalism may be found, in any requisite quantity and detail, in -_The Wall Street Journal_, _The Commercial and Financial Chronicle_, -and the publications of the National Association of Manufacturers. -_The Congressional Record_, a veritable treasure house of economic -fallacy, presents fervent pleas both for an unqualified capitalism -and for capitalism with endless modifications. The literature of the -economics of “control” is beginning to be large. The essay by H. C. -Adams, “The Relation of the State to Industrial Activity,” elaborating -the thesis that the function of the state is to regulate “the plane of -competition,” has become a classic. The best account of the economic -opinion of organized labour is to be found in R. F. Hoxie, “Trade -Unionism in the United States.” Typical examples of excellent work done -by men who do not profess to be economists are W. Lippmann, “Drift and -Mastery,” the opinions (often dissenting) delivered by Mr. Justice -Holmes and Mr. Justice Brandeis, of the United States Supreme Court, -and the articles frequently contributed to periodicals by T. R. Powell -upon the constitutional aspects of economic questions. The appearance -of such studies as the brief for the shorter working day in the case -of _Bunting v. Oregon_, prepared by F. Frankfurter and J. Goldmark, -and of the “Report on the Steel Strike of 1919,” by the Commission -of Inquiry of the Interchurch World Movement indicates that we are -beginning to base our opinions and our policies upon “the facts.” Among -significant contributions are the articles appearing regularly in -such periodicals as _The New Republic_ and _The Nation_. At last the -newer economics of the schools is beginning to assume the form of an -articulate body of doctrine. The books of T. B. Veblen, particularly -“The Theory of Business Enterprise,” and “The Instinct of Workmanship,” -contain valuable pioneer studies. In “Personal Competition” and in the -chapters upon “Valuation” in “Social Process,” C. H. Cooley has shown -how economic institutions are to be treated. The newer economics, -however, begins with the publication in 1913 of W. C. Mitchell, -“Business Cycles.” This substitutes an economics of process for one of -statics and successfully merges theoretical and statistical inquiry. It -marks the beginning of a new era in the study of economics. The work -in general economic theory has followed the leads blazed by Veblen, -Cooley, and Mitchell. W. H. Hamilton, in “Current Economic Problems,” -elaborates a theory of the control of industrial development, -interspersed with readings from many authors. L. C. Marshal, in -“Readings in Industrial Society,” attempts, through selections drawn -from many sources, an appraisal of the institutions which together make -up the economic order. D. Friday, in “Profits, Wages, and Prices,” -shows how much meaning a few handfuls of figures contain and how much -violence they can do to established principles. The National Bureau -of Economic Research is soon to publish the results of a careful -and thorough statistical inquiry into the division of income in the -United States. Upon particular subjects such as trusts, tariffs, -railroads, labour unions, etc., the literature is far too large to be -catalogued here. There is no satisfactory history of economic opinion -in the United States. T. B. Veblen’s “The Place of Science in Modern -Civilization” contains a series of essays which constitute the most -convincing attack upon the classical system and which point the way to -an institutional economics. Many articles dealing with the development -of economic doctrines are to be found in the files of _The Quarterly -Journal of Economics_ and of _The Journal of Political Economy_. -An excellent statement of the present situation in economics is an -unpublished essay by W. C. Mitchell, “The Promise of Economic Science.” - - W. H. H. - - -RADICALISM - -For exposition of the leading radical theories the reader is urged to -go, not to second-hand authorities, but to their foremost advocates. -“Capital” by Karl Marx (Charles H. Kerr) is of course the chief basis -of Socialism. There is nothing better on Anarchism than the article in -the “Encyclopedia Britannica” by Prince Kropotkin. For revolutionary -industrial unionism it is important to know “Speeches and Editorials” -by Daniel de Leon (New York Labor News Co.). De Leon was one of -the founders of the I.W.W., and his ideas not only influenced the -separatist labour movements in the United States but the shop-steward -movement in England and the Soviets of Russia. “Guild Socialism” by -G. D. H. Cole is the best statement of this recent theory, while “The -State and Revolution” by Nikolai Lenin (George Allen and Unwin) -explains the principles and tactics of modern Communism. To these -should be added another classic, “Progress and Poverty” by Henry George -(Doubleday Page). - -On the origins of the American government it is important to -read “Economic Origins of Jeffersonian Democracy” and “Economic -Interpretation of the Constitution” by Charles A. Beard (Macmillan). - -The “History of Trade Unionism” by Sidney and Beatrice Webb (Longmans, -Green), is an invaluable account of the growth of the British labour -movement, which has many similarities to our own. “Industrial -Democracy” by the same authors, issued by the same publisher, is the -best statement of the theories of trade unionism. The “History of Labor -in the United States” by John R. Commons and associates (Macmillan), is -a scholarly work, while “Trade Unionism in the United States” by Robert -F. Hoxie (Appleton), is a more analytical treatment. “The I. W. W.” by -Paul F. Brissenden (Longmans, Green), is a full documentary history. -Significant recent tendencies are recorded in “The New Unionism in -the Clothing Industry” by Budish and Soule (Harcourt, Brace). The -last chapters of “The Great Steel Strike” by William Z. Foster (B. W. -Huebsch), expound his interesting interpretation of the trade unions. - -For a statement of the functional attitude toward public problems one -should read “Authority, Liberty and Function” by Ramiro de Maeztu (Geo. -Allen and Unwin). For a brief and readable application of this attitude -to economics, “The Acquisitive Society” by R. H. Tawney (Harcourt, -Brace), is to be recommended. - -“Modern Social Movements” by Savel Zimand (H. W. Wilson), is an -authoritative guidebook to present radical movements throughout the -world, and contains an excellent bibliography. And we must not forget -the voluminous Report of the New York State Legislative Committee on -Radicalism (the Lusk Committee), which not only collects a wealth of -current radical literature, but offers an entertaining and instructive -example of the current American attitude toward such matters. - - G. S. - - -THE SMALL TOWN - -Bibliography: “A Hoosier Holiday,” by Theodore Dreiser. “Winesburg, -Ohio,” by Sherwood Anderson. “Main Street,” by Sinclair Lewis. - - L. R. R. - - -HISTORY - -The late Henry Adams had much in common with Samuel Butler, that other -seeker after an education. He knew that he had written a very good -book (his studies on American history were quite as excellent in their -way as “Erewhon” was in a somewhat different genre) and he was equally -aware of the sad fact that his work was not being read. In view of -the general public indifference towards history it is surprising how -much excellent work has been done. Three names suggest themselves when -history in America is mentioned, Robinson, Beard, and Breasted. Their -works for the elementary schools have not been surpassed in any country -and their histories (covering the entire period from ancient Egypt down -to the present time) will undoubtedly help to overcome the old and -firmly established prejudice that “history is dull” and will help to -create a new generation which shall prefer a good biography or history -to the literature of our current periodicals. - -The group of essays published last year by Professor Robinson--the -pioneer of our modern historical world--under the title of “The New -History” contains several papers of a pleasantly suggestive nature and -we especially recommend “History for the Common Man” for those who want -to investigate the subject in greater detail, and “The New Allies of -History” for those who want to get an idea of the struggle that goes on -between the New and the Old Movements in our contemporary historical -world. - -But it is impossible to suggest a three- four- or five-foot bookshelf -for those who desire to understand the issues of the battle that is -taking place. The warfare between the forces of the official School -and University History and those who have a vision of something quite -different is merely a part of the great social and economic and -spiritual struggle that has been going on ever since the days of the -Encyclopedists. The scene is changing constantly. The leaders hardly -know what is happening. The soldiers who do the actual fighting are too -busy with the work at hand to waste time upon academic discussions of -the Higher Strategy. And the public will have to do what the public did -during the great war--study the reports from all sides (the relevant -and the irrelevant--the news from Helsingfors-by-way-of-Geneva and from -Copenhagen-by-way-of Constantinople) and use its own judgment as to the -probable outcome of the conflict. - - H. W. V. L. - - -SEX - -As might be supposed, there has been little writing on sex in this -country--such discussion, more or less superficial, of the social -aspects as may be found in books on the family, on marriage or -prostitution, some quasi-medical treatises and of late a few books -along the lines of Freudian psychology, that is all. Among all the -organizations of the country there is no society corresponding to -the British Society for the Study of Sex. I doubt if such a society -or its publications would be tolerated, since even novelists who, -like Dreiser, express an interest in sex comparatively directly, run -afoul of public opinion, and a book such as “Women in Love” by D. H. -Lawrence, its publisher felt called upon to print without his name. - -It is not surprising, therefore, that in English the most adequate -discussions of sex have been made by an Englishman, Havelock -Ellis--“Studies in the Psychology of Sex.” Among less well known -writing on the subject by Ellis I would note in particular an -illuminating page or two in his essay on Casanova (“Affirmations”). - -Discussion of the theories of distinguishing between mating and -parenthood and of crisis psychology may be found in articles by the -writer in the _International Journal of Ethics_, July, 1915, January, -1916, October, 1917, and in _The American Anthropologist_, March, 1916, -and _The Journal of Philosophy, Psychology and Scientific Methods_, -March, 1918. - -“The Behaviour of Crowds” by E. D. Martin, and “French Ways and -Their Meaning” by Edith Wharton are recent books that the reader of -a comparative turn of mind will find of interest, and if he is not -already familiar with the writings of the Early Christian Fathers I -commend to him some browsing in the “Ante-Nicene Christian Library” and -the “Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers.” - - E. C. P. - - -THE FAMILY - -For statistical facts which have a bearing on the tendencies of the -family in the United States, the following group of sources has been -consulted: - -“Abstract of the Census, 1910;” the preliminary sheets of the “Census -of 1920;” Report on “Marriage and Divorce in 1916,” published by -the Bureau of the Census; Bulletin of the Woman’s Bureau, U. S. -Department of Labour on “What Became of Women Who Went Into War -Industries;” Bulletin of the U. S. Department of Agriculture on “The -Farm Woman;” Bulletin of the U. S. Children’s Bureau on “Standards -of Child Welfare.” Economic aspects of the family and income data -were acquired from “Conditions of Labour in American Industries,” by -Edgar Sydenstricker, and “The Wealth and Income of the People of the -United States,” by Willford I. King. For facts concerning longevity, -the aid of the Census was supplemented by “The Trend of Longevity in -the United States,” by C. H. Forsyth, in the _Journal of the American -Statistical Association_, Vol. 128. For the long biological perspective -to counteract the near-sighted view of the Census, “The New Stone Age -in Northern Europe,” by John M. Tyler may be commended. Psychological -aspects of family relationships are discussed in a scientific and -stimulating way in the published “Proceedings of the International -Women Physicians’ Conference, 1919.” - - K. A. - - -RACIAL MINORITIES - -No author or group of authors has yet attempted to treat in any -systematic and comprehensive way the position and the problem of the -several racial minorities in the United States. A perfect bibliography -of existing materials on the subject would be most helpful, but it -could not make good the existing shortage of fact, and of thoughtful -interpretation. - -The anthropological phase of the subject is discussed with authority -by Franz Boas in “The Mind of Primitive Man” (Macmillan, 1913), and -by Robert H. Lowie in “Culture and Ethnology” (McMurtrie, 1917). Some -information on racial inter-marriage is to be found in Drachsler’s -“Democracy and Assimilation--The Blending of Immigrant Heritages in -America” (Macmillan, 1920). Among recent reports of psychological -tests of race-difference, the following are of special interest: “A -Study of Race Differences in New York City,” by Katherine Murdock, -(_School and Society_, vol. XI, no. 266, p. 147, 31 January, 1920); -“Racial Differences in Mental Fatigue,” by Thomas R. Garth (_Journal -of Applied Psychology_, vol. IV, nos. 2 and 3, p. 235, June-Sept. -1920); “A Comparative Study in the Intelligence of White and Colored -Children,” by R. A. Schwegler and Edith Winn (_Journal of Educational -Research_, vol. II, no. 5, p. 838, December, 1920); “The Intelligence -of Negro Recruits,” by M. R. Trabue (_Natural History_, vol. XIX, no. -6, p. 680, 1919); “The Intelligence of Negroes at Camp Lee, Virginia,” -by George Oscar Ferguson, Jr. (_School and Society_, vol. IX, no. 233, -p. 721, 14 June, 1919); and the Government’s official report of all the -psychological tests given in the cantonments (“Memoirs of the National -Academy of Science,” vol. XV, Washington, Government Printing Office, -1921). - -The most important single source of information on the present status -of the coloured race in the United States is “The Negro Year Book,” -edited by Monroe N. Work (Negro Year Book Pub. Co., Tuskegee Institute, -Alabama); the edition for 1918–19 contains an extensive bibliography. -Brawley’s “Short History of the American Negro” (Macmillan, rev. ed., -1919) presents in text-book form a general narrative, together with -supplementary chapters on such topics as religion and education among -the Negroes. The Government report on “Negro Population, 1790–1915” -(Washington, Bureau of the Census, Government Printing Office, 1918), -is invaluable. Important recent developments are treated in “Negro -Migration in 1916–17” and “The Negro at Work During the World War and -During Reconstruction” (Washington, Dep’t of Labour, 1919 and 1920 -respectively). Some notion of the various manifestations of prejudice -against the Negro may be gathered from the following sources: “Negro -Education” (_U. S. Bureau of Education Bulletin_, 1916, nos. 38 and -39); “The White and the Colored Schools of Virginia as Measured by the -Ayres Index,” by George Oscar Ferguson, Jr. (_School and Society_, vol. -XII, no. 297, p. 170, 4 Sept., 1920); “Thirty Years of Lynching in the -United States, 1889–1918,” and “Disfranchisement of Colored Americans -in the Presidential Election of 1920” (New York, National Association -for the Advancement of Coloured People, 1919 and 1921 respectively). -A few representative expressions from the Negroes themselves are: “Up -from Slavery, an Autobiography,” by Booker T. Washington (Doubleday, -1901); “Darkwater,” by W. E. Burghardt Du Bois (Harcourt, 1920); _The -Messenger_ (a Negro Socialist-syndicalist magazine, 2305 Seventh -Avenue, New York); and the “Universal Negro Catechism” (Universal Negro -Improvement Association, 56 West 135th Street, New York). - -A great body of valuable information on the Indians is collected in two -publications of the Government, the second of which contains a very -extensive bibliography; “Indian Population in the United States and -Alaska, 1910” (Washington, Bureau of the Census, Government Printing -Office, 1915), and the “Handbook of American Indians North of Mexico,” -edited by Frederick Webb Hodge (Washington, Bureau of Ethnology, -Government Printing Office, 1907–10, 2 vols.). An annual report -containing current data on the status of the Indian is published by -the Commissioner of Indian Affairs. Francis Ellington Leupp, who held -this title from 1905 to 1909, was the author of a volume which presents -in popular form the results of official experience (“The Indian and His -Problem,” Scribner, 1910). - -The “American Jewish Year Book” (Philadelphia, Jewish Publication -Society of America) is an extremely useful volume, and particularly -so because one must refer to it for statistical information which in -the case of the other racial minorities is available in the reports -of the national census. In the _American Magazine_ for April, 1921, -Harry Schneiderman, the editor of the “Year Book,” assembles a great -many facts bearing upon the relation of the Jews to the economic, -social, political, and intellectual life of the country (“The Jews of -the United States,” p. 24). Of special interest to students of the -Semitic problem is Berkson’s “Theories of Americanization; a Critical -Study with Special Reference to the Jewish Group” (Teachers’ College, -Columbia University, 1920). - -The standard works on the Oriental question are Coolidge’s “Chinese -Immigration” (Holt, 1909), and Millis’s “Japanese Problem in the United -States” (Macmillan, 1915). The Japanese problem in California is -treated statistically in a booklet prepared recently by the State Board -of Control (“California and the Oriental,” Sacramento, State Printing -Office, 1920), and in a symposium which appeared in _The Pacific -Review_ for December, 1920 (Seattle, University of Washington). - - G. T. R. - - -ADVERTISING - -Expect from me no recommendation of the “scientific” treatises on -advertising or of the professional psychological analyses of the -instincts. Books, books in tons, have been written about advertising, -and as far as I am concerned, every single one of them is right. Read -these, if you have the hardihood, and remain mute. Read them, I should -say, and be eternally damned. Read them and retire rapidly to a small -room comfortably padded and securely locked. - - J. T. S. - - -BUSINESS - -Within the limits of this space anything like an adequate reference -to the source books of fact and thought is impossible. All that -may be attempted is to suggest an arbitrary way through the whole -of the subject--a thoroughfare from which the reader may take off -where he will as his own interests develop. For the foundations of an -economic understanding one needs only to read “Principles of Political -Economy,” by Simon Newcomb, the American astronomer, who in a mood -of intellectual irritation inclined his mind to this mundane matter -and produced the finest book of its kind in the world. For the rough -physiognomy of American economic phenomena there is “A Century of -Population Growth,” Bureau of the Census, 1909, a splendid document -prepared under the direction of S. N. D. North. Katharine Coman’s -“Industrial History of the United States” is an important work in -itself and contains, besides, an excellent and full bibliography. -“Crises and Depressions” and “Corporations and the State,” by Theodore -E. Burton; “Forty Years of American Finance,” by Alexander D. Noyes; -“Railroad Transportation, Its History and Its Laws,” by A. T. Hadley; -“Trusts, Pools and Corporations,” by Wm. Z. Ripley; and “The Book of -Wheat,” by Peter Tracy Dondlinger, are books in which the separate -phases indicated by title are essentially treated. For dissertation, -interpretation, and universal thought every student will find himself -deeply indebted to “Trade Morals, Their Origin, Growth and Province,” -by Edward D. Page; “The Economic Interpretation of History,” by James -E. Thorold Rogers; “History of the New World Called America,” by E. J. -Payne; “Economic Studies,” by Walter Bagehot; “Essays in Finance,” -by R. Giffen; “Recent Economic Changes,” by David A. Wells, and “The -Challenge of Facts and Other Essays,” by William Graham Sumner. - - G. G. - - -ENGINEERING - -Literature covering the function of the engineer in society, especially -in America, is very limited compared with books of information on -most subjects. Engineering activities such as are usually described -cover the technical achievements of the profession. Useful material, -however, will be found scattered throughout the technical literature -and engineering society proceedings especially among the addresses -and articles of leading engineers prepared for special occasions. A -comprehensive history of engineering has never been written, although -there are many treatises dealing with particular developments in this -field. Among these may be mentioned Bright’s “Engineering Science, -1837–1897”; Matschoss’s “Beiträge zur Geschichte der Technik und -Industrie” (“Jahrbuch des Vereines deutscher Ingenieure”); and Smiles’s -“Lives of the Engineers.” On engineering education, the “Proceedings of -the Society for the Promotion of Engineering Education” and Bulletin -No. 11 of the Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching, -“A Study of Engineering Education,” by Charles R. Mann, offer useful -information. Concerning the status of the engineer in the economic -order, Taussig’s “Inventors and Money Makers,” Veblen’s “The Engineers -and the Price System,” together with Frank Watts’s “An Introduction to -the Psychological Factors of Industry,” will be found of value. On the -relation between labour and the engineer, much can be found in _The -Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science_ for -September, 1920, on “Labor, Management and Production.” - - O. S. B., JR. - - -NERVES - -Complete works of Cotton Mather; also of Jonathan Edwards. Complete -works of Dr. George M. Beard, notably his “American Nervousness,” -Putnam, 1881. Medical publications of Dr. S. Weir Mitchell. Dr. George -M. Parker: “The Discard Heap--Neurasthenia,” _N. Y. Medical Journal_, -October 22, 1910. Dr. William Browning: “Is there such a thing as -Neurasthenia?” _N. Y. State Medical Journal_, January, 1911. Dr. Morton -Prince: “The Unconscious,” Macmillan, 1914. Professor Edwin B. Holt: -“The Freudian Wish.” Dr. Edward J. Kempf: “The Autonomic Function and -the Personality.” Complete works of Professor Freud, in translation and -in the original. - -Files of _Journal of Abnormal Psychology_, to date. Files of -_Psychoanalytic Review_, to date. Files of _Imago_, to date. Files -of _Internationale Zeitschrift fuer Aerztliche Psychoanalyse_, to -date. Dr. A. A. Brill, “Psychoanalysis,” third edition. “Character -and Opinion in the United States,” by George Santayana. “Studies in -American Intolerance,” by Alfred B. Kuttner, _The Dial_, March 14 and -28, 1918. - - A. B. K. - - -MEDICINE - -No attempt is here made to give any exhaustive, or even suggestive, -bibliography. Only specific references in the text itself are here -given in full, so that the reader may find them for himself, if he so -desires. But on the general subject of “Professionalism,” although it -deals more with the profession of law than of medicine, some valuable -and stimulating observations can be found in the chapter of that name -in “Our Social Heritage,” by Graham Wallas (Yale University Press, -1921). - -Bezzola: Quoted from “Preventive Medicine and Hygiene,” Rosenau, 1920, -p. 340. - -Clouston: “The Hygiene of the Mind,” 1909. - -Cole: “The University Department of Medicine,” Science, N. S., vol. LI, -No. 1318, p. 329. - -Elderton and Pearson: “A First Study of the Influence of Parental -Alcoholism on the Physique and Ability of the Offspring,” Francis -Galton Eugenics Laboratory _Memoirs_, 1910, No. 10. - -Pearl: “The Effect of Parental Alcoholism upon the Progeny in the -Domestic Fowl,” _Proc. Nat. Acad. Sci._, 1916, vol. II, p. 380. - -Peterson: “Credulity and Cures,” _Jour. Amer. Med. Assn._, 1919, vol. -LXXIII, p. 1737. - -Rosenau: “Preventive Medicine and Hygiene,” 1920. - -Stockard: _Interstate Medical Jour._, 1916, vol. XXIII, No. 6. - -Vaughan: “The Service of Medicine to Civilization,” _Jour. Amer. Med. -Assn._, 1914, vol. LXII, p. 2003. - -Vincent: “Ideals and Their Function in Medical Education,” _Jour. Amer. -Med. Assn._, 1920, vol. LXXIV, p. 1065. - - ANON. - - -SPORT AND PLAY - -Mr. Spalding, the well-known sporting goods manufacturer, is also the -publisher of the Spalding Athletic Library, which contains, besides -rule books and record books of various sports, a series of text-books, -at ten cents the copy, bearing such titles as “How to Play the -Outfield,” “How to Catch,” “How to Play Soccer,” “How to Learn Golf,” -etc. Authorship of these works is credited to famous outfielders, -catchers, soccer players, and golfers, but as the latter can field, -catch, play soccer, and golf much better than they can write, the -actual writing of the volumes was wisely left to persons who make their -living by the pen. The books are recommended, as a cure for insomnia -at least. The best sporting fiction we know of, practically the only -sporting fiction an adult may read without fear of stomach trouble, is -contained in the collected works of the late Charles E. Van Loan. - - R. W. L. - - -AMERICAN CIVILIZATION FROM THE FOREIGN POINT OF VIEW[1] - -Frances Milton Trollope: “The Domestic Manners of the Americans,” -London, 1832. - - The rest is silence ... or repetition. - - E. B. - - [1] The views of foreign travellers in the United States are - summarized in John Graham Brooks’s “As Others See Us,” New - York, 1908.--_The Editor._ - - - - -WHO’S WHO OF THE CONTRIBUTORS TO THIS VOLUME - - -=Conrad Aiken= was born in Savannah, Georgia, in 1889, and was -graduated from Harvard in 1912. His books include several volumes of -poems, “Earth Triumphant,” “Turns and Movies,” “The Jig of Forslin,” -“Nocturne of Remembered Spring,” “The Charnel Rose,” “The House of -Dust,” and “Punch: The Immortal Liar,” and one volume of critical -essays, “Scepticisms: Notes on Contemporary Poetry.” - -=Anonymous=, the author of the essay on “Medicine,” is an American -physician who has gained distinction in the field of medical research, -but who for obvious reasons desires to have his name withheld. - -=Katharine Anthony= was born in Arkansas, and was educated at the -Universities of Tennessee, Chicago, and Heidelberg. She has done -research and editorial work for the Russell Sage Foundation, National -Consumers’ League, The National Board, Y. W. C. A., and other national -reform organizations, and is the author of “Feminism in Germany and -Scandinavia,” “Margaret Fuller: A Psychological Biography,” and other -books. - -=O. S. Beyer, Jr.=, was graduated from the Stevens Institute of -Technology as a mechanical engineer in 1907, and did graduate work in -railway and industrial economics in the Universities of Pennsylvania -and New York. After some experience as an engineering assistant and -general foreman on various railways, and as research engineer in the -University of Illinois, he helped organize the U. S. Army School of -Military Aeronautics during the War, and later took charge of the -Department of Airplanes. He was subsequently requested by the U. S. -Army Ordnance Department to organize and operate schools for training -ordnance specialists and officers, and in order to conduct this -work, he was commissioned Captain. After the termination of the War, -he helped promote, and subsequently assumed charge in the capacity -of Chief, Arsenal Orders Section, of the significant industrial -developments carried forward in the Army arsenals. He has contributed -numerous articles to technical periodicals and proceedings of -engineering and other societies. - -=Ernest Boyd= is an Irish critic and journalist, who has lived in -this country for some years, and is now on the staff of the New York -_Evening Post_. He was educated in France, Germany, and Switzerland -for the British Consular Service, which he entered in 1913. After -having served in the United States, Spain, and Denmark, he resigned -from official life in order to take up the more congenial work of -literature and journalism. He has edited Standish O’Grady’s “Selected -Essays” for Every Irishman’s Library and translated Heinrich Mann’s -“Der Untertan” for the European Library, and is the author of three -volumes dealing with modern Anglo-Irish Literature: “Ireland’s Literary -Renaissance,” “The Contemporary Drama of Ireland,” and “Appreciations -and Depreciations.” - -=Clarence Britten= was born in Pella, Iowa, in 1887, and was graduated -from Harvard in 1912 as of 1910. He was Instructor of English in the -Agricultural and Mechanical College of Texas, in the Department of -University Extension, State of Massachusetts, and in the University of -Wisconsin. He has been editor of the _Canadian Journal of Music_, and -from 1918 to 1920 was an editor of the _Dial_. - -=Van Wyck Brooks= was born in Plainfield, New Jersey, in 1886, and -was graduated from Harvard in 1907, as of 1908. He was instructor in -English in Leland Stanford University from 1911 to 1913, and is now -associate editor of the _Freeman_. Among his books are “America’s -Coming-of-Age,” “Letters and Leadership,” and “The Ordeal of Mark -Twain.” - -=Harold Chapman Brown= was born in Springfield, Mass., in 1879, and -was educated at Williams and Harvard, from which he received the -degree of Ph.D. in 1905. He was instructor in philosophy in Columbia -University until 1914, and since then has been an instructor in Leland -Stanford University. During the War he was with the American Red Cross, -Home Service, at Camp Fremont. He has contributed numerous articles -on philosophy to technical journals, and is co-author of “Creative -Intelligence.” - -=Zechariah Chafee, Jr.=, was born in Providence, R. I., in 1885, and -was educated at Brown University and the Harvard Law School. After -several years’ practice of the law in Providence, and executive work in -connection with various manufacturing industries, he became Assistant -Professor of Law in Harvard University in 1916, and Professor of Law in -1919. He is the author of “Cases on Negotiable Instruments,” “Freedom -of Speech,” and various articles in law reviews and other periodicals. - -=Frank M. Colby= was born in Washington, D. C., in 1865, and was -graduated from Columbia in 1888. He was Professor of Economics in New -York University from 1895 to 1900, and has been editor of the “New -International Encyclopedia” since 1900, and of the “New International -Year Book” since 1907. He is the author of “Outlines of General -History,” “Imaginary Obligations,” “Constrained Attitudes,” and “The -Margin of Hesitation.” - -=Garet Garrett= was born in Pana, Ill., in 1878, and from 1900 to 1912 -was a financial writer on the New York Sun, the _Wall Street Journal_, -the New York _Evening Post_, and the New York _Times_. He was the first -editor of the New York _Times Annalist_ in 1913–1914, and was executive -editor of the New York _Tribune_ from 1916 to 1919. He is the author -of “The Driver,” “The Blue Wound,” “An Empire Beleaguered,” “The Mad -Dollar,” and various economic and political essays. - -=Walton H. Hamilton= was born in Tennessee in 1881, was graduated from -the University of Texas in 1907, and received the degree of Ph.D. from -the University of Michigan in 1913. After teaching at the Universities -of Michigan and Chicago, he became Olds Professor of Economics in -Amherst College in 1915. He was formerly associate editor of the -_Journal of Political Economy_, and is associate editor of the series, -“Materials for the Study of Economics,” published by the University of -Chicago Press. During the War he was on the staff of the War Labour -Policies Board. He is co-editor with J. M. Clark and H. G. Moulton of -“Readings in the Economics of War,” and the author of “Current Economic -Problems” and of various articles in economic journals. - -=Frederic C. Howe= was born in Meadville, Pa., in 1867, and was -educated at Allegheny College and Johns Hopkins University, from the -latter receiving the degree of Ph.D. in 1892. After studying in the -University of Maryland Law School and the New York Law School, he was -admitted to the bar in 1894, and practised in Cleveland until 1909. He -was director of the People’s Institute of New York from 1911 to 1914, -and Commissioner of Immigration in the Port of New York from 1914 to -1920. He has been a member of the Ohio State Senate, special U. S. -commissioner to investigate municipal ownership in Great Britain, -Professor of Law in the Cleveland College of Law, and lecturer on -municipal administration and politics in the University of Wisconsin. -Among his books are “The City, the Hope of Democracy,” “The British -City,” “Privilege and Democracy in America,” “Wisconsin: An Experiment -in Democracy,” “European Cities at Work,” “Socialized Germany,” “Why -War?” “The High Cost of Living,” and “The Land and the Soldier.” - -=Alfred Booth Kuttner= was born in 1886, and was graduated from Harvard -in 1908. He was for two years dramatic critic of the _International -Magazine_, and is a contributor to the _New Republic_, _Seven Arts_, -_Dial_, etc. He has pursued special studies in psychology, and has -translated several of the books of Sigmund Freud. - -=Ring W. Lardner= was born in Niles, Michigan, in 1885, and was -educated in the Niles High School and the Armour Institute of -Technology at Chicago. He has been sporting writer on the Boston -_American_, Chicago _American_, Chicago _Examiner_, and the Chicago -_Tribune_, and writer for the Bell Syndicate since 1919. Among his -books are “You Know Me Al,” “Symptoms of Thirty-five,” “Treat ’Em -Rough,” and “The Big Town.” - -=Robert Morss Lovett= was born in Boston in 1870, and was graduated -from Harvard in 1892. He has been a teacher in the English Departments -of Harvard and the University of Chicago, and dean of the Junior -Colleges of the latter institution from 1907 to 1920. He was formerly -editor of the _Dial_, and is at present on the staff of the _New -Republic_. He is a member of the National Institute of Arts and -Letters, and is the author of two novels, “Richard Gresham” and “A -Winged Victory,” of a play, “Cowards,” and with William Vaughn Moody of -“A History of English Literature.” - -=Robert H. Lowie= was born in Vienna in 1883, and came to New York at -the age of ten. He was educated at the College of the City of New York -and Columbia University, from which he received the degree of Ph.D. in -1908. He has made many ethnological field trips, especially to the Crow -and other Plains Indians. He was associate curator of Anthropology in -the American Museum of Natural History, New York, until 1921, and since -then has become Associate Professor of Anthropology in the University -of California. He is associate editor of the _American Anthropologist_, -and was secretary of the American Ethnological Society from 1910 -to 1919, and president, 1920–1921. He is the author of “Culture -and Ethnology” and “Primitive Society,” as well as many technical -monographs dealing mainly with the sociology and mythology of North -American aborigines. - -=John Macy= was born in Detroit in 1877, and was educated at Harvard, -from which he received the degree of A.B. in 1899, and A.M. in 1900. -After a year as assistant in English at Harvard, he became associate -editor of _Youth’s Companion_, and later literary editor of the Boston -_Herald_. Among his books are “Life of Poe” (Beacon Biographies), -“Guide to Reading,” “The Spirit of American Literature,” “Socialism in -America,” and “Walter James Dodd: a Biography.” - -=H. L. Mencken= was born in Baltimore in 1880, and was educated in -private schools and at the Baltimore Polytechnic. He was engaged in -journalism until 1916, and is now editor and part owner with George -Jean Nathan of the _Smart Set Magazine_, and a contributing editor -of the _Nation_. His books include “The Philosophy of Friedrich -Nietzsche,” “A Book of Burlesques,” “A Book of Prefaces,” “The -American Language,” and two volumes of “Prejudices.” In collaboration -with George Jean Nathan he has published “The American Credo,” and -“Heliogabalus,” a play. - -=Lewis Mumford= was born in Flushing, Long Island, in 1895. He -was associate editor of the Dial in 1919, acting editor of the -_Sociological Review_ (London), a lecturer at the Summer School of -Civics, High Wycombe, England, and has contributed to the _Scientific -Monthly_, the _Athenaeum_, the _Nation_, the _Freeman_, the _Journal of -the American institute of Architects_, and other periodicals. He was a -radio operator in the United States Navy during the War. - -=George Jean Nathan= was born in Fort Wayne, Indiana, in 1882, and was -graduated from Cornell University in 1904. He has been dramatic critic -of various newspapers and periodicals, and is at present editor and -part owner with H. L. Mencken of the _Smart Set Magazine_. Among his -books are “The Popular Theatre,” “Comedians All,” “Another Book on the -Theatre,” “Mr. George Jean Nathan Presents,” “The Theatre, the Drama, -the Girls,” and, with H. L. Mencken, of “The American Credo,” and -“Heliogabalus.” - -=Walter Pach= was born in New York in 1883, and was graduated from the -College of the City of New York in 19013. He studied art under Leigh -Hunt, William M. Chase, and Robert Henri, and worked during most of the -eleven years before the War in Paris and other European art-centres, -exhibiting both here and abroad. He was associated with the work of -the International Exhibition of 1913, as well as other exhibitions of -the modern masters in America, and with the founding and carrying on -of the Society of Independent Artists. He is represented by paintings -and etchings in various public and private collections, has lectured -at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, University of California, -Wellesley College, and other institutions, has contributed articles on -art subjects to the _Gazette des Beaux-Arts_, _L’Arts et les Artistes_, -_Scribner’s_, the _Century_, the _Freeman_, etc., and is the translator -of Elie Faure’s “History of Art.” - -=Elsie Clews Parsons= was graduated from Barnard College in 1896, and -received the degree of Ph.D. from Columbia University in 1899. She has -been Fellow and Lecturer in Sociology at Barnard College, Lecturer in -Anthropology in the New School of Social Research, assistant editor -of the _Journal of American Folk-Lore_, treasurer of the American -Ethnological Society, and president of the American Folk-Lore Society. -She is married and the mother of three sons and one daughter. Among -her books are “The Family,” “The Old-Fashioned Woman,” “Fear and -Conventionality,” “Social Freedom,” and “Social Rule.” - -=Raffaello Piccoli=, who has written the article on “American -Civilization from an Italian Point of View,” was born in Naples in -1886, and was educated at the Universities of Padua, Florence, and -Oxford. In 1913 he was appointed Lecturer in Italian Literature in the -University of Cambridge, and in 1916 was elected Foreign Correspondent -of the Royal Society of Literature. During the War he was an officer -in the First Regiment of Italian Grenadiers, was wounded and taken -prisoner while defending a bridge-head on the Tagliamento, and spent a -year of captivity in Hungary. After the Armistice he was appointed to -the chair of English Literature in the University of Pisa. During the -years 1919–21 he has acted as exchange professor at various American -universities. He has published a number of books, including Italian -translations of Oscar Wilde and of several Elizabethan dramatists. - -=Louis Raymond Reid= was born in Warsaw, N. Y., and was graduated from -Rutgers College in 1911. Since then he has been engaged in newspaper -and magazine work in New York City. He was for three years the editor -of the _Dramatic Mirror_. - -=Geroid Tanquary Robinson= was born in Chase City, Virginia, in 1892, -and studied at Stanford, the University of California, and Columbia. He -was a member of the editorial board of the _Dial_ at the time when it -was appearing as a fortnightly, and is now a member of the editorial -staff of the _Freeman_, and a lecturer in Modern European History at -Columbia University. He served for sixteen months during the War as a -First Lieutenant (Adjutant) in the American Air Service. Residence in -Virginia, North Carolina, Colorado, Arizona, and California has given -him the opportunity to observe at first hand some of the modes and -manners of race-prejudice. - -=J. Thorne Smith, Jr.=, was born in Annapolis, Md., in 1892, and was -graduated from Dartmouth College in 1914. He was Chief Boatswain’s -Mate in the U. S. Naval Reserve during the War, and editor of the navy -paper, _The Broadside_. He is the author of “Haunts and By-Paths and -Other Poems,” “Biltmore Oswald,” and “Out-O’-Luck.” - -=George Soule= was born in Stamford, Conn., in 1887, and was graduated -from Yale in 1908. He was a member of the editorial staff of the _New -Republic_ from 1914 to 1918, and during 1919 editorial writer for the -New York _Evening Post_. He drafted a report on the labour policy of -the Industrial Service Sections, Ordnance Department and Air Service, -for the War Department, and was commissioned a Second Lieutenant in -the Coast Artillery Corps. He is a director of the Labour Bureau, -Inc., which engages in economic research for labour organizations, and -is co-author with J. M. Budish of “The New Unionism in the Clothing -Industry.” - -=J. E. Spingarn= was born in New York in 1875, was educated at Columbia -and Harvard, and was Professor of Comparative Literature in Columbia -University until 1911. Among his other activities he has been a -candidate for Congress, a delegate to state and national conventions, -chairman of the board of directors of the National Association for the -Advancement of Coloured People, vice-president of a publishing firm, -and editor of the “European Library.” During the War he was a Major of -Infantry in the A. E. F. His first book, “Literary Criticism in the -Renaissance,” was translated into Italian in 1905, with an introduction -by Benedetto Croce; he has edited three volumes of “Critical Essays of -the 17th Century” for the Clarendon Press of Oxford, and contributed a -chapter to the “Cambridge History of English Literature;” his selection -of Goethe’s “Literary Essays,” with a foreword by Lord Haldane, has -just appeared; and his other books include “The New Hesperides and -Other Poems” and “Creative Criticism.” - -=Harold E. Stearns= was born in Barre, Mass., in 1891, and was -graduated from Harvard in 1913. Since then he has been engaged in -journalism in New York, and has been a contributor to the _New -Republic_, the _Freeman_, the _Bookman_, and other magazines and -newspapers. He was associate editor of the _Dial_ during the last six -months of its appearance as a fortnightly in Chicago. Among his books -are “Liberalism in America” and “America and the Young Intellectual.” - -=Henry Longan Stuart= is an English author and journalist who has -spent a considerable part of his life since 1901 in the United States. -He served through the War as a Captain in the Royal Field Artillery, -was attached to the Italian Third Army after Caporetto, and was press -censor in Paris after the Armistice and during the Peace Conference. -He is the author of “Weeping Cross,” a study of Puritan New England, -“Fenella,” and a quantity of fugitive poetry and essays. - -=Deems Taylor= was born in New York in 1885, and was graduated from -New York University in 1906. He studied music with Oscar Coon from -1908 to 1911. He has been connected with the editorial staff of the -“Encyclopedia Britannica,” and has been assistant Sunday editor of the -New York _Tribune_ and associate editor of _Collier’s Weekly_, and at -present is a critic of the New York _World_. He has composed numerous -musical works, including “The Siren Song” (symphonic poem, awarded the -orchestral prize of the National Federation of Music Clubs in 1912), -“The Chambered Nautilus” (cantata), “The Highwaymen” (cantata written -for the MacDowell festival), and “Through the Looking Glass” (suite for -symphonic orchestra). - -=Hendrik Willem Van Loon= was born in Holland in 1882, and received -his education in Dutch schools, at Cornell and Harvard, and at the -University of Munich, from which he received his Ph.D., magna cum -laude, in 1911. He was a correspondent of the Associated Press in -various European capitals, and for some time was a lecturer on modern -European history in Cornell University. He is at present Professor -of the Social Sciences in Antioch College, and is the author of “The -Fall of the Dutch Republic,” “A Short History of Discovery,” “Ancient -Man,” “The Story of Mankind for Boys and Girls,” “The Rise of the Dutch -Kingdom,” etc. - - - - -INDEX - - - Abbott, Lyman, 497 - - Abolitionists, 58 - - Absolute, 166 - - Academic life, 95 - - Accident lawyers, 59 - - Acoustics, 159 - - Adams, Henry, 11, 77, 303, 547; - quoted on a school of literature, 196 - - Ade, George, 249 - - Administrative officers, 32, 33 - - Adolescence, 436 - - Adulteration, 406 - - Advertising, 381–395; - appeal, 383; - bibliography, 551; - effects on the writers, 384; - efficacy, 389; - honest, 387; - justification, 388; - newspaper, 44; - newspaper control, 46, 47; - objectionable, 395; - outdoor, 395; - over-production and, 390; - pro and con, 391; - signs, 293, 395; - solicitor and writer, 387; - value, 391, 392; - writers, 387 - - Æsthetic emotion, 204, 214, 480 - - Æsthetics, vii, 14, 100, 105, 108, 492, 497 - - Africa, association of negroes to establish empire, 369 - - “Age of Innocence, The,” 179 - - Agnosticism, 171 - - Agricultural implements, 402 - - Aiken, Conrad, on poetry, 215–226 - - Akins, Zoë, 248, 253 - - Alcohol, 451 - - Alcoholics, children of, 452, 453 - - Alien Land Laws, 364 - - Aliens, 337–350; - economics and, 339; - legislative attitude to, 343; - protection, 349 - - Alfieri, Vittorio, 104 - - Alimony, 331 - - Alleghany mountains, 4, 30, 399 - - Allied troops, 469 - - Alphabetical order, 469 - - Amalgamated Clothing Workers, 346 - - America, as economic support for Europe, 475; - feminization, 135, 143; - germinal energy, 148, 150; - original culture, 512; - provincialism, 286; - “real America,” 138 - - “America First” Publicity Association, 47 - - “American ideals,” 104 - - American infantry in Paris, 470 - - American Legion, 88 - - American literature. _See_ Literature, American - - American Philosophical Association, 177 - - American Revolution, 300, 399, 417, 515 - - Americanism, 133, 519 - - Americanization, 337, 344, 346, 347, 442, 528; - spirit, 88, 89 - - Americans, uniformity, 36, 109 - - Ames, Winthrop, 245 - - Amusements, 8, 13, 440; - music, 204, 205 - - Anæmia, intellectual, 491, 492, 495, 501 - - Ancestor worship, 506 - - Anderson, Sherwood, 137 - - Anglin, Margaret, 251 - - Anglo-American relations, 471, 473, 474, 476 - - Anglo-Saxonism, 320, 341, 442, 471, 504 - - Anthony, Katharine, on the family, 319–336 - - Anthropological groups, 353 - - Anthropology, 154 - - Anti-Saloon League, 29 - - Anti-Semitism, 356, 364 - - Appleseed, Johnny, 4 - - Applied science, 146, 155–156 - - Architecture, 238; - city, debasement, 10; - industrial city, 11 - - Aridity of American life, 480 - - Aristocracy, 193 - - Aristocrats, 441, 442 - - Armageddon, 440 - - Armory Show, 239 - - Art, 100, 204, 207, 227–241; - bibliography, 542; - colonial, 230, 231; - conditions and opportunities, 228; - definition, 107; - feminization, 229; - morals and, 101; - poetry, 225; - tariff on works of art, 230 - - Art for art’s sake, 102 - - Artists, advertising as a benefit, 391; - definition, 107; - respect for, 208 - - Asiatics. _See_ Orientals - - Associated Press, 47 - - Asylums, 334, 451 - - Athletics, 526, 527; - college, 117 - - Atlantic City, 9 - - _Atlantic Monthly_, 243 - - Attorney-General, 66 - - Austin, Mrs. Mary, 144 - - Australia, farm policy, 347, 348 - - Australian Courts of Conciliation, 73 - - Authority, 160; - educational, 85 - - Automobile industry, 400 - - - Back to the land, 285 - - Backgrounds, historical, 308; - intellectual, 146 - - Bacteriologists, 454 - - Baking industry, 400 - - Ballot, 281 - - Bar Associations, 65–66 - - Bargaining, collective, 264; - _see also_ Contract - - Barnum, P. T., 292 - - Barrie’s “Peter Pan,” 246 - - Barrymore, John, 250 - - Baseball, 458 - - Baseball fans, 457 - - Beard, C. A., 532, 547 - - Beard, G. M., 430, 431, 432, 438 - - Beautiful necessity, 165, 168 - - Beauty, 14, 204, 238, 492, 535 - - Beer-garden, 10 - - Behaviour, 173; - crowd, 312 - - Behaviourism, 169 - - Belief, 171 - - Bell, Sanford, 436 - - Bergson, Henri, 167, 172 - - Bett, Miss Lulu, 320 - - Beyer, O. S., Jr., on engineering, 417–425 - - “Beyond the Horizon,” 243, 244, 248 - - Bibliographical notes, 531 - - Big business, 406, 407, 409 - - Bigness, contrary effect on English and Americans, 477, 478 - - Billboards, 293, 395 - - Billiards, 460 - - Billings, Frank, 449 - - Biochemistry, 456 - - Biographical notes on contributors to this volume, 559–564 - - Biographies, 96; - political, 532 - - Biology, 456; - experimental, 153 - - Birth control, 320, 321, 322, 323; - artificial, 321 - - Birth-rate, 321, 336 - - Black Star Line, 369 - - Blackburn, J. B., 231 - - Blashfield, E. H., 236 - - Blind Tom, 207–208 - - Board of Health, 304 - - Boas, Franz, 154 - - Bodenheim, Maxwell, 218, 221, 222, 223 - - “Book of Daniel Drew, The,” 72 - - Boosters, 293 - - Bosses, political, 24 - - Boston, 4, 15; - dramatic taste, 245; - marriage age, 328; - Public Library, 11, 235; - Trinity Church, 11 - - Boxing, 459 - - Boyd, Ernest, on American civilization, 489–507 - - Brady, W. A., 244 - - Brandeis, L. D., brief on Oregon law, 73 - - Branford, V. V., 531 - - “Brass Check, The,” 41 - - Breasted, J. H., 547 - - Brewer, Justice P. J., 73–74 - - Brill, A. A., 434 - - British Institution of Civil Engineers, 418, 419 - - Britten, Clarence, on school and college life, 109–133 - - Broadway, 8 - - Brokers, 405 - - Bronson-Howard, George, 249 - - Brooke, Rupert, 503 - - Brookline, Mass., 15 - - Brooks, Van Wyck, iii; - on the literary life, 179–197 - - Brown, H. C., on philosophy, 163–177 - - Brown University, 125 - - Brunetière, Ferdinand, 498, 503 - - Bryan, W. J., 25, 429, 440, 451, 497 - - Bryce, James, 196, 490, 532, 536 - - Buddhism, 373 - - Bundling, 315 - - Bush Terminal Tower, 12 - - Business, 397–415; - American conception, 482; - bibliography, 551; - blind sequence, 414; - government and, 48; - honour, 405, 409, 410, 430; - individual and corporate, 409, 410; - revolution of methods, 405; - State and, 264 - - Business education, 80 - - Business life, 186 - - Business man’s chivalry, 324 - - Business world, 143 - - Butler, Samuel, 188, 547 - - - California, early law, 54; - gold discovery, 403; - Land Laws, 365; - race-prejudice, 357, 364 - - Calvinism, 164, 168 - - Cambridge, Mass., 4, 6 - - Canals, 403 - - Canning industry, 401 - - Capital, 404, 405 - - Capital and labour, engineers and, 420 - - Capitalism, 544; - case for, 257, 261 - - Captains of industry, 517 - - Carnegie, Andrew, 18 - - Carnegie Institution, 158 - - Case-system, 68, 69 - - Castberg, Johan, 332 - - Caste system in college, 121 - - Catechism, Negro, 370 - - Catholic Church, 193 - - Cattell, J. Nick, 538 - - Cavalier and Puritan, 512, 513, 514 - - Celibacy, 321, 328 - - Cézanne, Paul, 239, 240 - - Chafee, Zechariah, Jr., on the law, 53–75 - - City, bibliography, 531 - - Chain-store, 407 - - Chambers, R. W., 192 - - Character in business, 409 - - Charm, personal, 112 - - Chase, W. M., 234, 235 - - Chastity, 454 - - Chautauqua, 6, 83, 142 - - Chekhov, A. P., 190 - - Chemistry of proteins, 456 - - Chesterton, G. K., 477; - on American genius, 183 - - Chicago, 8, 10, 403; - dramatic taste, 245 - - Chickens, alcoholic, 452 - - Chief Justice, 67 - - Child labour, 275, 329 - - Childhood, family influence, 335; - shortness, 185 - - Children, fewer and better, 452; - on farms, 321; - sexuality, 436; - spoiling, 334 - - Children’s Bureau, 320 - - Chinese, 373; - Californians and, 364; - in America, 357 - - Chiropractors, 444 - - Chivalry of the business man, 324 - - Christian Science, 438, 443 - - Christianity, 166, 167 - - Church, 35, 77, 85, 146 - - Church-college, 163, 168 - - Cincinnati, 4, 8 - - Circus parade, 292 - - Cirrhosis of the liver, 452 - - Cities, 3–20; - architectural debasement, 10; - civic equipment, 16; - civic life, 16; - country versus, 17; - drama, outside New York, 245; - future, 19; - growth and improvement, 15; - improvements, 14; - industrial, 9, 10; - provincial, 3; - shifts of population and institutions, 7; - spiritual failure, 9; - State legislatures and, 24; - three periods, 3 - - Citizenship, good, 175 - - City Beautiful movement, 14 - - Civil engineers, 417 - - Civil War, 139 - - Civilization, human, 508; - Roman, 509 - - Civilization, American, as seen by an Englishman, 469–488; - as seen by an Irishman, 489–507; - as seen by an Italian, 508–528 - - Clark University, 434 - - Classics, 79, 81, 94, 146 - - Cleanliness, 392 - - Clients and lawyers, 59 - - Clouston, T. S., 452 - - Clubs, college, 121, 128 - - Coeducational forms, 129 - - Cohan, G. M., 249, 457 - - Cohen, M. R., 168 - - Colby, F. M., on humour, 463–466 - - Cole, R., 444 - - Collective bargaining, 264 - - College “Bible,” 118 - - College life, 109–133; - athletics, 117; - avocations, 128; - bibliography, 536; - caste system, 121; - clubs, 121, 128; - course system, 126; - democracy, 118; - examination and passing, 126; - extra-collegiate social regimen, 129; - fellowship, 123; - moral crusades, 124–125; - political management of affairs, 124; - recreation, 130; - sex lines and forms, 129; - social life, 117–118; - study, 125; - traditions, 118 - - College professors, 491; - _see also_ Professors - - College stories, 536 - - Colleges, early church-college, 163, 168; - _see also_ Education - - Colonial culture, 138 - - Colonial law, 54 - - Colonialism, 97 - - Colonies, 301, 493 - - Colonists, 398 - - Colour of God, 370 - - Commercial city, 5 - - Commercial God, 480, 481, 483 - - Commercialism, 484 - - Common Law, American conditions and, 56; - New England and, 54 - - Communist parties, 279, 280 - - Community, New England, 5 - - Compensation acts, 72 - - Competition, 259, 260, 406, 482 - - Composers, 199, 208, 210 - - Compromise, 284 - - Compulsions, 439, 440 - - Concord, Mass., 4 - - Coney Island, 13 - - Conformity, 439, 520; - college, 118 - - Congress, 31 - - _Congressional Record_, 27, 532, 544 - - Congressmen, character, 22, 27, 33 - - Conjugal fidelity, 309 - - Connecticut, early land act, 55 - - Conservatives, 273 - - Constitution, U. S., 140, 506, 515 - - Contingent fee, 60 - - Contract, 275; - right of, 259, 262, 264 - - Contract labour law, 343 - - Contributors to this volume, brief biographies, 559–564 - - Control of industry, 257, 263, 419 - - Conventions, 291; - “iron hand of convention,” 182 - - Conventionalities, 252, 491; - college, 129 - - Co-operative movement, 284 - - Copley, J. S., 231, 232, 233, 237 - - Cornell University, tradition, 120 - - Corporation lawyers, 59 - - Corporations, 406, 411, 412; - State and, 412 - - Corrective Eating Society, 444 - - Correspondence schools, 385 - - Country, 287, 288; - envy of the city, 17; - social life, 294; - _see also_ Small town - - County fair, 295 - - Crisis-emotion, 315 - - Courage in journalism, 40 - - Courts, diversity, 71 - - Craftsmanship, 413 - - Crane, Frank, 44 - - Cranks, 147 - - Craven, Frank, 248 - - Credit, 405, 410, 413 - - Credulity, 454; - medical, 444 - - Criminal law, 60, 70 - - Criminals and lawyers, 60 - - Criticism, 497, 503; - American, 99; - bibliography, 535; - definition, 100, 108; - dogmatic or intellectual, 100, 108; - music, 209; - need, 105; - scholarship and, 93–108; - scholarship the basis, 99; - schools of, 100 - - Cross of Gold, 440 - - Crowd behaviour, 312 - - Culture, 93, 106, 175, 508; - original American, 512 - - Curiosity, 130, 131, 175 - - - Daly, Arnold, 251 - - Dancing, 526 - - Dante, scholarship, 96 - - Darwin, Charles, 163 - - Days of grace, 64 - - Declaration of independence, 132, 133, 140, 506 - - Decorators, 236 - - De Leon, Daniel, 545 - - Demand and supply, 261 - - Dementia præcox, 434 - - Democracy, college, 118 - - Denmark, farmers, 347 - - Department stores, 8; - advertising in the newspapers, 389; - newspapers and, 46; - private tribunals, 70 - - Dependence, habits of, 401 - - Deportation, 342, 344, 348 - - Devil, 439, 440 - - Dewey, John, 168, 540; - on education, 175; - psychology, 173; - weakness of his philosophy, 176 - - Dickinson, Emily, 218 - - Differentiations, regional, 111 - - Diphtheria, 450 - - Diplomacy, shirt-sleeve, 489 - - Discipline, 471, 480, 482, 488 - - Disease, 443, 445, 449, 455; - prevention, 449 - - Dishonesty in business, 405, 409, 410, 430 - - Divorce, attitude to, 309, 310; - growing prevalence, 330 - - Doctors, 443; - _see also_ Disease; Physicians - - Dogmatic criticism, 100, 108 - - Domestic Relations Courts, 72, 331, 332 - - Double personality, 433 - - Dowden, Edward, 504 - - Drachsler, Julius, 375, 376, 377 - - Drama. _See_ Theatre - - Drama League, 247 - - Dreadnought Hams, 386 - - Dreiser, Theodore, 181, 182, 189, 196, 286 - - - East, the, 112 - - Economic democracy, 339 - - Economic liberty, 276 - - Economic opinion, 255–270; - basis and value, 270; - opportunities, 346; - bibliography, 543; - radicalism, 276, 277, 278; - volume, 269–270 - - Economics, classical, 259; - facts and statistics, 268; - “fundamental,” 273; - immigration and, 338; - newer, 544; - protest, 263; - system, 517; - waste, 284 - - Eddy, Mrs. Mary Baker, 443, 498 - - Edison, T. A., 436 - - Editors, 36 - - Education, 77–92, 524, 525; - bibliography, 534; - corrupt practices, 90; - Dewey’s philosophy, 175; - engineering, 423, 424; - enthusiasm for, 109; - feminization, 317; - general and special, 81; - medical, 455; - State and, 89; - superficial, 82; - superstitious mood toward, 77, 78 - - Edwards, Jonathan, 164, 165 - - Efficiency, 471, 478, 481, 482, 484; - social, 175 - - Egoism, 197 - - Eight-hour day, 275 - - Elderton-Pearson report, 453 - - Election machinery, 281 - - Elections, 281 - - Elective system in education, 79, 119 - - Electric lighting, 14 - - Electrical engineers, 417 - - Eliot, C. W., 79 - - Eliot, T. S., 218, 221, 222, 223, 224 - - Elizabethan literature, 220 - - Ellis Island, 341 - - Emerson, R. W., 138, 164, 165, 184, 195, 494 - - Emotion, 203, 209; - crisis, 315; - lack, vii; - mother-love, 437, 438; - sex, 310, 317 - - Emotionality, 176 - - “Emperor Jones,” 360 - - Empiricism, 172 - - Employer and employé, 483 - - Employés’ welfare, 484 - - Employment, 482 - - Engineering, 417–425; - bibliography, 552; - bulwark and inspiration, 424; - new problems, 418 - - Engineers, capital and labour, relation to, 420; - educational background, 423, 424; - formulating a policy, 420; - intellectual limitations, 423; - intelligence, 455; - larger function, 418; - original function, 418; - position, 432; - symbolic speculations, 423; - typical, 417 - - England, 512; - bond with America, 473; - competition with America, and courses open, 474; - proletariat, 485, 487; - war and post-war conditions, 487 - - English language professors, 96 - - Englishman’s view of American civilization, 469–488 - - Englishmen, as immigrants, 472; - character, 476, 477, 478 - - Erie Railroad, 72, 409 - - Ethics, 174 - - Ettinger, W. L., 87, 88 - - Eucken, R. C., 167 - - Europe, American attitude to, 486; - attraction, 238, 239; - civilization and culture, 511; - history, 510; - impoverishment, 473; - problem, 511 - - Evangelical literature, 496, 497 - - _Evening Sun_, 250 - - Exchange, 413 - - Exercise, 458, 461 - - - Factory workers, 9 - - Facts, 313 - - Faith, 78; - defending, 163; - intellectual, 515 - - Faithful servant, 320 - - Family, 319–336; - bibliography, 548; - financial arrangements, 324; - income, and distribution, 323; - influence on children 335; - nomadic habit, 333; - public opinion, 319; - reduction in size, 320; - reunions, 294 - - Farmer-Labour Party, 280 - - Farming and alien immigrants, 346, 347 - - Fear, 340, 341 - - Federated Press, The, 50 - - Feminization, 135, 143; - education, 317; - music, 205 - - Ferguson, O. G., 359 - - Fiction, American, 495; - college, 536; - sporting, 554 - - Fish phosphates, 431 - - Fiske, John, 185 - - Five and ten cent store, 9 - - Fletcher, J. G., 218, 220, 221, 222, 223, 226 - - Flexner, Simon, 154 - - Focal infection, 448, 449 - - Folin, Otto, 456 - - Folksong, 211 - - Food, children’s, 334 - - Food products, 401 - - Football, 459 - - Ford, Henry, 298, 299 - - Foreign relations, 486 - - Foreign trade, 414 - - Foreign views of American civilization, bibliography, 555; - Englishman’s, 469–488; - Irishman’s, 489–507; - Italian’s, 508–528 - - Foreigners, 275, 441; - musical composers, 199; - _see also_ Aliens; Immigration - - Fosdick, Raymond, 70 - - Foster, W. Z., 282 - - France, journalism, 39; - medicine, 434 - - France, Anatole, 142, 180, 494 - - Francis Galton Laboratory, 453 - - Fraternal orders, 6, 34, 290, 291 - - Fraternities, 5, 6 - - Freedom, 275, 489, 490, 491, 519; - in love, 309; - sexes in youth, 313, 315; - speech, 74, 75; - thought, 86, 87; - _see also_ Liberty - - _Freeman_, 51 - - Frémont, J. C., 151 - - French, D. C., 236 - - Freshmen, 119, 120 - - Freud, Sigmund, 433, 434, 435, 436, 437; - books on, 435 - - Friedenwald, Julius, 452 - - Front parlour, 297 - - Frontier, 301 - - Frost, Robert, 184, 218, 221, 222, 226, 503 - - Freude, J. A., on Americans, 184 - - Fugitive slave law, 58 - - “Fundamental economics,” 273 - - “Fussing,” 129 - - - _Ga-Ga_, 449 - - Galileo, 152 - - Galli-Curci, Amelita, 206 - - Galsworthy, John, 243, 244, 250 - - Galton (Francis) Laboratory, 453 - - Garrett, Garet, on business, 397–415 - - Gary, Ind., 12 - - Gauguin, Paul, 189 - - Geddes, Patrick, 531 - - Generosity, 523 - - Genius, 183, 188, 190, 194 - - Genteel tradition, the, 147, 148, 163, 167 - - “Gentleman and scholar,” 94 - - Georgia, legislature, 64 - - German beer-garden, 10 - - German idealism, 164 - - German State, 302 - - Ghost Dance, 372 - - Gibbs, Willard, 152 - - Gilbert, G. K., 153 - - Gimbel Brothers, 46 - - Glad hand, 5 - - God, 166, 439; - colour of, 370 - - Gold in California, 403 - - Golf, 459 - - Gopher Prairie, 19 - - Gorgas, W. C., 450 - - Gorky, Maxim, 180, 190, 192 - - Gould, Jay, 410 - - Gourmont, Rémy de, 494 - - Government, 275; - business and, 48 - - Grade schools, 84 - - Graham, Stephen, 365 - - Grandeur, 397 - - Grape juice, 451 - - “Great American novel,” 93 - - Greatness, 190, 191 - - Greeley, Horace, 37, 330 - - Griffes, Charles, 212 - - Group medicine, 446–447 - - Group opinions, 161 - - Grub Street, 189 - - Guinea-pigs, 452 - - Gullibility, 443, 449 - - - Hamilton, W. H., on economic opinion, 255–270 - - Hamsun, Knut, 180, 192 - - Hancock, John, 399 - - Hardy, Thomas, 180, 190 - - Harris, William, Jr., 245 - - Harvard College, 78, 79; - democracy, 119 - - Harvard Medical School, 443 - - Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 185, 195 - - “H. D.,” 221, 223 - - Health, exercise and, 458; - politics and, 451 - - Health, Board of, 304 - - Health crusade, 450 - - Hearst newspapers, 43, 139, 501 - - Heathen, 450 - - Helmholtz, H. L. F. von, 159, 160 - - Herbert, Victor, 209 - - Herd sense, 311 - - Hero-worship, 461 - - High schools, 83, 114, 525 - - Highbrow, 131, 209 - - Higher law, 58 - - Hill, G. W., 153 - - Historians, 95, 302, 306, 307; - scientific, 303, 304 - - History, 95, 297–38, 509; - American, 298, 299; - as an art, 303; - bibliography, 547; - early settlers, 300; - popular estimate, 298, 308 - - Hoar, E. R., quoted on law and private judgment, 58 - - Hocking, W. E., 167, 168, 172 - - Holmes, Justice O. W., quoted on criminal law, 70; - quoted on the law, 75 - - Holt, E. B., 435 - - Home, 332 - - Homer, Winslow, 233, 234, 236, 237 - - Honesty in business, 405, 409, 410 - - Honourables, 295 - - Hopkins, Arthur, 245, 251, 253 - - Hopkins, E. M., quoted on propaganda, 86 - - Hopwood, Avery, 249 - - Horse racing, 459 - - Hotels, 293 - - Hours of work for women, 73 - - Housewife, 325 - - Howe, F. C., on the alien, 337–350 - - Howells, W. D., 184, 191, 192, 194 - - Hubbard, Elbert, 42 - - Hughes, C. E., 50, 63 - - Human civilization, 508 - - Humanism, 509; - Italy, 510 - - Humboldt, Alexander von, 151 - - Humour, viii, 463–466 - - Husbands, 316; - as providers, 324, 325 - - Hypnotism, 433 - - Hypocrisy, 252, 338 - - Hysteria, 433, 438 - - - Ibsen, Henrik, 197, 503 - - Idealism, advertising, 385, 394; - American, 164; - German, 164; - peculiar American, 515; - reaction to, 167 - - Ideas, 501; - political, 28; - real test, 144 - - Ignorance, 113 - - Illusion, 295 - - Imagination, 102, 103, 461 - - Immigrants, 440; - English, 472; - law and, 57; - neurosis, 441; - protection, 349; - rapid rise and progress, 345; - savings, 348 - - Immigration, 301, 404; - cause, 338; - constructive policy, 347; - economic cause, 338; - hostility, 340; - old and new, 338; - percentage law, 344; - problem, 337 - - Immortality, 171, 436 - - Impressionism, 105 - - Impressionist criticism, 108 - - Impressionists, 235 - - Inalienable rights, 274 - - Incest-complex, 438 - - Independence Hall, 11 - - Indian reservations, 363 - - Indians, American, 351, 356; - Americanization, 363; - art influence, 227–228; - bibliography, 550; - culture and education, 371; - marriage with whites, 376; - religious movement, 372; - treatment, 362 - - Individual, 258 - - Individualism, 287, 311, 439, 506 - - Individuality, lack, 36 - - Industrial accidents, 72, 73 - - Industrial management, 419, 421 - - Industrial revolution, 266, 516 - - I. W. W., 276, 282 - - Industrialism, birth, 9–10; - city life, 9, 10, 11; - culture and, 12; - disputes, 72; - system, 260; - _see also_ Labour movement - - Industry, control, 257, 263, 419; - secrets, 421 - - Inhibitions, 478 - - Injustice, 341 - - Inness, George, 233 - - Insanity, 452 - - Instrumentalism, 145, 168, 521 - - Intellect, 521; - distrust of, 519, 520; - needs, 527 - - Intellectual anæmia, 491, 492, 495, 501 - - Intellectual faith, 515 - - Intellectual life, 135–150, 523; - backgrounds, 146; - bibliography, 537; - contempt for real values, 145; - cranks and mountebanks, 147; - pioneer point of view and, 136 - - Intellectualist, 100 - - Intellectualist criticism, 108 - - Intelligence, 174 - - International Exhibition of 1913, 239 - - Interstate Commerce Commission, 68 - - Intolerance, 430 - - Investigators, 156 - - Ireland, 493 - - Irish, 338 - - Irishman’s view of American civilization, 489–507 - - Irving, Washington, 186 - - Isolation, 188, 287 - - Italian’s view of American civilization, 508–528 - - Italy, humanism, 510 - - - James, Henry, 183, 190, 503 - - James, William, 82, 540; - eminence, 152, 154, 155; - on genius, 194; - pragmatism, 171; - psychology, 170 - - Janet, Pierre, 433 - - Japanese, 373; - Californians and, 364; - dislike and fear of, 357 - - Jefferson, Thomas, 274, 275, 276 - - Jensen, J. V., 180 - - Jews, 351; - bibliography, 551; - jealousy and fear of, 356; - manifestations of prejudice against, 363; - mixed marriages, 376; - place, 372; - religion, 373 - - Jim Crow regulations, 358, 360 - - Joan of Arc, canonization, 428 - - Johnson, Lionel, 499 - - Jokes, 463 - - Journalism, 35–51, 180, 501; - bibliography, 533; - England, 38; - European continent, 39; - musical, 209 - - Journalists, 36; - courage and integrity, 40; - “training and outlook,” 41 - - Judges, 65; - selection and training, 66; - unfair treatment, 67 - - Judiciary, 66 - - Jumel Mansion, 231 - - Jung, C. G., 436 - - Justice, Minister of, 66 - - - Kallen, H. M., quoted on control of education, 91 - - Kansas, 429; - industrial court, 73 - - Kempf, E. J., 435 - - Kent, James, 56, 62 - - Keynes, J. M., 506 - - King, Willford, 324, 326 - - Knowledge, 131 - - Kodak, 18 - - Korsakow’s disease, 451 - - Kraepelin, Emil, 433 - - Kreymborg, Alfred, 221, 223, 224 - - Ku Klux Klan, 290, 359 - - Kuttner, A. B., on nerves, 427–442 - - - Labour, American and English, 485, 486 - - Labour movement, 193, 277, 278, 281, 282; - engineers and, 420 - - Labour organization, 72 - - Labour-saving devices, 402 - - La Forge, John, 235 - - _Laissez-faire_ economics, 256, 257, 543 - - Land, colonies and settlement, 347, 348; - free, 339, 343; - immigration and, 339; - speculation, 7, 8, 347 - - Landscape painters, 232 - - Langdell, C. C., 69 - - Language of American leaders, 478, 479 - - Lanier, Sidney, 187 - - Lardner, R. W., on sport and play, 457–461 - - Law, 53–75; - bibliography, 533; - delays, expenses, etc., 71; - disrespect for, 57, 58; - early hostility to English, 54, 56; - flings at, 53; - lack of progress, 63; - newspaper discussion needed, 63; - obligation, 57, 58; - private judgment and, 58; - real defect, 62 - - Law schools, 68 - - Lawyers, 53; - changing function, 58–59; - laymen and, 60, 61 - - Laziness, 366 - - Leadership, industrial, 425 - - League of nations, 53 - - Learning, 96, 108 - - Legal aid societies, 72, 331 - - Legal education, 68 - - Legal systems, various, 65 - - Legislation and lawyers, 60 - - Legislatures and law reforms, 64 - - Leisure, 139, 141 - - Leisure class, 491, 505 - - Lenin, Nicolai, lying about, 49 - - Lewis, Sinclair, 192 - - Liberals, 273 - - Liberty, 485; - economic, 276; - _see also_ Freedom - - Libido theory, 436 - - Lick Observatory, 158 - - Lindsay, Vachel, 218, 219, 220, 221, 222 - - Lippmann, Walter, quoted on journalism, 40, 43 - - Literary test, 344 - - Literary theory, 108 - - Literature, morals and, 101; - three conceptions, 101 - - Literature, American, 93, 492–493; - absence, and reasons therefor, 504; - bibliography, 540; - colonial, 195; - impotence of creative spirit, 179; - lack of leadership, 189; - namby-pamby books, 495–496; - radical, 501, 502; - school, 196; - variety, 216 - - Little red school-house, 302 - - Lloyd George, David, 50 - - Lodge, G. C., 183, 184 - - Loeb, Jacques, 456 - - London, Jack, 182, 183, 192 - - London _Labour Herald_, 50 - - London _Times_, 38, 63 - - Long haul, 408 - - Longevity, 328 - - Louisiana, early law, 56 - - Love, as an art, 318; - freedom in, 309 - - Lovett, R. M., on education as degradation of energy, 77–92 - - Low-browism, 526 - - Lowell, Amy, 218, 220, 221, 222, 223, 226; - on our poetry, 215 - - Lowie, R. H., on science--lack of fruitful background, 151–161 - - Lusk Committee, 546 - - Lusk law, 88, 90 - - Lyceum, 6 - - Lynching, 359, 360 - - - Mabie, H. W., 496 - - McCormick reaper, 402 - - MacDowell, E. A., 210 - - Mach, Ernst, 155, 156, 161, 539 - - Machine politics, 24, 26 - - Machinery, 402, 404 - - McKim, C. F., 11 - - Macy, John, on journalism, 35–51 - - Madison Square Garden, 11 - - Magazines, 189; - radical, 272, 273 - - Maiden aunt, 320 - - Main Street, 14, 204, 248, 287, 307 - - Malnutrition, 334 - - Manchester _Guardian_, 38 - - Mandarins, 493, 494, 500 - - Manet, Edouard, 240 - - Mania a potu, 451 - - Mann, Horace, 84 - - Marden, O. S., 496, 497 - - Marriage, 314, 315, 316; - ages for, 327, 328; - Indians and whites, 376; - mixed, 374, 375, 376; - Negroes and whites, 374, 375; - protection, 310; - war and, 331 - - Married persons, 316 - - Mars, visitor from, and his thoughts, 109 - - Martians, 110 - - Martin, E. D., 312 - - Martin, Homer, 233 - - Masculine and feminine, 143 - - Masefield, John, 503 - - Mass fatalism, 196 - - Mass production, 408 - - Masters, E. L., 184, 218, 221, 222 - - Masturbation, 311, 454 - - Materialism, 97, 354, 481, 494, 516 - - Mather, F. J., 188 - - Mating, 310 - - Maury, M. F., 151 - - _Mayflower_, 350 - - Mazzini, Giuseppe, 511 - - Meat-packing, 401; - idealism, 385 - - Mechanical engineers, 417 - - Mechanics’ Hall, 10 - - Medical education, 455 - - Medicine, 443–456; - art of healing in America, 446; - bibliography, 553; - French, 434; - preventive, 449; - preventive, contamination by religion, 454; - preventive, retrogression, 450; - science and, 444; - specialization, and “group medicine,” 446 - - Melville, Herman, 188 - - Men and women, dichotomy, 142 - - Mencken, H. L., on aristocracy, 193; - on politics, 21–34 - - Mental hygiene, 334 - - Metaphysics, 176, 433 - - Metropolitan Opera House, 199 - - Metropolitanism, 16, 17, 19 - - Michelson, A. A., 152 - - Microbes, 448 - - Middle classes, 326 - - Middle West, towns, 5 - - Migration, 301 - - Miller, C. G., 46 - - Milling industry, 401 - - Milton, John, and Satan, 103 - - Minister of Justice, 66 - - Minorities, racial, 351–379 - - Mitchell, S. Weir, 432 - - Mob tyranny, 441 - - Money, 112, 140; - in college, 118 - - Morality, vi, 526; - alien population, 346; - art and literature and, 101; - business, 405, 409, 410; - realistic, 170 - - More, P. E., 493, 498, 499, 500, 503, 544 - - Morellet, Abbe, 103 - - Morgan, L. H., 154 - - Morgan, T. H., 154 - - Mormon Church, 430 - - Morrill Act, 417 - - Morse telegraph code, 403 - - Moses, M. J., 180 - - Mosquitoes and yellow fever, 450 - - Mother-love, 437, 438 - - Motion pictures, 13; - music accompaniment, 212 - - Motley, J. L., 195, 303 - - Mulattoes, 374 - - Mumford, Lewis, on the city, 3–20 - - Municipal Art societies, 14 - - _Munsey’s Magazine_, 243 - - Murry, J. M., on our poetry, 215 - - Music, 199–214; - American spirit, 214; - bibliography, 541; - classical and popular, 209; - composers, 210; - criticism, 209; - exotic, 211; - feminization, 205; - German, 210; - journalism, 209; - motion pictures and, 212; - Negro, 211; - technique, 159 - - Musical comedy, 208 - - Musical festivals, 207 - - _Musical Quarterly_, 209 - - Mysticism, 172, 519 - - Mythology, 514, 515 - - - Napoleonic code, 56 - - Nathan, G. J., on the theatre, 243–253 - - National Education Association, 78, 88 - - National Federation of Musical Clubs, 205 - - National Research Council, report on intelligence, 454 - - Nationality, 511 - - Natural resources, 257, 260 - - Natural science, 80 - - Nature, 164, 168 - - Necessity, 165, 168 - - Negro Catechism, 370 - - Negro Declaration of Independence, 370 - - Negroes, 351; - bibliography, 549; - culture, 371; - decreasing proportion, 355; - economic progress, 368; - education, 361; - exodus organization, 369; - exodus to the North, 360; - in literature, 360; - international convention, 370; - marriage with whites, 374, 375; - music and religion, 211, 368; - new defiance of whites, 367; - Northern prejudice against, 355, 359; - repression in the South, 358; - Southern feeling about, 354; - white friends, 361 - - Nerve tonics, 431 - - Nerves, 335, 427–442; - bibliography, 553 - - Neurasthenia, 430, 432, 433 - - Neuroses, 437 - - Neurotics, 427 - - New England, 179, 216, 301, 494, 502, 514; - common law, 54; - culture, 138; - early trade, 398; - surplus women, 327; - town, 3 - - New Jersey, 400 - - New Realism, 168 - - New Realists, 168, 169 - - _New Republic_, 51, 544; - exposure of false nature of Russian news, 49 - - New York (City), 16, 17; - dominance, 18; - plan, 7; - School Board and trial of a teacher, 86; - theatre, 243, 246 - - New York (State), early law, 55 - - New York Board of Health, 450 - - New York _Call_, 44 - - New York Code of Civil Procedure, 64 - - New York _Globe_, 44 - - New York _Herald_, 27 - - New York _Nation_, 46, 51, 544; - exposure of false nature of Russian news, 49 - - New York _Sun_, 250 - - New York _Times_, 27, 43, 46, 251; - on parenthood, 321; - Russian news, character, 49 - - New York _Tribune_, 36, 43 - - New York _World_, 36 - - New Yorkers, 285 - - Newcomb, Simon, 153, 155, 552 - - News, rough recipe, 38; - sensational, 45; - world, 48 - - News services, 47 - - Newspaper writers’ organization, 41 - - Newspapers, 483, 532; - advertising and corruption, 389; - advertisements, 44; - advertising, control by, 46, 47; - attitude toward the theatre, 249; - circulation, 35, 43; - Congressional reports, 27; - correspondents, 37; - counting-room control, 45; - influence, 35; - legal questions, 63; - readers uncritical, 43, 44; - stories, 45; - _see also_ Journalism - - Nietzsche, F. W., 187, 190 - - Nomadism, 333 - - Non-conformism, reasoned, 160 - - Non-conformists, 149 - - Nonpartisan League, 281 - - Novelists, 495, 496, 524 - - - Ochs, Adolph, 49 - - Offences, minor legal, 70 - - Office-holders, 24 - - Oil industry, 400 - - Old Guard, 252 - - Omnistic philosophy, 433 - - On the make, 430, 440 - - One Big Union, 282 - - O’Neill, Eugene, 243, 244, 245, 248, 251, 360 - - Open shop, 346 - - Opera, 199 - - Ophthalmoscope, 159 - - Opinion, 148, 255; - _see also_ Economic opinion - - Opportunity, 522 - - Optimism, 517, 518 - - Orchestras, 199, 202 - - Orchestration, 201 - - Orders, fraternal, 6, 34, 290, 291 - - Orientals, 351, 357, 450; - bibliography, 551; - culture, 373; - mixed marriages, 376 - - “Origin of Species,” 163 - - Over-production, 413, 414; - advertising and, 390 - - - Pach, Walter, on art, 227–241 - - Panama Canal, 450 - - Panics, 413 - - Parades, 291, 292 - - Paranoia, 434 - - Parenthood, 310, 321 - - Paresis, 453 - - Paris, entry of Allied troops on July 14, 1919, 469 - - Parsons, E. C., on sex, 309–318 - - Party system, 30 - - Parvenus, 106, 139 - - Pasteur, Louis, 446, 449, 539 - - Pattee, F. L., 498, 500 - - Patterson, J. M., 249 - - Paul, the Apostle, 314 - - Pavements, 14 - - Payne, S. H., 533 - - Pearl, Raymond, 452, 453 - - Pearson, Karl, 453 - - Pedants, 94, 97, 104, 108, 492 - - Peirce, Charles, 173 - - Pensions, widows’, 329 - - Perfectibility, 515 - - Periodicals, 50, 51 - - Perry, R. B., 170 - - Personal charm, 112 - - Personality, 106, 175; - double, 433; - home and, 335; - lack, 97; - university life and, 95; - women, 317, 318 - - Petting, 315 - - Phase rule, 152 - - Philadelphia, dramatic taste, 246 - - Philadelphia _Press_, 46 - - Philosophers, American, 522 - - Philosophy, 163–177, 517; - American, 521; - bibliography, 539 - - Phosphates of fish, 431 - - Physicians, importance, 443; - intelligence, rank, 454; - modern kind, 445–446; - quasi-religious rôle, 445; - testimony, 65 - - Piccoli, Raffaello, on American civilization, 508–528 - - Picnics, pioneer, 294 - - Pictures, 204, 236, 237 - - Pioneers, 97, 136, 137, 185, 193, 203, 294, 429, 441, 515, 516; - hostility to law, 57 - - Pittsburgh, 4, 10; - newspapers and the steel strike, 46 - - Pittsburgh Survey of 1908, 14, 531 - - Platitude, 497 - - Play, 457–461 - - Playwrights, 247, 248; - foreign and American, 249 - - Plough, 402 - - Plumbing, 14 - - Poe, E. A., 187, 194, 217 - - Poetry, 102, 215–226, 524; - bibliography, 541; - definition, 107; - modern vigorousness, 217; - the “nonsense” of, 103, 104; - poetic consciousness, 224, 225 - - _Poetry: a Magazine of Verse_, 217 - - Poets, 100, 102, 208; - definition, 108 - - Police and law enforcement, 70 - - Political biography, 532 - - Political economy, bibliography, 552 - - Political ideas, 28 - - Political machinery, 281 - - Politicians, 29; - local, 22, 23 - - Politics, 21–34; - bibliography, 532; - health movements and, 451 - - Pool, 460 - - Poor. _See_ Poverty - - Poor whites, 355 - - Population policies, 322 - - Pound, Ezra, 217, 221, 223 - - Poverty, 187, 188, 277, 346; - college life, 118; - injustice, 71, 72; - our forebears, 337 - - Power, 397 - - Practical, the, 186 - - Pragmatism, 145, 170, 171, 173, 192, 521 - - Preaching and practice, vi - - Prendergast, M. B., 240 - - Preparatory school, 116 - - Presidency, 31 - - Presidential campaigns, 25 - - Press. _See_ Journalism; newspapers - - Prevention of disease, 449; - _see also_ Disease; Medicine - - Prices, open, 409 - - Primitiveness, 479 - - Primogeniture, 55 - - Prince, Morton, 433 - - Private property, 259, 262 - - Production, engineers and, 421; - mass, 408 - - Professionalism, 554 - - Professors, 96, 97, 193, 491, 527 - - Profit, private, 412, 413 - - Profit-making, 265 - - Progress, legal lack of, 63 - - Prohibition, 24, 29, 440, 451, 495, 505; - consequences, 71; - origin of movement, 287 - - Promenade, 8 - - Promiscuity, 438, 502 - - Promised Land, 515 - - Propaganda, 85, 86, 312, 440 - - Property, governmental power over, 74; - private, 259, 262; - rights, 259, 262, 412 - - Protection, beginnings, 399; - _see also_ Tariff - - Protest, economic, 263 - - Provincial city, 3 - - Provincialism, 286, 287, 366 - - Prostitution, 316, 317 - - Prussia, educational system, 84; - family income, 323 - - Psychoanalysis, 434, 435, 437 - - Psychoanalysts, 435, 437 - - Psychology, James’, 170 - - Psychotherapy, 433 - - Public Health Service, 450 - - Public opinion. _See_ Economic opinion; Opinion - - Public service commissions, 72 - - Publicists, writings, 496, 501 - - Publicity pamphlets, 483 - - Publishing, 112, 188; music, 210 - - “Punch,” American, 482 - - Pure-food acts, 406 - - Puritan and Cavalier, 512, 513, 514 - - Puritanism, 54, 57, 101, 104, 130, 203, 209, 212, 238, 252, 314, 439, - 494, 504; - culture, 513; - morbidity, 502; - original spirit, 519; - remnants, 520 - - Pushkin, A. S., 190 - - - Quackery, 431, 433, 443, 444 - - Quality of commodities, 406 - - - Race-prejudice, 352, 353, 355, 377; - manifestations, 358; - questions, 378–379 - - Race suicide, 322 - - Races, a quality or inequality, 352, 353 - - Rachmaninoff, S. V., 206 - - Racial minorities, 351–379; - attitude, in face of race-prejudice, 367; - bibliography, 549; - biological results, 374; - four most important, 351; - questions, 378–379 - - Radicalism, 131, 174, 271–284, 505, 519; - associations of the word, 271; - bibliography, 545; - definition, 274; - economic, 276, 277, 278; - historic American, 274, 275; - reality and, 283; - tendency, 283 - - Radicals, 272 - - Railroad stations, 293 - - Railroads, 265, 401, 402, 403, 407, 411; - rates and hauls, 407, 408; - rebates, 408 - - Rank, Otto, 437 - - Rates, railroad, 407, 408 - - Raw materials, 257 - - Reactionaries, 273 - - Realism, 169, 204; - new, 168; - small town, 286 - - Realistic morality, 170 - - Realists, 168, 169 - - Reaper, 402 - - Rebates, 408 - - Reconstruction, 307 - - Recreation, 457; - college, 130 - - Reform, 174 - - Reformation, Protestant, 510 - - Reformers, 439–440 - - Regional differentiations, 111 - - Registration areas, 320 - - Registration of deeds, 55 - - Reid, L. R., on the small town, 285–296 - - Relativity, 152 - - Religion, v, 78, 167, 176, 427, 439, 508; - founders, 428; - Puritan, 513 - - Religious movements, 518 - - Renaissance, 94, 509; - England, 512 - - Representatives, 21 - - Research, 156, 157 - - Resources, natural, 257, 260 - - Responsibility in business, 410 - - Results, 174 - - Revolution, 280; - England, prospect, 474; - Russian, 278 - - Revolutionary War, 300, 399, 417, 515 - - Rhode Island, Colonial legal training, 55 - - Richardson, H. H., 11 - - Riesenfeld, Hugo, 213 - - Rights and duties, 72, 274 - - Robinson, E. A., 184, 217, 221, 222, 226 - - Robinson, G. T., on racial minorities, 351–379 - - Robinson, J. H., vi, 547 - - Rockefeller Institute, 158 - - Rome, civilization, 509 - - Roosevelt, Theodore, 26, 440; - on race suicide, 322 - - Rosenau’s “Preventive Medicine and Hygiene,” 453 - - Rothafel, S. L., 212 - - Rowland, H. A., 153, 158 - - Royce, Josiah, 165; - ethics, 166; - philosophy of religion, 167 - - Russia, false news, 49 - - Russian Revolution, 278 - - Ryder, A. P., 187, 233, 234, 237, 542 - - Rymer, Thomas, 103 - - - St. Louis, Mo., 8, 10 - - Sainte-Beuve, C. A., 498 - - Salesmanship, 405 - - Sandburg, Carl, 103, 220, 221, 222 - - Sanitariums, 431 - - Sanitary engineers, 454 - - Sankey, Justice, 68 - - Santayana, George, 539, 540 - - Sargent, J. S., 234, 235 - - Satire, 247 - - _Saturday Evening Post_, 248, 286, 507 - - Savings of aliens, 348 - - Scholarship, definition, 94, 105, 108 - - Scholarship and criticism, 93–108; - bibliography, 535 - - School and college life, 109–133; - bibliography, 536 - - School of literature, 196 - - Schoolmaster, 301 - - Schools, function, 113; - suppression of freedom of mind, 86, 87 - - Science, 80, 436, 519, 522; - American contributions, 151–152; - applied, 146; - applied and pure, 155–156; - bibliography, 538; - hothouse growth in America, 155; - individual and organized, 156–157; - lack of fruitful background, 151–161; - medicine and, 444; - results and self-doubt, 169; - theology versus, 163 - - Scientific schools, first, 417 - - Scientists, equipment, 158; - spirit, 160 - - Scope of the present volume, iv - - Scotch, 338 - - Scott, C. P., 38 - - Secondary schools, 83, 114, 115; - private, 115–116 - - Secret societies, 290, 291 - - Sects, 518, 519 - - Sensational news, 45 - - Sense and poetry, 104 - - Sentimentality, 247, 252 - - Servants, 320 - - Service, 523 - - Settlers, early, 300; - immigrant, 343 - - Sewers, 14 - - Sex, 247, 309–318, 501; - attitudes, 314; - bibliography, 548; - college relations, 129; - concept of sexuality, 437; - emotion, 310, 317, 437; - in children, 436; - morality, 322; - problem, 436; - relations, 316; - relations classified, 313, 314; - sublimation, 312; - suppression of instinct, 311; - youth and, 526 - - Shakespeare, William, 220, 250 - - Shaw, G. B., 179, 192, 243, 244; - on America, 285 - - “Shelburne Essays,” 498, 500 - - Sherman, Stuart, 493, 500, 503 - - Shirt-sleeve diplomacy, 489 - - Simplification of American life, 479, 480 - - Sinclair, Upton, and “The Brass Check,” 41 - - Single Tax, 273 - - Sissies, 142 - - Slang, 112 - - Slavery, 354, 365 - - Slopping over, 471, 488 - - Small Claims Courts, 71 - - Small town, 285–296; - bibliography, 546; - character, 288; - life, 289 - - Smith, J. Thorne, on advertising, 381–395 - - Smith, Reginald H., 71 - - Smith, Theobald, 449 - - Smoking, 440 - - Smuggling, 399 - - Soap, 392 - - Social hygiene, 453 - - Social life, 526, 527; - freedom of youth, 313, 315 - - Socialist Party, 278, 279 - - Society, 516 - - Society column, 333 - - Solicitor, advertising, 388 - - Soul and scholarship, 98 - - Soule, George, on radicalism, 271–284 - - Southern States, 139; - Negro repression, 358; - society, 354, 365; - white superiority, 366 - - Specialists, 80 - - Specialization, 79, 80, 158; - surgical, 446 - - Speculation in city land, 7, 8 - - Spingarn, J. E., 535; - on scholarship and criticism, 93–108 - - Spirit, 518 - - Spiritual activity, 93, 98 - - Spiritual needs, 527 - - Spiritual values, 520 - - Spoiled child, 334 - - “Spoon River Anthology,” 221, 222, 226, 503 - - Sport and play, 457–461; - bibliography, 554 - - Springfield _Republican_, 38 - - Standard Oil Co., 409, 412 - - Standardization, 149, 150, 335; - American, 111; - newspapers and readers, 36 - - Standards, economic, 268 - - State, business and, 264; - corporations and, 412; - diversity of legal systems, 65; - education and, 89; - German, 302; - legislatures, 24, 31 - - Stearns, H. E., on the intellectual life, 135–150 - - Sterility, 148 - - Stevens, Wallace, 218, 221, 223, 224 - - Stewart, A. T., 405 - - Stock Exchange, 410 - - Stockard, C. R., 452 - - Stories, newspaper, 45 - - Story, Joseph, 54, 56, 62 - - Strikes and the newspapers, 46 - - Stuart, H. L., on American civilization, 469–488 - - Student Councils, college, 124 - - Sturgis, Russell, quoted on art, 237 - - Style, 106 - - Sublimation of sex, 312 - - Suburbia, 15, 19 - - Success, 517, 518 - - Suffrage, 143 - - Sumner, W. G., 543 - - “Super-docs,” 447 - - Superstition, 78 - - Supply and demand, 261 - - Suppression of sex impulse, 311 - - Surgeons, 446 - - Swift, M. I., 172 - - Sydenstricker, Edgar, 325 - - Symbolists, 503 - - Symons, Arthur, 499 - - Sympathy, 175; - professional physician, 445 - - Symphony orchestras, 199, 202 - - Syphilis, 453 - - - Taboos, 315, 441, 494 - - Talk, college, 130 - - Tariff, 399, 414; - works of art, 230 - - Tarkington, Booth, 243, 248 - - Taste, 106; - definition, 100, 107–108; - musical, 200; - theatrical, improvement, 243 - - Taylor, Deems, on music, 199–214 - - Teachers, control of teaching, 90; - status, 90; - suppression of freedom of mind, 86, 87; - unions, 91 - - Teasdale, Sara, 221, 222 - - Teeth, infected, 448, 449 - - Telegraph, Morse code, 403 - - Ten Commandments, 307 - - Tennis, 460 - - Teutonic school, 303 - - Texas fever, 449 - - Textile industry, 402 - - Theatre, 243–253; - bibliography, 543; - New York City, 243, 246; - newspapers and, 249 - - Theology versus science, 163 - - Things, 397 - - Thomas, Augustus, 249 - - Thomas, Theodore, 213 - - Thoreau, H. D., 184, 194, 494 - - Thorndike’s tests, 154 - - Thought, 105, 148, 479; - uniformity, 439 - - Threshing-machines, 402 - - Thrift, family, 325 - - Thucydides, 307 - - Ticknor, George, 95, 96 - - Tildsley, John, 87 - - Tolstoy, Leo, 190, 499, 503 - - Tom, Blind, 207–208 - - Tonsils, 448, 449 - - Towns, New England, 3; - _see also_ Small town - - Trade-mark, 409 - - Trade secrets, 421 - - Trade-union movement, 283 - - Traditions, 528; - college, 118; - college and life at large, 131–132 - - Transportation, 401, 402, 408 - - Trinity Church, Boston, 11 - - Truth, 86, 92; - love of, 144 - - Tschaikovsky, P. I., 200, 213 - - Tuberculosis, bovine and human, 449 - - Turgeniev, I. S., 190 - - Twachtman, J. H., 235 - - Twain, Mark, 182, 187, 191, 194, 464 - - Typhoid, 450 - - Typography, 391 - - - Unconscious, the, 435, 436 - - Undergraduate, 116 - - Unemployment, 414 - - Uniform Negotiable Instruments Law, 64 - - Uniformity, colleges and life, 131–132 - - Unions, 283 - - U. S. Geological Survey, 158 - - Universal Negro Improvement Assn., 369 - - Universities, 524, 526; - materialism, 97; - mediocity of life and scholarship, 95, 96, 97; - professors, 96, 97, 193, 491, 527; - _see also_ College life; Colleges - - Untermeyer, Louis, on our poetry, 215 - - Uplifters, 450, 497 - - - Vaccination for typhoid, 450 - - Valparaiso University, 119, 124 - - Van Dyke, Henry, 496 - - Van Loon, H. W., on history, 297–308 - - Van Slyke, D. D., 456 - - Vanderlyn, John, 232 - - Vaughan, V. C., 444 - - Veblen, T. B., 544, 545 - - Venereal peril, 453 - - Venereal prophylaxis, 454 - - Verihood, 86 - - Versailles, 305 - - Victrolas, 212 - - Villagers, 285 - - Villages, atmosphere, 290 - - Virginia schools, white and Negro, 359 - - Vision, 177, 480, 481 - - Vital statistics, 319, 320 - - Volstead Act, debate on, 28 - - Volunteer firemen’s organizations, 292 - - - Wanamaker, John, 46 - - War. _See_ World War - - Washington, D. C., dramatic taste, 246 - - Washington Square Players, 252 - - Waste, business, 413; - economic, 284; - industrial, 419 - - Water, danger of excessive use, 451 - - Wealth, 413 - - Weir, J. A., 235 - - Welfare of employés, 483 - - Wellman, Rita, 248 - - Wells, H. G., 457 - - _Weltanschauung_, 101, 102 - - Wendell, Barrett, quoted on education, 77 - - Werner, Judge, W. E., 73 - - West, the, 112 - - Wharton, Mrs. Edith, 179 - - Whistler, J. A. M., 234, 237 - - White, Stanford, 11 - - White City, 13 - - White Ways, 13 - - Whitman, Walt, 149, 185, 186, 187, 188, 190, 194, 215, 217, 504, 523 - - Who’s who in this volume, 559–564 - - Widowhood, prevention, 329 - - Widows, 328, 329 - - Wigmore, J. H., 69, 75 - - Wild oats, 316 - - Wilson, Woodrow, 25, 450 - - “Winesburg, Ohio,” 137 - - Winsett, Ned, 179 - - _Wissenschaftlichkeit_, 303, 304 - - Witchcraft, 429 - - Wives, thrifty, 324, 325 - - Women, beauty, 431, 438; - dominance in art, 229; - dominance in intellectual life, 135; - dominance in music, 205; - hours of work, 73; - in industry, 326; - interests, 142; - longevity, 328; - maintenance at leisure, 139, 141; - men and, dichotomy, 142; - men’s circumspection as to, 316; - nervous, 432; - personality, 317, 318; - psychology, 317; - surplus, 326, 327 - - Women’s clubs, 142 - - Woodberry, G. E., 101 - - Woods, A. H., 245, 251 - - Work for work’s sake, 491 - - Workmen’s compensation, 72 - - Workmen’s families, 325, 326 - - World news, 48 - - World War, business and, 413; - historians and, 304 - - World’s Fair, Chicago, 13 - - Wyant, A. H., 233 - - - Yeast, 444 - - Yeats, W. B., 499 - - Yellow fever, 450 - - Y.M.C.A., 144; - instruction, 83 - - Youth, sex life, 526 - - - Zenger, Peter, 55 - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes - - -Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent within -each article when a predominant preference was found in that article; -otherwise, they were not changed. - -Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation -marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left -unbalanced. - -Duplicate hemi-titles were removed. - -Table of Contents: replaced ditto marks with the actual words above -them. - -The index was not systematically checked for proper alphabetization or -correct page references. - -Page 352: “singled out” was printed as “signalled out”; changed here. - -Page 388: “full-fledged” was printed as “full-edged”; changed here. - -Page 573: “New York _Herald_” was misprinted as “New York _World_”; -changed here. - -Page 576: “mediocity” was printed that way; may be a misprint for -either “mediocrity” “meritocracy.” - -Page 576, under “State, business and”: “corporations” was misprinted as -“co-operations”; changed here. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CIVILIZATION IN THE UNITED -STATES *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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